Death From Above / Dark Nectar

"Please...don't hurt me anymore."

The long, dark-haired pretty boy collapsed to the mat, bruised, bloodied, and broken. He hadn't anticipated a cage match. He hadn't anticipated a one-sided fight like this. Now, he understood, as he tried to focus his blurry stare on the dark shadows looming outside the iron chain-link, that he'd entered the spider's web.

A black boot, decorated with a gravestone, appeared dangerously close to him. He expected to find the toe of that boot inside his skull any second now. He looked up, into the eyes of evil. A devious grin. The body of the devil. Deadboy Daemian Gravesend was death incarnate.

And death looked good.

Like a slasher movie killer, Deadboy took his time with his plaything. He slowly cocked his head to the side, surveying the squirming little worm. So delicate. So breakable. So pretty.

"Know what I do to pretty little c***ts like you?" Deadboy whispered, planting a boot on the young fighter's back side. It forced a small yelp out of him. "I turn them into monsters." He cracked his knuckles. "It's a multi step process. Step one..."

SLAM!

"Drain the life out of them." Deadboy curbed stopped the boy's head, sending his eyes rolling back into his skull, and flipping him over with sheer force. A trickle of blood spilled from his nose.

For Deadboy, it wasn't enough. He turned around and jumped onto the cage siding, crawling up like the cage like a possessed, feral cat. He reached the top. With his dark magick activated, the seem tattoo on his neck split into a thin, violet shadow, allowing for extreme contortion. Deadboy, tongue sticking out of his mouth, twisted his head around 180 degrees.

All of this was lost to his victim, the fighter with the swimmer's build, struggling to get to his knees.

"Good...good boy..." Daemian whispered from his perch. "Set yourself up for your own destruction. Step two. DEATH...From Above!"

Deadboy jumped back from the cage, flipping in mid-air, and aiming his boot square for his victim's head, just as he looked up.

CRACK.

It was an instant knockout. The boy's head nearly snapped back, as his body slammed into the mat. Deadboy, twisting his own head back around with a nauseating CRACK, sniffed the air. He prowled like a blood-starved beast, crawling over to the young man's twitching body.

"Yessss," he said, relishing the sight of fresh blood. "Step 3. Disfigurement. DONE." As always, his finishing move had given his opponent--if you could call this worthless husk 'opposition'--a crimson mask of bright, red blood. Daemian clutched his head, cradling him in his lap with an almost paternal tenderness.

"Shhh..." Deadboy said, fingers creepily playing across his opponent's bloodied face. "Step four. Mind erasure. You're under my spell, punk..."

The broken opponent's eyes fluttered open. His lips moved, but barely. "Please....no--"

"Shhh." Deadboy's fingers pried open his mouth. "Like the bird feeding her young...you, my sweet possum, will drink of my darkness."

Deadboy's eyes went black, like two windows looking out into a starless night.

"N-no..."

A purple, luminous fluid leaked freely from Deadboy's mouth in a grotesque, horrific fashion. He let it pour, drip freely into his opponent's parted lips.

"Gurrk...unnggg...gluk."

The young man's body shuttered and shook as Deadboy forced his venom down his throat ,gagging, resisting, all in futility. He sealed it, with a kiss, rubbing the boy's throat like a master making his hound take its medicine. Damiean pulled back, looking down at his paralyzed, zombified, victim. His eyes had gone white, like marble.

Mockingly, taking his sweet time, Daemian lifted up his arm. "One." He said, letting it fall. "Two." Again. "Hehehehe. Two easy." He leaned to the catatonic young man's ear. "That's how you make a monster. Three."

Deadboy snapped his fingers. His victim suddenly rose, like a corpse from its coffin.

"Nnnnggggg." It turned to face him, head at an odd angle, drooling dark nectar.

Like a psychopath in the throws of a fresh kill, Deadboy grabbed both side of his head and reared back, cackling. "HahHahqahaha!!!! More. I WANT MORRRRE! HAHAHAHAhahaha!"

He stood, grabbing his opponent by the hair and making him stand as well. "Very good," Daemian said, observing his work. "Oh, you're gonna be gone for awhile. My little zombie..." he flicked the opponent's nose. "Toy. But you know what? I think you're more of a chew toy. Oh...Brax."

Whips of black smoke filled the arena, coalescing into a dark portal from which emerged a massive, muscular, canine-like demon wearing similar fighting gear to his tag partner.

"You...have called me, my mortal kindred." The fanged, long-tongued demon sniffed the air. "I smell....fresh blood." 

Snickering, Daemian kicked his zombified servant towards his demon buddy. "Don't eat this one this time, hey. But...you can do whatever you like. As long as I get to watch, mate."

"Hngnnhnhn." Hollow, greedy, demonic laughter poured out Brax. He licked his chops and picked up the toned, muscular young man, tossing him over his shoulder like a rag doll. "I will....have my fill of him," he said, as he tuned around, towards the dark portal.

"Nobody fucks with The Infernals," Daemian said, extending his hands, champion-like, towards the invisible audience. "Now, I think it's time we showed this little twink sights beyond his wildest nightmares."

The End!