Is this really how it all ends?
You're probably wondering who I am. Well, my name is 'Clever Blade'. Named myself. I've been using that name so long that I forgot my real one. I am the most wanted man in the United States of America. I officially received that title when I assassinated three presidents and a single vice president. One day, after I received payment for my 'services', I made a deal with the Devil. In exchange for me continuing to murder those poor souls, he would grant me the power to raise the dead. Oh, also, I can only be killed if I want to be dead.
One day, a couple years ago, I was thinking about stopping the murderous lifestyle, so, of course, the Devil rips my face off. Now, whenever I want to buy anything, my fucking SKULL IS BEING SHOVED IN THEIR EYES! Also, I can't tell you how many executions I've escaped from in my 143 years of life. Yes, I'm that old. HOW ELSE DO YOU THINK 'NOT DYING' WORKS?! I'm sorry, just stressed right now. You know, because I have a fucking GUN IN MY FACE WHILE I WANT TO DIE. So, let's see how I ended up like this, shall we?
*USA, Washington D.C., 5:57 PM*
"Alright, we need this to be done soon. Don't need no cops comin' 'round while we doin' this." The leader of the small group said. The five members of the group all nodded and added some grunts of approval. They were currently outside of the one thing I care about: The 'Bouncing Beauties' Strip Club. Yes, I know I'm pathetic. No, I will not show you any mercy.
Back to the matter at hand. These six guys were trying to rob the only thing that I care about. They were going DOWN. I watched them stroll towards the alley behind the club, and I got ready for my grand entrance. I quickly slid down a pipe and stabbed the one bringing up the rear. After that, I hid and used my powers to revive him. His eyes took on a deathly red glow, and he picked up his gun from the concrete. I watched as he cut down his partners, giggling like a school girl when I was splashed with a substance that I knew very well - blood.
Just as I ordered, my minion left the leader alive and dragged him over to me. I could literally feel the fear radiating off of him. I step closer to him, slowly lifting my hood so he could only see an outline in the shadows.
"Trying to rob my favorite place, eh? Not likely to happen at any moment in my un-ending life." I growled in a voice that sounded somewhere between crunching gravel and a crow cawing. I was going to drag this on unti.... He shit his pants.... Wow, what a pussy.
"Wow, what a pussy." SEE? Wait, what?
I spun around and saw my second favorite people- the cops. I just laughed an greeted them by taking off my hood. They all cringed, except for my favorite one of these bitches. He just laughed and introduced someone to me. Face? Meet gun. Gun? Meet face!
I took the hit Like A Boss!
*Back in Reality*
I got knocked out again. Really need to stop that. Someday, I'm gonna wake up in a cage getting raped by a horse. That actually happened once, then I killed it, broke out of the cage, made it rape my captors, and then sent it to rape more poor, unsuspecting souls in Miami. That was 35 years ago. Last reported sightings: 3 days ago. Good job, Brucey!
Oh, shit! I'm rambling again. Well, after taking a look at my surroundings, I'm about to be executed... again. Because last time went so well!
*Flashback*
I stood on my newest throne, watching my minions tear a police officer limb from limb while he was screaming like a banshee. They proceeded to use his limbs as weapons, beating him to death with his own arms. They turned to the others and violently ripped their hearts out of their chests and made them choke on them. I maniacally laughed on my throne made of corpses, playfully tossing a hand in the nearby pond filled with blood. A shadow burst from the water, chomping on the hand before hiding again.
*End Flashback*
And that, kids, is why you never make a psychotic necromancer-assassin angry while he is being creative. So, I let the police lead me to my noose, and then I make the fun stuff happen.
A quick red blur shoots out of my hands while walking, signalling the guards to pull out their weapons as my minions burst from the ground and charge towards me. I rip my hands out of the cuffs while whirling around and grabbing a piece of sharpened bone that my newest skeletons made. I take the bone-spear and shove it into the eye of one of my captors, laughing as the blood splattered my skeletal face. I immediately take my newest minion and have him flung across the stage at the crowd. He starts wreaking havoc, bodies flying everywhere while being re-animated with excess life energy.
*Elsewhere in the crowd*
"Harold, we have to run, NOW!" A woman yelled as she was fighting off my minions. A roughly-shaven man yells back while dealing with a brute, "NO, REALLY, MARTHA? I HADN'T NOTICED!" He missed the brute with a punch, giving the brute time to send him flying onto the stage.
"HAROOOOLLLLLLDDDD!"
*Back on the stage*
I watch as a familiar man is flung towards me. I couldn't see his face, so I stabbed him with my new favorite weapon. When I turn him around to finish him off, I see a face I never wanted to see again. A face I haven't seen since I was ten years old. The face was of a Harold Blade.
My father.
I suddenly hear all my minions stop fighting and crumple to the ground. My spear disintegrates in my hands while I quickly grab my father. He has tears in his eyes and is losing a lot of blood, fast. I hear his last words, and they will always haunt me for the rest of my unforgiving, cruel, unlucky life. He looked up at me, smiling with bloodied, sparkling white teeth.
"Son... *Hack* *cough* We have *Spit* always.... *Gag* *heave*" Here I am, surrounded by cops, hanging so desperately on to my father that not even the police interfere. I just wait for those last... Few.... Words.... I can see his eyes are dim, no longer full of life and humor, just sadness. He sheds his final tears as he speaks to me in choking breaths, "... Loved.... you......"
His breathing slows to the point where if he breathed any slower, he might as well have been a rock. I hold him in my bloodied arms, crying blackened tears from my skeletal eyes. I look up to see a gun in my face.
And that about sums it up. So, while holding my dad's corpse, I find myself thinking that the gun was not enough. I give my father one last hug, before slowly getting up and walking to the gallows. I sluggishly feel myself placing the noose around my neck, seeing a police officer walk towards the lever, before pulling it.
As I breathe my last, dying breath, I see my mother crying out in the crowd.
And then I see nothing but the lonely darkness, ever present in all of my days.
