Hang on, I thought this was a zombie blog story, and where the hell is chapter 12 and 13 of Black Honey, you ask?
Well, things aren’t going too well here with me (lots of personal shit to deal with) but I can promise you, you will have those two chapters soon, I’m sorry it’s taking so long.
What is this then, you ask?
Well, it’s new, and it will replace Black Honey. Bitch says what…?! But what of Poison Honey aka Black honey two?
I need to take a break from it, it’s partly due to the reason I’m struggling to write it further. As a writer, we need to take breaks from our work, or manuscript. See it as a breather, other wise our brains become mushed, we confuse things and writing looks evil bad and we don’t want that, do we.
Instead, I bring you Parahuman, I will not tell you in which universe, it plays off, but you will get that soon. Its a paranormal, supernatural fiction, revolving around a group of Doms that owns Blue, a BDSM private mansion, some of them are human, others are well other, and some we’re not even completely sure what they are, so here is a sneak peak of Parahuman X the first story in the series.
Clay Rowland, watched trough the widow of his favorite coffee restaurant as the boy walking past, again, same time, same place, same clothes for the last month. Kenny Loggins, Danger zone playing from the speakers above Clay.
He liked his lips and groaned at the sight. Always the same outfit. Tight black jeans, old 80’s studded leather jacket and what looked like a white muscle shirt underneath, knee high leather boots, and of course, the odd piece one couldn’t miss, the black Gladstone bag.
The boy wasn’t something he would pick up, not out in the open and definitely not in Blue. Okay, maybe he would in Blue. But just cause someone wore leather, didn’t mean they played in the BDSM lifestyle.
Shoulders straight, spine erect, the boy walked to the beat of to the danger zone, how odd was that. Clay was somewhat surprised at the boys clothing and his posture, most youngsters these days lack a straight stance, at least the boy’s pants didn’t hang below his ass. Well, he chuckled to himself. How could they, the jeans seemed painfully tight around those long legs.
As on queue the Cleveland downpour started, slathering small comets raindrops on the world beyond the window, it was a matter of moments and the boys blond hair had darkened, clinging wetly around his forehead and cheeks, yet the boy didn’t even pause, or show displeasure at the rainstorm, he kept on walking and disappeared out of sight.
Clay sighed, taking the last sip of his coffee, running the bitter taste over his tong before he swallowed.
He hated the idea, but what was he supposed to do, leave the kid out on the street to the mercy of the blistering rain, wet, freezing and let the boy catch a cold, no, it would be his citizenly duty to offer the boy a warm bed to sleep in for the night, accompanied by a warm meal. Amongst other things… If Clay could be so lucky. The dry spell he was under for the last month, he suspected due to the new movement in the BDSM scene, the subs seeking the younger, more attractive Doms, leaving the elders out cold and dry.
The lifestyle surely has changed over the years. Half of those 20 something wannabe Doms, hardly knew anything about what they were doing. Dressing the part didn’t give you the entitlement of a Dom, not by the Old Guards standers, those were the good old day where a Dom had to earn his status. But as the world change so too seems to be the case with lifestyle. And not for the better, where there use to be only one collar there are now numerous collars, and for what stupidity and the lack of knowledge that would only leave the sub hurt and turn away from the lifestyle, but the slurs and hateful gestures, and comment toward the older crowd of Doms placed things in perspective. The life style just wasn’t what it was anymore. Family. It all came down to ones leather family.
He looked at his titanium Rolex, it was past ten, the hour hand creping to wards eleven.
Clay looked at the deserted street again.
Why’d he called him that? The boy was no kid, at least with what he could see, well in comparison to Clay’s age of forty, the boy could be qualified as a kid.
Boy. He huffed and opened the glass door, stepping into the downpour outside.
Braden halted, the moment he stepped into the foliage of the grave yard. The night looked thicker here, than out in the street.
He knew he was being followed, he saw the tall and broad shouldered stranger coming up several feet behind him.
The lamp lights in the aerie begin to dim and suddenly die out. Darkness once again becoming his companion and smothering him from any who might see, that what should not be seen, and thankfully, to the man. Yes, the scent that Braden could smell, from the one tailing him, despite the angry downpour, was male and more reassuring, human.
Instinct, both thought and gifted made Braden arch back and lock his knees, avoiding the sharp scythe ripping the air in front of his face. Time always slowed down when his adrenaline started pumping, and his heightened senses went wild.
He saw the slow movement of light from streetlights glistening along the blades sharp curved edge, the snip, as the blade caught a strand of his blond hair that bopped up when he bent backwards.
Yip, those things were sharp, forge in the blue hell flames of Hades, from all the souls a former brother of the Slayer has killed. Creating the only metal that could cut through any material and anything thing, thing binges those Braden hunted, the others as they are known.
“A Grimm,” Braden growled as he stood back up.
Another flash of light against steel to his left mad him turn his body to the side as a second scythe swiped at him.
“Two?” Braden raised a blond eyebrow.
The first Grimm started propelling his scythe, and so too, the one now standing behind him.
As expected, they started moving in a circle around him.
“You boys never change tactics, it doesn’t work.” Which wasn’t partly true, they never attacked out in the open like this. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly out in the open. The small enclosed graveyard couldn’t be seen from the streets, as tall hedges hid the view.
“Hey!” a stern voice shouted from behind them. Braden cursed internally, he was always so careful not to be seen. But the scent of his stalker made his blood react strangely. He was hoping to lose the man in the graveyard, but he didn’t a count for the two Grimms showing up.
“This doesn’t concern you old man, I suggest you walk away.” Braden said with out straying his eyes from the Grimms. The Grimms however, didn’t stop, they kept circling Braden, their long black cloaks swaying around their boots to the movement of their steps.
“What the—” the man’s voice was cut short, and Braden heard him struggle.
The second Grimm now in front of Braden snarled from under executioner hood and lunged forward, the scythe tearing through the air, plowing down at him. Braden dropped the bag in his hand, and charged forward, tackling the Grimm in the gut, and to two fell the ground. Braden rolled to his side, pulled his legs to his chest and kicked them out forward, the motion casing him to stand on his feet again, the Grimm on the ground, movements weren’t as graceful.
Braden’s gaze fell on the large man as a third Grimm tried to choke him with the snath of the scythe. Branden had to grin at the two, the human was holding his own, and the third Grimm seems to have his hands full.
Braden’s eyes widen when the human crouched forward, flipping the Grimm over and slamming his back hard on the cobbled stone path, to such an existent Braden could hear the bones break.
So enticed at the man’s display of strength, Braden failed to pay attention to the second Grimm, the heel of his scythe smashed straight into Braden’s jaw. Pain exploded over his face driving him to stumble backwards, and taste blood filling his mouth.
“Bitch!” Braden spat a glob of plasma, fond his balance, his eyes focused on his bag. If he could get a weapon, he could seriously, even the playing field, but the first Grimm slightly taller then Grimm-two, kidded his bag, sending it sliding over the slippery service of the stone path as it disappeared in the bushes. The Grimm stepped forward, griped his scythe in the middle of the snath, holding the long weapon horizontally. A click, followed by a snap sound come from, where the Grimm gripped, and the snath come loose in the middle, reveling a long length of chain linking the upper and lower half of his scythe.
“Well, that’s new, creepy, but neat.” Braden smirked.
Grimm-two came up beside Grimm one, since there was no point in distinguishing between them, they all whore the same black clocked robes, and executioner stile hoods hiding their faces and leather tunic and hose underneath.
Braden had never faced more than one Grimm at a time.
Grimm one took the top piece of his scythe in his right hand and held the lower part in his left, Grimm-two slammed his scythe on the stone, and another blade slipped out, making his weapon look like one nasty piece of pick.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You boys get all the cool shit. No fair!” Braden pout, it was his usual safety messier, using his big mouth when he was nervous, and he never got nervous when on a job. Grimms on the other hand, where high glisters in taking out Slayers.
Peering through the gap between the two Grimms, Braden quickly assessed his satiation. The bear giant of a man, curved forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath wile Grimm three still lay flat on his back, his scythe not far from him.
“Okay game on batches,” Braden swiped the blood still dripping from his mouth and slammed the same first in his right palm, popping his knuckles. As if that would do anything to intimated the Grimms. They never showed emotion, or pain or, —Shit. Grimm one started swinging the chain casing the top end of his scythe’s blade to look like very large and sharp hook.
Braden reached behind his back, gripping the Kunai he had hidden there. It wasn’t much, but he had to make doe, who knew where the bloody hell his bag ended up. All he need to make sure of was not to be the catch of the day. Grimm ones disability would be his attack speed. Due to the weight of the scythe’s blade and the momentum need to be built up in order to propel the blade, Braden could at least predict when he would strike.
But there was the other matter at hand, a Grimm could only be killed by his own scythe. It didn’t matter if there were two Grimms and one used the opposite scythe on the opposite Grimm, it had to be the same one they were wielding. Something to do with the contract imprinted on the blade.
Grimm three started to pull himself up, the human, unaware of it. Braden griped the Kunai between his teeth, with both hands, he reached on opposite sides of his jacket, pulling out and flung two ninja stars at Grimm one and two. The stars spinning thought the air, hitting Grimm one in the chest and Grimm two in the forehead. Both stars explode white flares distracting the two Grimms, Braden, already running past them. Grimm one spun, releasing his hold on his scythe and darting the top end in Braden’s direction.
The scythe snath had barely touched on Braden’s shoulder, when the Grimm yanked the chain back. The blade cutting into the flesh of Braden’s left shoulder, the force pulling him back, causing him to slip on the wet stone path, sending him crashing on his back.
Braden hissed, feeling the wet blood flow and stain his shirt, the cut luckily not too deep. The blow from his back hitting the ground still stung in his spine. He has learned not only through training, but from experience to keep his chin on his chest whenever he is in the air , falling backwards, avoiding his head hitting the ground and creaking his scull. The tactic, however did nothing to elude the sock absorb by his spine and neck muscles.
Pushing himself up on his palms Braden stood, and ignored the protest from his body, as more blood flowed from the cut. Spinning around Grimm-two hacked at him with his scythe. Braden allowed the anger bubbling in his veins to take control. He griped the scythe at the snath in his right hand, his knuckles popping from the tight grip and at the same time use the momentum of the swing, puling the scythe with him as he spun around. Grimm-two when flying off his feet as he lost his grip on the handle and crashed in to Grimm-three, just as he had stood up. Both tumbling to the ground.