No Anesthetic: A Splatter Ink Publishing Anthology by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Splatter Ink Publishing
Published: 2021-11-01T06:00:00+00:00

Sebastian and the Jungle of Misery

by Scott Harper

“Hell is not hot, or cold. Nor is it deep below ground, or somewhere in the sky. Instead it is a place on Earth filled with sucking bogs, disfiguring diseases and millions of tiny flesh-eating creatures. Hell is a jungle, and it is monstrously green.” ― Greig Beck, This Green Hell

Don Sebastian stood in a copse of junglesop trees, one with the shadows of the boiling night, his crimson eyes beholding the scene of a massacre. Scores of broken bodies were strewn amongst the tufts of African weeping lovegrass, each mangled and warped by multiple bullet wounds. A vast sea of blood pooled below them, the heady, coppery scent mingling with the almond-sulfur stench of death in the moist air.

He detached himself from the darkness and moved among the corpses, avoiding disturbing them as he seemed to drift above the ground. Mosquitoes swarmed the bodies but ignored Sebastian. His brow furrowed in disgust at the wanton waste of life that lay before him, the casual spilling of so much blood. The killers had not differentiated by age or sex—men and women and even children lay at his feet. Sebastian noticed the body of a young girl reaching out to a nearby dead woman, possibly her mother. A high caliber bullet had blown out the back of the adult corpse’s head, bone and brain matter scattered on the ground. He bent down and moved the girl’s hand so that it made contact with the woman.

“A noble gesture, my lord,” a voice observed from close by.

“So much death,” Sebastian said, his pale features lit by the brightness of the full moon.

“This country is steeped in it,” the voice replied. A tall, muscular black man approached Sebastian, sweat gleaming on his bald forehead. He carried a large machete in his right hand, his forearm covered in thick muscle, his aura shining with the light all living things gave off. Sebastian himself emitted no such aura.

“These villagers are Christians,” the big man noted. “The last annihilated village we visited was Muslim. This ongoing war continues without any sign of surcease. Whatever disagreements or perceived slights that originally started it all have become lost in a never-ending tit for tat circle of violence. Mercenaries from neighboring states have come in to add fuel to the fires.”

“There’s more to it, N’daka, of course,” Sebastian asserted, his keen senses penetrating the darkness. “I smell his blood spore here, just like in the other villages. He is attracted to the violence and hatred, like a shark to blood—it fascinates and torments him. It’s a part of who he is.”

As N’daka began to reply, Sebastian spotted movement at the edge of the field of corpses. He moved almost too fast for the eye to follow and confronted a middle-aged man looting personal items and jewelry from the dead. Rage filled the dark man as he seized the thief by the throat and lifted him high in the air, shaking the scoundrel like a misbehaved child.

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