The entrance to the cemetery is in sight, I’m coming for you Byron. Yes I know who you are, I remember you’re youthful and hope filled face. I remember how you felt when I wouldn’t let you follow me.
The chains on the Gate are no match for Cas’ sonic boom, there is no need for us to be silent. Byron’s men swarm around, their bullets fly wildly. Running directly into the fray I clasp my hands around the forehead of the closest two, their eyes pop from the heat.
I don’t want to deal with them so I run across the lawn, jumping over head stones, and leave the goons to the other three. The foyer of the church is empty; the prayer candles are lit and burn quietly. I open the double doors that lead to the main room and catch a glimpse of Patricia Hanging on the cross and Byron facing away from me before the floor gives way and I fall though.
When I come to, I can see I fell three stories onto a pile of mattresses; it’s obvious he planned for this. Rolling off the filthy cushions my ribs make a sharp snap, just my luck. No sooner do I touch the cement floor when I am lifted into the air and thrown across the room. When the dust clears the form of a disfigured creature appears, it lifts its head to the ceiling and releases an unholy haul from its mouth.
As quickly as my broken body can lift me I stand and throw my fist at the thing. It catches my hand and laughs at the sparks coming off the glove. It squeezes the hell out of my hand and breaks it and the weapon. Kicking it in the groin doesn’t work as well as I had hoped, but he does stumble back. I bash my good fist into his crooked face knocking out the only two teeth in his mouth.
The pain in my right fist is blinding, I barley have time to duck when he sends a chunk of floor at me. I scramble around the floor looking for something to help, this time I don’t see the chunk coming at me.
Thought of a Thinker 