The Killer From San Saulo
I wonder why people think committing crimes is such a big deal. I mean, I’ve only ever killed four times; and only carjacked three times. It’s not like I’m the cause of starvation or anything. Funny thing is, I’m coming up with all of these great thoughts while sitting behind the chromium bars of the state penitentiary. Little did I know, things were about to take a turn for the better.
Three days later, I’m still in prison, which is disappointing. Suddenly, I hear a slight rustling noise coming from outside my cell. I see a hooded figure approaching, something held firmly in its grasp. Before I can react, a slick blade grows from between the bars of the cell door, and slashes down on my arm, leaving a massive gash that exposes most of the muscle and bone in my limb. I roared a roar of pain so loud, even the windows couldn’t stand it. My body starts convulsing, and my skin bubbling, like it always does when I get injured. My skin turns from a dark tan to a dark red. My teeth pop out and are replaced by massive fangs that gleam in the brightness of the cell light. My shoes explode off my feet, and I grow to a beastly height of twelve feet.
I gave this world its last chance a long time ago. My wound seals itself instantaneously in my true form. With my newfound size, I reach through the cell bars to grab the man that severed my arm. The determined look on his face worries me, makes me think he realizes what I truly am, and from whence I came. I began pulling him toward me with incredible speed.
I see no reason to slow my arm down as the man in my grasp rapidly approaches the shiny bars. His whole body slams into the face of the door, and I release my clutch on him soon after he hits. As he makes a last grunt of pain, I see a valley running down the front of his skull, the same shape as the bar that formed it.
The sound of rushing footsteps alerts me of the guards approaching my cell. I blast a hole in the rear wall of my confinement with my meaty fist, and casually step outside. I take an extremely deep breath in. If you need any more confirmation that I’m not human, this is it. What escapes me next is most definitely not human. The loudest bellow humanity surely has ever heard exits my throat. The jail – the whole city surrounding the jail, in fact – shakes, crumbles, and is reduced to rubble in a matter of seconds.
I smile, exposing shiny, silver teeth. I flex my massive biceps, preparing for what’s to come. This whole planet deserves to burn in hell, and that’s exactly what will happen very soon.
Despite the transformation being over, I’m still growing. Every time something is destroyed, or every time someone dies by my hands, I grow. I begin walking towards the nearest city and arrive within a minute. I walk to the park in the center of the city. I slam my enormous foot down, and tremors instantly shoot out from where my foot connected with the earth.
The citizens of the city have no chance to scream. Their destruction is certain and instant. The power from their deaths – and the collapsed infrastructure – fuels a giant growth spurt in my already-massive body. I grow. And grow. And grow. When my vision returns, I see everything on the earth. I must be at least a hundred miles tall. I bring down both of my firsts on North America, and the earth splits. The surge of power I receive makes me convulse yet again. This time, I open my eyes, and seize my opportunity before God can take it from me! I scoop up the earth (as it now fits easily into my hand) and crush it into invisible powder!
I figure at this point, it’s too late to stop. I go on a frenzy, until everything is gone. All that remains is . . . nothing. Or so I thought. I glide around (or what feels like gliding) for what feels like forever. Suddenly and violently, the darkness cracks open, blinding white light consuming the darkness, until none remains. A figure at least ten times my size glides toward me. I begin to shudder and weep. I know what is about to happen but wish to delay it. The figure speaks only briefly.
“I am God. You killed my spirits. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
He flicks his hand, and the light and him are both washed away.
The rumbling noise restarts, and the light is back, but . . . different. Instead of a pure white light, it’s a dull orange.
The everlasting flames of hell lick towards my shuddering body, eager to accept me into their depths . . .