Everybody Wants To Rule The World 5

5 - Fury

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds

- J. Robert Oppenheimer


"Eh, hey, where's Sheila?"

Paul stared at Armand who sat next to him on the floor in front of the sofa, the latter focused on the TV. Armand brushed off Paul's persistent fingers which tapped his shoulder; it is just as irritating as a mosquito. Good thing the vodka didn't have quite an effect on him or else he could've punched Paul right on the face at that moment.

"Paul, what did I tell you about me and Dr. House?" Armand asked.

"Well… Okay. I'll just check on her myself," Paul stood up and went to the room at the back of the dining area.

Upon opening the door he saw only Sheila's computer which is turned on. The chair has been set aside, indicating that Sheila just left her spot.

"She's not here man," Paul said.

Armand didn't answer. Paul closed the door and walked back to the dining area but he did notice something. He turned his head right and saw the door to the back area of the house wide open. Paul approached the door and stuck his head out and saw a figure standing on the area across the fence.

"Hey, She!" Paul called out. The figure didn't even look at him.

Paul looked closer; he thought that he saw a thin object leaning on Sheila, if that person standing is indeed her. He went across the fence and approached Sheila—

"She… She! WHAT THE?!"

Paul recoiled at what he saw. The figure is indeed Sheila, but the thin object leaning on her back is actually a stake, impaled through her back and pierced her chest. Paul resisted the urge to hurl, but he couldn't fight it anymore and knelt to the ground. After vomiting he gathered his strength and stood back up. He took one last look at Sheila's bleeding eyes before running back to the house.

Before he could enter the door Armand blocked his path, eyes both wide, beads of sweat raced down his face. He couldn't say a word; instead he pulled Paul into the house and to the window next to the front door. The pair witnessed a melee between two men, one wielded a metal pipe and the other fought with his bare fists.

"What the hell is happening here?" Armand whispered.

"I dunno man, but Sheila… She's out there," Paul stuttered in between words.

"And?"

Paul couldn't find the strength to say to Armand her fate. Armand immediately understood the discretion of his friend meant something really bad. He fought back the tears since Sheila's a dear friend of his and Paul's. 

Armand turned back to the grisly scene outside where the man with the bare fists snapped the neck of the other guy. The man then howled and charged towards the flagpole where what seems to be a gang-war is taking place. Men and women, wielding different kinds of makeshift weapons, clubbed and smashed each other in a brutal battle. Screams and battle howls pierced the silence of the night, car alarms went off, the breaking off glass and bone became audible as well. Blood-curdling screams of pain, accompanied by the gurgling which indicated the flow of blood through the mouth (or some other cavity on the neck), sickened Armand and Paul.

"We better get outta here," Paul whispered.

"But, Mark," Armand pointed towards the sleeping whale.

Before Paul could speak the door next to Armand was kicked open with great strength. Three men entered the house and all of them wielded clubs studded with nails. Armand and Paul ran away from the door as the men charged towards Mark and pummeled him with their weapons.

"NO!!!" Armand howled.

Mark didn't move, his fat body received all of the brutal blows. Blood flowed out of the multiple holes which littered his chest; his face became unrecognizable because of the blunt force. The men who attacked him bore faces filled with inhuman rage, their eyes wide, teeth clenched, saliva dripped down their mouths. They look like rabid dogs to be precise.

What happened to these guys? Armand just couldn't make anything out of what's happening here.

After turning Mark into a bloody pulp of flesh the three men then focused their attention on each other. They started to whack each other's heads with their bloodied weapons, the nails embedding into their eyes which then popped, followed by a sprout of blood. They seemed to feel no pain at all; they just smashed and hammered each other with rabid glee.

Armand and Paul saw the chance to escape. They ran through the back door and turned left, avoiding the path through the fence because of the nasty sight awaiting them there. They stopped on the waiting shed next to Sheila's house and planned their next move.

"We should continue left, the mob on the flagpole won't notice us, hopefully," Armand said.

Paul agreed since the people there are too busy whacking each other to notice them. They ran past Sheila's house and through a pair of houses and entered an alley located between a house and a bakery. The pair ran as fast as they could, passing through corpses which lay on the ground, some battered beyond identification.

"What in the world is happening here?!" Paul asked, his tone mixed with irritation and fear.

"Wish I knew. I just heard the noise of glass breaking then as I peered out I saw people locked in combat, then I went to the back door and you just arrived," Armand said.

Armand then asked, "You did say that Sheila's dead on the field out there. How?'

"Saw her impaled on a wooden stake, probably someone got to her without her knowledge," Paul answered. He felt the chill down his spine as he forced himself to answer Armand's question.

They heard three black helicopters pass by the chaotic district. They only hoped that the people aboard there can see what's happening down here. Then explosions were audible from the direction of Sheila's home. Armand and Paul turned to look and saw a bright orange glow from the distance, then thick black smoke rising towards the sky.

"What now? Someone launched a grenade?" Paul slapped both of his hands on his legs while catching his breath after running from quite a long distance.

Another explosion rocked the ground, then another. Armand tapped Paul on the shoulder which meant that its time to run again.

Before they could reach the end of the alley two men appeared and blocked their path. They both wielded metal pipes, and their eyes locked gazes with the pair. Their mouths growled like starving carnivores, veins bulged on their muscular arms.

"Oh shit," Armand muttered. The two men then charged towards them.

Armand and Paul began to run, mouths gasping for breath as they tried their best to get out of this place. The men chased them like lions; one of them raised the metal pipe and threw it towards Paul's direction.

The pipe hit Paul's head, instantly knocking him down to the ground. The man who threw it then proceeded to pummel him with clenched fists.

"PAUL!!!!" Armand howled. He wanted to go back and help his friend but he's seconds between freedom and imminent death.

"RUN ARMAND, JUST DAMN RUN!" Paul screamed at the top of his lungs before falling silent. Armand obeyed, he turned and ran. He couldn't do anything to save his friend, trying to fight those men without any weapon is just suicide.

Armand ran and ran until he got back to Sheila's house. He went into the house, past the bodies of Mark and the three men, and up the stairs. He went into Mark's bedroom and locked the door. He didn't look back while he ran; he just ran and didn't care if the crazy rabid man followed him.

The sudden violent banging of the door became his answer, the man did follow him. He banged the door repeatedly with his metal pipe; cracks began to appear on the wooden surface. Armand looked around and tried to find something that he can use to defend himself, the windows are blocked with metal bars so he's got nowhere to run. It's either him or the maniac, only one of them will leave this place alive.

The door crashed to the floor with brute force. The man entered the room with murderous intent on his eyes, his mouth foamed with bloodlust. He found Armand standing on the corner, cornered prey, ready for the kill. The man approached Armand slowly; he dragged the metal pipe on the floor as if mocking Armand with the object that will become the instrument of his death.

In a split-second Armand charged forward and buried a pair of scissors on the man's chest, right through his heart. Before the maniac could swing his weapon, Armand pulled out the scissors and repeatedly stabbed the man's throat, ignoring the violent gush of blood which showered his body and sprinkled on his face. The maniac apparently tried to say something but his voice is inaudible thanks to the gushing of blood on the stab wounds on his throat.

The man dropped to the floor on the pool of his own blood. Armand wiped off the blood on his face and arms and dropped the scissors. He felt a weird sensation of satisfaction, the kind of feeling you get for avenging the death of people you care for the most.

That's for Mark, Paul, and Sheila!

He wanted to go back to Paul but he feared that he might get ganged upon by the other mobs out there. He doesn't have any other options left, nothing except to stay in this room and wait for the morning to come. Armand seemed to think that these maniacs are vampires and will turn to ash at the first hint of morning, and he really wished that they'll be gone soon.


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The bitter drip of brandy crawled down his throat as he walked in the darkness of his space; the dim blue lights became more comforting than before. The Eye of Horus on the floor seemed to watch his every step, and one wrong move a beam might shoot out of the iris and melt him on the spot.

Nah, it's just the brandy, getting into his brain. He thought of himself as a useless drunk fool, but on the other side he's a successful man with all the power in the world.

All the power in the world, but no one to love. He's alone, whether he liked it or not, he's alone. He doesn't have anyone to care for; he doesn't have anyone to lean on.

The Bluetooth headset on his ear chirped, he pressed a button on his pocket and the Speaker's voice became audible.

"The reports have come," the Speaker said.

He cleared his throat then asked, "And what does it bring us?"

"Success, greatness… Domination."

He smiled; his teeth reflected the blue lights.

"The Earth trembled with the awesome fury of Pharaoh," the Speaker added.

"Ancient history trembled at the power of pharaohs," he said.

After a short pause the Speaker again spoke, "But according to our specialists Pharaoh is still… Buggy."

"What do you mean?" he asked while pouring himself another shot.

"There are still some weak points, flaws that need to be worked on as soon as possible."

He nodded. Another shot then he asked, "What about the initiate?"

The Speaker seemed to be surprised at the sudden change of topic, "He's been given his assignment. I trust that he'll accomplish it without setbacks."

"I hope so. We need him and his resources if we are to get to the day of reckoning. The sky will be torn asunder, and the Earth will explode," he's starting to make no sense thanks to the alcohol.

The Speaker didn't have any other choice but to agree on what he just said. Whatever that was.

Without any warning he dropped the call with the press of a button. He removed the headset, threw it to the desk, and began pouring himself another shot.

What is in store for me here?


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Armand woke up to the sound of fire trucks and the glint of sunlight through the window. He slowly got up from the floor where he fell asleep and rubbed his eyes. The corpse of the man he killed still lay there, he chose to ignore it and went downstairs.

He saw three firemen and three medics in the living room, they brought the corpses outside. Another fireman saw Armand coming down from the stairs and approached him.

"Sir, what happened here?" the fireman asked.

"Wish I knew. Everyone just flipped out and started smashing each other to death," Armand said with a weak voice.

"There were reports of explosions here sir, did you happen to witness the reason on why they took place?" the fireman again asked.

"No. The three explosions just came out of nowhere as we were attempting to flee."

"We?"

"I and a friend, but he was killed by a man with a pipe. Everybody out there was locked in mortal combat," Armand sat on the steps of the stairs and gathered his strength.

A medic entered the living room and approached the fireman. He whispered something to the fireman then ran back outside.

"Gas leaks. That's why there were explosions last night," the fireman said.

Gas leaks? Really?

Armand began to think that these guys are hiding something from him, but he's just getting paranoid, stressed. Devastated.

"I'll leave you here for now. The guys at the military might come here and interview you," the fireman patted Armand's shoulder then left the house.

Armand stood up and went outside. He saw the firemen, the medics, the soldiers, all working together to clean up the mess. It looked like a bomb exploded in the district, a biological bomb which killed every inhabitant who walked out of their houses at the dead of the night. He saw two soldiers carrying a gurney where the body of a woman laid, the shirt looked familiar to Armand. In an instant he turned his head away and felt the trickle of tears crawl down his cheeks.

Sheila…

He's got a long way back home, and he's about to face a lot of sleepless nights. Armand began to walk away from the house and take the path back to his neighborhood. He let the tears fall down his eyes; he didn't give a damn if anyone saw him cry despite his muscular build. He just didn't give a damn anymore.

He felt like he's got no other reason to live anymore.