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the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 05 Apr 2006, 19:04 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

at the behest of mr. warrior-poet, here is a story i wrote last year. i plan on making it a series. some future title ideas are: the chainswhore does dallas the texas chainswhore massacre iwarrior vs. the chainswhore (:lol: sorry, inside joke) enjoy. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- BBBBZZZZ-crunch-ZZZCCCHHHH-drip-CHTCHTBBZZZZZZZ-sploosh-ZZZZZZZZ The sound of a chainsaw ripping through flesh and bone. *SMASH* The woman hesitated. Was that a window smashing? “You’re lucky, dude.” And she was gone. The scene: Gore. Blood. Pieces of bone plastered to the wall with his blood. The man, if you could still call him that, lay upon the floor near the wall. His chest rose and fell, slowly, barely. He cried as he looked down at his body; what was left of it, anyways. His arms were gone, only small, quivering stumps were there to remind him of their existence. His legs, too, were mostly missing, severed at the knees. His stomach was splayed, revealing his viscera, torn and shredded as it was. His intestines hung down his side and gathered on the floor. “Holy Jebus! What the hell happened here?!” “I don’t know, but maybe this is the wrong house to try to rob. Let’s go next door where that old asshole lives. Easy prey, man.” And they were gone. The man let out a long sigh. His only hope, his final breath. Oh well, so life goes. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She sat at a large oak table cleaning her saw; blood was hard to clean from between chainsaw teeth. But she’d be there all night, if that were what it took to return her saw to the clean, shining metal she loved so passionately. She scrubbed her saw roughly. Tonight had been a bad night. She had not been allowed to finish. The man would be dead, of course, but her had not suffered enough. She hummed along to Burzum and continued to scrub. She would find out who had balked her, and she would make them suffer too. The Chainswhore would let no act go unavenged. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red Durst was a douche bag. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, he didn’t know it. He was a detective, but he was currently suspended under suspicion of circulating seized drugs. Red was nearly through his bottle of whisky. Losing his job would be bad, really bad, but there was no real evidence against him; he would be cleared most likely. But his friends, his colleagues, his ex-wife, they would never look at him the same. His reputation was ruined. He cranked Godsmack a little louder and masturbated furiously. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sun had set and inside Arrow Hall the almighty GWAR were tearing it up in true scumdog style. The crowd devoured the blood and the noise and the screams of naked, under-age girls. But the skinny teenage boy saw none of that. He had seen his beloved band, Every Time I Die, and did not care for any of that growling crap that came on after. He stumbled along through the lines of cars, drunk from the one beer he had some dude buy him. Shadows danced upon his glossy black hair, and light shone upon his fitted t-shirt. If anyone had been around to see it they would have read the words: I’m sad because my girlfriend left me for being Ghey. “Hey kiddo,” her low voice cut through the shadows. “What? Hello?” “Over here. Do you like Every Time I Die?” “Yeah! I just saw them. They were even better than abstaining from sex with my girlfriend!” She laughed. A soft, low laugh it was little more than a rustle in the darkness. “They’re my friends, you know. I’ll bet they’d like to hear that, wanna come back to the bus with me?” The kid, with X’s on his hands, stood there speechless. Dare he go with this strange woman who stood before him? Dare he meet his favourite band? “Sure,” he said, trying to sound casual. “That’d be all right.” “Rad city! Their bus is on the other side of the hall, we’ll walk around this way,” and she was off, walking around a tree and across the road. The kid followed slowly. The woman seemed nice enough, but something didn’t feel right. In the end, his fanboy nature won out, and as the woman disappeared around a corner, he jogged to catch up. He felt the cold metal against his face as he was thrown against the wall. Something sharp was pushed through his shoulder. He winced, and she hit him. “Don’t move, you little pussy. I know it’s hard for you little emo shitheads to act like men, but try for me, please baby?” she kissed him playfully on his chain and then bit down… hard. He let out a muffled cry as she ripped off a piece of his skin. “Cry your emo tears, they won’t help you now!” “Have… m… mer… cy,” he gasped. “Mercy! I don’t even know the meaning of the word,” she wrapped her little finger through his off-centre lip ring and pulled. The kid gasped again as his lip was ripped open and the Chainswhore licked his bloody mouth. There was nothing then. The kid slumped back against the wall and shuddered. He was in pain, but he would be okay. It was done. She was gone. BBBBZZZZZZCHCHCHTCHTCHZZZCHTZZTZZCHBZZZZCHCHTCHCHZZZZZZ His eyes sprung open, and they widened in terror as he saw her. In her arms was her beautiful, gleaming saw. Spewing smoke and fumes and noise, what a thing of beauty! She stepped forward. He braced himself. First she cut off his hands. He screamed and she cut off his arms. The kid fell and sobbed on the ground. The Chainswhore pushed her saw into his side; blood and flesh and tissue flew. She laughed, her eyes alive with her lust. The kid was silent now. His breaths still came, laboured and sparse. She revved up her saw for one final cut, and she split the kid in half from shoulder to hip. She knelt beside his lifeless face, ran her fingertips over his black-lined eyes and kissed him. “Was it good for you too, hun?” she giggled. She scalped him then, and tore out his eyes. Trophies. Toys. She walked home, singing ‘My Knife in Yer Guts,’ with a smile on her face. Tonight had been a good night. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Today’s top story: a teenage boy was found slaughtered after a heavy metal festival last night. Police are not releasing the boy’s identity or any details of the murder, except that the crime was ‘shocking in its brutality.’ There are no suspects at this time. We will update you on any new details as we receive them.” -click- “Beauty,” she muttered and threw back a shot of Jagermeister. She leaned back in her chair and took a pull from the joint in her hand. She was tired; this time she had stayed up all night cleaning her saw. Now it glittered where it sat on the oak table, reflecting the myriad candles around the room. An ash dropped on her naked legs and she brushed it away. The sun had fully risen by now and she fell asleep with Kveldssanger playing upon her ears. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red Durst sat likewise in his chair, drunk, watching the news. Another long, sleepless night of worrying and wallowing. He was only mildly worried about his job, it had just been bad timing. It was a year ago, now, that his wife had left him for the guitarist of a black metal band. He had been devastated. He even started his own band in a pathetic attempt to get her back. Unfortunately for good ol’ Red, he was a douche bag. His band had been nothing more than a whole bunch of douche bags who thought they were ‘hardcore, yo!’ but were, in reality, snivelling boys who could only whine about not being able to get laid. So, as can only be expected of her, the ex-wife simply laughed at him. That’s what had really hurt him, that laugh. As he watched the story unfolding on the news, Red was gaining hope. “Ifff I caaan ssolve this caaase, I’m golllden! That’ll ssshow that fffuckin’ bitcccchh!” he slurred, and jumped out of his chair, slipping on his empty whisky bottle and falling against the coffee table. And here, with the news and Static-X playing, Red found his much needed sleep. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Hey, pass me another beer, man,” the guy said. He had long brown hair and glasses; tall but skinny, he slouched. He had worn blue jeans on and white sneakers. His oh, so fashionable outfit was topped off by a long sleeved Manowar t-shirt and a large ring on his right index finger. It was a cobra with ruby red eyes. He had bought it at a convenient store for $2.99. His friend, a short and squat young man pulled a beer from a cooler and tossed it over. “Dude, this show is gonna ROCK!” he smiled. The tall, skinny man nodded as he cracked open his beer. “Hell yeah. I’ve seen Manowar five times, and they just keep getting better and louder,” he took a long swig of his beer. “Tonight is gonna be great.” “Well, it’s almost 10:00. Finish off that beer and we’ll head in,” the stout fellow went about grabbing their tickets and locking up his truck. “Eric, do you know who these openers are, Rhapsody?” “No man,” Eric said, adjusting his glasses. “You know I only listen to Manowar and Dragonforce.” “Yeah, you’re such a loser.” “Shut up, asswipe.” They walked into the Opera House and headed straight towards the bar. “Loser,” his friend muttered again, once Eric was out of earshot. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She presented her ticket and went in, and headed straight towards the bar. “Liquid cocaine,” she ordered. She looked around at the crowd. ‘Fucking losers,’ she thought to herself. ‘Only good for pulling apart and bathing in.’ At this, her lip curled up into what really could have been a smile, or a snarl. “Another,” she said to the woman behind the bar. “Uh, make that two.” The Chainswhore downed her two shots, left the woman a large tip and went to her hunt. She saw a multitude of men who have never known a woman. This made her task of picking up some lame Manoqueer fan that much easier. Any of these men would kill for the chance to leave with her. She stopped near the stairs and leaned against the railing. “So why don’t you listen to any other bands, man?” a low squeaky voice asked behind her. “I’ve already told you, Manowar is the greatest band EV-ER. Ahem, followed closely by Dragonforce. Why waste my time listening to some sub-par bands who will never, not in their wildest dreams, ever hope to be half as amazing as Manowar.” The Chainswhore turned around and, spying Eric slouching away, smiled. “Wow, sounds like you love Manowar just as much as I do!” she exclaimed. Eric stared at the woman standing in front of him. She wore a small, black leather dress, knee high black boots and she was wrapped in chains. On her arms were spiked leather gauntlets and her fingers wore silver rings of all sorts. Her hair was brown, her eyes were blue and she was pale. Her face still smiling, she was beautiful; his dream girl. “You like Manowar too, that’s awesome!” he said. “Oh yeah, I’ve been looking forward to this show for months. I just know it’s gonna be a killer night.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red Durst was in attendance as well. He didn’t really listen to Manowar, but everyone said they were the Kings of Metal, so he said he liked them. He banged his head as he wandered through the crowd. Rhapsody was playing and the audience was going nuts; Red could see heads and limbs floating above the crowd. People crashed into each other, spilled their beers, got some new bruises: generally, they had a great time. Someone crashed into Red, spilling his beer. The kid grinned up at him, shot out a quick, “sorry,” and disappeared back within the raging mob before Red could even flash him a nasty look. He looked around in search of some pretty young girls to harass and that’s when he saw the chains. The boots. The leather. She saw him too, although he didn’t notice. She was talking to a tall, skinny man who had to slouch even more to talk to her. Red could dispatch that guy with no problem, so he began to walk over. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Manowar will be going on soon!” Eric said and grinned. “Damn right, I can’t wait. Hey, you wanna do something after the show?” Eric hesitated. This woman in front of him was everything he had ever looked for. Of course he wanted to go, but why did she? Surely she could have her choice of men here. “Of course, that sounds like fun.” “Cool, I’ll catch up with ya later, I’ve got a few things I gotta do, people I gotta go see,” she explained. “See ya, hot stuff.” By the time Red made it over to her, she was gone. He and Eric exchanged glances, and he left to find her. The show was over. Manowar had, in all their geriatric glory, wounded several people’s hearing, and had left a permanent grin on Eric’s face. He saw her in the lobby and she beckoned him to follow her outside. They discussed how great the show had been and how stupid most of the people at the show were: how they called themselves fans but they would never truly appreciate the genius that is Manowar. They talked of many things. They were in an alley now, just off Queen Street. “What are we doing here?” Eric asked. He was a little afraid and he hoped she couldn’t tell. She could. “I just wanna smoke a little joint, okay?” Eric nodded. The Chainswhore reached into her purse and withdrew a long dagger. Eric would have screamed, but he never had time. The blade was up to his throat; his eyes were closed but he could feel her breath upon his face. “But first, we have some unfinished business, you fuckin’ dork. You thought that you had a chance with me?” she laughed, a long rolling laugh. “I hate Manowar, and I hate everyone who obsesses over them… like you,” she glared at him. “You’re so closed-minded, you wouldn’t know good music if it kicked you in the balls!” she spat in his face. Eric tried to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth. He could feel the sharp edge of the dagger against his throat, he could see the bloodlust in her eyes. She punched him. Eric watched in terror as she pulled another dagger from her bag. She spread his arms up and apart and pushed each blade through his wrists, pinning him against the wooden gate. Now he could not move, could not flee, could not ever hope to see sunlight again. The Chainswhore traced the point of her claw-ring along Eric’s face, down his throat, his chest, his stomach… and then she ripped him open. Eric screamed and she kissed him. “Silence, my love.” The Chainswhore started to scratch him more. Bright red blood ran from many small wounds on his face and chest and stomach. Eric sobbed quietly. She licked his cheek, covered in blood, and she whispered into his ear. Eric’s eyes shot open. He shook himself wildly, trying to free his body from the wood behind. The Chainswhore took a few steps back, into the shadows, where her saw sat waiting, wanting. A smile stretched across her face as she returned to her plaything, watching him try to escape. She started her saw, it screamed and it sputtered. Eric squirmed harder, but the daggers held. “Don’t tell me it’s too loud for you, sweetheart!” she taunted. With saw extended, she stepped forward, and she went for his ears. Teeth gnashing only a few centimetres from his head, she paused. “He likes it loud, right,” she giggled to herself. Enough waiting, she left bloody mush where his ears had been only a moment ago. Deaf now, and nearly blind from pain (or was that just his lost glasses), Eric was defeated. He slumped forward, letting the daggers take his full measly weight. The Chainswhore cut off his legs, below the knee. His legs kicked and spasmed, his lunged heaved and his heart beat wildly. She brought her saw upwards between his legs, effectively castrating him, and continued up to his ribcage. One more horizontal cut and she was done. A work of art… she sighed. She sang ‘I am God,” as she fled into the shadows. “I kill people just for pleasure…” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red had watched her as she left with that scrawny kid. He walked down Queen Street now, looking into alleys as he passed them. He could hear a loud growling noise, and he vaguely wondered what it was; it was too late for construction, for sure. The noise had stopped only a couple minutes after it had started, and Red dismissed it. Now he peered down a long alley; at the end of the alley there was a wooden gate with a light shining upon it. The were something against the wall, but he could not see that far. He walked slowly down the corridor, it was very dark and very quiet and he could hear each step he made. That one had made a splash. He looked up. There, upon the wall, was the upper half of a man, crucified, with his lower half laying in pieces on the ground below him. Red quickly emptied his stomach of all the beer he had drank that night, and while doubled over, he spied the boot prints in the blood. It was her! Red thought of the news report, too. He stood up and backed out of the alley. This could be it, the solution to his problems. He would follow her now, see what she did and gather evidence. One thing was for sure, for good ol’ Red: she would go down for this, and he would be lauded as the greatest detective of all time. He whistled a KORN song as he waited for the streetcar. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Chainswhore blasted Watain as she scrubbed her saw. She banged her head wildly, what fun this night had been. She looked down at the broken glasses and the cobra ring, still on its finger. She loved her trophies. Saw cleaned, she rose and put these newest ones on the mantle. In front of the empty fireplace, the Chainswhore sat and smoked a joint. The ice cubes in her glass of Talisker clinked around as she moved to knock off an ash. Suitably drunk, she stumbled off to bed, still hearing blastbeats as she drifted off to sleep. She dreamt of bunnies and how many ways she could decapitate them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red Durst went to many concerts over the next month. She was at many of them, and when she was, she always left with a friend. Red would follow her and watch her twisted games. The Chainswhore put on a show for him: she introduced him to the vilest of pleasure, showed him how long intestines really are, showed him the colour of the gall bladder. She knew he watched her, of course. She would secretly taunt him with her actions. She knew that Red thought himself safe and unseen, but she would show him otherwise soon enough. The news stations aired story after bloody story about the mutilation murders. The unsolved cases were piling up and everyone was scared. Everyone, that is, except for stupid ol’ Red Durst. He just smiled as he watched the anchors plea for tips from the public. He didn’t care about any of the victims, only about all the credit that would go to him when he ‘solved’ the case. He had been collecting pieces of evidence from the crime scenes before the police ever discovered them; they would never solve the case without him. Tomorrow night would be it: his favourite band, Metallica, was playing at the Air Canada Centre. He knew she would be there, hunting, and this time he would tip off the cops and she would be caught blood-red handed. Sweet victory. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Standing outside the A.C.C., surrounded by sweet smelling smoke, she stood waiting. She studied the faces of the kids around her, searching for her victims: there would be two tonight. The show had started already and some crappy opening band was playing, so the Chainswhore waited outside. It was a clear night, a nearly full moon shone brightly, reflecting off her many chains. She saw Red Durst, then, in his baggy jeans and long wallet chain. He had his eyebrow pierced and his hair neatly shorn and he was wearing a jersey that said ‘Fly For a White Guy’ and had the number 69 on the back. In short, he looked GHEY. He saw her too, but her attention had been drawn elsewhere by then. He spied the boy just as she did. He was short and thin, maybe 14 or 15. His hair was freshly cut, bleached and dyed bright blue. He wore a (new) Metallica t-shirt, slim blue jeans that didn’t quite hit his ankles and a pair of Nike shoes. He had his wallet on a long chain too. The Chainswhore loved him instantly, she would find him later and they would have fun. A security guard announced that Metallica would be going on stage in twenty minutes, and the people who had been hanging around outside began to file inside to find their seats. The Chainswhore went in too, and Red Durst followed only a few places behind. The Chainswhore, Red Durst and the stupid looking kid all had floor tickets. How conveeeeeeeeenient. The show was pretty crappy, the band had played all new songs. ‘Nothing before Load, what assholes!’ thought the Chainswhore. “Man what an awesome set! St. Anger is their best album ever, I’m glad they didn’t play any of their old crap,” a small voice said behind her. The Chainswhore turned around slowly. She didn’t have to, she knew exactly who had spoken the blasphemy. She looked at the kid and grinned. “You know, that’s exactly what I was just thinking,” she lied. “I mean, Master of Puppets, what were they thinking!?” The kid laughed. “Yeah, I know. That shit sucks.” “I have a friend who is Lars’ personal assistant, I could try to sneak you backstage to meet them, if you want.” His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding!” The Chainswhore shook her head. “Well yeah, that’d be really neat,” the kid said. “All right, well come on, then,” she grabbed the kid’s hand and lead him to a door near the stage, through it and outside. “They park their bus down the street a bit, you know, to keep the mobs of fans away. It’s just down here a bit,” she explained as they traversed a dark street, still holding hands. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Red Durst had seen them leave and was now following. She could smell him, the faint smell of liquor, sweat and desperation. She picked up the kid and swung him against a dumpster, and he collapsed in a pile on the ground. She kicked him once in the ribs and dragged him, Nike-clad feet first, further into the shadows. “What the hell are you doing? Help! HELP!!” the kid croaked. She kicked him again, this time in the back. He began to cry. She picked him up and stood him against the brick wall. “Lemme tell you something, kid. Metallica were once great metal gods, but they lost it. They’re dead, they sold out. The flame of passion they once had for playing heavy metal is long since gone. But you wouldn’t know any of that, you only listen to what you’re told to. There’s so much great music out there, but you’ve squandered your chance to hear it all,” she bit his ear and ripped a piece off, the kid howling. She stuffed the piece into his mouth and then licked a drop of blood from her thumb. She took a length of chain from her body and wrapped the kid up. He lost his balance and toppled over; she kicked him once more. She pulled a small hatchet from her purse and swiftly chopped off one of the kid’s hands. He screamed wildly, but was soon silenced as she filled his mouth with his own severed hand. The Chainswhore unwrapped a leather thong from her wrist and secured the hand in place. She used the hatchet to make several deep gashes in the kid’s arms and legs. He was sobbing and choking now, but thoroughly helpless. The Chainswhore retreated into the shadows and she did not return. A whole minute passed, and then another. Red Durst had been watching the whole thing. He took a step toward the kid’s shuddering body and then looked around and listened: nothing. He took a few more steps and stopped again: still nothing. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911. “Yes, this is Red Durst of 52 Division. I’ve found a body downtown, I think it’s the mutilating murderers work. I’m at—” he was hit from behind. “You stupid fuckin’ dicknose, try that again and you’re toast,” she paused. “Well, you’re toast anyways, but still, don’t do that.” Red looked up at this ferocious woman standing over him. She kicked him hard in the face and blood spurt forth from his nose. She tied Red up like she had the boy, and then she lay them next to each other, both on their backs so they could see her. She stood at their feet and both guys stared up at her with wide eyes, glazed with terror. “Okay, boys, here’s your lesson for today. The music you listen to is shit. SHIT!” she kicked the boy, and he made a muffled cry. “Both of you are posers. You think you’re cool because you listen to the music that you are told is ‘cool.’ But guess what, the music you listen to is not what decides coolness. You guys are dorks, no matter if you listen to the mighty Bathory or not. It doesn’t matter if you appreciate the genius of Garm Wolf or Chuck Schuldiner. It’s choosing for yourself. It’s liking something because you truly like it, not just because Much Music told you it was good. And unfortunately for you guys, I happen to really like cutting people up with chainsaws. Especially you fucking little rats,” she kicked Red in the throat, and he coughed madly. There was a steel garbage can behind her, and from it she took her beloved saw. BBBBZZZZZCHCHTCHTCHCHTZZZZZBZZTCHZZCHZCHCHCHCHTZZZZZZZZ It whined and wailed. Both guys rolled around the ground trying to escape from their bonds. The Chainswhore threw back her head and laughed. With one long cut, neither man had feet. Another, and their shins were gone too. One more and they simply had no legs at all. She turned her saw off then, and stood over her playmates, closer this time. Both men glistened with sweat and tears and blood. Their torsos were covered with chips of bone and chunks of flesh and skin. They moaned in unison. The Chainswhore withdrew a straight razor from one of her boots, and she danced, and she sang ‘Fist-Fucked with a Razor’ and she sliced them. She peeled skin off and she poked at the long gashes she made. She drew the blade down the chest of the kid, splitting him open. She reached her hands inside and ripped out his intestines, roping them around his body and Red’s. She took out other organs, showing each one to him delicately. She pried his ribcage apart which, unfortunately, killed him. His heart beat weakly a few more times as she ripped it out and laid it upon Red’s chest. She picked up her saw, and Red watched in disgust as she dug her saw into the boy’s viscera. Guts and gore flew, the walls splattered with blood. Then there was an eerie silence. Red looked around, anxious, and then he heard footsteps near his head. Suddenly, the blade sliced across his chest, and then she was straddling him. “So, did you have fun watching me all those times?” she giggled at him. “I bet you like to watch,” she blew him a kiss. “Well, watch this,” she stood up and reached behind her, pulling something from beneath her dress. It was a small sword, little more than a dagger, and very thin. She pushed it slowly against his bicep, piercing the skin and sliding it slowly, until the concrete beneath stopped it. He moaned as she slid it slowly back out, and ran the bloody metal along her tongue. She repeated the action on the other arm, moving downwards, piercing him again and again. He struggled underneath her, but she kept him neatly pinned. Finally, she pushed the sword through his chest, near his collarbone, removed it and set it aside, taking up the razor blade again. She pushed the blade into the hole in his chest and pulled it towards her. She reached her fingers into this new wound and pulled it apart. Flesh tore and Red screamed through his gag. She dragged her fingers across her own chest, leaving streaks of brilliant red. This is what she loved: the terror in her victims’ eyes, the warmth of their life against her skin; it was what she lived for. She slashed at his chest again, again, again and he bucked, and she laughed. “You’re the best so far, baby,” she whispered. She stood up and turned him onto his stomach. BBBBZZZZZCHCHTCHTCHCHTZZZZZBZZTCHZZCHZCHCHCHCHTZZZZZZZZ Red tried to roll away, but a heavy boot on his back kept him in place. He tried to scream as he felt the teeth tear between his legs, but she only pushed the blade further into him, until he didn’t move anymore. She sliced him then, from neck to leg-stumps, leaving his head in tact. This was her trophy for tonight. Sirens wailed now and she was gone, once again, into the night. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This night the Chainswhore sat in absolute ecstasy, cleaning her saw. It shone now, more brilliant than ever. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and she sat at the table and drank from a bottle of Jagermeister. Venom blared loudly in the background and the Chainswhore sang along drunkenly. She would rest for a spell; tonight had been enough excitement for a while. She took another long swig from the bottle and then sighed. She looked up at the head of Red Durst sitting on the mantle and grinned. She did another bong hit and stumbled off to bed. Tomorrow she would decide where she would travel to, a vacation sorely needed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Three months later… “Dude, did you hear that?” “What?” “I just heard something.” “It was probably just the fridge.” Two men sat on a ragged sofa, drinking cheap beer and watching a television that had rabbit ears. They were total opposites of each other: one was large, a great mountain of a man, with pale, reddened skin and sandy blond hair; the other was small and wiry, with dark hair and a deep tan. His quick eyes flashed around the room. “Are you sure? I thought I heard something break,” he said. “You’re just paranoid, I didn’t hear anything,” his big friend replied. The small man looked around again; the room was full of boxes from their last job. In the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the door. Before he could even stand up to find a weapon she had her arms around him, choking him. His big, dumb friend leapt up in shock and fright, and she threw a knife at him, hitting him squarely in the shoulder. He howled as she threw the smaller man at a bookshelf where he collapsed, followed by many heavy books. The Chainswhore drew a flail from her bag and swung it towards the fat man, hitting him in the abdomen, and he doubled over in pain. She kneed him hard in the face and he fell to the floor. She returned to the darker man, who had only now dragged himself to a sitting position against the wall. He looked up at her slowly, seeing her standing in front of him, the spiked ball hanging near her ankles. “You two have caused me much grief. I found out it was you who interrupted me that night in Scarborough.” The man’s face went very pale. He remembered that night vividly, the decapitated man they had found in that house. The man was still alive when they found him, but they had fled and told no one. His conscience had been haunting him ever since. “You did that?” he spat out finally. “Yep, I gladly take credit for that. It was supposed to be my masterpiece… but you and your fat fuck of a friend had to go and ruin it all,” she glared down at him. “And now you’re gonna fuckin’ pay.” She hit him in the side with the flail and he grunted in pain. She kicked his face, leaving a large red mark. She returned to the fat man, still lying on the floor, and she ripped the knife out of his shoulder. He cried out loudly, but she kicked him in the throat, which shut him up. She drew the sharp tip of the knife along his chest, leaving a bright red streak on his white t-shirt. He sobbed. The small, dark man had steadied himself on his feet, but the Chainswhore stabbed him in the gut before he could even take a step. He gasped and staggered backwards, hitting the wall. She followed him, pulling the knife out and stabbing him again. He fell to his knees and she punched him in the face, breaking his nose. Blood spattered the wall behind him; he fell to the floor, clutching his face, and cried. The Chainswhore returned to the fat man who still held his throat. “Big, but a total pussy. Just wonderful. You can’t even give me a challenge!” she kicked him in the gut. “You guys aren’t even worth having fun with.” BBBBZZZZZCHCHTCHTCHCHTZZZZZBZZTCHZZCHZCHCHCHCHTZZZZZZZZ She made quick work of them, their screams drowned out by the buzzing of her saw. The two thieves would only be seen again in a large pile of assorted parts. The Chainswhore left the house avenged, albeit unimpressed, and walked down the dark street, chainsaw in her hand, and she sang: Looking for her victims Bloodlust in her eyes Luring them with promises Lust is her disguise Taking from their bodies Feeding on their pain Wielding up her chainsaw No life will remain Hacking through their tender flesh Bone is ripped apart The buzzing of the chainsaw Brings joyness to her heart The frenzy of her slaughter The madness of her spree She's merely acting out a - Twisted sexual fantasy She's a whore With a chainsaw Fucking whore A fucking Chainswhore She loves the smell of gasoline An aphrodisiac It really turns her on When there's bodies she can hack The steaming hot red entrails Mangled guts and death Make her cum in multiples The gasping of her breath Looking for her victims Bloodlust in her eyes Luring them with promises Lust is her disguise Taking from their bodies Feeding on their pain Wielding up her chainsaw No life will remain She's a whore With a chainsaw Fucking whore A fucking Chainswhore view post

posted 05 Apr 2006, 21:04 by Warrior-Poet, Moderator

Wow i need time to digest that i really liked the last part though. Very Gory [quote:khnbb5oc]Looking for her victims Bloodlust in her eyes Luring them with promises Lust is her disguise Taking from their bodies Feeding on their pain Wielding up her chainsaw No life will remain Hacking through their tender flesh Bone is ripped apart The buzzing of the chainsaw Brings joyness to her heart The frenzy of her slaughter The madness of her spree She's merely acting out a - Twisted sexual fantasy She's a whore With a chainsaw Fucking whore A fucking Chainswhore She loves the smell of gasoline An aphrodisiac It really turns her on When there's bodies she can hack The steaming hot red entrails Mangled guts and death Make her cum in multiples The gasping of her breath Looking for her victims Bloodlust in her eyes Luring them with promises Lust is her disguise Taking from their bodies Feeding on their pain Wielding up her chainsaw No life will remain She's a whore With a chainsaw Fucking whore A fucking Chainswhore[/quote:khnbb5oc] view post

posted 06 Apr 2006, 12:04 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

the song at the end is a real song by a friends band, from which was based a mascot, which i play. in case you didn;t already notice, i like gore. view post

posted 13 Apr 2006, 14:04 by Curethan, Didact

Teeheehee. :D Ace, bravo, wunderbar. I felt a goodly amount of cartharsis reading that. Haha, Red Durst - shoulda poked out his piggy little blue eyes to see what's really behind 'em. Ha - mascot 'eh, shredding it onstage with a chainsaw - nice! Encore! view post

posted 13 Apr 2006, 19:04 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

thanks! hopefully the oncoming nice weather will inspire me to continue with the series.. i have all these ideas, but i haven't quite been able to put them together... the next ones will be even more gruesome.. view post

posted 13 Apr 2006, 20:04 by Warrior-Poet, Moderator

more gruesome muhahahaha view post

posted 23 Apr 2006, 11:04 by Primal, Peralogue

This is horrible, gory shit. Not bad writing bad, though. I like how you did the scene-switches. view post

posted 24 Jul 2006, 14:07 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

[quote="Primal":g2mfdmhr]This is horrible, gory shit.[/quote:g2mfdmhr] best. compliment. ever. view post

posted 22 Aug 2006, 02:08 by Harrol, Moderator

Wow now I am going to have nightmares :shock: . I thought Scott's stuff was rough he has nothing on you Gierra. By the way someone get that chainsaw away from Gierra while WP distracts her. view post

posted 22 Aug 2006, 15:08 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

careful or you might lose some limbs :twisted: view post

posted 22 Aug 2006, 15:08 by Warrior-Poet, Moderator

Ill let you be the one who gets lured into a dark alleyway I like my arms and legs a little too much to be having them painfully removed. view post

posted 22 Aug 2006, 18:08 by Harrol, Moderator

Well since i am not getting any help we'll just have to let Gierra keep her chainsaw. view post

posted 22 Aug 2006, 20:08 by Warrior-Poet, Moderator

Im good with that, just need to stay on her good side. Wait do you have a good side? view post

posted 23 Aug 2006, 13:08 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

good side? sure. as long as you don;t like manowar, we're golden. :lol: view post

posted 23 Aug 2006, 15:08 by Warrior-Poet, Moderator

I guess im in the clear then. view post

posted 23 Aug 2006, 15:08 by Harrol, Moderator

What do you mean by manowar. I am not familar with that expression. view post

posted 24 Aug 2006, 13:08 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

[quote="Harrol":28gsp4hh]What do you mean by manowar. I am not familar with that expression.[/quote:28gsp4hh] they're a band. a terrible one. [img:28gsp4hh][/img:28gsp4hh] [img:28gsp4hh][/img:28gsp4hh] not to be mistaken with the portugese man o' war, a poisonous siphonophore which is often mistaken for a jellyfish. [img:28gsp4hh][/img:28gsp4hh] view post

posted 24 Aug 2006, 15:08 by Harrol, Moderator

I see they do look extremely lame. i hate lame metal bands. view post

posted 25 Aug 2006, 09:08 by Sedulo, Candidate

WOW. That photo where they (The Band manowar not the Portuguese one) are holding weapons and wearing furry boots is hilarious. I am afraid of them. Okay, of their music. There was also a famous racehorse named Man o' War. view post

posted 25 Aug 2006, 23:08 by Harrol, Moderator

I have heard of the horse. The band must be remembered as a horrible point and embarasment to rock history. view post

posted 29 Aug 2006, 16:08 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

i actually sat through a manowar concert.. how? i don;t know. but they were total jerks. they were having people kicked out for crowdsurfing and hitting on 14 yr old girls.. they're scum. view post

posted 30 Aug 2006, 02:08 by Harrol, Moderator

They certainly sound like losers. I would go see Metallica over them any day. Wait a minute I would go see Metallica over anyone any day. view post

posted 30 Jan 2007, 01:01 by anor277, Didact

Good story, just one question; if the chainswhore was such an incredible bitch, then why did she drink malt whisky with [i:300ggpr8]ice[/i:300ggpr8] in it? That is very nouveau riche. view post

Re: the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 17 Jun 2008, 13:06 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

because i'm pure blasphemy and like ice in my god damned scotch, ok, snippy pants! (actually just one single ice cube to add water and release the flavour and chill it slightly. i think the 's' might have been a typo... i'm sure there are a few) :lol: view post

Re: the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 19 Jun 2008, 02:06 by Harrol, Moderator

Gierra you are very disturbing! Keep that chainsaw and flail away from me. view post

Re: posted 25 Jun 2008, 15:06 by gierra, Sorcerer-of-Rank

[quote="anor277":3si5ki25]Good story, just one question; if the chainswhore was such an incredible bitch, then why did she drink malt whisky with [i:3si5ki25]ice[/i:3si5ki25] in it? That is very nouveau riche.[/quote:3si5ki25] oh yeah, and aren't the nouveau riche incredible bitches? i wouldn;t know, i'm a poor ass bitch. lol and harrol, you know i would never harm a fine gentleman such as yourself. :twisted: view post

Re: the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 03 Nov 2008, 04:11 by Mats, Candidate

A big fucking HAHAHA at someone supposedly lecturing on what "true metal" is supposed to be, and then dismissing Manowar. Listen to "Into Glory Ride, "Hail to England" and "Sign of the Hammer" (where the Gods invented and perfected EPIC TRUE FUCKING HEAVY METAL!) and if you're not a complete idiot, maybe you'll be worthy of anything but rolling around behind the urinals at Wacken. Bloody amateurs... :roll: view post

Re: the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 10 Nov 2008, 08:11 by Curethan, Didact

Don't worry Mats, I like my metal with extra cheese too. Manowar make me smile. Everyone has a at least one cheesy metal band close to they heartses. But why would one roll around behind urinals? I remember going to a Faith no More concert where the piss was inches deep in the toilets. Ah, good times. view post

Re: the decapitating adventures of the merry chainswhore posted 14 Nov 2008, 16:11 by Mats, Candidate

High five! You cannot claim to like "true metal" and not, if nothing else, at least acknowledge Manowar's importance on the genre. Wimps and poseurs, leave the hall! view post


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