Hello, readers! I have a passion for erotic literature and when I got this urge, I crossed my mind and wrote what is now on your screen. I desperately need an editor. The story is a long one (so I've intended), but will only be continued if it gets some response from your side. It means a lot.
So PLEASE comment!
All the plots and characters are the imagination of my mind and any resemblance to real life is likely to be coincidental.
Anyway, thank you and enjoy.
Chapter 1: Living the Future
The black Lamborghini coursed down the D. Front street. It was far from home in a hostile district, Aslon, the home of the blood mages. Two dark SUV's followed its trail silently. It halted before a skyscraper, popularly known as 'The Blood Trail'. Or more commonly, refereed as the headquarters of the prominent group of Aslon.
The doors opened in both sides and two sturdy males, roughly equal in shape and features exited. Two dozen men clad in black spilled out of the SUVs, equipped with SMGs, and stood in a loop around the twins. Four men clad in red came out to escort them inside. The interior was like any ultra modern office, with a beautiful fountain in the middle, standing in contrast with the other furnitures. The men in black except four, stand their ground at the entrance along with some of the red ones. The twins moved with feline grace and entered the spacious elevator along with the remaining four men in black, and four men in reds.
The lift took them to the ninetieth floor. The journey up was unsettling. The twins were here to settle a major conflict between the two groups. Another ally, a bald Russian bureaucrat addressed them as they exited the lift. Along with him and his companions the group moved towards the adjacent patio, where a gorgeous female, with blood red hair awaited them. Her glossy red gown was very reveling along with her red painted full lips. She greeted them and made them settle down.
The conversation started as the bald man raised the question upfront. Do she wants to join them or keep on their rivalry. She laughed a little and answered. No and no. Then the elder one of the twins spoke about an agreement for peace, no more blood shed. She nodded. Then they moved to other matters of discussion. The meeting was going fine, oblivious of the back hawk flying towards them.
Gun shots rounded the area before a combat copter came into view. All of them ducked towards the Concrete railings to save a piece of them from the hammering of the . 50 cal. loaded in the front of the chopper. Two missiles glided toward them, one hitting the patio and shattering most of the nearby glass windows, another destroying the elevator area. The occupants of the patio ran inside watching for the mini gun.
Another carrier copter hover above until a dozen or so combatants roped down. They attacked the disoriented and split guards. The twins and the red head fought them well but more and more were spilling in.
The elder of the twins shouted at the redhead and moved back. But he didn't reached his destination. He fell down with a shriek. The red head and his brother ran towards his falling body. Through the smoke the bald man came into view, with an evil smirk marking his face, holding a bloodied knife in one hand and a gun in another. He pitched the gun straight towards the younger brother and shot.
*
Slowly he opened his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he tugged at his aching muscles. His whole body felt sore. Suddenly his predicament hit him. His brothers lifeless face.
"Marcus!!" He cried out. His whole body was sweating and his heartbeat was going out of bound. He looked around searching for his hopefully wounded brother. He prayed he was only wounded. But he was nowhere in the towers. It was almost dusk now. The ground around him was barren rough ground. He could see corpses of which looked like cars. It was of-course a car graveyard!
"Kalika! That should be her." he thought, "She should have teleported me here." With this he tried to stand up. Every joint of his body felt like rusty daggers are planted between them haphazardly.
"I've to get back. Warn the Fist about Makarov's treachery." He always hated that man. After trying the phone for few minutes, only receiving 'your number is invalid' messages, he gave up. Strange because he just called from it this morning. Now he would have to do it all by himself. And he don't even fucking know where he is!
He looked around for other people. He was alone and only the distant crunching and thudding noises of machinery. The noises drew his attention, people. He started running, in-spite of the overwhelming pain. After about a hundred and fifty yards he took a left and nearly stumbled over a small group of teenagers.
"Hey watch it man." A boy with uneven stubbles on his cheeks spoke as he steadied himself.
"Sorry." He said panting heavily.
"You okay." A redheaded girl asked softly. He looked at his face.
"NO! I'm not okay!" he tried to push them away from his way, then stopped.
"I need a phone." he looked at the four before him. One produced a phone from his pocket and he matched a number. It was their headquarters's land-line. He sighed in relief as the familiar tone resounded. A male voice answered.
"Fist Industries."
"Nascar, is that you? This is your commander. We are under attack! Gather arms and meet us at the blood trail."
"What the fuck! Tell me your name first."
"Daemon Fist, you fucking fool."
"Daemon? NO shit! You can't be him. How did you acquire this number? No just leave it and don't play pranks like this again."
