Calling out the devil

                      A young man stands in the middle of a quiet chaos, blood and

corpses of nightmare creatures, strewn about him. He stands shivering and panting,

sweat dripping from his head and soaking his already blood stained  undershirt. He

looks unsteady, hunched down. Barely holding onto the large bloodstained cleaver.

In his other hand is a bloody pistol of unknown make. The young man looks up to

see a tall man, black cloak covering his entire body, flowing red hair coming down

to his chin. “Not bad,” The tall man taunts, gesturing to the bloody corpses. “But

these are  small time, stuff out of dreams and scary stories.”The young man looks

around at the chaos, shrugging to himself, he speaks “Small time?” The Tall man

laughs out loud, then makes a large, sweeping gesture “Indeed small time. I, Am

the ruler of Hell!” The young man  looks up at the figure, his dark tired eyes meeting

with the golden, radiating eyes of the figure. A small, surprising chuckle escapes

from the tired man, as he stares down the devil, speaking slowly  “This isn’t hell,

yet.”  The young tiredly man raises his right hand and aims in a quick, smooth

motion, squeezing the trigger. The quiet is momentarily ruined by a loud crack, and

then a small thud. The man is laying on the ground, thick blood oozing out of the

hole in his head. The young man shivers once more, wrapping a black cloak around

his shoulders,  limping off into the cold desert night.