Chapter 33

0900 hours, local time,
Wednesday, 18 February, 2015
Hell’s Angels Detention Camp
Bridgeport, Illinois

“Ah, here we are ... the end of the rainbow ... and here is the pot of gold,” Tozroman smiled as he shoved his pitchfork inside one of the sentries, sending him into the air with agony and terror.

The demon’s eyes glowed with a fierce crimson light as he surveyed the sprawling camp, a grim smile playing on his lips. The air had the stench of fear and despair, a scent that was all too familiar to him. His three human companions, hardened by the recent, post-apocalyptic horrors, were every bit as committed and ruthless in their own way. Private Samuel Lynn silenced the other sentry with a single pistol shot to the head, blowing his brains out.

In the first pig pen section of the camp, Private Arlena Waltzer’s rage was palpable. Her eyes searched the line of huddled, abused figures, looking for a spark of defiance amidst the sea of pain. Spotting one of the guards, a burly, leering man with a thick, greasy mustache, she launched herself at him with a snarl. She drew her combat knife and with a swift, precise motion, sliced through the fabric of his pants, exposing his genitals. The guard’s eyes bulged in shock and disbelief, his mouth forming a silent scream as Arlena grabbed his testicles and squeezed with a strength that belied her size. He collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling under the unbearable pain.

SUMMARY^1: Tozroman and his human companions, Samuel Lynn and Arlena Waltzer, infiltrate the Hell’s Angels-run detention camp in Bridgeport, IL. Tozroman kills a sentry with his pitchfork while Arlena captures another, displaying intense anger towards the abusive guards.

Her movements were a blur of rage and precision as she continued her grisly assault. She carved off his manhood in a spray of blood, the crimson arc painting a macabre picture in the moonlit night. The guard’s eyes rolled back in his head as he gagged on his own screams. With a cruel twist of her wrist, Arlena shoved the severed flesh into his gaping maw, his teeth clamping down on his own genitals in a final, involuntary act of self-mutilation. His cheeks bulged obscenely, a silent testament to the horror that had just transpired. The sound of his choking cries filled the air, a symphony of agony that seemed to resonate with the very earth itself.

The other prisoners watched in shocked silence, their eyes wide with a mix of revulsion and a flicker of hope. Arlena stepped over the writhing, emasculated man, her eyes never leaving his. She raised her knife again, the blade catching the moonlight in a sinister gleam. In one swift motion, she sliced through his throat, releasing a geyser of crimson that painted her face and armor. He gurgled and twitched, his life force draining away with each spasm. The sight of his death sent a tremor of fear through the camp, alerting the remaining guards to the sudden, brutal rebellion.

SUMMARY^1: Arlena, enraged, dismembers and kills the captured guard in a gruesome fashion. The display of brutality leaves the other prisoners stunned but hopeful, and the alarm is raised among the remaining camp guards.

Corporal Van Tran Loc was a man of few words, but his actions spoke louder than any battle cry. With the grace of a predator and the precision of a surgeon, he approached another guard, a tall, lanky one who regularly abused the male inmates. The man’s eyes widened as he saw his comrades fall, but it was too late for him to react. Van Tran Loc pulled out a knife, its blade glowing a dull red from being heated over a small campfire they had started earlier. Without a moment of hesitation, he shoved the knife up the guard’s anus, tearing through the fabric of his pants as if they were made of paper. The guard’s scream was piercing, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the camp. The heat of the knife seared the man’s insides, his muscles contracting around the metal in a futile attempt to expel the invasive object. His legs kicked out wildly, but Van Tran Loc held him firmly in place, his grip unyielding.

“I hear that you like sodomy. How’s it like on the receiving end, bitch?” Loc asked him before shoving a grenade in after the knife and pulling the pin.

The guard’s eyes bulged in terror as he realized the true extent of his fate. The grenade’s explosion echoed through the night, his body spraying in every direction, a grisly shower of flesh and blood. The blast shook the camp, setting off a cacophony of alarms that pierced through the night. The remaining guards, caught off-guard by the sudden carnage, rushed towards them with their weapons drawn. Tozroman bellowed a war cry that could’ve been mistaken for a hundred demons descending upon them, and the battle was on.

In a blur of motion, Tozroman skewered three of the charging guards with his pitchfork, their bodies impaled on the long, spiked weapon. They writhed and convulsed, their intestines spilling out like snakes from a sack. He twisted the pitchfork, savoring the sound of bone cracking and flesh ripping. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bodies flying, their life essences adding to the chaos of the battlefield. The sight of their comrades’ gruesome end only seemed to enrage the remaining guards further, their eyes wild with fear and fury.

Private Waltzer, her face a mask of cold determination, unleashed the fury of her Tommy gun, the rapid-fire staccato tearing through the night air. The guards fell like dominoes, their bodies riddled with bullets, spraying crimson mist with every step she took towards the main camp. The gun’s heat burned her skin, but she didn’t care. Her eyes never left the sights, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. Each shot was a declaration of war, a promise of vengeance for the suffering she had witnessed. The smell of gunpowder and blood mingled, creating a scent that was almost intoxicating in its intensity.

The inmates, both male and female, watched the chaos unfold with a mix of awe and terror. Some of the captives of both sexes began to gather their strength, their spirits rising like the phoenix from the ashes of their despair. They saw the opportunity to fight back, to take back what was stolen from them: their dignity, their freedom. They knew that if they didn’t act now, they would never leave this hellish place alive.

With surgical precision, Samuel Lynn executed more guards with his pistol. His eyes were cold and focused, his hands steady as he took aim. Each shot was a silent promise of vengeance, a whisper of hope to the desolate souls trapped within the camp. His marksmanship was unrivaled, his bullets finding their marks without fail. The guards’ bodies danced a macabre ballet as they were picked off one by one, their lifeless forms dropping to the ground like ragdolls. The rhythmic thump of the bodies hitting the earth became a morbid soundtrack to the unfolding battle.

In the midst of the carnage, six inmates emerged from the shadows, their eyes alight with a newfound determination. They had seen the brutality of their captors’ ends and were no longer willing to remain passive. One by one, they picked up makeshift weapons: a sharpened stick, a metal pipe, a rock wrapped in a piece of torn fabric. Their movements were clumsy at first, a stark contrast to the fluidity of their rescuers. But as the battle raged on, a spark of ferocity grew within them. They became living embodiments of the anger and despair that had festered in their hearts for too long.

The next to join the fray was a young woman named Rachel. With a torch clenched in her trembling hand, she charged at a guard who was stumbling towards her, his eyes glazed over with terror. She swung the torch in a wild arc, the flaming end connecting with his face. The guard’s screams filled the air as his flesh melted away, revealing the bone beneath. Rachel felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as she watched the man collapse to the ground, his body jerking in spasms as he burned alive. The heat of the fire kissed her skin, but it was the warmth of her own anger that fueled her strength.

“Remember when you raped me, Gordon? I do. Let this be my kiss, the kiss of death and of fire,” Rachel told him as she poured some gasoline on top of the fire, making it spread faster, “think of this as mercy ... if it took longer to burn you, you’d suffer more. This way, you’ll go sooner rather than later.”

Her words were punctuated by the sound of a whip cracking through the air. It was one of the male inmates, a boy named Billy, who had somehow managed to get hold of one of the guards’ whips. He lashed out with surprising skill, his eyes gleaming with the kind of hatred that only comes from experiencing true evil firsthand. The whip wrapped around another guard’s neck, and Billy pulled with all his might, choking the life out of the man who had stolen his innocence. The guard’s eyes bulged, and his face turned blue as he gagged for breath, his hands desperately clawing at the leather that was cutting off his air supply. Billy didn’t stop until the man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body going limp. He tossed the corpse aside like it was nothing more than a ragdoll.

In the chaos, the remaining inmates began to rally. Some picked up rocks, others grabbed pieces of rebar from the half-finished structures that lined the camp. They were a ragtag army, but their desperation had turned them into a force to be reckoned with. They charged at the guards, their makeshift weapons flashing in the moonlight. The guards, used to the obedience of their captives, were caught off-guard by the sudden uprising. They stumbled back, their eyes wide with shock as the tide of battle began to turn against them.

Tozroman saw this as an opportunity to inflict more pain. He leaped into the fray, his teeth bared in a grin that was more terrifying than any snarl. With a sickening crunch, he clamped down on the neck of the nearest guard, his teeth sinking deep into the flesh. The man’s screams were muffled as the demon ripped out a chunk of meat, blood spurting from the gaping wound. The guard’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground, a twitching mess of muscle and bone. The other guards took a step back, their eyes on the monstrous creature that had come to free their prey. Two of them shat themselves in abject horror.

The demon’s jaws snapped shut, and he spat out the chunk of flesh, the taste of their fear mingling with the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the crimson fluid across his face. He turned to the next guard, his eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. This one had a look of pure terror etched into his features, his bladder letting go as he stumbled backward. Tozroman didn’t bother with subtlety. He lunged, his teeth tearing into the man’s chest. He bit down, his teeth meeting with bone, and with a sickening crack, he broke through. The guard’s ribs gave way, and Tozroman feasted on the soft flesh within. The man’s heart pounded in his mouth, a delicious morsel that he savored before swallowing.