Devil

The address took me to an abandoned casino. I made sure my weaponry was in order, just in case, and went in. If you're ever meeting someone in an abandoned place, be prepared for anything. Like the doors suddenly slamming shut and locking you in. Because that's what happened. It was dark, so I took out my flashlight and flicked it on. No sooner had I done that when a shadow whipped by me and my flashlight broke into pieces. I drew my sword and spun around, looking for hidden assailant. I couldn't see a damned thing. I started moving. After passing by the blackjack tables, my foot snagged a cord, and the sprinklers clicked on. A tripwire. I pulled my hood up, just in case there was something mixed into the water. Which there was. It smelled strongly of roses and peanut butter. Odd combination... I kept moving, to the center of the place. The sprinklers shut off after a while. A voice spoke. “Hello, mate,” it said. “Fancy a drink?” “No thanks,” I said, trying to find the source of the words. I couldn't find it. It was echoing in a way it shouldn't have. Coming from literally every direction at once. It was spoken in a more-or-less American accent. “I have a proposition,” the voice said. “If you'll hear me out, that is.” “I'll listen, but don't get your hopes up, you freak,” I said. “Love the attitude,” the voice chuckled. “Now, you want Daniel Ferris dead, correct?” “That's right,” I confirmed. “What of it?” “I want the same thing,” the voice said. “Why don't we help each other?” I became aware of a smell, beneath the rose and peanut scent of the water. Gasoline. The sprinklers were meant to cover it up. “No thanks,” I said, moving a bit. The smell of gasoline became more faint. I had gotten a little bit away from the source. “Daniel's mine. I don't want help, and I don't wanna team up.” “I was hoping you'd say that,” the voice said. “I have one more proposition for you.” “Does that proposition involved fire at all?” I asked. “Oh, don't mind that,” the voice said. “The theatrics will begin in a moment.” I walked in a short circle, only to find the smell of gas grew stronger no matter what direction I moved in. I was surrounded on all sides by gasoline. Not good. “So what did you have in mind?” I growled. “A competition,” the voice said. “Is that so?” I asked. “That's right,” he said. “Whoever kills Danny first wins.” “Enough of this!” I shouted. “Show yourself!” And with that, the gasoline erupted into flame. I found myself in the center of a large, fiery pentagram. And at the edge, he stood. A man with long red hair, dressed in clothes the color of dried blood. A large, curved sword was sheathed across his back, and his eyes glowed red in the light of the flames. I had heard of a an of this description. But it couldn't be. “Y-you're dead!” I stammered. “Oh, please,” the Bloody Biker said, the pentagrams in his eyes shining brightly. His voice continued to echo in that weird way. “I've survived having my entire body atomized. Do you think a bullet to the head will keep me down?” This man, Damien Monroe, had met his end by Daniel's hand. At least, that's what the world had been lead to believe. And yet he stood there, right across from me, grinning broadly. He stepped through the fire, as if it were nothing at all, and stood face-to-face with me. “So, what do you say?” he said. “Make this interesting for me. I like a bit of rivalry, you know.” I stared straight into those devilish eyes of his, and stood up straight. “I don't care who you are,” I told him. “I will kill Daniel Ferris, and if you stand in my way, I will end you too.” His eyes glowed brighter than ever. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.” And then he was gone, and the flames vanished. His voice sounded again. “Good luck,” he said. “The contest begins now.”