Get the bodies in the ground he told himself. Stuff them so far into the dirt that no one would miss their souls. Degenerates or someone's lost husband, he didn't give a fuck about it. After his home had been encroached on more than it should have been, they had it coming. The singing of blood gurgling in his ears lived on. Words weren't granted or last pleas for an act of mercy heard. Where his anger dipped off, it scaled back greatly from eliminating a threat. The further ruin to his home that was already in need of rebuilding came to this point. Walls stood bare with more blood on the floor. Internally livid, disappointment reached deeper from both sides of the same coin. Peace was vital to think and slow down his head that was processing every single thing he did not need to factor in. As safe as he been for himself, there was a larger concern thrown into the hat. He was becoming more particular than ever, snobbish in execution. Believing his artistry shown, demanded recognition. Exhibition for many of his works of art had its time. Presently, that evening was not right for it. In the quieted moments of the dark adjusting after the early set of sun, he glared down in the earth he opened up through shovel and spat at the new bed.
Sole of foot rest against the shovel, as he leaned on its handle. Same resting position he resorted to when welding a sword. Pitched darkness masked his content smirk as he recounted decimation of bodies that were no more than one track minded persons. An orchestra fit to classical tunes of Handel guided the finesse of metal slashing through flesh like hot butter. His quickened reflexes to grab for tools of the trade to defend and deal death had been in reach that decapitation became inevitable. His recent memory brightly screened like a movie reel, giving highlights in what could've been a greatly choreographed act with graceful intent through a destructive lens. His priorities, like many other times, was to clean the mess. Gather until there was no trace. This time was minor and different because of the impromptu slay. His heart thumped from reliving events through a simple daydream, mashed up against a sound that was horror and beautiful in the same setting. Creating a working setting that he thrived in the most. Where he was held back from committing any act of retrieving a life force for his own mental mantle, made up by simply reaching and tossing the lifeless carcasses deep within the soil pit.
One, two, three, and their respected heads swaddled in plastic, all folded over after being dunked in the dusty pit. A kick of dirt flown to start to cover the resting spot, and he got to the ritual of laying an enemy to rest. Had this been a typical job, one that required more time for preparation and planning, then help of trusted hands would've cleaned up his mess. Since he worked solo, rightfully so, the circumstance called for dusting away his own cookie crumbs. Shovel was light in his mitt as the pile of dirt was thrown in the mix. Stick and toss, repeat again, went on for as long as he concentrated on the sounds of what impromptu exterminating ripened into. Slade's eyes held arrogance on the matter while taking the time to seal the grave. Reaching the grounds furthest away from city limits, reminded him of driving back for what would be nothing but babysitting. He felt the need to do it last time he was around, and now, not so much. It was in him to further map out the life his other half had to live now, and what he should do the moment things carried back to normal.
Be a better person. Stop feeling bad for self. Do something to enrich what bit of life there was left, because it meant Slade's existence to become none once he was gone. A favor for a favor was being done and at this point after a year of being fended off so long, his place had been permanent. Not only in Nathan's usually pathetic existence but for the pretty feathered ally. Going through the motions had been cut short with tossing in the last bit of ground. He moved around dragging the selective dead leaves, the broken piles of sticks and rotting wood that covered the ground prior to getting there. Under the levels of earth, he wished them no luck for the place that was another of hell's homes. Living on its current incarnation came with many challenges and some were worth the survival. Instinctively built to adapt to the changes, the rut it brought was entirely a different problem on its on.
Shovel thrown over the shoulder, gloved hand gripping in place, and he was on his way. Stepping away from the spot he would forget about soon as the door to his truck would close behind. Engine roared in the company of the woods and his entangled sense of darkness. Creeping, resonating on a level unreachable by most. He bathed in the concept of what was done; what was to come. Committing to his one and only position to play, while pushing slowly towards a game that had no rules anymore. He dealt with the anger in a way that could've proven to be a liability and he decided not be the factor that gutted any dominion on his fate. The woods looked smaller in the rearview. Music dialed up a notch. Audial distractions left little to grasp upon as the symphony of fragmented bones, blood showers, and hardware running through lengths of bodies, clogged his senses.
Face changed for the betterment of the rest of the evening. Clearing all congestion of spoils that started off the road just set behind, prepared him for any awaiting joys. His conscious was stubbed, numbed by present episodes where it mattered less and less. A moral compass tainted but for reasons that veiled themselves accordingly. He piped down on the gas, adding more speed to the distance traveled, marking his time until granting admission towards the city where fury and more opportunity awaited. Slade took most of notes, knowing the road to follow and the one paved directly for his kind. He only cared for the place he was in only wanting more. He knew he would want more soon.