It Puts the Stories on the Forum

[23rd]

Oh, right. Yeah, probably not. I want to keep the stuff I write in this thread Klei-related.

[HoneyHam]

Oh, right. Yeah, probably not. I want to keep the stuff I write in this thread Klei-related.

Mmkay.

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 2: The part where Tony dies

Chapter 5: Legitimate

 

Tony Capriono had done extremely well for himself once Witherstone had disappeared. Unlike the other schmucks from Witherstone's gang, he had brains. He knew better than to make enemies when he didn't need to, and even better, he knew how to make friends. Powerful friends, wealthy friends. It wasn't hard for him to become an affluent businessman when he was finally free to actually use those friends. He wouldn't be disappearing into England, he didn't need to disappear into England. He did keep tabs on his former colleagues though, and today was the day it would finally pay off.

 

When Bruiser had just up and disappeared, he got nervous. Bruiser shouldn't have been able to simply drop off his radar like that. But when Victor disappeared, all of Tony's alarms went off. There had been an article in one of the international newspapers, a man had been kidnapped from Canterbury after holding someone at knifepoint. There weren't any photos, there never were when photography cost you an arm and a leg and people had to sit still for ten blasted minutes just to get something legible, but the descriptions were enough. A thin man with wispy black hair and a screech of a voice, that was Victor. No doubt. But that wasn't what alarmed Tony. What alarmed Tony was the description of the other one.. the kidnapper. Bulky American man, broad shoulders and scars that would make the toughest brawler gasp in shock. That had to be the one Victor had always called Adam. Tony needed protection if that was who was behind all this, but he knew he couldn't just hire some dinky thug if he wanted to keep his lavish lifestyle. He'd need someone who was legal, but would still kill if it would get the job done.

 

-

 

Sam Diamond had been finishing off a bottle of bourbon when he'd gotten a knock on the door. After a deep, irritated breath he shoved the nearly finished bottle in the top right drawer of his desk, pushing his Smith & Wesson revolver to the side of the tiny wooden compartment as he did. He didn't miss being a cop, they paid dogs better than they had paid him when he was on the force. Besides, nobody was there to stop him these days when he wanted to drink in his office.

 

Sam gave his head a hard shake, as though he could keep the inebriation at bay with such a simple action. He rested his stubble-covered chin on his right palm, closed his eyes, mentally prepared himself for whoever must be behind that cloudy glass-paned door, and spoke. "Come in."

 

He was surprised that it was someone he had actually recognized. A local big shot named Tony Capriono. Looked like a big shot too. That expensive suit and the slicked back hair did little to hide the man's ever-growing gut. Before Sam could ask what the hell he wanted, the businessman slapped down a handful of photos on his desk. Bad quality, but definitely legible.. and absolutely nauseating. Sam had no way of knowing he was looking at Victor's handiwork from back in the day, and Tony had no intention of telling him. "Some guy who used to work for me wants me dead, he sent me this in the mail. Have you ever seen anything as f*cked up as this sh*t?" Sam pushed the photographs towards the other end of the desk, the grimace on his face doing all the talking that he wasn't. Tony kept going. "I used to have a couple of.. former colleagues, and I haven't heard from either of 'em in weeks. I'm losing my mind, you've got to help me out here. You're a private eye, don't you have moral obligations to this kind of stuff?"

 

Sam's bloodshot eyes drifted beyond Tony, resting on the black lettering on the front of his door. P.I. He supposed he wouldn't have become one if he didn't still want to bring scumbags to justice.. and whoever Mr. Capriono was freaking out about sure did sound like a scumbag. Sam found himself looking at one of the grisly photos that he'd pushed to the end of his desk, the scene painting a gruesome story of what would happen to Tony if he didn't get help. "Alright Mr. Capriono, let's work out my payment."

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 2: The part where Tony dies

Chapter 6: Alleycats and Conflagration

 

Adam had met Willow when one of her garbage fires drew him in. It was cold, he was homeless; it was inevitable that Adam would wander towards the nearest heat source that kept him out of crowded areas. He had only intended to stay in her alley for one night, but it was all too easy to grow fond of the little pyromaniac. She never asked him about his scars, never even looked directly at them aside from one disinterested glance when they'd first met. It made Adam feel normal, made him feel like he did before Victor had barged into his old house on that one terrible day. Eventually, after a week sharing the same filthy alleyway, Adam came to notice that fire wasn't just a way that Willow kept warm, it was her livelihood.

 

"So.. are you the one they call Jack the Burner?" She would've tried to deny it if her surprised reaction hadn't betrayed her. She was off against a brick wall, piling up little paper trays people had thrown out and lighting them up. As she piled them on top of each other all the individual fires gathered together, forming a mass of burning paper that Adam could feel from where he stood. "People never expect a woman to be a criminal, I think it's kind of funny that they call me Jack." So that was it. The woman Adam had been "living" with was a serial arsonist. A monster that didn't belong, just like him. His gaze drifted down to the front pocket of his bulky coat, meaty fingers feeling the rolled up list underneath the cracked leather. He had to ask.

 

"Have you ever heard of Tony Capriono?" Adam looked up to the sound of a metal lighter hitting the pavement, meeting eyes with Willow. Her fists were clenched, and she immediately broke contact to glare into the distance. Her words came out through gritted teeth, spiteful and venomous. "That bastard killed my best friend."

 

-

 

Tony's work was the only thing helping him keep his mind off of the fact that Adam was still out there. Ever since he had gone legitimate he'd worked with Witherstone's former victims, making profitable deals with them that kept him in power and kept them from becoming problems. Recently he'd bought an old building from an old magician named William Carter. Well, that's not quite accurate. He'd been sold an old building through one of William Carter's associates. He never did meet Carter face to face, but they talked over a radio frequency daily.

 

In the basement of the decrepit building there was a massive machine, a wooden door outfitted with gears and cogs of all kinds. Tony had never been much of a hands-on guy, having been the faceless accounting of Witherstone's group, but working on this machine was indescribably refreshing.

 

A sweaty thumb pushed against a large gray button, Tony's voice drifting into the microphone that sat atop the basement table, next to the ham radio. "So, Carter, once we're done with this thing and all, what's it supposed to do?" The response sounded suave and sophisticated, even through the choppy static. "Entertainment, Mr. Capriono! My.. superiors.. are very concerned about the quality of their entertainment, and when you finish this it'll bring entertainment like you've never seen!" Something about that statement bothered Tony. Before he realized what it was Carter's voice crackled back to life, already addressing it. "By which I mean America's entertainment, of course. We can't keep people happy with plays forever, after all." Tony shrugged his shoulders, rubbing a rag along his sweat-soaked hands.

Edited February 4, 2014 by 23rd

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 2: The part where Tony dies

Chapter 7: Sam's perspective

 

It was Thursday night, and this client was reminding Sam the better parts of when he was a beat cop. Your schedules didn't change on a dime, and the guys in charge were more interested on getting scumbags off the streets than keeping an eye on some paranoid rich guy. Now that he was a private detective Tony was using him like some personal bodyguard when he could be back at the office, getting some information on this former employee who's supposedly on some rampage. What was sitting at the entrance of some newly purchased property supposed to help? The night dragged on, and Sam found himself wishing he'd brought a watch with him. He could hear Tony rummaging about upstairs, poking at weary support beams. It didn't take much longer for Sam to start dozing off.

 

He was awoken by Tony's scream, the stench of smoke filling his nostrils. Besides the fact that he could asphyxiate in no time if he stayed there, the metal of his revolver was heating up quickly, and before long it could start to sear into his flesh. Sam had to move fast, the doorway was already showing signs of collapsing. Sam tucked his face into his left sleeve, kicking back the chair he'd been laying on as he sprinted across the floor. He could feel the old wood giving way to his feet as he sprinted, an intense heat on his back as he ran. When the cold air hit the relief washed over Sam. Tony was dead, he had to be. Sam had to get back, had to figure out what had happened. Before he could even theorize he heard the sound of a pipe smacking against the cobble road a short distance away from the building burning.

 

"Where's Willow?"

 

Sam's gaze drifted up, locking eyes with a distraught looking man brandishing a blunt object that could spill Sam's brains all over the street.

 

"Where the hell is Willow?!"

 

The brute stepped towards him, and Sam could see the remains of massive scars across the man's face. Muscular, probably worked in labor. Possibly emotional and quick to anger, this would be dangerous. As Sam tried to get a hold of his surroundings and plan a way to survive the next undoubtedly violent moments, one question went through his head. Who was Willow?

[Parrotoss]

As every else has said, your stories are amazing and I had to read them all in one sitting. I'm sure you don't need any more encouragement, but never stop writing.

[23rd]

As every else has said, your stories are amazing and I had to read them all in one sitting. I'm sure you don't need any more encouragement, but never stop writing.

I love you and your little hat signature. I was debating whether or not to just let my lack of updates get the better of me and kill this thread, but reading this just gave me the optimism to finally finish Part 2.

 

Return Fire

Part 2: The part where Tony dies

Chapter 8: Sorry for the delay

 

When Adam saw the fire the horrifying realization of what was happening crashed into him like a tidal wave. Willow was in there, and she wasn't coming out. His legs felt like jelly and his skin quivered. It took everything in him to keep from vomiting again. Why hadn't he objected to this? Why hadn't he stopped her? She was probably dead by now, he would have seen her come out if she wasn't..

 

He'd lost his humanity already when he started wiping out the remnants of Witherstone's gang, but this was the first time an innocent person had died because of his actions. In the back of his mind, he knew he had to finish the job. There was only one name left on the list, how could he not? But he had to isolate himself. He was a monster, an unthinkable creature nobody should associate with. It was then that what little sanity Adam clung to snapped. He wouldn't have any more friends, he couldn't have any more friends. They would all die in the end, and the guilt was too much to bear. He would finish his job, and then it would all end. Just as soon as this realization had become clear, someone stumbled from the flames ahead of him.

 

Adam grabbed a pipe connected to a nearby curio shop, ripping it apart with one yank and banging it against the cobble underneath his feet. "Where's Willow?"

 

The man in front of him, some drunkard in a trenchcoat, looked up. It was easy for Adam to assume he was a mindless lacky of Tony's, it was even easier to justify what he was about to do. "Where the hell is Willow?!"

 

-

 

Sam wasn't quick enough to dodge the first blow. The blunt force of a lead pipe across his jaw was painful enough, he could've done without the flecks of rust cutting apart his cheek on top of it. He had dealt with violent criminals before, it was all about lulling them into thinking they'd won and then hitting back twice as hard when their guard was down. Sam grit his teeth, tried to ignore the suffocating smoke billowing from behind him, and waited.

 

Sam knew three things about his attacker right off the bat. He was violent, he was emotional, and he had something to do with this. When a client winds up dead in a freak fire and you end up facing down a man with scars running across his face just outside the wreckage, it's pretty obvious what you have to do next. Now if the brute would just take two more steps..

 

-

 

Adam was ready to bring the pipe down on Sam's skull, ready to end yet another life in his crusade against what was left of Witherstone's criminal empire, when he saw the bottle. A whiskey bottle, clutched tight in Sam's left hand. The fire had made the glass incredibly hot to the touch, and the deep white burns were plainly evident on Sam's palm. Adam didn't have enough time to react before Sam rolled away from his pipe, swinging the delicate glass bottle straight for Adam's face.

 

Adam howled in agony as the bottle broke against his face, shards of red-hot glass burying themselves into his skin. He dropped his pipe and ran, clutching his face and disappearing into one of the many dark alleys that littered the streets. In his haste, Adam never noticed that a slip of parchment had fallen from his coat.

 

But Sam did.

 

The private eye carefully grabbed the parchment between his right fingers, unfolding it as he rose to his feet. It was a list, most of the names smudged or crossed out.. except one. There, at the very bottom, was a name Sam had heard before. That name had come up a lot when he was still a cop, and it dawned on Sam just what kind of convoluted mess he had gotten himself into. He folded the list up, tucking it in the front pocket of his trenchcoat.

 

"Winona Witherstone, here I come."

[TRENTOMINOUS]

Yay he's back!

[23rd]

Hey, 'grats on the title.

[Percival]

Hey, 'grats on the title.

 

 

EVEN THE SKELETON GETS A TITLE.

 

You're back!

[TRENTOMINOUS]

Hey, 'grats on the title.

Thanks!

EVEN THE SKELETON GETS A TITLE.

 

You're back!

*Australian Skeleton

[Rosten]

EVEN THE SKELETON GETS A TITLE.

 

Feelings are mutual. xD

[TRENTOMINOUS]

Feelings are mutual. xD

Hey It was earned accidentally through a heart felt apology

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 3: The part where Winona dies

Chapter 9: Broken Bird

 

Winona woke up on her kitchen floor, lightheaded and nauseous. It was how she'd been waking up for the past several years, and not once did she ever remember actually falling asleep. Her palms pressed into the tiled floor, fighting her own intense exhaustion as she rose to her feet. She could swear she was hearing the sound of boiling water, but when she checked the pot on her stove she only found a flat black liquid inside. Just another of the audial hallucinations that plagued her every waking moment.

 

Her legs quivered with each uneven step she took, one foot tripping over the other in awkward movements. Back when her husband had still been around this house had been a paradise, their own off-the-books hideaway to lay low in when problems caught up with them. Winona missed those days terribly, these days it was just a prison. Isolated and dangerous, and she could never leave knowing what her husband had carelessly left behind. Every day she grew weaker and more emaciated, but The Voice, as she had called it, promised that her time was coming. The Voice spoke to her at night, coming from the dark corners that candlelight could never seem to penetrate. It had told her of the ritual George performed before he disappeared, how he'd brought dark forces (what The Voice called "Them") into the house, how without someone to hold them back they would spill out into the world and reap untold horrors on mankind. She had to keep them in, had to perform the ritual every night to keep her reality intact.

 

The Voice told her it had a champion, a man who would purge the world of her late husband's mistakes. He used to work in a factory, overseeing the production of light fixtures until Victor, foolish Victor, broke him and turned him into a beast. The champion, or Adam as The Voice offhandedly called him, was carving his way through all the people George T. Witherstone used to work with, and now he was coming for her.

 

Winona was looking forward to the end of her torment.

[Parrotoss]

Alright, yes! Good to see things up and running again!

[HoneyHam]

Yaaaay!!

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 3: The part where Winona dies

Chapter 10: Spells and incantations

 

It had taken every favor Sam could call in, but he'd finally tracked down Winona Witherstone in some remote farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. He ran his left thumb along the chamber of his revolver, taking a deep breath before stepping from his car to meet the arid, dusty air. Winona had been George T. Witherstone's wife, and by all accounts was just as dangerous as the man himself, so Sam wasn't taking any chances. Normally he wouldn't even bother with some fugitive widow hiding out in the middle of nowhere, but this was the only lead he had on the man who'd attacked him outside of a burning wreckage half a week ago. He'd wound up involved in something he knew nothing about, and he intended to change that.

 

With each step the desire to turn back around and drive the hell out of there became stronger, but Sam ignored it. What would happen if he tried to walk away from this? Would he wake up to a knife at his neck one night, with no idea why? Would he succumb to poisoned whiskey in his office one day, just to have his death ruled a "tragic accident" in the local papers? He couldn't take that risk, he had to know what this was all about.

 

The screen door out front opened the moment he stepped onto the rotten wooden balcony, the smell of wax and body odor drifting out to meet him. Disgusting. Stepping inside, Sam took note of the lack of any working lights in the house. If it weren't for the sunlight pouring in through the screen door he wouldn't have been able to see anything, and the area near the back of the hallway he found himself in was completely dark save for a lit candle at the bottom of a staircase. Looking through the various doorways he passed Sam saw a lot of strange things. A dust-covered living room full of broken furniture, a bathroom with a broken mirror and bloodstains by the sink, a kitchen with a pot of strange black goop atop the stove, already bubbling and boiling.

 

Sam pulled his revolver from his holster, willing himself not to try and steady his grip with his heavily bandaged left hand while holding the gun in his right. Somehow he managed to keep the floorboards from creaking as he made his way towards the upstairs area, finding himself in another winding hallway. It was easy to know where to go, the candles led him. He found himself peeking into an ajar door at the end of the hallway, struggling to make out what he was seeing. The stringy hair, the gaunt figure. This was not the Winona Witherstone he'd been expecting. Her appearance was nothing, however, compared to what was around her. Markings had been carved into the wood around her, lining the floor and walls. The walls were covered in hundreds of words that Sam didn't recognize, but the floors were far more disturbing. Spirals and jagged edges had been made in runes, the grooves stained a dark crimson from God knows what. He was about to step into the room before he heard something that, like the rest of this house, shattered his predictions of what he was walking into. It was a voice, a man's voice. Deep, but old.

 

"There's no drip."

 

Winona jerked violently, something in front of her dropping to the floor. Something metal. "I'm trying, damn it, I'm trying! Do you think I want Them to come through? There's just nothing left." Her body quivered as she slumped back over, as though she were trying to cry but just wasn't able. After several seconds of this, the man who was just out of Sam's sight spoke up again.

 

"It's okay Winona.. he's just arrived."

 

Below him, Sam heard the front door open, heavy footsteps making their way towards the stairs.

[Rosten]

Sam pulled his revolver from his holster

The Sam is a SPAH!

 

 

 

 

 

 

i'm sorry, i had to.

[Parrotoss]

Oooo, fascinating.

[23rd]

Tough weekend, tough Monday.

 

Return Fire

Part 3: The part where Winona dies

Chapter 11: Heeere's ADAM!

 

It was just like it had been in Adam's dreams, and it was the perfect place to end it all. By the time anyone found this place the bodies he'd leave behind would be too decomposed to identify, he was sure of that. The stairs creaked loudly under his feet, but he didn't mind. He didn't have to be sneaky with Winona. He wasn't sure how he knew this, but he knew Winona was waiting for him. Once he reached the top of the stairs, Adam took a deep breath and made his way down the hallway. The long, empty hallway.

 

He had to admit, there was something rather foreboding about all of this. He had all but given up on finding Winona before the dream. It detailed exactly where to go, exactly what to expect, down to a detail as benign as the broken stove down in the kitchen. This just wasn't right. When he pushed open the door to the master bedroom things only became that much more confusing. Distressing, even.

 

Winona had already died.

 

Adam searched the room in a blind panic, trying to find out what had happened. It was dark, and hard to see, but eventually he stumbled across someone sleeping in the corner of the room. Instantly, Adam recognized the man from New York. The man who had been there when Willow disappeared. Blind panic turned to blind rage, but before Adam could act he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

 

Turning around, Adam came face to face with a tall man in a suit. Combed back hair, leathery skin and a bright red flower on his lapel.. how had Adam not noticed him when he walked in? Wait a second, Adam recognized this man. He used to be on posters years ago. Tensed muscles relaxed as Adam's rage turned to puzzlement, questions swimming through his head. "Are you.." The stranger raised his hand, stopping Adam mid-sentence. "Yes, I am. Maxwell the Great." 

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 3: The part where Winona dies

Chapter 11: Devil's Exposition

 

"You're awfully quiet, Adam."  The man in front of Maxwell hadn't spoken or moved in the last five minutes, much like a cornered feral animal. Didn't look like that was going to change, either.. Maxwell sighed, deciding to just get on with it. He had quite a lot to get to. First, he gave a light kick to the skeletal body of the woman who had been alive only moments prior. "I do wish you'd gotten here sooner. She was supposed to be your final kill, but she went and had a heart attack when she saw that man in the corner. Very troublesome, but in the end I suppose it's all the same, isn't it?" Adam's nostrils flared, body quivering and teeth gritting. Maxwell was disappointing, it looked like he wasn't going to get much feedback. Best to just keep on, then.

 

"As you know, I'm a magician. Quite a good one two. And you, Adam? You're one of my greatest tricks. You didn't honestly think you did all this, do you?" Maxwell couldn't help but grin at the boost he'd given to his own ego. To Adam, there was more malice behind that grin than Victor had managed in his own short lifetime. "You're not the only one who hated Witherstone's little puppets. They've hurt a lot of people over the years, so it wasn't hard for me to find a couple of unstable ones once I had the means to do so. From there it was easy. Have you ever heard of the power of suggestion?" As expected, Adam didn't answer, choosing instead to glare. Maxwell continued, his smile growing wider as he told of his great feat of manipulation. "All I had to do was expose you to violence, and remind you of Witherstone. Did you think it was a coincidence that the newspapers suddenly began printing so many tragic stories, sprinkled with articles about New York's favorite entrepreneur, Tony Capriono? Or that the very company that makes the knife that Victor attacked you with opened a new shop just blocks from where you used to work? Come now Adam, even you're smarter than that."

 

If the man clenched his fists any harder he would start bleeding. Maxwell knew when it was time to get to the point. "Now, I understand you must not be too happy to hear all this. But more than that, I'm sure you want to know why I did all this. It's not just mutual vengeance I'm after, Adam. I need someone to help me with.. Them." For the first time since he entered the room, Adam noticed the markings. Sharp indentations on the floor, scratches on the walls. It was all very occult, very alien. It left an uncomfortable impression. "George, that fool, had tried to copy one of my tricks. Being the frugal bastard he was, he managed to screw it up bad enough that the entire world is being threatened by.. well, let's just say bad guys. Worse than you, worse than me. Winona had been keeping them at bay, but obviously she's in no condition to do that any longer."

 

Adam looked back towards the body curled up in the middle of the room, looked at the knife she had dropped on the floor. There was something boiling downstairs, and he could swear it was getting louder. "So what do you say, old boy? You've already done so much for me anyways. You've taken out Witherstone's gang, made sure the public knows, brought Willow to me.."

 

Mentioning Willow had been an obvious mistake, but Maxwell realized it too late. Adam charged towards him, voicing his fury in bellowing screams while trying to get his hands on the chessmaster. The room grew dark, black sludge filling the runes in the floor as they grabbed Adam by the ankles. In mere moments tendrils formed and rose to bind the enraged killer where he stood, another large bubble of slime rising behind him. The slime changed to sharpened black steel in the form of a thin blade, pushing its way into Adam's spine while he struggled.

 

It took a full minute for the struggling to stop.

 

Maxwell almost felt remorseful as he watched Adam's body fall to the ground. It was his own fault really, you can't create a feral beast and be surprised when it tries to attack you. But They still threatened to break through into this world, to corrupt everything they touched and consume what could not be corrupted. What was he to do? Slowly, Maxwell's gaze shifted towards the unconscious detective lying in the corner.

Edited March 12, 2014 by 23rd

[CoffeeBoo]

Hey, 'grats on the title.

I require GOOMY MASTER title BECAUSE I AM LOOK AT THESE LIL SH*TS

[HoneyHam]

I require GOOMY MASTER title BECAUSE I AM LOOK AT THESE LIL SH*TS

Careful what words you use, they may name you Lil Sh*t Master now.

[23rd]

Return Fire

Part 3: The part where Winona dies

Chapter 12: I hope you have strong shoulders

 

A loud thud woke Sam from his sleep. He saw someone rushing from the room out of the corner of his eye, a slip of paper blowing into the room. Just moments ago he had been by that doorway, anticipating Adam coming up the steps. Now.. now he was mere feet away from both Adam and Winona's corpses. What the hell was happening here? Sam quickly scuttled towards the door, snatching the paper within his fingers. It was the list, that damned list. Now all the names were crossed off of it. Acting on intuition, Sam turned the paper around.

 

You were never meant to be a part of this, Mr. Diamond. Unfortunately, you're the last hope I have. I know you have a lot of questions, but I simply don't have the time to answer them all tonight. Here's what you need to know.

1. I'm the unwilling servant of evil forces that you never want to meet, I simply call them.. well.. Them. Every day They send one of Their own to try and break through into this world.
2. They can't be stopped, only delayed. Every night the rites must be performed in the room you find yourself in now. Winona used to perform them, but she can't anymore.
3. You need to hurry. It's in the house.

Good luck. -Maxwell

 

As soon as he finished reading, Sam heard the sound of cookware hitting marble a floor beneath him. Fear seized him. It was an oddly familiar fear, the kind of fear you experience when you look into a dark, open closet in the middle of the night, convinced some unimaginable creature is about to emerge. Sam slammed the door shut, rushing towards Winona's body. There had to be a clue, something to tell him what he needed to do. Sam thought hard. He had to remember, had to know.. suddenly an image flashed in his head.

 

He remembered seeing Winona, crouched and struggling with something in front of her. The words echoed in his mind. "It's not coming." He hadn't known what it meant, but looking at the item that she had been holding, the sharpened steel knife that had been dropped on the floor, it became obvious. The way the runes became deeper as they went further away from the center of the room, the red stains in the wood between the crevices.. He could hear something banging on the door behind him.

 

Sam rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the knife, and put it to his arm. As he made the first cut, the door flew from its hinges.

 

The End

[Battal]

Just got into this.  You have a real knack for storywriting.