The rain splattered down seeping through the soles of his shoes.
But he did not walk faster.
His pace wasn’t slow but it wasn’t quick either. It was…steady. The firm stride of a man who knew what he was doing and where he was going.
With just one difference.
He wasn’t a man. He wasn’t even human.
He reached the house and looked up. His nose crinkled in disgust. The putrid stench of rotting garbage was in the air.
The house was a ruin. A shabby, broken down, depressing dump.
“I wonder why he chose this hell-hole.” He wondered.
Then, he shook his head like it didn’t matter and climbed the wooden steps to the door. He winced as one of the steps creaked.
He stood before the door and stared at it as if sizing it up.
Then, he shook back the sleeve of his right hand.
He fanned out his fingers and aimed his palm at the door.
He closed his eyes and concentrated.
And felt the lightning rush up from inside him.
The old man coughed. He looked blearily out of the window. It was raining.
“That’s just great. The garbage will rot even faster now ! ” He thought.
He lit a new cigarette. People had told him since he was fifteen that he should quit. They shut up when he started killing them.
He smiled grimly.
“I’m not a bad man. I do the work of the rightful. And people who defy me deserve to die.I have gods powers. I AM GOD ! ”
He shouted the last words out loud and stood up. For a moment it looked like his rickety legs would support him. Then he slumped back on the couch.
He lit another cigarette. He had dropped the first one in his moment of excitement.
The minutes ticked by as he slowly smoked. The silence was complete.
He was almost dozing off when he heard the steps. The steady treading of someone slowly climbing the stairs. He still wasn’t sure though. His old ears could be playing tricks on him.
Then he heard one of the stairs creak. There was definitely someone there.
“They’ve come!” He thought. “They’ve come to kill me! But I won’t let them do it. I’ll run !”
He tried to get up but his old legs were frozen with fear.
Then he heard it. The all so familiar crackling.
Slowly, he turned his head towards the door. It glowed with a brilliant blue light and he listened as the crackling turned to a roar.
Moments later, the door was blown clean off its hinges, flying across the room barely missing the old man who fell to the floor in horror.
He stared at the silhouette framing the doorway.
He saw a tall man. Not broad, but well built. His long dark cloak flapped above his ankles and he stared directly at the pathetic old man on the ground.
But what was most captivating was the man’s right hand. Blue electricity still crackled around it like moths around a lamp.
Then the old man was calm.
He knew what this man had come to do. And he knew he did not have a choice in the matter. So he looked. Merely looked.
The man walked straight up to the old man still on the ground sitting with his back to the wall.
He lifted a finger and pointed it straight between the old man’s eyes.
The old man spoke.
“Before you do it, tell me. Is the new generation awake then?”
The man blinked before answering.
“And you are one of them?”
“Which one?” Although he already knew.
The old man sighed. “Yes. Then you are the strongest. I die an honourable death.”
The man nodded and pointed his finger straight at the old man’s heart. It would be painless that way.
The old man spoke again.
“One last thing. What is your name?”
There was a pause. The man seemed to be thinking about something. The pause lasted an eternity. And then he spoke.
And the lightning shot out of his fingers.