Read Prepare to Die! for Free Online

sarcophagi, when Macabre had come out of one of them… it had all been planned.
    “Octagon,” I said, by way of a greeting. I tried to make my voice sound grim, like I was dangerous, but I didn’t at all feel that way. I tried for a smile and said, “You looking for a fight?”
    “I’m looking at the results of one. It looks like a mess.”
    “You should see the other guys.”
    “I will,” he said. “Tonight. There is a gathering. We will discuss the unfortunate death of Reaver. There’s not many of your side left, you know. You’re effectively the last.” It’s true. Paladin is gone. Kid Crater was murdered. Mistress Mary is missing.
    Octagon was moving down the hall, coming closer and closer, being hard to see, as usual. Something about his ebony costume sucks in light, bends it, refracts it, does all sorts of horrible things to it. Poor ol’ light, innocent as a virgin, and Octagon’s suit gives it rough play. It isn’t right.
    The walls seemed to bulge, retract, breathe, as he passed. He was reaching into his costume, pulling out flower petals, spreading them around. He was reaching into his legs and pulling out helium balloons, setting them free.
    “Celebrate the end of an era,” he told me. “It’s a party. The game is over!”
    “Fuck you,” I said, and I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and tossed it at his head. He’d forgotten how quick I am. They always do. If things get bad, in a fight, I play it slow for a time, let them get used to it, then suddenly speed things up. It catches people off guard, like a batter who’s been eyeing fastballs in the low 80’s suddenly having to deal with one at around 240.
    He warded the blow with his left arm. It broke. The fire extinguisher clipped his head and he went down.
    “Fuck!” he said. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He was dazed. He sounded almost feminine. My body was covered in green lines, green patches, healing me, and I felt better than ever. I felt like I was at the end of the crossroads. I felt lucky that I was inside a building where nobody was going to be filming me, where I could limp to the fallen Octagon and hit him one hundred times. Unless he was immortal, he was about to have a problem.
    “Take some time off,” I said. I still hadn’t reached him. Just wanted him to know what was happening. I think he was trying to reach for something in his leg, something deep in the void of his costume, but he was dazed and his hand was only slapping at the carpet next to his leg.
    “Take some time off,” I said. Even if there were cameras, even if this was going to be filmed, even if this would lead to a passage of anti-power legislation, even if I went to prison, it would still be worth it.
    “Take some time off,” I said. I realized I’d gone a bit crazy, saying my catchphrase like a mantra, like a cretin talks about tinfoil and the moon. I still hadn’t hit Octagon. Still hadn’t quite reached him. There was blood on the carpet beneath his head. His arm was crooked. It would be wrong to say I had an erection. But you’d get half credit.
    “Take some time…”
    “Reaver.”
    It wasn’t his voice. It was a woman’s voice from… from… from the door that was opening down the hall, from the woman who was strutting out of the room, from the woman who was adjusting her costume as if it had, only moments before, been in disarray, or off.
    Which was probably true.
    “Hello, Siren,” I said.
    “Fuck you,” she said.
    She wasn’t cursing me.
    It was more of an invitation.
    I was pinned into place by the oldest of desires, or at least the best of the oldest of desires. That’s how Siren is. That’s her thing. Her voice, her body, her aroma, it’s everything that triggers sex. I’ve known people who didn’t get stiff, or wet, when Siren was nearby… but it’s rare enough to warrant a comment.
    Let me just go ahead and state outright that Siren and I have a history. I know that she’s evil. I know she’s done some