We All Knew It Would Happen Eventually
Phobos came first. Fear always came first. It was the natural order of things and Deimos agreed. Deimos couldn’t possibly imagine feeling jealous of the fact. Phobos was the starter and Deimos was the finisher. The beginning and the end all packed together in a neat terrible package. It all had to have an end and Deimos enjoyed ending things. In a sense Phobos was the beginning of the end but Deimos was the end of the end. He watched how it all came together. Deimos decided when time had run out. It was special with people. A life is fragile. Victims would remember terror looking upon them before the pain ultimately released them. “I resent them.” Deimos whispered over to Phobos.
“Patience brother, their day has come.” Phobos reassured his brother with a clap to his shoulder as soldiers foolishly pointed guns at them. The two brothers exchanged glances. Deimos pulled out his watch. It was seven forty-eight p.m. exactly two months and five days after Esprit, a disciple of Ophiuchus, turned the key on this side of the intergalactic bridge.
Phobos enjoyed being theatrical. It had something to do with being the centre of attention. Deimos couldn’t remember a time when Phobos didn’t flourish at the attention.
Phobos assumed a posture befitting a man of his rank. When Phobos spoke, he spoke with the voice of authority and loud enough for the entire plaza to hear. “People of Earth,” he waited. The soldiers settled uneasily waiting for instructions, having decided to ignore instructions from their superiors. “The end is near.” He paused again “Today your greatest fears will come true because planet Earth will cease to exist in little more than six hours.” Phobos hesitated. Six hours and six minutes to be precise. Phobos turned to his brother, “What day is today?”
“Sunday brother,” Deimos informed him. “Ophiuchus had said it would have to be a Sunday.”
Phobos continued his speech. “It is said, it took seven days to create this world, which is complete nonsense of course.” He made big gestures with his arms. Deimos imagined Phobos would have made a splendid Hamlet. “Ironically it will take us only hours to kill seven billion people and tear this world apart, just in time to take Monday off.” Phobos twisted his face into a diabolic grin.
The Colonel had heard enough. “Get those nut jobs!” The troops rushed in with the intent to capture the alien invaders.
“They’re getting feisty, brother,” Deimos stated, “shall we begin with the killing?”
“Do not harm the reporters.” Phobos ordered. “We need them to spread the message to the world.” Phobos smiled malevolently. “I enjoy being on camera.” He ran a hand through his hair. Phobos stuffed a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a small orange calcite. Deimos had been prepared for this. The entire vicinity had been plunged into complete darkness. Fear and terror lived in the darkness. Deimos didn’t need to see. He was the terror and the darkness was his medium. He knew seeing your enemy was only one advantage a warrior could have.
Phobos had turned day to night and love into fear. He inflicted fear into the hearts of his victims and made it impossible for them to feel love. Deimos used that seed of fear to inflict terror in people. Terror was his weapon of choice and inflicting it made him stronger. The darkness made him stronger. He could smell the fear dripping out of the soldiers caught in their web. The trap was set and the soldiers would die. Deimos let out a howl of excitement. He played with his prey before he killed them. He would only start killing once the fear had run its course and terror had to be enforced. That’s when Deimos started killing his prey.
Phobos was casually making his way towards the news team. Deimos decided to take out a few of the soldiers. They screamed bloody murder. In their torment he ripped off a limb or two. Cries of agony worked wonders for a wild panic. Terrified soldiers opened fire in every direction. Friends shot each other down in the hopes of hitting the source of their fears. Deimos wasn’t worried about stray bullets. Two had already struck him. One had hit him in the chest and one went in his arm. He had died a long time ago. His physical body was merely a shell. He had already begun to regenerate the damaged muscles and absorb the lead. The noise had reached its peak with gunfire, mortal screams, blood splatter and the scuffling of feet. When finally, there was peace. Deimos had won his prize. He swung the Colonel’s head on his way across the plaza.
Phobos released the light reflecting barrier so the survivors could see the horror. The ground lay paved in blood and guts. He greeted the news crew cowering behind the blockades. The woman holding the microphone was frozen solid. They could see the end now because now there were thousands of Hell’s Soldiers coming out of the gateway ready to wreak havoc upon the world. “Welcome to Hell. Ladies and gentlemen are there any questions?” Phobos locked the reporter in a deep and endless gaze. Tabitha Krealy disappeared in those dark eyes. All her fears evaporated into nothingness. Miss Krealy had regained some of her composure. Phobos needed her to function. He could tell this reporter always stuck to her story. Even if the world was doomed she would swear to inform the people to the end. It was her duty and she was going down with the ship.
“Can the people of Earth have a statement?” She didn’t wait for him to continue with his “end of the world banter.” “Could we have your name?” She fired every question she had at him. “Are you invading this planet?”
Phobos gestured for the cameraman to come in for the close-up. “You may call me Phobos. My brother is Deimos. He’s the one holding the man’s head back over there.”