This is a little something I wrote after the Paris attacks of 13-Nov-2015. I've been reading a lot of Conan by Robert E Howard, and I think it shows. I'm working on a story that, hopefully, I can put to use in a graphic novel. The over arching theme would be the power of the human soul on fire.
The jihadist stormed the mall with his budget store AK. Jim crept as quietly as his shoes would allow him, moving from mannequin to counter to avoid detection. He slipped off his jacket, always keeping an eye on the Jihadist. Another person dead, Jim's eyes went wet, as the adrenaline surged in his body, expanding his chest, and readying his muscles. He prays to the gods in his mind “Zeus? Thor? God? Baphomet? Will any of you grant me this glory? I do this for righteousness, aid me in that.”-Pop-pop- The Jihadist fires off more rounds into the crowd, emptying his gun. He grabs the clip and ejects it, maneuvering the duct-tapped secondary clip into the receiver. It was now or never. Jim abandons his hidden position and run at the Jihadist at full sprint, his heightened state allowing him to control every muscle and tendon with fantastic precision. The rage had overtaken him and he lets out a mighty “RAHH!” as he closed the 10 meters quickly, alerting the Jihadist in his foolishness.
Jihad John was of thin frame, not reaching the full adulthood of a man in his thirties, but with the slight womanish frame of an 18 year old boy. His ratty beard, and bad eyes, show this boy for what he was, a weakling nerd. But nerds study, and this one had. Jihad John met the raging charge with a smile, loading the second clip with the smooth action of a practiced hand, raising the barrel to chest level, and firing a shot into Jim's rib cage. Jim's eyes come off his target for a brief moment, as the pain draw his attention. The wound isn't bad enough to put him down or stop his rush, he's 2 meters from his target now, and loading up for the hardest double leg. Jihad John fires another shot, this one much closer to the center of mass, Jim roars as he leaps at Johnny's legs, aiming just above the knee cap. Jihad Johnny instinctively squeezes the trigger as the full force of Jim's bull rush comes into his legs, firing off several rounds into the roof, his frail body buckles at the waist and knee, almost snapping his 135lb frame. His feet come off the ground as they both fly through the air. Jim has the wherewithal to protect his head from the impact of the hard mall floor, Jihad Johnny does not. The Jihadist body snaps back from the initial impact just as his butt hits the floor, rocking his whole body over his ass. Jim's shoulder is tightly tucked up under the Jihadist's sternum. The impact to the ground is brutal. Jim can hear the man's ribs snap as his full weight comes into the body. The full acceleration of the impact swings the Jihadist back, sending the back of his skull hard into the floor, killing him.
Jim comes quickly up into mount, as the devastation of the takedown wains. He postures for a punch with his right, placing his left to block the AK, but the man's wide open dead eyes make it quite clear. Jim rolls off and puts his back against the nearest wall, he is dying too. The second shot hit just left of his heart, his lung was filling with blood. He thinks of his wife Stella, how he loved her, and how they fought earlier that day. He sent out a psychic connection, not knowing, but hoping she would feel it. “I love you, honey. Sorry, I'm leaving you.”. He coughed and spat blood. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”. With that the life drained out of his eyes and it went black. What he was, ceased to be, what he is, is no more.
Jihad Johnny's body lay still, he had been a devotee of the Muslim faith, always obeying halal, and praying towards Mecca as he should. His soul leap from his body with exuberance. His essence rising through the stars to heaven. He had martyred and he was to be rewarded. His soul knew where to go, he glided through the stars to a cloudy gaseous region of space, and in it, his new home. A palace like the old Sultans, filled with hookah and silken curtain, and the greatest prize, his harem. The women were hardly women, all virgins, none more than 18, some probably less, but that didn't matter here. The voice of God thundered around him “You have served me well, my Son. Enjoy all the luxuries of Earth, here with me, in heaven.”.