Blood blade

Angelo leaned against a wall, breathing hard, soaked in blood and sweat. He knew most of the blood wasn't his, but he had lost track of just how much. The sweat was surely his, though. He had been running for what felt like hours, trying to escape the madness of what the world had become. Seemingly overnight, all of his friends and neighbors had gone from being human to what could only be described as demons. Beasts with long and viscous claws, which had already torn at his skin a dozen times. But what he had experienced was nothing compared to what he had managed to run through.

The stench was strong in his nostrils, but he was far past the point of worrying about it. What he needed to worry about now was finding a weapon that he could use to keep himself alive with. These beasts were far past what he could handle with just his bare hands. Anything he could use to keep them at a distance would be a help. And as he glanced around the alley for something to use, he couldn't believe the luck of what his eyes fell on.

A long dead corpse with what appeared to be a katana sticking out of its chest. The blade had not yet begun to degrade, and looked as though it had been freshly sharpened. It had a long and deep blood groove running down the center, stained red with the dried blood of the body it was embedded in. Angelo couldn't have asked for a better weapon to keep himself alive with.

He took a firm grip on the blade, immediately followed by a hand taking a firm grip on his arm. He was paralyzed with fear as he saw the corpse open its eyes and glare angrily up at him, making sure that he didn't pull the sword out of his chest. Angelo didn't know how to respond. He had seen some messed up shit that day, but this... This was somehow on a different level.

"What do you think you're doing?" The body's voice was old and raspy, barely more than a whisper, but it nearly made Angelo shit his pants. "You think you can just take this? You think just because a sword is sticking out of someone's chest means that you can take it? This sword is mine, and if you don't let go of it, I will let you know how it feels through your chest."

Angelo let go of the sword instantly, stumbling backwards as the corpse let go of him, falling on his ass in the middle of the street. He watched in petrified horror as the corpse stood up on broken legs and slowly pulled the blade out of his chest, new blood running down the fuller and dripping onto the street.

"Punk kids," the corpse mumbled, staggering away. "Just because the world is ending they think they can do whatever the hell they please."