NightDeath

By Tione

Dedicated to:

Zach VanHouten

The horror-filled man in front of me screamed, much like a girl, I noted with amusement. His eyes were filled with panic. I smirked. He was also white as a sheet, although one with eyes, nose, mouth, and other body parts.

          I decided to be merciful, not the norm for me. I usually did brutal, bloody murders. It was my trademark. They knew that NightDeath had been there and that they were to fear the name.

          As a final attempt, he pulled out a gun. All the wealthy weasels that I was to kill always used some sort of gun as a last try to escape.

          My sword sliced cleanly through him and came out the other end of his body. His upper torso hit the ground with a resounding smack. Fluids spilled to the ground, mixing with the dark red of the blood I so loved.

          What was his name again? Tim? Todd? All the names, a blur. All the faces, clear as crystal with the frozen fear in their eyes. Would anyone ever look at me with something other than fear or hate?

          I stretched my great midnight black wings and sheathed my bloodstained sword that glinted in the pale moonlight. I took off, flying away, through the broken window that the said moonlight was coming through.

          As my wings beat in an unknown rhythm, I reviewed every aspect of the recent kill. Nothing. Nothing at all. No adrenaline rush, no high. Just cold, calculating coolness. Killing was dull and calloused now. No appeal.

          What would I do now that I got no pleasure from the only thing that used to give me pleasure? Would I become more enslaved to his will?

          I saw Greg Gray’s home up ahead. Prison was a better word, I thought darkly. Greg is my master; I am a slave to his will. I remember nothing of my life before Greg, before he “saved” me.

          Sometimes, no, more then just sometimes, I wish that I could escape. Fly forever and not look back. Even I, the feared, invincible fallen angel, NightDeath, have dreams. Fantasies.

          Mine is to fly away. To actually know freedom. To know freedom like it is my brother. To know it like the back of my hand.

          Greg demands me to kill rivals and those who oppose him or offend him. There also seem to be a lot of those, I might add. Never have I spoken those words out loud before.

          I landed in front of the mansion and my great wings folded themselves at my side. I was let in by the security systems.

The building was always cold, a foreboding presence at the back of my mind. An intricate labyrinth of rooms and corridors, big windows and stone floors.

“So she’s back. Status?” came the drawling voice that just screamed arrogance and confidence, the voice I absolutely loathed with every fiber of my being.

“Exterminated.”

“Good.” Greg suddenly grinned lopsidedly. I shuddered. To some ladies, that grin might seem handsome and mysterious. But not to me. I knew better.

“Do we have to go through this again?” My voice was perfectly flat and level, betraying no emotion except the ones I wanted it to. Right now that was boredom and indifference.

“Must you always wear your hair in that horrible way? So messy and careless?”

“Yes.” He was, of course, referring to the thick, messy braid that my long black hair was always in. Always. I never take it out.

“And your clothes. Out of date, out of style, and have definitely seen better days. You have an entire wardrobe of the finest clothes anyone has ever seen. It is not impossible to wear them.”

My dress. Pure white. Rather contradicting, if you ask me. There was a black crescent moon in one corner. Further contradicting both the dress and me. It was the dress I was found in and it seemed to grow with me, I never having to mend it or repair it or lengthen it in any way.

“Why must you always wear that bloody sword and that dumb necklace?”

I didn’t grace that with an answer. It was a dumb question. He knew the answer. He just needed to criticize everything. Poke at me. Provoke me.

“And your eyes are that black. It wouldn’t kill you to use colored contacts.”

Now, that was one thing he had never insulted me about before. I rather like my eyes. They are my favorite feature.

My sword made a soft noise as I drew it. It glinted and you could see that it was still bloodstained.

“I could kill you right here and now,” I threatened.

My sword cut into the soft flesh of his neck, crimson gathering around the point. More blood to clean off later.

Greg seemed unconcerned. “You won’t do it, NightDeath.”

And I snapped. I was tired of his insults, his complaining, his displeasure. I was tired of the killing. I was mad that nothing gives me pleasure anymore. I was tired of him thinking that he knew me. Him assuming that I wouldn’t do something.

The sword had a mind of its own as it came back, then shot forward. For a moment, in his eyes, I saw fear. Real fear, real, unadulterated, animal fear, before his head rolled off and hit the stone floor with a thud. The fear was frozen in his eyes.

His body fell forward, on top of me. I pushed it off with disgust and spat on it.

And I stretched my great, magnificent wings and took off into the night.

Free. Freedom. Forever. For as long as I live.

And after.