Night.

Perfect.

They'll be out tonight. It's a perfect, moonlit night. Not a cloud in the sky, the stars shining brightly. Yes, a wonderful night for hunting.

It's time to go now. As I head out the door, I grap the whip. Such a wonderful whip. Stained with the blood of many afflicted by their sort of disease. Used for generations by this house. And I am the last. After my end, it shall be retired, and eventually its silver will be recast into something new. But that is still a long way off.

I can smell them, smell the blood they are already taking. They're active unusually early tonight. They must be hungry. Then again, they're always hungry on nights like this. It must be the silver of the moon.

Getting closer.

Found one. But it's too late. He has taken a victim already. But it is still my duty to rid the world of this monster. He looks at me, dropping the dead body beside him. The body turns to a red dust, and the breeze blows it into the wind. Another soul gone.

Approaching me, he looks into my eyes. I look back, and smile playfully before pulling myself onto the roof of the nearest building. He follows me, using his demonic power to jump to the roof. Before he realizes it, the whip is around his neck, tightening.

"Not so powerful now, are you?" I laugh, yanking on the whip, pulling him closer. I can see the fear in his eyes. He's trying especially hard to cover it up. I think I'll have some fun with this one.

The silver begins to trickle up his neck, to his mouth. I can see him trying so hard not to show his fear. It runs into his mouth. The beginning of a tear starts to form in his eye. "Does that burn?" I taunt, as it begins to run down his throat into his stomach, mixing with blood. I can see the pain now, too. He begins to scream in agony, writhing in pain. And I'm not even done yet.

It forms itself into a point, and pushes itself out of his stomach, into the open air. His blood and his victim's gushes forth, onto me, the roof. Before he realizes it, it forces itself back in through a new hole, and slowly, agonizingly, inches toward his black heart. A smile crosses my face, seeing him twitch and scream. There's no better sight in the world than one of them dying a slow death.

I have an idea. The point splits in two. One continues his heart, the other begins a journey to his head. The silver begins to wrap itself around his heart. Around his brain. Pushing itself into his eyeballs, burning. Constricting his spine. Seeping out his mouth, through the hole in his throat.

And with a yank of the whip, it ends. His eyeballs burn away. His mind is completely liquefied, and oozes out the back of his head. His heart burns away. His body is nothing now but an empty shell which will only last a moment. Within the moment, his body turns to pitch black dust, which itself becomes a dark, black, sticky goo. The silver whip slides through it, igniting it, and I watch the remains of another one burn up, an offering to a non-existent god.