WARNING: This is my very first mature rated story, and it's rated that for a good reason. There's no sexual themes described in detail, but this does get a high rating for suggestive themes and very very descriptive violence. Read slowly, and imagine.

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Century City, Los Angeles.

In the darkest midsts of the Spring afternoon, with the glow of the cities lights and the sparklings of the ever-running park fountains, the lowest darkest scum illuminates.

Century's Cradles. Midnight stalkers preying on the weak and helpless in a city illuminated with the light of the moon. A band of small-time crooks thieving, molesting, murdering the citizens foolish to stray at night, with no one to get in their way as they hide back in the corner street shadows, away from the watchful eyes of human justice.

Their deeds were never heard from again.

Comayagua, Honduras.

A fearful man deadlier and scarier than the Cradle's known feats of nighttime terrorism. He was a Spanish corporate topper, hidding behind his industry was a web of intercontinental white slavery tradings reaching from South Africa to Melbourne. A man who would eternally be damned, he would take women of any age and destroy them of any future they might have hoped to have.

His body was found hanging on the east wing of the Cathedral of Comayagua, his lower half bleeding with excessive blood, his private forcefully dissected from his violently torn body.

Mandaluyong, Luzon

A dread mass-murderer on rampage for 3 full weeks was the talk of the local newspapers. A lunatic high on excessive unnamable drugs, he ravaged the city preying on innocent schoolchildren, ripping their legs off and preserving them for his obscene collection.

His body was found on his 4th week, judgement forcefully removing his legs off his bloodied body... and his arms, and his skin, and his arteries, and all of his innards.

It took a week to find every bit of his rotting remains, each major organ seperated into 7 major landmarks around the countries' northern region.

City of Aberdeen, Aberdeen

A lesser evil was afoot, a man of a massive seven feet in height, first handled as a simple offender before he looted and shot a vendor he stole cigarrettes from. From then on, he proceeded with no more crimes for weeks, but was instead in hiding from the law in his grandmother's farm on the city outskirts. One day, however, he decided to rob again... and took an old lady's life in the process.

He didn't escape punishment. His body was found a month later in an unexpected collision with a group of relief agents... in Mexico City, thousands of kilometers away.

Surrey City, British Columbia

Two highschool kids on an otherwise respectful holiday decided to have some sick fun, bored from their usual gig at parties and raves. On a Tuesday afternoon, the two delinquents set a hamster inside a microwave and set the timer to an hour.

The youth's deed was not as gruesome as their corpses, who were heard screaming painfully for 4 hours, before being eventually released from their confines - a large stove where they were inhumanly burned alive, slowly and painfully.

At least once a week, these gruesome murders would storm the news, catching the eyes of everyone in the entirety of the Earth. Each murder just as gruesome as the last, with the weight of the crime as horrible as the pain of its punishment. And yet each day, the general populace cannot realize the entirety of the situation.

Such demons happen every minute before their everyday lives, and they were blind to it. It took the force that could blow the world... before they were finally opened to a sight they could no longer escape from.

In each of these horrible vendettas, a sign had occurred. A symbol of the vigilante from the Gates of Hell, signed in blood - a trademark signifying the authenticity of his horrible deeds.

And on one fateful night, several witnesses were finally able to witness the reaper's blade, the so-called vigilante, the bringer of justice to those who have not experienced it.

The tragic clown.

I—+—I

renniS

Act I: The Tragic Clown--

I—+—I

10:14PM, Chicago City, Illinois

"Frickin' hell, every damn night with this," a gruff middle-aged man swore, dusting off his trusty plain overcoat as he sped off to his assigned patrol car, cursing words along the way so fast he could beat an inspired rapper.

"Sorry about that, old man," replied another man in the middle, a slicker overcoat hanging from his shoulders, his arms crossed waiting for his older buddy. "It might seem a little familiar after a while, sadly... but this is actually the real deal."

"Just hurry us there, Carter," replied his partner as he got in the car with heaving old legs. "Though I'm not really in a hurry."

"Don't be that way, Jim," laughed Carter as he sped through the evening streets, lighting a cigarette out his window and giving it a cold hard breath outside. "Maybe we shouldn't be happy, but we are. Of course, now we've gotta clean up the mess."

Minutes later, the police car stopped. The two detectives step outside into a dark street corner in the middle of the city, a lone street lampost illuminating the whole scene as brightly as it possibly could. But on that special night, signs of flashlights zipping left and right zoomed back and forth from the otherwise lightless scene.

"...Ooooh HEEEELL," exclaimed Jim as he looked up into the dark corner's farthest wall, where a man in a business suit was left hanging over the wall, his stomach wide open, blood and lower innards spilling mucus and innard waste. The bloodied corpse's eyes bulged bug-eyed, tears and dried blood flooding down his wide-open mouth, foam and blood flowing from his missing tongue. His arms spread wide, legs eagle-spread, spiked to the wall with sharp black spears that smelled newly forged and reaked of anesthetics. It's head looked to the heavens, held in its place by his lower intestine, which was wrapped violently around its fat wringed neck.

"Yeah... Hell yeah... That's him alright. I can tell," Jim said, looking to the side as several police officers who just came to the scene saw the nightly product with utter disgust, puking sickeningly over at the side.

"Hey, you dumbasses, don't do that over at the crime scene!" He then casually looked over to his partner, who was also keeling over to the side, legs weakened by the graphic sight. "What... you too?"

"I'm sorry, man," Carter replied, wiping his mouth off of anything he had vomited out in disgust. "But... damn, that IS graphic... But can you see it?"

"Yeah," Jim replied backing up to see the entirety of the wall with the grafitti of the dead body. "If you back up enough, even in this darkness, it glistens in the glow of the moonlight..."

"...The word 'renniS' written in blood, stretching ten feet across."

I—+—I

For the past 3 months, strange murderers have occured involving the deaths of both infamous and obscure criminals, their crime scenes as graphic and blasphemous as their crimes. The greater the sin, the worse the death. One witness even mentioned hearing the cries of this vendetta's victims howl throughout the night - screams so frightening only the Devil himself could match its gruesomeness, those unfortunate to hear it unable to sleep for weeks on end.

He started out with the obvious - worldwide terrorists, the world's most wanted, the most hated, the most feared, the extremists, the racists, the fire the world fears the most... Soon he reduced them all to nothing but the proof of their ashes as their remains.

Governments, police, secret operatives, the media, and civilians all over world have noticed... just as the vigilante of the night had wanted.

As soon as his existence was made public officially - thanks to the devilry of a leaked video showing the murders graphic nature on a famous public video site - the murders increased, copycat murderers trying to get in on the act and proving themselves to be the culprit of the worldwide mass-murder with the worst murders they could think of. Phonecalls, videotaped murders, Internet blog posts... these copycats did all they could to prove themselves to be the real deal.

They were but mere fools, trying to gain fame the worst way they could think of.

They did not escape, and soon the real devil gave them a bloodbath fitting their fraudulent killings - bloodied deaths too painful to describe.

With this knowledge, the numbers of copycats decreased and almost disappeared entirely. The original vendetta had won.

After 2 months since he began, his crimes soon had a signature - a mark and a message that proved himself to be the real one, one that the police kept secret to seperate the imitations from the real deal. A message to the world gone wrong who let the Evils escape through the night.

The word renniS, written in the blood of his victim.

Soon, the murderer had a name... just as he had wanted. And only several days prior to the present time, several witnesses were able to see the vigilante of the night for the first time.

A short child, wearing a black sentient cloak, with half a smiling mask and the black hood of a clown.

It was to that day that this murderer was eventually nicknamed...

...The Tragic Clown, renniS

I—+—I

Monday, 6AM in the morning

Teivel Faith woke up with a long yawn. It was an average day for a student as below average as he was. Middle school, average grades, videogames during the weekends... it was a completely natural life.

But Teivel's life had gotten complicated, ever since the murder stories had reached the voice of everyone in town. A murderer cloaked in darkness killing those that justice had deemed hard to tame, were tamed with the very essence of death. And torture.

Teivel's friends usually got together during the weekends, playing videogames, cardgames, boardgames, or any other dorky entertainment that can be placed on a tabletop. But not anymore.

His mother had ordered him home early, every day of the week now. 'Not until the murders stop' she says. Teivel sighed, because he knew that the Tragic Clown only targetted people of evil origin.

He wasn't evil, was he? What did his mother have to fear?

Why would such a person, busy killing people of horrible deeds, go after an average kid like him?

And for that reason, what did other people have to fear? If they did no evil, thought no evil, breathed no evil, they would not get harmed, would they?

Teivel continued to sigh as he finally unlocked the door to his room and sulk in boredom for the rest of the day.

"You're home a little late than usual today, Teivel," a voice from inside his room said, making his skin pale as a ghost - a greeting so cold it froze the air in the dark unlit room.

The voice opened the light, smiling. "I thought your mother told you to go home early today. Such a disobedient child."

Unsurprised no longer, he smiled back, a faceless grin underneath his face. "You like it? I bought glasses today... just to be on the safe side."

The voice laughed. "Trivial... Your face changes when you use Him anyway, so there's no particular need to disguise yourself further. Besides, glasses don't really count as disguise."

"Most people like to think so," Teivel smiled. "Truth is, the average person can't even remember the faces they see everyday, considering they see so many unfamiliar faces of different gender and race everyday. Even with such simple glasses, I can disguise myself a little more."

"For a child receiving average grades in school, I thought you'd be too stupid to know that."

"Ouch, I'm hurt," he grinned kiddingly. "That's what I read in the news yesterday - and something else interesting."

"I don't care to argue," the voice sighed. "So, Teivel Faith, I ask you again: the same I ask of you every night of your life, from this moment on and beyond for as long as you so desire to live..."

"...Who shall we kill today?"

Teivel smiled. "I have a good one for today."

I—+—I

Tuesday 0:01AM Past Midnight

"Hey, buddy... Light me a stick, will ya?" said a gruff looking man, tapping his partner on the shoulder, rubbing his weary eyes and scratching the red bandana on his head, a banda they all wore as a group that night - all forty-seven of them.

"I told you to bring your own damn 'gars, stupid," the other man replied, tossing a stick of brand smokes to his comrade, at the same time aiming his large rifle to his friend's head. "Next time we get these overnights and you ask for another stick, I'll blow your ass off!"

"Hahaha, doofus," a third one in the party said, scratching his back and laughing his sides off. "That's his face, not his ass... What, are you stupid!?"

The others laughed too, until their leader suddenly raised his hand, sending them all to a shush. "QUIET... Did you hear that?"

The group said nothing for minutes, looking around their darkened positions, aiming carefully at the sky with their armaments, ready to hail bullets at anything that moved suspiciously.

"Nothin', boss... Sheesh, givin' me a heartattack," one sighed in relief.

"Can't blame 'im, man... I mean, even I'd pee my pants with that clown on the loose," another started in conversation.

"You mean that so-called 'tragic clown'? Tragic clown, my ass!"

"Dude, you like saying 'ass', don'tcha?" the others laughed.

"Quiet, all of you," the leader suddenly halted again. "Be alert... Even with the silencers, I don't want ANY of you firin' a trigger unless I say so... Our employer wants us to make sure we keep his cargo safe, got it? That means no trigger-happy asses!"

"Got it, boss," the others saluted. "But what makes that fat bucket of a businessman think that this 'clown' kid will go bustin' his cap like in the news?"

"Probably because he's evil," a child suddenly spoke overhead.

The mercenaries looked around, clacking their guns soundly as the leader raised his hand for the signal.

"Wow, such a large group of manly men," the voice echoed from the ceiling, before finally dropping like a rock to the ground, standing still, right at the center of the bandana-marked mercenaries. Like the stories rang, it was a child, small in stature, wearing a black shadow-like cloak, wearing a clown hood painted black. The child was cloaked in darkness, his face outgoing and innocent, whilst one half was covered by a theatrical mask, smiling like a joker, laughing.

"Damn, it IS a kid," one exclaimed, not releasing his fingers at the trigger.

"THAT'S 'renniS'? I thought he'd be... bigger," another added.

"I am the person called renniS, sirs," the clown bowed, giggling as he covered the half of his face that coveted the child. In only seconds, the giggling became a laugh, then a cackle, then a scream... and then the clown child raised its head, and the innocence was longing no more. It was a psycho in disguise.

The face screeched, crying tears of blood, giggling a demented giggle. "Heeheehee... I want you to DIE."

"Fire," the mercenary leader spat.

I—+—I

Tuesday, 3:07AM

It was a cold dark night for Mr. Gleason, as he was called. Ever since he lied down to sleep for the day at about Eleven, the harsh wind blew leaves and the swaying clanking branches of a nearby tree to his window, making a small but noticeable racket in his room.

He wonders, murmering to himself, if this clown he's been hearing all over is true.

"Oh, I'm quite real, Mr. Gleason."

Gleason nearly had a heartattack, as a menacing face suddenly appeared as he opened his eyes, looking at him with both a happy and deceiving smile. Gleason tried to back off, turning to the end of the room where the door was, but the eerie sentient darkness emenating from the room sucked out all the air from his bloated body.

"Looks like you could use some exercise, Mr. Gleason," renniS giggled. "Don't worry, though... I'm used to gutting fat corporates like you now..."

"W... WHY?!" he screamed to the top of his lungs, though his words were contained echoing in his bedroom, his private guards outside unable to hear. "W-WHAT DO YOU WANT?! I-I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! W... WHAT HAPP--"

"Oh... You mean the nice men you hired at your warehouse?" renniS suddenly replied, smiling, chuckling to himself.

"Whoops," the dark clown purposely dropped, lightly throwing a severed head of the mercenary leader, eyes bulging out, throwing mucus all over the businessman's pajamas.

Gleason screamed, a shriek so high it made no sound as he coughed and wheezed to the top of his lungs. After a long painful minute, he fell silent, dropping to the ground like a stone.

"Heartattack, huh," renniS sighed. "Oh well, a dead body's a dead body."

I—+—I

Tuesday Afternoon

The time when the world woke up came, the whole world once again embraced fear with another of the tragic clown's 'miracles,' this time, entering and killing a well-known businessman by the name of Bernard Gleason, a widely-respected owner of the construction company BGCO.

Investigation was slowly leaked, as the latest victim of the crime has received a heartattack in his own room, along with the head of a man known only as 'Guile Red,' who is an infamous hired-hit by trade and infamous leader of the Guile Corps. With the leader's head, the body was found a week later, along with the beheaded corpses of the so-called red mercenaries, piled on top of each other forming a hill of corpses.

Their heads were found three days later by several homeless men living underneath a bridge, who found them floating in a nearby river.

Though this information was never released to the public, each body had the tattoo forcefully edged to their skulls, the name of the tragic clown proving his deeds.

The world could ignore Him no longer.

Back in his room, late afternoon, Tievel Faith looked out the window, all smiles as he enjoyed the beauty of the glowing orange sun setting in the distance.

"So, Tievel Faith," the voice in his room spoke. "Who shall we kill tomorrow?"

Tievel smiled, looking back, unable to hold his hand that shook with excitement.

"...I have a good one for tomorrow."

To be continued...

I—+—I

NEXT CHAPTER: Chance, Luck, Fate... Tievel tells his tale of the very day he recieved the power of the Devil. His price - a simple soul, for the power to control the world as he saw fit. Enter Hesus Cruz, an aspiring writer working for a local newspaper. He wonders of the power of the tragic clown murders, and concludes the reason to his existence... the existence of the Teufelkind.

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Author's Note: OMG, I can't believe I actually posted this! I was really scared writing this, just so you know. I've never written anything this graphic before, so I'm wondering how well it went. Please give me your comments!