She pulled away, ducking from the clumsy attempts to harm her. Men were seriously foolish. Especially politicians. That's why she was often called to kill them. They seemed to be the only kinds of people on her ever-growing list.

The man swung at her again and she caught his wrist, giving him a feral grin. Using her skill and blessed Cursed strength, she knocked the weapon, a wooden paperweight, into the man's face. The man cried out in alarm, stumbling back.

"Please!" He cried out, "I haven't done anything!" She released him and he stumbled and fell onto his ass. She pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side, mocking him.

"Mr. Williams," she purred in perfect English, despite her German accent - it had taken years to learn - "you're letting the good people of your town starve. They hate you so much that they banded together to pay me to off you." She stalked after him like a predator. Slow. Easy. "I would have done it for free," she drawled, bringing her eyes to his, "but they offered."

"Pleaseeeee. I - I - can offer you more -"

"Silence!" She snapped and flicked her wrist. Her Curse surged through her veins, pounding like a flood as it roared to life. Her heart pounded steadily against her temples. Shadows shot from the ground to cover his mouth, silencing him. She watched in satisfaction as horror twisted his features. Good. He knew who she was.

"Good boy," she purred and knelt in front of him. Shadows curled around his arms and legs, dragging him to the ground. "Nothing you could offer me would make me change my mind," she cooed, a shadow tendril coming up to trace the man's face, tracing a tear track. "It's a shame you had to learn your lesson this way, but alas, not all of your kind is always smart. Goodbye, Mr. Williams, and good fucking riddance." The shadows lunged out of the ground and tightened around his limbs and pulled him into the endless darkness below him.

The town woke up to find their governor missing. They searched, but only half-heartedly. They were free, finally.

Several weeks later, his body was found propped up in his study, slumped over in a chair. His eyes were milky white and his face hollow. His mouth hung open in a perpetual moment of terror. His throat was a river of red blood, staining his clothes.

Everyone knew the trademark. The Shadow Reaper. It was said that he was always met in the cover of darkness. He was the best. He came from no known organization and lived to kill. He would snatch his victims and then they appeared several weeks later like they had wandered in darkness for all that time. The Shadow Reaper was good. Really good.

Some said he was a myth. Some said that Shadow Reaper was a mantle that was passed from father to son. Others said he was Cursed. And even others said he was a god. There was one thing everyone agreed on, though. The man or the myth was named Shadow Reaper and he was lethal.

Even after the assassin was taken out of commission, the legend still continued. Reports of the shadowy assassin were spread like wildfire.

Even now, if you look into the darkness, you can see the glowing purple fire that indicated Shadow Reaper was near.