It was early spring, the date isn't important. In an abandoned industrial warehouse on the outskirts of a major metropolitan city, the hunter had cornered his prey. A freak thunderstorm, quite unnatural for this location at this time of year was making its presence know with its final death throws of lightning and distant thunder. It was late, nearly midnight with a full moon sneaking in and out behind the remnants of clouds from the retreating storm.

The warehouse stood on a hill far from the civilized sections of town. Far from people too caught up in themselves to notice what was really important.

A man clothed in black made his way steadily towards the abandoned building, the idol of a corrupt and decaying capitalist society. This man didn't concern himself with corruption and decay, for he was the perfect capitalist: a bounty hunter, a soldier of fortune. He was concerned only with the money to be paid him for the death of the man whom he had trailed to this location.

As the moon once more retreated behind the thinning clouds, the features of this man were hidden in a shadow much more fitting to his demeanor. The dark embraced the man as a brother, concealing him from the light of the world.

The tall and slender form was shrouded in a long black coat, also concealing his less than legal means for obtaining his bounty. His coat billowed in the slight westward wind, pushing the storm in a hopeless pursuit of daylight.

Nearing the completion of this endeavor, he felt a slight twinge of excitement, which was instantly suppressed. The man remained expressionless, his movements betraying nothing, as he continued his uphill journey towards inevitable victory.

The building loomed before him. He could sense his bounty inside. Not through any extraordinary means, but merely through several years of experience. A nine-foot double door was all that stood between him and his payment. The dark figure suppressed a sense of awe as the door slowly swung inward of its own accord. The man continued his trek inside.

Intermittent flashes of lightning, visible through upper-level windows and the skylights above him, provided the only form of illumination. This dark knight had no need of it. He liked in the dark, trusted it, lived in it. Reaching into the left side of his trench coat, he removed a two-barreled, sawed-off shotgun. A flick of the wrist to ready the weapon to be loaded with two shells already retrieved from his left coat pocket and another flick of the wrist to snap the barrel back into the ready position, the man performed the necessary preparation without breaking stride.

Certain that his presence had been made known, the hunter strode confidently through the abandoned building, waiting for his adversary to make the first move. He was not disappointed.

The abrupt sound of glass shattering above him alerted the hunter as his gaze shot upward to be met with the sight of the nearest skylight falling in pieces towards him. The hunter leapt out of harms way, smiling in spite of himself. This adversary had style. The second dark figure seemingly defied gravity with its impossibly slow descent through the broken skylight and came to rest on the floor no more than ten feet from the hunter. The latter fired his weapon hitting nothing but air, as the second figure disappeared as soon as the trigger was pulled.

The hunter rolled out of the way as his prey jumped towards him brandishing a sword and slicing at a section of air recently occupied by the hunter's neck. The hunter fired his second shot again missing a target, which was no longer visible. Though it couldn't be seen on the expressionless face of the hunter, he was utterly amazed at the speed and agility of this prey. In all of his years, the hunter had never met a match like this. His mind was blank as he mechanically disbanded his current weapon and pulled from under his coat a police-style pump shotgun.

The hunter let his coat fall from his shoulders. The small encumbrance of this article of clothing could be enough to get him killed when faced with an opponent such as this.

The moon, to the hunter's benefit, chose this moment to again peak out from behind the clouds. Its reflection gleamed in the razor-sharp edge of the second man's sword. In one solid motion the hunter pivoted on his left foot, pumped the shotgun and brought its barrel to rest just below the jaw of his prey. His prey remained motionless as the hunter squeezed the trigger. With a sudden burst of inhuman speed, the prey brought his sword around slicing the gun in two just below the firing pin.

Time seemed to slow as the hunter dropped the stock of his useless weapon and retrieved two 9mm pistols from his side holsters. As he brought the weapons to bear on the central mass of his prey, the inhuman beast leapt backward nearly thirty feet into the air. The hunter emptied both clips of his pistols, each bullet striking this beast, in the shape of a man, squarely in the chest.

As both clips fell to the ground, the hunter starred in shock at the spectacle of this creature hanging in midair about forty feet in front of him. The hunter realized at this point that he was no longer in control of this situation. The creature starred at him, arms stretched out, head cocked back, mouth open, as if in some silent maniacal laugh, looking like some demonic version of the crucifixion.

A coincidental flash of lightning made visible to the hunter a pair of telltale fangs in the upper jaw of this demon. This bounty could never be claimed. The hunter had been hired to kill someone that was already dead.