Shroud of the midnight hour

Chapter four- The light wielder

Marisol watched Tom from her place a few steps away.
No--- not Tom. The person before her was closer to a nightmare, Tom's soft features mutilating into something rancid. Black shadows pooled all around him, resting on his shoulders and in the hollows and dips of his face.

The grand clock in the city centre chimed again, a hollow sound to her disbelieving ears.

"Who are you?" Marisol stammered, taking a step back.
Through the pits of his blackened eyes, she felt as though she perceived her own gruesome death. If she didn't leave this clearing at once, she had no doubt that would become reality.

"Shouldn't you be asking--- what am I?" He sneered, his smile stretching up his face. "Shouldn't you be begging to be spared?" He flexed his long fingers, and Marisol watched in horror as the nails that had once been neatly trimmed turned black and elongated to pointed ends. "You do value your life don't you, girl?"

The clocked chimed again.

Marisol watched in muted fear. There was no way she could outrun him, let alone engage him in combat with the physical state she was in. Winter had been hard on her, and she was considerably thinner than she had been in summer. Even now she could feel the dark, spiralling energy that surrounded him, making her doubt she could even best him at her peak health. Before her father had past away last year, he had taught her the basics of self defence and concealing her gift. She had no real experience in conflict, let alone against someone so formidable.

His smile faltered, and he raised one dark eyebrow. "Huh? No longer in a chatty mood? Here I was making the effort to speak your language." When Marisol didn't reply, he chuckled deeply. "And you were so talkative on the way here. Perhaps you are just frozen in fear, what do you think?"

Marisol backed away another step, white panic engulfing her senses. She couldn't comprehend what was happening. She had been talking to Tom--- walking with Tom, so who was this before her now?

Her mouth wouldn't open, her eyes wouldn't blink for fear it would be their last time. Her body wasn't working--- wasn't moving the way it was supposed to, and all the while she watched her death growing in his eyes.

"No matter," The man before her said, and Marisol now realised his voice didn't resemble Tom's in the slightest. Even then it was morphing into something scratchy and ancient--- a voice that acted as the physical embodiment of evil. "I'm sure you'll start talking again... soon." He smiled, only slightly. "Now then, it's about time isn't it?"

"For what?" She said. Her voice was no more than a broken whisper.

"Ah, she speaks!" He declared with enthusiasm, his eyes widening. "And here I was thinking those pretty lips were sealed shut." He ran a hand through his dark hair, a slow smirk appearing once again. "Where would the fun be in that?"

"For what?" Marisol repeated, her voice slightly louder--- slightly stronger. She backed away another step, putting the distance between them to around three or four paces now. It wasn't enough.

"That's the spirit," He chuckled, "I prefer when you humans put up more of a fight." When Marisol didn't reply, he unzipped Tom's winter jacket and threw it to the ground. "But I'm glad you asked, Marisol." The sound of her name on his lips twisted her gut. "My initial plan was to just eat you straight away, but after spending my evening with you I think I've grown quite... fond of you." He smiled. "I'll have my fun first."

Marisol covered her mouth with her hands, if only to stop herself from screaming. She had a feeling he would enjoy that.

"First though," He laughed, latching his long nails into the fabric of Tom's work shirt. The shirt Marisol had admired only hours ago in the pub. "I have no need for this."
He tore the material from himself, revealing the muscled abdomen and wide biceps beneath. Dark symbols covered his body, intertwining and looping over one another. "Oh, how I have missed the moonlight." He closed his eyes, tilting his head back to breathe in the crisp air.