The Cries of the Dead (A Moon Knight Inspired Fan-fiction)

Chapter Nine: Self Inflicted

(TRIGGER WARNING! Violence, mild gore and strong themes. Caution is advised.)

        The white caped figure; affectionately known as the Moon Demon - or perhaps not so affectionately - once again perched on the roof of yet another building. 

    For the first night in weeks, he didn’t have a target. Instead, he was listening to the sound of the bustling street below. Trying to filter out the chatter. 

    A faint plea of help caught his attention; along with loud, drunken laughter. He’d known too many incidents like this. The figure had stopped it before. He’d stop it tonight. 

    As he jumped off the edge of the building, the sound of his fluttering cape was carried away in the wind. Even his feet hitting the ground didn’t alert anyone to his presence. Not that he thought these men would have been able to hear; as they continued to laugh. 

    The back exit of the club was covered in shadows, the moon only providing enough light to see the silhouettes of the bodies. When he walked toward the four outlines, they became more visible. A small woman was backed against the wall, a man either side of her and one in front. 

    None of them were touching her, as if they were just enjoying watching her squirm - probably were enjoying it. These people made the figure sick. 

    It wasn’t that he wanted them to have the chance to touch her, but rather that he was waiting to see if they’d come to their senses. If they managed to stop themselves and walk away, then he wouldn’t have to do this. 

    “Leave me alone,” the woman told them. The white hooded figure admired how brave she managed to be, even as her voice shook. 

    The man before her leaned closer. “But we want to have our fun.” 

    Both of his companions snickered. Then one of them added. “She reminds me of that bitch we played with last month. She was so fiesty, and so much fun to break.”  

    “Remember her screams?” The other added. 

    The first man brushed a hand down the woman’s cheek. “I wonder if you will sound just as good.” 

    The figure didn’t give any of them a chance to touch her further, as he raced towards them. Gold crescent weapons in each of his hands. He threw them, and they landed deep into their chests.

    A stifled scream caught his attention, and he saw that the woman had clasped her hand over her mouth; body trembling as she looked at him. 

    “Run,” he demanded.  

    Before he knew it, before he was able to fully process what he’d done; there were bodies before him. It was like he’d gone into a blind rage. 

    Blood painted the brick walls of the club, and stained the street. The female was nowhere to be seen, clearly having listened to his instructions. Which was fortunate, because the carnage in front of the figure was enough to turn most people’s stomachs. 

    He’d seen this before. Though he wasn’t entirely sure that he was used to it yet. Knowing that these men would haunt him for a while to come. 

    The men all had deep slices over their faces and arms, still leaking thick red blood. He looked down at his own gloved hands and saw the stains. Then back to the men, their eyes open with a familiar lifelessness in them. All of their faces seemed to be frozen in a permanent scream. 

    Something crashed in the alley, the figure whirled and saw a cat scurrying away; even that creature seemed scared of him. 

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