His Challenge

A Kill to Remember

What a wicked smile; one so obviously conditioned to deceive and fool. It shocks, deludes, and always, always, hands the perpetrator what they want on a silver platter, no matter how much the victim tries to resist. The darkness, hidden by that smile, wields an unrivaled amount of power.

The echoing of his words, the unsettling joy in his eyes, and the grin ̶  that awful grin ̶   just pushes her closer and closer to the edge. Her shaking hand grips the gun tighter in a desperate attempt to stop herself from showing any more signs of fear, but the unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat and the sweat that soaks her clothes and sticks her hair to her forehead is a constant reminder that she is scared, and that he knows.

She switches the gun to her left hand, taking the moment to wipe the sweat on her right hand against the soft fabric of her pants. She continues to aim the gun at him, but all he seems to do ̶  all he ever seems to do ̶  is smile, as if there is some sort of unfiltered, dark humor and joy to be found in every situation.

He takes a few slow steps closer, dragging his feet across the dusty floor of the warehouse and letting the steps echo around them. The only other sounds present in the night are the grunts and pleads of the bloodied man tied to the chair, his red, frightened eyes glossed with tears. As Kyro nears the two, though, the man quiets down, and the sound of Kyro's footsteps magnify menacingly: a warning for anyone who hears them.

How she wishes she could run. When it comes to Kyro, though, nowhere she goes keeps her safe. The man ̶  no, devil ̶  is everywhere, and so are his servants.

In an instant, Kyro stands in front of her, guiding the gun in her hands over to his heart, a look of challenge in his eyes. He knows she won't shoot, knows that she does not have the courage to shoot, the courage to risk revealing the truth to herself: the truth of Kyro's supernaturality.

"Please," the woman pleads, although what for, even she does not know. "I don't want to do this."

Kyro wears a look of pity on his face, and for a moment, the woman believes that she can save herself from this situation. And as Kyro takes the gun out of her hands, slowly and gently, she feels sure that everything is finally coming to an end.

"You don't want to do this?" Kyro asks in a soft voice, standing mere inches away from the woman. The woman nods her head quickly, finally allowing the tears in her eyes to fall, finally allowing her body to relax and the pretense of safety to take over her mind.

"Then I'll do it myself."

The flash of his evil smile, the amused glint in his eyes, the deafening sound of a gunshot; it all happens in a matter of seconds. All the while, Kyro keeps his eyes on the woman, gauging her reaction to the sudden violence, always entertained by how easily humans allow themselves to be deceived. She stands in horror and shock, eyes wide, mouth agape, the blood of the man splattered across her face.

And she falls, her head hitting concrete with the gruesome sound of skull cracking.

Kyro throws the gun towards the woman's body before turning around to look at the audience of his fellow kind. He motions for them to leave, annoyed at how every demon who  sees him follows him. They quickly obey, they, too, terrified of his menace.

Kyro turns around, walking outside of the large warehouse and making his way towards the Gate. He walks past the flashing blue and red of police cars and the past all the officers, guns ready for anyone who exits the building. But the police couldn't see him. They couldn't see the bright red of his eyes, or the sharpness of his jaw, or the devilish smile always present on his face. They couldn't see the black of his hair, or the long limbs of his built body. And so he walks past them, walks through them, and they shudder, feeling a cold breeze hit them, and somehow, enter them.

Kyro doesn't walk far before he reaches the Gate. After strolling lazily through the woods, he could see the glint of the barrier from afar. It isn't a door, nor is it a gate as the name suggestes. Instead, the Gate is a shiny coat, starting high in the sky and ending at the ground. It wavers each time one enters or exits it, like the ripple of a pond. Its invisibility to the human eye has led it to become the cause of many unsolved mysteries; people who enter the Gate catch fire and turn to ashes within minutes, their skin melting into their flesh and their bones losing form and structure, never to be found again.

Kyro arrives in front of the Gate and enters; the world instantly changes. The woods turn into a marketplace, the hustle and bustle of commerce being his first sight. The market is never quiet, never has time to be quiet; people have places to be, things to wager for and buy, demands and complaints to make. Kids run around screaming, and mothers rush behind them, somehow always failing to catch them. The marketplace is the life of the city.

As Kyro makes his way through the thick mass of bodies and the yelling salespeople, he notices the tattered dresses of the women and the frayed robes of the men, both dragging along the ground and picking up dust. With his glamourous purple robe and golden necklace, it's obvious to all who lay eyes on him that the poverty of the nation has yet to reach him. But no one lays eyes on him; no one ever notices him with how busy they always are, doing every little thing to survive the day and bring home food for themselves and their family. When one is fighting to live, one notices nothing but survival.

To avoid the palace guards usually present in the market, Kyro takes off the robe and the gold. He treks around the market in nothing but his silk undergarment, one long cloth that covers his body completely. Silk also screams of riches, but not quite as much as the purple and the gold.

After walking for a while and entering another gate, Kyro finds himself far from the market and its poverty, and instead on fine, clean cobblestones that lead to the neighborhood housing all the elites. In the center of the district, surrounded by mansions that shrink in comparison, stands the enormous, ornate palace Kyro calls home. With the floor of the entrance a sleek white and the brick walls the color of honey, one could not miss the contrast of the blood red roses in the garden directly in front of the palace.

The palace stretches high into the sky, and Kyro has to strain his neck just for his eyes to reach the top. Several balconies stick out, with long, thick curtains covering the usually see-through glass doors that led out to the veranda, and Kyro can spot exactly where his room is located. After a long day of wandering through the human world, nothing relaxes him quite as much as throwing his body on his bed and staring at the ceiling, recounting events and laughing at the ever present misery humans put themselves into. Kyro can't wait to do just that.

He walks towards the door, waits until the palace guards open it, and finds himself in the large, red-carpeted entrance. Two spiraling staircases meet in the middle, creating a sort of balcony that one can look down from, examining all who enter and exit the palace. As soon as he enters, Kyro notices the man that stands atop the staircase waiting for him: his father.