ISIS vs Fey

Chapter One: Dying slowly and painfully? No offense, but I would prefer not to

She saw the hooded figure slinking back into the shadows, a dagger clasped in each of his hands. The young woman had the same sensible reaction as most sane people would have to seeing a hostile armed stranger in the night, complete hysteria. She had no idea that she would be connected to an ongoing series of mysterious deaths, nor could she suspect the worst event to ever effect her would soon take place, or that she would also soon receive the greatest gift of her life.

The figure disappeared with graceful quickness. Stockholm was dark and haunting that winter — ask any weatherman and they would describe it as the perfect evening to get murdered. The girl reeked of alcohol and terror. Even from a distance, he could almost taste his prey. His sharp senses hummed in anticipation. Her phone was dead, cracked previously that night, and there was no one close by to help her.

He climbed up a tree, which stood close to the building the girl entered in an attempt to escape him. The stalker could clearly see her running up the spiral staircase of the apartment complex — when he wished it he could see through walls. He whispered something, a spell, a prayer, or something else.

The frantic 18-year old looked back over her shoulder, her mascara running down her ashen face as if expecting the monster to be on her tail. She banged on the wooden door of the nearest apartment on the seventh floor — as though the height could possibly be an inconvenience for him —her bangles jingling comically. Behind the stalker's animalistic mask, a smile was growing wider. She screamed, pleading for help. Her voice was drowned out by the deafening music blasting through the neighboring apartment, hopeful songs about the promises of a new year playing on a loop.

Finally, the apartment door creaked open and a stranger appeared, looking concerned. The girl said something about a monster waiting for her in the shadows and how it would skin her alive if he didn't let her in. The man put a reassuring arm around her trembling shoulders and led the girl inside, locking the door behind them.

The hooded figure poured animal blood on his hand, then smeared the substance on the bark of the tree he was holding onto — drawing a strange symbol. He would prolong a bit more, he decided on the spur of the moment, smirking like the devil humans often took him for. The death he had planned for his target was painful and drawn out, there would be screaming and pleading. His spell had worked, and the girl had entered just the right apartment. His subtle mentalism steered her there, he didn't need her to enter it — but he wanted to see what would happen if she did.

***

Lisa felt a little preposterous now that she was less hazy than before, the alcohol in her system diluting as she vomited her guts out, the stranger clumsily holding her hair back, not saying a word. When she was done, he handed her a towel and a glass of cold water before leaving her alone in the bathroom. There had been no judgment in his eyes, but Lisa still felt her cheeks tinged red in shame.

How had she lost track of her friends and wound up sick in the apartment of an unknown guy? And what on earth was that thing stalking her in the alley? She shook her head vehemently. It was all in her mind. It had to be.

Taking a few deep breaths, she gingerly got to her feet, rinsed her mouth clean, and washed her tear-streaked, mascara-marred face.

"Is everything okay?" asked the man, whose name she still did not know, from the other side of the door. She owed him an apology for ruining his Sunday morning.

Lisa opened the door and walked out, annoyed by the constant stream of loud music from his neighbor. Who parties at this hour anyway?

The guy let out a relieved breath when she gave him a tiny smile as though he had expected her to kill herself, or do something equally rude while left alone in his bathroom.

"Thanks for letting me in," she said sheepishly.

He shrugged as though letting drunk girls into his house and holding their hair back while they puked all over his immaculate bathroom tiles was his part-time job.