It's quiet uptown. The night sky is dark and starless, no wind or other sound disturbs the heavy silence that lays upon the sleeping city. The streets are empty, no one is outside, everyone is at home, where they are safe.
Humankind always had that sixth sense. That sense, that tells them of a danger that their mortal brain can't quite understand. It keeps them alive, most of them.
He is on the roof of a two story building. His knees are bent, his hand touching the bricks. He doesn't make a sound; he doesn't even breathe. He's simply there, waiting, watching. Over the years he learned it all, he learned to be patient, to be invisible.
No one can see him at his current hiding place. No ears can hear him.
Hours fly by but he doesn't move. He doesn't shift, not even the slightest. He's a part of the surroundings; he's become a part of the roof. He's not even a shadow. Shadows can be seen, he can't.
A squeaking sound breaks the silence, far away. It's not audible for human ears, not in such distance. But he hears it. He still doesn't move. The same squeaking sound repeats. This time it's closer. It's a bicycle chain, rusty and old.
Now he can hear the breathing. It's strained, loud.
He still doesn't move; he doesn't have to. He will know when the right moment comes. And his body will react with no hesitation.
The breathing of the biker fills the silence of the night. It's loud, it nearly drowns the sound of the blood pulsing through the person's veins.
But his hearing is perfect and so is his sense of smell.
The biker is young, female, tired.
He can smell her sweet flowery smell, her sweat and exhaustion. And a tiny bit of fear, that the biker tries to hide.
He nearly smiles. There's nothing he loves more than the smell of fear. It tastes bitter and wonderful in the back of his throat. He can't wait to smell more of it.
The biker is two streets away, biking parallel to the street he's observing right now. In a few seconds, she will where he wants her.
All his senses concentrate on her. He's ready. She isn't.
She breathes. One time. Two times. The bike chains squeak.
His fingers turn to claws. The sharp nails leave deep marks on the bricks beneath them. They will be the only evidence of what is about to happen.
She breathes one last time.
And then he jumps.
He flies over the roofs, over the buildings that are between him and his prey. The jump doesn't exhaust him. It's as easy as blinking.
His body chances. His head is heavier, larger. His eyes are red, glowing. Fur covers his once white and smooth skin. Instead of feet and hands, he lands on paws behind his victim. He makes no sound.
It's the girl's sixth sense that makes her turn her head. Still on her bike, she snaps her head around.
He can see the flickering in her eyes the second, she realises. The girl isn't stupid. She knows. She has seen the news; she has read the articles. She knows he's the beast of Counterville. She knows that he is the one, who murdered countless of people in the past year. The terror of the northern country. The uncatchable murderer.
There's a reason, why no one can capture him, why no one can find any evidence. Because all his hunters are human, and he isn't. And humans, well, they aren't good hunters. Just like the girl he has caught this time; they don't realise that they are the ones being hunted. They are mere humans. And he isn't. He is invulnerable.
He doesn't hesitate any longer now that he has seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes. He attacks.
His mouth wide open, he bares his teeth. He's ready to bury them in her flesh, taste her warm blood, smell her fear.
In the millisecond before he hits her, he realises. There's one thing off. Something that feels wrong. He doesn't have a sixth sense like humans – the ones he has are perfect. But maybe his non-existent sixth sense would have warned him.
It's the absence of fear. The girl, his prey, isn't scared anymore.
Before he knows what happens, two hands grab his jaw, keeping his mouth open with an unexpected inhuman strength.
The girl jumps off her bike, her tight grip taking him with her.
She stands still, pulling his head down so that she can look into his glowing red eyes.
"Bad dog," she smiles. She's young, sweet, petite. But there's something in her eyes that tells him, that he's chosen the wrong prey.
Something in him snaps. He won't lose against a little girl. He clenches his mouth shut with all the strength he can muster. The girl withdraws her hands just in time, before he can bite them off.
The beast doesn't waste any more time. He attacks again, this time he's furious. His claws hit the girl's shoulders, throwing her backwards, to the ground. He follows immediately, his teeth try to find her neck.
Again, the girl grabs his head before he can seriously hurt her, throwing him off her. She's suddenly on him, her hands on his head. She tries to strangle him. She's strong, much stronger than he ever expected. She looks human. But no human could equal his strength.
"Is this all you can do, dog?" The girl laughs mockingly. It makes him angry, furious even.
His claws sink in her side and he smells blood. She narrows her eyes.
She pulls hard at his right leg. There's a loud snap, before the bone breaks. He howls.
The girl fights harder now, her hands pulling at his jaw, at his legs, kicking him. And the beast responds. His anger is endless. His claws are everywhere. The satisfying smell of blood makes him even wilder.
He has drawn first blood. For a moment, the beast gains the upper hand. He hovers over her now, his weight pressing her down on the ground, his teeth bared. She is not struggling anymore. For a second, she's just laying on the ground, motionless.
The beast growls, he's the stronger one. He will always be the stronger one.
His pride is his downfall. No one else is there, in that night. No one witnesses how a hunter falls victim to his own prey.
Suddenly, the girl's teeth are in his neck. The poison of the bite hits the beast fast. He collapses to the ground; his red eyes widened with panic and pain. His body begins to jolt. With a last gasping breath, the beast's eyes close as his heart stops beating. The beast, who once was part of the night, part of nightmares and pain, falls to dust.
The only thing left in the dark night, is a girl. She's young, sweet, petite. But as she stands up, even the darkness itself shakes in fear. Her eyes are as red as her blood soaked lips.
The beast of Counterville is dead. But she's still alive.
