Don't Dance with Devils

Chapter 1: The Most Dangerous Game

Gasping could be heard, muted slightly by the falling rain. The scurrying of footsteps, like overgrown mice, stormed through the alleyway. The scent of blood, obscured by the earthy smell of the rain, slowly made a path toward the victim's imminent demise.

The man sprinted as fast as he could. He clutched his left arm, now missing a hand, to his chest in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. His legs ached, the joints at his knees starting to lock up from shock. The raspy breaths he took were starting to become more rapid, a locomotive's chimney dispensing more steam as the engine began heating up.

He kept running, or limping, more accurately, until he reached the end of the alleyway. In his panic, he'd made a wrong turn along the way. This was supposed to take him onto the street leading to the hospital, not a dead end. His head slowly turned around to face the sole exit to his path: the way he came.

An ominous chuckle began to sound through the downpour. The voice was coming from the alley, a bit of a distance back. Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the silhouette of his attacker. They dragged their weapon along the ground, clanking against the asphalt like an unruly reaper. The laughter only continued as they approached.

"S-stay back!" The man let go of his wounded arm, drawing a pistol from his side. Terror flared through him as he realized the marauder was slowly approaching, a predator stalking wounded prey. He aimed down the iron sight of the pistol, arm shaking uncontrollably from the prolonged shock seizing his body.

"I'm warning you!!" His voice cracked like glass, tears blending into the rain dripping down his face. Another flash of lighting, revealing the haunting oceanic depths of the soulless eyes hunting him. The chortles following, vultures cawing at dying roadkill, taunted him. The grinding of metal against black concrete irritated his ears. His pointer finger tried to squeeze the trigger, but he wasn't strong enough, wasn't brave enough anymore.

Almost as fast as lightning, the assailant's weapon was yanked off of the blacktop, swung back as far as it could reach, hands at the very base of the stick. It swung forward, tearing through the man's neck and clanging against the brick wall behind him. Blood, disgusting warm ooze, leaked from his severed head as spatter dripped down the face of the murderer.

As though they were finished taking out the trash, they let out a gentle exhale, a sigh of relief, before swinging the bloodied axe above their shoulder. From behind them, a nasally voice sounded.

"You know, I seriously think you delight in this a little bit too much."

The axe wielder sighed, turning around to glance at the one who'd made the offhand comment. "Look, at least it's not, like, little children. Besides, you know he had it coming." Her tactile prowess of dodging the real issue at hand showed itself, but it didn't stop the other woman's scorn.

"Still… I get that you're not necessarily wrong in the vigilante justice sort of sense, but do you have to act like a psychopath while you do this stuff?"

Her sapphire eyes shot up to the glowing green eyes that seemed to be floating in midair. A frown pulled her lips downward, ready to direct her ire to the one before her. "What do you mean, 'act?'" She heard a flutter of leathery wings, indicating that she'd thoroughly intimidated her taunter.

"N-nothing! There's no act, you're just actually deranged!"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Towa. Just do your thing and let's get a move on. It sucks standing in the rain like this."