The Last One Standing

The dark wind whistled through my long dark hair, the tiled rooftops crunched underfoot. I laughed hysterically. Tonight had been delightful; it’s always a barrel of laughs to kill someone prominent. Sirens pierced the cold night air, but I was already a safe distance away. The emptiness then began in my heart, and continued to consume my body. I didn’t like taking up targets for money, I preferred to pick them. Nonetheless the night was young and it felt like a chasm had opened in my chest. A chasm which could only be filled by the rush brought from a fresh kill.

If you hadn’t guessed, I’d probably be classed insane by society. Over the years killing had become my drug; nothing competes with the all-consuming high from ending a life. I grew up on the wrong side of town, with the abusive type of parents. If I could, I would thank them for giving me this feeling. The day I killed them was the day I released myself from society’s shackles. The time for gratitude was over. I had a job to do.

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The moon was directly above me, guiding me to my next target. The flat rooftops directed me to the centre of town. The rooftops were my road, the tiles my cracks in the cement. This road in the sky was my heaven; which was how I was dubbed Azreal the archangel of death. Whenever I descended to ‘earth’ someone would die. My body knew where it was going, so I let my instincts guide me to Solomon’s Bar, the place where I was meeting my informant.

I had met Knowles three years ago; he used to be like me, for I wasn’t the only one who used the heavenly road. Unusually he made it to an old enough age were his legs had given way. He was now forced to dwell on ‘earth’. Typically people like Knowles and I would be disposed of some way or another. Knowles now acted as an informant at Solomon’s Bar, which bred his love of alcohol to new heights.

“What can I do for you Azrael?” He asked me.

His voice was withered and croaky, his once black hair was white, his muscles were deteriorating, and he now slumped in his chair, sipping whisky. He had become a shell of his former self, I vowed years ago to never let myself get into this state. I would rather die. Solomon’s Bar was packed to the brim, it was a well-known joint downtown for the scum of society, the perfect place to exchange information. Smoke sat like an unmoving mist over the bar; Knowles’s usual spot, I didn’t like it. Tables and chairs sprouted up from behind us, men yelled and jostled, gambled, or discussed transactions; it left our backs completely exposed.

“Information, I need some on a man called Hades.”

“Hades?” he grumbled, “you kids and your nicknames.”

I ignored the jibe. I had been dubbed Azrael, only because I had forsaken my name years ago.

“I do have information on him actually, just came in” he muttered, I could only just perceive his voice through the haze. I stared at him intently pressing him for information.

“Bunkers down off West Terrace, in the old apartment complex, you know the one.”

I nodded, that was all I needed.

“Thanks Knowles if this goes alright I’ll shout you a drink.”

He raised his glass in recognition as I slipped out of the bar, the moon had dipped. I needed to hurry in order to make it before dawn.

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West Terrance was shrouded in shadows. It was a street long forgotten by the world. The buildings were crumbling, waiting for that breath of air to knock them down. My mind flashed back to a happier time, when the street was filled with children, the ghost of their laughter still lingered. It didn’t take me long to locate the old apartment building. It was a small squat four story building, a shadow of its former self. I crept through the peeling corridors, keeping to the darkest of shadows. A sixth sense I had picked up over the years guided me to my target. The air was musty, the complex creaked with decay. Memories flashed through my head. I had nothing personal against the target, but Hades was now a dead man walking for choosing this building; that room. It couldn’t be a coincidence; he has done his research well. I slipped through a door hanging by only a single hinge, and into my old family home. I noticed him immediately. A single silhouette standing near the window on the far side of the large room, he was overlooking the street. Just when I thought he hadn’t noticed me, a smooth calm voice floated through the space between us.

“You’ve improved I see.”

I was positive I recognised his voice. I studied his profile from my vantage point.  He was broad shouldered, tall, with a posture that looked like nothing in the world could faze him. He slowly turned around; the dim moonlight glanced off his face.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered. “Your dead, I killed you!”

My father’s grin sent chills down my spine.

“You almost killed me. You only just missed my heart. It was a good thing when I missed my appointment with Knowles, he checked up on me,” my father mocked.

So Knowles had been in on this too, it had all been a setup, right from the start.

“Well father,” I smiled. “I guess it’s time to tango.”

He drew a hidden blade from his sleeve, and the killing dance began.

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As I sat atop the tallest building looking over my glorious city I smiled, the wind once again was whistling through my hair, my father’s blood clung to me. When the sun began to rise I moved off my perch; escaping back into the darkness and into my insanity, because anything was better than the reality.