Vigilante Story

Prologue

Rain drizzled, lightly pelting the rooftops in Horstring City. The clouds rolled over the city, signalling that the light rainstorm would soon be over.

A lone figure stood in the shadows, letting the rain drip in front of him. His hood protected his hair from soaking, however, he wouldn't have mind getting a little wet. This was the kind of rain people found pleasant and would gratefully take a stroll through.

The figure almost regretted tonight would be the night.

Almost.

The man walked down the empty street, which was a strange sight. Under normal circumstances, Horstring City was bustling with people, even this late at night.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

Suddenly, the man could hear footsteps other than his own. He instinctively slipped into the shadows, his ally. Unseen, he flipped his bow into his hand from his back and notched an arrow. When the footsteps continued, he drew back the arrow. Following the shaft, his gaze landed on a lone civilian.

The civilian wasn't of great importance. His ragged clothes and awkward limp screamed, "Povier!" His limp caused every other footstep to be much louder as it splashed through the puddles. There would be a clomp of his boot against the rocky road, and then a splash from the puddles.

The uneven steps of the man caused the lone figure to stop. He didn't hesitate; he froze. The man narrowed his eyes, taking a closer look at the intruder.

Then he fired.

The arrow zipped past the intruder, missing him only by a few inches. The man jumped, startled by the unusual noise. The clatter of the arrow caused him to turn and run. The lone figure had not drawn another arrow. He only watched. The man ran, and the figure smiled.

He didn't miss. He wanted the man to run.

Catching prey was much more entertaining when the prey played, "hard to get."

The assassin jumped upward just high enough to catch the bottom of a balcony. With the one arm, he pulled himself up, and propelled himself onto the roof in a single bound. From the rooftops, the assassin chased his prey.

The limping man was not difficult to chase. In fact, the assassin purposely took his time so the man could get a headstart. Even if the man got far enough away, the assassin always knew where he was at. His limp would literally be the death of him. If his prey slowed down, he would fire another arrow, signalling him to move onward.

Finally, the man was cornered, and the assassin dropped to the ground floor. His prey was pressed up against the poorly built wall. The alleyway had a single torch giving off a dim orange light on the scene. The roof barely covered the torch, to prevent it from going out. The rippling puddles along the floor shimmered in the orange light, creating quite the sight. The assassin admired the beauty behind his black mask.

"What do you want?" the man asked frantically, holding his hands in front of him. The assassin chuckled. Why do his victims put their hands up? It wouldn't help them. It wouldn't magically cause the arrow to stop in the air in front of them. That kind of magic died centuries ago.

The assassin held up his bow, with a new arrow notched. The man fell to his knees, pleading the assassin to spare his life. But the assassin almost didn't hear a word of the man's plea. He just stared into the eyes of his next victim through the eye slits of his mask. He stared into those fearful eyes knowing that this man would die never knowing why.

When the assassin let his arrow fly, he whispered to himself, "No one will ever know why."