Tears of the Grim Reaper

Borderline Insanity

The man trudged down the damp alley of a crime ridden city. Where there is crime, there are demons. Those demons enjoy dragging the people down to their own self destruction, love watching them spiral into insanity. Such being were once humans, too, but their depravity transformed them into something beyond anyone's reach. No amount of prayer or medicine could bring them back or find the source of their power. Those are the bastards he has to kill for his own personal satisfaction, not for the need of justice.

Fifty years ago, the man lost his daughter to those demons. They lured her away from him, and killed her. They didn't even bother returning the body, so her grave is simply a stone that sits on dirt. His wife died shortly after, unable to handle the loss of their only child. He was left all alone, searching for a new purpose in his wretched life.

The day after his wife's funeral, he was arrested at a bar for beating up four men, leaving them unconscious and dying. This was the beginning of his fall into the depravity that had taken hold of the demons when they were human. Inside the cell, everyone could hear his mournful cries as he sat in the corner of his bed, his knees against his chest, rocking back and forth. When one looked into his eyes

When he was released, he returned to his house, no longer his home. Everything seemed so surreal, a phantasmagoria that slowly deteriorated his sanity and ate him up like a starving beast. The neighbors no longer recognized him or heard from him, as he rarely spent any of his time in the house.

The memories of his fall, his descent into the dark unknown that had cradled his mind in its cold and tight arms, kept the man going. His pain fueled his hatred. His dead love twisted his judgment at times. His demons kept his eyes cold, as well as his heart.

- Memory 1

His first kill was very messy and unplanned. The demon had run into him, mistaking his dark soul for that of a demon. The very idea of being confused with one of them disgusted him, so the man killed the demon.

Demons have inhuman strength loaned to them by the Devil himself in exchange for their life. They can see one's soul and devour it without harming the human body. They can live up to five hundred years. They can move with incredible speed and stealth. They can destroy your life with a snap of their fingers.

The man punched the demon on the nose and began to search for a weapon. He found broken bottles, rocks, plastic, etc., but no weapon. He cursed beneath his breath and returned his focus onto the demon. He wasn't there.

A sudden blow to his back sent him sliding on the ground, the glass and gravel digging into his skin and tearing his clothes. He hissed in pain and jumped back up, a surge of adrenaline rushing in his veins. The burn of the cuts and scrapes turned into tingles. A sadistic smile came forth, his mind on the verge of the insanity he had fought against for so long.

He rushed at the demon, but was thrown back.

"Why is your soul black? How are you not a demon?" The thing asked.

"I'm not an inferior being like you," he spat and lunged at the demon once more.

This time, whatever power he gained during his fall into depravity, it exploded from him in the form of extreme strength and speed. The demon was surprised and finally took the man seriously, but the man was on a completely different level.

In that form, he couldn't differentiate right from right or wrong, friend or foe. He could take on a hundred demons and not break a single sweat. Everything worked in his favor. He was someone favored by the Devil and God. He was a man who had sinned, yet was pure. In that form, he was afraid of nothing.

The demon was obliterated within a matter of milliseconds. The are they fought in was painted with red blood, slowly dripping and crusting. Chunks of meat and skin were scattered everywhere, the eyes being the only thing that remained whole.

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Now, as he neared his current prey, he looked back on that day with a strange warm feeling. Surely, if he continued hunting, he would eventually find the demons that took his daughter away. When he did, he would make sure they didn't die peacfully. He will relish their screams and force them to beg for mercy, which he won't give them. The man fantasized about the many things he could try on them, the torture techniques varying from different cultures and time periods.

Finally, he had the demon in his sight, the poor thing unaware of what was about to occur.

This is all for you, my sweethearts, he thought, addressing it to his daughter and wife. I've soiled my hands with their blood for you two. And I don't regret a thing.

But is this solely revenge? When does a thirst for vengeance turn into personal pleasure?