The night was cool, threads of laughter had died out as the hours passed and the lights on 22nd street had been turned off by the sleepy innocent families. Darkness caped the streets, moonlight the only thing casting shadows, that flickered restlessly. Silent as death they say if you were to walk the streets that night it was like walking into and endless abyss… only… you weren’t really alone.
The flickering shadows were shaped as humans though hunched over at a painful angle, they moved around the night with impossible speed, almost… Inhumanly. What you couldn’t see out there that night was the corner of a shack, adorned with reckless teens graffiti and littered with debris. In that corner a small door led into the shack, but even the rats, who had stuck around with a stronger bravery than the homeless taking shelter there, had fled.
Something dark and dangerous now resided there. Something with eyes that burned with red with vermillion fire yet somehow remained ominous.
They called him master.
The flickering shadows; they were his fledglings. He was Lord of the Shadows, but unlike the Goddess Nyx he chose to let the darkness bring evil.
Darkness doesn’t always bring evil,
As light doesn’t always bring good.
But Master Shadow was weak and cowered before the Goddess as she displayed for him her power. Goddess Nyx, personification of Night itself, was far far from weak.The Shadow Masters eyes bled to white and his skin took on a deathly parlor as he slowly decayed, the weight of a million negative energies becoming to great a burden to carry unconsequently. The evil had bombarded him with enough pain to last for centuries but the beautiful Goddess had taken away his pain. She had released his soul from the evil power that so desperately clung to it. Sadly his life force had escaped him long ago and the blood that poured through his veins was tainted with venomous poison. Shadow Master died.
“Striker ShadowHunter! Get your ass over here!” A warlock with skin the color of rare beef that glittered as if flecks of broken glass were embedded therein
bellowed into the microphone. Striker walked up onto the stage of the Blue Moon night club, a crooked grin spread across his young face and a beer in hand. The scent of Vodka and sage rode the air, along with assorted perfumes that the humans wore in the illusion that people thought that they naturally smelled great. Though truthfully, to any sensitive non-human nose, they smelled horribly artificial.
“This,” The warlock smacked a hand on Strikers back,” Is the ShadowHunter that saved our lives!” Everyone applauded and Striker bowed confidently, grin never faltering.
The warlock spoke again, “For his bravery and doing us all a great favor we give him our gratitude and a new power!” He turned to face Striker, “You will now manifest the power called ‘Reaper of Souls’ it is brother to the power ‘Scream Reaper’ and will allow you to take souls of the holy. When you take them they will lose any physical form they may have had along with an actual soul. They will bow to your every demand.” The warlock grinned and thrust his fist against Strikers chest, an icey blue ball of electricity jumping from the warlock to him. Striker basked in the new power, feeling the sweet sizzle of heat rise through him, his power expanding, an almost physical change seemed to be taking place as the power settled itself into the man.
Striker sat on a bed, smiling flirtatiously. “Oh Striker...” Murmured Bella, her face pressed against his chest as he held her in a tight embrace. “I never want to let you go...” she whispered. He held her tighter, pressing his lips against her ear. “Then don’t.”
“But you said you weren’t one of them!” Bella screamed her makeup running in with her tears. “You were supposed to be a ShadowHunter! One who protects the humans and fights off evil under the cloak of night!” She paused, her lips trembling. Striker stood a few feet in front of her, his arms stretched out hopelessly. For what? He couldn’t comfort her, what she spoke was true. “Striker...” She continued in a sob. “I loved you... You were supposed to be our protector.. My protector.. But your with those we need protected against...” She shook her head as if hoping it weren’t true and that any moment his crooked smile would light up the room and someone would yell ‘gottcha!’. Striker looked at her a little angrily but mostly with great sadness. “I do protect you! I always protect you! And I still love you… You can love me...” He said. She shook her head and ran out of the bedroom, her red curls bouncing against her back. He could only watch.
Striker ran down the corridor, it had never seemed so endless before.. He seemed to run and run, his legs never stopping, only speeding up, several times he almost ran into someone and they would yell their curses at him as he kept running, he didn’t bother with apologies. When he finally reached the room at the end he flung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks. There in front of him lie his Bella, her body marked with over a dozen lacerations, a look of terror still plastered to her face. He dropped to his knees and picked up her lifeless corpse, cradling her against his chest, he cried. Yes, the strong arrogant Striker cried. He whimpered of how he hated himself, what he had become. He cried his apologies, for he had promised to protect her. And he cried of revenge. He would kill whoever did this, regardless of consequence.