One's Kindness is Another's Cruelty

[Requiem of Insanity]

“You’re probably wondering why you are here.” A cold, honey like voice whispered loudly throughout the darkness. A solitary lantern faded into light making a dull yellow coloring on the area surrounding it. A single stone table was set up, a woman’s body tied naked upon the granite surface. It stirred into life, the eyes fluttering open as it looked around the room.

Wood creaked as a pair of heeled boots walked gently along the planks. The victim’s head turned quickly to the side to follow the noise, but was met with a cruel dark chuckle in the back of her mind. Shivering upon the sound the laughter echoed throughout the shadows.

“Who are you?” The woman cried out, her fear clear as day. A slender woman with long flowing red hair stepped into the light, a black suit covered every inch of her body, save her face. That was still left open to show her beautiful charming smile, full of vile intent. Her hazel eyes scanned every inch of her flesh like a butcher at a market eying their prized meat.

“I’m vengeance made manifest.” She joked as she closed her eyes, smiling brightly for her. The irony of the joke was lost to the woman upon the table. She stared at the woman who was standing before her with tear filled eyes, her terror choking her ability to talk. A powerful wave of dread washed over her making her squirm in her bonds. She noticed for the first time she was naked and her comfort lessened even more.

“You, you,” A small knife lifted from her captures hand, lowering down to just under her right nipple. A small incision and blood leaked down her chest onto her stomach. The victim yelped in alarm as she fought against her bonds. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She screamed.

“Oh, does it not make sense?” her capture retreated a moment into the shadows, the sound of metal clinking against metal. “How does the name, Gin Hakuman ring a bell?” The shadows began to stir to cover her sounds as she walked along the edges of the black abyss. Her boots echoed along the floor again, like the ticking on a click as each movement was slow and precise. “What about Freya Bolver, Marcus Donovan, Jack Spellington, Catrina Hearth, Desiree Baptist,” She rambled on. Her steps quickened as she labeled off name after name, and the woman on the table began to moan in regret.

“No, stop it! Stop it!” She cried out. The footsteps stopped before a solitary throwing knife fell upon the stone table, impaling her in the upper thigh. She cringed in pain as the woman stepped back into the light, the shadows dripping off her like an ooze it seemed.

“I’m sure is what they cried for you to do.” She smiled again, pulling the knife out softly. “Now do you see what I am doing? I am going to torture you and make you scream for me, because you have a lot of regret in your life, child.” She retreated again into the shadows. A few scant moments later she returned with a set of cutlery.

“You would break them, harm them, kill them slowly. You made their deaths agonizing and long. No, poison wasn’t enough for you, not after the first. You began to find them, kill them slowly, ruin their lives. I have to admit, your style is rather intriguing, but not as if it couldn’t be replicated.” She shrugged looking at two fillet knives, debating as to which one to use. “Destruction of the human mind just takes to long the way you do things.”

“You don’t understand,” the woman said shaking her head quickly. “They were targets, they were going to be given a fate worse than death!” Her captor lowered the larger fillet knife to her abdomen, taking a long drag down her skin to her pelvis and tossing the skin to the side. The woman cried out a high pitch as tears streamed down her face, her words becoming incoherent and garbled.

“You don’t understand,” The woman said irritably. “You don’t get what fate you have in store for you. You try to play the part of a saint, killing those to save them from some made up fairy tale end.” She growled lowly. “What the hell do you know? A simple minded fool like you doesn’t understand. You have much darkness inside your heart, but you do not hear it calling to you.”

“You do not understand,” she whispered again. “This fate, this death…isn’t as bad when compared to what will happen…” She grew groggy and the woman sighed heavily before lazily lifting the knife up and dropping it heavily down into the woman’s heart. With a few spasms, a groan of release, and a shuddering twinge the body was motionless.

Cassandra Remi was displeased. Her kills lately have all gotten stale and repetitive, and even her dark companion was yawning at her midnight sessions. This deeply, deeply bothered her as the fun was in the torture, but the hunts were getting to follow a set pattern. This led her to complacency. She shook her head.

“Sorry my love,” She called to the surrounding darkness. “She just wasn’t going to scream for us in the end.” She said wiping the blood off her blade upon the body of her victim. Her twisted lover, her dark ambitions made manifest, swirled behind her placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. He had been with her since she was six or seven, guiding her hand towards her hunts, but never ever forcing it. She obsessed over her deluded, dark, dutiful lover and she swooned to feel his embrace.

A set of screams filled the air and Cassandra’s ears perked to hear the pitch of terror in those wails. She moved towards the door, opening it a fraction and looking outside. She had staged her hobby to take place in a lone smithy far off from normal civilization in the town she occupied so nobody would bother her during her midnight fun.

The town was on fire, confused and terrorized people running everywhere in a scrambled panic. A few carriages rampaged around the town court fountain, men throwing lit torches onto the thatched rooftops of the local inn and the bazaar. Smoke filled the air as a few of these men jumped off, their white coats flapping the wind as they impaled unlucky citizens upon their spears. Town guards ran forward to stop these heathens only to be met with fierce opposition as a carriage swerved into their masses, knocking even a few of their own number aside to get to the slaughter.

More white robed individuals leapt into the slowly rising town guard as they used a few swords and staves to beat their way forwards towards the burning inn. One man above all others stood upon the fountain works, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked outwards towards the destruction, his white robe flowing behind him as his left hand reached out and snatched a small girl in his hand.

He lifted her up to his face where she screamed in terror before he slapped her across the face dropping her to the ground where he jumped after her. He landed with his feet on both sides of her torso, lifting down and scooping the girl up and tossing her forwards back into an approaching carriage. She bounced along the ground as he dug his hands into her red hair, shouting infernal words into her ear. With a lift of his right hand he slapped her again and pushed her down.

Cassandra felt her dark ambitions rise in challenge as she looked at the massacre going on. Her interest was piqued to see this destruction, but this had to be masterminded by someone. Whoever it was most certainly had to have the qualities Cassandra was looking for in a playmate. She lifted the collar of her sneaking suit up to her nose and ran forward with her Dehlar blade, the Butcher’s Bill, in hand. It’s length was only a mere three feet long and looked more like a butcher’s knife than a sword, but it served her loyally in her years of being a serial killer.

The girl managed to break free, scampering with a limp towards the safety of the smithy. The white robed man simply kept a menacing pace as he gave chase, his hand reaching down as he pulled out a solitary long dagger with serrated edges. He began to chant something, like a prayer to some god or mantra of battle. When he was a mere arms length away from the girl the Butcher’s Bill lifted forwards in a horizontal swing that nearly cut his head off. His relexes were far faster than Cassandra would like to admit and he parried the blow bringing his hand out to rab her. His efforts were met only with air as Cassandr rolled to his side and retreated into the shadows.

Her sneaking suit, a purchase at the world’s famous bazaar, was enchanted to hide her when she was fully immersed in shadows. All light seemed to reflect away from her and if only hit with a direct source of light could she be seen. Using this to her advantage she moved carefully along the borders of the building’s shadows, her grin never faltering.

The warrior didn’t bother himself with the child anymore, his eyes scanning the darkness for movement. At last he made a move, throwing his dagger before charging recklessly towards Cassandra’s position. She cursed jumping back to avoid the dagger, but her body was tackled down to the ground making the Butcher’s Bill falter out her grasp.

“Found you, little rabbit.” Her throat was on fire as her aggressor squeezed her air pipe shut with both hands. His metal gauntlet dug deep in her cheek making blood trail down the metal. “You should learn to hide your footprints when you hunt, little rabbit.” He taunted.

Cassandra looked into the man’s eyes, and noticed his face was horridly mutilated. His lips were hooked up into a snarl of defiance, his nostrils cut open and he had scars for eyebrows. The right half of his face seemed burned away and the left side of his face was covered in tattoos that ran down his body into his robes. His grotesque nature made Cassandra jealous. None of her playmates ever looked that horrible.

Cassandra felt her word slowly growing fuzzy, her eyes darting around for something to help her out. Her efforts were met only with stronger opposition as she felt her legs being lifted up off the ground. Her dark ambitions roared out fro her, wrapping their shadowy talons around his throat as he fell back, dropping Cassandra back to the ground, but keeping his gauntleted hand upon her throat.

The Butcher’s Bill exploded out his chest as the blade stopped mere inches from Cassandra’s own breasts. The hand ripped free, tearing her suit around her neck and leaving claw marks along her flesh. He twirled on the spot as the little girl flew upwards and into Cassandra’s body knocking them both over. The warrior placed one hand upon the hilt of the blade and pushed the tip backwards out his chest. The weapon slurped free with a sickening noise as he dropped to one knee.

Cassandra rolled onto her side and got back to her vertical base as she procured a throwing dagger and jumped upon the warrior, stabbing him deeply into the eye. With a spasm of defiance, slapping her off his body he shuddered and died. Cassandra pulled the weapon free and retrieved the Butcher’s Bill grabbing the girl by the arm. She dragged the child into the smithy, slamming her into a corner where she held the child against the wall covering her with her body. The girl breathed heavily and whimpered, but Cassandra ran one hand along her hair.

“Just shut up and stay quiet. Sleep if you can.” Cassandra ordered.

“Mother…” she cried.

“Shush,” Cassandra said sternly. “Or we both will die.” The girl nodded in understanding as she snuggled into Cassandra’s chest. She looked down upon the girl and sighed. I bet that guy would have screamed brilliantly for me… she mused as she closed her eyes.

[Corvus MacCallum]

A scent he wished scrubbed from his memory, but for now it needed to be remembered, maintained... he didn't want it fresh though.

The Highlander had been engaging in his ever continuing ramble across the globe, taking any path which whimsy tugged him towards and then set about his daring doos at every opportunity in between the long wilderness walks. Grass-lands, low-lands, even a few mires and sun-baked stretches of cracked soil had met with his feet, all of it lucid within his mind and senses. But on this particular stretch he had not been seeking the return of that foul stench, the scent of decaying flesh, rotting hemp and that awful set of pungent oils and tinctures that stung at the nostrils... could make the eyes water. Few from Findren ever leave the death-riddled swampland and those that do, retain the habits that kept them alive, including those oils meant to dissuade the delightfully vicious and flesh hunry denizens of the mud lakes.

Stopping only to make certain of the direction he need head the Highlanders head tilted, better wind acess for his olfactory senses... east, the scent was fading they had, or were moving further in that direction. Hideous scrapes of metal signalled his increased pace, lethally clawed feet smashing into the ground first by heel. Then as the speed increased moving most of the impact weight upon the pads of his feet... faster still, his whole posture lowering, fingers fidgeting to awaken the muscles and then with solid forceful thuds his hands began to aid. One final change however and one that always stung, forcing himself momentarily off the ground with his hands and then an almost silent pop as the joints of his knees took on a far more lupine angle, far better to spread the weight and improve the speed of his gait.

Nothing stood in his way, mere grass stretches and ploughed farming that would take an hour or two to recover from the large heavy dents made upon the neatly divided soil. Still it was never an easy thought to know that one had arrived too late, he had seen the smoke before passing the last of the fields and already the heat washed across his few exposed features. Screams wrenched at his ears, pulling upon his attention demanding that something be done and even though it was rarely the most intelligent thing he was the one that sought to do it.

Allowing for a few scrapes and droplets of blood the Highlander pushed himself through the shrubbed boundries that one farmer had decided would best serve his land. Keeping much of his unusual self within the confines of the vast unmanaged vegetation... was heartening to see the wild keep its presence felt around civilization. Couldn't allow his thoughts to wander too much though and they certainly focussed upon sight of the villages main entry way. Already a number of bodies hung upsidedown from the sign declaring what this places namesake was... though the lettering was unreadable, sullied by flaps of shredded flesh that once clutched to the hanging bodies, draped over the sign. Those who did the decorations were plainly visible in the reaches of the fire-tattered darkness, stark white of the robes, intricate patterns destroying the out-line of one sleeve or the other. Vast swathes of red on most of them at the gate... These were new to the Wolf-man.

To assume they were something more than raiders or brigands was common sense, the uniformed apperance spoke clearly of that, but their habits that he could observe... Not of those seeking profit. One pulled aside his hood and stepped directly beneath a flayed corpse swinging there, seeming to delight as a steady rain of vital fluids seeped through the thick gouges and tracks made from constant slicing and self-destruction. The owners pale flesh looking like some ugly mask was being painted upon his features, blood sliding through a great groove that had been dug time and again into desperately healing flesh to sweep above the eye, down along the cheek and drip against the cultists bare teeth, lips having been sliced off long ago. Yes Cultists, that was all the Highlander could assign to this and while his exposure to such things was low he had enough intelligence to know the lengths the unstable would go for power.

More screams came and the Highlander was left damning himself for his current inaction. But he couldn't afford to rush in, how many were left alive... the number of cultists themselves and the fact that none of them smelt of Findren oils, but still the scent was present... thick. He had a few moments of exposure to Findren warriors and one talent lay with them rather distinctly, to those without the senses of a hunter they were quite capable of secreting themselves in any foul area they wished in order to ambush what they desired. It didn't bode well for the people of the village, any that would run were likely being picked down by the carrion strapped brutes. Then being handed back to these cultists.

The Highlanders appraisal of the situation had to fall by the wayside as something far more immediate stepped forth, man and woman, both stripped and scarred already were brought down to their knees at the gates. Not even a momentary wince passed by the wolf-mans features as he ripped free of the thicket and sprinted for the sacrifices. He already knew that was too late but he wouldn't let it finish completely. The man fell to his back, vast canyon scooped from the center of his chest, ribs cracked and splayed out of the torn flesh and ripped musculature. The Cultist had sunk his armoured left hand in at the gut, pulling with a might that could only have fractured his own arm and in clutching hold of the pulsing heart ripped it free in an exertion that shattered the victims rib-cage. Corvus spared no savagry for his own targets but to have it used on the innocent completely sickened him.

Almost there now, fingers flexing, his claws prepared, drips of saliva keeping a slicing edge upon his wolfen fangs. Reach back, axe; chipped blade but firm handle, good heft. It'll do.

Ripped from its cloth prison and brought careening through the air, the Cultist only turning to meet the yells of his partners in this deed and received that chipped, heavily engraved blade right through the eyes. Sacs of fluid bursting from the sheer blunt trauma before the cutting edge of the weapon found its place, shearing aside bone and brushing aside the grey matter contained within before coming free at the back. The woman was screaming, bawling in absolute terror but not one note of it reached the Highlander, all he could comprehend was the slick, wet slaps of the emptying brain matter hitting upon the ground. Muffled thud of a hooded head following close behind and then the body toppling off its feet, balance ruined by the removal of so much mass and the life of its owner.

Needles of pain fired themselves through the Highlanders buckler-clad arm, the ringing of metal fading through the night air as a blade was shoved off it. Turning upon his heel to keep the speed of the Axe going Corvus could feel the juddering throb of the massive lump of iron strapped to his back, the dragon slaying blade, his slammer, deflecting another fierce blow. His Axe hit home, burying itself so throughly in another cultists chest part of the rune-encrusted weapon poked through the back of the body, soiling the pristine white robe with red hues.

A messy parry followed next, the blade was deflected but not far enough and it nicked at the bare upper arm of the Highlander, it had to be messy his concentration was focussed on the spear that was thrust to his left. Dipping his head forward to avoid what would be a sudden end to a possible long life, smashing his head back to catch the over-extended shaft and pin it to the heavy hilt of his Slammer. His back arched to pull it free and once more had to raise his sectioned buckler to catch another blow from the opponent before him. The Axe was released, his fingers tearing through the air to meet the spear so awkwardly pinned at his back and wrenched it from the hands of the Cultist. Splintered from where it had once been held alerting the Highlander that more had the sharpened plate-mail gloves.

Head pushed forth, the spear brought out from behind him, shaft rendered useless as the frontal opponent lashed out again, his blow weakened by having to push through the oaken weapon, then again by the sturdy Blazen hide poncho protecting much of the Highlanders upper body. But the blade went high on the impact, Corvus turning his gaze as fast as his adrenaline addled muscles could but still received a scratch upon his jaw-line. The arm of his assailment kept moving up and out, lurching forward the meat-shredding teeth of the Highlander clamped down, bone snapping under the force, teeth sinking straight through the no doubt scarred flesh of the cultist. Jerking his head to the side, his neck gave a cramp of agony that quickly found itself pushed aside and ignored, the cultist ripped from his feet, both empty hands of the Highlander reaching to the airtossed body and gripping at the throat. Both clawed thumbs pushing, squeezing, sinking into the flesh, severing the gullet and then shoving with his palms. The cultist left in a heap, gurgling wetly until life slipped from his form.

The cultist who had been deprived of his weapon had tried to strike blows, metal glove lashing out but it only clanked against the vast iron sword chained to the Highlanders shoulders, or against the sheathed foreign blade. Turning now to meet this threat the Wolf-mans hands met, then left glided above the right, clutching at a handle jutting out from the sectioned buckler. Just enough space was kept between the structuring of that defence implement and his arm to allow the forceful cramming of his broadsword and its sheath. Pulling the marred blade free and with a flick of his wrist to strengthen the motion, thrust forth and jammed it to the hilt through the Cultists face. Punching through the jaw-bone, higher up still, through the roof of the mouth, into the mind and then out the top.

These were only three, many more remained and suprise was gone.

Ignoring the habit of cleaning his weapons the Highlander quickly gathered up his fallen Axe and carried both it and the broadsword with him past the entrance and into the village. A solitary glance back showed that the terrified woman had huddled up into a ball, clutching with such desperate need at the broken spear he had ditched. There would be no point comforting or carrying her with him, only more dangerous and it could cost more lives. He had to stop this now.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra’s eyes shot open as she heard the cackling of laughter not far off from her hiding place in the smithy. The girl was crying silently into her chest, also aware of the noises that were growing closer and closer. Irritated that she would have to do something Cassandra lurched away from the girl, forcibly moving her hands off her as she moved a crate and a barrel over. She opened the top of the barrel and turned it over.

“Help me put this over you.” Cassandra barked. “Quickly, any minute they can walk in.” The girl obeyed, helping Cassandra tip the shell over the girl’s frame. Just before it touched the ground Cassandra slipped her a knife. “Stab anything that doesn’t alert itself to you first.” she dumped the barrel down. With a careful shove of the crate she pushed the barrel into the corner with the crate blocking it. The girl was going to be as hidden as best she could be given the circumstances.

She lifted her sneaking suit over her nose again, hiding her hair in the back of the slip as she moved quickly to the furnaces. There she found a few locations to camp out as she drew up the Butcher’s Bill and let it hide behind her back as she peered towards the entrance.

The door was kicked open and a grouping of the white robed individuals peered into the darkness. With a soft chuckle her dark companion rose from her, flowing out into the room creating a feeling of unease. Her hazel eyes scanned each one. Two woman, three men. Each one was hideously scarred, a long metal gauntlet over their right hand with black tattoos down the left sleeve of their robes. Little ostentatious for a mere group of bandits… Cassandra thought.

“Dead,” the lead scout reported looking upon the body of the woman Cassandra had murdered not forty minutes earlier. “A bit of fun was had with her, but in the end was stabbed in the heart.” The group looked upon the body.

“Yep, that was the one we were looking for. Makes this job just about done, I’d say.” another spoke as he stretched his arms out over his head. The tallest of the group looked around the smithy.

“Fan out, check for survivors. I’m not feeling very merciful. Spare nothing.” Cassandra gently moved herself behind a stack of hay. The group all lifted up personal lanterns, but try as they might to strike a match an unearthly wind blew the flame out. A low growl escaped the taller one’s lips. Two of them grouped together and managed to light a match that they placed upon the wick, lighting the lantern. Light flooded outwards in a circle no more than four feet from them.

“Unusually dark, don’t you think?” one chuckled. “Mage you think?” Laughter echoed in the darkness making one of them flinch back in terror. The leader gave him a glaring eye as he stomached his fear lifting up a sword. They all drew up different weapons as they began to fan out and search the room.

Cassandra lowered herself low to the floor, walking on all fours with grace as she found an empty furnace. She crawled backwards into the lip of the hole, looking at her victims with a keen interest. One of them, the woman who found the body, walked closer to her using a testing foot to feel out the terrain. Cassandra could feel her dark companion return to her, the shadows casting longer talons over the floor making the area difficult to see. Cassandra lifted up her cat’s claw, a simple wooden handle with long blades sticking out the handle. She gripped it tightly as she purred to herself, creeping out the furnace as the robed woman stepped cautiously forward.

With a quick motion the claws raked the woman’s neck deeply, blood running down their talons. The body gurgled before it twitched violently to the ground. Cassandra quickly moved up one crate, onto a barrel, and lifted one hand up to climb up to the top of a set of stacked crates. She perched like a cat as she waited for another opportunity.

Another body made it’s way over and she could feel her dark ambitions rush forward, gripping him forcing him still. She jumped from her perch, her claws striking deep into his neck. They collapsed, and she rolled onto the floor, her body sending tingles of pain up her back as she released her cat’s claw and darted under a table. Her finger’s flexed out over the contents upon the surface and she found a pair of tongs.

“Well, something is in here…” the leader mused loudly.

“I found one of our own. Team up.” The fearful male said in a whispered hush. The darkness stirred again within Cassandra as the fog of shadows lifted back up. Cassandra rolled silently onto the floor and crept quickly over to her next target. When he jumped at the sound of her foot step the tongs darted forwards piercing both his eyes, then she clamped them shut and yanked down as hard she could to her right dropping him onto the floor.

Releasing her weapon she turned and ran leaping over the hay stack and immersing herself in the darkness. Hurried footsteps entered the area as one of their number bent low. The now blind warrior was whimpering in pain, his agony immeasurable as he slashed out at anything that moved. In his suffering he accidentally placed his sword into his helper’s arm, which caused his helper to take her own weapon and stab it through his chest, killing him.

“Whoever it is got Raphael.” she lied. The leader chuckled his amusement. He moved a few steps and the sound of metal leaving flesh splurged into the air. “What did you find?” she asked curiously.

“A pair of cat claws in Desmond’s neck.” the cat’s claws clattered onto the floor.

“They got Bethany the same way. Slashed across the throat. Messy stuff, not even a clean swipe. Amateur.” She hissed. Cassandra took offense to that.

“Maybe to fighting like this, but not to killing. I cannot hear her heart rate. She’s pretty calm given the circumstances.” Cassandra nodded to that with pride. “Look behind the hay stack.” Cassandra’s eyes went wide as she dug her hands into her pocket for a knife. She was out. Damn, I must have left the Butcher’s Bill in the furnace. she thought, a twinge of panic running down her spine.

The footsteps echoed closer, and Cassandra prepared herself for whatever she would have to do. Her thoughts focused on taking the weapon in their hands and using it against them, but even if she managed to get lucky, the other warrior would not be caught off guard. Her terror tactics were running out and she began to worry about her chances of survival.

“What was that?” The leader asked. The footsteps stopped. “I can hear the heart pounding off in the corner. It’s very feint…look in the crates.” The footsteps echoed away, and Cassandra let out a sigh of relief as she carefully made her way back to the furnace. She reached inside and grabbed the Butcher’s Bill and turned to see them getting dangerously close to the girl.

With a point of her finger hr dark ambition’s howled out into the night as it gripped the leader by the throat, debilitating him for a brief moment. In the panic of the current events the woman froze, unsure what to do as she dumbly asked what was wrong over and over. He fell to his knees as if the life was being choked out of him and the woman grew concerned. Before she could voice her words the Butcher’s Bill cleaved deep into the back of her skull, her blood caking over the face of the leader.

Un-phased by her death the leader broke free from wave of dread, his hand pulling out a short sword. Cassandra kicked the woman off her weapon and twirled the blade in the air once bringing it forward. Blood dripped down towards the angled tip as she smiled under her mask.

“What are you? An Assassin?” he asked as he lunged forwards, his weapon slashing her hip as she turned away. Her blade ran forward’s horizontally but her foe lifted his gauntleted hand up and gripped the blade as it slammed into his palm. He pulled with all his might forward to unblanace Cassandra, but she ran forward, taking the weapon and impaling his upper left deltoid. He howled out in frustration, his sword slashing left and right to keep her at bay. Cassandra turned to the table with her latest kill and pulled the throwing dagger out of the thigh, lifting it up and tossing it with deadly accuracy into the other side of his chest. Impaled twice and with her dark intentions wearing him down he fought on. He fought like a savage, like a god of war as he cursed her out. Cassandra moved backwards and ran back into the shadows, her hand running along the ground until it fell upon the cat’s claws. She gripped her weapon and turned.

The man was upon her within moments, and she lifted the claws out feebly to block his strike. Her wrist felt like it snapped as the force behind his swing easily knocked the claws out of her hand. She lifted her hand upwards and pulled out the knife, taking it and stabbing it into his neck. He twitched violently, grabbing her by the throat as his blade cut across her stomach. Pain filled her features as tears swelled up in her eyes, but he lost his grip on her throat and fell to his knees. Cassandra wrenched the Butcher’s Bill free and with a scream of pent up rage she swung for his neck. The blade cut into his flesh three inches, and she repeated the process again and again until the head fell off.

Weakly she limped towards the barrel with the girl and kicked the barrel once with the side of her heel.

“Get out.” She said weakly. The girl pushed the barrel over and crawled out looking up to her with fearful eyes. “Give me a hand. We’re going to the forest. It’ll be safer there.” The girl gave her as much help as she could, considering she was half of Cassandra’s size. Using the Butcher’s Bill as a crutch she painfully walked out of the smithy, her arm holding the wound on her stomach.

Her eyes scanned out and she found someone walking with murderous intent towards the town. She also noticed the carriages were being whipped back into formation, a horn blasting into the night. She didn’t know much about fights or wars, but she knew a horn was generally blasted to communicate orders. Seeing the devastation that was wrought upon the town she could only assume whatever they were trying to accomplish was completed with.

She lowered her mask on her suit, lifting up her sleeves making herself as visible as possible in the darkening night. Whoever was walking to the town didn’t have a white robe, nor did his face look mutilated. He probably was some farmer looking to avenge the dead. She really didn’t care. She would grab his attention and get medical aid. The girl lifted her hands, shouting for the man in the field as Cassandra lifted herself up to her full height, despite the pain it caused her.

“If you are friend of this village, than get over here, if you are foe…” Cassandra lowered her voice. Not like she couldn’t really take back her comment now. Her dark ambition’s lifted a single hand to her shoulder, whispering into her ear. “If you are foe, than I’ll break you upon the blade of sword!” She smiled at that.

All I wanted was a simple kill… Cassandra thought miserably.

[Corvus MacCallum]

"Follow him!"

Suprise was lost, utterly and completely...

"In there, move it, flay the unbeliever!"

But no wolf relied purely on suprise, something so fickle and so easily lost. Ambush was still possible while the prey was alerted.

"For Zefren!"

After the fight by the village entrance Corvus had rushed through the square, took down at least four for good with solid quick strikes with both broadsword and Axe. Then they reacted in force and he was making use of the surroundings best he could, the once honest family homes would serve his bloody purpose in preventing theirs. Detested the indoors, utterly but he needed the funnels, the ability to channel and guide his pursuers and rip them to shreds in a way that wouldn't leave him exposed to an unending mass. Smashing through flimsy wooden barrier to block the kitchen from the rest of the home, rafters above, ample space. He was already aloft and out of general perception by the time the cultists had caught up, they lashed out through the room, smashing crockery and cupboards. The more impatient checked the back door, flinging it aside and rushing out to check if the Wolf-man had merely bolted. Only a handful left within though the confines were too small for effective blade use... for a human anyway. Rumbling deep in his throat, a growl of utter silence lest he give himself away too soon and then the Highlander descended, his full weight smashing itself heel first upon the head of one Cultist ramming them into the floor, his knee bending to allow for the vast iron blade slung upon his back to descend and impale the victim through his spine.

Already they reacted, quicker than typical bandits who went for the easy life of attacking the defenceless, his buckler snapped shut upon a cruelly serrated sword blade, the metal unleashing a horrid noise as the Cultist tried to jerk and pull free his weapon. The Wolf-man merely hauled his arm back, pulling the Cultist off-balance and face-first into the solid shoulder of the warrior, was enough to stun but not kill and he wasn't leaving a job half-done. Still he had other matters, two compatriots in their white garb were lashing out and while one scraped his blade futiley along the vibrant scale Poncho the other had thrust and caught his dagger upon a small bare section of Corvus' left arm. The pain was noted, then ignored as he reached out with that empty grip, smashing the jewel embedded in the gloves palm against his attackers mutilated face then reaching for that lipless maw, sinking his claws in deep, stabbing through tongue and muscle before a growl ushered from his throat and ripped the jaw-bone clean from his opponent.

Staggering and pouring vitae they were no longer a concern of the Highlander, seeking out the final stable combatant, the dagger flicking out again only to have the hand weilding it caught and then crushed. Bones popping and then rupturing the skin as the Wolf-man focussed his strength upon the vulnerably arranged digits, then smashing his buckler along the visage of the Cultist. Quick pull upon his dazed opponent had him drag the Cultist with dagger in hand to the still stunned attacker who had went first, ramming the blade right into the fuckers throat. Finally ending the combat as he gave a solid kick to the stomach of the dazed Cultist, then again... far harder, bones cracking and flesh punctured by the lethal claws upon his toes, so solid and sharp, then ripping them downwards, emptying the mutilated cultist of his innards.

Took too long, damnit.

Already he could hear and see them coming back to the house, they had heard the commotion and were still in eager pursuit. Drawing forth that huge Slammer, a vast chunk of iron that had been roughly hewed into a sword capable of felling a dragon, he rushed through the home, heading now for the front-entrance, where he had originally led them. They were there, in single-file from the simple narrowness of the entrance hall, his blade lowered and steadied then ramming through them. Life vanishing from each so quickly as their chests were invaded by such heavy and lethal armament. He only stopped rushing to alter direction, letting the angle of his Slammer let those bodies upon it be dragged off by gravity and flailing limbs hitting upon the dirt. Three or four times he had managed this so far and with any luck his would still hold up long enough to thin the numbers further. The situation in the square had altered somewhat, in the fleeting glimpses he could manage before finding a temporary safe-haven. So many shunted into cages and prepared to be carted off, the lines of sacrifices had also been stowed, their ends halted by the presence of the Highlander.

Then an oddity, he almost felt compelled to stop and watch it fully unfold but he had no time, darting into what smelt of a bakery, his eyes working furiously fast to try and map out the room lay-out to see what would have promise and what could have him trapped. Still he was able to hear the baying from one of the leads.

"You offend our works Warrior and for that. We bless you with a gift from Zefren!"

What followed he could not begin to fathom, such hideous screams as if the vocal chords solidified to bone and shattered, lodging every frament within the creature who possessed them and striking at each and every center of pain. It was a cacophony of utter agony that broke itself upon the Wolf-mans ear-drums...

They had no beast...

He could hear it now, the pounding, no even gait. It was rushed, uneven and at times almost random. First three thuds, then four, then just two... then one as the creature seemed to topple beforep picking up upon three. The screaming still erupted but continued to change much like the audible gait of this mysterious creature, from pitched human sounding yells to rapid gurgles that could only be from choking upon fluid. The Highlander had not been allowed to be distracted by this, he noted it but could not think upon it as the Cultists had caught up far faster than he expected, one impaled through the head by his Broad-sword, another snapped in two as the Highlander smashed repeatedly against the opponents back. Then the thuds came louder, splintering wood as well. Suddenly pain rose up within the Highlanders side, then both sides, for a moment he was utterly in pain and only slowly did his mind realise why. He rose to find himself outside of the bakery, upon the dirt, there was little left of the building and removing the last traces of it was the creature that continued to yell and scream in pain.

It stood more than three times the height of a man, it's every single exposed surface naught but solid muscle mass that was criss-crossed hap-hazardly by thick veins and arteries that rose almost a solid inch from the taut and breaking flesh. Huge rents of exposed tissue broke up this pattern as did the blood seeping from every one of them. What could be supposed to be legs were grotesquely swollen upon the shin and foot itself, while the thighs seemed to melt into the greater body mass and lose much of the flexibility. It's biggest feature were those gigantic arms, like tree-trunks, what could've been hands were merely huge flat mounds of living meat, not even the hint of a nub suggesting once there was dexterity. The greatest source of its disgusting presence and the blood pouring from it was what should've been a head. The musculature of the shoulders so vast and thick it was literally crushing its own head, the fragmented skull visible in many parts and stabbing into itself, one eye was large, almost seeping out of its socket while the other was just awash with the crimson fluid as the fattened up eye-lid smashed it. It was nothing but a pure monstrosity and unsettled the Wolf-man simply because... they had nothing with them, which means it had just arrived, or been created.

Not allowing himself to be fazed by this Corvus picked himself up and brought that vast sword to rest upon his shoulder. The monstrosity was smashing its fists wherever it wished and even struck at the few Cultists who remained, one being turned to mere paste by the repeated bashing. He charged forward, seeking out one of those huge limbs and then brought his sword through, cleaving through already putrifying flesh and bone, the beasts screams did not alter, obviously too wracked with pain to notice anything extra upon it. In fact it swung at him with the stump, unaware it was missing anything and then attempting to follow up with it's other arm. The Highlander had managed to bring the flat of his blade up in defence, bolstered by his own shoulder but he was still sent reeling, airborne for four or five feet before hitting upon the ground. He watched as the open stump pulsated and spikes of flesh pushed out from the exposed muscle tissue, as if some vast beast was ripping itself out of the Monsters body. But all that occurred was a huge growth of bone launching forth, a solid ill-grown spike that was all too quickly snapped by the Monsters fist as it turned so awkwardly to pursue the Wolf-man.

It swung wildly, Corvus slamming that lump of iron called a sword against the Monsters chest, sinking in deep but it didn't relent in it's movements. Too impaired to see it's opponent so close however merely swinging at the Cultists that had gathered to watch. Pressing what little advantage he had the Highlander continued to push up and deeper with that vast blade, having to duck momentarily as the monsters rib-cage burst forth like some organic bear-trap. Then finally he carved through its skull and left the creature in utter silence. It's huge mass falling upon the ground, still ripping and tearing itself apart with growth and change, but very much dead.

There was no reprieve however, the Wolf-man forcing his breath back into powerful lungs as the Cultists charged for him once again, ripping free his Slammer only to have it cleave and smash through so many other opponents. One thought flashing through his mind before instinct and battle-sense took over.

There'll be more...

[Requiem of Insanity]

She watched the man go about his own business, completely ignoring the serial killer as he rampaged into the town. Her eyes widened at the complete ignorance it would take to just ignore two people screaming for help, and even the little girl looked to the man in shock as he ran off. The two looked upon each other and Cassandra only shrugged in response, her eyes filled with exhaustion as she winced in pain. She took a glancing look at the cut on her stomach and sighed seeing the thin line of blood drip out like a crimson curtain.

“This is probably the worst night of my entire life,” she said with a sigh. “It was just supposed to be a simple night.” the girl nodded next to her and Cassandra patted her on the head, her fingers flexing through her dirty hair as she gave her a measure of comfort.

Like a jealous lover her dark ambitions hissed in her ear and Cassandra only smiled. The kid had saved her life, and in return Cassandra had saved hers. Chances were the kid was an orphan now anyway. The midnight monster looked to the girl’s eyes as she stared at her burning village, a quiet contemplation masking her face as she stoically stood before Cassandra. The serial killer was more impressed that the child had not only witnessed brutal murder, but partook in the festivities of blood letting.

No other child in her life had done that before. She had known a small girl about the same age as this child named Cat. She had grown up in a disillusioned life with a father that drank his life away and a mother that was some sort of hero that couldn’t handle the whole family deal. She had watched and witnessed surgical procedures and even Cassandra going to town on the man who eventually revealed he had killed Cat’s mother. While she was curious about the darkness she made a conscious decision to place a gentle toe into the muddy waters. Cassandra at a younger age than she had dived head first.

The other girl Teysa was some stray from a street. While Cassandra had just began to learn how to communicate with her dark deluded lover the girl was already having play dates with hers. The kid had her own wave of dread around her, and she looked to Cassandra with a dispassionate look that made her skin crawl. It was like the child was deciding whether to cut Cassandra up into a delicate choice meat, or grind her into a mush. She left the child to her own devices and never saw her again.

Yet this child had towed the line of the darkness like Cat did, but had the appreciation to understand it like Teysa had. She took a large jump into those desolate waters that cleared the hidden passage to the road of the damned. Unlike her other children she left in her wake, this one didn’t ask Cassandra for help, and wasn’t to old to be able to accept Cassandra’s aid. She was looking at a girl she could possibly train into her image; her first child.

Smiling at that she flexed her fingers out along the girls scalp, gently massaging the child as she ignored her dark companion’s blatant insults to her. He was getting particularly moody as he usually did whenever Cassandra divided her attention between her lover. Yet this opportunity seemed to rare to pass up. All the cards fit into place and she fell in love with the idea of having someone she could train to be like her. This felt a like a mother’s pride when she saw her daughter for the first time.

Then the image of her father laying dead before her sobered her up to a harsh reality. This vision was only intensified as her devoted darling pointed out all the inherent dangers in teaching one these deadly arts. The inevitable table will eventually turn and the girl would try and kill her to surpass her. Cassandra pondered this a little more. Then with a shrug she decided to go with the flow and see where time would lead them. She could teach the girl a few tricks, but leave all the good ones for herself.

“You’re name,” Cassandra ordered to the girl.

“Aerith.” She said looking back at Cassandra. It wasn’t until the moonlight shone on the girl’s face that she was caked with blood from her own personal kill. Cassandra lifted a finger down and wiped some of it away from the girl’s lips. In response her tiny tongue darted out and licked a bit of it before the muscle retreated back like a lizard. Cassandra grinned to the girl as she looked up at her with expectant eyes. “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked, a little concern in her tone. Cassandra looked to the burning town, hearing the cultists round up more people as they continued to rampage. Cassandra narrowed her eyes into determination as she looked around the surrounding area.

“We hide in the forest. We wait until sunlight, and we then check to see if it is safe.” Cassandra’s eyes peered into the void of the shadows beyond the first few trees. It was impossible for anyone to try and peer into the forest and find two people in hiding. They would have the vantage point. She tugged on the girls arm and with a yelp of pain the girl quickly became her crutch as the two moved into the forest.

“In the morning, do you think we could look for my parents?” she whispered. Cassandra gave her another look. Maybe she was wrong about the child she began to muse.

“Sure,” Cassandra said bleakly. “Not like I got much else to do…” she muttered loudly.