Black blade

The moon peaked over the wall, before disappearing once more behind the flowing clouds. A shadow flitted through the darkened streets, hugging the darkness as it went. None saw it move, none heard a sound as it glided over the streets. Tonight, Death was out hunting.

A cat peeked out of the trash can, it had been scrounging from, to look at the silent black clad form as he surveyed a passing couple. Unintrested, the cat went back to its search for its nightly sustenance, the intruder posed no threat to it.

Quickly and with agility the form in a flash of movement, scaled a wall and proceeded with its journey. With impecable balance akin to that of a cat, it zeroed in on its target. The sprawling mansion of the local drug lord lay on the outskirts of town, in the affluent area where even the honest plied their trade in illicit transactions. No money in this area was untainted by blood. You did what was needed to survive and one of those was smiling and dealing with the drug cartels.

Pausing, the shade waited in darkness for the moon to once more disappear behind a bank of clouds. Once inside, the claws would come out and blood would flow. Till then patience would have to be the order of the night. 

The pitch darkness of night was due to the local power station being offline. The fact it was a bomb was immaterial at this point. What counted was they had not found it in time and it had done its job. 

The assassin licked his lips, which were a bit dry, his back was wet with sweat and he hoped his odour would be masked by the scent he wore, or at least till his job was done. A smile played across his face as he reached the villas perimiter walls. With years of training, he scaled the wall with ease and perched atop its precipice like a eagle surveying the area of its terrain for its prey.

A few minutes passed as he waited for any dogs to appear. Slowly he nodded as he realized no dogs were going to appear that night to surprise and ruin his mission. In their kennels, all the dogs lay dead from the poison he had smuggled into their food. Another little victory this night for him.

Dropping silently to the ground, first phase begun, to kill all guards within the perimiter of the yard walls. Drawing the garot from an inside pocket he silently melded with the blackness of the night. Death crept along side this silent assassin, both wore matching smiles.

With stealthy steps, the first victim, never heard his death approach. Dragging on his cigarette, the red burn the only light around. With fluid motion, the garot looped his head, unseen, unfelt as it sliced his jugular. Gently he guided the silent, struggling form upon the ground. Within a few seconds, the husk lay within the bushes, concealed. The only evidence a man once stood there, was the burning stub of his cigarette, which was quickly crushed below the heel of a boot.

Slipping back into the pitch blackness of the shadows, he merged once more with the night. With quick light steps, he glided like a cat towards his next prey, garrot clasped ready, between hands, supple for killing. Every step he took, had been planned ten steps before. Everything he did now was calculated and precise, with no room for error. He was not just good at what he did, he was one of the best. 

The second victim suffered the same fate as his fellow guard, no sooner was the guard dead, the body not even cold and the assassin was searching for others to silence. This night was going to be bloody and would shock the world when the sun awoke.

With precision like a clock , the assassin had twelve bodies laying scattered within hidden tombs. Life taken quickly. Where each had patrolled, their torches shone, illuminating, so as to deceive those inside, that all was right with the night.

All to soon it was time to ply his trade inside and be the harbinger of Death once more. Deep within his breast a pride grew at his success. He fought to keep it down, it could wait till he was finished, then he would let it out to gloat. 

Inside, he crouched, waiting, listening, becoming one with the noises of the house. Each footstep measured, counted, to determine how many were awake. The garot disappeared within his clothes, replaced with a wicked knife. Its sheer blackness, outshone the darkness that surronded it. It silently screamed its sharpness as it cut the air as he moved from hiding. It would drink deeply of life giving blood, till sated upon the feast its master would provide.

At the entrance door, slumbering gently an obese suited African male slumbered. This would be a sleep he would never awake from. His dreams cut short, to be replaced by a trip to hell. With precision like a surgeon he gently guided the knife between the mans ribs piercing lungs and heart alike from the side. 

For a moment he watched the man drown in his own blood, while his heart stopped beating, no sound uttered past his lips. There he would sit until daybreak until it was discovered he was dead.

Quickly, he ascended the steps to the next floor, which was where the bedrooms were. Blood dripped from his blade as he made his way to the first room, leaving a trail that soaked into the carpet.

The first room, he entered was empty, but the second, two bodies slumbered in peaceful harmony, snoring, unperturbed at the nights events. Grasping a cushion he placed it over the nearest shape and repeatedly plunged the knife between its ribs, shredding lungs and heart alike. A sadistic smile played across his face as blood splattered everywhere.

The second figure had not even moved in the seconds it took to dispatch its partner. With narrowed eyes, the assassin sliced open the exposed throat, from ear to ear and listened to the gargling sound the man made as his life spurted out covering the sheets in crimson rich liquid. Smirking he watched as the man stared at him till his eyes were glassy. 

Slinking from the room, he continued on his escursion of bringing death to all within this drug nest. With each kill, he knew he was ridding the world of monsters who had enslaved many lives to their narcotics. Every person who had died from an overdose would surely be rejoicing at what he was doing. It was just a bonus, he was being paid to do this.

The message being sent was a good one, continue in your evil ways and you would die. The means being used were extreme, but it was better than watching these men being locked up in the lap of luxury and then running their empires from within. This was real justice.

Climbing the final stairs, he ascended with a feeling of almost regret. Soon the joy he took from killing would be over and he would leave the dead behind, the only witnesses to his passing through. He would have to wait patiently till his next contract.

At the top, were three doors, one left, one right and one dead ahead. Choices, choices, which one first flashed through his mind. The one in front was the main bedroom, he recalled from studying the architecural plans. He would leave that for last. After a moments hesitation he went right first.

Slowly he turned the handle and entered. On the bed lay two forms, intertwined with each other. Their activities clear as daylight to any who entered. This was the eldest son and one of his many conquests. Gliding to the bed he gazed down on their slumbering forms, cuddled together in each others warmth.

Poor girl, he thought to himself, to die because she decided to stay after they were finished shagging. Collateral damage as the Americans would say. He viewed her perfect young body, whilst for a moment experiencing a momentary feeling of lust and regret. 

With lightning reflexs he cut both throats and watched them die in naked embrace. Gushing and mixing their blood as they had their passion of earlier. What a waste flashed through his mind, as he ran his knife from her neck, cutting lines from breast to breast, then down her stomach, past the receptacle of enjoyment. Finally he guided the knife along her left leg and then her right, letting it drink some more of her blood. Quenching its thirst.

Walking out the room, he did not even bother to close the door. Now for the main room and his last two victims. Slowly he reached with bloodied glove for the door handle, but stopped short. Deep down, something bothered him, turning, he looked at the door he had left alone. That had to be the daughters room. A child of no more than ten years old. Tonight she was meant to be at a slumber party of one of her friends. Turning slowly, he approached the door, deep down praying she was not there. It was one thing to kill adults, another children. If she was here he knew what he needed to do.

Entering her room, he froze and looked upon the sleeping form of the girl. In his mind he cursed repeatedly. Why? He screamed within his mind. He did not wish to kill this innocent, but the contract said all must die within this house. He had made sure to choose tonight to make sure she was not there. If his paymasters wanted her dead, they could go hire some soulless monster. Deep down, he could not do this. It took a monumental effort to do what he had to do.

Minutes later he stood outside her door, a solitary tear leaked from his eye. If only she had not stayed home...she would still be alive. Feeling dirty, he decided to take his anger at himself out on his last two victims. The time of stealth was gone. Now it was time to slaughter.

With speed he flew into the main bedroom and gutted the wife, watching her entrails leap from her body. Her scream would have roused everyone from their slumber, however they were all dead and would only arise for judgement day. The husband with alicrity, arose from his bed. For a obese man he moved with alarming quickness. 

He however was no match for this black clad assassin. The black blade bit at the rolls of fat, ripping, tearing like a wolf on its prey as it hunted it down. First one then another, followed by more, each a cut designed to draw pain and suffering, all lethel, but just short of the death stroke.

The man roared like a bull in an arena, fighting a matador, that just stayed out of reach, playing with it, just like a cat would with a mouse. Slowly the behemoth of a man slowed as his blood left him. Forcing him to his knees, his breathing laboured as his body struggled to stay alive.

The assassin took his chin in one hand, placed the black blade beneath his chin. He looked into his victims eyes, which had already become a cold brown. For the first time that night he spoke, to the man he was about to kill.

"For all those people who died by your drugs, I bring you their justice. May you rot in hell!"

With a mighty effort, the large man spat back, blood spraying as he did so, "See you there..."

With no effort at all, he shoved the knife up into the mans brain, ending his life. Pulling the knife out, he let the body sag to the floor. Poor bastards that have to carry you out, he thought to himself, his rage spent on this monster.

"See you there," he answered to the corpse, "I will look you up."

Turning he looked upon the wife, who had long since stopped her struggles to put her intestines back in. She lay there staring at him, the last moments of life clinging to her eyes, as they begged him to end her pain. With one bound, he was by her and lovingly slit her throat. She need not suffer anymore.

As silently as he entered, he left the house of the dead, sprinting quickly away from his nights work. Without a sound he disappeared into the night, to rest, until he was called upon again. Evil in his mind, could only be stopped by evil means. The law was useless in stopping criminals and good men died when they tried. This was the only way to bring justice to those who sowed death with impunity, while getting rich from it. Well, that is what he told himself anyway. White lies never hurt anyone...