8. Diesel
8
DIESEL
“ S triker, gather the team. I want to hit the Dask village before noon.”
Diesel fastened his long black cloak to his back and shouted orders.
“Sir, don’t you wanna wait until that little brat gets home from school?” Striker snapped her teeth together and ran her tongue along them as if she could taste Lea’s blood already.
“No. It’s better to keep someone alive, so she’ll have to pay when she inherits her shack.” Diesel pinched Striker’s chin before pushing her face away.
Striker growled, hating that Lea would get off without a scratch, but she didn’t dare disobey Diesel’s direct orders. Striker turned to the group of werewolves hanging out on the level below them. “Team, we roll out in fifteen. Be ready.”
It didn’t take long before they arrived in Dask.
The street went from bustling to a ghost town in a few seconds.
This came as no surprise to Diesel. He was used to his caravan’s amazing ability to make people disappear.
His appearance alone was enough to scare people away, if not his caravan. Not because he was ugly. He was a remarkably handsome older gentleman. But there was something in his eyes that frightened people. Perhaps it was the fact that one of his eyes was white with a long scar cutting across it. It could have been because he always looked half-shifted.
His canine teeth were always sharp, and his eyes looked permanently wolf-like. This came about after years of shifting so frequently.
The fearful whispers filled his ears, which only further fed his pleasure.
Then, the caravan stopped.
Diesel slowly turned to see the poorly carved wooden sign— Nadir’s Shop .
He jumped down off the top of the caravan, along with Striker.
His sheer mass made the ground rumble as he landed.
Striker landed gracefully beside him.
She entered the shop first, laughing to herself. “I told you we’d be back.”
The sounds of horrified screams and battling filled the air, delighting Diesel.
It didn’t take long, however, for things to go silent.
Noticing something moving in the corner of his eye, Diesel looked down the street to see a little old woman rushing toward him.
“Curious.” He thought as the older woman pulled the entryway open just as Striker was about to walk out covered in blood.
“What have you done?” She trembled in fear.
Striker leaned close to her face and smiled. “Why don’t you go have a look for yourself?”
The old woman rushed into the shop, and the air was no longer silent. You could hear her gut-wrenching scream from miles away. It pierced through the fabric of space and time.
“Pain like that stays with you…” Diesel’s face became sullen.
Striker turned, extending out her claws to kill the old woman.
“Striker,” Diesel called for her attention before she could do anything.
She turned to him, annoyed that he stopped her killing spree.
“Leave her.” He commanded.
“Fine.” Striker gritted her teeth in disdain before stepping out of the front door.
Now Diesel could see the mess she made, clear as day.
Their hearts were clawed out of their chests, and their entrails were scattered about the room.
The old woman huddled over the two bodies, crying out as if that would put them back together.
Diesel thought it was pathetic but demeaned all human emotions beneath him. All except one, that is.
“Remember today well, old woman. Never forget that I showed you mercy when I didn’t have to.” Diesel smirked, and his pride in what he had done swelled within him.
She looked up at me with pure hatred in her eyes.
Diesel treasured those looks in his mind, holding onto them as others might cherish flowers or coins, finding solace in their memory during the quiet nights filled only with his thoughts.
“That’s right,” he thought. “Hate me. Spread that hate and fear to everyone you know. Fear keeps people in line.”
Diesel turned his back on the old woman and climbed onto the caravan. With a tap of his cane, he urged the driver to move.