5. Ashmaker #2
"No?" A faint, sharp smile graces my lips, and I watch him flinch before he looks for anything he can use against me in desperation.
"I suppose pretending becomes second nature after a while, doesn't it?
I can relate, Georgie." I watch with amusement as he bends and picks up trash, throwing it at me in an attempt to stop me, but it's no use. I won't be denied.
I take the final step, closing the chasm between predator and prey.
The heavy, frantic heat wafting off his terrified body hits me like a physical wave, mixing with the cold rain, and the dark, violent desire to watch him split open begins to consume me entirely.
He tries to strike out with his fist, managing to hit the side of my neck clumsily, with no finesse behind the movement, but pain is weakness, and I don't allow myself to feel any.
My other hand rises, slowly, menacingly, as I grasp onto his wobbling, grotesque chin.
I squeeze, the pressure calculated, before taking that final step to ruthlessly pin him flat against the weeping brick.
There is no rushing. No desperate quickening of my pulse.
True predators never need to hurry; the maze is already closed.
George does his best to fight against me, using his meager strength to shove, kick, and even bite, but when one is used to targeting someone half their size, they can't handle someone like me.
I lean inward, the weight of my frame compressing harshly against his trembling body.
He attempts a pathetic shift to push back, releasing his chin, but the sudden, cold bite of the steel against his throat instantly dissuades him.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling a deep breath of the freezing air, and his raw, concentrated terror. God, George now smells delicious.
I can hear it now, and the rhythm is beautiful.
The frantic, erratic pounding of his heart against his ribs, and the jagged hitch in his breathing.
Every tiny, involuntary whimper that vibrates against my body causes a shudder to slide down my back.
I close the remaining distance between our similarly sized frames until the midnight shadows bleed us together, erasing the line where my silhouette begins and his ends. We are now only one.
I slash with the blade, cutting through his shirt until I can see it darken with his blood against the fine fabric, and his scream fills the alleyway. "HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP ME!"
Cold rainwater trickles beneath our shoes, then something warmer joins it. The sharp, pungent stench of fresh urine hits the damp asphalt, and an instant jolt of profound annoyance reverberates through me. So fucking weak. Utterly pitiful.
His dark blue eyes widen with a dramatic, hollow shock as I slash the blade once more, creating another beautiful ribbon of flesh and fabric.
I shift a fraction of an inch away to avoid the mess, and his gaze drops in absolute devastation toward the dark, spreading stain ruining the front of his trousers, and the blood seeping from his wounds.
The stark reality of his vulnerability has stripped away every ounce of the wealthy, untouchable monster he pretended to be.
His face crumples with devastation and terror, and it brings me so much pleasure that my core constricts, and my own breathing ratchets up. The blade slickens with trickles of his blood, and it's as if he no longer feels it. The fear has taken over all his senses.
"No..." The word escapes broken and childlike. As if he realizes the monster under the bed was always real.
I smile wider, allowing him to see exactly how this exquisite intimacy affects me.
I slash at his thigh, and tears slide down his miserable face, as his lips blubber with pleas I don't care to hear.
A violent, intoxicating heat floods my veins, a dark arousal blending hypnotically with my fury.
Goosebumps break out across my flesh under the damp fabric of my clothes, and I have to swallow a low moan.
Death is the ultimate lover's embrace, and in these final moments, I will be his entire universe, and he will merely be a fond, bloody memory long after his warmth has faded. "There you are, Georgie," I whisper against his skin.
Not the respectable businessman.
Not the charming volunteer.
Not the wealthy pillar of the community.
All that is left of him now is fear, perfect, raw, and completely honest. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
His question brings me pause as I draw a slow, deep breath, letting the scent of his terror settle inside my chest like an exquisite prayer.
"I am death. I am justice that was not served.
I am their retribution." This right here is the only honest thing monsters ever give back to the world.
The only thing they possess of any worthy value.
Fear.
"You know," I whisper, driving the point of the blade into his shoulder, a deep, precise bite to anchor him against the wall.
"Every child you cornered prayed someone would come.
Every single finger you laid on them, they beseeched for a savior.
" I pull back and drag it down to where his neck meets his collarbone.
"They waited." Stab. "They hoped." Stab. "No one ever came."
I grab for the syringe in my pocket, stabbing it into his crotch and depressing the plunger without hesitation, as he tries to fight against the pain and shock of the wounds.
His shoulders shake as screams rip from his mouth.
He tries to fight my hold, the bastard even attempts to headbutt me, but I grab onto his flaccid cock and squeeze the offending lump.
The very tool of his violence against so many others.
His tears mix with rain until neither can be distinguished from the other.
I stab his shoulder again, allowing the blade to plunge deeper. Bleed for me, Georgie.
"I'm sorry!" Snot trails down his face to his quivering lips, the words broken and utterly useless against the rain.
His false words should offend me, but I've heard the same script from every single demon I dispatch back to hell.
There is nothing remorseful or truthful about them; creatures like Georgie are entirely incapable of it.
"No, Georgie. You're just frightened," I murmur, my voice low and steady as the chemical begins its quiet work, binding his muscles and stealing his strength.
"Just like they were, but it didn't help save them, did it, Georgie?
It didn't stop you from beating and raping them.
It didn't halt you from ruining their lives forever.
Changing them until their past was gone, and their dreams lay tarnished and broken, just like their trust. You stole everything from them, and for that you must pay with your life. "
The paralytic spreads swiftly through his veins, heavy and absolute.
I watch as the realization blooms behind his eyes.
No longer panic or denial, somehow, he already knows that I won't accept either.
Perhaps George is smarter than those who have preceded him.
I can almost see the rushed thoughts racing through his corrupt mind before his body ultimately betrays him.
No bargaining will change his fate here tonight.
No lie will save him from me and my divine justice.
No witness will interrupt us and cause me to fail in my mission.
Hope doesn't vanish all at once. No, it bleeds out slowly, breath by miserable breath, until all that remains is the absolute certainty now reflected in his hollow stare.
He isn't leaving this alley, not now, not ever.
His breathing is becoming more and more shallow as the paralytic does its job, and his body sags, unable to hold itself up any longer. I withdraw the blade and allow his body to sag to the ground, the rain now mixing with the crimson river flowing from his body.
I crouch down, pulling my bag off my shoulders, and slice through the material of his pants and underwear, cutting it away from his body until his limp cock lies nestled in dark hair between his legs.
His fingers move, as if attempting to raise his hand to stop what's about to happen, but there is no point.
There's no stopping this. A garbled noise tries to leave his lips as he begins to choke on his own air and saliva.
I reach forward with the knife, grab onto the meaty part of his cock, and begin to slice through the tissue.
Blood pours down his legs as I hum a hymn I learned long ago, one I've all but forgotten the words to, but the melody has remained.
Somewhere beneath the roaring pulse in my ears, beneath the cold rain and the distant putrid city beyond the brick walls, I feel the familiar fracture inside myself widen.
The part that still remembers justice whispers that this is necessary.
The part that no longer recognizes where justice ends and obsession begins simply smiles.
The truth is that monsters have always believed the dark belongs to them, and that they are completely safe in it.
That is, until something darker smiles back.
I stare down at George, his form growing still beneath the shadow of my hood, his breath hitching a final time before the void claims him.
This is the art of the purge. I am the executioner, the savior, and the nightmare all at once.
The rain continues to fall, washing away the superficial grime of the alley, but leaving the holy stains of my work untouched.
I finally release the lumpy flesh from his body and, with my bloody fingers, pry his lips apart, past his teeth, and force it down his tight throat.
The pools of his midnight blue irises stare into mine, and I smile, knowing that I'm the last thing he will ever see before he meets the devil.
"Sins must be paid in blood, Georgie. Be sure to give my regards to the devil. I'm sure I'll be seeing him soon."