The Decaying Rose stood high in the pillars above him, the wind blew against his face and dried his crimson, demonic eyes. His cape waved around like a proud flag, covering everything from his chest to his feet. The chivalrous cowl over his head created the terror that criminals feared, the only sign of humanity in him was the gateway that revealed his grey, withered jaw.
Then he heard it, shrieks coming from a dark alley. This sanctuary to evil was covered in fog from the gas pipelines beneath in the sewers. Puddles of water had formed from the rain earlier that night. The scoundrel smashed her face against the pavement and pushed her, gripping on her arms, trying to hold her still. It wasn't enough that he had taken her money for the week, he wanted more.
She cried for help even though she knew that in a city like Gothic it was pointless to try. The people in the streets just kept walking, some were too caught up in their own realities constructed by lies and others knew better than to try.
He begun disarming his belt buckle with one hand, while the other still held her. She scratched him in the eye, in anger he decided that she was not worth it. So he pulled out the glock in his jacket's pocket and aimed it at hear while he stopped the bleeding with the other hand.
The puddles of water jumped, as his large onyx boots landed firmly. Instantly the mugger turned, only a bloody symbol could be seen from the shadows. He aimed the gun at the shadow, he was sweating from the mucus like air. The gun was slippery.
Blam!
He fell into the ground with his brains splattered all over the floor. The woman had tears breaking her mascara. She begged him to stay away. So he did. With a grapple's sound, he had gone back to the gargoyles, his only friends in this forsaken city.
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