Third accident around the world. Careless kamikaze splattered himself throughout the asphalt without a plane, bone and flesh snap, shatter, sprinkle. Petite fountain of carmine spurts, cascading south, dragged by heavy wheels. Most likely those of a truck. Cargo truck. Investigations thwarted by cabalistic events. No dog put down, no carcass for the vultures to feast with their flashlights and clicking cameras, strident and cacophonous microphones. No reelection bonus. Third accident around the world, third accident with no trail apart from trickling blood, scent of death but nothing solid to entomb.
Nothing.
The blood's patterns smelled of something else, though. Something careless mortals would not comprehend. Like befalling tears gyrating until they splash in the ground, it reeked of despair, panic addressed at something... something of outer realms, something that's neither white nor black, not even grey. Just afraid. A demon, most would point out. It wasn't that either. Extra-terrestrial? Impracticable, biology resembled human... Although it didn't seem to obey any laws of Darwinism... Just the craving for survival, long vanquished by darkness and aforementioned despair.
Sympathy with the unbeknownst, the after. The soaring raven he never saw reap. But fear of the acquainted, of the now, of the where and when. Hollow concepts to him, to her, to... whatever it was. A macabre roar, barely did the acknowledge it was merely a thunderous cry. Chained. Always chained.
Chains.
It stumbled into obscurity, where the most accurate eye would scrutinize nothing but obfuscated shades of violence shaping into forms of wrath. There, where the beast abode, the monstrous personality hidden beneath layers of carnal love and faux compassion. He fed those, broke their chains, tamed them with blood. Blood not of his own, but of sinners...
Silence.
Voices are evanescent now, they vanquish to glorious, brighter paths. While the pain inflicted upon the creature remains unscathed. Where is his prize after setting so many free? Free of fear? Free of sadness? Where was his salvation?
It stalks from its shadowy slumber, every soul that requires a Black Knight, an Angel of Vengeance, to simply swoop its magical sword and adsorb the souls of evil so they might ascend. Is it enough for them? For those who bestowed such beastly form a life? For those who consider it a blessing to it instead of a curse? A damnation!
No.
Never enough.
It recognizes in loneliness its sole ally and amicable shoulder, a companion that shall always accompany him everywhere, moonlight or sunlight, woods or city. It shall be there, keeping him warm yet reminding him... Whispering alongside the unchangeable zephyrs that it is not enough, that he must fulfill his goals night after night, ceaselessly snatching vivacity for some reason not even the amaranthine stones could describe.
A flame flickers and annoys his vigilant, devoid gaze. A groan.
Echo...
Bar fight, dead husband, stabbed in the back while keeping two baboons of murdering themselves. Imbecile, should have left that happen. Better spectacle.
Now it must move, the voices rekindle. The wind buffets. A crimson cape trembles, its edges culminating into a despicable, scarred form of the night. It snares, sniffs the air and growls.
The voices are calling.
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