it's time for murder!! [NG+]

[spelleton]

[ The warehouse is just like any other in this quiet part of the city. It's a faceless, well-kept building (because Ekkehardt is meticulous about what he does and always has been, and no death and return with something strange and alien pulsing in his chest, threaded into his heart, will change that) that has nothing untoward inside.

Well, most of the time, anyway. Sometimes it's a stage, a place to meet certain unsavory elements, with the intended result of erasing them from the world entirely.

Ekkehardt is sitting, quietly, behind a stack of crates, machete in hand. Chains jingle and sway, casting unsteady shadows in the flickering lights as he hears multiple sets of footsteps, not far away. ]

Comments

switching to third person for ease of html and multiple people talking

[subconmodo]

"He's not here," one of the men growls out as he looks the inside of the warehouse over, one hand fiddling with something in the pocket of his jacket. Two of the three other men tense, but their leader hardly seems bothered.

"We probably just got here first," he says. "Besides, what's he going to try?

"I don't know, boss. You've heard the stories, haven't you?" another of the men says, and runs a hand through his hair. "That guy's the worst of the worst. He's a monster. And he wanted us to come all the way out here? I don't like this. What if he--"

"You're kind of rude, aren't you?" A voice from the warehouse's entrance rings out disapprovingly, adding in a faint "tut tut" for good measure. "I offer you the chance to get the best representation of your lives and you call me a monster?" The Snatcher puts a hand to his chest in mock-insult, but there's a tug at the corner of his lips and a glint in his glowing eyes that betrays him--if he's even bothering to hide it at all.

"You're running a little late," the boss says.

Snatcher scoffs. "It's called making an entrance."

[spelleton]

Ekkehardt turns his head slightly to look through the boxes, rather than around them. His eyes change behind his mask; something more alien, with pupils that look like bright, empty stars. The warm, bloody silhouettes of the men, and every other living thing, floods into his vision.

They didn't bring backup with them, which is good. Less mess to clean up afterwards.

"So why'd you call us all the way out here, huh?" says one of the men, before their boss can say more. "How do we know you're not just messing with us?"

[subconmodo]

"Simple. We both know you're guilty. There's no reason to try and pretend that you're not. That makes it all the more important to have these sorts of discussions away from prying eyes." He gestures vaguely. "Who'd want to come to a place like this?"

"And your price?" the boss asks.

Snatcher grins. "Five-hundred thousand. Up front. I'll take the other half of my payment when I win."

[spelleton]

The other men start muttering among themselves almost immediately when the price is brought up, clearly finding it objectionable. The boss, however, seems to be seriously considering it.

"Boss, you can't seriously want to pay this guy! He's just squeezing us!" one of the men bursts out. The others offer loud and vocal agreement, and at least two are beginning to make up their minds on whether they want to bother with payment or not.

[subconmodo]

The boss opens his mouth to give his reply, only for Snatcher to cut in.

"Oh, by the way... You all do know what will happen if you say no, right? What's a little cash compared to your lives?"

"I knew it!" one of the men shouts, pulling a gun from his pocket and pointing it at Snatcher. "It was a fucking trap the whole goddamn time!"

[spelleton]

The moment after the gun is pulled, the lights abruptly flicker out. There's the sounds of a struggle in the darkness, and when the lights flicker on again, the man with the gun is nowhere to be seen.

Well, mostly. Blood smears the floor where he was standing, and the gun, similarly bloodied, has been tossed aside. But the assailant, and the unfortunate victim, are gone.

[subconmodo]

"Whoops! There goes one of you already!" Snatcher shouts gleefully above the panicked shouts of the man's allies, though the villain himself is nowhere to be seen. "Now... The money if you please."

One of the men turns to run, only to nearly run face first into a wall of thorns blocking the exit.

"Careful! Wouldn't want another accident so soon, would we?"

[spelleton]

The boss's face is white, and with very little bravado he surrenders the money he's brought in a duffel bag. To his tenuous credit, he doesn't beg for his life, but that might be because he's far too petrified to say anything.

The others are torn between anger and fear. They've learned that it's not safe to pull weapons, but they're also obviously at a loss for what else to do; perfect targets to toy with.

Ekkehardt is still keeping out of sight, lurking quietly on the edges. He doesn't see the need to show himself yet, not when Snatcher is having so much fun.

[subconmodo]

"Wonderful! Glad we've come to an understanding." Snatcher laughs and a large, shadowy hand reaches up from the earth, grabbing the duffel bag and dragging it into the abyss--up to Snatcher's hiding spot above.

The wall of thorns remains firmly in place.

"Now... What do you say?" he continues, as if speaking to a bunch of children.

"Fuck you!" one of the men yells.

"WRONG!"

The lights go out again. A gun goes off, and the man who shouted before barely manages a scream before he's cut off with a sickening, wet gurgle and a crack.

When the lights come on next, his body lays before the other men, headless.

[spelleton]

Ekkehardt idly thinks about suggesting that Snatcher drop the head on them for extra panic, but from how their fear is pervading his senses, there wouldn't be much of a change even if they didn't. They're terrified as is.

Now, the boss or his one remaining henchman? Decisions, decisions. Who will be next, he wonders?

The remaining man is just as pale-faced as his superior; apparently fear isn't the only thing getting to him as the stink of blood begins to rise. Still, he drops to his knees and manages a passable shriek of "Don't kill me!" in the doing.

Not that it will help his case, much. But them getting out alive had never been a predicted outcome.

[subconmodo]

"Close, but not quite. Manners really aren't your strong suit, are they?" God does he love this part of the job. Few things are more satisfying than the sound of a so-called tough-guy begging for their miserable life.

But as much fun as he's having, it seems unfair to hog the spotlight all to himself. He was just the lure, after all.

He glances over in the direction of Ekkehardt's soul and smirks. He'll share the stage just this once.

[spelleton]

Ekkehardt takes a little while to show himself, though that, too, is theatrics. While he's not as much for the spotlight as Snatcher is, it doesn't mean he doesn't indulge in a bit of dramatics now and then.

One moment the space beside the two remaining victims is empty, the next it's occupied by a masked man in red, hooded and cloaked. He holds his bloodied machete in one hand, and pulls the begging man up with the other.

"Interesting to be on the other end of a situation you've subjected so many others to, isn't it?" he says, watching his target intensely. The man tries to squirm away from his gaze, and finds no respite.

He taps the machete against the floor, once, twice.

"Now, which of you should die next?" His tone is hard, merciless, his gaze unbending. "Convince me."

Snatcher is gleeful, passionate, exulting in his victims' discomfort. In contrast, Ekkehardt burns with a fearsome, grim intensity; though he clearly doesn't derive joy from the act of killing, or from toying with his targets overmuch, it's not any better to be faced with.

[subconmodo]

"You were working together," the boss realizes, his words coming out more like a breath.

"Duh." Snatcher steps out of the shadows behind the two men, sandwiching them between him and Ekkehardt. It ultimately unnecessary--they aren't getting out of here--but he wants a front row seat. "You see, you got on his bad side. Which means you got on my bad side. Now you get to beg for your miserable lives."

"I-I-I-It was his idea!" the henchman stammers out, pointing a shaking hand in his boss's direction. "He was the one calling the shots! Let me go! Please!"