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

[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!"