VOTING: Entry Three
Staring at the empty ceiling, he wondered if his life would ever return to normal. Luciel; that was the name given to him since the black haired little runt found him lying in a pool of crimson blood, writhing and twisting for help. That was what he had heard from Rhys anyway. He couldn't be sure, since he had lost all of his previous memory. Rhys was nice enough to let him stay at his home. He greatly appreciated his kindness. Furthermore, he literally had nowhere to go. With all of his wounds and cuts, he had no hope of surviving in the abandoned slum.
It had been a month since that event. Nothing significant had been happening; only the constant bickering of the surrounding neighbourhood, the blaring loud rock music from next door and the barking of Slamon the enormous bull dog from below their room. Since then, Rhys' warnings to not venture out at nights because of the dangerous neighbourhood became frequent and his constant pounding
headache resulting from his continuous nightmares became intolerable. He had been wanting to leave the dingy house for quite some time but he had been afraid to escape during the nights and Rhys was almost always at home during the day. Odd that he never seemed to be at home during the night. And when he saw him during the day, his face was always bloated with purple marks and puffy black eyes, as if he had been in fights. However it never occurred to him to ask as Rhys was a private man.
The small clammy place was all he could ever hope to live. No one knew him and this stuffy cramped room was his only salvation. Yet it was in this mere room that he was often disturbed with bad dreams that ended with him being killed sadistically, blood splashing from his ravaged body. Waking up and seeing that he was still a piece of meat and as sound as he remembered before he went to sleep was his only assurance that he was still alive indeed. He could hear his rapid breathing as droplets of sweat trickled down from his forehead. All sounds were heard, almost visible to him. His gasping breath as he tried to suck oxygen into his lungs, the rustling sound of his dirty blanket and the sound of his hands rubbing his temples. He was constantly alarmed that his nightmares felt even more real
and intense each time. It was dark and scary in his dreams. All he could see were dark shadows with tiny bead of eyes staring dangerously at him. Then their long fangs reached out for him as he stood rooted to the ground, unable to lift a foot, let alone a finger. His skin were then shredded to unrecognizable pieces and red colour stained his body. He would only wake up when his shrieking and screaming of pain reverberated in his dream. He suspected that the visions in his dreams were somehow real and connected to his past life. He didn't know what it was but the disconcerting re-occurrences couldn't just be a perfectly normal coincidence. He couldn't tolerate the feeling of not knowing anything and how helpless he felt with himself. He needed to go out and have some time to think it through.
As he hopped off from the creaky bed, he gathered his worn-out jacket and set off into the starless night. Rhys was nowhere to be seen, as usual. He could care less about the warning anyway. It was insignificant to him. His only thought was to try and recollect fragments of his lost memory. He was sure that if he tried hard enough, he would at least remember his own name. He had no idea where he was going but certainly not into the traitorous room that betrayed him with the promises of a good night's sleep and rewarded
him with dreadful visions.
The crispy cold night air was as ominous as the ebony sky. Street lamps were the only illuminators in the darkened streets. This was the first time he ever set foot on the lane in the night. In the day, the street would be packed by rowdy looking people who stared with scrupulous eyes, as if silently inspecting whether he would be worth living in the rat hole or not. However, it looked even more forbidding at night. He silently wondered if it was wise to mingle around at night. Nevertheless he had no intention of going back just yet.
The road was littered with tin cans, used tissue papers and various other objects. The maze of buildings took him farther and he turned left when he heard a faint moaning sound. He procrastinated whether it would be clever to proceed or return back. After a moment of hesitation, his curiousity got the better of him and he stepped towards the source of the sound. The groaning sound became louder and clearer. It sounded as if someone was asking for help and pleading for mercy. It sounded just like...Rhys. He couldn't be sure since
Rhys didn't really talk much but by instinct, he knew that he wasn't wrong.
His assumption was confirmed when he saw the dark-haired man crying, blood smearing his swollen face. That was the first time he had ever seen the terror expression from his host. Usually he was as calm as breeze, a contradiction of him now. He was mumbling something incorrigible but he recognized some words as, "forgive...let go...innocent...kill..." Whatever that meant, he was sure that Rhys was begging to be let go. The three predators were armed with handgun and they were laughing maniacally while kicking him. However Rhys only allowed himself to be assaulted without showing any sign of aggression. This man definitely didn't know how to defend himself. Or even if he knew, he couldn't do it anyway, considering his current circumstances. He was knocked unconscious.
Luciel just stood there, suddenly overwhelmed with fascination and enthrallment. The sound of cracking bones and fracturing skeletons thrilled him and the calming effect it made on his soul was strangely comforting. He basked in the weird stimulation and his past memories swiftly entered his mind one after another. Now he knew who he was; the fearless Wraith, not the weak and frail Luciel. He was the infamous assassin and notorious for his smooth and flawless slaughter. No man was able to escape from their impending death on his hand. He grinned to himself. This puny little rats didn't know their position. He could trample on them and crush them with his single fist.
Wraith stepped out from the obscured hiding place and smirked blatantly, revealing a menacing smile. The three dirty rodents turned back to see him, weapons ready. However their faces fell when they saw him. So these pests were knowledgeable enough to know him. They might be in the same business, albeit way farther down his level. As minions, perhaps. How pathetic. The way their eyes quivered and their body shivered was enough to make him snicker with amusement. They were beginning to flee but his reflexes were trained to be faster than a normal human being. "Thinking of running away?" Wraith demanded sarcastically, terminating their action. A blow to the minion's head was enough to scare the remaining two away. But he wasn't compassionate enough to let anyone live after what they had done to his saviour. It was odd that Rhys had left such a deep impression to this cold-blooded killer. He snickered to himself; he had found a good toy. He picked up the arm, shooting with a terrifying accuracy at the two convicts and both fell to the ground at the same time, never to wake up again. The last one was effortless as he had already fainted with terror. This one would be a merciful killing for him. A deafening noise filled the night as the third shot was released. He felt at ease at once, reveling in the sudden overflowing sense of triumph at his most recent massacre, once again. He was back, and this world might get a little better with another companion. He gently lifted Rhys the little runt, whistling an eerily cheerful melody and disappearing within the darkened night mist.