The Footsteps of power.
The rain began to fall in a quick succession now like heavy blankets, covering all in its veil of weakness. Watching the people run for shelter from such a meager element, Malus couldn't help but let a small, raspy laugh escape him. Only the night before, they walked so proudly in their suits, their ties, their expensive jewelry, yet at the slightest change in there environment, they reverted back to the animals they were, pushing, shoving, their formal etiquette lost in the downfall that ensued. They were the animals, Malus was the butcher.

Malus wasn't a big man, though he stood at 5 foot 10 he was never an athletic person. He had thin, wire like muscles, a machine of finesse not one of brutality. His skin was pale, whilst he preferred to hunt in the alley ways of New York, he always hunted at night, under the blind and forgiving eyes of darkness. He shaved his entire body each day, his arms, his legs, his chest, even his eyebrows, without fail, he considered himself no longer a man but a god among insects. He was once a man, he knew this but he had evolved, evolved above what he considered "mortal".

Malus stood now, over the lamb of god, she was beginning to regain consciousness, "They were all so pathetic" Malus thought to himself. He never spoke to them, the animals, he never gave them the honor to address one of them as an individual. The rain was still streaming down across the nights sky, "perfect weather for hunting" Malus said to himself. The woman's blood was mixing and embracing with the rain, tricking down Malus's curved blade, a 12 inch blade, it's red sheen covered with the flesh of tonight's hunted, he wielded the weapon with a perfect grace that was mesmerizing yet horrifying at the same, he knew this weapon was a gift from his patron god, an honor no animal would ever receive.

Cathy's eye's were darting left to right, she found herself unable to speak and she wondered to herself "how did I get here?", for only a moment ago her mind was on her cheating husband, now she lay on the wet walkway of New York. A man was standing over her, a pale man with a blade in his right hand. She gasped as she saw the blood that was covering her, she did not know, or want to know, that this was her blood. "who...who are " Cathy began to say before being forever silenced before final embrace of Malus. His weapon slicing deeply thru her neck, her sweet soft skin that was her mother's skin.

Malus could not bear to hear another one of them speak, their pathetic pleads and wants, it sickened him. He grasped her hair, twisting it tightly around his hand, making Cathy's neck taught under the pressures of the Malus's grip and her own body. With one quick slash Cathy's head was removed from her body, the grim trophy belonged to Malus now. He placed the head within the confides of his heavy leather trench-coat and with an inhuman speed and grace, was gone, disappearing into the night like a shadow.

From the top of the building complex, Malus was calculating, always calculating, his next 5 movements already memorized and each step was step was taken with pin point accuracy . He broke into stride, Malus was moving faster than the human eye would ever see. He bounded from building top to building top, standing for only a few moments before raising up into a deadly arc once more. He had made it to the edge of the city in only a few minutes and he stood at his sanctuary, an abandoned building. No one dared enter such a place, even the most inferior of animals can sense great power and Malus knew this.

Malus walked into his refuge, placing the woman head among a pile of hundreds, this was his shrine to his god, Siramech. The altar would turn the stomachs of even the most harden of men, the cross of Jesus Christ was there, stolen from the church of the weak, this just showed how devote he was to his god, bearing even the pain that all followers of Siramech feel as they enter the holy ground of the weak god, Jehovah. The cross, once a symbol of man's faith was placed upside down, ever soaking in the blood of virgin children. The hearts of the youngsters were placed on a large gold plate, they were left here to rot, to show absolute devotion to Siramech. The heads of the mortals where left to decay at the foot of the shrine, each one offered to Siramech in the hope of drawing the gods attention to Malus.

Siramech was not like Jehovah, he did not test his followers, only rewarded and punished them, he did not bother to put them thru great trials of pain and suffering, it was the follower who had to prove themselves. Siramech would greatly reward those with the abilities he admired ; Agility, strength, cunning and brutality. A truly favored follower would not be confused for a man. Their eyes would glow with dark ferocity and unquestionable power. A followers muscles would become like steal, unwavering at any force a man would bring against it, glancing off even the most forceful strikes. Their speed would become something the human eye cannot follow and the strength a follower is blessed with would allow them to crush a person with their bear hands. Weapons were also offered to great warriors of Siramech, gruesome vampiric weapons, a single strike with one such weapon would remove the soul from a mortal, these weapons would find themselves materialized in-front of a follower, formed from the pure hatred and unwavering faith in Siramech.

Malus placed his blade, his physical personification of his faith, gently down upon the alter, allowing it to sit amongst the rotting pieces of the hunted. Malus took his heavy coat off and folded it, placing it on the hard concrete floor. Malus propped himself against the cold wall and slept his dreamless sleep.

"Dawn, the best time to steal away the young" Malus thought to himself as he sat on the top of his sanctuary, his legs dangling idly over the side of the edge. He watched the sun rise as he admired his weapon, the way in which it gleamed in the mornings sun, its craftsmanship, though, that seemed a funny word to use for no man had crafted his weapon. The handle, made of the bones of some of the most respected priests thru out the ages. The blade with its red sheen was hatred's physical form, a thousand times stronger than any metal, its edge ever sharp, able to cut thru concrete without hesitation. The blade, of course, had a name, "Jazel". Forged in the very pits of hell by the demonic blacksmith "Ezaries" who made the blade his life's ambition, to create a perfect weapon. None would debate that this blade was that of perfection. Cooled by a thousand tortured children's tears, the blade could be heard crying on a silent night.

Malus held the blade between his index fingers, its razor sharp tip punctured his skin lightly and a small stream of blood trickled down knife. As the blood continued along the course of the weapon it slowly evaporated, absorbed by the knife. Jazel glowed a bright blue for an instant as if to acknowledge that the blood was appreciated.

The blood that surrounded the symbol of the weak was growing low. Malus knew that he must acquire more virgin blood to keep it in it's desecrated form. The hunt was on.

Malus jumped from the roof of the building, a quick running leap before landing on his feet, some 50 meters below. The earth had given in where he had landed, concrete was cracked and thrown in a small radius around him, the force that Malus radiated from his very being was obvious to all. Standing upright now, Malus darted from each alley way to avoid detection, not by a mortal but by another follower of his dark god, for they too desired Jezel. In a short period of time, Malus was standing outside an apartment complex, though he was standing several hundred meters away from the building, he could hear the children sleeping within. Within a few seconds, Malus had run the 400 meters and was now standing within the building, without a moments hesitation he began to ascend the stairs to steal away a child for the altar. He stood outside the Room labeled 108, the numbers meant nothing to Malus and he pressed his ear against the wall, indeed, inside this apartment was a child, perhaps of 7 or 8 winters old.

It was 7-am when Zack woke for school. He never had good memories of when his parents were together, the endless fighting had left a permanent scar on Him. He lived with his father now, his mother had no job and the courts had decreed that it was in his best interests to live with his father. He saw his mother every weekend and he silently wished the time they spent together would never end. He was old enough to know it was his fathers fault the marriage fell apart. When they all lived under the one roof, his father would often come home drunk. He was not the type of man that could hold his liquor and he would often hit Zack's mother. "Whore! Slut! " His father would say though He didn't know what these words meant, he knew they were bad words for they made his mother cry. She never said a bad word about his father, she always sat there and took it, that was just the type of person she was, she had a good heart but she didn't have the bravery to stand up for herself. He would often hear his mother making excuse's for his father , "I deserve it" she would say to her friends. His father had been the one who left, he found another woman and he had never forgiven him for this. Whilst Zack had only just woken up, his thoughts were already of his father, his swift hand was what usually woke him up if he dared to sleep past 7:30.

Zack stumbled out of bed and sat down at the dinner table, he began to eat his fruit-loops, leaning on his elbow. His father was awake. Zack could hear him walking down the hallway, he sat up, taking his elbow off the table and allowed his back to become rigid in fear. "You better be fucking ready for school on time today Zack!" his father said as he walked into the kitchen. "yes dad" Zack said. His father was a tall man, a business man but a man who enjoyed going to gym more than he enjoyed bonding with his only child. His physique portrayed this as he walked into the kitchen shirtless. His father made himself a coffee and walked over to where Zack was sitting, he leant against a wall idly, totally unaware of the chaos that was about to unfold in this quiet New York apartment.

The door of room 108 was reduced to nothing more than splinters before Zack or his father had time to even register the destruction. Malus was at Zack's fathers side before the shards of door had finished failing to the ground. A smiling Malus was all that his father would see before he would be sent into the afterlife. Zack watched in horror as the leather clad warrior materialized from nowhere, his bowels failing him as Malus brought the blade across his chest as if to saver the final strike before grasping the blade with both hands and bringing all his strength to bear against Zack's father, Jazel severing easily thru his weak human bone and flesh, its eerie blue glow of satisfaction as if it to was savoring the death of such a pathetic animal, the blood of which was quickly absorbed thru the metal. The combined strength of Malus and the powers which were held within the blade had managed not only to make light work of the man but had throughly destroy the wall of the apartment, shattering concrete and steel supports with such explosive force that the entire building shook in fear.

The dust began to settle within the apartment, everything was silent, the only sound was made by Zack's father's headless corpse at it hit the floor of the apartment. The creature which had so swiftly killed Zack's father seemed not to be a faceless blur as Zack had first thought, but a man, albeit a powerful man but still, only a man. The figure stood over the body, though only for a moment as he collected the head of Zack's once angry father and placed it like an unwanted gift, grudgingly within the heavy leather coat. Zack sat, still in his place at the dinner table, unable to move as the figure walked slowly over to him , sheathing his weapon as he did. Malus watched the boy for a moment before grasping a nearby flowerpot and smashing the crude weapon over the boys head. " This one, I will need alive" he thought to himself as he promptly grabbed the boy's arm, easily throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder, jumping down the 9th story and running off to the confides of the shrine. There was much to do and the day as only begun.

Zack sat up wondering where he was, as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings he had to take a moment to realize that he was not still dreaming, that is was not a nightmare. Zack sat in a pentagram, across the other side of the room was the pale figure, he was kneeling at the foot of the dark altar, his eyes were closed and he was madly reciting the same lines, "Siramech, I ask that you give me your blessing, to rid this earth of the accursed, to slay in your name, the true god, in you stead I will bring you honor". Zack once against felt his bowels loose all control as he saw what was clenched tightly in the religious fanatics hands. Zack thought for a moment that he was glad his father had died at the hands of this man. That perhaps this was the twisted punishment he deserved but these thoughts were quickly dismissed as the dark figured walked over to Zack.

"Pathetic insect" Malus thought as he saw the boy's eyes diverted to him, did he dare stare into my eyes? The boy, like all the others reverted back to his most primitive instinct's and tried to flee, the child was met with an invisible force, he placed his hands against the transparent barrier trying to find a section that would allow him freedom. Malus let out a monstrous laugh as he saw the animals hands begin to burn against the unholy force that bound him within the pentagram. "7 rises of the moon" Malus thought to himself, " only 7 and the child's blood would be his".

In New York, it was Saturday, 2 day's had passed since the kidnapping of Zack and his mother, Mary Richard's, was making the long walk to 56th Street. She was a simple woman, her child meant the world to her, sometimes she would sit alone crying, the pain of not being with her son was immense. She event considered stealing him away, just for a week or two, to spend some real time together. She walked past a mirrored office building and stood, only for a brief moment to brush some stray hair back behind her ear. She never took pride in her appearance though she was 38 this year, she was still approached by handsome men, her looks where effected little over the years, many would still consider her beautiful but her little self confidence rarely produced a second date. Within half an hour, Mary had begun the tiresome walk up the stairs of the apartment complex. She stepped onto the landing and walked idly down the hallway, "Room 105, 106" she had a small quirk with counting as she went, "Room 107, one o...... " she stopped, Police tape was strung haphazardly across the doorway. Part of Mary died that day, the endless tears that she shed coursing their way down the lines in her face, she had aged 15 years in the time it took to count from one room to the next.

That night was a night of a thousand tears and countless murders for a night without blood shed was a night wasted Malus thought to him as he walked casually under the streetlights, searching out some of the worst of the human race. Across the street, dimly lit under a faulty street light was a hooker. She stood, back against the light leaning idly with one leg, the other pressed hard against the post for support. Her eye's darted back and forth and Malus watched as her drug induced state made her blissfully unaware of Malus's presence. Only a few years ago he would have been approaching a whore such as this one, seeking the simple joy's of a blow-job after a hard day's work. He was once, though it seemed a lifetime ago, a successful young stock broker. He had a certain flare with number's and this skill had seen him quickly raise within the rank's. "The best thing's in life are never free" he would often say, the phrase never seemed so relevant as he would walk over to the red-light district for guilt free fuck with a whore. It wasn't the sex that excited him so much but the fear of his wife finding out, he would often think of leaving her but the diminished excitement of fucking another woman never let the thought progress anymore than that. Malus slowly walked over to the whore as she took another drag of her cigarette. Malus was only a few feet away from her, now more than ever he could smell her cheap perfume and it weakly masked the smell of dried semen, sweat and cocaine. He powerfully walked towards her, at the last moment she looked into his eye's, even a woman in her state could see the horror that was contained within the windows to his soul. Malus firmly pushed her into the nearby alley way, the woman trying desperately to out maneuver him. "please!" she began, her breath wreaking of rotting meat, her yellow teeth showing. Malus could not stand her any longer, pushing her against the brick wall. He covered her mouth as she looked once again into his eye's as if to say "stop" . Jazel was quickly taken from it's hiding place, a sheath around Malus belt. With total control Malus took Jazel, slowly pushing it into the chin of the nameless slut, her blood slowly dripping yet being consumed by the blade before it would even reach the hilt. The whore's eye began to roll back into her head as Malice slowly pressed his weapon up to the handle, Jazel glowing its familiar blue of satisfaction. The woman's body dropped to her knee's as Malus removed the blade quickly from her, Malus picked the woman up by her face like a weightless doll and ran the blade into her throat, sawing through bone and flesh with ease Malus taking the signature trophy from his victim and running off into the night. Another whore dead yet the few passers by would look at the scene and keep walking, these were dangerous times and this was a dangerous city.