This is based on a theory I have of Hell. It's in the Action Fantasy section because it just has'nt gotten to the action yet.

The crosshairs fixed themselves upon the middle of the obscure figure's head. The cold, heartless eyes that stared into the scope hungrily awaited the oh so inevitable fall towards the ground that they had seen countless times before, as their victims souls left thier bodies. The crosshairs were a sort of cross of crusifiction to Sade Moraniz, a pathway to whatever awaited them after their unexpected death.

"Surprise, surprise," Moraniz muttered under his breath. His gloved right forefinger took control of everything. It took place on the trigger and stroked it like a pet. Moraniz's low breaths grew even. He inhaled.

His forefinger suddenly tightened and squeezed its pet. Moraniz's frigid eyes watched once again the all to familiar death fall. Moraniz exhaled. He arose from his gaze at the now empty cross, and stood.

Moraniz was a very tall man, but somehow was not intimidating at all. His long, dark ebon hair stretched down to his waist in a neat pony tail. His scraggly bangs fell into his eyes, casting a murky shadow upon his cruel-looking eyes. He was clad fully in black, buckles strewn across the outfit. Unknown to many, a variety of bladed weapons were hidden throughout his garb, bearing compliment to his vague past.

Moraniz looked down at his weapon, an elegant, divine piece of art, given to him by a demon long ago. It was a powerful sniper rifle. The scope merged into the body of the gun, and gave remarkably strong magnification. Moraniz could see a victim clearly from literally miles away. The barrel was long, and attached to the end was a sharp blade, the keenest edge that Moraniz had ever seen. The fine weapon was black and silver, and was supported by a small tripod where the barrel met the body. It was millions of years old, and had been used by the greatest of warriors, angels and demons alike.

Moraniz looked down at the dark, lifeless wasteland below the cliff on which he stood. His victim lie on the ground, lifeless, about one hundred feet down, and three hundred feet outward. The ground was gray and reminded him of death, as did the overcast sky above him. A light mist was all around, slightly blurring the view. The occasional pach of grass or shrub was strewn around the seemingly endless field. In the distance, he could see large rocks and boulders, some gray, and some very dark in color. It was called the Death Savanna, and was very appropriately named.

Moraniz suddenly felt a cold metal sensation at the nape of his neck.

“Damn,” he whispered softly. He put his hands up, and slowly turned around to see a dark haired woman pointing a firearm slightly similar to his, only it was a pistol, directly at his face.