Traitterions Prologue

Traitterions

Prologue

It was the perfect night for a group of murders. The lights from the village lay nestled in the hills. His finger was bouncing across the rooftops as he watched from the trees half a mile away. “Which one? Which one? I think it’s time to have some fun!” and when he said that final word, his finger stopped on the house of his prey. “Oh goodie, looks like a rich house,” he grinned, and then brought his hood over to hide his face. He was your typical murderer. Black clothes wrapped around his scrawny figure, the way a snake wraps around its prey. He was one with the night, the way a dog loves its bone.

He was like a Ninja, as he slung his fancy carrying device over his shoulder, what they were calling a back bag, and sprinted through the night. He dodged trees, at first, running straight at them and then jumping out of the way at the very last minute. Then he let his feet take him higher. With one leap he was jumping of the side of one tree, and as he pushed off, pieces of bark exploded off and rained down from the force of his feet.

He jump onto a branch, and ran to its very edge and sprang to another, until he was jumping from one branch to the next in a blur. He was a man of night, just like the others. A man of death and evil. A man who’s hobby was quite different to others.

Tree after tree after tree he conquered, until he was at the very edge of the forest, looking down on the village. He grinned, sliding the hood back down his black hair, that shone when the moonlight reflected off of it. He tucked  a lock behind his pointy ear.

For years he had been on the roads, eating off the streets and stealing from the rich. He was just a thief originally, then he got the lust for blood, as though he were a vampire. He would break into someone’s house, creep towards where they lay sleeping, then kill them in some creative fashion. The kill was the best part of his week, after eating just bread and fruits he’d pick from farmers, it was nice to suck the marrow out of his victim’s bones. To chew the flesh off of the bones.  To drink the blood. To have skin stick between teeth, it was better then any food he had ever eaten.

At first it was only an occasional thing, and even then, it was the animals he’d eat; dears, bears, dogs. He’d munch on the heart while it was still beating in his hand. He’d suck the juices out of the eyes, have the brain as a treat. He never cooked the food, just ate it raw. It was better that way, he thought, allowed the flavours to swim in your mouth before you swallowed.

Then he turned to humans. His first kill was mainly for money. He had snuck into the house and taken all the gold the man owned. Then, a few kills later, his belly had rumbled. He looked down at the man he had just killed, and wondered, what did humans taste of? There was only one way to find out. So he removed the knife from his heart, and licked the blade. He liked taste of copper that was like a firework in his mouth. Then he cut the man’s shirt open, then he slice a bit of skin off, sawing it, and plopped it into his mouth. He chewed, and liked the taste that he tasted, and the feeling of chewiness like the crackling of a big. He could even taste the sweat the man produced just as he realised it was his end.

Now he stood on the branch, the leaves rustling in the breeze, he took in a deep breath and felt the cool air sooth his lungs. He squatted, with a hand on the tree trunk, his feet firm on the branch, he was ready.

He stepped off of the branch, and let gravity pull him to the ground. With a light thud, he was striding towards the small village that lay torpid. He wondered if any of its civilians knew of the trouble they were about to be confronted wit. Probably not, which made things all the more exciting.

After he was done here, the people would wake up and wonder where there Misses is. Maybe straight away, or maybe later, someone would eventually find her, or him of course. And then those wonderful screams would follow, and terror would rise. He would watch from the bushes, like a feline stalking an antelope. They were mice to him, they were food.

The grass felt soft underneath his shoes. He kept away from the small path that trailed through the village. Remaining out of sight was the key, the killing, the lock. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on his next victim.

Each footstep was light like leaves. The village only laid metres from him. The houses windows were covered with ruff straw blankets to keep in the warmth, and they glowed from the fires that were lit inside, as if the windows were weary eyes. They would all have been snuggled in their beds, close to their loved ones. He felt a pang of jealousy right then and there, but he shoved it away like an unwanted foe.

He slid into the shadows, as if the touch of the light would burn him, and continued to the house that stood out from the rest like a sore thumb, the house of the rich. It stood above the other houses like power were its wood and nails were its pride. He peeked at it from the side of a smaller house. A house with one room, a chimney and a bed. His hand was propped against the wood, and he felt the splinters try dig into his skin.

He looked around anxiously, made sure no one was watching, listened with his pointy ears. When he thought he was still alone, he continued on.

A black mouse scampered after him, its paws silently hitting the ground as it followed him. Its eyes were bright in the dark, and seemed to send out a red glow. Its whiskers bounced up and down with each jump. The grass and stones hid it well, and they seemed to part as it passed. It was fast as the man, and enjoyed the speed and grace it was upholding.

He arrived across from the house. It was much larger than the other houses, and sat on a higher piece of land that looked out on all the rest. Behind it, the fringe of the forest came so close to its behind that it may as well have been a blanket. Unlike the other houses, instead of straw the roof was made from wood, completely sealed off from any stray water droplets. The doors were even painted, and he licked his lips he thought of the pile of gold that would somewhere be hidden inside.

He drew his hood over black hair, and crept towards the house. The path that ran through the village was made of stone, the only rich thing about the village apart from this one house. His shoes made a soft thudding noise when they hit the stone, and made nothing when he reached the wooden steps. The little mouse skipped up the steps and hid behind the veranda’s framing. It peered at him with red eyes.

Inside his pocket he fumbled, and drew from it a picklock. Inside the lock it went, and he twitched his hands in the right motion. It was a matter of getting the pins out of the way, then twisted lock until it clicked open. He was in. The door was silent as it opened, as if the hinges were slick with oil. He stepped inside and looked around. The head of a dear hung above the chimney, its beady eyes concealing the fear it felt when the arrow struck its heart. The room was filled with silver ornaments, and he drooled at the site of them, they would sell for so much.

In one corner sat the kitchen, with its wooden cushioned chairs and table. It actually had a bench to cut meals up on. The lounge chairs sat snuggled around the fire, lit by the ghostly flames. And this was only the first floor.

After months of robbing and killing the poor, he had finally stumbled across something worth his time. He shut the door behind him, stopping the heat from escaping further, and the mouse scuttled inside, out of sight. Whipping off his backbag, he drew his hand across the mantel and let the silver plates and goblets, bowls and candlesticks fall gracefully into the bag, they made a rhythmic clattering on impact with each other. He was making a song of noise as he hummed and sang.

It wasn’t long before there was a stomping sound, and a furious man came into view. He stood on the top step that led down to the bedrooms, his face was red, either from the fire, or the anger that was squeezing his hand into a fist.

He looked up at the man, and grinned, loving every rich second. He noted how the man had changed into armour that clanged with each movement. He took a threatening step forward.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked with a snicker.

“Me?” said the murderer, looking around innocently, “it must be me.”

“Yes you, you little runt! What are you doing stealing from the guards?” at that, the murderer slunk further into the shadows, which proved difficult due to the flickers of the luscious flames.

“I’m just dropping by to say hello of course! Hello!” he put his hand inside his clothes.

“Don’t you lie to me thief!” it was clear now, clear as the sky. The house was the guards quarters, and underneath his feet would have been a dozen snoozing guards.

He put his hand to his chest, looking hurt, “I’m no thief!” he said, and swiftly pulled out a dagger, “I’m your worst nightmare.” For a moment, the guard faltered, anxiousness dripping in his sweat. Then he drew his sword. “This will be fun.”

Outside, the silence was broken by the sound of the fight. First, the man ran at the guard, faster than the guard had predicted, and caught him with a slash to his cheek. The man retreated as the guard roared in fury.

“Shut up!” the man hissed, retreating, “you’ll wake the others.”

The guard pulled a painful smile, “that would be a shame,” he said, “I want you all to myself.”

“How unsettling,” the murderer muttered.

They stood metres from each other. Both were ready for the battle. Then the guard let out a war cry, and charged right for him, his armour making a munching sound as he ran slowly. His legs were apart, and the murderer took the opportunity. He started sprinting, then dropped to his knees and leant backwards until he was facing the roof. He slid through the guards legs and sprang to his feet when he stopped sliding and brought the dagger towards the back of the guards head. He swiped, but the guard didn’t stop running, knowing the danger of halting.

When he did stop and turn, the murderer was tapping the blade on his chin. “Sneaky one aren’t you?”

The guard gave a chuckle, his chest place shaking with each laugh, “I’m the sneaky one?” he twirled the sword in his hand before catching it in his firm grip. The murderer flipped his dagger between his smooth fingers. The guard raised his eyebrows at the skill.

Now they ran at each other with roars gurgling from their throats.  The dagger and sword met in a clash of sparks that spewed to the floor in a shower. The guard was strong, but the murderer was quick and sly. He rolled to side, dodging a swing that would have opened up his belly. He was hiding behind the lounge chair now, its hugeness hiding him as he curled into a ball. The guard approached cautiously, and place a hand on the large chair. He then ripped it to one side, but no one was there by the fire but empty space. It was then he dropped from the roof, like a giant falling spider. His limbs were stretched out. He landed on the guards back, and it was only the guard’s armour that made any noise. He wrapped an arm around the guards exposed throat.

He squeezed tight, surprising the guard with the little man’s strength. And although the man’s arm cut off his air and caused his head began to pound, he wasn’t going to let him win. He twisted his body, and threw the man off of him. He hit the wall, and even that didn’t make much noise, then fell to the ground. He stood and brushed himself off. As he calmly walked towards the guard, he said, “you’re good, but good’s not good enough.”

It was as if the guard was not wielding a sword at the time. He chucked the dagger from one hand to the other playfully. He gave the guard a grin. It would be better he saw a smiling face while he died. The guard looked fearful now, an almost bewildered look on his face. He shook off the idea of dead and growled, bearing his yellow teeth.

His stride was disturbing. The dagger now steady in his right hand. The guard gripped the sword in both hands, his fingers curling and uncurling around the hilt.

It was a swift movement, the way lightning strikes the ground, the murderer struck his victim. The guard looked surprised for a moment, his mouth opening and closing with shock. He looked down at where the blade had penetrated his skin, and the sword well from his hands. He was too fast, and the blade had slidden between his armour’s plates. He felt the sharp pain as the man pulled it out again and wiped the blood on his clothes. He watched as he simply placed the blade back inside his sleeve, and with one finger, pushed the guard over. He crashed to the floor, coughing blood. The blood gurgled down his chin.

“You… beat… me…” he gasped, his eyes wide as he watch the man pick up his backbag and sling it over his shoulder.

The man turned, “hey, don’t worry about it,” he said, his arms out before him with his palms to the roof, he shrugged, “I beat everyone.”

Blood seeped through his armour and dripped to the floor and splattered little droplets.

The murderer leapt over the steps railings and landed halfway down. He walk the rest, a confidence I his stride. Before him was a hallway, with six or so rooms leading off of them. He pointed to each room while singing “which one? Which one? I think it’s time to have some fun!” his finger landed on the first room on the right. He grinned as he walked inside. It was a bedroom, with two beds. One bed was empty, and the other was full. A blanket was concealing a sleeping man, the frame rattled with each snore. He was a big man, and looked like he had one too many cakes a week. Though, in a place like this, size just made you all the more dangerous.

It was an easy kill, a simple cut to the throat and he was choking and dying. He smiled at the look of horror on the man’s face.

Before long, all but one of the guards were dead. He killed them in different ways, a stab to the heart or brain, a slash of the legs, and the blood came pouring out. This last kill was going to be delicious though.

His tummy rumbled as he looked down at her. He was so quiet that she didn’t even stir as he loomed over her. Her eyes flickered as she dreamt. She didn’t know about the bed that lay metres away was flooded with slimy blood.

He swept off her blanket, and the cool air stung her skin. She groggily opened her eyes and looked up at the man. When her eyes laid upon his, she gasped. She went to sit up but he placed a finger on her lips and pushed her back down. “Shhh.”

She gave a growl, and jumped out of the bed. Though she were only dressed in her underwear; two white pieces of cloth that wrapped around her toned body, she was still ready to fight. She sprang off of the bed like a surprised cat, but by the fierce look on her face, she wasn’t scared.

She backed away from him, and felt something on the bedside table. Just as he was about to stab her, she moved the book she had been reading before bed, and held it over her heart. The dagger met the book, and jammed into its pages. She ripped the book away from him, and with it, the dagger, and threw it into the corner of the room. Then she brought her fists up. The murderer did the same. For a single moment, they were still, then the murderer charged at her.

His fist soared through the air, and she ducked before it went through where her head had been. She rolled to the side and stood in a puddle of blood at the foot of her roommate’s bed. She tried to ignore the cold wet feeling it inflicted.

It was her turn to strike, and she sent a punch to his right rib. He blocked it, then attempted to hit her in the gut, but she twisted to the side. She then span around to his side, and she swung a leg in the direction of his head. He avoided her foot, arching his back as her leg swung over him.  He then kicked her exposed shins. She keeled over in pain, and he struck her knee with his shoe, hyper extending it. A cry escaped her lungs. She dropped to her knees.

He grabbed her cloth clothes and sent a punch into her jaw, dazing her, then slumped her onto the bed. He pulled the dagger from the book and stood over her. He was a mountain over her. Predator stationed over prey.

She groaned as she lay there, stunned by the blow that rocked her skull. He whirled the dagger in his hand, and gripped the hilt closely. The guard continued to look around befuddled. He smiled at that, at how a simple hit to her jaw had left her mind bewildered. She seemed to be mumbling something in a different tongue, and he giggled.

Then he slashed. First down the thigh, next her chest, her face. She didn’t even seem to know it was happening and soon she was painted with her own blood. Small whimpers escaped her lungs.

All the while, the little mouse watched from the doorway, it sniffed the air, and the strong scent of blood filled its delicate little nose. He didn’t notice as more black mice came, their red eyes eyeing him. From the distance, they were a bundle of red dots bobbing up and down. They came from the tight holes in the roof, walls, floor, from the doorway. It wasn’t long before he was surrounded by them, and as he was sliding his tongue along the blade, he didn’t notice them gather behind him. They climbed up on top of themselves, stacking like squishy blocks. And soon, they rose like a mighty mountain.

He felt the shadow on his back, and swung around to face the mice. He stammered as he gazed up at the giant pile of black mice. The mice began to mush and squeeze. There red eyes dotted the dark mass they made. Then, from top to bottom, they closed their eyes. Only some left their eyes open, and what was left was two bigger red eyes that formed at the top of the figure that was forming. The fur of the mice, became armour as black as coal. Arms and legs sprouted like trees, and from its back came six sharp dark purple spikes that formed in rows of two. The top two were the biggest and the bottom two, the smallest. He was covered in smaller, similar spikes.

His face formed now, two bright red eyes poked out from a human like skull. His skin was dark grey, his lips, even darker. The helmet he wore was black with sliver twisting through it elegantly. It blended in with the rest of the black and silver armour that engulfed his body.

He looked down at the murderer, and a smile formed from his lips, bearing the two sharp fangs that protruded over the bottom lip. The murderer’s body quivered, and his mouth formed into the shape of a circle.

“Deathicus?” he tripped over the words as they tumbled down his tongue. Deathicus grinned harder.

“Who else?” he asked with a sarcastic smile on his lips. When the shaking murderer didn’t reply, he spoke again. It was as if the words came from many places in the room, and the main voice from his lips. “I have been watching you, Star.”

“I-… I-… Me?” he had never felt such fear in his life as he shrivelled.

The God of death nodded. “I’ve been looking for someone just like you. Someone who can take a life as if it were nothing.”

Star caught on, licked his lips, “what are you saying?”

“I want an apprentice, Star, and I believe you could be the one. You will kill those who are meant to die, I will whisper in your ear the names. You will kill, and do what you wish with the bodies.”

Star gave a smug smile, “I kill what I want, when I want. What’s in it for me?”

The god chuckled, “power, my friend.”

Star sat down on the bed, and the girl behind him whimpered. “Go on…” he crossed his legs.

“I’m talking magic, Star. I know you’ve always lusted magic. You were different from the others, lacked the abilities they possessed. But now you can have much more than them.” Deathicus paused, clicking his teeth.

“I’m speaking immortality, Star.”

Star looked up into the god’s black pits of eyes. The proposition was beyond good, it was brilliant. The power he could have, and to have it forever was phenomenal. He nodded, keeping his calm, though his body shook with greed and excitement. He thought of the revenge he’d always wanted on what he once called family, for rejecting him for his difference. He would kill them all.

“When do I begin?”

The god smiled, bearing the black sharp teeth that lined his geode mouth like crystals. “The next time you sleep, you will know.” There was a hissing noise, like something breathing, and the mice all opened there eyes, and jumped. The body of Deathicus exploded, and the mice hurried out of the room, there nails clicking quietly with each hop. Deathicus was gone, and the breathing sound dispersed.

Star smiled to himself, stood from the bed. “Now,” he said, looking down at the girl slumped on the bed, “back to business.” He took his blade, pointed the tip over the girls heart, then raised it above his head. Down it came, his thin muscles flexing, a smile on his face, he gritted his teeth. Down it came, whisking through the air, her death. Down it came, slicing through the skin, through the heart. Down it came, her eyes widened, the pain struck, her heart contracted one last time. Down it came, her body jerked, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.