A tad bit late for Halloween (that's when I started writing it actually XD), but enjoy anyway? :3

I wasn't always like this.

As a child, I hated the sight, the scent. But being born into the Order, it was something you were expected to tolerate, if not love. So I attended whippings and beheadings with the others, holding myself perfectly still, forcing myself not to flinch as blood arced through the air and soaked the ground around the body.

As I grew, it became less and less of an exercise. I became used to the blood. Desensitized, I guess. It was just part of the job. Gradually you learn how to keep it off your robes, how to get the stains out, keeping with the second tenant of our Creed. Become a blade in the crowd.

Gradually, too, I became something more. Something inhuman.

There's a certain sensuality in watching the life seep out of someone. That's something else you learn on your own. When you sneak up behind a target, and thrust your blade right there, you hold them like a lover, cradling their head as your hand swallows their scream. Comforting someone even as you take their life is very intimate.

I became Death's Angel.

But I needed more.

After a while, I stopped trying to prevent the blood splattering on my robes. I wanted it to. I started murmuring in my target's ears, relishing the fact that my voice was the last thing they heard in this world. My skin grew hot as theirs grew cold, as the warm blood soaked me. Sometimes I'd tug their earlobe with my teeth, groaning softly as I shoved my blade inside them. If I cut their throat, my mouth was then perfectly positioned to catch a couple drops of blood, sweet and bitter at the same time. I began to do that more often.

Killing started to get me hard. I'd go to a brothel, covered in blood, and blindly pick one out without stopping to look at her face. I'd pull her down the hall, shove her into the mattress, and slam the door. I'd fuck her – hard. My blade still out, I'd pin her to the bed or to the wall and enter her without warning. She'd scream. I'd like it.

Oftentimes in the throes of passion, my hand would slip, my blade drawing across her skin. I liked that better. I cut my whores as I fucked them, and afterward they'd collapse, sobbing, claiming they'd been raped by the devil.

It's a short step from angel to demon.

Uguu I'm sorry but I was laying in bed a few weekends ago and thinking about a fanart of Altair I saw. He's holding his hands to his mouth, and there's blood on his fingers and lips. And that really turned me on (even though really I can't stand blood wth?). And then I thought of the "cut my whores as I fucked them" bit and then I just ran away with it. I had a hell of a time trying to pokerface in class while writing this, let me tell you XD;; Review, please and thank you!