Rain fell in sheets. It drenched the streets, the trees and kept everyone inside. At least those who were smart anyways. A few rift-rafts trudged along in the vicious downpour. Despite the warning on the evening news to not wander needlessly after dark many just pushed it aside. There were reports of a serial killer on the loose. Too many thought the warning was unfounded. After all it had been two days since the first two bodies had been found.
The first body they identified belonged to Hoshino Haru. He had been murdered on the steps of the local courthouse. He had been a judge that had worked there for twelve something years. A few years back there had been scandal involving Judge Hoshino. He had been accused of sending innocent people to their deaths because he was being paid to do it by the city mob. Though it had never been proven, there had been several who had believed it was the truth. When they had found his head nailed to the door of the courthouse, the police were not sure weather to be shocked...or thankful. The symbols carved into his forehead and his hands worried them though. The speculation was placed on an occult slaying...until the next body turned up three hours later.
The second victim was a large burly man simply known in his neighborhood as, Kano. It was common knowledge that he beat his wife mercilessly. Neighbors wouldn't see the woman leave for days. And when they did she was sporting the remnants of bruising. Kano made no effort to hide his abuse of his wife and the reason. His wife was barren and could not bare him sons. He believed that she did it purposely. His body when they found it was a mess of bruises and broken bones, as if someone had finally punished him for the abuse he doled out to his poor wife. The head was found skewered on a nearby fence, the same symbols carved into the skin. Needless to say neither the public nor the wife mourned. So far it seemed the killer was passing judgment.
Near the top of the tower of Tokyo she sat. One leg dangled while the other was pulled to her chest her arm resting on the knee. Her eyes scanned the streets as she watched the police cars patrol the soaked streets. Her next victim was not out this evening. Cursing lightly she stood; the black cloak enveloped her as the fierce wind picked it up. The black ribbons in her hair caressed her rain and blood spattered cheeks. Luckily the rain was washing the flakes of their dried blood away. The taste in that blood as she had devoured it had sent shivers down her spine. She had tasted the evil that they had been. Their souls were trapped now in the horror they deserved and even now if she listened to the world beyond this one as it echoed in her ears, she could hear their tortured screams. It brought a cold smile to her pale lips.
Her black gloved hand clutched tightly at the scythe she held. The blade was curved and carved wicked silver. The base of the metal trailed almost a third of the way down the handle, while the tapered blade twisted to a narrow needle sharp point that point downward. As a streak of lighting split the sky, she leapt from her perch. It was not her slippered feet that hit the ground, but instead four paws of a snow white wolf. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, and it was larger than any wild wolf could have ever been. Vicious and deadly, it looked otherworldly as if it had leapt from the screen of some werewolf horror flick. It charged along, running fast and silently through puddles and along concrete. The person it sought now was not as the other two had been and the contrasting goodness in their soul would echo more sweetly in their blood. Though maliciousness and evil tasted better, the good would be fascinating to devour. The soul would have warmth and beauty beyond this world, and their horrendous death would see just reward in the next life. They didn't deserve hell as the other two had, but they would still die the same way.
The sirens in the distance were dimmed by the thunder. Carefully Akura Aya locked her doors and windows. Days ago after hearing the news of the deaths on the television, she had begun this nightly ritual. For some reason fear bit deep into her gut and refused to let go. Aya was an elementary science teacher and an avid charity giver. All her life she had dedicated to the children she could never have herself. Two years ago her husband had run off with his secretary, and Aya had sworn she'd never suffer that heartbreak again.
Lightning scorched the sky again and the power went out as the bright light faded. Her gaze turned to the door as it opened slowly. A tall black hooded figure stood there just out of reach of the rain. The cold metal of the scythe gleamed in dim light of the street behind. Aya could tell by the shape of the legs that the figure was female. "Why…have you come?" she whimpered. "I am your death" the figure whispered. Though she was terrified of the words, the voice was beautiful and held the promise of a better place. "I do not wish to hunt you as I had to with the others. I do not want your fear. I must pass judgment, it is inescapable for us both" the figure spoke, and Aya knew it was the truth. "Can I-I see your face before you kill me?" she asked going down onto her knees before the hooded figure. For a moment the figure stilled and seemed to consider it. Slowly she lowered her hood. Beneath was a mask covering the face, like a theater mask with expression. The figure's free hand untied the black ribbons behind her head that held it in place and lowered the mask. Aya gasped. The face was as beautiful as the voice. The face was smooth flawless ivory, the lips full and the blue eyes were large and almond shaped. The most startling was the quicksilver hair that glistened on her head, and created smooth silver eyebrows. "Thank you" Aya whispered bowing her head and closing her eyes.
The last thing she heard was the quiet rush as the blade sliced through the air towards her neck. She felt the pain of her death for a fraction of a second before the sweet warmth took her soul away. She would never know how the figure shifted once more into the form of the snow colored wolf. She would never know how the wolf lapped up the blood with glee, nor how when it finished and once again rose as a woman that she carved symbols into her forehead and hands. Different than the other two victims. These, though no human would ever know, proclaimed her innocent and good.
When they found the third victim, her head had been bound to her neck with black satin ribbon and laid out upon her bed. Her face spoke of peace in her final moments.