Chapter 2: No One Will Notice
A/N: Thanks for your great reviews. They were really encouraging. This chapter will be strangely, from a demon's POV. I hope you like it. I do not own Charmed. If I did, why would I be writing this?
After years of searching I had finally done it. I found the perfect sacrifice. My clan had ancient rituals that needed to be followed, to the letter, or there would be immediate destruction of our sacred people. The lifeblood ritual was one of the utmost important. My people, known to those outside as the Tarrak Clan were once strong, proud, rulers. Centuries ago we were brought to shame. This ritual of the elders' design was the only way to regain our status in the underworld.
I and the other powerful warriors had amassed most of the necessary ingredients after many moons of searching. The last ingredient was the most important. They needed fresh human blood. They needed the freshly spilled blood of the oldest descendant of the man who ruined them. This descendant was very difficult for him to find. Their family was a very old and secretive one. Finally, he, Mogarth, the strongest warrior of the Tarrak Clan, had found him.
Once the sorcerers had been able to track him, the man was easy to track. He was such a foolish man, to be out at an event like this. Perhaps he thought the danger from my ancient clan had passed. The park was extremely crowded, which would make my task much easier. I was wearing a heavy dark cloak, so as not to be noticed by the ignorant mortals. When I got here, I soon realized that it wasn't necessary. I would not be noticed in this crowd of thousands. My deed wouldn't be noticed either.
I placed my large clawed hand inside my coat pocket. Soon I found the enchanted athame I had placed there. I savored the feeling of the cold smooth handle in my palm. I was itching for the kill. Killing was really my soul purpose. Between each kill, all I could think about was the next. I took the athame from my pocket, admiring the way the light hit the glittering opals embedded in the handle. With this sacred knife I would draw the blood. The foolish mortal won't know what hit him. I will be revered as a god.
I followed him for hours as he made his way around the park. I was itching to kill him, to suck the life from his worthless body. I had to master the impulse. If the man was not killed at precisely the right moment, all would be lost. The decades of planning would have been for naught. Quickly, I stole a glance at the small hourglass I had brought. Only a few more minutes and I would get my reward. I would kill him and drain the life from his body. It was, after all, what I lived for.
He did not notice me behind him. He was much to foolish to notice a demon stalking him. It was almost time. I raised the athame, his muscles coiled. I was ready to strike. The flashing lights the mortals were called fireworks had become. This was going to be much easier then I had thought. Not one of the other mortals was looking in my direction. Usually, my kind doesn't like loud noises. I would usually think of this as a distraction, but it was a welcome one. No one would notice what I was about to do.
The man turned and saw me standing there. His reflexes were quick, but I was much quicker. The man barely had a chance to react before I plunged the athame into his gut. I smiled as he shrieked in pain. His agony was equal to my pleasure. As the blood began to fall, it was absorbed by the spell cast upon the sacred knife. To my great joy, the man bled out slowly, prolonging his agonizing death. In an instant, it was over. The man crumpled to the floor. The oldest descendant of the man who had brought our tribe to shame was dead. My mission was complete.
When I shimmered out, I couldn't help but smile. Finally, we had achieved our century's long goal.
No one would find the body for hours. In a crowd like this, it could be days before anyone noticed a dead man who had come hear alone. The crowd continued to marvel at the fireworks, which went on for at least fifteen minutes after the demon had shimmered away. Not a single member of the crowd, except for Phoebe Halliwell, had noticed the dead man on the ground, nor the pool of blood beside him. That was soon to change.
TBC…
Chapter 3: Mob Mentality … People act differently when they are in a crowd…especially when they see a dead body.