As I sneak up to the doors, the scream pierced through my ears. The screams were undoubtedly terror, but not the shrill cries of a movie theatre, the screams of one with eyes locked wide and every muscle rigid. I peaked through a opening in the wall, I saw a body hanging on a rope. His skin pale, blood flowed down in streams and scars that's burned into his flesh. I also see another person, the man that I was sent to kill… Lord Merek. He was holding a knife, a knife that is coated in blood of it's victims. The knife reeks of souls, the souls that want revenge. The souls that would not stop crawling and screaming to you until your heart is no more, until it is just a piece of meat. Until your body is a lifeless mannequin for them to play with.
A sudden scream could be heard, one's scream so loud that it cracked windows. A scream that was what I was craving for, a scream that was music to my ears. At the same moment, it all went silent, so silent that you could hear an wolf howling in the distance. Then I see it, the blood... A fountain of red came from the wound, the life-force for animals splatter all over the room, tainting it with sins that would not be removed. His throat has been cut and he is dangling there like butchered animals in the waste of his own blood. I saw it again, the view from the courtyard, the severed vessels sticking out like corrugated pipes through the gushing blood. He was like a broken rag doll, dangling lifelessly, waiting for its owner to control it.
It was at this moment, that I saw Lord Merek face. There was a scar through his right eye that lay fresh and new against his olive skin. The scar was so fresh that you could still see the stitches that were sowed into his skin. His eyes were narrow, rigid, cold, hard. They held no emotions, they held no happiness. The pupils were like a blackhole by itself. It emitted raw power that make you summit to him. His nose was the star of his face, and not in a good way. It stuck out like a pinch of clay fashioned into a beak. It was arched, but not in a legal way. He looked like a maniac wearing a royal suit.
Also the weapons that he is used are all tainted with blood. There was whips, swords, matches, knifes…. But the one weapon that caught my eye was the dagger. The dagger was small and somewhat unassuming with it's plain wooden handle. It looks so sharp that even the most gentle of touch to flesh would result in a free bleeding cut. At this moment, he has already started to pack up, arranging the tools in order. However, he keeps the blood stains on it, which gives me the feeling that the blood is price he gets for torturing these people.
I took out my blade, getting ready to assassinate. As I touch my blade, the coldness of the blade steadied my senses. It pulled away the heat from my clasping fingers and they blanched in response. The blade was one perfect piece of steel, the sharp cutting edge morphing into the smooth handle. It felt perfect in my hands, it gives me confidence to strike.
I creep towards him, making as little to no noise at all. Then suddenly, the blade met flesh, soft and spongy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade. It sank deep enough to make him scream. I twist the blade in my hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. His skin was tearing to shreds after every passing moment. Then without warning, i jerked it all the way into his back. It was when the handle of the blade vanished from site that I stopped. By now, Lord Merek was dead. His skin was pearl white, and his eyes… They held no life in them, the once luring eyes were gone.
As my blade left the body, I though to myself "Where would this body go?". I scan the room for the second time. Then I noticed a wardrobe that is hiding under the shadows like mouse cowering from a cat. The more I stare at it, the more I wonder how long it's shivering walls could withstand the beckoning call of gravity. Dust layer over the surface like dirty snow, it looked like it was hiding the imperfections of the wardrobe. I dragged the body towards it, as if it was a ragged doll. The blood stained the floor in a pattern that could be expressed as a paint stroke. I open the wardrobe door when the bodies fell out and splatter all over the floor. They are cold. They are so cold. The life that dwells within them were gone. They were merely objects that lie around, taking up space. Their limps are in awkward angles and their heads were bend in such a way that they cannot be sleeping.
"Now he is one of them, one of his own victims." I thought. I threw him into the pile of the deceased, and a splash sound could be heard. Like as if the body was thrown into a lake. The blood spattered all over the room, and some found it's way to my face. My tongue automatically taste the blood. It was heaven. I could feel the sadistic side of me surfacing, crawling out of my once cold exterior that scarred people's eyes. The blood is so rich, so pure. I subdue it as the job was done. I got my reward, my pay, and it was time to move on. To move to a different assassination, to dip my head once more in obedience to the moon. Some may call my life torture, some may look at me and think that I'm a sadistic murderer. But at the end of the day, I am living life as it is. This is reality, this is my life.