focus like a wolf who smells the kill. It was the smell of evil.
He had stopped on a building in the Bronx to take a break and get his bearings. Flying through the city at that speed can be disorienting.
A car drove down the street. It was a restored 70's-style car. Christopher was not a car buff and didn't know the make and model. But he could smell the man driving.
It was not an escaped dark soul like Rath, his was a distinct overpowering stench. No, this man was mortal, but evil nonetheless. The desire that leapt up from the pit of hell inside him was almost overpowering.
The car rolled slowly down the street as if waiting for something. A shadow detached from an alleyway and moved towards it. The driver stopped the car and rolled down the window. A quick verbal exchange, then they passed each other something.
A drug deal, Christopher guessed. As the car drove off, he followed. It was easy to keep up with it, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Eventually it pulled into a garage. It looked like a body shop.
Others entered the shop and the smell seeping out of the place reeked. If only the police had this ability to smell evil.
It was a gang meeting of some sort, Christopher thought. From the auras he could see that not all of them were on the extreme side of bad as the driver in that car was, but all of them had black marks on their souls, and not just petty theft. Christopher was not sure how he could tell, but it seemed with the combination of his nose and the auras he could get a vague idea of what had put that mark of evil on their souls.
The power inside of him didn't care. It wanted to harvest. And before he could think, Christopher found himself jumping to the street below and walking towards the building.
He could almost taste their souls, and he wanted to grin at this reaping. It was like a blood lust, only nothing so banal. Souls were the only sustenance that would sate his desire.
The garage door was closed, but a man stood nearby. When he saw Christopher approaching, he opened the side door and yelled inside.
"Yo. Some fool out here. He's steppin’."
Then he walked towards Christopher.
"Mothafuka better get the fuck out of here," the gang member said.
Christopher knew the man couldn't see his face, at least not clearly, not in the shifting darkness of the shadows draped about him. But it didn’t matter, Christopher was looking at the man's aura. Then to his surprise, as much as the man's, he started sniffing him.
"What the fuck?" The man said and pulled out a gun.
"You have killed," Christopher said.
"Damn straight, mothafuka and I'm gonna kill your ass too."
"You have raped." It was a rhetorical statement, Christopher could see it plainly on his soul. "You have killed the innocent for your own gain, your own pride."
"The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?" The man said.
Others had come out of the garage, about four guys surrounded him.
"You in the wrong place little bitch," one of them said.
"We gonna fuck you up little bitch," another said.
Christopher felt no fear. That alone should have caused him to be afraid. But the fury and hatred powered him and confrontation made him stronger. He couldn't hold it back any longer.
A powerful energy seeped out of him, electrical crackling radiated from his body.
"Holy shit," the first gang member said and pulled the trigger.
The Weapon, somehow already in Christopher's hand, made an upward slice, cutting the gang member's body neatly in half. His gooey soul ripped out of its shell and was slurped up by the Weapon in Christopher's hand.
It was chaos now. The gang started firing weapons and Christopher danced. He danced because he had no choice, the fever of hell was on him. He spun in a circle cutting, severing, dicing into their flesh. They were all corrupt souls and the Weapon drank freely.
He jumped across the street to carve into one and then sprang back thirty feet to catch another by the neck, where he held him up as he gutted him. Bullets
He had stopped on a building in the Bronx to take a break and get his bearings. Flying through the city at that speed can be disorienting.
A car drove down the street. It was a restored 70's-style car. Christopher was not a car buff and didn't know the make and model. But he could smell the man driving.
It was not an escaped dark soul like Rath, his was a distinct overpowering stench. No, this man was mortal, but evil nonetheless. The desire that leapt up from the pit of hell inside him was almost overpowering.
The car rolled slowly down the street as if waiting for something. A shadow detached from an alleyway and moved towards it. The driver stopped the car and rolled down the window. A quick verbal exchange, then they passed each other something.
A drug deal, Christopher guessed. As the car drove off, he followed. It was easy to keep up with it, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Eventually it pulled into a garage. It looked like a body shop.
Others entered the shop and the smell seeping out of the place reeked. If only the police had this ability to smell evil.
It was a gang meeting of some sort, Christopher thought. From the auras he could see that not all of them were on the extreme side of bad as the driver in that car was, but all of them had black marks on their souls, and not just petty theft. Christopher was not sure how he could tell, but it seemed with the combination of his nose and the auras he could get a vague idea of what had put that mark of evil on their souls.
The power inside of him didn't care. It wanted to harvest. And before he could think, Christopher found himself jumping to the street below and walking towards the building.
He could almost taste their souls, and he wanted to grin at this reaping. It was like a blood lust, only nothing so banal. Souls were the only sustenance that would sate his desire.
The garage door was closed, but a man stood nearby. When he saw Christopher approaching, he opened the side door and yelled inside.
"Yo. Some fool out here. He's steppin’."
Then he walked towards Christopher.
"Mothafuka better get the fuck out of here," the gang member said.
Christopher knew the man couldn't see his face, at least not clearly, not in the shifting darkness of the shadows draped about him. But it didn’t matter, Christopher was looking at the man's aura. Then to his surprise, as much as the man's, he started sniffing him.
"What the fuck?" The man said and pulled out a gun.
"You have killed," Christopher said.
"Damn straight, mothafuka and I'm gonna kill your ass too."
"You have raped." It was a rhetorical statement, Christopher could see it plainly on his soul. "You have killed the innocent for your own gain, your own pride."
"The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?" The man said.
Others had come out of the garage, about four guys surrounded him.
"You in the wrong place little bitch," one of them said.
"We gonna fuck you up little bitch," another said.
Christopher felt no fear. That alone should have caused him to be afraid. But the fury and hatred powered him and confrontation made him stronger. He couldn't hold it back any longer.
A powerful energy seeped out of him, electrical crackling radiated from his body.
"Holy shit," the first gang member said and pulled the trigger.
The Weapon, somehow already in Christopher's hand, made an upward slice, cutting the gang member's body neatly in half. His gooey soul ripped out of its shell and was slurped up by the Weapon in Christopher's hand.
It was chaos now. The gang started firing weapons and Christopher danced. He danced because he had no choice, the fever of hell was on him. He spun in a circle cutting, severing, dicing into their flesh. They were all corrupt souls and the Weapon drank freely.
He jumped across the street to carve into one and then sprang back thirty feet to catch another by the neck, where he held him up as he gutted him. Bullets
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