The Destroyer of Your World

[Marcus Drago]

    Somewhere in Greece, the night engulfed the land and weary heads rested. Those that didn't where those that stayed up for pleasure or work. For Marcus, it would soon be pleasure.

    "Well go ahead, kill him. Kill the prophet of Locotus Ferox" a man said twirling a silver knife in the air. He was tall, six foot two to be exact. He had on fool black clothing with a leather jacket, matching with his mean mug of a face. Everything about this man just screamed power. From his stance, to his very muscular body, then his eyes. He gave a look that made many turn heads at the sight of him.

    "Excuse me?" Marcus said, giving the tall man a confused mug that came with the famous double brow raise. "You heard the fellow, kill him. Like you said you would do," a female voice spoke from Marcus back. He turned to see a woman sitting in a chair and looking out of the window, seemingly fascinated by what was outside. There was not a lot to be interested in, unless one was interested in the large amount of vehicles that sat in the parking-lot. "Why must I kill this man to do my job?" Marcus replied to the two that spoke to him before. His one finger pointed to a gentleman that was bound by chains in front of him. The shackled man was on his knees, blinded in sight, but not deafened in the ears. He was hearing everything that was being said and whimpering. While he whimpered he would rock back and forward, every once in a while reciting words, "Oh mighty god Locutus, please deliver me from this man and into your arms."

    The chained man said that every time he heard the words kill. And he wouldn't shut up until the large man kicked him in the gut, face, or balls, the big man really enjoyed kicking him in the balls. "Your job requires you to do something that defies the wish of the gods. Something that may make them forsake you," said a man that opened the doors connected to the room everyone stood inside and a long hall way. When the doors opened, large amount of ballroom dancing music was heard, fancy in rhythm and harmonic to the ears. It was beautiful music that made the man who came through the, now opened, doors dance where he stood.

    "Close the damn door will ya?" The female said. "I absolutely hate this type of music." The man who was dancing complied, closing the door and blocking the music from entering the room, then looked at the woman with disdainful eyes. "Oh you have no class. There is a party of magnificent wonders outside right now. Where beauty and love mix together to create something wonderful, beyond mortal comprehension! Amazement of steps, music, and people. All together to give the greatest entertainment in the world!" While the man spoke, he danced, ballroom style and without a partner. His feet moving all around the room, but his words could not be heard over the whimpers that were made from the chained man when ever the dancing man sounded close.

    "What the hell do you mean, 'something that will make 'the gods' forsake you'?" Marcus spoke out, not very amused with the dancing mans show of skill. The man was not very young, he had grey hair in replacements of his black strands and a voice as deep and dry as no other. Yet, this mans movements were as though the gods blessed him with wonderful youth. Was he human? Or was he a daemon in disguise. One whose marvelous performances were far worse than Marcus's. "Our job requires your full devotion. For it will be the starting point of God to Mortal war. For us to know if you are willing to go along with this job, you must prove that you do not mind pissing the Gods off." The old man stopped his dancing once he spoke again to Marcus, his feet planted to the side of the daemon's. "After all, I did hear that you once chopped off the arms and penis of a man, then stitched his penis into his mouth so that he would walk around with the thing that raped virgins on his tongue and lips, all in the name of your lord Anpu."

    Marcus gave a nervous chuckle while everyone raised their eyes to his body in astonishment. "I was going through an awkward phase."

    "But I am not going through this." The daemon looked at the chained man one more time before shifting his body to the door and slowly floating away. He would have made it to the out of the building and to his safe apartments until the sound of a gun being pointed at his head caught his attention. He turned around slowly to see a fully loaded pistol, ready to be fired at any time by the old, ballroom dance loving gentleman. "I never thought Ghost, the man my friend spoke so highly of, would turn his back on one of the greatest opportunities in the world. Maybe he is a coward, or maybe he just gives too much of a fuck for innocent life. Maybe we should ki-"

    The older gentlemen was cut off by the not-so-silent whispers of Marcus. "I beg your pardon?" The he said, wishing for the daemon to speak louder. "Innocent life...." The daemon said, his voice getting louder with every word. "You think... I give a Fuck... About innocent life?" Marcus turned around slowly and looked at each individual with hatred and a longing for blood. "You think, I give a fuck, ABOUT INNOCENT LIFE!" With his last words, everything that was metal in the room shook. The tables, the chairs, the paintings on the wall, the bookshelf, the flat screen TV, all of it rose then fell to the ground. Next, came the silence of the room. Unfortunately, the silence was broken by the chained man who was now bawling on the floor. "Please mighty Locutus. I have done nothing wrong. I have cared for this world, planted fields, healed the animals you have created. I have taken care of your land and all I ask in your return is that you deliver me into your arms.... And then my families."

    The room centered around this man now, as he began speaking again. "Please mighty Locutus. I have done nothing wro-" His words that he had been chanting through the entire time were now replaced. Replaced with the screams of pain, the agony of his flesh being ripped apart, the horrible feeling of a blade being pushed deep into the left side of his upper body, then through his heart. "Shut. The fuck. Up," Marcus said, his hands pointing towards his katana that was now pushing itself into the chained man. The bound fellow shook in shock and flailed around the areas of the room he could get to. "PLEASE HELP ME! MY GOD! I LOOKED UP TO YOU, I DEVOTED MY LIFE TO YOU! PLEASE SAVE ME!" He screamed before he stopped moving completely and became silent. A soulless body laid on the ground, his blood poured on the white carpet, and the vessel that the man once owned showed on its face the man's misery before his end.

    A slow clap was the next silence breaker. It came from the woman who was sitting in the window seat. Her face showed nothing but pleasure from the gruesome sight. "Well, well, well. I like this one," she said in a squeaky and turned on voice. Her lips were bitten into and her eyes were searching the daemons body. She was sensually awaken to Marcus, but she soon turned painfully awaken as a certain silver knife was thrust into her throat, not by the hands of Marcus or the other men. With a confused expression the large man looked at his fingers, questioning if it was him that threw the weapon. The woman tried to speak, but she could say nothing, just look at everyone with sadness and surprise. Tears came out her as she began seeing nothing but darkness.

    "Sorry," Marcus spoke out, breaking the new silence that death created. "I just really hated her voice." The daemon gave a sinister smile to the two men that was still alive, then the realization to the truth of what was happening flooded into their mind, as quick as the blood streamed out the woman's body. Marcus was not going to let any of them walk away today. He was going to kill every single one of them.

    The larger man pulled out a shotgun, then fired at the daemon without a single thought. The bullet passed through Marcus and into the woman's stomach, which caused her to smash into the window with her blood painting the glass outer layer red. Marcus stood, unharmed by the bullet. No dark ember liquid flowing out of him, no hole inside his body. Marcus eyes turned even more deadly as the large mans arm came off. A clean cut on the elbow with the same sword that pierced the god loving and chained man. The daemons eyes targeted his last enemy, who was now running through the doors and away from him. His feet and wings moved while his body phased through the walls to meet the old man that had insulted him. When Marcus found the running man, he smashed the mans face into the wooden landscape and forced his entire figure on the older gentleman so that no movement could happen.

    "Do you still think I give a fuck? Do you still think that my un-saving soul really gives a damn about the souls of those who are undeserving of death? Or do you need more? Do you need more proof? DO YOU NEED MORE BLOOD!" To the old man, the world turned dark in his eyes. Marcus showed the man something far greater than anything anyone couldn't handle. Marcus subjected the old man to the horrible screams of many innocent lives, men, women, children. He subjected the man to their inside liquid and flesh that became tainted by the daemons blade. When it was all over, the man was standing in pool of red human bodies in a ballroom he once loved. Everywhere he looked, on the ground and the ceilings in which he stood under, laid nothing but dead bodies. The other that stood was the artist of misery and fear. The daemon that cared nothing for any and all, the one who longed for destruction and chaos. The other that stood was Marcus, and his hand held a severed head of a scared little girl.

    "Did you enjoy it?" Marcus said, speaking softly to the man who he left alive. "Ninety people. Ninety people! All dead under your feet. Some cops, some innocent, all dead. Nothing but death!" The horrible daemon turned around slowly to meet the eyes of the old and fearful man. "And all because you thought that I was weak to the feelings of innocents. Weak to their non wrongdoing, SENTIMENTAL to their cries. And, because of that, ninety fucking people, or more, DIED!"

    Marcus looked down at the sight of a woman in a fancy blue dress. Her head was half sliced through and half attached to her throat. With the little girls head, he pointed to the woman's body and continued with his speech. "Dead!" He then moved to a tuxedo dressed man that was hanging on the ceiling, metal plate sent through the mans chest and held onto his body and the wooden roof. "Dead!" Finally, his eyes flowed to the body of the little girl he slayed, soul cut from this world before she could experience the pleasure of living her life. Love, getting a job, being married and raising her own children. All taken by the reaper, the name of his black and reddened blade. "DEAD!"

    Marcus swerved his body back to the old man, who showed such enjoyment and entertainment for this ballroom before, but now showed nothing but tears and heartache. The daemon slowly walked to him, dropping the lifeless girls head on the floor. The man tried to run from the evil winged creature, but there was nothing he could do. This mans arms and legs were cut into and forcibly attached to the wall. To run away would acquire him to suffer the pain of ripping sharp metal out of his body, and this older man had no more strength inside him to do such a thing. Despite his swift movement before, he was weak and easy to be overcome by the youth, or what Marcus looked to be the youth.

    Marcus lips came close to the man's ear and only the older gentleman could hear his words. "I am going to leave you alive. Assuming you might live after this. And all I need you to do is remember." The daemon moved from his prisoners ears, then to the mans face so that he could see the monsters disquieting smile. "Remember this face, this smile, this day, THESE EYES! THIS EVIL" He stopped for a moment, then looked down and calmed himself, letting the sounds of silence haunt the room for one last time. "Remember this name," he said, not taking the effort to whisper anymore. "Marcus Drago. The destroyer of your world."

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    Nearby, in a locked room, a young woman lay on a table. Bound. Gagged. Only moments ago, her life had fled the mutilated mess that remained of a once beautiful body and the artist who had reduced her to such still stood over her, admiring his handiwork. The loud music, combined with the locked and closed door, had served quite well to smother her already muffled screams as many atrocities were committed to her.

    This poor girl, a once lovely brunette named Emily, had the misfortune of catching Tenebrous's eye. He'd found himself attracted to her and had watched her for some time before he'd forcefully dragged her into this room during the party, locking it behind him. After stripping her down to her bare skin, Tenebrous had proceeded to bind and gag the woman. He took a few moments to savor the feeling of complete power he held over her before he began the beautification process.

    First, Tenebrous removed her toenails as he whispered to her of how she was one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen. It was a lie of course, one he told them all to flatter them. Once that was done, he'd whispered to her of how she was so much more beautiful now and was nearly perfect without those hideous abominations on her delicate feet. She cried and begged through her gag for him to let her go. But they were only just starting to begin having fun, how could he leave her now, like this? So he continued.

    Second, Tenebrous injected the girl with a paralytic agent that would allow him to continue his work without too much trouble from her struggles. Removing the skin from Emily's chest and abdomen, while leaving the skin covering her breasts intact, was a delicate matter and he did not want to risk any mistakes while he worked. Luckily, she would still be able to feel every moment of the process, so, he assured her, they could still enjoy themselves. One third of the way through, Emily soiled herself and nearly passed into unconsciousness, but Tenebrous did not mind and he merely gave her some drugs to keep her awake through the experience. "Women often find my attentions overpowering, delicate creatures that you are." He'd told her assuringly as he continued.

    Some time later, once he was finished removing her flesh and playing around with her insides, Tenebrous took out a small hammer and struck her face repeatedly while he reached completion, ending her life.

    In present, Tenebrous redressed himself and curled up on the table next to Emily's corpse. "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me." He told her, staring into her demolished orbital sockets, her neck twisted unnaturally to face him. He waited for a response and, when he sensed none were forthcoming, he sat up and demanded angrily that she answer him.

    "Stop ignoring me!" He shouted, shaking her body. When there was still no response, Tenebrous came to a realization that she was dead. He lost his temper. "You ungrateful bitch!" he screamed, snapping bones and hacking at limbs with a small hatchet he carried in his bag of tools. "After all I've done for you, you, you...!" He was too angry to finish that thought as he tore organs from her, pulling out lengths of intestines to attempt to strangle her corpse with them. When they tore, he took his knife and stabbed her breasts with it repeatedly.

    His anger sated, Tenebrous sat back in a nearby chair, covered with gore and breathing heavily from his exertions. "You're so beautiful." he said with tears in his eyes and, this time, he meant it, as he proudly surveyed his handiwork. Calmly, Tenebrous stripped out of his clothing and changed into a spare he'd brought, wiping himself down before hand. He was done here and it was time for him to leave before anyone realized what had occurred in this room. The sound of a shotgun blast nearly caused him to jump out of his skin and he reflexively phased before realizing that it was not intended for him and had happened elsewhere in the building.

    Tenebrous remained in the room for sometime before emerging to the sight of a scene of such carnage that it made him nearly erect, just from the smell of the blood that had been shed. There, in the ballroom, stood the apparent cause of it all. A man by the name of Marcus Drago, as he identified himself.

    "Bravo! Bravo!" Tenebrous shouted, nearly giddy enough to do a small dance right then and there. First Emily and now this? Such luck! "Quite the theatrical performance, Mr. Drago!"

[Marcus Drago]

Marcus strolled to the nearest table, one that was not turned over or laid upon by a dead body. His fingers grabbed a napkin that wrapped around a fork, spoon, and knife. Untangling the knot, he took the napkin and made it encumber his blade, slowly sliding it up and down the edge and back. This step he took to clean his katana did not really matter at the moment, there were places on that blade where blood refused to leave, making what he was doing pointless; but his need to take care of his pride inducing weapon prevented him from looking and not cleaning.

On his face was a giant grin, a cocky smile mixed with eyes of enjoyment. He loved what he did to these people, he absolutely enjoyed it. Their screams, their horrified look, their suffering; he enjoyed it all. But what was he to do now? Any moment, more cops would arrive, he would probably be attacked or taken down due to this terrible sight, and, they would probably sentence him to death the minute he arrived in jail. Marcus did not want this future, but his craving for something else made him wish for more. More protection services to find him, more blood to be spilled, and more misery to be spread. This thirst for their blood, lust for their unhappiness, made him want to kill more.

Being caught in the moment, he moved his blade up to his mouth and spotted the largest stain of blood he could find. Slowly and enjoyably, Marcus slid his tongue on the katana, his eyes closed so that he could savor the flavor. However, those dark red eyes opened quickly when new noise reached his ear. It came from a man who seemed a little too happy by the sight of carnage. However creepy this man seemed, Marcus couldn't help but smile, widely, by the mans compliment.

"Do you like?" The daemon asked with the sound of sensual pleasure in his voice. It was clear that Marcus enjoyed the killing, and it was even more clear that he wanted to do more. Cold dead eyes watched the man, thinking and calculating with sinister intent. The body that hung on the ceiling moved a little, almost unnoticeable to the only ones alive in the room. "It surprises me to see a man approach me with such enjoyment, especially when I did something like this. Is it wrong if I assume that you are as crazy as I am?"

Marcus shadow colored wings shook and flapped uncontrollably, disturbing the motion of the air around it. "Well, Crazy is not the right word. BAT SHIT crazy is correct."   

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    Tenebrous could understand the need to savor an experience through all of one's senses. To hear their desperate cries, followed by their screams and the rasping coughs they struggled to make when their throats were too raw to scream anymore. To feel and to taste their quivering flesh with one's own hands, touching it deftly while one molds it into something beautiful, into art, through the inspired use of one's tools.

    To see the fear and desperation in their eyes before the carnage, the savagely torn, exquisitely carved flesh that is the result of one's work. To smell the blood, to taste it, and, above all else, the pervasive stink of their fear that clung to them even after life had fled their mutilated bodies. The thought of it nearly brought him to completion, the act brought an ecstasy that no drug could ever match.

    "Crazy?" Tenebrous asked, confusion clear on his face. Tenebrous wasn't crazy, was he? No, he was perfectly sane. "I am no madman, sir," He answered. "Does one have to be crazy, batshit crazy, as you put it, to indulge in one's perfectly reasonable desires? One would be crazy not to!" Tenebrous proclaimed passionately.

    Still high off of his recent kill, Tenebrous grinned back at Marcus. He wanted more. He needed more. Occasionally, he went days between kills. Fighting the urge only made the climax all the sweeter when he finally indulged himself, savoring every moment of it. But this time, Tenebrous had waited to long, hoping for the best climax yet. Instead of following Emily home, like he'd planned, so he could take her to a secure location where he could play with her for days, perhaps even weeks, he'd lost control and taken her right here and then. But, he thought, perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps this scene he'd found upon emerging was his reward. Was this man meant for him?

    A step was taken toward Marcus. Perhaps Emily was only meant as an appetizer and Marcus was the main course. Would the universe give such a gift to him? A toy he could play with for days to come? "Are you a gift from the universe, Marcus?" Tenebrous asked, giggling slightly. Marcus's wings told him that he was not human and, as such, he would not die quite as easily as Emily had when they played.

He looked up at the body on the ceiling, marveling at gorey rain coming down, slowed slightly now that it had bled out somewhat. It was quite beautiful. Cleansing. Was he clean? Tenebrous looked at his hands, then back to the body, staring blankly. "Am I clean?" he asked, speaking to no one in particular.

[Marcus Drago]

His heart began to pound, like sticks banging on drums, increasing in strength as time passed. Marcus knew his heart beats well, they were music that played only before actions took place. Music that forewarned him that something exciting and disastrous was about to take place. The daemon listened to the thrilling symphony of his own body, his bones vibrating with excitement. Nothing happened, and nothing was going to happen as long as he played things smart, but he knew that he wanted something to happen. He tasted blood, and now his body ached for more. Then it occurred.

~Ping~

Like loud police sirens in a quiet night, Marcus sixth sense blared in his ear. His head filling up with feelings of awareness and caution. His eyes, never left the new ones body; his body stayed still, un-moved by the emotions going through him; and his blade stayed at his side, readying for a war. The daemons wings flapped, but that was the only part of him that moved at the moment. When the man was done speaking was when he took a step towards the new ones direction.

His feet were silent, not making the smallest of sound as he stepped down three pairs of small steps. His senses where still going crazy, making him more mindful of everything in the room. Every little detail, from the positions of the many furniture, the laying of many bodies, the location of many metals, to the non verbal expressions of his new acquaintance. If it could meet Marcus gaze, make sound for his ears, and touch his fingers; then it was known to him.

"Are you clean? I have no clue." Marcus did not head directly to the mans position. First he had to cross over many tables, kick away many soulless vessels, and avoid getting his already bloody and wet shoes even more bloody and wet. But, when he did finally find a pathway that would lead him straight towards the new one, he stopped. He would now be foots away from the man, making the new one take large footsteps if a battle was to occur.

"You know my name," Marcus said. Without taking his eyes off the man, he sat down on a metal chair that had not been behind him before. "But I do not know yours. Would you mind telling me." He sounded friendly, almost like he was a good person. The daemon had acting skills, incredible acting skills that would be awarded by Oscar's, if he wanted. Many never knew who was the real him, many believed that he was the humblest man on earth, but few actually saw who he really was.

"Don't you think it would be unfair if you did not give me your name, None-crazy one?" He placed his blade in its sheath then laid it on the side of his leg in an almost upright position. Still, he played the friendly act, but his eyes were not what his tone was. They were still cold, calculating, and blood thirsty. It did not take a genius to tell that Marcus was a dangerous man right now. And to fuel this clear knowledge, Marcus sent shivers down the others spine using his gift. If the man was not fearful of Marcus, the daemons aura of fear would make him.

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    Tenebrous froze, watching Marcus closely. He tilted his head to the side, smiling. "My name?"

    He knelt next to one of the bodies, breaking his gaze from Marcus, although he continued to watch him from the corner of his eye. Tenebrous touched the corpses face and giggled. It was pasty from blood loss and the expression the person had died with was one of abject terror. They must have felt so powerless, confused as to why them. Why them? "Why them? Why Mommy?" He asked, a tear rolling down his cheek while he stood and shuffled to another body, nudging it with his foot.

    Looking questioningly at Marcus, Tenebrous spoke. "I am Tenebrous Apostate. They never ask my name. Why did you ask?" His eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptibly. Tenebrous did not like the way Marcus was looking at him. Sizing him up, as if he were going to try to fight, like when he agreed to untie her and she attacked. That wasn't very nice. Tenebrous kept his eyes on the daemon. Marcus's friendliness had no effect on him. The darkness elemental had killed many people, ranging from innocent children to kindly adults. Either way, Tenebrous held no malice inside him for anyone he killed. Perhaps, even, in some twisted way, he loved them. Every last one.

    When he felt a trickle of fear run down his spine, Tenebrous stopped smiling and he frowned. "You're scary. Like him. Why are you scaring me!?" Towards the end of his question, Tenebrous had raised his voice. His cheeks flushed, angry. He hated this feeling. It reminded him of when his mom or dad would yell at him and he would feel so small and powerless. "Stop it." He demanded. "It's not nice."

    "Are you dangerous?"

[Marcus Drago]

"Dangerous?" 

Marcus eyes became shut for just a moment. He saw nothing but the pictures his mind had stored; photos of frightened faces, splattered blood, and pierced bodies that now laid at his feet. When his eyes opened, his ears where the next to shut from the world, as it recalled its own tales of panicked screams and desperate prayers. After his ears performed its duties once more, his skin went numb. This was when he remembered the vibrations his blade gave to him when he slashed through skin to bone, completely severing parts from bodies. His skin became susceptible, and his trip down the lane of memory ended.

What Marcus did was a sin in which no god could forgive. Even now there could be one that wept for his actions, that hated his very sole for the taking of innocents. Marcus chuckled, "I am not dangerous. It is you who are weak."

The deamon stood, his back so straight, his head so high, that he appeared as a proud man, one who thought himself greater than the rest. Slowly did he take out a cigarette, light it with a lighter, then place the pack in which the smoke came from inside his pants, where it rested when he first took it out. He sat back down, hunched over as if his once great pride was depleted, then took a deep breath of nicotine air.


Marcus wings flapped, forcing napkins and paper like material to move away from it; sending large wind gusts to Tenebrous' position. Its motion seemed slow, as though it showed his whole demeanor. How it leisurely danced in the air; moving up and down, left to right, spun in circles. His wings made him seem calm, calmer than stilled water. He blew the smoke he held from his lungs out into the air, then continued speaking to the only living being in the room.

"You asked why I wanted to know your name. Well, that is simple to answer. You see, I made a resolve not to allow anyone to live today, in this building. And not only are you living, but you know my name. Now, that is a problem, don't you agree?" 

He took in another deep breath, awaiting an answer from Tenebrous. If his foe gave none, he would continue, his words becoming as serious and as terrifyingly deadly, as his last. "What am I to do? I now know your name, so we can part ways, and if you were to tell the cops of me, then I could easily come and find you. Or, I could kill you right now and flee this country forever."

He took another puff. "The problem with the first choice is, I do not know whether or not that is your actual name. I could search you up, but you could have also changed it to throw me off your trail. So, that leaves me with the second option."

Marcus stood, his left hand holding the sheath of his blade, his right holding the handle. The cigarette remained in his mouth, his words now sounding a little mumbled due to it. "Do you realize the answer yet? I wanted to know your name because I wanted to know the name of the last man I will kill today, be it fake or real."

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    Tenebrous laughed aloud, the mad cackle of one who'd gone insane long ago. Weak? The man mused. Yes, he supposed that he was. A stronger individual might possess greater control over the urges that seemed to rule him. But that didn't matter, not really. There was little he could do but keep killing until someone managed to stop him. If someone could manage to stop him. Tenebrous was strong in other ways, if not particularly strong willed in the face of addiction.

    "Yes, that certainly sounds like a problem for someone!" Tenebrous said, a mad grin splitting his face. Death was in the air, rising from the butchered corpses. It wet his appetite for more.

    He licked his lips eagerly. “It is true that you know who I am, though I doubt you could follow where I am to go, though.” Tenebrous told him easy. “And killing me? I’m afraid that’s just not an option. I’ve too much beauty left to bring to the world to allow that.” He shrugged, his face somewhat apologetic. “You seem to have the wrong idea about what’s about to happen here, so let me clarify things a bit.”

    Dropping into an easy crouch, Tenebrous’s face twisted with hatred. Hatred at the fear, hatred at being threatened. “You’re leaving. This building or this world, your choice.” Trails of shadow began to rise from his body, dissipating in the air as the man readied his power.

“Choose wisely.”

[Marcus Drago]

"Now, now..." Drago's eyes lit with flames of fury, his hands lightly gripped his Katana's handle, and his face filled with nothing but smiles. His heart pounded with adrenaline and he readied himself for what was to come.

He went silent for a little while, along with the entire moment. In that time, not even the cries of a baby would be heard to him. His main focus was on the man glowing with black light, but he did not completely close himself from the universe around him. He could see but not see, hear but not hear, think but clear all thoughts from his mind. In that moment, he became two beings, one focused on everything having to do with everything, the other focused on this one man.

"I have to admit, that is a little terrifying." Marcus feet lifted, as his body began to race towards Tenebrous, his eyes full of nothing but murderous intent. As he would move, other things around him would move as well. Metal tables, chairs, knives, forks, trays, and glassed cups would move to meet Drago's foe. In total, ten items would attack while thirty more awaited in mid air. The deamon would then stop in his tracks, after tacking steps towards his enemy, and begin to back step to his original location, his wings carrying him higher in the air as he moved. 

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    Though Marcus likely didn't know it, the real world faded away. To Tenebrous's eyes, a shadowy film seemed to cover the room, representing the illusion he'd placed over it. As he retreated from the daemon's attack, a shadowy version of himself sprung forward in attack, brandishing a small, concealable club. This was an illusion as well.

    With Marcus taking to the sky, the illusion sprouted wings and transformed into a daemon Tenebrous had met once before. Wielding it's illusionary blackjack, the figment leapt into the air after Marcus.

    To Marcus, everything would appear as it was, with the exception of the false Tenebrous heading towards him. The real Tenebrous had concealed himself within his illusion and moved away from the false Tenebrous to avoiding being caught in Marcus's attack while he observed. Any objects that would fly at it, Tenebrous willed his figment to dodge, not desiring to let the daemon in on his little trick. Unlike Tenebrous himself, the figment was not bound by his own physical limitations. He could move it as fast as he needed to. As he moved away though, the elemental activated his ability to phase through objects, not wishing to be caught in the initial attack.

    Once safe, Tenebrous let his phase ability fade and he rifled through his pack, keeping his eyes on Marcus. His hands found the gun and silencer inside, attaching them together. Watching patiently, Tenebrous stood, licked his lips and waited for an opening.

[Marcus Drago]

The one named Tenebrous was very skilled. He dodged all of Marcus' attacks, then came at him head on boldly. As Marcus soared, his opponent grew wings with preparations of soaring as well. Obviously, Marcus' foe had more than just skills in his arsenal. However, Marcus found it odd that the boy would come at him with a club, and recklessly as well. The kid had to have a plan, something that would ruin Marcus. Not even the most idiotic of fighters would attack head on without a plan. The daemon had to be careful with Tenebrous, for even the slightest of mistakes could end his life.

Instead of moving down to his original destination, like he planned the first time, Marcus continued to float into the air until he reached the roof; all the while, he payed close attention to the beings transformation into a blood ravenous monster. As Marcus would finally reached the roof of the building, and the beings final transformation would be complete, Marcus would phase through and away from the beast. 

The daemons new location would now be a bedroom above the ballroom. He would take only a second to look around the room, as he would take the rest of his time planning his second action. The aura of fear would stop, and all would seem as though normalcy was returned. The metal that stood in the air would cease to float, and the world around would turn quiet once again. Above, the daemon would be moving about, as cautious as he could ever be, and as silent as well. Thanks to his masters teachings, he learned all about the art of silence, as well as its cruel mistress, death. It would take a dogs ear to hear the daemon.

[Jacksoπ Flεtchεr]

    The elemental was attempting to line up a shot on the daemon, knowing it was likely the easiest one he would get before the his little trick was discovered, when Marcus phased through the ceiling. Once Marcus was completely out of sight, Tenebrous's illusion faded away like swirls of ash before a strong breeze, dissipating within moments. Ten frowned, dissappointed that the daemon had fled before he could finish his fun.

    One of the man's ears twitched, however, as if expecting to hear police rushing into the building already. While not the most stable of individuals, Tenebrous had been cunning enough to never have been caught by the police before because he was usually careful and meticulous in his stalking and taking of prey. But with so many people dead in the building, killed by Marcus, he knew it was only a matter of time before the cops showed up.

    Growling his frustration, Tenebrous tossed his gun back into his bag before slinging it over one shoulder. It was time for him to go and he couldn't afford to play cat and mouse with the daemon.

    "Another time, perhaps!" He crowed, hoping that, where ever Marcus was, he would hear him, before he stepped backwards into a shadow and was gone. A moment later, Tenebrous was in his safe house, far away, stumbling onto the cot before him. It had been a big day and he was tired.