He carefully toes the body of a middle aged man in front of him, a slight smirk across his face as he wallows in the success of his latest kill. He would admit, his victim fought bravely for any hope of survival. However, it played out the same as always. His victim was much too weak with his blood pouring out like that. How could he have thought he would manage to survive with a wound like that? He slowly blinks his luminescent eyes in distaste as the simple memory plays out in his head.
“It truly is a disappointing sight, isn’t it?” He sighs heavily and pulled a pad of paper out of the pocket of his brown trench coat, simply scribbling something out in red ink on the page. Of course he wouldn’t be like the last few unsuccessful writers by writing in blood because it was much too messy and God forbid he gets caught with blood on his coat. He looks down at his victim and mumbles.
“John Blackmoore. Age twenty five. Status? Dead as a doornail.” He shakes his head.
“I’m disappointed in you, John. For a veteran, you were an easy kill.” He took a moment to notice his surroundings. They were in the kitchen, the room darkened to hide his presence. Blood stained the cobblestone floor in front of the bathroom door. He blinks almost innocently as he scans his surroundings to make sure nobody was around before his body suddenly became a distorted image for a moment until he possesed the body of a python. Not something you see in London ever, but if he could eat the body and get out quickly that’d make his job so much easier.
“I hate doing this. Humans. You all taste terrible.” He wraps his tail tightly around John’s limp and frozen body before he shoved him in his mouth, careful not to choke as he ate him head first.
Only moments later, when he was back to his somewhat normal form, did he hear a sharp gasp of fear. He turns his head, his eyes brightly glowing as he noticed his victim’s wife had finally woken up. Just as she was about to scream out in fear, he moved swiftly towards her. Too frozen to move an inch away from her husband’s killer, Alice watched in horror. The taller man soon had his hand tightly over her mouth and a kukri blade pressed almost gently against her throat. He leans down, his lips pressed against her ear as he spoke in a icy tone that sent chills down her spine.
“Shhh, if they hear You, I’ll get caught.” He chuckles lowly in the back of his throat at the sight of unspeakable fear. Alice so badly wanted to escape this man’s grasp, but his tone forced her in place, mortified. Anticipating his next move she looked around trying to think of an idea of escape of some sort, maybe to distract him. Too late. Before she could utter a single sound he slashed his blade across her throat, the swift movement painting the walls with crimson splatter as blood bubbled from her neck, soon shooting out like water from a fountain. He watched as she lets out gurgles as she choked on her own blood. Within another moment, Alice Blackmoore was dead at his feet.
“It’s a shame. You weren’t my target, but it seems that I had to kill you if I wished to roam free, and with a witness such as yourself that wouldn’t be the case for me.” He simply shakes his head, his expression lacking all traces of regret or remorse. He groans softly before he devoured her too.
Nicholas was definitely not your average citizen roaming the streets of London along Thames. Not at all. He had a fairly fit build for a tall guy, reaching six feet and nine inches. As if that wasn’t the only seemingly abnormal thing about him, his eyes were a bright luminescent orange with a slit pupil, mimicking those of a cat or snake. It terrified anybody who could glance in his direction. He didn’t mind the stares and gasps he got when he walked the streets. They didn’t bother him as much as it would bother a modern day teenager. He had two tongues residing in his mouth that replicated the forked tongue of a snake. There, of course, was a valid reason for all of this.
Nicholas was a Shapeshifter. Son of the Greek God, Typhon (better known as Father of all Monsters) and his half-serpent wife, Echidna. One may ask, ‘well why is he roaming around London?’ Well that’s simple. Nick was asked to join the Order of Assasins. He was deemed a valuable tool when it came to wiping out those who cross him. Being eleven thousand year old, he was a very knowledgeable creature and would have had his fair share of battles.
He mumbled as he scanned the area.
“Alright, let’s see. If I was the son of a scum bag commander, where would I wander?” His first mission was bound to be his worst.
Nick looks down at the paper in his hands which had a drawn sketch of what his victim looked like as well as a physical description.
“Alright. So his name is Corey Reed. Twenty years old. Five feet tall. Damn he’s short. Last seen? Whitechapel, St. Mary’s Church. Who knew such a piece of s**t could be so holy.” He rolls his eyes and looks around.
“Whitechapel’s back that way?! What the hell!” He raised an angry fist to the sky and flipped off the Gods above, parents having to cover the eyes of their children so they wouldn’t witness such a disgraceful action. He shoved the paper back in his pocket and trudged in the other direction, walking quickly.
Within a good twenty minutes he finally reached his destination, climbing up the side of the church. He pulled his hood up over his head, hiding his eyes from the world. He peeked into a window, catching sight of his victim. With glee, he jumped back down, hiding himself in the corner of an alleyway, taking on the form of a cat. He sat and waited for Corey to come outside, knowing exactly what he was going to do with the man. No sooner had he transformed had Corey finally left the building.
‘Time to shine.’
Nick pretended to limp over to Corey, mewling helplessly and painfully. He looked up at Corey with those peircing orange eyes, pawing weakly at his vicitm’s coat. Corey glanced down and noticed the stray’s condition, picking the cat up and putting him in his coat to warm him up. His accent was thick as he spoke calmly.
“Don’t worry, Little one. I’ll take you home and make sure you’re all better.” He pets Nick as his lips curve up into a smile. Nick had to stop himself from an action that would get him killed. Especially as a cat, he was too weak to do anything, so he refrained from being the smart mouthed a*****e he was. The walk to Corey’s house was a long one that Nick dreaded, slow and cautious steps from Corey, which made him wonder why he didn’t just stick a blade in his throat already.
‘Patience is the key.’
It was becoming dark outside once they finally got settled into Corey’s home. Nick was given food and water as well as a place to sleep. He was touched by such hospitality, But He didn’t let that get in the way of his task at hand. He hops onto the windowsill and peeked out at the Big Ben, checking the time. 9:30? Dammit. Two and a half hours till he could finally wipe this man off the Earth. He just wanted his paycheck all ready. Corey walked over and placed a gentle hand on Nick’s head, petting him as a loud and involuntary purr erupted from the shapeshifter. He groans and mentally cuts Corey’s hand off as he sat there, forced to endure this torture.
The lights in the house had finally blinked off once the clock struck twelve and a loud sound came from the Big Ben, signaling that it was finally midnight. Nick was careful about carrying out his task, waiting a few minutes before climbing out of the makeshift bed Corey made for him. He stretches his body and yawns a little before taking on his human body once again.
“Stupid cat body. It’s too small.” He scoffs and shakes his head before he looks down and scowls at his makeshift bed.
“Time to shine.” He crouched down low and stealthily made his way into Corey’s room, careful not to make the floor boards creak. Anything could blow his cover at this point, But He couldn’t back out now. His task was almost completed. He makes his way over to Corey’s bed, pulling out his kukri, pressing it against the young man’s chest where his lung would be. Suddenly Corey’s eyes snapped open in panic as he felt the blade press against him, opening his mouth to scream for someone to help, but Nick was quicker. Slapping his hand over the man’s mouth he held a finger to his own mouth before speaking.
“Shhh, if they hear you, I’ll get caught.” Corey’s eyes filled with tears of fear as he desperately struggled against Nick’s grasp, his gaze meeting those terrifying orange eyes that kept him pinned there, frozen. The same eyes as that stray he picked up. No! It couldn’t be! That would be impossible! But no matter how much Corey tried to convince himself that his killer wasn’t the cat, the more he filled himself with doubt. His gaze locked with Nick’s. The air was still. Nick’s eyes were full of neither remorse, mercy, or regret. Tears rushed down Corey’s pale face as Nick moved the kukri from Corey’s chest to his neck, knowing it was the quickest way to end this. Before Corey could beg the man to spare him Nick already painted the wall nearby with his blood, watching the crimson liquid rush like a waterfall from his neck, staining the pillow and mattress under him. The last thing he saw was those luminescent orange eyes.
Nick paused, enjoying the satisfying feeling he got once he saw the wall painted with Corey’s blood. His lips curve up into a sickening smirk as he uses his abilities to transform into a Python, eating his victim head first.
Nick roamed the streets of London once again, the day after the tragic deaths of John and Alice Blackmoore. It was on the front page of each newspaper he saw titled, “The Serpent Strikes Again!”
“Could these newspapers have any cornier titles? Damn.” He Smirks A little proud of himself as he wanders off mixed in with a crowd of citizens lost and forgotten.