Update 69 is up.
Edit: I wrote a new Out-of-Sight post (The first in who knows how long). Enjoy!
A Secret Meeting
The man sat patiently on the rooftop, staring down at the derelict streets stretching out below him. His spear is laid out beside him, and though he may appear to be open to an attack from an unsuspecting watcher, he was actually carefully paying attention to everything around him. His cloak of human skin stretches out behind him like a dark shadow, showing faces eternally distorted into a wordless scream popping out at every angle. To many, this cloak would seem like some sort of macabre trophy, but to him, it was a burden, a list of his mistakes. The reason that he took the skins was to warn the people, to show them the dangers of the city and scare them into a quiet obedience. They would hate him for it, but it was ultimately for the best, for if he did not instill fear of the outside world in their hearts, then many others would doubtlessly die. But, occasionally back when he had first started, he would lose track of their homes, or come back and find that they had lived alone. So he stitched them together, refusing to admit that the death was unnecessary and needing to look the part of a villain as well.
He sighs, thinking back to Thanatos. The man had appeared to be so promising, and yet he had ultimately stood in the way. The Outcast had to be made an example of, he had to show that for every good soul out there, there was a monster ten times worse. It was a good think that he had been wearing this metallic mask--Even after doing this for so long, he sometimes had trouble stopping his body from crying for the people that he was hurting. No, there were no heroes in New York. Or, if there were, they were far too weak to heal any more than one man. His 'angel' had ultimately been the cause of his death.
"Hunter," a voice states simply. He stands and turns to face the man in the gray hoodie with the pale skin and the blond hair, spotting the familiar scar under his eye. He was right on time, just like he always was, but the Hunter still hated him. He undoubtedly perceived them to be the same, two lost souls that enjoyed making others suffer, but he couldn't be any more wrong. "You're late, Ash," the Hunter states, despite the fact that it's not at all true. His visitor doesn't show any kind of reaction to this lie, he simply asks, "It's been a while since what happened at Times Square. Are you sure that you didn't break any of them whilst running around like a buffoon?"
The Hunter grimaces (Not that Ash could see it) as he retorts, "You know that I never fail. I simply had other matters to attend to before I could deliver them to you." Ash grins and holds out a hand expectantly. The Hunter briefly considers refusing to hand them over to him, already knowing fully well what he would do with it. I could kill him here, he knew, I could kill the deadman and free all of those children. And yet... He knew deep within himself that this city--No, this world--was beyond saving.
And so he tossed the bag containing the many different vials that he had stolen from the soldiers on the roofs of Times Square to Ash, who catched them easily. He opens the bag and pulls one out, staring at the opaque fluid contained inside. "What powers are these?" he asks with a faint sense of awe. "I haven't the faintest idea," the Hunter replies as he picks back up his spear, "I killed the soldiers after they had shot the Super-Powered with their new toys. There's no telling what you'll be able to do with those."
The man grins, and the Hunter knows that he wouldn't have had it any other way. With the conversation thankfully over, he turns and jumps off the side of the building, leaving the deadman with the precious cargo that he had once stolen, and an immeasurable amount of power.
< Message edited by Astroking112 -- 8/18/2014 1:52:14 >