Black Rose

- Two -

The three remaining men gawked at the elf in horror. One gazed down at the
gory scene in disgust, and then anger washed over him as his eyes stared down
at his dead dog that he had trained daily to attack anyone when necessary with
no regards of the victim’s life. Like Sirithhuan.

‘I have never seen such viciousness in an Elf like this one,’
the man thought grimly. He frowned as his eyes burned hatred and fear for Sirithhuan.

“You…” said the man, “You killed my companion, you
vile creature. Curse you!” He shouted angrily. The link of heavy chains
danced quietly within his tight grasp around what he used as a leash for the
animal when he started to run at him.

Sirithhuan glared at the man with no expression, but the gleam in his malevolent
eyes made the human gasp as he stared into them for a moment that his whole
body froze.

‘Those eyes…those eyes of his are the eyes of death,’
said the man silently to himself, ‘It is like looking into the abyss
of hell.’

The man finally coaxed his legs to move, and ran at the expecting elf at full
speed. He swung the long chain at Sirithhuan, and the creature took a step back.
Sirithhuan watched with steady eyes as the long weapon whipped across; the end
of the chain barely touching the edge of his nose as it went passed him. The
human growled angrily in response to the near miss as he swung the chain back,
but was slower this time and once it came closer to the elf, the elf reached
up his arm when he bend down at the knees to duck out of the way. The weapon
wrapped around his forearm, and the man smiled; almost burst out laughing.

Sirithhuan stood erect and grasped both hands around the chain after it wrapped
around his arm. After that, the human’s laugh abruptly ceased, staring
back at him in surprise. The human gawked at him, pulling on the link of chains,
but met resistance, and tried to pull harder as the assassin before him smirked
at his futile attempt. The elf kept one foot behind him, leaving a foot-in-a-half
of space between his legs, and his weight centered for the support that he would
need.

He relaxed his arms when he extended them straight out, and swiftly flexed
them, bringing his hands toward his chest; startling the man. The human was
flung forward, and he barely had no reaction time to catch himself from falling
as he staggered on wobbling legs, and slammed into Sirithhuan that caught him
with one arm.

The chain that was wrapped around his arm loosed and clattered to the ground,
and Sirithhuan’s smile was vile and dark with distain of this man. “Stupid
human who’s clumsiness had sent him to his impeding demise,” said
the elf, “Of course, maybe you believe that you want me to be merciful
to you and let you go.” He let out a quiet chuckle, and tightly grasped
his hand around the side of the man‘s shirt where his arm held him around
the chest area. “Heh. Is that why you pretended to fall into your enemy’s
arm - wanting mercy from - “

The human interrupted him with a fight-filled growl as he jammed a small jagged
knife just above the hipbone of Sirithhuan’s side as a last form of defense
that he could gain because he knew of the nearing inevitable. Sirithhuan’s
face flushed red, eyes widen, and his muscles tightened so much that it made
him clench his teeth, and he held his breath for a few moments as sweat started
to already form beads across his forehead a little. He never released his hold
around him, and he let out a long, agonizing yell of excruciating pain that
was mixed with sudden, red-hot rage.

Breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, he forcefully pierced the long
silver knife of his straight into the man’s vulnerable back with a crunch
of bone as it severed the spinal cord; blood and spinal fluid poured out, surrounding
the imbedded blade, and staining the back of the man’s tunic. The human
gasped at the severe pain that remained for only a second or two until he felt
numbness quickly forming, and then he felt nothing from his torso and on down
to his feet.

“Foolish mortal!” Sirithhuan spat.

Despite his own pain, he smirked, and pulled out the knife to throw his dying
victim to the ground by one of the dead canines. He stepped back three times,
his hand around the knife’s handle that was sticking out of his body.
Thick elven blood oozed from the wound as he slowly slid it out, grimacing slightly,
and keeping his cold eyes on the last of the men. The elf gazed at the human’s
knife that was in his hand, which was covered with his own blood, and sneered
when he glared down at the one on the ground. He took three steps forward, ignoring
the one that was still alive, but frozen in fear, and threw the knife down somewhere
on the blood-soaked ground. He returned his two knives in each of their sheaths
behind his back, and the loathing elf found a hatchet on the man’s belt
that had been hidden behind him.

Sirithhuan stood, a cold, chilling glare filled his face as he tightly gripped
the weapon in his right hand; caressing his thumb every now and then over the
smooth wooden surface. He suddenly reached down, and grabbed the man’s
shirt at the shoulder, and yanked him roughly over to his back. He pursed his
lips, studying the dying human with wrath and amusement. The elf heard the other
human’s footsteps moving slowly behind him, and then he looked over his
shoulder.

“You would be a fool to try and sneak up on an Elf,” whispered
Sirithhuan, “If you so desire to end up like your friends and the dogs,
then do so.” He smiled oddly as the man abruptly stopped and slowly backed
away to where he stood before.

The elf looked back down at the other, gazing at the wide eyes that gawked
up at him. They eyes were slowly starting to glaze over with the nearing of
death, and the skin was more pale than his own fair skin now. He squat down
to be closer to the still body that slowly and desperately struggled to breathe
air, and with his free hand, Sirithhuan tightly covered his long fingers over
the man’s jaw.

“I will teach you your final lesson before dying, human,” said
the elf. “Wherever that your unwise soul goes, let it remember to never
fight someone like me, and to memorize my name. The Dark Wind.” Sirithhuan
leaned closer, pressing his hand that held the hatchet above the man’s
head, and then grabbed a handful of his hair to pull his head back as he whispered
in his ear.

“I have killed many, and I love to kill. Does that shock you, human?
Does it not fit your profile of an Elf - a cheery race that is full of joy and
love, and full of ethereal light of a God? I kill with my arrows and twin blades
of fatality with diabolical joy and fierceness that you have seen and felt.
This last lesson is…death.” He pulled back from him, and swung the
axe hand up, and swiftly brought the blade down into the man’s face.

He repeatedly struck his skull repeatedly, and completely disfiguring the human’s
face into an unrecognizable mess of gushing and flying blood and gore that showered
everywhere onto the elf. His madness and rage of endless torment from his past,
had an uncontrollable urge to strike the man, and that he went too far, despite
the extreme mutilation he had done. He still continued giving the repeated strikes
even though the man had died, in which Sirithhuan never even realized.

Sirithhuan, panting heavily through his parted lips, gradually slowed his malicious
bloodbath after the last two swings of the bloody hatchet at the what used to
be a face, and then left the weapon’s blade deep in the middle of the
man’s chest. He pulled away, sitting comfortably on his knees, and gazed
at his work as he laughed a little; not even bothered by the fact that he was
practically bathed in the man’s blood. He soon gazed down at his blood-covered
hands emotionlessly for a couple of moments, and then his blue eyes shifted
quickly to the right when he heard retreating footsteps frantically moving away
that belonged to the last man of the murdered group.

‘A pity,’ thought Sirithhuan, standing up calmly. He watched
man man run away to probably find help that didn’t come as quickly as
he hoped that might have been all the way across the village near the rougher
parts where problems occur frequently with the town drunks. The elf glanced
around at some of the frightened people that had been watching the fight in
shock and horror; others cowered away in fear, or looked away from the slaughter.

He heard the ones that whispered, “He must be the Dark Wind.”

“He is the Dark Wind!”

“What are we going to do?”

“He will kill us if we try to stop him!”

“Look what he did to them!”

“He’s a monster!”

Sirithhuan smiled lightly and spoke, “You humans can revel in the fact
that you all have survived this night,” He explained, “I advise
you to go home and stay with your children, husbands, and wives to pray to your
Gods to protect you another day that may or may not come at all; nonetheless,
my justice will spill your vile blood onto the ground soon enough.” He
warned them as he tightened the strings that held his cloak together, and picked
up a couple of his equipment that was on the ground during the fight after he
spoken to the small crowd of villagers. Lastly, he pulled the large hood over
his head and walked off with a slight limp toward the tavern and inn that was
at a short distance away. He didn’t care if anyone saw where he was going,
and didn’t care if anyone would send guards to get him. The elf would
kill them despite his injuries he had received that needed his attention before
he moved on again.