There are days when the world turns slow.
This is not one of them

The alley is dark, darker than I would like, But I can smell them.
They think they have an easy target but they are wrong.

Fools.

I see it as an improvement of the gene pool. I am doing their race a favour.
Not that they will thank me for it.

They close around me, their misplaced confidence like a comfortable cloak.
They move to shield their actions from any one glancing down for the street.
Convenient, it will cover my own.

I love the sight of blood on my claws.
I love the scream in their voices as they realizes their mistake.
The bubble of air through the gore and one tries to cry though what was once a neck.

Am I sick?
Why?

This is what I was breed for.
They are prey.
What do you expect me to do?
Show mercy?
If I were the weakness they thought I was, would they have shown any to me?

Kind of irrelevant now though.

I turn to the last one standing. See his fear in his eyes and he drops to his knees.
Some prayer?
And I had thought that such beliefs were long dead.
Strange.

He looks up at me and I feed off the terror in his gaze.
Tasty.
I move towards him, holding up my claws so he can see the blood of his companions drip to the floor.

My tongue darts out to catch the drip as it fall.
I love that acid smell when the loose control. Tart in the air. Fresh.
He whimpers.
I move closer, let he see my teeth.

The tip of my talons caress the skin on his neck, up over his ear, across his fore head.
Gently.
It leaves a trail of blood but it is not his.
I redden his lips with the fluid of his brethren.

And I stand back.

He kneels there.
His teeth chattering.
His eyes closed.
Blood on his lips.
Fear in his mind.

Beautiful

I do not believe in mercy.
But I believe in art.

The shadows engulf me as a friend.

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