Revenge is a Dish Best Served ColdMature

Unfortunately that was exactly what I meant. I had been silent for so long, visiting Fang in the warehouse, and now when I finally had the guts to let it all out he comes and ruins it all. I would fight for her or die trying.

It was the night that Fang had come to my apartment. The moon hung in the sky, a silver disc, unreal and yet so real it was as if you could reach out and touch it.

I had the strangest wish in that moment as I gazed at its white surface that I were Wolverine. I could tear Nightmare's face off with my razor sharp claws.

I closed my hand into a fist, willing the triple blades to come out. It was no use. This was not the Marvel universe.

I sighed. My breath turned to fog, drifting upwards in spiraling shapes.

I really had no clue where I was going. I had my Dad's gun in my hand, and I knew how to use it - that's all that mattered. The black metal of the weapon felt cold against my flesh. I shivered involuntarily as thoughts of killing crossed my mind. The trick to murder, I realized, was not thinking about it.

I had been wandering the streets of New York for hours now. Midnight had slowly slid by without a sound. My assumption that Nightmare would find me, instead of me finding him, had been correct.

His dark blue form dropped in front of me.

I raised the weapon and fired, hoping to catch him off guard. The loud sudden sound startled me and I jerked the barrel skywards.

The bullet whizzed between Nightmare's ears which he flattened to avoid any unneccesary holes.

"You missed," He commented, standing from his crouched position on the pavement.

I leveled the gun, aiming for his chest. I figured that if I jerked it up again, I would shoot his face.

"Foolish boy. Revenge is a dish best served cold,"


The End

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