There were a few parts of town that had become his favorite since he began his vigilanteism. The lower south side was ripe with criminals of every sort. Poverty bred it thick in that side of town. Some people were just doing what was necessary to survive, stealing food or money without intending to do harm. Others were doing what they believed was necessary to survive; become the most powerful person on the block. These were the people that Marc targeted, because there was nothing he found more satisfying than stripping a man of his power.

It only took him a half hour to get there, every night he was getting better at shifting through the shadows, stretching out his existence from one to the next as if his body was nothing more than  a black liquid riding on the absence of light. It took time to get used to the sensation of not being in one piece, but after his first few encounters with this new state of existence, he soon realized the potential. He could stand in one shadow and melt through to the next.

He was beginning to question the limits of his gift, if it had any at all. In the darkness, he felt like god. He defied gravity, could lift cars and now teleport from one sanctuary of shadow to another.

Shifting wasn't burning enough of his energy, and now that he had entered the lower south side of town he was eager to do some damage. He moved into an alley and slipped up the wall until he reached the rooftop. There, the moonlight tugged at the jet black ink and it slid off him like a silk velvet robe falling to the ground. He was Marc again, but that was alright, he was only up here to find his prey.

As he walked to the ledge, he peered into the streets below, watching as the scum of the night slithered about to their clandestine destinations. Sometimes he wished he could just crush them all at once, like the tiresome insects they were.

He knelt and put his hands in behind the ledge of the buildings rooftop and sunk his fingers into the darkness. They eagerly melted into the shadow. He closed his eyes and listened to the city from every place where light could not go.

He concentrated, filtering the ramble of the bums and the fake moans of the hookers until he found a real scream, one that made his hair rise and his heart pound. Sometimes he wondered who was the true monster, the people he killed, or himself.

He got up, the location firmly locked into his mind, and pounced off the rooftop into the alley way. As he plunged into the shadows he melted away, unseen by the time his phasing body seemed to slip into the gutter below.

It only took him a few shifts to get to where he was going, and there, in the vacant parking lot of a basketball court, was the car. The woman had already gotten inside, but the door had been pried open by three men.

Marc knew they were just after a good time, what he wondered was if they wanted a good time with the car or with the girl, or perhaps with both.

He often liked to watch. He liked to wait for things to get out of hand, for there to be a real reason for him to intervene. Sometimes he even made things a little more interesting by setting situations up himself and waiting for the morally skewed to take advantage of something or someone.

This was his entertainment, no television show, video game, movie or roller coaster ride could possibly ever give him the pleasure he got from watching people suffer.

She screamed again, her shrieks bounced off the brick appartment buildings that lined the streets and then vanished into the night sky.

People heard, but around here no one cared for anything but themselves and their own.

This girl was obviously not from around here; the car was nice and new, a 2006 Ford Fusion.

She was wearing a black skirt, high heels and a men's style two button jacket with a white collard shirt and tie beneath it, the majority of which had been violently removed by now. Her skin was creamy pale, and Marc felt a tug at his heart as it reminded him of Sasha.

Enough He said to himself, walking out from the darkness yet remaining shrouded in it.

"Having fun?" Said the silhouette that slowly glided toward the three men.

One had his cock hanging out of his pants as he turned around, "What the fu-" The sentence was cut short as the silhouette vanished from before them and the man with his junk hanging out slammed to the ground screaming as he was dragged by an unseen force into a dark corner of the basketball court. The screaming continued until a crushing sound followed by what sounded like a bucket of water hitting the floor.

A brutally severed head flew out of the shadows and bounced off one of the wide eyed men before they both ran in separate directions.

It was child's play to catch up.

The man with the bloodied leather jacket ran, panting, into the alleyway, 

Bad idea shmo.

He ran out of breath and slowed, looking back briefly. He quickly turned to his front when he heard a strange noise.

That noise was a one ton garbage bin flying toward him fast enough to deny him the time to scream. Instead the only noise his body uttered was the passing of piss and shit as his crushed corpse relaxed every muscle.

The first two were too quickly dispatched. This time, he'd take his time.

He found him, still running, obviously in better shape than his two unlucky friends. Oh but he had no idea how unlucky he himself was.

The human mind... is quite fragile when you start breaking down the things it takes for granted.

The man was running through the alleyway, still at full tilt when suddenly he fell through the shadowed ground and emerged from the darkened brick walls of the narrow passage, tumbling to the concrete five feet below. He rose, perplexed as to what had just happened. He was so confused that he seemingly forgot why he was running and simply stood there.

The Darkness watched him for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in a little more before he flipped it upside down once again.

As the man took another step forward, he plunged through the pavement anew and found himself clinging to the sill of a long ago bricked off window. He whimpered, and began to cry. Something that was not exactly expected. Mostly in a situation like this, one would scream. Somehow, Marc found it satisfying nonetheless.

He waited, and watched, as the man slowly lost his grip. He wondered, and made wagers to himself at how long he could hold on before plummeting the twenty or so feet to the pavement below.

The man was crying harder now, and just as he began to slip, he found himself once again on solid ground, safe and sound.

His eyes shot back and forth through the darkness and he slowly and shakily sat in place in the middle of the alley, where he would probably remain, rocking back and forth until the morning.

Nothing is more satisfying than stripping a man of his power. "Or his sanity." He said out loud as he made himself visible to the man one last time, and knelt before him. The vagrant stared straight through him, as if he was not even there.


Phasing back to the car, he looked at the young woman. She was still unconscious, having taken a few hard blows to the head. Her clothes were nearly all destroyed and she lay with her legs hanging out of the car, spread open.

Marc stood at the very edge of the door, her inner thighs against his knees. Part of him felt the urge to finish what they didn't, and that part may have won if it wasn't for the fact that the creamy smooth skin of her exposed breasts exploded Sasha's image into his mind, along with that of Edwin, groping her.

His primal lust turned to anger as she began to come to.

Her head pounded in pain as she looked up at the door which she hung half way out of, she saw nothing but the dark cityscape and a silver moonlit skyline.

The sound of weapons fire echoed through the night sky as Marc stood at the top of another building. He could have found out where it was, do some more damage, but he felt like wallowing for a few minutes instead.

What better place to do it than in the shadows of the city, the city that bled with fear and chaos so thick that it clogged the drains and filled the dark alleyways that Marc embodied. He bathed in the stuff, he lived in it, and in many ways he contributed to its slow molasses flow, as every time he watched the life extinguish out of someone’s eyes, the darkness within grew.

His eyes shot up and the ink enveloped him as another scream caught his attention.

No rest for the wicked.

The End

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