Snippet #2204461

A deep satisfaction crept over Desrow as he washed blood from his hands. In his mind he replayed the scene of his most recent kill several times.

"Please sir, can you spare some change, anything at all... anything will help me."

The vagrant clutched and pulled on Desrow's robes. His pleas sickened the monk and with gentle movements the monk removed the man from his clothing. A large smile crept over Desrow's face as he kneeled to speak to the trash. His pulse jumped with excitement as he reached out to touch the man's shoulder. Such filth, he thought as his hand could feel the grimy texture of the worn coat.

"I'm sorry, I am just a humble monk and I have no money to spare."

The homeless man deflated and looked to the ground. "I see, I am sorry to have bothered you then."

"However..." Desrow stood up and looked around, no one was within sight. Perhaps there were some within earshot, but the cold fog and dark night would provide more than enough cover. His hand reached for a small string of prayer beads and he gently lifted them from his neck.

"However, if you wish I can pray for you."

"Please do sir, I need everything I can ge-" Without warning Desrow's boot quickly found its way against the vagrant's skull. He was knocked backwards and with a sickening crack his head bounced on the rough asphalt. Desrow walked over to the groaning man and dragged him farther into the alleyway. The vagrant was in a stupor, brought on by the intense amount of pain and probable concussion. Desrow propped the man up and lowered the prayer beads around his neck. He pulled tightly upwards, forcing the man to choke and gasp painfully.

"How can I pray for your poor soul when it is caged in such a fleshy prison, don't worry my friend I shall be your salvation from this life." Desrow whispered into his ear "Death is salvation"

Without another word Desrow tightened the prayer beads and reached underneath his robe. From his robe he pulled a long thin blade, more of a letter opener than a dagger, but it was sharp nonetheless. With a silent practiced motion he sliced a thin line from artery to artery. Blood spouted from the vagrant's neck, covering Desrow's blade, prayer beads, and hands.



It suddenly came to Desrow that his mind was getting blurry, and his memory was fading. He no longer heard the running water and he became intensely aware of himself as his surroundings disappeared. He fell to his knees and held his shaking hands before him.

"What the hell?"

As if to punctuate the question, he fell over and lost consciousness. He was asleep for what seemed like an eternity, it was a weird almost lucid kind of sleep. Desrow felt his body materialize and soon felt cold grass against is body, he was aware of voices and sounds, but his body refused to respond to his commands. After another eternity his body finally gave into his commands and he sat up quickly. Without a word he stood up and brushed the loose grass and dirt from his robes. There were several people all of whom seemed to be just as confused as himself.

"Hello my friends. Can someone explain to me what is going on?" his voice was even and calm, despite his furiously racing mind. His demeanor belied how much of a threat he truly was. He carried himself as a polite Buddhist monk, and despite his rather eccentric clothing few would be the wiser. He looked at the others and one by one he examined each of them. Nothing piqued his interest until his eyes stopped on Zachary. MMA fights were a secret pleasure of his, he loved watching the violence that the fights brought. His jaw almost dropped when he saw who was standing before him.

"Are...are you Zachary Ackers? The famous martial artist? Man, I have to be dreaming... this is unreal"