Excerpt: The Never Story Book I ~Das Kind von Blut~

One... Two... Three...

Sirus grasped the end of his blade tightly as he eyed his target and looked for the most vulnerable spots. To make the first strike the killing blow was imperitive. He preferred that his prey not know who or what killed it.

...Now!

The mental signal went off, and his body reacted quickly; first with the widening of his eyes, then with the flash of his slender blade into the strong young oak's thick exterior and through the sturdy interior. Though the blade of the Eastern sword was thin, the gash left in the tree was comparable to a blow from an expertly-handled claymore, and about twelve blows from an expertly-handled woodman's axe. Within moments, the tree creaked in loud protest and bent to his blow, falling to Sirus' feet. He looked at his sword, then at the wooden destruction he had just caused with much displeasure. This was an empty victory; trees did not bleed.

He looked at his sword yet again, which to his relief, showed no signs of wear or tear even after going through an entire tree. He was no weapons expert, but he knew the blade, called a "katana", was a beauty. Efficient, light, and with exotic designs on the blade to boot, he could tell this weapon was intricately made with the greatest care and passion. The quality of this sword was suprising, considering the relative ease there was in stealing it off of the absentminded merchant three days ago. It looked nothing like a knight's sword, or any other sword he'd seen around these parts, but it was just as deadly if not more.

But alas, the beauty of cold steel did not satiate his mounting bloodlust. Sirus wasn't hungry, but his urge to kill, be it man or beast, was rising quickly. The silence of the forest - indicating emptiness - only hastened it.

He quickly made his way through the green foilage to the unkempt road to town. The sun was high in the sky, radiating an irritating heat that would have been magnified by his black leather pants and his plain leather armor if not for the cool shade courtesy of the treetops. For this reason, in addition to the fact that some of the higher vegetation made ambushing an easy task, Sirus stuck to the forests when travelling.

And so, Sirus sat in wait in a conveniently placed tree overlooking the road. The mouth of the forest leading to town was in eyesight, so he could see anything or anyone who dared enter. Who knows? Maybe another foolish merchant will cross paths with him, and he might pick off more strange and intereting goods from this next corpse. He ran his fingers through his snow white hair and smiled to himself as he thought of his next victim.

Sirus did not have to wait long. His hearing picked up the dull roar of a small crowd, which rapidly grew in intensity. Not but thirty seconds after, he saw the cause of all of the commotion; a cloaked figure was being chased by visibly angered townspeople carrying pitchforks, clubs and all manner of mob weaponry. Sirus' mood suddenly changed from devious to mockingly sympathetic as he watched this little charade slowly approach his location. It was time to have a little fun.

Sirus waited for the cloaked figure to pass over him, which gave him the signal to leap down from his perch and face the mob of burly men armed to the teeth with a wicked smirk. The group stopped dead in their tracks, save for what looked like the head of the mob. The man, a well built villager who looked in his forties and sported a burly beard and mustache, came up to him, club in hand.

"What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?" Sirus asked casually, eyeing the man with a suspicious look.

"What the hell is it to you, boy? One of Sargeth's damn wolf demons are gettin' away and here you are standing here with your thumb up your skinny ass. Now get the hell out of our way! We're not here to kill you."

"A demon, you say...?" Sirus narrowed his eyes and gave a sly smile.

The villager, angered even further, stepped forward and put a firm hand on Sirus' shoulder, "Boy, this is my final warning. Now get out of our way before I throw you out of the way!"

Sirus gave a sharp chuckle, then clutched the man's arm tightly. The man, suprised by the sudden force of the grip, looked at his arm to see a stream of blood dripping from where Sirus was holding. His face was now showing slight signs of fear, and he attempted to draw back his arm, only to have the nails dig deeper into his flesh.

"You..." Sirus growled deeply, with a hint of sadistic glee in his voice, "You seem... experienced. Have you ever seen a true demon before, old man?"

"Wh... what do you mean?" The man's voice became more panicked, "Who... what are you?"

Sirus grinned ear to ear, his body shaking with exitement and insanity. His head slowly rose to make eye contact with the man, whose eyes were now as widened as the eyes of a mouse staring at an anxious snake ready to strike. Gradually, Sirus' pupils turned from a dark brown to a crimson red, and a blazing red hue shot through the strands of his hair. He suddenly looked like a whole different person, if a person at all.

"Scared? I'm just... a demon, old man."

The rest of the mob watched in horror as Sirus unsheathed his thin blade and effortlessly carved up the well-built villager like a tender piece of meat, taking a sickening amount of enjoyment in each slice. He then turned to the others, who stood frozen in their tracks. There were about twenty of them, Sirus assessed, twenty corpses.