Excerpt: Monster

Sunestraka waited.

He melded with the shadows, back to the wall. His eyes never wavered from the light in the manse before him. It was located in the main bedroom, on the second floor. The hours ticked by. Sunestraka didn’t move, barely seeming to even breathe. The manse was surrounded by a wall of medium length and height. Two guards lazily patrolled, lanterns swinging. The night was quiet, almost hushed in anticipation. Banks of low hanging clouds sailed slowly in the heavens, visions of the moon occasionally ghosting by. Finally, the light seemed to shiver before winking out.

Sunestraka waited for just a moment. His body moved, fluid darkness in the night. His feet barely seemed to touch as the ground as he flowed toward the wall, vaulting upward with languid ease. He held himself still, waiting, listening. The guards were yet to come full circle on their patrol - he could make his move now and acquire the target, he knew. The words on the note of paper - slipped under a certain tavern room door the night before - came back to him:

Make it public.

Three words. His client wanted a show, this night, but for what reason? Sunestraka didn’t know or care. He would kill the guards too. Decision made, he calmly walked along the walkway, broad enough for two men to walk abreast. He was far too large to simply hide, after all. At seven feet, he towered over most men, though his frame was muscle bound - his movements didn’t reflect his size, quick and graceful. Two obsidian daggers dangled carelessly from his hands, ensuring no telltale gleam of steel would give him away. Ahead, the guards rounded the corner, talking in hushed tones. Their lanterns swung by their sides. They continued on for a few seconds before halting and gaping.

Sunestraka gave them a moment to adjust.

“What the --” one began, swinging his lantern upward.

A moment was all they got and all he needed. He sprinted forward, moving with absurd speed and before they could so much as think of going for their weapons, he was upon them. He blurred between them, arms scything out - arcs of blood spurted in his wake, pumping from exposed jugular veins. Two gurgles and the crunch of bodies hitting the floor later, it was done. His black blades dripped red. He turned to the bodies, heads wrenched so far to the side they’d nearly been torn off. He completed the grisly task, holding aloft the two heads, mouths slack in shock. His arms bulged, black veins writhing to the fore; the heads shrunk, skin becoming wizened, pulled tight. Twisting the hair casually, he tied a knot, so the small heads hung from a pony tail which, with practiced movements, he tied to his belt.

Satisfied, he walked on.

He found the point where the wall stood closest to the manse, tensed and leapt in one smooth movement. He hit the wall with a grunt, bare feet scrabbling for purchase. Nimble as a crab he scaled the house, built from old blocks of stone, it was easy to find hand holds. In seconds he was at the second floor window, peering in.

His target was slumbering within.