The Devil's Apprentice

NEW NAME= NEW VICTIM

—

The scent of blood was dense and the fact that it was hers caused her poor muscles to tense.

But this was her punishment, the price of her disobedience.

—

Emmanuel rose with a satisfied sigh. He had finally finished his artwork, a beautiful creation that would live in his mind forever.

His victim, Meghan Soil, the famous prostitute now dead before his very eyes. It wasn't surprising, for he was the one who had maliciously killed her.

His knife had done a pretty good job, his pliers had done splendid too and he had thoroughly enjoyed her struggles and writhes and her silent screams of dismay.

If she had just listened, then her suffering would've been a whole lot lesser, but the little b*tch had screamed even though he had told her not to, and now her tongue and every single teeth that had previously been in her mouth laid on the floor in a pile of blood.

Her eyes were still wide open, but her lids lacked movement, her bloody lips were slipped ajar, but she wasn't breathing.

She was nothing but a corpse now, but even so she was more beautiful than the very first time he had laid eyes on her. She had been too flawless then, but now that she was tainted with deep gashes and multiple stab holes, she looked like a goddess...so damn pretty.

During his torture, her beauty had been nothing but her enemy, for it was used against her in the most cruel ways and her persistent struggles had only encouraged Emmanuel to hurt her more.

It had been so gratifying to watch as she tried to escape but the ropes held her in place, so gratifying to watch as she tried to scream yet nothing but a low screech came out. She kind of reminded him of himself.

That's how he had felt when he was a kid; desperate for help, but couldn't find the words to ask for it.

Just like her, he had once been pitiful, but now he had a voice, yet still instead of constantly using it, he used his knife.

Taking a step back, he looked down at his hand, watching with a sick smile as her name slowly faded away.

Once it was gone, a new one slowly appeared and Emmanuel processed the letters one by one.

T

R

I

S

H

A

E

L

R

I

V

A

Such a nice name, Emmanuel just hoped her face would be just the same.

Messily wrapping up his rope, he threw it along with his pliers and his knife in his briefcase.

He then shrugged off his bloody jacket, loosened his dark, blue tie and one by one he unbuttoned the buttons on his shirt and hauled it down his arms.

He wiped his bloody hands in them, before tucking the discarded clothes in his briefcase.

After that, he proceeded to take a tour of Meghan's closet. In it was mostly women clothing, but she was a prostitute, she's bound to have a few men clothing too, and he proved that fact when he found a fitting black shirt to put on.

He hauled it over his head and took one more look at his bloody creation before stepping out of her bedroom and into her bathroom where he washed the remnants of her blood off of his hand.

It was time to live his life the only way he knew how to.

It was time to begin his hunt and that Trisha, whomever she was would be his prey.

How would he kill this one?

Would he give her a quick death or never ending torture?

Would he slice her neck or cruelly pluck out her toes?

The answer to those questions was up to his mood and since he was happy, this girl's death would be smooth.

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AN/| Ye, I know he's sick in the head, but please follow him on his journey to change.