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"Zander Kane didn’t believe in destiny or fate. He didn’t believe that beings could be influenced by a higher, preternatural, or otherwise power. Coincidences did exist, and everything in life was comprised of choices made by each person on the planet. He did not believe in such things, but as he stared down from the balcony of his box at a white haired girl that had plagued his thoughts, he questioned how life had brought them together again for the fourth time." ----------------- A murderer terrorizes the streets of Dallas, but Blair finds herself unable to focus on the horrors around her as her own reality shifts into what she once believed was impossible. The emotionally stunted bartender by night, writer by day, finds that death is not as simple as a tombstone in the ground, that death perhaps is much more complex than any human could possibly fathom.

Fantasy / Romance
C.S. Faith
Age Rating:



The sick smell of death saturated the humid Texas air, creating a feeling that everything was covered in a thick, sticky layer of crimson. The sounds of life that typically inhabited the clearing were absent, and instead replaced with a deafening silence. Not even the crickets who sang their night song to the wildflowers could be heard. It seemed that any sign of life, anything with the ability to think, had fled from the clearing in fear of the massacre that transpired moments before, and of the man who stood in the very center of it all, his victim dying at his feet.

The scene was, by all accounts, something straight out of a horror film. No, it was much worse, far beyond anything a human mind could depict on camera. Mangled body parts laid strewn across the field, many of them unidentifiable as to which body part it could actually be. Blood painted each individual blade of grass, soaking into the ground, forever stained by murderous memories, and screams of dying men and the occasional joyous chuckles of the dark man who was the cause of it all.

He leaned over his prey, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“P-please.” His final victim coughed, blood spewing from his bruised and beaten face. How this pudgy and soft man had survived for so long was unbeknownst to him, but at least the pitiful man before him had supplied him with a bit of entertainment, he thought to himself.

“I- I have a family.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He said, his voice void of any emotion.

“I- I have m-m-mon..ey.”

He let out a humorless laugh, his eyes narrowing at the pitiful man below him.

“D-D-D- Do you?” He mocked. The amusement growing on his features. “I don’t give a fuck about your money.” He crouched down, still smiling at the dying man below him. He extended his arm and wrapped his long tan fingers around his victims throat, his hand more than large enough to crush the entirety of his neck. Violently he pulled his prey into a sitting position, his disfigured dying face just inches from his own. A pained groan escaped the dying man.

“Beg.” He commanded, amusement plain on his shadowed face. It had been much too long since he had indulged himself in a bit of fun like this, and he intended to play with his new toy for as long as possible.

Tears began streaming down the bloodied man’s face. The salty trail fell down his face, washing away tiny portions of dirt and blood. Small patches of his pale skin were slowly becoming distinguishable through the red that covered his face like a mask.

“Pl- Please. I- I- I’ll do any-th-thin-g.” The dying man’s voice was thick with pained sobs. “Wh-Why God is this happening? I- I’m a good man.” He coughed violently, a darker, thicker blood now spewing from his mouth. “I never cheated on ma’ wife. I- I- guess I could have gone to church more..”

“You-You think church could have helped you?” He snorted, now taken by fits of sadistic laughter. He lost himself momentarily in the lunacy of it all. His head fell backwards in crazed laughter, clearly enjoying his victim’s pain. The sound of his inhuman and cold laugh echoed throughout the clearing shattering the silence around the pair of men. A few moments passed before he gathered himself again, and brought his face back to the calm, stoney expression he typically wore. He tightened his grip around the mans throat, as a strangled sound escaped his prey’s lips.

“Nothing can help you. Not after what I’ve seen.”

“Wh-who... H-how?” was all his prey was capable of saying-his windpipe slowly crushing under the sheer strength of his hand.

“Who am I?” He offered. His victim made another strangled noise that sounded slightly like a yes.

His lips twitched upwards as his eyes began to darken. His pupils began to grow in size and slowly began to stretch into the whites of his eyes, until there was nothing left but darkness.

“Zander.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He began to stand up, never releasing his prey from his grip. The dying man groaned in pain again, his feet now dangling in the air as Zander raised the man’s balding bloody head to his own eye level.

“My name is Zander Kane.” He said in a cool voice as he tightened his grip on the man’s throat.

The dying man racked his brain for any recollection of his tormentor, before he realized he had absolutely no idea who this man, who seemed intent on killing him, was.

“No, you don’t know me.” Zander said, his victim’s eyes widening in fear. “Nor I you, and yet here we are.”

Blood continued to pour out of the wounds in the dying man’s face, dripping down to his neck where it pooled around Zander’s hand.

Zander’s head curiously cocked to the side as he watched the blood ooze and drip. Slowly he brought his face as close to the dying man’s as possible. He inhaled the rusty smell of blood deeply, a low growl began growing deep within his throat. Slowly his mouth parted, his white teeth gleaming in the glow of the moonlight. His tongue pushed past his open lips and ever so gently licked a trickle of blood gushing from his victim’s hairline.

Zander closed his eyes in frustration as he pulled his face away from the man, his lips now tinted red. He let out a slow, disappointed sigh before speaking.

“Fucking disgusting.”

Dry sobs began to rock through the dying man’s body, as he put what little energy he had into clawing at Zander’s iron-clad grip on his throat.

“Fucking disgusting.” Zander repeated with ferocity. He tightened his grip around the man’s throat once again, but this time with purpose. The victim’s expression began to change into one of sheer terror as he fought to no avail to break free from his tormentor before his movements began to become lethargic and dull. Zander’s face broke into a small smile as he watched the light leave the man’s eyes before finally tossing his lifeless corpse aside like a rag doll.

He brought his hand to his mouth wiping away the blood that lingered there, and then with no movement or effort at all he was gone.

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