"And then....I'm fuckin' serious here, and THEN this piece of shit actually pissed his pants!  I know right?  He had the goddamn NERVE to kidnap dozens of children as sacrifices for his spells, and do horrible things to them, claiming it was to charge the spells with their negative emotions.  I mean, really?  We all know that you're just a piece of shit child molester who only uses magic to get rid of the bodies once you're done having your fun!  But YOU have the nerve to piss yourself?! HAH!  I let him go though, and told him he'd get what he deserved some day soon.  Seeing as he couldn't see my face because I wore a shadow guise, he probably shit himself later too!"
 
Laughter rang throughout the bar, some of it genuine, a lot of it awkward and nervous.  Most of the people gathered there didn't know exactly WHY they were there, nor did they have any idea who the loud, rambunctious young man walking around telling stories like everyone there was an old friend, truly was.  All they knew was that they had gotten an invitation from a trusted source to be there in this bar, on this night, and they would gain something they had all hungered for.  What that was, exactly, varied from person to person, but each and every one of them was greedy enough to be there, whatever it was that brought them. 
 
The young man continued to walk among them, his voice loud, carrying to every ear gathered.  No one had recognized them when he had stood up, bottle of pepper whiskey in hand, swaying on his feet like someone already six shots in, and began to tell his story.  At first no one questioned him either.  This particular gathering was filled with the kind of people, beings rather, that were recognized among the realms as shadowed and dangerous.  Some of them recognized each other, some only suspected who others were due to reputation.  So for the young man to act out as he was, he either had to have the hugest set of balls this side of Tartarus, or he was more dangerous than most, and didn't care who his loud banter pissed off.  The truth was more a mix of both.
 
"Oh!  And then this one time!  This one time I happened across this one bitch who happened across a settlement of Courtless Fae, you know, the ones who didn't feel like living among the Summer, Winter, Autumn, or Spring court Fae because they were all stuck up 'n' shit?  Well this bitch decided to poison their hunting traps, and when they ate the meat later, the poison transferred to them, and she took advantage of them, selling them as slaves to a group of human scum.  Not like the Court Fae cared enough to investigate.  So when one of the children escaped and her name got out there, well here I come a-callin'!  I hunt her down, and her poisons or magic don't do shit to slow me up at all, she begs for her life.  What a stupid bitch right?"
 
More laughter, though it was substantially less than the reaction to the last story, more of it was nervous, and there was a lot more silence around the place, especially when someone got up and excused themselves, but found that they couldn't leave the bar, no matter what they did.  There wasn't a large fuss just yet though, so the young male continued.  He walked among them, his form, while not imposing at all, especially among the beings gathered here, moved with a deadly grace that did not belay a loud drunkard.  Anyone who watched the way he moved, the way he walked, swung past a standing form here, or swerved around a sitting form there, could imagine a throat being slashed, a heart being yanked from a chest cavity, or a head being decapitated with no more than a flick of his wrist.  It wasn't imagination, but the instincts and experience of walking the world those gathered here lived in.
 
Outwardly, the young male looked like a punk no more than twenty, or twenty one.  Short dark hair peaking out from beneath a black hood connected to a sleeveless vest that adorned his upper body.  It was left unfastened, showing he wore no shirt beneath it, baring a tapestry of intricate art tattooed to almost every inch of bare flesh, from abdomen, along his shoulders, right down to his wrists.  He continued with his stories, making his way throughout the entire bar, each story bringing less and less laughter, so focused on his words that no one noticed that, at some point, he had touched each and every one of them gathered.  Finally he made his way back to his starting point, the stool on the Eastern edge of the bar and he flopped back into it, wiggling his black denim covered rear to get comfortable as he reached up and slid his hood back, looking at each and every one of them.
 
"By now I'm sure that all you stupid fucks realize that everyone here was in one of my stories.  Those who realized this early on and tried to leave, found that they couldn't.  In each and every story I let the piece of shit who was the subject of the tail leave with their lives with what sounded like an empty threat.  You all went about your lives, stopped doing whatever dark, dirty shit you'd been doing to draw my attention to you in the first place, and you laid low. Then.  THEN!  Like I fuckin' KNEW you would, each and every one of you reached out to begin being pieces of shit again.  None of you could fight your true nature after all, so I can't blame you.  That's why you each received a message from someone you trusted to be here tonight.  Don't be too mad at yourselves though.  Had you not come, I would have just hunted you down again.  I wasn't REALLY going to let you fucktards live, you had to know that. Right guys?  RIGHT?!"
 
He laughed at them all, long and hard.  Finally, fear and confusion gave way to irrational fear, and the nearest occupant of the bar to him, a large one winged Grigori who had murdered dozens of women in a small, but old mountain town in Romania, leaving their corpses without a limb to signify the pain of his lost wing, rose and in a blur of motion most eyes wouldn't be able to follow, thrust a dagger into the young male's chest.  There SHOULD have been a spray of blood after the sickening thud.  His body SHOULD convulsed and collapsed as his heart seized from the sudden trauma, and stopped, killing him.  But that didn't happen.  Instead, time seemed to slow down for everyone in the bar except the young male who's only reaction was a smile curling the edges of his lips upward.
 
He calmly reached into the pocket of his vest and took out a pair of black and white ear buds, lifting them and fitting them into his ears nice and neat.  The dagger remained where it was stabbed, a single trickle of blood trailing down it's sharp blade.  The young male's other hand slid to the phone in his pocket and slid his thumb across the screen where he knew the play button would be.  Suddenly "Angel's Punishment" by Lacuna Coil began to blast in his ears. The trickle of blood that had trailed down the blade reached the hilt and dropped to the floor.  No one there had any idea of who he really was, though they would all realize it far too late.  The moment the drop of blood hit the floor, one of the beings who sat nervously in a far corner table gasped and exploded.  Then the being nearest him exploded, and then the one nearest THAT being exploded.  One by one they began to explode, and those furthest from the sudden, but loud carnage knew who he was. 
 
Exodus Sergeyevich, Son of a lovely bitch no one ever wanted to fuck with, and a Hunter that loved to take jobs that involved rotten pieces of shit like those gathered here.  A Hunter who had the rare ability to impart his divine aura onto almost anything, be it matter or energy, and control that matter or energy on a sub atomic level, including his own sweat which he had touched them all with as he told his stories.  Even the Archangels from whom his bloodline flow feared that ability.  But what he REALLY loved to do with it was make shit blow up.  As "Angel's Punishment" blared in his ears, everyone in that bar, besides Exodus himself, exploded, almost in perfect unison to the beat of the music he listened to.  Blood, gore, and bone sprayed his body as those nearest him suffered their explosive fates, becoming a crimson rain. 
 
When it was done, only he stood alive.  Even the souls of the beings, which began to take on a solid, bluish glow began to swirl around before joining into one thick flow of soul energy and suddenly be drawn into the mouth of Kali, Goddess of Death and Chaos who was tattooed across his bare abdomen.  The blood that had splattered him was absorbed into his flesh as nourishment, and after another look around he turned and left the bar via the front door, now open, his bead bobbing up and down to the song playing in his ears.  He had to remember to stop by a place to get gifts for his sisters!

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Tags: Angel's, Exodus, Punishment, Sergeyevich

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