The bar was loud, crowded and presumably hot, at least judging by the thick funk of sweat that permeated the air. Exactly the kind of place Kyle would normally have done anything to avoid. But Ryka had been whining about being hungry, and had made some very enticing promises about what he’d do to Kyle to make up for suffering through this.
“This” being another hunt. The third since the start of the school year. It had been almost exactly a month since the last. Not a rate Kyle had wanted to maintain, but Ryka had made a very valid point. It’s this or your kids.
His students were all so good this year; no need to subject them unduly to Ryka’s wrath.
Which is why they found themselves at a Boston bar just past midnight on a Saturday. It was probably considered more a night club - the drinks were even more overpriced than he’d expected and all had trendy-sounding names he couldn’t be bothered to remember. And the clientele was all young, in their early twenties. He fit right in age-wise, even though he felt so much older. Maybe it had been cramming himself into too-tight ripped jeans and a thin, fitted t-shirt.
I can’t wait to peel those off you later.
He had lost another Bluetooth earpiece to the shadow a week earlier, so could only think his response. Me either, he thought.
But all that would have to wait - their target was in sight.
Ryka had spotted him the moment they’d entered the bar, the young man’s sins playing out behind him. One in particular, and a repeat offense: date rape. Nauseated by the thought, Kyle hadn’t even hesitated when Ryka had laid out his plan. Maybe this vigilante justice thing wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
So Kyle had planted himself at the bar, next to a pair of young women sitting close in conversation. But also stealing glances at the cute sex offender on Kyle’s other side. The man kept peering around him to try and talk up the women, but Kyle refused to take the hint and move. Even when politely asked, Kyle shook his head. “Waiting for a friend,” he shouted over the noise.
The man rolled his eyes, but as Kyle stood nearly a foot taller than him and probably outweighed the slender twenty-something by a hundred pounds, there was no argument. The flirting continued around him,with lots of giggling and blushing from the women, and lots of charming smiles from the creep.
Just when Kyle thought wouldn’t be able to stand another moment of it, the man asked the bartender what the young ladies had been drinking, and ordered another round. To be delivered to him, so he could present the drinks himself. Kyle felt goosebumps rise on his arms.
It was just as Ryka had told him - he was going to drug the beverages. And with sleight of hand that would make a magician proud, their victim dropped something in the glasses of his. Unfortunately for the man, Kyle had a trick up his sleeve, too. A quick change act that would end with a disappearing soul.
Time for Kyle to intervene. Pretending he felt his phone vibrate, he hopped up off his stool and reached for it in his back pocket, elbowing the drinks out of the man’s hands just as he was about to place them on the bar in front of the women.
They both gasped as the glasses shattered on the floor, and everyone in the immediate vicinity stopped what they were doing to watch. “Oh shit!” Kyle exclaimed, hoping it didn’t sound too forced. He didn’t think he was a very good actor, but everyone was buzzed enough to buy it. “I’m so sorry. Allow me.” He flagged the bartender down and asked for replacements, to be made in front of their intended recipients.
The man looked annoyed. No, more than that. Furious, but he was trying to hide it. Kyle continued to apologize, but with his back turned to the women, there was nothing contrite in his expression. And the man noticed.
“Was that on purpose, asshole?” he seethed. If he was trying to look intimidating, he failed. Having to stand on tiptoes to still come several inches shy of meeting Kyle eye-to-eye was hardly scary.
“Of course not,” Kyle lied. “But I bought new drinks, so we’re good. Right?”
It looked like the answer was “wrong,” but he wasn’t bold enough to say it.
Kyle felt no need to hold back, though. He polished off his beer and as he stepped away from the bar, turned and advised the two women, “Be careful who you accept drinks from. Not everyone has good intentions.”
The women looked rightfully horrified, but it wasn’t their reaction Kyle was worried about. Ryka’s target was now glaring at him, face red and veins bulging on his forehead. There was little doubt he’d be following Kyle outside. Kyle hoped he didn’t have friends waiting for him as fervently as Ryka hoped he did.
For once, Kyle lucked out. It was only the creep that stalked after him, and they only encountered other random club-goers outside the building. No one the man seemed to know. Kyle let their - no, Ryka’s - victim dog his heels for two blocks before finally stopping and turning to confront the man.
“Problem?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah, there’s a problem. What the fuck was that about, asshole?”
Kyle didn’t need much help from Ryka - he really was disgusted by this man. No one deserved what he had been intending to do. “I saw what you did to their drinks.”
The man blanched, but only for a moment. “Mind your own damn business.”
Ryka decided it was time for some fun. He couldn’t summon himself - the streets were far too crowded - but he still had options. First among them was speaking through his host. So it was his gravelly voice that replied, “Funny you should say that. The damned are my business.”
Now when the color drained from his prey’s face, it stayed gone. “Uh ….”
“You should run along home before you get in any more trouble.”
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In seconds, the man was gone, darting off in the crowd.
***
Even as a passenger, it hadn’t been too much of a challenge to hunt the sinner down. Maybe his senses still weren’t as sharp this way, but Ryka could follow the scent-trail of fear their prey had left behind.
As expected, he didn’t live far from the club - Ryka suspected it was his usual hunting ground. Close enough that it was easy to drag the women he drugged someplace private. How fun, then, that they had run into him there.
Kyle knocked on the door, never for an instant doubting Ryka had led him to the right place. The man opened it, then quickly tried to slam it shut again. Kyle had visions of broken fingers as he watched his own hand shoot out to stop it. But Ryka wouldn’t let him get hurt, and it was the demon’s strength that not only halted the door, but flung it back open hard enough to send the sinner sprawling.
From his spot on the floor, the man watched as Kyle stepped into the room, the door now swinging closed seemingly of its own accord behind him. That was strange enough, nevermind the fact that once inside, Kyle quickly stripped off his shirt.
Apparently not one for words - who needed them when you relied on drugs to get dates? - the man only offered a bewildered, “Uh, what?” as he watched Kyle tuck his shirt into his back pocket. It wasn’t the first time - nor would it be the last - Kyle heard those words uttered in the moments before Ryka made his appearance.
Something he did with as much property damage as possible, allowing his wings to not just knock over everything in their path, but to punch through the thin plaster walls. The neighboring apartments were currently empty, the occupants out for the evening, so there was no need to worry about anyone overhearing and interrupting their fun. And Ryka planned on having fun.
Still, no need to draw unwanted attention. When the sinner opened his mouth to scream, Ryka clapped a hand over it. “Quiet,” he ordered. It was a pleasure to hear the man’s teeth clacking together behind lips he could no longer open.
Reaching down, Ryka grabbed the man by his shirt collar and pulled him to his feet. “I don’t need drugs to get what I want. You’re just going to give it to me.”
If the man anticipated Ryka doing to him what he’d done to all those women, he was wrong. But the reality wasn’t any better. Instead, Ryka directed him through a series of self-inflicted injuries. Starting with what he’d nearly done to Kyle - crushing his fingers in the door.
Limbs wooden, the man marched himself into his bedroom, opened his closet - struggling against Ryka’s will the whole way - placed one hand on the doorframe and used the other to slam the door closed. When the first attempt didn’t break bone, Ryka made him try again. By the third try, the sinner’s fingers were bruised and swollen to be unusable even if not completely broken.
Even with his mouth sealed, the man managed several impressive scream, and Ryka thrilled to hear them. The one that followed minutes later, when his prey plunged a knife through the palm of his already injured hand, was better still.
“You’re a natural,” Ryka told him, sinking claws into his shoulder and guiding him to the bathroom. Blood dripped off the man’s fingertips, leaving a scarlet trail in their wake. His prey tried to mumble a response, but Ryka shushed him. “Don’t ruin it. Just fill the tub.”
A shaking hand reached out to turn the knobs. When the tub was full to the brim, it was Ryka who leaned forward to turn them back. “We need to make sure you look good for your next date,” he hissed into his prey’s ear. “With the coroner.”
Kyle observed these preparations as a passenger, and dreaded the moment he would be given control back. It was going to take a lot of effort on Ryka’s part to stop him from vomiting. And it was going to take a lot of effort on the coroner’s part to ID their victim.
Because first came shaving. The man had obviously done so earlier than evening - his chin and cheeks had looked smooth, at least as far as Kyle could tell. But with Ryka forcing him to redo the task, with ever increasing pressure, it wasn’t long before a not insignificant layer of skin had been removed. For a brief moment, Kyle thought their target resembled a biology textbook diagram, skin peeling away to reveal muscle, and in some places bone, underneath.
Blood running down his neck and shoulders, the man had gaped at his own grisly reflection. Some of the wounds went deep, and Kyle wondered how long it would be before he bled out to unconsciousness and ended Ryka’s fun.
It was the pain that got him first, though.
The second task had been to do his nails. Rather, to pull them out with pliers that Ryka found in a kitchen drawer. With one hand out of commission, he could only manage pulling half, and he hardly made it through those. Ryka stepped in to assist when his prey seemed to be shutting down.
Snatching away the pliers, he took hold of the mutilated hand and deftly removed the thumb and pinky nails. The fear created by forcing the sinner to hurt himself had been incredible - almost better than sex - but there was no denying how much fun it was to make him bleed.
And there was so much. In his futile efforts to scream, the man had chewed up his lips and tongue, though that blood was hard to spot on the gory mess of his face. The stab wound on his hand had nearly ceased its flow, but now crimson spilled from his bare nail beds.
With eyes bloodshot and teary from pain, the man had uttered one final, pathetic whimper before blacking out. He keeled forward, face landing at Ryka’s feet. “I think he’s ready for that bath, finally.”
It took little effort for Ryka to pick the man up and dump him in the tub. The shock of water in his lungs roused the sinner back to consciousness, but Ryka held him under, a single claw pressing into his forehead.
No longer under Ryka’s control, the man tried to fight his way free, thrashing enough to send scarlet spray across the room. But even with his body fully under his power, he was no match for the demon. The last things he saw through blood-clouded water were Ryka’s shark-toothed grin and Hellfire eyes.
The moment he expired, Ryka slid his hand down over the man’s mouth and extracted his soul. Having been eagerly awaiting this moment, Ryka’s shadow sprang up behind him on the wall, mouth already open. “Enjoy,” he said, releasing his grip on the writhing black specter that was the sinner’s soul. Eyes closed in bliss, the shadow swallowed it before sinking back into a dark puddle.
Snorting, Ryka stood and shook water from his arm. “If I-”
Wait. Please.
“Yes, Master.” To kill some time, Ryka smoked a cigarette, flushing the butt down the toilet when he was done. Unlike mortals, he didn’t lose hair or skin cells, and police would be hard-pressed to find his fingerprints. It was abundantly clear this person had been murdered, but they were never going to know by whom. Still, best not to leave evidence. Cigarette filters or vomit, the latter of which would be everywhere if Ryka didn’t give his host some time to process what had just happened. Because as much as Kyle knew the man had deserved, Ryka’s methods were still difficult for him to cope with.
I don’t know if I can do it.
“Sure you can. At least until we’re outside. Then you’ll just look like every other drunk staggering down the street at two a.m. No one will look twice if you puke.”
Kyle forced their gaze back to the body in the tub. It was just shy of two hours since they had first run into him, and now he was a shell. No one else would suffer because of him. Except maybe his neighbors. It could be days before his body was discovered - Kyle hoped he didn’t decompose too heavily before then.
I’m as ready as I’m going to be. Let’s go.
Since it was easy enough for him to tell the halls were deserted, Ryka got them down to nearly street-level before receding. Shaking his head to clear the post-transformation fog, Kyle put his shirt - amazingly clean after being stuffed in his back pocket - back on.
Really can’t wait to peel that off you.
“Don’t use that word again and maybe I’ll let you,” Kyle told him, image of a now-dead man shaving off layers of skin still far too fresh in his mind.
Deal.