How Inconvenient || Closed rp with doctorate-of-help
A scream escaped into the night from an old, abandoned hospital on the East side of town, but there was no one there to hear. No one save for the poor girl's attacker who merely let out a wicked sounding laugh as he held her down, his eyes baring into hers as they turned suddenly from hazel to pitch black. Her breath became more ragged and she cried out again, begging for her life, for mercy... for god to save her.
"Mercy?" he howled, more laughter ripping from his chest. "Do I look merciful to you?" he purred. His every word dripped with venom, wretched and sour, yet so temptingly sweet.
"If so, then I'm flattered, but darling, you are so wrong. Your God isn't going to save you. Not now. He's not here. Instead, you have me, and I'm not so sorry to say that your soul will never reach heaven. Or even hell for that matter because it's mine." As he drew in a breath, he positioned his face above hers, dragging her soul from it's resting place within her core.
Her body spasmed, fighting back against the unnatural act, but his grip only got tighter as she choked out words that became nothing but a jumbled mess of sounds.
As his mind reeled and he could feel his body taking in the soul, bathing in the high it put him on, he sighed, knowing that even though he could still enjoy his euphoria, it was time to get to work.
He only had about ten minutes before the blood in the body started too cool, and he had to get everything staged before that happened. Ryat knew that he was being tailed by a pain in the ass hunter, and for his last six kills, he had gotten smart. He started making them look like murders, and not just any murders, but gruesome ones that would rival names such as Bundy and Dahmer. He ripped and tore his way through her skin, muscles and tendons with the sharpened blade of his knife, tearing her flesh from the bone and laying it around her bones in a circle as he did with the others. Blood spilled across the floor, getting all over the demon. It was in his hair, on his face, some even managed to get in his mouth, but it didn’t bother him. He revelled in it actually; feeling the last bit of warmth that this gruesome, twisted husk that had once been able to be called human had to offer was exhilarating.
Once he had everything laid out in his precise, bloody, methodical fashion, he walked over to where his bookbag leaned against the wall. It was something he carried with him often. With his bloodstained hands, he pulled out an old style polaroid camera and began snapping pictures of his kill from various angles. From each angle he would take two pictures. One to lay on the ground in the quickly cooling blood from the angle it was taken, and another for himself to keep. This was his favorite part. He was able to enjoy his high and admire his work as he did so. But as he always did, once his business was done, he packed up what was his, and left without a single trace, disappearing into the night, after making an anonymous call to the police, to report a murder. With any luck, the hunter would soon be in the center of his web, and out of his hair.
What he hadn't anticipated though, was someone hearing him carry out his task. There were many buildings surrounding this one, but with the busy hustle and bustle and noise of the large city, he'd never had a problem before.
