@magiccharmer
Darkness was not a veil, but a curtain; lowered to obscure the preparation of the actors, behind which they had perfect clarity. It was there to preserve the magic in performance, only to reveal the very heart and soul of the artists once lifted. This was why Jhin performed at night; under the cover of night, his masterpiece could be prepared, leaving it for all to see come morning. His victim that night was one he knew well, but one to whom he had very little attachment. A colleague, a fellow dancer; how fitting that his end was as beautiful as his life! Jhin was honoured to be the one to allow the dancer to meet his end with the dignity that only one of his stature should be allowed to have. How eagerly he accepted the offer to take him out, that he almost wished he could do it again.
The masked Virtuoso wasted no time in approaching the man, who was still packing up his costume. The illusion of perfection and beauty all fell away after a show, revealing that man was fallible; Jhin would see to it that it would be preserved for an eternity. He would make him a god. With Whisper prepped, he fired a bullet into the back of the man’s head. As he fell, his mouth opened with a silent cry of agony. This absence of a scream weighed heavily upon his ears, just as loud as the shot. Tendrils sprouted from those parted lips, blossoming into ethereal roses. Wonderful. Just as those petals fluttered heavenwards, they twirled back down to rest upon the ground, oblivious of the violence from which they were a result.
The second shot was always the most painful. The kick from the previous one still fresh in his mind, it always forced his hand back just a little too far. Already-aching muscles protested beneath his bodysuit, purple bruises blooming over toned flesh, just as they did upon the corpse of his victim. Each piece of art was a biography, one only needed to look close enough. His breath pulled in sharply at the pain, which was expected but always came as a surprise. Jhin’s suit reacted against this, giving him the shortness of breath that heightened his pulse. A third bullet penetrated his victim shortly after the second, filling him with insurmountable bliss. A sort of dizzying high intoxicated his mind at this moment, but he remained focused upon the task at hand; it was time for the finale.
Jhin let the air around him settle, evening birdsong filling the trees once more. The artist imagined the scenery around him, illuminated by the soft morning glow of a sunrise still many hours away, and for a moment he was entirely tranquil. There was nothing but himself, and the work before him. This was his epiphany. With a final bullet, pointed straight at the heart of this man, this actor, he would return him back to the hills of Ionia where he so often performed. One last shot pierced the night, and before him was a glittering portrait of a rolling mountainside. It shimmered before him for but a few moments before slowly settling upon the cadaver in a silvery dust. He had been blessed.
