Entered a Writing Contest to help Promote Carista on the 'D. This was WC #58
The stones paving the so called street threatened to trip his quickening feet, almost as if they were working against him, cruel smiles hidden by the shadows made in the moonlight. Finnagan Collins forced himself to look away from his feet just as he tripped, the sound echoing loudly against the silent buildings around him, and yet he continued. One moment of lost concentration could be the death of him, the death of them all. The Brotherhood was counting on him to succeed. After all, he was at the age where he should be prepared for anything and everything, success only moments away after those anythings and everythings were put into motion. The Brotherhood was known as having the perfect assassins, the perfect spies, and he would not let them down now. The man he tracked was the only man who had the power and skill to undo everything the Brotherhood had done in all the Ages past, and it was up to Finn to chase him in.
Finn's ears perked as he heard a slight change in the footsteps of the man ahead of him. It seemed as if his prey's strides had shortened ever so slightly. Perhaps he had tripped, had hurt himself, had stepped on a piece of glass. The sudden sound of footsteps, however light, behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Those, those footsteps behind him...they were completely and unmistakably familiar. The man he had been tracking had not hurt himself, no, he had tricked the inexperienced Brother.
Images, bloody images, flashed through Finn's mind -- flooding his vision and sending fear and panic through his body. The man was not an assassin, not by any means, but what he was, what that man was capable of was much worse. The man was cruel, cold, and could draw any secret out of any man faster than the pain of being skinned alive registered in the brain. But it was worse, so much worse than that. The man could get anything out of anyone in a single night, but he never stopped there. His victims knew nothing of life until they begged for death. But death wasn't chasing him, absolute hell was.
Panic had consumed the young Brotherhood member after a mere handful of seconds after he had gone from predator to prey, but a childhood of training was not about to fail him because of the very real threat of torture and worse, not yet. If he moved a little faster, he might be able to run himself into the ambush made by his fellow Brothers that was intended for the redheaded mad man that now moved as the silent predator across the night streets. If he could get there, the trap would spring.
One more turn, one more second, and he would be surrounded by Brothers. One breath longer and he would wish for death. There wasn't room for error, not anymore. The turn came into view and relief rushed through his body, but not long after, the hidden smile in the paving stones cackled with maniacal laughter as his head cracked against them. Blood flooded his vision instantly, but even then he could see the nearly invisible boundary of the trap not an inch past his hand. If he could only reach it, death would consume him. His arm strained.
Pain flooded his body and he screamed. The cruel, smiling paving stones pressed into his body as a piece of his own flesh dangled in front of him, the breathing of his predator hot against his ear. "Tell me your secrets..."
Subject: "Tell me your secrets..." 
Mon Nov 05, 2012 8:49 pm
