Damiynn
Fantasy Author
Chapter 2
Muffled whimpers of pain filled the coppery scented air of the basement. They could barely be heard around the blood soaked gag that filled Patrick Creighton’s mouth. Blood flowed from him, down onto the tiled section of the floor in the large basement in bright red rivulets across the floor towards the center drain that carried it away.
“You just couldn’t read my manuscript,” said an angry voice from behind the acquisition editor’s head. The bound man cringed in terror and tried curling in upon himself every time the pacing man’s voice came within touching distance. “All you did was respond with a F***king form letter after having me wait six months of my life for your answer. Where is the respect in that! You ask for respect from me yet you offer none in return!”
The large meat tenderizer flew through the air in a vicious arc, slamming into the bound and gagged man’s thigh with a fleshy thud. Its sharpened raised ridges tore through the fabric on Mr. Creighton’s pants and a red stain slowly began spreading out, darkening the spot around the torn cloth.
The acquisitions editor's body flailed in the chair, his head arching backwards and the muscles of his neck stretched taut as he screamed.
The sound of a page being turned filled the air after his screams diminished to moans, and the man behind him started reading again from his manuscript. “Logan slipped in and out of the darkness moving like a wraith through the night. He flew swiftly and silently across the rooftops and alleyways of the city he called home. No one in his old profession who made sounds on the roofs stayed in their job very long.
Thanks to his ring of spider walking, he could stick to any surface with his hands or feet and had no fear of falling. With the use of the night spider cloak from Damien, he was almost undetectable to the eye.
The ring was his most prized possession. Years ago when he had been caught by Moris trying to pilfer his cases it had been that ring that he had been trying to steal. Instead of calling the city watch, the old man took pity on him and allowed to move in.
After having lived here almost all of his life Logan knew the large city’s rooftops like the back of his hand. He also knew which houses and buildings were unlocked, locked, or guarded by magical alarms and which ones were best left alone altogether, to dangerous to mess with at all. These things were last on Logan’s mind as he crisscrossed the city, hunting for the killer.
Muffled whimpers of pain filled the coppery scented air of the basement. They could barely be heard around the blood soaked gag that filled Patrick Creighton’s mouth. Blood flowed from him, down onto the tiled section of the floor in the large basement in bright red rivulets across the floor towards the center drain that carried it away.
“You just couldn’t read my manuscript,” said an angry voice from behind the acquisition editor’s head. The bound man cringed in terror and tried curling in upon himself every time the pacing man’s voice came within touching distance. “All you did was respond with a F***king form letter after having me wait six months of my life for your answer. Where is the respect in that! You ask for respect from me yet you offer none in return!”
The large meat tenderizer flew through the air in a vicious arc, slamming into the bound and gagged man’s thigh with a fleshy thud. Its sharpened raised ridges tore through the fabric on Mr. Creighton’s pants and a red stain slowly began spreading out, darkening the spot around the torn cloth.
The acquisitions editor's body flailed in the chair, his head arching backwards and the muscles of his neck stretched taut as he screamed.
The sound of a page being turned filled the air after his screams diminished to moans, and the man behind him started reading again from his manuscript. “Logan slipped in and out of the darkness moving like a wraith through the night. He flew swiftly and silently across the rooftops and alleyways of the city he called home. No one in his old profession who made sounds on the roofs stayed in their job very long.
Thanks to his ring of spider walking, he could stick to any surface with his hands or feet and had no fear of falling. With the use of the night spider cloak from Damien, he was almost undetectable to the eye.
The ring was his most prized possession. Years ago when he had been caught by Moris trying to pilfer his cases it had been that ring that he had been trying to steal. Instead of calling the city watch, the old man took pity on him and allowed to move in.
After having lived here almost all of his life Logan knew the large city’s rooftops like the back of his hand. He also knew which houses and buildings were unlocked, locked, or guarded by magical alarms and which ones were best left alone altogether, to dangerous to mess with at all. These things were last on Logan’s mind as he crisscrossed the city, hunting for the killer.
