Dark Wolfe

22- Luigi's Revenge

(Song of the chapter: 'Sweet But Psycho' - Ava Max) Wolf mask up there 👆🏾

Something fell to the forest floor with a significant thud.

We honed our ears toward the sound, locking in on the movement. Between one moment and the next, we shed our human limitations and fully donned our superior innate hunting abilities.

No hint of humanity remained in our gaze as we stared ahead. The world had shrunk, becoming suddenly too small and filled with a singular purpose.

We barely spared a fraction of a second to tense in preparation...

And then we blurred.

The wind was a wonderful howl of the hunt in our ears as we whistled by, a hand outstretched...

...past Rhys, whose face was frozen with shock from the bullet darting by so close to his head (oh, boo hoo, poor baby)...

...and closed it around the neck of the assassin hidden in the trees.

He grunted in surprise as I crushed his windpipe. He was as bland as day-old bread, with too-light hair, too-pale eyes, and pasty-looking skin. His beefy hands came up then, trying to pry ours away.

He wasn't very successful.

His face twisted in pain as we clenched tighter at his scrawny neck, making him wheeze with air he really couldn't spare. Then we lifted him, holding him above eye-level as if he was a clothing item on a hanger we wanted to examine further.

He kicked his feet frantically, his face turning red.

Almost as red as the tears streaming from a single black eye in one of the hands straining against our grip... where our bullet now sat.

Looking down, I spotted the gun he'd been holding just seconds ago.

It wasn't anything extraordinary, really. It looked like something he'd gotten at Walmart.

I snorted. Anyone could buy a gun from anywhere these days. The problem, I believed, was that a gun in the hands of an idiot became another idiot, unnecessarily adding to the idiot population.

I turned my attention back to the first idiot, letting him see the blackness in my own eyes, see my own killing intent.

"Pardon the interruption," I said pleasantly as he continued to grunt and choke, "but I just had to stop you. In fact, it would have been criminal not to."

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"You see," I explained, "you're doing it all wrong. When you want to kill someone, you do it while looking straight in their eyes and watching their lights die. Because that is the best part. You don't shoot them in the back like they're POC running from the police. What kind of assassin are you?" I chided, my voice gaining an edge.

"Who sent you, hmm? Tell me," I instructed.

The assailant kept kicking and writhing, croaks and other unintelligible sounds escaping his lips.

"Well?" I prompted, lazily swinging him from side to side like I was rattling was a box of chocolates to see if there was still anything inside.

No reply in any language I understood seemed forthcoming. I calmly waited, amusing myself by watching his face turn a deep purple shade. It reminded me of the eggplant emoji.

I smiled like the purple devil. His eyes bulged, red blood vessels stark against the whites.

"I don't think he can talk with you holding his neck like that," Brandon spoke up.