Clad In Black

The nightly news at ten was always the cornerstone of my evening routine once my work was done. I'd pour myself a glass of my favorite whiskey and adorn it with exactly one cube of ice to help break the surface tension. My home was my castle and I loved to sit on my sofa with just enough dim lamp light to illuminate the various knickknacks I'd collected over the course of my shrouded endeavors. The setting was faultless and I wish I could have captured the image in a painting so that the atmosphere of that final night might last forever. There I sat, in complete bliss, as the preliminary portions of the news report droned on. I loathed these tiresome bits about celebrities and their hollow lives, new decisions made for safety of school children, and the general weariness of the weather report.

I took a sip of my drink as my leg bounced impatiently, uncontrollably, in response to the boredom I was forced to wade through. The clinking of the cube that floated in the brown liquid of my drink was more fascinating to me and I found that my mind began to wander. The moisture that caressed the glass trickled down my fingertips; It reminded me of tears. Beautiful, young, precious teardrops of the angel whose wings I granted to them earlier this night. I didn't catch their name, but I'm sure the news will tell me. Their face, however, their face, will always be with me. Stained into my mind just like the tufts of their feathers that remain clung under my fingernails. 

I took another sip from my glass as my thoughts were returned to the present just in time for the news to get interesting. My ventures had not yet been the subject of the reports yet, of course the best must be saved for last, but, the current account was still something worthy of attention. An individual, one whose name and origin no one seemed to know, was supposedly responsible for the rescue of several young men and women who were kidnapped over the last few weeks. Their captors had intended to sell them as part of a larger suspected sex trafficking ring and while the greater conglomerate of criminals has yet to be stopped, the city and its citizens breathe a sigh of relief at the safety of these young souls. 

The mysterious rescuer was nowhere to be found when police arrived to collect the victims, but they gave as detailed a description as they could of their appearance. The figure appeared to be male but could have been female. They stood about six feet tall and their face was completely obscure by what seemed to be a motorcycle helmet. The rest of their attire complimented the helmet as it was described as possibly a racing jumpsuit or some variation of that. The most noticeable feature that the victims recalled was a stark, white "X" that was marked on the chest of the figure. The account veered away from the topic of the rescuer and began to focus more on the rescued, but I was transfixed. This silhouetted savior intrigued me and I found myself creating a kinship with a being whose existence I didn't even know of until now. What curious creatures of the night the two of us are. Two sides of the same tainted coin.

I took the last gulp of my drink as the nightly news began to meander into darker territories. These are the stories and moments that I wake up for each and every day. My leg began to bounce again with excitement for what was about to transpire. Our reputation is one of the few things in life we have some control over and with each passing angel my prowess is more and more recognized, even by those who have never met me. I leaned forward with anticipation as the reporter began to speak on several bodies that were over the last few days. My palms were slick with excitement and my eyes were focused and unblinking. All other thoughts and noise in my mind quieted down and nothing mattered except the pedestal that I would soon be brought to stand upon. But the cruel hand of god reached down into my home and struck me with a plague of darkness.

The lights and all electronic items and objects in my house shut off abruptly. At first, I did not move or react to what happened. I honestly thought it was my imagination; Some serotonin overload brought about by the prospect of being realized by countless people sitting in front of their televisions at the same time as me. Whatever the reason was it didn’t matter. I sat completely still in the same position and didn’t move a muscle for many minutes. Eventually, I slowly rose from the couch and made my way towards the fuse box that awaited in the kitchen. I did my best to make as little noise as possible as I walked. I would never have admitted it then but now, I think, deep down, I knew what was coming for me but I didn’t want to accept the truth of it.

Just as I had reached the fuse box, I heard the shattering scream of glass breaking in my living room and the sound of the slightest thud upon the floor followed. Without hesitation I slowly withdrew a knife from the rack as silently as I could. It wasn’t very sharp and the weight was all wrong, but it would have to do for the current circumstances. I cautiously crept back towards the living room making sure to take extra care with each step. My eyes had adjusted fairly well to the dark now and I could make out the different shapes of the furniture as I made my way back. It was a strange feeling I was experiencing. Usually, when I’m in similar circumstances, I have the situation completely thought out and under control. The position of power, surprise, and dominance is always mine, but this time I had become the prey in my own home. 

The scattered shards of glass were illuminated by the rays of a streetlight across the road from my home. I wanted to get closer to the window and inspect to see who or what vile presence from the dark of night was attempting to enter my home. I slowly moved towards the window, being careful to not step on any glass. I was less worried about possibly cutting myself and more worried about alerting the would-be intruder. I took another step and I was within spitting distance of the window when I heard the smallest crunch of glass underfoot. I looked down without moving my head and noticed it was not my own. I knew then what I should have already known. The invader of my castle was not making an attempt to enter, they already had. 

I gripped the handle of the knife tightly and spun around as quickly as I could and I thrusted the knife forward in one singular motion. It made purchase with a satisfyingly smooth and nuanced sound that filled me with a sense of elation that, regrettably, did not last very long. The knife was embedded within what was the chest of a darkened figure. The silhouetted intruder did not react beyond a dull grunt and I readied myself to pull back and strike again from the face and neck area, but before I could, the hard outer shell this thing’s head collided with my nose and upper face with enough force to knock me down onto the glass still lying beneath me. The pain of my somewhat broken nose coupled with the sharp pangs of the shards in my back was enough for me to let out a yelp of anguish. I tried to get up but the pressure of a large foot stamped down on my chest pinning me to the ground.

There they stood before me, clad in all black, illuminated now by the streetlight peering through my window. This knight of shadow effortless withdrew the knife from their chest without a sound and threw it aside. They emanated pure coiling power and presence that I was rendered completely thoughtless. It was as if hearing of their exploits on the nightly news summoned them to me. Streaks of crimson trickled down the chest and over the stark white “X” that was emblazoned upon them like most brilliant of signals. As I gazed up at his form I realized the terrible truth: They’d come for me. This titan of the night had cut my power to help mask his invasion.

“Things you’ve done are unforgivable”, their fists tightened as a guttural voice emitted from within the void of the helmet. “The law would have you stand trial and fight for the right to continue your wretched existence from inside the comfort of concrete walls and steel bars. But the families you’ve left broken and bloodied, with pieces of them missing, would agree I’m sure that such a fate is too good for you. Hell is comfortable enough.”

It began with a boot to my face. I could not have been any less prepared to face the strength that resided within this creature. They struck me again and again without making a single sound. All I could hear was the fists colliding with my flesh as the bones in my face were shattered. As my eyes welled up and my mouth and ears flooded with blood, I began to lose feeling and sense of self but, at the same time, I came to understand this knight. Knight’s do as they are commanded without hesitation or recoil. They are working on behalf of the whims of their superiors. There is no emotion in the things they do because it is their duty and the duty of this powerful creature is vengeance for those who cannot achieve it for themselves.