{bleed} for the {devil} shine

Hes a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh
Hes been tellin lies
Hes a lover boy at play

At his side he held a long whip like object, clasped in his tanned hands, he had made the whip himself. Slaving away or an entire week, trying all sorts of different materials to make it perfect. He had gotten a piece of cable and wrapped it with tape, before following it up by winding a thin layer of wire around the whole thing. He cleaned it daily; it was his pride and joy. To Steele it was like an extension of his very arm. He could wield it with such ease and strength that with the slightest flick of his hand that familiar swishing sound rang out. It was like a sweet melody, every crack of the whip would tug his smile larger and larger until it reached his eyes. His eyes would flicker and dance, displaying the open joy that would be reflected upon the whips surface.

He loved it; it caused the pain that he craved. It made people scream and bleed, and to him the sound of the crack and swish was like a song he would sing to a child, before he killed it. It was the kind of music he wanted to hear before he died, and he hoped the day that he died it would be by a whip. To him there was no better weapon. If you looked closely you could see the flecks of brain that stained the wire. It had embedded itself into the very fibres, and anyone would be able to see it was blood.

The blood of the people he had whipped, the blood of those that had spilled, and it stained his hands, he knew it was all there. Most normal people would feel guilt; most normal people would have that kind of pain tear into them until they screamed and begged for that forgiveness that they desired. Steele never wanted that, he never wanted to hear anyone forgive him. Only those that regretted what they did seek forgiveness. There was not a single droplet of blood that Steele regretted.

"Um.. excuse me but what are you doing here?"

The soft, polite voice echoed quietly in the warehouse. Steele was faced away from the voice, which unmistakably came from a girl. If she had of seen the way his smile twisted up, a curled edge forced up against that something that could have been delight she would have ran. Any sane person would have run away from that smile. If they hadn’t of ran from the smile they would have from a single glance of his eyes. They flickered dangerously a river of pleasure under toning the danger; they gave them a softer look. Those brown eyes, however, swallowed that pleasure and suddenly that pleasantness no longer looked welcoming, it looked scary. There was a steely edge to everything about him, it was where he had gotten his name, and it was why he had a whip made of steel.

He was very dangerous, and right now excitement prickled his skin. This sweet little girl should never have come into the warehouse. It seemed to him that she had a death wish. Anyone who messed with Steele was tempting fate, he was sadistic and psychotic, and there was nothing, sane or real about him.

”You shouldn’t have followed me here, girl.” He spoke softly; coldness clung like frost to each of his words. He turned slowly to face her; she stood standing there, eyes flickering over him. She had a polite face, the kind of face that most people liked. It made her look friendly and polite; he had figured that from her appearance he could draw that, seeing as she had spoken with such kindness. But then some people did that to play a game, they held a mask against their face and only released their true identity after you had fallen into their trap. Steele was anything, but that. He was malicious and menacing, cold and calculating, he never tried to hide it. He wanted everyone to see him as he was. He wanted them to fear him.

He met her gaze with his own steely one. That psychotic grin was still plastered on his lips. His eyes danced wickedly. She had made him very happy. He had been hoping that someone would dare come in, he had been hoping that someone would pay him a little visit so he might have some fun, and now he had his gift, a pretty little girl. Perfect for him to hurt, and he would enjoy making that pretty little face ugly. That would be very much fun. “Oh, but I am so glad that you are here. I was hoping that I would get to have some fun today, my day has been quite dull and it is like the devil himself has given me a gift.” He let out a small laugh, there was no humour beneath it, it was just dry and hard. He was playing with her, trying to make her scared.

”I better not disappoint him.” With that he sprang forwards the whip flying in his grasp. He lashed out with an expert hand, sending the whip flying towards her. That familiar swishing sound made his smile broaden. His blood tingled and his heart pounded, he felt so alive. He always felt more alive when he was about to spill someone’s blood. The whip cracked down on her, and her skin split like butter under its metal kiss. And he threw his head back a laugh bubbling up his throat and springing into the emptiness of the warehouse. And it echoed against the walls, where no one, but the girl could hear it. Where no one could hear her screams.

He don't play by rules
Oh oh oh
don't play the fool--no
And runnin with the crowd
Youre the one to sacrifice

Hes a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh
Hes been tellin lies
Hes a lover boy at play

Last night he dreamed of a girl screaming, it was one of his most favourite dreams, it carried the promise of what was to happen in the future and he had smiled, he had laughed, he had felt an endless amount of joy towards her agony and pain. It had been all because of him. His whip ad carved a merciless arc in the air, its cold metallic touch singing and whispering to him, before colliding with her her precious, delicate skin. It tore ruts and left her bleeding and crying. He could feel her pain vibrate though his own body, it was like a sweet song, that could only be heard when he hurt you. It was his biggest wish and his biggest want to make everyone scream. However, his fantasies consisted mainly of terrorising young, defenceless, helpless woman. He loved hearing their screams more than any other, they were so high pitched and the frantic edge to them was so much more defined then when he made a boy scream. There was a never ending amount of pleasure, however, when he made a boy scream.

A satisfied grin would always stay plastered to his face. He liked breaking boys, it told them that they weren’t that strong, that they weren’t as good, tough and cool as they believed they were. He could make them scream, he could make them cry just like any girl.

The chilling sound of the whip striking flesh left him smiling. It left a pleasant taste in his mouth, he loved it, and he loved it more than anything. He knew he would never survive if his only form of entertainment was stolen from him. He needed to make people hurt as much as people needed air to breathe. It had embedded itself within him. It had become second nature for him. When he spared a glance at someone he would always slide their face across his mind, always wondering if he had made them scream, and if he hadn’t he would memorise their face and save it for a later date, for when he could corner them and give them their due. Everyone needed a little pain, and Steele Mallioux was that boy that handed it out. Everyone knew who he was and if they didn’t they would find out soon enough. The girls face held a long cut, his aim had been a little off and that made him scowl. He always hated it when he missed his target, when the spot he aimed for wasn’t hit.

The girl had turned to flee; she had ruined his perfect moment. He had meant to hit her right in the middle of the face. The whip sliding down to cut her open like a piece of cheese. Where the blood would spill thickest, where there would always be a scar to remember. But she had ruined it, turning her body as though to flee, and that made him angry, it bubbled beneath the surface, testing him, he always tried to keep it in check as a maniac with bad temper was reckless, and those that were reckless generally ended up dead fast. Steele was ruthless and in control, he was cold and calculating, he knew how to work and act and because of tat he was the greatest danger the district had ever seen.

He could feel her refusal to scream. It was like a sixth sense. He had honed it down and worked on it for seven years. A cold ripple ran though his body as he stared cold, icy, daggers at the girl; it was the kind of stare that cut as bad as any whip could. Just looking at her, the way she had turned, the way she stared at him, it made him want to laugh. It made him want to smirk and just smile. There was always something comical about a person trying to be brave. They were always the ones that broke the quickest.

”You are so right. There is something beautiful about hearing someone scream. It is like a song, you can change the pitch and the pain and the level of fear that enters it. All you have to do is hit them. I know how to make a scream into the sweetest song you will ever hear.” There was that soft tone again. He had learned long ago that screaming and yelling did not create much fear. Many people found screaming, yelling and anger to be no more than an emotion they have to match with their own. The best way to create cold, hard, raw fear is to speak softly. And always, always add pleasure into everything that you are doing. The maniac that loves to hurt is the scariest, he is unpredictable and he will go to any ends to get what he wants. His eyes flickered to the cut on her face; there was a greedy lust in his glance.

He wanted to feel that blood on his own hands. Getting his whip dirty was never enough. “I’m going to make you sing, and you will sing for the devil, or I will make you bleed until there is nothing left to spill.” His smile was sharp, and it curved with excitement. He brought his arm back and lashed out with it, sending the whip hurtling towards the girl’s fragile body. He would make her sing, he would make her bleed and in the end she would die, she would die with a plea upon her lips, and tears staining her eyes, just like they all had.

He don't play by rules
Oh oh oh
don't play the fool--no
And runnin with the crowd
Youre the one to sacrifice

Hes a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh
Hes been tellin lies
Hes a lover boy at play

A long time ago he meets a girl a lot like this one. She thought she was tough,. There was this clear bravery about her, the kind of girl who was so stupid, dumb and ridiculous that she thought she could win. It had been his favourite killing yet, he had loved it more than any other. There was nothing better than breaking someone that thought they could not be broken. There was nothing more pleasing then hearing screams, cries and squeals of pain from a person who had fought so savagely and wonderfully, amazingly to escape with their lives. It mad it that so much better, to watch them fall, to watch the life fade from their fierce little eyes. He loved the sight of their blood on his hands more than any other person. This one girl in particular had been the best. She had actually hit him, hit him. Now that is a big thing, in every attack he had been in no one had ever laid a single, grubby finger on him. Of course it had only enraged him to the point of cold, cruel, sadistic calculation. Within the next second he had been on her back, beneath his whip and she had never gotten up again. It had felt different; it had made him feel so much more powerful knowing that even if they could fight he could beat them. It added a new angle to his sick little game. It made it so much more enjoyable and he had, he had prolonged her life with every second she had fought, he rewarded the ones that fought. He let them live in their hope far that little bit longer whilst he continued to play with them like the animals they were.

But then it was not right to call them an animal. Animals were smarter and stronger than humans, hey had less weak spots and were not as easy to kill is a human. It was any wonder that humans had gotten so far, it was any wonder how he had not simply killed them all. He dreamed of claiming as many lives, he dreamed of being the greatest killer in the world. He knew how to kill, he knew how to make people suffer and when he died he would be known for his endeavours, and for everything he had achieved. He despised every single one of the, he would never stop hating people, they were so wrong, there was nothing real about them, they were clumsy, they were too kind and relied too much on others. There was just too much wrong with them. He was a whole other type, and people like him would thrive and live, they knew how to survive, they knew what it took to keep their blood pumping through their veins. The only humans worth his time were ones like him, ruthless, cold blooded murders who held no empathy for anyone, or anything. But he was no a psychopath, no psychopath were irrational, and acted without thinking. Steele was a sociopath, he thought before he acted and although he was prone to sharp outbursts he was a calculated measured boy. He was no insane, he was not crazy, he was simply high-functioning to the point of being psychotic, but he would never reach that level of maniacal behaviours, once you broke the boundaries between sane and insane there was no turning back. Anyone could say anything about him, but Steele Mallioux could never and would never been called insane.

The girl stepped forward once more after the whip hit her skin; she spat some nonsense that only made him want to let out a sharp bark of cruel laughter. But he held it back, he would save his laughter for her capture, when she could not move and when his hands were around her throat, slowly and effortlessly squeezing the life from her thin frail body. It was the way it went, all humans died, and those that died at his hands had the best deaths. He never cares to remember their names or their faces, but they would die knowing that they had been killed by a master mind, a true man of greatness. It was something that many people wanted; he was simply giving them their wishes. The girl jumps forwards her ball of yarn flinging outwards as she dives to his legs. It was funny; there was something so extremely comical about the movement that he did not react when she tightened the wool around his legs. In fact he laughed. He laughed so hard that his whip fell from his grip, but he did not care, he would kill her with his bare hands and she would look him right in his eyes as he laughed at her as she died.

She stood up, hands on hips, her voice defiant, staring down at him and all he could do was laugh. It was so very funny, the girl thought wool was going to keep him down, she demanded to know his name and even though he laughed there was no humour behind it, there was no joy or pleasantness, and it was cold and merciless. It was warning her and beneath the laugh was the annoyance, the hate and the loathing that he felt in that moment. Steele Mallioux trained every day; he spent hours upon hours practicing and practicing, learning every little thing he could about pain, killing and strength. He was not going to be stopped by wool. With a snarl he tears his legs apart, his eyes blazing viciously, flickering with a deadliness that only rarely escaped him towards the girl. He was going to kill her and she would hurt, she would scream and when he laughed in those moments it would be real. It would not be fake and cold, there would be joy.

”You silly, silly little girl. Did you really think string would work? I’m a ruthless killer. Wool does not stop a person like me.” He spits, his words dripping with true venom. His patience was wearing thin and even though he was no maniac sometimes he could at like one. Jumping up to his feet he grabbed her collar and thrusted her backwards against a pole, and he held her by her throat, his eyes blazing, a cold, cruel smirk plastered to his face. Then he shoved her away from him, sending her sprawling onto the ground. “Run little girl, let’s see how far you get before you fall.” And he smiled, a cruel twist of his lips that begged her to run, to flee while he chased her like the little frightened mouse she would be.

ooc -- [ sorry it is not coded xD ]

He don't play by rules
Oh oh oh
don't play the fool--no
And runnin with the crowd
Youre the one to sacrifice

Hes a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh
Hes been tellin lies
Hes a lover boy at play

No one had ever escaped his death trap. Wait no. The Breeze had. She had escaped him, that stupid, fast little girl. That had hurt his pride, seeing her run away from him, a cocky grin plastered on her face. She had played with him in that little game, she had twisted him into a knot of fury and that had made him act reckless, that had made him make mistakes. He hated making mistakes. Oh he hated it, it made him angry and it made his pride hurt and the Breeze had hurt his pride. He craved her blood on his wipe and more so he craved her blood on his hands. He wanted her dead. He wanted to kill her; he wanted to kill them all. He hated every single one of them, especially all those girls. The list of those that he wanted dead had slowly grown, larger and larger and he was at an ends of who to kill first. It tormented him and played with him, begging him to kill this person and that and yet he could not focus all his energy on the one girl. He wanted them all dead.

The warehouse was quite for a moment and Steele stood, legs spread, hands by his side, breathing. A grin plastered to his lips. He stared ahead of him, his eyes flickering this way and that. He wanted to play and he knew that this smart little girl would want to play as well. He had hurt her pride, he had made her grovel and she would want revenge. He could still see her fleeing from him as he laughed, he could still see her little legs carry her away. She had dodged left and turned into a little area that was open and had only a few things in it. In that way she had acted stupid. If she was smart she would have just left. Steele knew this entire building, he knew every little crack and crevice and ever little hidey hole. He had even hidden a few bodies in this building.

Bodies that he would just love for her to find. That would scare her and maybe that would make her become scared and understand just how real her situation was, just how likely she was not going to come out alive, because she wasn’t. He was going to kill her.

I little while ago a girl tried to talk to him. She tried to tell him that there was more to him, that this killing wasn’t someone he should become; it wasn’t something he should do. She tried to sweet talk her life, she pleaded with him to see that there was more in life in than killing, which beneath that hard cold exterior in front of her there was more in there. There was a sweet innocent boy that had feelings that wanted more than blood. Oh how wrong she had been. There was never any of that in Steele; he was a cold hard killer, a murderer and a thief. He killed and killed and there was never a small sign of regret in his life. He loved it and no one would ever change him, no one could say anything to ever change him. He was unchangeable.

"Why don't you come and see."

He laughed. His feet dragging him forwards. He bent down and picked up his whip, the familiar feeling in his hands welcomed. The whip was cold and merciless just like he was. He held it low, loosely in his hands, he held it like an expert and he was. He never missed a shot, he never missed a hit, he had perfect accuracy, and he had perfect aim. He had practiced with this weapon for so many years, this weapon and every other one. He was a deadly boy."Over here freak. Come and follow your little girl," she called. He felt no sting in the word freak, he was a freak, he was crazy, but that didn’t mean he was sane, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a better person then her. He was cold and calculating, he was a thinker and a doer and he knew how to act. This freak was dangerous, and this girl was stupid. "Catch me if you can."

”I don’t need to catch you, little girl. I don’t need to chase you. You are leading me right to you; keep talking little bird, the cat is coming.” He breathed, eyes narrowed as he looked left and right. Eyes always searching, always looking, seeing her. He was the predator in this game of cat and mouse; he was the tooth and claw whilst she was the little bird with clipped wings. She would not get away from him. “I’m coming.” He called sweetly before he laughed, a little hysterical burst of laughter that rang out in the emptiness of the warehouse.

He don't play by rules
Oh oh oh
don't play the fool--no
And runnin with the crowd
Youre the one to sacrifice

Hes a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh
Hes been tellin lies
Hes a lover boy at play

When Steele was little he wanted to hurt things. From the first time he could move he was a vicious little boy. Everyone around him would leave him, the other babies would shun him and most of them would be scared. Even from a toddler he could sense that fear and from an early age he leaned to keep it, to make it grown and to feed it. Fear was not so much a weakness when it was only temporary, to make it become a habit, to make it derive from the very essence of a person you had to grow it and raise it. You couldn’t just leave it; you needed to be persistent with what you said, with what you did and how you did it. Many dictators and leaders that strived to cause fear were careless, they did not aim for what they believed would keep that fear, rather they shot early and realised too late the mistake of not installing it, of letting it become a little nuisance and not a fully-fledged storm. Steele had learned from an early age these simple little things and by the age of ten he could with the ease of experience install his mental control on everyone around him. He could drive the seed of fear and worry deep within a person’s mind, from a simple glance, a small movement or a few casual words.

It had taken time, but once you knew the fundamentals of what makes a person tick you can drive them. Controlling is easy, being controlled is easier, still. But Steele knew his own limits and he knew that he was small, and although feared more than his great leader he was not one to lead. So he stayed as the right hand man, the one that no one messed with. He was the fear factor, the edge to the blade that was driven in to the group of kids. If he threatened you, you cried and begged for his forgiveness, if he wanted your blood you knew that there was no where you could run to escape him. Ruthless, cold and cunning, it was all he needed. It was all he wanted. He loved the way everyone would turn their eyes away from him when he walked in to a room. They would always avert their gazes, fear filled eyes sliding to the ground, or anywhere, but to him. They feared him and that fear was like a twisting power that had wrapped itself around him and it made him him. It made him strong and confident and capable. He was driven and skilled, determined and stubborn and all of them knew it.

The warehouse echoed with his steps. Even though he stepped lightly, his feet expertly rolling to the ground, he still made the gentle tap, tap against the hard concrete. It was one of the reasons why he came. There was no possible way to be silent in this room, in this entire warehouse, so if anyone –like the girl, tried to run it was impossible for him to not hear and follow. If there was no sound it meant they were hiding, they weren’t moving and that, which meant they would be nearby or close. He knew every nook and cranny in the entire warehouse; he knew the best hiding spots, to the cracks that people were trapped in. Steele knew where she would be, it was obvious. A girl of her height and structure had a lot more opportunities to find a good hiding place, but she had not fled the right way/ If she had of turned left instead of right she could have hit the stairs, which lead to the next level, which lead to the rafters. She was a foolish girl. She too, could have simply ran outside and fled, leaving this place behind, but instead she had opted to hide.

Mistakes like that had consequences, deadly dangerous consequences that would end with her lying, bleeding to death in a pool of her own blood. This was who Steele Mallioux was. There was no good within him, there was nothing, but a black darkness an evil. He held no empathy for others, because if he were in their situation he would know how to act. But the thing was, he would never be the prey. He was the predator and predators, like him, felt nothing for their prey. Prey was their victim, they needed it to survive, to thrive and the girl, whoever she was, was no more than his next victim. He had never ever hesitated in hitting and killing. He never would. When he killed it was not instinct, it was not of habit, it was a simple need, a simple, mind and soul understanding that the dying person in front of him was his and he would kill them. He loved it. He loved it so so so so much and he would rather die than give up the blood that he so much loved to spill.

”Look, I'm sorry for calling you a freak. Please just let me out and I would never bother you again. Please look I'm putting my weapon down." Steele whipped around, the girls voice ringing, like a sweet song to his ears. A devilish grin replaced his cold look. He was pleased; this made him happy, she would not run. She was going to plead. He was going to make her beg and plead and make her scream like she had never screamed before. What a stupid little girl. And that stupid little girl was all his to do what he wanted with. He would flay her, he would kill her and hit her and make her cry. And he would laugh. With a wolfish grin he watched as she dropped the shard of glass, her hands slick with her own blood. His eyes lingered in the red, watching it as it dropped and imagining the way it would when he sliced her open. "See I mean you no harm, back there I was just trying to save myself. Please understand."

He laughs. A cold edged laugh balancing on the point of hysteria. “Keep going. Keep begging and pleading, if you cry hard enough maybe I’ll kill you quicker.” With that he flicked his whip forwards. He hit her again and again, uncaring, just needing to see that blood spill.

He don't play by rules
Oh oh oh
don't play the fool--no
And runnin with the crowd
Youre the one to sacrifice