This woman was the perfect target, blonde, attractive, young and walking alone down a dimly-lit street. Dirk wondered if she'd heard about him--the stories of his conquests had been splattered in the papers for weeks--and if she did, how dared she walk down HIS street? He hadn't seen a lone female here for over a week and his cock was killing him. Dirk's dark soul emanated putrid delight as he crept up on the woman, then grabbed her from behind.
To Dirk's surprise, the woman didn't struggle. She just stood there, calmly. Her heart rate hadn't even increased. When he took his hand off her mouth and spun her around, she looked at him with a blank expression. "You have chosen the wrong victim." So she had heard about him. Fucking cunt! His cock grew hard, not so much over the sex he would have but the excitement of breaking this bitch, making her beg for mercy and not giving it to her. Dirk forced her into the alleyway and slammed her against a wall. She flinched a bit out of pure reflex, but never lost her composure. "You are making a mistake, but if you stop now you can still be redeemed."
Dirk slapped her and blood trickled from the side of her mouth. Still she did not cower. He ripped her shirt open, tore off her bra, and grabbed one of her tits. "You are getting closer to the point of no return," she warned. "You cannot follow the Evil Ones and expect to never suffer the consequences."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH!" With a meaty slap, he forced her to the ground, lifted her skirt up, and tore her panties off. No way was she not going to scream now. He plunged into her, shoving her face into the concrete as he violently thrust in and out. Her response was nil but Dirk loved forcing her, anyway. Maybe he'd knocked the bitch out and she couldn't scream. He climaxed quickly and blood trickled out of her opening along with his semen. Still, he was really pissed off. He'd wanted her to beg him to stop, like the rest of them had done. There was one other thing he could do to make her beg. He pulled a knife out of his boots, then pulled the woman up by her hair and dragged her to the wall. She simply stared at him, her eyes and face devoid of expression. He held the knife to her throat.
The knife dropped out of his hand and he watched, mesmerized, as it fell to the ground and the long blade rattled, gleaming in the streetlights, the clattering metal calling out to him. He wanted to swim in the silver depths, allow the thick metallic liquid to engulf him. He perched himself on a rooftop and dove in, reveling in the sensation of sound giving way to silence as he broke beneath the mirrored surface. But now he could not move his limbs. He was drowning, struggling to cough up the fire water destroying his lungs and stopping his air. The silver sea was made of blades, cutting at his throat. Blood poured out of the gash and from his mouth and nostrils. He could no longer call out, having no dying breath.
Dirk was sitting on the ground, immobile, and the woman was looking at him. Amazingly, the wounds he had inflicted upon her body were gone, her clothes neat and tidy. She smiled, the first time he had seen any emotion creep across her face. "I gave you the chance to redeem yourself, Dirk Kentowski," she told him. "If you had let me go, your nightmare would have ended. Instead, it is only just beginning. So the spirits have decreed, and so it will come to pass." His desire to kill her had evaporated and been replaced by an icy fear, though he had no idea what he was afraid of. She turned to go. Her movements were so fluid, so graceful, that it appeared she floated above the ground.
He could do nothing but stare straight ahead. He had no idea how much time had passed when an intense fatigue overwhelmed him and a voice inside himself told him to go home. Walking was a tortuous chore. Each time Dirk took a step he felt as though he had to wrench his feet out of the hands of some demon clawing at his ankles. When he arrived at his squalid basement apartment, Dirk collapsed just steps inside and knew no more.
Another drop of muddy water splashed in his eyes and he awoke, sputtering. His face was thoroughly wet. A new crack had formed in the ceiling and water could be heard running in the apartment upstairs. Dirk cursed his neighbor and moved the slop bucket from the last place where a leak had sprung. Then he moved to the tiny bathroom and splashed fresh water on his face. His hands froze, then moved over silky soft skin and a face that seemed to have lost its definition. It had to be his imagination. Dirk toweled the water out of his eyes before looking in the mirror.
He gasped and the towel fell to his feet. The reflection was definitely him, but the face was more a boy's than a man's. The stubble he had expected was mere peach fuzz, thin and light peach fuzz, not even noticeable unless he stared at a close-up view. His features had softened remarkably. His eyebrows were thinner and his lashes longer, just like his hair, which had lightened from brown to dark blonde and was now just above his shoulder. His face was almost a different shape, no longer square but angular, and it matched the neck. Where the Hell was his Adam's Apple? A yelp escaped his full lips and sounded more like a high-pitched shriek. Dirk clasped his hands around his mouth, thin hands with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails!
Terrified to make another sound, Dirk stripped completely and examined every inch of his body in the mirror. All of his "parts" seemed to be in order, but the same transformation that had occurred in his face echoed throughout his body. He looked more a boy than a man. His once-proud 9 1/2-incher was now a 6 at best, and his balls had also shrunken. His pubic hair was still there, but it was different somehow, the texture indescribably altered. His feet were smaller too, his skin as soft as a newborn's bottom.
Dirk slapped himself, shrieking again. He was still there. He slapped himself again and again, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth, and HE WAS STILL THERE. Not since he was a small boy had he wanted to cry, and now he was having trouble holding it back. Numbly, he stepped into the shower and replayed the previous night's events in his head.
"So the spirits have decreed, and so it will come to pass."