As the blonde's girl slowly came to on the dirty bathroom floor, Hate continued to stare in the mirror, though the presence he had felt moments ago had vanished. It was not something the boy had enjoyed at all. It wasn't anything completely new, however. He had felt it once before in a powerful woman who he had believed might be his undoing, but in the end she had been seduced by his power, and destroyed by it.
His impossibly wide grin remained on his face for several moments as he just stared at his reflection in the mirror. My, what a handsome lad! He thought with enthusiasm, and it was true. His good looks got him places where sheer power would prove more difficult, and attention attraction.
Not that he used looks alone to ever cause his devastation. Hate had a code, although it was a rather peculiar honor he carried in his heart. Everyone he killed or tortured came to him willingly, throughout a barrage of warnings. He felt these warnings necessary, like the colorings of a snake or predatory insect.
Some were in his appearance. His hair was jet black, unnaturally so, and handsome face was almost always grinning madly or scowling with pure anger. There were more obvious signs as well. His lean, cut chest was decorated by a variety of tattoos, all done in black ink on his pale skin. The largest was the word HATE on his pecs, in Old English letters, like a gangster.
On his right bicep was an Iron Cross, a less obvious symbol of Nazi tyranny, and one of the many symbols of hatred he kept on himself. A more comical piece was the Decipticon symbol from the TV show Transformers. Hate always had something for TV and movie villains. Other works were displayed on his body, and the should've kept anyone with common sense out of his path. They didn't, though.
The last of his warnings came verbally. Often he let anyone who lingered in his vicinity that he just might kill them, and often this came true.
"Why did you do that?" Came a small, slightly scared, but still lusty voice from behind the man. He turned around and leaned against the sink. The girl was propped up on her palms, her shirt still yanked up over her ample breasts, the milky white globes adorned with several small punctures from Hate's slightly sharpened finger-nails. Her legs were askew and a small bit of his semen was leaking from her abused pussy, pooling on the tile.
"I told you I would hurt you, you dumb slut," he hissed, anger bubbling out from him. She recoiled slightly at his words, but then just smiled to him. Hate knew she liked it. So many did. Not everyone of course, not by any means. Anyone who stuck around him was obviously a glutton for pain, though.
"I want some more," she moaned, her hips wriggling even as blood poured down her nose and past her lips.
"I am certain you do, you dizzy cunt, but I'm tired of you already." He paused, staring down at her. He was quickly deciding whether or not to kill her. He decided against it. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to leave too many bodies his first few days in Southton. His powers were great, but not limitless, and too much attention could bring his undoing before he wished. "Sleep," he said with conviction, and she did so.
Hate was tired of her, indeed, but not at all tired of sex. He required much more to satisfy what were becoming nightly urges. The bare-chested youth pushed out the door of the bathroom with a slight sigh, then stopped dead in his tracks, almost wincing.
He should've noticed the other presences enter the bar, but he had been too caught up in the damn intrusion and ravaging the girl. Before him now were four large, burly biker-types; two at the bar, one holding a pool stick and against a wall, and another leaning down, in the middle of a shot.
For a moment, they all just stared at each other. Although they were both outsiders to mainstream society, dirty, and tattooed, they were also natural enemies. Unlike the forces of good, which tend to work together save for extreme coincidences, evil is always at odds with itself. Not to mention that this overweight, over-muscled bikers had a great deal of disdain for lean, mean Hate.
The one leaning over the pool table moved into a standing position, dark eyes staring from above a untamed, red beard. "Who the hell are you?" He asked gruffly, and somewhat angrily.
Hate smirked, side-stepped the bathroom door, and leaned back. "Name is Hate. Might I have the pleasure of learning your's?"
"Fuck no, you little shit," spoke one at the bar.
The red-bearded leader paid no attention to the question at all. "What did you do with Marlene?"
"The slut behind the bar? I had my way with her in the bathroom. She is still back there, but I'm afraid her pussy will never be the same," he said with a slight cackle.
Redbeard was pissed. Though he wouldn't call Marlene "his", exactly, he had fucked her before, and now this little punk was on his territory, fucking somebody he knew. Hand slipped into a pocket, and retrieved a switchblade, unleashing the steel immediately. "Kill this little puke."
Hate sighed. Looked like he should've gone ahead and killed the girl after-all. A blood trail was inevitable at this point. "I wish you boy's could've played nice, but..." he trailed off, and remained leaning against the wall as the biker from the bar and the other from the pool table advanced on him.
The one from the bar reached his destiny first. He swung one meaty fist towards Hate's skull. With little movement, Hate moved forward, inside the arc of the strike, and brought his own hand forward, fingers splayed, and shoved the middle and index into the eye socket's of the unfortunate man.
"Got your eyes, fucker!" Hate shouted with childish glee as he retracted his hand, goop running down his finger tips and over his knuckles. The victim sunk to the ground with a ragged scream, hands slapping to his face and covering his now blind holes.
At this very moment a pool-stick was making it's way toward's Hate. His super-sensory abilities relayed this information to him, and his left hand shot up and caught it immediately with no resistance, as a catcher's mitt would catch a leisurely tossed ball.
"Ah ah ah," Hate said with a leisurely grin spreading across thin, diabolical lips. "My face is too pretty to be destroyed by you." Fingers tightened around the staff, and the simply application of pressure by his thumb snapped it like a twig. The top half dropped towards the ground, and Hate caught it in his free hand, then rather swiftly drove the torn end into the heart of his second attacker, who didn't have a chance to respond to any of Hate's razor-quick reactions.
Hate's blood was being filled with a pleasure that sex could never hope to equal. Time had slowed, and every second seemed a delightful eternity. Biker number 3 was pulling something from his belt, and Hate knew it was a gun. Redbeard was foolishly advancing on him, unwisely choosing to use adrenaline for fight instead of flight.
Now for the real fun. Hate sucked in a deep breath, and what happened next gave both bikers good reason to pause and stare. From the tips of his fingers sparked a dark, writhing energy, so very black that it seemed to suck the light straight out of the room. It swelled and grew, covering his hands and licking at his wrists.
Both hands were raised and finger tips pointed forward, when without delay Hate released this vile thing that was his true power. First the energy formed two straight beams towards the two separate men, but after they broke apart, forming a thousand tiny black spheres.
They ripped through the men like a barrage of bullets, tearing their clothing and flesh, putting perfectly round holes through their bodies.
Redbeard's face was nearly destroyed, his chest opened in a dozen places, his guts spilled. His last friend suffered the same fate, and they both collapsed to the floor without a sound, their throats punctured in too many places to let loose a scream.
But one man was still screaming. Hate's head tilted down to the source of this annoying noise, and if the man was not blind already, the sight would have killed him dead to rights.
Long strands of Hate's black hair stood straight up and too the sides as if he were being electrocuted, and his lips were cut into a wide, insane grin, twin rows of perfect white teeth bared. Most disturbing of all, however, were his eyes. They had gone pitch. One color for the entirety, wide open black.
In one quick, savage movement, Hate leaned down, grabbed the man around his chin and neck, and yanked upward. He was beheaded in a particularly savage manner, and Hate tossed his head behind the bar.
Now that was fun! But the pleasure was ending already. So was the way of murder, at least for him. He shook his head, and looked down to his body. There was quite a bit of gore over his bared chest.
Expending a small amount of further energy, that darkness moved out again, this time from his chest, and devoured or disintegrated the flesh and blood that was not his own. Clean again, in a sense, Hate walked from the bar to the street.
* * * * *
This part of town was low-rent residential with a smattering of businesses, such as the bar Hate had came from, and the corner-store he was approaching now. The small amount of foot traffic in the area had given him frightened looks, and most had crossed to the other street, even a group of wanna-be toughs who might on other occasions found reason to try and start battle with Hate.
His head had been lowered for most of the walk, tendrils of coal hair falling around his darkly handsome face, lips curled up into their usual smile, eyes which had returned to their natural brown color staring at the tops of steel-toed boots.
One thing caught his eye, and apparently he had caught this thing's eye as well, given that she was staring directly at him. A girl, naturally, and a rather attractive one, obvious in her sexuality; that was Hate's favorite kind.
She was leaning back leisurely against a wall, one leg raised slightly, the sole of her foot pressed back against the wall. One hand was wrapping a length of straight cherry red hair around two of her fingers, taking a long while to encircle the shoulder-length hair. Another set of five was wrapped around an Icee, straw settled between two plus, bright red lips, sugary liquid slowly filling the girl's mouth and sliding down her throat.
