Shroud: Prologue

(This is my very first submission. I tend to include a lot of references to the Occult in my works due to me being an Occultist. I leave "Easter eggs" for my fellows to find. This work is dark, not like what other stories I've seen on here that claim the same, and has plenty of violence. I also use plenty of swearing. If you do not like any of that then don't bother reading. Leave me comments and feed-back is always welcome. Hope you enjoy.)

******

Prologue(1964):

Police cruisers screamed by with blazing sirens towards the scene of a crime. The pedestrians paused for only a second before resuming their activities. People walked towards shops, newspaper stands, bars and restaurants. It was a typical night in NYC, the honking of cars as the drivers tried vainly to speed up the traffic that never seemed to go away. A fight broke out between two men at one of the bars, each throwing and landing punches as it spilled out into the streets. Some of the pedestrians stopped and grouped around the brawlers, either spectating or agitating the brawlers.

A horse-mounted patrol officer trotted up to the scene and shouted, ordering the two fighters to stop the commotion. When they ignored him and one of the men tackled the other and started pounding the unlucky guy beneath him the officer dismounted and drew his baton. The crowd parted for him and the officer proceeded to pull the two apart, throwing the dominant man off.

With the nightstick being brandished the sprawled brawler reluctantly stayed down while the other man groaned and clutched at his face and stomach. With wounded pride and a bleeding mouth, he slowly got up and shook his head. The patrol-man scowled and demanded to know what was going on. With disappointed sighs and a shrugging of shoulders the crowd departed.

From a nearby rooftop, about 7 stories up, a lone figure stood observing the commotion. He was garbed in a form fitting black hooded robe, with the hood drawn up to conceal the face. Underneath the hood bright blue eyes shined in the dark. The robe was open at the chest and a black tunic that covered the throat was revealed.

His upper body was covered with sheathed weapons, from throwing knives that were holstered on the shoulders to a katana that was harnessed on his back with the hilt jutting visibly from behind his neck. His legs were clothed in black combat pants that were tucked into a pair of leather boots, two bowie knives were tucked into each boot from concealed sheathes. The assassin raised a dark gloved hand and stretched his fingers. He was missing his ring finger, and when his hand tilted back a knife shot out from the sleave and stood where his finger once was.

The wickedly sharp blade gleamed in the moonlight and he examined it, checking to see if it was still polished. Satisfied with the appearance he tilted his hand forward, causing the blade to retreat with a hiss into its spring-loaded wrist-sheathe.

The figure looked up and gazed at the sky, bathed in the light of the full moon. His smile concealed beneath a dark cloth covering the bottom half of his face, amused at the irony of the night. He looked down once more at the throng of people milling to and fro as they went about their business. He turned his attention to the building next to the scene of the fight, a five-star hotel that contained his quarry.

There were Rolls-Royces lined in front of it. To the side of the building a red-vested valet stood, waiting for any wealthy guests who required his services. Behind the valet was a service entrance. The shadow needed to get to that door to proceed with the hit. He waited patiently for 20 minutes, and when nobody showed up to grab the mans' attention he sighed. The unlucky serviceman was going to have to be taken care of.

With a few steps taken back, the assassin took a deep breath and started running. He reached the ledge of the building and leaped, soaring through the air. None of the people below took notice of the shadowy figure above them, and he landed nimbly on the hotel rooftop. He walked over to the side ledge and peered over it.

The valet still stood there, with a cigarette between his lips and a lit match in a gloved hand. The assassin lightly climbed up onto the ledge. He crouched there and waited until there wasn't anybody within sight and nimbly leaped. With a flip and a mid-air twisted he landed with a soft thud, face first with his prey.

The valets' cigarette dropped from where it was perched and he jumped, yelping in shock. The shadow's blue eyes studied the startled man, and as shock wore off disbelief settled in. "How....how....how in the hell did you do that!? Stay right...." He was cut off as the assassin flicked his wrist and spun, blood spurting as he ended his flourish half-crouched with his arm pointing back.

The valet's eyes glazed over as his hands scrabbled at his neck, crimson blood pouring out from the slash wound. Ragged gasps started reciding as he fell, the body lay twitching in its death throes. The shadow stepped over him and the rapidly spreading pool of blood. A second later he was in the building.

*******

"Sir! Sir he's in the building, we need to move now!"

The detective looked up as his recruit bursted into the room, an excited gleam in his eyes.

"He's there? Are you sure?"

The young agent nodded rapidly, "Yessir, he killed Johnson and went through the service entrance. The police snipers saw the whole thing."

The aging detective closed his eyes and sighed at the news of his colleagues death. That murderer would pay for that, no matter what.

"Signal the men and get over there immediately. Call the standby medics and alert them of Johnson's death. They'll collect the boy."

Howard saluted and ran out the door. Jack ran a hand through his greying hair and sighed again. Poor Johnson....not looking forward to giving his wife the news, he thought. Shaking his head and grabbing his revolver from the table in front of him, he walked over to the door.

He's been tracking the elusive hitman for years. Getting by only on minute evidence and rumors, he painstakingly built his case piece by piece. Now that he had him there would be no escape. He would be taken dead or alive , and after Johnson's death the detective was leaning more towards dead.

He briskly walked over to where the rookie was shouting orders to the assembled group before them. They were heavily outfitted in kevlar and riot gear. Armed with M16s and .32 revolvers, the SWAT team was ready for an assault. As the detective examined them an armored van pulled up and the back doors flew open.

A similarly armed and dressed figure, the sargeant, beckoned them. With quick efficiency they piled in, the young agent and veteran detective following close behind. The tires squeeled as the van peeled out, speeding towards the hotel.

*****

The shadow moved through the hallways silently and swiftly. He encountered hardly anybody else and those that he did were quickly cut down. The policy was no witnesses, so men and women alike were killed. When he got near to the room where his quarry laid the shadow paused and slowly crept to the wall where the hallways branched off to another.

Peeking around the corner he spotted two guards, dressed in striped tailored suits with exaggerated shoulder pads, sunglasses, and sporting .45 magnum revolvers that were currently holstered. He drew two throwing knives and knocked rapidly on the wall he was pressed into, grabbing the guards attention. With the grace and speed of a master, he threw the knives.

A knife sprouted from the forehead of one guard and the other was buried in the chest of the second guard. The assassin quickly reclaimed his knives and went to the door and kicked, splintered wood flying as the door caved in.

His prey turned rapidly toward the figure of death, eyes wide with terror and shock. He screamed as the assassins hand went to another throwing knife and pinned his hand to the wall. Intense blue eyes stared the cowering man down, and slowly he walked over while drawing an elegant shortsword from the sheathe on his thigh. The unfortunate male sank to his knees and began pleading, begging for his life.

"Please please please spare me! Oh god I've never done anything to anybody! I'm a family man, a stand-up guy! Please I'm begging you, don't kill me!" He sobbed as his hands wrapped together in prayer, staring pleadingly at the imminent death that loomed ever closer above him.

The pleading eyes turned into orbs of despair as the shadow stood above him, the steel flashing as the shortsword was slowly placed on his shoulder.

The business executive let loose a shaky breath and looked down, whispering "Is there nothing I can do? No amount of money that I can offer?"

The figure gazed down upon his prey and a deep voice resonated, "No. It is your fate, accept it with dignity. Your death will be quick and painless."

The man peered over the assassins shoulder and then eyed him with a gleam in his eye. He shouted "now!" Suddenly the sound of cracking wood followed by foot-steps resounded. A new voice came from behind them.

"I think nobody will be dying here today gentlemen. Drop the weapon and put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."

****

The armored van screamed to a stop in front of the grand hotel. As the SWAT team bursted from the back shouting could be heard from the front as the door greeter called for the manager.

A balding man dressed in a fine blue suit rushed out to confront the men. "What the hell is going on here!? Why are you here!?"

As the 10 person squad poured into the building with the rookie agent, Jack walked toward the manager. "Sir you need to remain calm, we have evidence of an assassination about to take place here. You need to keep the guests calm and away from the upper floors. The hitman is believed to be extremely dangerous and will not hesitate to kill whoever gets in his way. Phone anybody who may be up there and ask them to remain in their rooms. Thank you for your cooperation."

He walked away, leaving behind a very flustered manager. He rushed off to phone the rooms as the detective was catching up with the unit. They were already running up the stairs, Howard standing in front of the staircase waiting for his superior.

"Think we'll be able to catch him in time?" The agent asked.

"It's either that or we lose another agent Howard, and that's not going to happen." The detective answered back as they rapidly climbed the staircase.

"For so long we've been after this bastard, of course you've been on the case far longer Jack. Can't wait to see this file stamped and put away."

The younger man grinned to himself, happy at the thought of a break from the grueling work they've done to reach this point. They reached the sixth floor and approached where the squad was set up.

When Jack reached the front of the group they started, quietly and briskly, forward. As they passed a couple doors they came across the bodies of two slain women, blood pooled around their bodies. One of the officers turned a bodie over and motioned the detective over. When he approached a slash mark was spotted on her throat, a beautiful golden necklace below it stained crimson. Brown eyes stared gazelessly at him and he softly placed a hand over them and closed the lids shut.

The veteran detective shook his head sadly and stood up, motioning the men to continue moving. A few minutes later they passed the body of a man, resplendidly dressed in a black tuxedo. They neared the target and slowed. A crash could be heard and a minute later a pained yell rang out.

The two FBI agents looked at each other before frantically motioning the men to move. The ran over to the source of the noise and paused when they reached the room. The door was busted in, broken in half with chunks of wood and splinters lying everywhere. The SWAT team took up positions on either side of the door and in front of it. Jack signaled Howard to take his flank.

The undercover agent acting as the bait saw them. Howard gave a tiny gasp of outrage at the sight of a knife buried to the hilt in Percys' hand. He raised his magnum and pointed it at the hitmans' back as a sword was lowered to the undercover agents neck, prepared to decapitate him.

A distinctly deep voice vibrated the air in the room, "No. It is your fate, accept it with dignity. Your death will be quick and painless."

Percy looked at them again and then shouted out "now!"

They rushed in and Jacks' commanding voice rang out, "I think nobody will be dying here today gentlemen. Drop the weapon and put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."

*******

As the words echoed in his ear the assassin slowly turned his head, eyeing the two FBI agents pointing guns at him. One was obviously the senior, a middle aged man with greying brown hair and a world-weary face. The man next to him was much younger, with straight blonde hair and bright green eyes.

The younger man was jittery, his finger twitching on the trigger and shifting from foot to foot. His superior however was much more at ease, his finger laying prone on the trigger and standing in a confident and commanding pose. The shadow smiled to himself, expecting the interruption. He slowly turned to face the two agents, bringing his sword to his side and adopting a carefree and imposing stance.

He stared them down and became aware of his would be victim standing up behind him. "I believe you are acquainted with Percy," he motioned to the man behind him. "We've been trying to get our hands on you for a long time, now we have you. Howard, cuff him."

The younger agent started to move towards the shadow, and without even looking or turning he buried the sword into the agents' chest behind him. A strangled cry followed immediately along with a shout of outrage from the younger man.

He cocked the hammer back and started to pull the trigger, but the older agent shouted "No! Not yet!." The assassin pulled the sword from his victim with a squelch.

"That was a good agent you just pointlessly murdered, one with a little girl and wife waiting for him back home," the older agent snarled in cold fury.

The figure of death shrugged and sheathed the sword. "Set up or not, he was marked as my target. You would've done well to concoct another scheme to capture me than to send one of your own to the chopping block."

The younger man was trembling now, rage written plainly on his face. "I should fucking kill you, you sick son of a bitch!" He yelled, and the shadow just looked at him with a twinkle of amusement in his pale blue eyes.

"I said drop your weapon and place your hands behind your back. I will not ask again." The tone in the older agents voice was ominous as he cocked his pistol, aiming purposely at the assassins head.

"I'm afraid I can't do that Officers. I knew all about your planned ambush. I know the valet I killed outside was another undercover agent and I knew about your little scope-out spot on 5th avenue at the Parker Condominiums. I've known you've been following me for years and now, here I am. Ripe for the taking. However, I will be walking out of here and resuming my duties. If you wish to keep doing yours I suggest you retreat now back to your headquarters."

The senior agent smiled grimly at him while his partner stood there dumbstruck and said, "I'm surprised you knew about our plans hitman, you continue to surprise me more and more. The outcome is still the same though. There are ten heavily armored police units outside this room, you have no choice but to comply. Now, one final time. Place your weapons on the ground and put your hands behind your head. If not then you will die, and with your death will come the vengeance of two fallen agents and countless men and women killed."

The assassin merely stood there and placed his hands behind his back like a general would. Upon seeing the posture the older agent made another grim smile and before being able to say something, a gunshot blasted his ear from the side. He started as he realized his rookie opened fire on the assassin, hitting him directly in the heart.

*****

Jack was shocked that the cold-blooded murderer before him knew so much of their plans but refused to let it show on his face, instead adopting a visage of cool calmness and determination. He could not help his rage though at the sudden murder of his colleague right before his very eyes, and thus couldn't keep a hard edge from entering his voice.

When the hitman refused to comply, he couldn't contain a smug smile from coming. Revenge, finally. Now I can avenge Johnson and Percy.,He thought silently to himself, and right when he was about to call the men into the room a sudden blast of noise from his side startled him.

Jack looked beside him and saw smoke curling from the barrel of Howards magnum and a spurt of blood erupting from the hitmans' chest. It was a killing blow, directly at his heart. The men poured into the room at the noise of the gunshot, M16s cocked and pointing at the assassin, ready to open fire.

He raised a hand though and signaled the men to hold their fire. They all watched the hitman stagger back and raise a hand to the bullet wound. It pulled away covered in blood. Something was wrong though, Jack could tell by the bored and contemptuous look in the killers eyes. He looked at Howard and saw him looking back at him with concern etched on his face.

Before either of them could voice their suspicions a laugh permeated the air, chilling the room and causing a shiver to race up his spine.

"What the hell..." Howard thought out loud, raising his gun again to finish off the wounded hitman.

Time seemed to slow down though as he refocused his attention on his quarry and was shocked to see the assassin pull the bullet out of his wound and flick it to the ground between them. He raised a black clad hand and placed his middle finger behind his thumb.

Before Jack could do or say anything an audible snap rang out through the room, and a second later he saw a flash of light and heard an agonized scream beside him. He turned and saw Howard engulfed in flames, writhing wildly before falling to the floor and convulsing. Horror and shock stilled his tongue, and soon the ringing of machine gun fire tore through the air as the SWAT unit opened fire.

Blood flew out as bullet after bullet hit the assassin, causing his body to contort wildly where each shot landed. The gunfire echoed for 8 seconds, and then died down as they ran out of ammo. The hitman had fallen to his knees, his robes torn from where the bullets hit him. Crimson slowly trickled from each wound and then suddenly hollow laughing resonated from the man again.

Jack couldn't believe his ears or eyes, how was this man still alive? At least 60 bullets tore through him, he should be more than dead by now. But slowly the figure rose, the laughter chilling him and his units' blood and causing terror to rise up in them. He heard the men struggle to reload quickly, magazines clicking into place and bullets being loaded into chambers. The hitman began to move however, slowly gliding towards them with his shortsword in hand.

Faintly, Jack heard himself hoarsely shout "Open fire, open fire!"

The echo of gunshots rang in his ears again as ten assault rifles began their merciless assault on the figure moving towards them. More gunshots began to tear through him, more blood began to spurt from the wounds. But still he kept moving, keeping his slow pace even as his body flinched and contorted to where the bullets were decimating his flesh.

Jack became aware of a growing darkness surrounding the assassins feet, tendrils of it writhing in unison and reaching out to the surrounding area. The veteran detective slowly moved his gaze up and saw black tentacles sprouting from the hitmans back.