Night Scream

         He heard the scream and guessed it came from a block away. Closing on the sound, he saw three leather clad youths accosting a young woman. They picked a bad night for their impromptu party. Now he had no choice in what would be done.

         "Let the woman go, and you won’t have to be hurt." His whisper echoed across the alley. The three looked up at the newcomer and sized him up. Assessing the lack of threat he posed, their leader responded to his demand.

         "What makes you think some skinny tanned surfer boy is gonna scare us? You coulda walked away, but you had to play hero. Now we gotta make sure you don’t tell nobody what you saw."

         His voice became harsh, like a bitter wind beating against the dunes of a lifeless desert. "Yes, I do have to be a hero. But," his mouth turned down into a feral snarl, "I am far from playing."

         He leapt forward, and took one of the youths by the throat. He was fast, as his tall, slim figure would indicate, but his grip was like a scorpion’s claw. He slammed his captive face first into the brick of the alley wall, chipping teeth and mortar. Now there were two.

         The girl, forgotten, turned and ran. That meant he could concentrate on his attackers. One drew a knife from his jacket. The other already carried a length of pipe. He chose to deal with the greatest threat first.

         The child with the pipe swung a powerful blow, and the man caught it. He wrenched the metal tube away from the startled boy and returned the favor that had almost been bestowed upon him. His foe fell, and then he felt the tearing pain of the other’s knife bite into his side.

         He turned to face the last attacker. He was just in time to meet the second thrust. This one entered his abdomen, and he could feel the slicing of his intestine. He grabbed the youth’s wrist, and twisted the knife in his guts. Then he withdrew it, to the sound of cracking bone from the boy’s hand. The knife was clean, and not a drop of blood fell from the wound.

         Face contorted in pain and rage, the man slammed his free fist into the child’s face, shattering teeth. It took all the force of will he could muster to restrain the urge to drive the captured blade home. He had only a thousand years left of his penance for insulting Annubis those millennia ago. If he was to avoid the jaws of Ammet, the soul devourer, he must control himself. Being trapped in your own corpse for five thousand years was harsh punishment for one night of recklessness, but the ways of the gods were strange yet just. He blended back into the shadows and resumed his search for redemption.