The Eternal Dungeon of Flame

I. A Final Act

The moon shined down on the long street. It was silent through the broad neighborhood except for the faint blowing of wind. The only person awake at this time, was a tall dark figure waiting in the shadow of a phone booth. The figure lurked in the darkness for some time there, staying still and stiff like an old tree with it's roots planted firmly in the ground. But, once the time was midnight, the figure stepped out and the moon illuminated the face of this figure, revealing an aged and scarred man.

The man groaned, and slowly treaded forward. He kept reminding himself that this was the last time, and that after this he would live in his small cottage by the beach. This image in his head was the only thing keeping him going.

He had done it too many times before. It was risky business, killing a person.

Murder was the reason, this man was out here tonight in the middle of Apelaide Avenue on a Saturday night, with a .44 Magnum snuggled tight in his jacket. Slaughter was his job, and it was also his life. For this man, it started in a small club, where he stabbed a young lady to death. His intent? She was getting on his nerves a little too much to be suitable. From that mad day, he became a cold hearted killer. A man with no mercy.

The man carefully crawled towards a petite light blue house. This was the home of his target. His target was a businessman. The father of three children and the owner of a company. Tonight, it would all end.

A small breeze passed through the area, as the killer pulled out his gun. He had no mind to be quiet for this job. It was going to be quick, a shot to the door, and a run across the house to the room of the father. Another shot, and then he would leave, swift was a fox. He tightened his grip on the gun and then fired. The door whipped open, and he jumped inside. He bolted across the room, leaping over furniture. He kicked open the room of his target and pointed his gun at him. He was curled up in bed, still awakening from the sudden racket. His eyes adjusted, and saw the gun aimed at him. He scrambled up from his bed and raised his hands.

"Charles? What the hell are you doing," asked the man fearfully.

"It it time you pay," Charles replied. He clenched his Magnum, ready to shoot.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" The target was uneasy, sweat beading on his forehead. He kept drifting side to side - nervous energy. "What is this all about," he questioned again.

"You know perfectly well why I'm here. You've betrayed Luc's trust, and you've left him powerless. It's time for me to exact revenge on you, David."

"Don't call me David. That's not the life I live now. I have a new fresh life, I've escaped from shadows of the past like you."

It seemed to Charles, that David was growing more confident now. He noticed David edging around the bed a little bit. Charles made no comment on that. If David thought he could catch Charles off guard, he would be surprised. "It's foolish to think you can escape from the world you've known all your life."

"You're right."

This threw Charles off. Suddenly, it seemed that David was giving in? No. It wasn't possible.

"Charles, I am still loyal to Luc. Please forgive me."

"Lies."

"I am honest. I will join you and Luc once again. The calm life isn't for me."

"What are you trying to do," asked Charles. The tables had turned. Now, it was him who was asking questions. He didn't like this. It was time to act. He motioned his gun at David. "Stop playing me like I'm a fool."

"No need to get hostile, Charles. We are friends, are we not?"

"SHUT UP!" The gun blasted, and David's chest was striked by a bullet.

"YOU BASTARD!" David clutched his chest, which was surging with crimson blood. He was lying on the floor now, screaming in pain.

"You're loyal, huh? You can't trick me!" With that, Charles shot David in the head, and it was dead quiet. Blood splashed across Charles' pants and all over the floor. He paced out of the room and out of the house.

The neighborhood was completely peaceful and untroubled, as Charles strolled down the street. For the first time in sixteen years, he felt satisfied. He was finished.