The Last Wish

25. The Hoard of Cadaver

"Whatcha doin' here kid?" the tallest guy said, brusquely, nudging Matt in the shoulder. He didn't move, stood ground like a mannequin.

"Lemme handle this, Dan," the short guy said, pushing Dan, the tall guy by his chest. "Poor ass got on the wrong side of the city, yeah?"

Matt didn't reply. It vexed the trio, but the third guy seemed to have quietened to a deathly silence, already tasting the flavor of his doom.

"Scoot away your sorry ass, kid," the truck driver said, with a bored expression. "Don't want mommy given a cadaver of ya. In no need of an addition."

He laughed boisterously, his bleak attempt at bullying was no where near comical. No one laughed.

Annoyed by his impassive audience, he growled and pounced forward with his meaty pulp of a hand flailing. Matt was prepared, momentarily his fist wrapped around the guy's as he pushed him behind. He staggered away and for a moment, he stared at Matt, shocked.

And as if he just figured out the math, he clenched his fist and said, "you're dead meat, motha' fucker." He grabbed Matt by the collar of his jacket and pulled away his hoodie. His hand froze.

"Holy shit," the shortest swore. "It's him."

The driver slowly unclasped his hand from the collar, his eyes never leaving the sight of the smiling mask.

"I-it's you."

"The one and only, shithead," Matt said, smirking. He wore the same customary theater mask that he had worn that day at the Sepulchre. His apparition must have made him the limelight of the underworld, after he had left such a bloody mark on one of their fave places.

Matt spent no time giving in for the quartet to register the severity of their new situation, he dived in, his knuckles making contact with the driver's chin. Matt laughed devilishly as his finger claw ripped open the raw flesh of his opponent's snow-kissed chin.

The driver's head whipped up, his pudgy body arched backwards as his toes rose off the ground. And for a moment, he hung there like an invisible rope held him in thin air and then as though it couldn't bear all the bulk, it broke and his limp body crashed to the ground. He moaned, but didn't make any attempts to stand ground for the fear of another reward.

Matt was staring at his opponent's limp moaning self, contented, too invested to notice the advancing fist coming in his direction. And when he saw, it was too late, it already made impact with his stomach. He staggered, hot bile threatening to spill out, his vision blurred and the cold breeze didn't help either.

"Get him, Theo," Dan shouted and the short guy nodded.

The inhumane duo, the third guy seemed to be in a trance, advanced on him, blowing angry punches from either side, shouting and cursing and laughing, but everything seemed incoherent to Matt's ears. Matt coughed blood, his body wheezing with cold breaths as he tried to regain composure from the punches and kicks.

He shut his lids, letting in the blows, and without a warning, an unwanted picture role played in his mind. For some reason, it was too unbearable and had his blood boiling. He opened his eyes, his vision cleared and whosoever's fist that advanced on his blissless face, he clasped it in his own, his bloodied fingers digging inside the veins and twisted it with all his might. He heard a painful yelp, but wasn't satisfied yet. It was the short guy, Theo's.

Dan was invested in trying to rip Matt's hand off his partner, Matt kicked him in the groin with his spiked shoes and he fell to the ground, howling and withering, pained as he clutched his jewels. The kick alone was enough to curse the guy with a generation of no offsprings, if that didn't work, the drops of venom tipped on the spikes would do the job. Now, Matt was satisfied.

One more job was there. Matt twisted Theo's hands till he locked it behind the back. He kicked him in his knee pit and he fell down, face first. Matt kept his left foot on the shoulder back of the twisted hand, blood oozing out from where the spikes bore thick holes into his captive's skin. Ignoring the pleas of his captive, he twisted the hand clockwise till he heard the satisfying crack of the bone splitting. Satisfied, he moved away from the limp body, bloody and snow covered.

Ignoring the light shocks of pain that came with very step, he limped to the truck and cracked open the storage compartment of the truck. He didn't see exactly what he wanted. But a hoard of dead bodies.

And the sharp inhale of a breath behind didn't go unnoticed either.

Matt whipped around, coming face to face with the third guy, his trembling hands held Matt at gunpoint.

"I know you," he quivered, his tone timid.

"And so do I," Matt said, his rough voice muffled by the mask.

"Not your c-comedy mask, loser," he barked, taking a step back as Matt took a step front. "D-don't come near me, you d-dick. I'll kill you."

Matt took another step, nearing him as slow as a sloth, and inclined his face to a certain degree. He was partly curious to know what the guy knew about him, but his main focus was the truck of dead people. The only question that had a crystal clear one worded answer was who the killer was. But the rest was a mystery to be unfolded. It also made sense why the truck driver had made a bleak joke of having another cadaver.

Without a warning, Matt took a long step and grasped the barrel of the gun and pulled it towards him. And in no time, he had gained the upper hand and was now pointing the gun at the visibly paled guy, his complexion having a likely resemblance to the snow.

The guy stepped back, losing his balance, fell to the ground. Matt crouched beside the sitting ghost of a man and said, "now temme. What you know and what you don't." The barrel sinked deep into the side of the guy's throat and he gulped.

"I-i honestly don't know," he shivered. "They say it was the diamonds from Madagascar and other valuables. We know nothing of corpses."

Matt believed him, no one dared lie at gunpoint, unless one was stupid.

"And?" he pressed. "What d'ya know 'bout me?"

The guy's eyes darkened, contrasting darkly to his pallid skin. "You," he snarled suddenly. "That day you were there."

Matt rolled his eyes, "lived 'that days' for 19 year approximately. Which that day, idiot?"

"That day," he said earning a full eye roll from Matt again, "that day you killed the child."

That's it, Matt thought. His hand left the trigger, the bullet soaring into the guy's throat and he fell back, limp.

"Goodbye, slay dog."

Matt cursed internally thinking to himself why people can't keep to themselves and let him be a good man. They had to be such brats all the time, resolving him to be the grand Grim Reaper.

He went back to the truck, snapped a few pictures of the dead faces, partly creeped and left before he could gain any more attention.

A/N: Hello guys! This has been a long chapter with so much action. I have to admit it was hard writing fight scenes and do correct my mistakes if you see any. Hope you like the new chapter update.

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