Penumbra: Nightmare Episode 3
The blade called for blood. The killer couldn’t even remember who he had been before. He stalked through the shadows of Smallfield’s community park. The knife was shrouded in a thin screen of black smoke as the killer saw his prey. A young man in a black suit and a black brimmed hat, clutched at a briefcase and stared into the face of his wrist watch. The killer flipped the blade and raised it above his head. He began to lunge down and caught the reflection in the watch face. The killer saw the young man’s face reflected in the watch, and saw a smile. With lightning reflexes the man swung the brief case around. The killer felt a hard thud as the case slammed into his ribs. He stumbled into the light as the man stepped back.
“Evenin’.” The man said with a grin. The killer simply snarled. His muscles tensed and he gripped the black dagger. The serrated edge on the front emerged from the smoke like the fins of sharks in a stormy sea. The killer gritted his teeth and snarled. The young man adjusted his neck tie and smiled back at his assailant. The knife lanced forward like a viper as the young man caught the blade in the briefcase. With a hard twist the briefcase went spinning and clattered down the path.
The killer needed the knife. He dove with all his strength for the briefcase. The knife gave him speed and power like no ordinary man. His body flung itself forward and then in a flash he found himself on his back. The killer gasped as the breath exploded from his body. Stars burst in his eyes as he tried to gather what had happened. The killer rolled over and stood up. He raised his fists as the other man smiled at him.
“Oh man this’s so cool!” The young man said with a pump of his fist. The killer jabbed at the prey only to have him just barely step back. A second jab and the boy tapped it just out of the way. The killer gave a quick feint for another jab and instead flung a hard haymaker with his right hand. The punch never made contact. The boy’s front leg whipped up in a crescent kick, deflecting the blow. A second later, a second kick cracked down on the back of the killer’s head. His vision went black before the boy’s heel crushed his nose. “Ada Whitehorn. Six years old. Your first victim.” The boy slammed a chop into the killer’s throat. “You slit her throat. Luke Cunningham.” A blow landed in the chest, followed by the sickening snap of ribs. “Tori,” knee to the groin. “Alice,” Hans clapped the ears and thumbs gouged out the right eye. “Lastly, you Kevin. This is what that blade has done. All those lives. And in the end-” Kevin heard the sound of a buzz like a bug zapper being turned on. Then the noise got clearer and higher and-