Hector was out for another stroll as usual. There was something almost tangible in the air... perhaps a tingle of mystery and wonder, or... money, maybe? Yes, there was money to be made. The repairs in Astera would not persist forever. Thanks to the hard-earned money of taxpayers, the current situation would sort itself out eventually. Hector knew it well, and knew that the blessings he received through the downfall of others would not last. The ability to recover quickly from tragedies was humanity's greatest strength - one that he himself loathed. There was little fun in hope, as that made his job all the more difficult; avoiding fighting, dodging the firm hand of the law, and so on.

Satisfied with the haul from his last job, the thug knew he had to take action to capitalize on his prior success. He waited for day to turn to night and envelope the world in its midnight gown. It was a chilling silencer merely walking through the shadows, hidden from the eyes and ears of others.  

No time like the present, Hector thought to himself, unsheathing his sword and looking it up and down to ensure it was spotless.

"Perfect.", he muttered lowly in the shadows, chuckling to himself.

He knew that if things went wrong - or in his case, right - he would be forced to make use of the weapon firmly gripped in his hand. In his mind he knew he had already resigned himself to the tragedy that such bloodshed would bring; such a shame that death would occur. His mind jumped to thoughts of the men, women and children he would be forced to drive to despair and insanity, crawling away in desperation as he lunged at them ferociously in a heated battle of life and death. The mere images he could conjure in his own brain as to what such a situation would look like excited him to no end. His breathing grew fast, his blood pumping as he gripped at himself to calm down. After a minute in pitch black and the silence that came with it, Hector's breathing slowed to a meditative state. His shaky hand contrasted with his ominous resolve, and realizing this, steadied it with his other hand.

"It's going to be a fun night, I hope.", he again muttered to himself, creeping out of the shadows and in front of an unsuspecting house door.

---

WC: 401/1000

With frightening precision and power, Hector kicked down the door to the house and filled its halls with an echoing crunch.

"HELLO!", the madman shouted, banging the pommel of his sword against the nearest wall multiple times.

There were no lights on, and so the pillager set about the building turning them all on. As a mere human he had no sight without such things, and it was always important for a raider to know what he's raiding. It's just unprofessional without that tidbit of information, in Hector's eyes. Thus, after minutes of scanning the first floor and feeling around in the dark with the pointed end of his weapon in front, the ground floor was secured.

Taking a look around for the first time, he noted the house's age. There were wooden planks damaged by time, dirty furniture, dust visible in the air, and mold growing in some corners. Interior design wasn't Mr. Heed's field of expertise, but even he acknowledged that this was not an abode worth anyone's time or money.

It was as he noted these things that he heard movement from upstairs. It being an old house, the creaking of the planks on the second floor gave it away immediately. Was it a trap, or simply incompetent residents? Or worse, had somebody already beaten Hector to this place? Squatters were the worst sorts of people nowadays - it was so rude how they infiltrated the homes of others without consent from the owner. Terrible, horrible people, really. The madman's eyes waited upon the stairs descending to the first floor with curiosity, wanting to know what kind of person would greet him and his five star entrance.

The answer sharpened his eyes and drew a bored and dull expression across his features. Coming down the stairs was a man wielding a sledgehammer. He didn't appear particularly well-built or trained, and was dressed neither fancy nor ragged. He was perfectly average in every way, and such mundane results always disappointed the crimson killer. Without so much as a word, the man reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes never leaving view of Hector, and proceeded to rush him with a bellowing warcry to amp himself up.

---

WC: 769/1000

The noise sprung Hector awake at once, releasing the tension from his body to flow like liquid away from the man's strikes. Hector wouldn't underestimate the power of a sledgehammer, but at the same time knew from his opponent's footwork alone that he was not somebody built for combat. After a number of swings that Hector could easily count on his hand if he felt it necessary, the sledgehammer-wielding man was already visibly tired and sweating.

Just one more, Hector thought - and his wish was granted as the sledgehammer descended vertically towards his cranium.

Dancing with the wind, Hector evaded the predictable strike and kicked out the man's knee, buckling him over onto the floor with fatigue finally setting in. Somebody as average as him didn't deserve any gloating or a monologue, in Hector's eyes. The most he could do was look into the prone man's eyes as he plunged the blade into his throat, giving him a look of silent promise that if there was anybody upstairs he was protecting, they would soon join him.

The man bled out soon after, and Hector began his journey upstairs with bloody tracks coming off of his shoes. It was always so messy, dealing with the gore of others. It was so inconsiderate for them to bleed out like that rather than just dying normally.

The killer followed the same pattern as the first floor, turning on every light on the second floor. He eventually came to a room in which he saw a woman and young boy huddled in a corner in fear. The woman was clutching a ruby-encrusted dagger pointing towards the door that Hector just walked through. In the woman's eyes was death and desperation, and it was an unspoken mutual agreement throughout the room that somebody would die here.

At that, Hector noted to himself that the dagger could fetch a pretty penny. After all, he was unsuccessful in finding much else of worth to sell in the house. Upon acknowledging that, he nodded in agreement with himself and smiled towards the woman as he approached.

"Got it. I got it! Hey, lady? I'll be taking that knife, and your life."

And with that, the bloodstained blade claimed two more lives that night - but Hector would never go into details of the full experience. A proper gentleman would never ruin the mystery, of course.

---

WC: 1000/1000

~EXIT~