The executioner sweeps down the pitch-black lane with the power of a silent twister, vision sharp, purpose clear. For too long, he has hungered for tonight’s target, one perpetually protected by legal technicalities and pathetic bureaucracy. The trail of wreckage this monster leaves in his wake is overwhelming, his depravity disguised only by the skins of virtuous people, which he has crudely stretched over the bones of his treachery.

Shaking away disgust, he squints into the cool air, which stings his eyes as he zips past dark houses. Despite his astounding speed, worries find him; should he sentence an unconvicted man? Is it worth risking the consequences for this act of justice? Yes, this man is atrocious even amongst the usual convicts, and the mission is thoughtfully designed. The executioner banishes fear and finds peace in the anonymity of the night.

Calm and confident, fierce and focused, he slips inside. With silent strides, he floats through grotesquely extravagant passages, following the hall to the door at the end. He halts, his palm against cool metal of the ornate doorknob. In one swift motion, he is inside the room, weapon poised, and he brings it down on the lump beneath the bedcovers. 

The moment it connects, he knows it’s wrong. Whipping the sheets from the bed, he pales and falls to his knees. The shape in the bed is not the man whom he despises, but the monster’s naive lover, motionless, the damage done. His power broken over the truly good human being, the world spins around his head until he knows not who he is, only that he will be punished. And amidst the chaotic despair of a careful plan gone awry, a legendary blade shattered over a stray diamond, there is a question. Who, next, will own his mistakes?