Stalker becomes Hunted

No one goes near her. Not unless they want their arms chopped off (and I assure you it would not be pleasant...). Xyliar only has one family member... her brother. But they lead less than normal lives. Others live in fear of the demonic creatures that haunt the darkness in the night, but then you have the hunters. They turn the stalker into their prey.
She finds it oddly difficult to accept other people, but who needs other people? Who needs anyone? All she needs is the katana at her hip and the murderous hatred of those who prey on the weak and vulnerable.


2. The boss


“Xyliar. Wake up.” A gentle, but irritating shake of her shoulder made her jolt out of a dream about the late night before. The night had lasted longer then she’d anticipated.

            “What?” I snapped, drawing the long katana beside my bed and pointing it at the irritating child standing next to me. He jumped back and held up his hands.

            “Calm down, it’s me Xyliar!” He exclaimed in alarm.

            “I know exactly who you are.” The girl snapped the weapon back into its sheath and threw the boy a look that clearly said she wanted to murder him in the most painful way possible.

            “Um… the boss said to wake you up.”

            “He must want you to die.” Xyliar sat up so quickly that the boy flinched and jumped back about a metre. “Go make me breakfast.” She added, sliding a pair of slim feet from under the sheets of her bed clothes. “Go on then!” The boy yelped and scurried from the room. Why was it that he always seemed to forget that touching her meant he’d lose his arm? No matter who he was. Even if he was her brother, no one ever touched her in any way. Not family. Not anyone. Not for any reason.

            “Zenith.” She called, almost in a scream. 

            “Oh my god! What?!” He said sprinting into the room. A twisted smile slid across her face.

            “Go get him; I have some… words for him.” Zenith gave an almost terrified shudder and sprinted from the room, obviously afraid of receiving a katana through his head.


The boy returned, trailing behind him was a tall man. His long pure white hair tumbled over his shoulders in a messy tiredness, blocking his eyes, which were already covered with thick rectangular glasses. His loose jeans made him look un-neat along with his baggy white t-shirt.

            “Xylie? Where are yoooou?” He said jauntily.

            “Don’t call me that.” The harsh, chilling voice of Xyliar snapped from the bathroom door, she closed it behind her with a clunk.

            “Up all ready?” The man asked, beaming at the scowling girl.

            “Obviously. Anyway I wanted to ask you why you sent my… well that,” She pointed to Zenith, “In to wake me up, do you want your trainee to die a very pain filled death?” The boy looked at his sister with fear shrouding his similar features. They were odd looking children. Both housing midnight black hair making their grass green eyes stand out brighter than they would with any other hair colour. She was wearing the same clothes as she did most days: Black skinny jeans with a black t-shirt, topping it off with a long coat that went down to the floor at the back and knee high rubber soled boots laced down the front with a thick wedge heel. Everything had to be black. It was one of the few rules for the organisation. Her brother’s clothes were a lot less… well intimidating, he wore a black hoodie with black jeans with black leather boots that were too big for him.

            In this case the boss was very different in contrast with their black attire. Because he rarely went out of the block of flats the order occupied (and the fact he was the boss) he didn’t have to wear all black every day like everyone else.

            One thing that was good about having such dark hair was that they didn’t have to wear hoods, which blocked your peripheral vision, rendering you in danger of being attacked on your blind sides.


“So is that all you wanted to say?” The boss said, running an absent hand through his white locks.

            “No. I wanted to ask how many more I need to kill before I get out of the baby level. I’m sick of the same training on loop every month.”

            “I’ve already told you, you have to be sixteen.”

            “I know, but you I’ve killed more of them than anyone else. Even in the higher groups.” The plain agitation in her irritated voice seemed to scare the man because he recoiled a bit and eyed the weapon still sitting by her bedside.

            “Uh, yeah… I’ll reconsider.” The terrifying demonic look that usually plastered Xyliar’s features twisted into a rare smile.

            “Thanks Varian.” She trilled, forcing her voice into a happy one. “I think I’ll skip breakfast today, I have some Nihileitatas to kill.”

            “No you don’t. Hunters need protein.” He grasped her slim shoulders and steered her out of her pristine room. Xyliar turned, almost as quick as light, and slapped his arms, leaving a bloody gash there.

            “Oooooow! That was naaails! ”He moaned grumpily, waving a hand over the cut and healing it. That was another thing that made the organisation different from normal human beings. They weren’t human beings. Not really. Every single one of them the same powers: healing, strong senses, strong fighting skills and the incapability to refuse fighting the Nihileitatas.

            ‘Nihileitatas’ was only a nick name for the creatures really. No one really knew what they were. What they wanted with human kind. All anyone knew was that the ‘nothingness’ (their name translated from Latin into English), were there, and they were there to kill.


“I already said don’t touch me.” The girl snapped. She stalked back into her room like an angry panther and slammed the door behind her. Emerging again only when her brother and ‘the boss’ had left the area. Xyliar’s katana was strapped safely beside her again, making her feel empowered and ready to kill.      

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