Jonah looked at the wolf-girl, who now fell asleep where she sat. After finishing his drink, he gently picked up Ayame. He then carried the wolf-girl to his room and set her down on his bed. After a while, Jonah continued to wonder...what made him so attached to her? She was lonely, yes, but why should he care? He cared for no one but himself. But why is he caring for her? There were more questions than answers, and Jonah grew irritated about that. He needed to get his mind off of it for awhile. He left the tavern and walked out into the night.
There, he was greeted with a frantic sight of what looked like a sword-wielding gang rummaging through homes and shops.
"Hurry up, you fools! Get that scythe man out there! We'll show him what happens when he kills one of our men!" came a voice to his left. He looked and saw a back-turned man in a outfit that looked strangely like the one that slave trader he killed was wearing. Apparently, he must have been part of a ring of slave traffickers. Jonah snorted; those sniveling maggots never knew when to give up.
He approached the slave trader, who apparently was the leader. "Lookin' for me?" he said.
The leader jumped and turned around, clearly surprised. What the...!...That scythe...it's you, isn't it?" he said, losing all evidence that he was shocked. The other gang members stopped, then surrounded Jonah, who seemed unaware of that fact.
"And what if I am?" Jonah said. "Ah yes...you were in league with that worm from a few weeks ago."
The slave traders drew their swords and pointed them at him, a deadly wheel of inward pikes. "You'll pay for interfering with our business!" the leader yelled.
Jonah chuckled. "'Business'? You call trading other people as property for your own greed 'business'? Feh. I call it 'inhumane'."
"KILL HIM!" the leader yelled. The gang, numbering a dozen, lunged at him in perfect unison with swords trained on him. Jonah, seeing that they had to learn the hard way, allowed himself to be stabbed. Twelve swords pierced his body, then withdrew. Pain coursed throughout his body as Jonah quavered and fell onto the ground. Blood was spilled from twelve points on his chest and abdomen as he fell down...but something was not right about his blood. Instead of being crimson red, his blood was an oily black, and, if one took a very close look at it, it contained the stuff of nightmares.
The bandits looked at him in disbelief. He wasn't moving, but the black blood stopped spilling. After a few minutes, Jonah suddenly got up, and, in one swift movement, grabbed his scythe and swung it forcefully, cutting a huge gash in one man's chest. The traders stood in fear, vulnerable as Jonah took down the next one in one move. From then on, it was a thirty-second massacre, the stench of blood thick in the air, until only the leader was left alive, the others lying in pools of blood.
Jonah approached him with scythe drawn, its blade smothered in blood. The leader was paralyzed in fear. "What...what are you? he squeaked in fear.
Jonah's hard, bottomless expression never changed. "I'm Jonah Azrael," he said as he grabbed the man and lifted him off the ground. A high-pitched whistling noise pierced the air as his hand glowed with tiny orange embers. "You will do well to remember that name in Hell." The embers then became a raging inferno, eating at the man until only ashes were left. Jonah then looked at the others he had killed, then, with a wave of his hand, several fireballs shot out, hitting all of the bodies and turning them to ash. The flames dissapated, and the ashes were carried away into the night breeze.
Jonah smiled. Now that was what he needed. He returned to the tavern, his wounds closed up and free of blood.
