It was raining because Clement wanted it to rain. He found the down pour peaceful and soothing, there was nothing like watching the earth heal itself with water. It was also amazing to see nature destroy itself with its mighty forces, forces that the average man had no control over.
He was no average man though, he did not have to bend to the will of nature, his hand was over nature like a puppeteer over a puppet. He knew this, that was what made him so deadly. He didn't have to kill someone he didn't like quickly, he could make them suffer for years in ways that they never knew possible, and on certain days he took great pleasure in that.
This day was not the day though.
He was walking the streets of Arca, and if anyone looked close enough they would find it odd that he didn't have a drop of water on him. Even his feet were completely dry. He wandered the dark city, walking past strangers with a smile as he passed. He was in a good mood, that was why it was simply rain when it could have storming with winds and lightening dangerously raging, but no, he wanted peace that night.
He had been wandering the city for a long time, now observing everything from the rooftops when he saw something, or better put, a piece of someone. From where he stood he could only see a hand, a very delicate hand, a hand that could only belong to a woman. She was hidden away in the fringes of the city, no one, unless other people with freakishly good vision walked along the rooftops, would have seen her. She was clearly either left for dead, or already dead.
So with steady steps he made his way towards the woman, she was definitely worse for wear. She was sliced up rather badly, there was little blood though because the rain had washed most of it away. He bent down beside her, looking closely, finding the most gruesome wound being the one on her face. He couldn't help the soft smirk that spread across his lips. She must have really pissed off the wrong person.
The woman wasn't dead yet though, he found that even more interesting, she was a fighter, she was fighting to stay alive for whatever reason drove mortals. He found himself feeling for the girl, it was a night of peace, it would also be the night of second chances, of mercy. He took his nail and drug it against his palm, slicing into the flesh there. Then, moving his hand above the most horrendous wound the girl had before letting a bit of his blood run into the girl, giving the girl a piece of his power, and a piece of his strength.
She would recover, he would help her. He did get lonely so for now he would have companionship. He scooped the girl up into his arms and packed her to house he had been staying at, he would nurse her back to health there.
