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[center][b]Chapter One [/b][/center]
[center]The City of Locusts [/center]

Hello. My name is Hector Filbert Faust. A butcher in both occupation and hobby; a brilliant mind trapped and misunderstood beneath the twisted confines of society- that is to say- I kill people because it's fun. And because mother wouldn't love me enough. Or some shit. 

 "Please! [i]Please![/i] "

I've seen things my life I don't fully understand- take for example, this sweet thing I'm currently strangling. Pretty as a peach; rosy, blonde and legs that go on forever. Y’know, I like her legs. [i]Like em' just fine.[/i] But it's when suddenly she sprouts what can only be described as second kneecaps that things start to get weird. "What the hell are those, doll? …Huh?" I must admit that in all my years of strangling I most certainly did not see this one coming. 

"[i]Please! Stop- Help! Hel-[/i]" her accent was, foreign and only faintly recognizable. Traces of an Irish brogue wrought with an edge of something I've never heard before. She was having trouble screaming, [i]and fair enough since I’m choking the shit out of her[/i]- but also because the kneecap looking things were traveling fast up the backs of her legs to the base of her throat just under the thin membrane of skin. 

Here’s where it gets even stranger, gentlemen: I felt them within my grasp; one bulge soft and squishy like putty and the other below it hollow like a pocket of air. I began to laugh, aside from the familiar bloodlust that surged within me; I also felt a great deal of grim determination, like popping a pimple. 

 She started making this sound, similar to brewing a pot of coffee—[i]know what I mean[/i]? It wasn't the usual [i]'Gahhhhh-ack-gurgle'[/i] sound I hear from victims, it was a watery squeal that projected deep from the diaphragm. 

Well that’s a little odd, it was almost as if she were about to hock a l-- [b]"ARGHH! My eyes! "[/b]

No sooner had I let her go- the girl ran. 

[i]Acid. She. spit. acid.[/i] 

I writhed around howling and clawing at my peeper-holes until I had the good sense to stand and feel my way around to a tree. Little shit is going to pay. Big time. I swiped at the air until I got a hold of some leaves and wiped my eyes clean "You're dead sweetheart. You're dead! Central Forest isn't big enough for you to hide in-- dryad, slut!" my vision remained a little hazy and tunneled but I could still hear her frantic footsteps not too far off. 

Aside from the fact that I throttle people and occasionally use the rib-cages as top hats, I genuinely [i]do[/i] like jogging. I'm not a runner mind you, An orc like me, well into his life and past the point of being sprinter even if I wanted to, but I have endurance. 

I can jog through the woods for hours without stopping… 

“O young laaaady! Where are you, beautiful-- come on out, I didn't mean what I said earlier... Now, there’s no use in hiding from Ol’ Hector-- ” And that much was true. Yours truly, has the keenest nose in the tri-city area. Only a matter of time before I get to lay my hands once more on that supple neck-skin. 

 “I’m over here you sick, old, [i]Fuck![/i]” she cries from off to my left. 

[i]Oh?[/i] 
[i]Oh.[/i]
[i]Oh shi[/i]—

Although I retain my vision, my limbs begin to cease up. There is a trickling sensation that sweeps over the span of my legs and I’ve just realized that this bitch has a gun. But that doesn't make sense. [i]Where did she get the fucking gun from?[/i] And why didn't she try that business when I was about to throttle her? Why can’t I feel my body? Something doesn't fit into the equation. 

[i]Oh.[/i]

“Are you okay,Nimmy?” a familiar voice asks. I’m about to answer, but then I realize that I’m unable to speak. I swivel my gaze upwards only to immediately regret doing so. The Boy King. Gaia, help me. Not this brat again. 

“I-I’m okay” the girl says, and to my satisfaction, her voice is whispery and uneven. [i]Good. Bitch should be so lucky.[/i] “Say, Ulrich? I think we may have went three grams too heavy on the medications—he’s starting to convulse.”

She was correct. However it was from sheer rage, not drugs. [i]To think the little shits lured me out here—[/i]

“Not quite. I think he’s starting figure out why we've been trying to talk to him—haven’t you, Faust?” 

[i]Of course I have you little prick. You've been tracking me for weeks. Come close a few times too, but... Bah! Playing to my weakness though? I thought, fuming. The boy simply has no shame.[/i]

 Nimmy. That’s her name. I’ll make sure to remember that…