The kickstand dropped to the pavement followed by a heavy boot outside Nocturne. As the flames churned off the tires, the exhaust glowed a hot orange-red spitting its erratic beat as its Rider dismounted. A heavy chain fell behind, its links clamoring to the ground searing a path as it melted through the asphalt filling the air with dirty smoke and a chemical stench. With each step closer, Cole could feel his soul exploding outward like a star going nova. He was himself, but he was not himself- all at the same time, like his whole purpose, his existence, for that moment was completely singular, insatiable. His senses absorbed multiple planes of reality all at once: colors, auras, feelings past and present imprinted on time and space.
Nocturne was dark to human eyes, but the entire building clamored with spiritual activity at his approach. Entities escaping, others hauntingly gathered like vultures perched to collect whatever was soon to be left behind. He could hear their disembodied calls and whispers growing louder with anticipation as the ground quickly became molten beneath him. Glowing red hydras cracked the surface and hissed flames that spat up from underneath. Painful, inhuman howls from the tormented intensified as he neared the entrance to the club. Twisted visages reached up through the flames for his charred pant leg falling away hopelessly at each mechanical step forward. He could see inside, feeling the presence of the one he came to take and the one to take away.
The victims were often the same: Murderers, pedophiles, con-artists, human traffickers. The worst of the worst. He would find them in places like Nocturne or on dark stretches of the freeway between LA and Las Vegas. When it was time, it was time. Some begged for mercy, others fought, some seemed to even expect it. Without exception though, the hired help always ran away leaving their employer’s soul to be torn apart alone. Nocturne was no exception. As he stepped through the front entrance the spirits gathered were in a full riot. The doors that had apparently been removed shot back up on their hinges then fell back again like a tape being replayed again and again. As the floor ignited beneath him, the power in the building fell away completely while Layne Staley’s voice still lamented The Rooster.
The chain drug the floor behind him groaning across polished marble as the flames spread cackling over the ground level and crawling up the walls. The sprinkler system erupted into action as the entire building seemed to twist and groan in agony. Hollow vision lifted slowly to an upstairs office that overlooked the lower floor where the three were gathered. For a moment he stood, unmoving like a statue, staring up at them while the water beat pitifully against the fire spreading through the downstairs and across his scorched leather jacket. The song dropped with a sharp heterodyne and the speakers went dead as he moved for the stairway.