The darkness of night was pierced by howling winds, perfect for a killing spree.
A sharp sword, like a bolt of lightning, flashed through the darkness, and then a figure fell to the ground, spattering blood everywhere. Soon, the blood pooled, filling the air with its metallic scent.
The sword was drawn in silence, and sheathed just as quietly, its blade bright like a mirror, untainted by a single drop of blood.
Gazing down at the corpse, the figure in black revealed a chilling smile before disappearing into the shadows.
Less than an hour later, another body hit the ground, also felled by a single sword strike.
After each life taken, the figure in black bore the same cold smirk. Tonight, his samurai sword had reaped the lives of seven martial artists. Glancing at the sky, he halted his advance. Taking down seven elite warriors in one night was more than enough.
