Tormented Soul

Ja-Min felt the rising anger and despair that inevitably followed each kill. It had been over seven centuries of searching; looking for that one human that might hold the key to unlocking his soul from this eternal torture. He had come close once. A couple of decades ago, there had been a young African-American woman. When he had first captured her, there was nothing to set her apart from then hundreds, thousands of others that had become nothing more than food to satisfy his all-consuming need for human blood. But the moment he felt the rush of the adrenaline in her blood, he had sensed that this might actually be it; the one that he might restore him to his former glory.

Until that hot summer night in a run down area of South Los Angeles, Ja-Min had begun to believe it was myth: the blood of the chosen one could restore the once great luster of his race. He had lost so much as a result of the sickness. He was an ancient even before he landed on this horrid little world. He had led men into battle. He had studied under the greatest legal and scientific minds of his people. He had been destined by birth for leadership. When his home planet was destroyed he had lead hundreds to the safety of the waiting ships before finally boarding the last one off the dying world. Then he had been the second in command of the scouting party sent ahead to determine the suitability of the small green and blue planet as a new home for their race.

For years, it had all gone better than hoped for. The primitive humans had thought them gods for their shiny space craft and technology. They had been welcomed and worshipped. In exchange, they had shared a bit of their vastly advanced knowledge. They had taught the measly humans building techniques that allowed them to create pyramids at which to worship them. They had also taught them to build roads and water ways that allowed them to live in once uninhabitable regions. As a result, they had been able to negotiate and command obedience. They had signalled the armada of ships carrying what remained of their race that they had found a suitable new home.

Then it had begun. One by one the scouting party had begun to turn; to go mad with blood lust. They had become killing machines; preying upon peoples they had once called their friends. Not just killing either, but brutal and horrific deaths that mangled their victims and drained them of all blood. The transformation was sudden. Thoughts and dreams of murder and mayhem came quickly upon men, who had once been great scientists and men of peace. Then the physical signs: sharpening of teeth, lengthening claws and an insatiable hunger for blood. Within days, sometimes hours, cool, logical men were transformed into monsters. A rumor circulated that the blood of chosen humans held the power to restore their sanity.

Ja-Min had been one of the last to turn. Even in his tormented state he prided himself on that fact. Because of the strength of his character as his once great friends fell one by one to the sickness, he felt that fate owed him above all others a reprieve, salvation from the sick torment which tortured his mind day and night. He had once tasted that salvation; only to have it snatched back from his grasp by the hunter sent to kill him by the counsel that had sentenced him to this fate when it sent him to Earth.

But his one close call with salvation had been interrupted by his nemesis, the hunter. It had been one of their longest and bloodiest frays. But in the end, Ja-Min had decided it best to retreat; to live and fight another day. But he had returned over and over again to the area, always seeking the same woman. The hunter though seemed to have hidden her well. This time would be different. Ja-Min had a plan. The hunter would become the hunted. His old enemy would lead him to the prize that he had sought for so long.

But now was not the time for old consuming grudges, he thought as he tossed the now lifeless body of the young African-American woman into the gutter of another darkened alley way. He had a plan. He had laid a trap for his old enemy. Soon he would have the one he sought. He would make her watch as he murdered the man that had once saved her. Then he would taste once again the sweetness of her fear-laden blood. As he drained the last drop from her, he would be restored to his former greatness. He would be vindicated before the counsel as well. He alone would have found the cure.

Such is always the demented workings of the deprived mind, whether human or super natural. Of course, it is all an illusion as salvation always is; always just out of reach. The tomorrow that never comes. So the creature was instead doomed to stalk the night killing more victims until hopefully the hunter would dispatch his tormented soul from this world; his only true hope of salvation, but one he refused to accept.