Yoke of the Forsaken

      @vyrulent​

         Tyres rumbling friction across wet asphalt, hollowed into sounding more subdued than qualifying to the heavier model like the Rolls-Royce which emerged from it’s abyssal cast ; pitched effortlessly distinctive across a moonless night. It’s chrome accents were the first to draw contrast, with the Spirit of Ecstasy glistening in lead against dimming street lamps. It made the rest of her onyx body lustrously follow suit. Mimicking an organic similitude just beyond her clear and protective coats. When the vehicle approached the scene that no less had been forced in being played out in the alleyway. Dark and decrepit as it had been damp with trash scattered all about the narrowing path which spewed out into their end. Instinct had called the Wraith to this particular point , her driver too, and as such her lights immediately go from bald illumination to a spontaneous bright; a burn that lit up the entire alley and the figures afoot. Steam emitted from her grille in union with a hiss , as if to exhale a breath long since held in the aftermath of a hunt.

          Charles Manx remained within the comfort of his vehicle’s holding. Simply observing the commotion from the dividing windshield - outward at who once had been his own target, now disheveled with her flesh in ribbons. Here, in his stead, another rose to the occasion. Saving him the trouble of getting his hands dirty altogether.