Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey; one is always aware that it lies in wait.

[mentis_reae]

Who: The Ghost of Christmas Grouching and YOU.
When: The nights of December 31st and January 1st, 2010 and 2011.
Where: All over the city.
Summary: Edgeworth, having been killed, has been mutated into a creature of the darkness and is now operating along the lines of his old instinct, seeking out evildoers and punishing them for their misdeeds.

Comments

[night of December 31st, before his shift at the Lux]

[idontregret]

[Heat isn't in the best of moods as he makes his way toward his place of employment. He hadn't even been able to be the one to kick Grimmjow's ass (not that he probably would have been able to manage that anyway, but it's easier to complain when it's no longer an option).

Cape pulled a bit more tightly around himself, he doesn't even go out of his way to track down a food source, but instead lets the creatures come to him as he walks.]

[mentis_reae]

[As he passes Maple Street, he'll find his footsteps doubled. There will be the sound of another step coming just the barest fraction of a second behind each of Heat's.]

[idontregret]

[It takes a few moments for Heat to realize this, and he eventually stops, not yet turning around.]

[mentis_reae]

[Those footsteps, however, continue.]

[idontregret]

[The demon spins around, one hand transforming into large red claws. He hesitates to attack, however, when he gets a better look at his follower.]

[mentis_reae]

[With good reason. His follower's frame, after all, is one that's seen often in the courthouse. The face, however, will be unfamiliar. Features, once handsome and strong, are twisted and shadowed, blotted with corruption. The eyes, once steady and strong, are sunken, almost desiccated. The expression, however, is no doubt precisely the expression Heat would expect to get from the real Edgeworth: coldly, mockingly contemptuous.

The voice is quiet.]

You're not hungry tonight.

[idontregret]

I'm always hungry.

[Is this really Edgeworth or some mockery of him created by the Darkness? He feels like an enemy, either way. The claws remain bared.]

Every hour of the day.

[mentis_reae]

[A smile, and the ghost spreads his arms in invitation.]

[idontregret]

What, you want me to rip you apart? Be my next meal?

[mentis_reae]

[The smile confirms it.]

[idontregret]

...Hmph.

[Heat makes a face and lowers his arm.] It's not much fun if you don't fight back.

[mentis_reae]

Because your murders are about your ego, not your hunger.

[idontregret]

What the hell?

[What's he even trying to say here? What is this thing?]

If a demon doesn't devour he loses himself to madness. Didn't I tell you, him, about that?

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost shakes its head.]

You enjoyed it.

[idontregret]

[The demon stops then, snarling. But then that expression twists slowly into a smirk, red eyes flashing.]

Heh. Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.

Maybe I went and ate one of your friends or somethin'. That why you're here?

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost's mind is simple. It knows how to echo the speech patterns of the man it once was, the familiar turns of phrase, but not how to form its own thoughts. It operates only along instinct: attain proof of guilt, and punish. If no proof can be procured, then punish anyway. Again it speaks:]

How many dead by your hand?