Blood covered his face. He set down the small iron statuette and wiped off his face with the small cloth he had in his other hoof. He looked at the body on the table in front of him. She was still alive. She wasn't a victim, she was someone he saved. The blood wasn't hers, nor was it his. The viscera on the table, pooled under her head was from his last victim. And the one before that. And the one before that. His last victim was killed about 20 minutes ago, with the iron statuette. A stallion, yellow in color with a black mane. Handsome, but definitely deserving of death. If the law enforcement or guards had found out what he had did, it would have been life. Never the chair... They never give them the chair. Always life enprisonmet. Killing a mare with a spear stolen from the armory of the castle was a high offense, but nothing was high enough for the chair. He sighs. The chair? In his world that was a viable option. Here, however, death was never the answer. Unless you were on deaths door, they wouldn't allow anyone to die. And, oddly enough, he couldn't let the mare die either. She wasn't evil, but she was knocked out and nearly raped by the gentlecolt downstairs. Tied to his chair with a braided chain, bound and gagged, never to injure another soul again.
He will deal with him soon. Not now. He picks up the mare and carries her to the bedroom upstairs. Oddly, he had two floors below ground. He placed her in the bed and put the note next to her on the bedside table. He told her that she had gotten a nasty gash on her head and a possible concussion, and that he had brought her here to help her. Indeed, except the gash, every bit of that was true. He had wrapped her head in a red bandage to give the illusion of blood. He had found her, and had given her a medical examination on the table. At one point, it looked like she waking up, so he picked up the statuette in case she did. She didn't, and continued breathing normally. He sighed as he remembered the events of the evening. Killing the psycho twenty minutes earlier, going out to see what the price for a cup of coffee was, then stopping a rape. Full evening. Now, mind you, he is a psycho too. Not insane in a way of murdering the innocent, but in the way of protecting them. He was the same way in his world, killing criminals, but it was legal. Here, even pushing someone was unheard of. It didn't help that he had ended up in the snootiest town in this sordid nation. Nor did it help that all crimes were treated the same way, from petty theft to capital murder. No matter what you did, all you'd get was time in a prison or a dungeon. Unacceptable. He had to stop the crimes. And the best way was to kill off all the bastards in this damn town who were pure evil. Which was a lot, surprisingly. Anyway, now was the time to take care of the asshole downstairs.
He walks down the large set of stairs leading to the second basement floor and sees the stallion struggling against his bondage. He chuckles at the futile efforts of the stallion. The stallion hears the chuckling, and looks directly at his captor. His eyes go wide in fear. The stallion stops struggling, and hangs his head down, knowing his fate. His captor frowns. "Oh, come now. I stopped you from attacking the poor mare, and I expected you to try harder to escape. I'll give you one shot." he says. He loosens the chain, and the stallion bolts for the stairs. A door flys from the ground as he nears them. He runs directly into it, breaking his nose. He writhes on the ground, covering his snout with his hooves, already blood-stained. The captor clucks his tongue. "Bad luck, Charlie. Now, then, I'm going to give you another chance. Plead your case, convince me you weren't going to rape her." he says, setting the bastard in the chair and removing the gag.
"You bastard, I didn't do nothin'!" he says, blood streaming down his face. The captor smiles.
"And that lead pipe just came out of nowhere, then? You expect me to believe that you did NOT attack her? I watched you." the captor says, the smile turning into a malevolent grin. The other stallion's eyes widen in horror. Any more, and they'd rip off.
"I didn't! I swear it!" he says. The captor pulls out a small scalpel. "What are you doing?!" he yells.
"Killing you." the captor says.
He walks over to a small boom box in the corner. He turns it on. A heavy rock song starts playing, but at a somewhat low volume so no one in the neighborhood can hear it. He starts humming along to it. He walks over to the other stallion and hits him in the face, knocking him to the floor. He positions himself over the stallion, and sends the scalpel into his chest with a strong motion. It hits, and the stallion yells in pain. Bad move. The captor grabs his tongue, and with another swift motion pulls out the scalpel from his chest and slices the tongue off. Blood spurts onto the captor's face. He gets up, and sends the scalpel into the shoulder of the stallion. He cuts deep, deep enough to sever tendons. He cuts the other foreleg in the same way, then stands on his hind legs. He grabs both forelegs, and wrenches them off. Blood covers the room. The stallion has passed out from the pain and the blood loss. The captor, as a final motion, sends the scalpel through the stallion's temple. Death happens instantly. He smiles. Never again. A pounding is heard upstairs. The guards found out. He smiles. Maybe HE'D get the chair. The first executioner the first executed.
