A sinister smile unfurled on his pale lips as he gazed at the ruin before him.

Thieves, hundreds of them, laid to rest in of their own blood.

Ah, the blood. Smoothly, he sidestepped the strewn, broken disarray of stone and wood, and approached a body---a little girl's---dipping his thin fingers into the crimson liquid. It felt good to him; warm, but chilling. Slowly, the fluid soaked through his fingers, illuminating his form with a faint, red glow.

His smile grew more twisted, and he stood, his arms outstretched. The blood around him shivered, and slinked over to him, disappearing into his skin, his ruby aura increasing ten-fold. Soon, all the blood in the vicinity was his. All his, coursing through his veins.

He waited until the building was dry of the dark substance, until all the bodies were pale and papery. He released a small chuckle of content and satisfaction, and glancing at his hand, he smirked at the crimson wetnes that coated his fingertips.

Turning to the girl beside him, he knelt down, flicking his fingers to her face. Little drops of blood splattered the skin, accenting the hollow, empty look in dead eyes.

Slowly, he stood, his smirk malicious. The leader would return soon...

He laughed, cold and cruel, and turned away.

Oh, how he loved blood.