DEATH; the NightStalker now wondered why he'd
ever feared it. 
    He'd been there before, on the other side and
looking back in, the cold, stark loneliness of
the grave overwhelming his senses. As bodiless and
souless as any other dead thing whose flesh has failed, 
he was now free of all that, IF he wanted to be. 

   He'd always known that death itself wasn't the
end; even before he'd become cursed.
  Except in his case, though, it didn't seem likely
that a boring, mundane death was going to be
a part of the final scenario. 
   The NightStalker; now a SuperKiller, was once known
as Sampson Faith, - tribal elder and medicine man,
long ago, when he'd still been a member of the human
race - now a sleek, modified, bodiless entity, 
as he slithered through the netherworld with the
greatest of ease, like an experienced acrobat
defying death high above the center ring. 

   DEATH; such a silly and meaningless word. 

   It no longer frightened him more than it did 
amuse him, himself having died many times before.
  It was a strange experience, death was; an extreme
rush at first, like a huge burst of adrenaline, 
knowing what was coming, knowing what was happening
to you but not fearing it, actually EXCEPTING it, 
doing so with with open arms, embracing it like a
long lost lover. 
  Then: a brief nanosecond of pain, followed by
a silent, merciful veil of darkness. 
  And, with each new death, a new life; a rebirth, 
if you will, as he cruelly deprived his helpless 
victims of their bodies,their blood.
  He ate their hearts; thus assuring that their
lost souls would remain his forever. 
  

    HE had learned the fine art of murder, killing,
from the masters; Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy, and Gein. 
And, of course, his favorite mentor of all, Bill
Seikert, AKA Jack the Ripper, whose hot, dark blood
he'd enjoyed spilling most of all. 
  The NightStalker considered the act of murder 
an art form, like painting or sculpting. But, unlike
the Van Goghs or Rembrandts, his often visually
striking masterpieces were painted in blood, 
sculpted in flesh and bone. 
  He also carried with him a necronomicon; a book of 
the dead. 
  It's many pages were fashioned from a corpse's
skin, it's text drafted in human blood. It held the 
many names of the damned, the cursed, the afflicted.
  The records of their crimes, their various
attrocities, and the means and dates of their
deaths. 
   Alot of them, of course, dead by the NightStalker's
hand. 

     The SuperKiller; he liked his new nickname.