How dark has the sky grown, shimmering with the faint light of a few scattered stars, glimmering like brilliant gemstones on the soft velvet of the clouds, deceiving a by-passer with their shimmer. And deceitful they were, truly, for the night was freezing cold and winds were biting. One wouldn't chase a dog out in a cold like that. Not even a fool would leave the warmth of their house would they not have to.<br/><br/>The bright light of the chandelier in the luxurious bedroom of a lavish, yet somehow strict and cold house, reflected from the mirror, which proudly showed a man's figure back to himself. A figure, buttoning a stark white shirt up, elegant fingers pushing the buttons through the holes smoothly and without fail, to stuff the shirt in a pair of white pants and tighten a strand of red, a silken tie as crimson as blood, sharply contrasting with the collected and calm white of the suit, around his neck. He ran his fingers down it, their tips straightening microscopic imperfections on the tie's surface, to proceed to put a white vest and jacket, matching to the trousers perfectly, on. He buttoned both, once more running his hands through his smooth black hair, pulled into a low ponytail.<br/>Perfect white under the light of the chandelier. No shadows. The white was such a stark contrast to the charcoal black of his eyes.<br/><br/>Why, one would ask, did a man at an hour so late make his way into the no less shabby interior of a black car? Why, one would ask, did he start the engine, softly purring underneath the car's hood, and left into the night, cold and clear?<br/>Demons were a curious sort, for all there was to know about them. Strange in their very nature.<br/><br/>The vehicle made its way through the dark, the light of headlights tearing the night apart like a knife, slicing through warm butter. Sharp and piercing the light was, cutting through the dark streets and noiselessly passing through, only the hum of the engine a testament to it, a proof that it was no illusion, but a true vehicle, passing through the streets of Munich.<br/>Slowly, the city that he passed through, the buildings he didn't spare a look for, changed. From a rich domain of those blessed with wealth and power that he left, he entered the commoners' district, the one he so sparsely set a foot in. The low and middle class did not have the funds to afford his service, nor did he have the interest to be of help to those that were of little use to his own self.<br/>For, in his heart, Kai was a calculating man that prized prestige, power, and wealth greatly.<br/><br/>The tires screeched on the surface of the road, the car finally being parked in front of a rather ordinary-looking apartment building. A heavy air surrounded these parts of the town, suffocating it as the noose tightened slowly. The noose was tightening, around Germany, around Europe, around them, it was getting dangerously narrow and with every moment, the chance of pushing through was getting smaller.<br/>The Reaper's scythe would swing down to the final destination.<br/>But not yet.<br/>No, not yet.<br/>It was not the time for the end yet.<br/><br/>Before the grand finale would come, they'd feast and they'd dine like vultures on the war-torn scraps of the earth, twisted in agony underneath the iron claws of the end's knight so grandiosely named Conflict... For no end ever came silently.<br/>Kai knew that about humanity. If it were to disappear, it would begone in an explosion, not fade away as simply as one would think.<br/><br/>His black-gloved hand opened the door of the car, and let his figure, garbed in a long white coat, slide out. He stepped into the cold of the winter, though he cared naught for the cold air that he breathed clouds of mist into. So believable was the guise, even the steam, rising from his lips, was perfect. He walked forwards, without an issue stepping into the apartment building and almost noiselessly walking the stairs up. In the meantime, his hand undid the buttons of the long coat, revealing the perfectly tailored suit underneath.<br/>White was a fitting color. White, it was the<span style="font-style: italic">perfect</span>color. For white was what made the stains of blood that would adorn it like roses may the time be right most vibrant and most beautiful.<br/><br/>The knock on the door that his hand made was silent, but it still shattered the illusion of calm and silence the building had this late at night.<br/>It was time to pay Frau Deveraux a visit... After watching her silently for a month, not interfering, not letting anyone know, just keeping a watchful eye over the witch, he stepped out of the veil of shadows once and for all.<br/><br/>Maybe it wasn't that much of a surprise. After all, a man of greed as himself would never be content with a single woman to watch over.