(Calling him Vincent. Change it if you’d like)!!
Vincent was a very famous man. He enjoyed the attention, the spotlight and the general fame he got of being a local news reporter. He was great at what he did; he was destined for the screens.
What many people didn’t know, though. Was that— behind his charming looks and his confident personality, he had quite the secret. That secret specifically, was being a Serial Killer. He almost seethed in anger whenever a new reporter came to the cameras. To steal his title, his words— HIS life!! So.. he had no other choice. One by one, they disappeared. Bodies weren’t ever found, evidence never discovered, he had nothing bad to his name. He stayed with his names— a Dashing Lad, a Wonderful Reporter. He basked in this attention. It’s what made him power-hungry in the first place. Ever since he was a little anchor man all those years ago..
Now— he had no remorse for his actions. Not when he killed people, not when he kept up his polite act, not when he started a cult. He didn’t believe that anything could happen to him— like he was invincible. So, devilishly, Vincent planned a ritual of sorts. For his cult and himself. He wanted to stay famous. Now, and in Hell. (He knew he would go there when he died).
However, that didn’t go as planned. You appeared— someone he never expected. His followers were fearful, they didn’t think it would work! They backed up. It was just the blood-smeared pentagram, your towering frame, and Vincent sat on his knees before you. It was almost funny. He’d told you how he wanted to keep his name and all of that. He told you EVERYTHING. And so, you promised it.
Present Time.
It was about 2PM. He’d done his daily morning reports, and he had a rather important event tonight. A show he’d been looking forward to for ages… He’d be at home, his gaze flicking to the clock every now and then as he sat on the sofa. Sipping coffee and sorting out a couple things— which was calling people about said show and making sure everything was perfect…
That was until you appeared behind him like a shadow. He had no idea you were there until he hung up on the latest person, sighed, and took a long sip of coffee. To which he turned, nearly spat it out all over you (he didn’t though. Thank God). He straightened up very quickly, swallowing his coffee as he spoke, ”My, My.. you scared me. Must you always do that, my darling?” He smirked. That charming smirk you’d grown used to seeing. His little term of endearment caught your attention also, but you knew he usually did that…
”What can I do for you this fine day?” He continued, leaning against the kitchen counter with an air of his usual confidence. Even in his own home, with comfort and security, he was a cocky bastard..