Memoires of a killer

I stare into unblinking eyes. A look of sheer terror forever etched into his features. I can't help but grin at the irony of the situation.
He was sent to hunt me, to bring me in, but little did he know that the hunter was really the hunted. I had thought better of them, didn't expect them to send such an amateur after me. Perhaps the next one they send will be better, I think hopefully. There was no sport in this one.
I casually toss the severed head to the side and set off. It's time to pay someone a visit.

The guards never even see me coming. The night is mine and mine alone. The first one's head explodes in a shower of blood, brains and bone. The shock causes the second to hesitate for an instant, which is all I need. I step out of the shadows, and grin my toothy grin at him. His gaze falls on my sharpened teeth, and I see a stain spreading in his slacks. He drops to his knees, sobbing, praying to his god for salvation. Tonight, there is no god, no salvation. Only me.

My serrated knife slices through his stomach like a hot knife through butter. He tries to scream in agony, but no more than a dull grunt escapes his mouth. His tongue lies next to him on the ground, one of the first parts he lost. I don't want him bleeding out and dying on me before I've had my fun, so I cauterized the wound after a few seconds of letting him drown in his own blood. The fear rolls off him in palpable waves. I bask in it, let it fill the void inside of me. I was made for this.
I peel back the ragged edges of his stomach to reveal the organs hidden inside. Behind him, 2 hooks are awaiting their charge. The pain, dread and bloodloss have dulled my plaything to the point of concession. Resignation in his fate has set in, he knows he's already dead. I lower the first of the hooks, the chain rattling. He tries to see what I'm planning, but his eyes are no more than a bloody pulpy mess inside their sockets. They were the first to go. Perhaps I take blind fear too literally, I muse to myself.

I release his left hand from its bond, my strong fingers clasping his arm halfway between his wrist and elbow. My right hand brings the hook closer while I jerk his arm up with my left hand. The sudden motion causes his intestines to spill out of the gaping wound. With the slightest grunt of effort, I ram the sharp hook through his flesh, slipping it soundly between his radius and his ulna. A spasm courses through his body from the pain, noticeably weaker than before I started my little project. I'll have to work fast if I want to get any pleasure from it.
I grab the second hook, undo his right arm of it's ties and quickly, deftly slip the point into the flesh, again passing the radius. My malevolence gets the better of me and I scrape past the ulna, elliciting another spasm. A small trickle of blood runs down his arms, the left already reaching his chest.
I walk to a lever hidden in darkness, flip it. The chains start tightening, withdrawing to the ceiling. Slowly, my charge is lifted up by the flesh of his arms. As the full weight of his body leaves the chair and comes to rest on the hooks, I hear the satisfying sound of tearing skin. The hooks stop their journey through his flesh when they hit bone.
I move back to the thing that was once a trusted lieutenant of Vorn's, kick the chair away. After a few moments of exultation, watching the mangled form of Dave Greeley be slowly suspended against the wall, intestines fully tumbling out of their erstwhile home, I move to a nearby table to pick up my next instrument of torture. I point it at the slightly twitching form of mister Greeley, and push down.
With a flash and a mechanical whirring, a picture is made. I chuckle to myself, 'I've found my christmas card for this year'