A homeless man lay in the alley, smelling of stale urine and rum, to drunk to even sit up. The shadows cast aside by the fetid yellow light of a broken street lamp slithered to embrace their master as he stepped into the alley. "I Azzibeel Lord of Shadows and Slayer of the Worthless have deemed you nothing more than excrement. Now my will shall be done," the Stalker's raspy whisper of a voice slunk through the alley and violated the homeless wretch's ears. The wretch quietly moaned as he prayed to a long ago forsaken God to spare him this doomed fate. The Stalker stepped forward, even his footfalls not daring to make a sound for fear they may be next, and raised his well worn and much used hammer above his head, and struck. Blood and gray matter sprayed from the now jagged hole in the dead wretches skull, and decorated the ally walls like macabre party decorations. The Stalker satisfied with the evenings work slipped into the nights unhallowed darkness.