His father’s screams melted into the wind as it whistled past his ears. For the ten thousandth time, his father died. The images of blood and horror mixed with the glaring evil of the killers invaded his dreams for years on end. During that time, the years of training with his aunt and uncle to master the power of the Clow Cards hardened his resolve. The martial arts training gave him the idea to become a hunter and protector. It was this that drove him to seek justice.

His gaze became more intense as he watched for anything that might be trouble. South Central. East L.A. The Mission District. Chinatown. Downtown at night. All were breeding grounds for gangs, thieves, drug dealers, organized crime, rapists and murderers. There were so many of them. For four years he had taken vengeance on the evil that infected this city like a deadly cancer, doing his best to protect the innocent and punish the unlawful.

But he was determined to find the bastards that killed his parents and impose The Final Judgment upon them.

He held a copper-colored card, a Clow Card, that had a faint red glow to it, matching the fiery red glow of the pentagrams on the backs of his hands. Looking at the card itself would have revealed a powerful brown-feathered bird with a white head, sharp yellow beak, and stern round eyes. Under it, mixing in with the linear mosaic background, a banner below it read in capital letters: EAGLE SIGHT

He caught sight of something. His eyes narrowed on it as he put the card back into his sleeve and the glow faded from the card and his hands. The jumpsuit he wore was a simple white outfit, covering him from head to toe. The outfit fit him rather loosely and the sleeves billowed out to accommodate the Clow Cards he carried with him. His black hair and tanned face were covered to mask his identity. Only his intense dark brown eyes were visible as he sought to protect the innocent.

He pulled out another card from his right sleeve. This one had the same mosaic design; only it had a picture of a large pair of white feathered wings. The banner below it read: FLIGHT. The parallel markings of the black pentagrams blazed with a fiery red light again as he incanted its power. Silver mists swirled around him quickly. He leapt from the roof as a pair of massive white wings protruded through pre-cut slits on the back of his costume and spread for flight. He picked up an unfathomable speed as he dove for his target like a huge bird of prey.

”Stupid jerk.”

Lorena Thompson muttered this as she walked home in her silver high heels and matching sequined dress that stopped mid-thigh. She also had a small matching strapless purse in her hand. Her outfit was in stark contrast to her dark ebony skin and long pinned up black hair. She was certainly a lovely young black woman. Her misfortune this evening was her date, who had kicked her out his car in a bad part of town.

”’Ooo…I’d never dated a black girl before. I wonder what sex with you would be like,’” she mimicked as she came to more familiar surroundings now. “Stupid white bread jerk.”

She had already walked about a mile before reaching a construction area. Tall plywood walls surrounded the new building being made. It was rare that any sort of work would get done in this part of town, but it made her happy that there were some improvements being made near her neighborhood.

What did not make her happy were the three guys, two Latinos and one white, sitting on a bus bench watching her. She was already walking in the middle of the street, since there was no traffic. She picked up her gait as she passed them, praying they would just ogle her and nothing more. Ogling was fine. Catcalls were okay. Beyond that…

”Hey sweet thing…”

Just keep movin’, girl, she thought.

”Hey baby. Don’t be ignoring us. We need some lovin’.”

Yeah…I’d love to kick your sorry ass to shut you up.

Behind her, she could hear the shuffling of sneakers, then the quickened pace of the three guys jogging over to her. Before she could do anything, she was surrounded. The white guy stood to her right, the Latinos were to her front and left. The white guy wore some gray baggy pants and a loose black sweatshirt to cover his thin frame. His black and silver Raiders cap was slightly askew on his head. The Latino on the left was of average build, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, blue windbreaker and a red bandana around his head. The one in front was dressed the same, but substituted the bandana for a mean, almost predatory, look. Her heart raced with fear. This was already getting out of control. The mean-looking Latino spoke. His gravelly voice sent chills down her spine.

”We definitely…need some lovin’.”

The fear in her heart made itself known on her face as the three guys took a half-step closer to her. The white guy and the Red Latino had big grins on their faces.

”I sure like my women like I like my soda,” the white guy said. “Black and sparkly.”

The two guys laughed, but mean one did not. His eyes focused hard on her. They were filled with an almost animal excitement; a wolf ready for the kill.

She took a half-step back as her eyes darted quickly between them. Most of her attention went to The Predator, because she was not sure she would be able to fight him off.

Behind her, she heard someone audibly clear his throat.

She did not turn around, but the guys turned and looked past her to see who coughed. She saw all three with surprised looks on their faces, then Red Latino and the white guy started laughing hysterically. The white guy spoke up first.

”Yo man. The Kung-Fu Midget Theater is down the road!”

”Nah man, look how loose the sleeves are. He’s a sailor!” the Red Latino said, giving the last word an effeminate tone.

The two guys continued to laugh it up as the vigilante stared intently at them. The mask covered his gritted teeth as he geared his mind for a battle. The Predator seemed to recognize this, but said nothing nor laughed with his friends. The dark hero drew out a card from inside his left sleeve. He held the card in both hands and focused on its power. The design of the card showed a muscular barbarian armed with a large double-edged axe and a small shield. The fighter could almost be heard making his battle cry as he readied to charge over the banner that read the words he whispered quietly:

”Warrior Strength.”

The pentagrams glowed a fierce red as the card seemed to catch fire. His hands absorbed the card, leaving a thin puff of smoke. Beneath his costume, his skin rippled quickly with the power and caused his body to expand. Within seconds, it was done. The loose outfit now fitted him tightly and he appeared to be almost six inches taller. Without the costume, he possessed the well-defined physique of a body builder. His muscles were like coiled springs, ready to strike with the speed of a rattlesnake and the power of an enraged tiger.

The guys stopped laughing and Lorena turned around to see why. The fear left her as the rumors she had heard about him were true. He did exist.

Without warning, the dark champion charged quickly at Red Latino. He tried to throw a punch, but the vigilante caught his fist and crushed his hand. The very loud popping and crunching of bones made the hand’s owner scream out in pain. He continued his momentum and punched him the gut. The force of the blow sent the man crashing through the plywood wall of the construction site twenty feet away.

The vigilante spun quickly to face The Predator; the one that Lorena feared the most. Before the man could react, the vigilante was upon him. He grabbed his shoulder and punched him hard the solar plexus. This immediately crippled him and he became unable to catch his breath.

The dark hero’s gaze then turned on the white guy, who was visibly shaking with terror. His hands were up in front of him, pleading with him for mercy. But the vigilante would have none of it. He lunged for the white guy, grabbed his baggy sweatshirt with one hand, turned to face the construction site, and flung the hapless man towards the plywood wall, like a child might throw a rag doll. Another thunderous crash echoed on the empty street as a matching hole was made in the plywood wall.

He turned back to the crippled predator, who had just barely managed to get his wind back. The dark hero grabbed his short hair and forced the man to look up at him. The feral glare in the vigilante’s eyes terrified him and made him too afraid to make any noise. A steely voice came from beneath the facemask.

”You like to hurt girls? Does it make you feel strong and powerful?”

The vigilante let go of his hair, then quickly grabbed him with both hands underneath the collar of his windbreaker and t-shirt. He easily lifted him up and brought his face within mere inches of his own. The man shook visibly and his breathing was hurried and shallow, like a fish out of water. Their eyes locked; the Predator’s were large with fear, the Angel’s were narrow with vengeance. He spoke again.

”Now…you’re my bitch.”

Lorena watched with an almost morbid curiosity. She had unconsciously taken a few steps back, but wanted to see what happened next. As the dark hero started to mercilessly beat the man, she did not really see the fight. She heard the fight. Thunderous claps from delivered blows. Crunched bones followed by horrific screams of pain. Blood splattering on the ground. The crescendo of this opera of brutality was the heavy thud from a side of beef slamming into a nearby metal lamppost. The noise it made was like from a muffled bell and the fight was over.

As she gazed at her would-be attacker, he did not look like a man anymore, but a large, bloody puddle of flesh. When the paramedics arrived twenty minutes later, they had to sedate the Predator because of the excruciating pain of all the broken bones he had. He could not even be identified for three days due to the excessive bruising and swelling of his face.

The dark champion walked over to the pile of flesh and wiped his bloodied hands clean on the clothing. He turned and walked over to Lorena and spoke with an unsettling politeness.

”Are you all right?”

Her breathing accelerated as the vigilante spoke to her. An odd sense of arousal washed over her quickly, which made her feel flustered, so she could only nod in the affirmative.

”Good,” he replied, “I’ll take you home. Where do you live?”

She still had not found her voice yet. The continued flustering made her feel light-headed. Finally, she managed to wrestle some control over her mind.

”I live at 428 103rd Street. Apartment one,” she said, her voice feeling unreal to her. She randomly wondered what type of car he drove.

”I know where that is,” he replied as he took out a card from his right sleeve. It was the Flight card, but she could not see the design. He focused for a moment and the pentagrams glowed red once again. The card dissipated into a large, thick silver mist that swirled around him, then started to form something behind him. Wings took shape from the mist, then became feathers. He stretched the wings out and now appeared as his namesake: The Angel of Vengeance.

Lorena blinked a couple times and promptly fainted.

The next thing she knew, she was looking up at the ceiling of her apartment, having fallen through the front door when her mother opened it. The cold floor had shaken her from her fainted state and she remembered what she saw. She let out a long, bone-chilling scream.

An hour later, she finally had enough courage to call 911.

The sun started to rise as Ramero shook his keys to find the right one to his apartment. As he unlocked the door and pushed it open, he found his messy apartment undisturbed. A few boxes of Chinese take-out along with a few Sunday editions of the Los Angeles Times were scattered on a table to the right. Directly in front of him, his unmade bed and a TV sat quietly, waiting to be used again. A curtained window was there, starting at the foot of the bed. Filtered sunlight provided the only illumination for the apartment. The left side of the small apartment had a couple shelves of books and a well-worn Bowflex exercise machine. While most of the dirty laundry sat in the corner, near the table, there were a few scattered items throughout the apartment.

Ramero closed the door behind him and took off his street clothes. He casually tossed them to the floor, then carefully worked his way out of his white jumpsuit. Pulling one arm out of a sleeve, then the other, he did not spill any of the cards this time. He pushed the pants down and stepped out. As he hung up his costume in the closet to his immediate left, looking at his nude form would lead one to ponder his possible career options: fitness instructor, male model, maybe an exotic dancer. He was in his physical prime with a well-defined six pack of abs, strong, muscular arms, broad chest and shoulders, and toned legs.

However, his life had a much darker agenda.

After closing the closet door, he walked past the table to the kitchen. It was relatively clean, since he rarely cooked for himself. The money he had from the life insurance policies on his parents allowed him the luxury of always eating out or his aunt would cook him something when she visited. He grabbed an apple from the refrigerator, then walked over to his bed. He turned on the TV and the morning news started.

”Good morning, Los Angeles! This is Sharon Tay with KTLA Channel 5 News. The top story of the day: Big drug bust! One of L.A.'s biggest Columbian drug lords was captured at ten minutes past 2am this morning. The captured drug lord is Vicente Villalobos-Rodriguez. He is noted as being the patriarch of the crime family known as The Dark Wolves on the streets of our fair city. He and his operations are responsible for the deaths of sixteen of LAPD's finest; three of which were direct assassinations when he declared war on them when the Los Angeles police broke up a child prostitution ring some three months ago. The forth man who was also a target of these assassinations, Officer John Harrison and his K-9 partner, Striker, will be awarded with Medals of Honor by Mayor Riordan, later this afternoon. This will also be followed by a touching speech about the two officers that were killed during the raid: Officer Janice Parker and her K-9 partner, Jackson.”

”And now, stay tuned for other top stories, weather and sports, right here on KTLA Channel 5 News."

”About damn time,” he muttered as he finished off his apple. He had been following some sparse leads, but nothing turned up to stop the Dark Wolves. As the news blathered on about he events of the previous night, he opened the window next to him. The sounds of the children getting ready for school wafted in. He laid down and sleep quickly came to him and filled his mind with nightmares.

”He worships the Devil!” ”I do not!” retorted Esteban, trying to cover the white pentagrams on his small nine-year old hands. ”You do too. My mommy said so,” replied Johnny Zontag. The bully stood six inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier. “She also said that Satanists sacrifice virgins and have sex with little boys. So…did your daddy have sex with you?” The statement shocked Esteban and the other kids laughed uproariously, even though half of them did not know what sex or virgins were. Fury filled his veins as he shoved Johnny. ”Leave my father out of this!” Johnny barely budged as he pushed back, sending Esteban to the ground. More laughter ensued. Esteban only gritted his teeth as Johnny threw more verbal insults at him and further degraded his father. He reached into his jacket and drew the Warrior Strength Clow Card. He heard his uncle’s voice, cautioning him, but it was clouded by the anger surging in his blood. He muttered the incantation and immediately he felt the card’s power fill his tiny frame and his clothes went tight. The pentagrams glowed a bright white, frightening some of the kids into silence. Johnny was still laughing it up, even as Esteban stood up, seething with rage. His fists were balled up tightly as he glared at the bully. His voice was rigid. ”Leave my father ALONE!” With that, he stepped forward and swung hard. The little fist connected with the bully’s jaw and there was an audible crack as he screamed in agony. A swift kick to Johnny’s groin stopped the screaming and brought forth painful tears as he dropped to his knees. Esteban pulled his fist back and smashed it squarely into Johnny’s nose. Blood spurted everywhere as Johnny was laid out flat on his back, skidding to a stop after a few feet. The excitement of the fight quickly turned to terror as the pentagrams turned a fiery red. The smell of burning flesh filled the nostrils of the other kids and had Esteban screaming in pain. As quickly as it had started, it was over. Esteban looked at the backs of his hands through pain-filled tears while the other kids ran away in fear. The pentagrams glowed a pulsing, violent red.