The moon shines cold in the dark hollow, unyielding against the starless abyss. Below iron and neon bellow forth from the rain soaked, pavement.
Silent citizens march quickly through the night, fearfully of the long alleyways that weave their way throughout the shadows.
Fearfull of what the dark might hold.

Screams, laughter. A flash of iron and fire not to far in the distance, death follows the sound as a close friend. Grown men panic scurrying into shadows. A roar of a would be master of men echos into the darkness.

And it echoes on forever. Until the darkness shudders, something twists from liquid to smoke. It whispers warnings in dark tones, fit and full of ill intent. The cold takes hold of the spine, and a shadow descends, black and threatening, blood and bone snap beneath its weight, and death itself retreats in fear of its mighty wings.
It is the guardian of such a place. A immortal soul chained to a mortal coil.
A everlasting spirit of vengeance and the night. Cloaked in the shadow of the bat.