His grin spread even more at her reaction. "Sammy's not here anymore," he drawled. Then his eyes flashed and went completely dark. He moved toward her, but was momentarily held off by the bag she flung at him. It hit him in the shoulder and he stepped back for a moment, the pain of the hit barely even registering. Then he stepped past the bag and tore off after her.
"Run, run, run as fast as you can!" He jeered, his left arm rising into the air. As soon as he made the movement, Claire's body lifted upward, almost like a puppet being moved by invisible strings, and did a little flip into the air. Then he threw his hand down and she landed facedown onto the pavement below. Grinning, he moved toward her, his ability preventing her from rising to her feet again. Kneeling over the girl, he grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her toward him, his eyes darker than ever. With the hand that held the knife, he carefully stroked at her hair.
"Pretty girl," he said in a low voice, "You're a pretty, pretty girl." Then, without warning, he pulled the same arm back and struck her across the face. His knuckles grazed her skin and the knife, too, made contact, slicing against her flesh at the same time. He watched as the skin broke, blood spilling out onto her soft skin. The sight of blood gave him pleasant chills. Chills that he was more than eager to expand on.
So he grabbed her by the arm and slammed the blade right through her wrist. And, even though the gash on the side of her face was already healing, he still found himself taking pleasure at the sight of even more blood escaping her small body.
He would have fun with this one. Breaking her would not be easy. Yanking the knife from her arm, he brought the bloodstained blade up to his face and began to eye it. "I'm impressed," he stated. "This whole healing thing? With a human girl? Who would have thought! It must make you feel strange. Look at, Claire, the freaky little girl who won't just die no matter how badly people want for her to." He looked at her. "Most people would probably be annoyed by that. But me?" His face lit up. "You have no idea how glad I am to have met you. It is such an honor, being the one that gets to torture the whiny little brat who constantly plagues the internet with her dramatics. Always making the future version of yourself feel like she didn't belong. Like she was dirty." He shrugged, then brought the knife to Claire's throat. "She was dirty. Spoiled. Too dark to play with. But you? You're another story. There's an innocence within you that's yet to be broken." He leaned in close again, his mouth moving next to her ear as he said, "But don't you worry. You will break. Slowly, painfully, and horribly. And you will wish for death. You will wish that your god given ability had never been thrust upon you. And that's the best thing about it. Because killing a person?" He pressed the blade into her flesh, drawing out blood as he spoke. "It's entertaining, sure, but do you really think that it could ever top bringing pain and torment to one's soul? Shattering a person. Mentally." The blade pressed in even closer and more blood trickled it's way onto poor Claire's neck. "It's art. And you, Claire, happen to be an empty canvas." He whispered the last part into her ear, his voice unusually dark. "Let's paint, shall we?"