PART 7

The Scar-Face Reaper came prepared for a night of festive fun; he brought a flamethrower, a baseball bat, a chainsaw, and a few throwing nights. The Ivanov crime family was going to die tonight, each and every one of them. That's what they had coming to them, for what they had done to the lives of everyone around them. They had killed, they had taken, they had ruined, and they had tortured. It was time to stop this, now. It was time to finish them off, at least. At least they had their fun, and it was time to stop it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

Ivanov's night-life, for all its debauchery, was as bad as his crime family. The gang went about their business. Ivanov himself, and his gang, drank, danced, and caroused. They had come from various different Italian gangs that came together at the end of the '80s and '90s. They had been through much together, and had come through the worst of the worst. They had been through a few tough fights, but it didn't matter anymore. This was their last night as a group, and they were going to live it up. After so many years of being in bad business with each other, they would finally be united. The end was near. The old days of fighting, and fighting over petty things, were over. No more bickering over who would get what. The final hours of the old gang would be a party.

Dancing and carousing, the gang went about their business, not noticing The Scar-Face Reaper had entered. The Reaper entered through the door at the side of the bar, "Greetings," he said, as he entered the bar, and the gang. His chainsaw was hanging from his belt, so he couldn't carry it. His baseball bat was in his hand, and his flamethrower in his other hand. There was a small amount of gasoline in the tank of his flamethrower. He hadn't had time to fill it up, so it only had a small amount of gasoline in the tank. The Reaper looked around, and saw the gang. "Ahoy," he said.

The gangsters were all dressed in dark, black clothing. Ivanov was dressed all in black, and his gang was wearing similar attire. It didn't matter, they all looked like the same thing, they were criminals. It was as if they had all gone to the same training camp. "Heya," Ivanov said, with his gang. They all nodded, as they looked at The Scar-Face Reaper, "Who the fuck are you?" Ivanov asked. The Reaper smiled, but his eyes, as always, were black, like a cold and empty night sky. He looked Ivanov right in the eyes. Ivanov could sense the evil in the Reaper, and knew that he was truly a Reaper. The Reaper looked at the gang members, "Do any of you know who I am? I'm a Reaper. Do any of you know what a Reaper is?" The gang members looked back at him. They all had evil in their eyes.

"No," they said. The gang all laughed. The Reaper had no idea why. "How about you, Ivanov?" he asked. Ivanov had no idea what to say. He looked around, and noticed the chainsaw in the hands of The Scar-Face Reaper. "You gonna kill us all?" Ivanov asked. He knew that the Reaper was going to kill them, but he didn't want to go out like that. He wanted to go out like a hero. It was his last night on earth, but he wanted to go out with the gang. There was no way he would want to go out alone. The Reaper looked at Ivanov, "No. I'm going to cut you down. What do you think? I came prepared," The Reaper said, as he drew his chainsaw.

The gang laughed, and yelled, "The Reaper's going to cut us down! The Reaper's going to cut us down!" They started having fun. They didn't want to die, but they were ready to die. They all loved the Reaper's costume. It was so evil, so dark, so black. They had all dressed up in black, so they looked almost the same. They looked like they were going to some kind of party. It was a great way to go out, dying, and watching the blood spill out of their bodies, as they died. "The Reaper's going to cut us down!" they yelled.

Ivanov, in the meantime, didn't know what to say, "You... You're going to...?" he asked. The Reaper looked at him. "Yes. I'm going to cut you down. However, no one will recognize you when I'm done." He began swinging his chainsaw at Ivanov, like a madman. "Cut him down! Cut him down!" they all yelled. The Reaper hacked and hacked at Ivanov with his chainsaw, the gang members began laughing, and yelling, "Cut him down!" The Reaper cut Ivanov down as if he were chopping firewood. He cut him down as if he was a human piece of wood. The Reaper swung his chainsaw at Ivanov without care, and the gang members started cheering and yelling, "CUT HIM DOWN!"

The Reaper continued to swing his chainsaw at Ivanov, but, when he saw Ivanov's head coming down, he hit him with his flamethrower. The gang members all screamed, and then started laughing. "That's what I call a head. A head on a stick," they said. The Reaper started walking over to Ivanov. He didn't want to be mean, he just wanted to burn him to death, just like he was going to do with the other gang members. He didn't want to get a bad name, so he didn't want to kill them as brutally. He was going to burn them alive, and when he was done, he was going to roast marshmallows over their dead bodies

Ivanov fell over, and he fell over to the side. His legs had been cut, and he was bleeding badly, all over the place. His body, however, looked alive. He was able to move. The gang members were still laughing and cheering. "Oh yeah. Cut his legs off. Make him move around. Make him scream," they said. The Reaper, however, wasn't going to make that mistake again. The Reaper walked over to Ivanov, and began to place a hot flamethrower next to his head. He was going to burn him to death. He didn't care if he burned the whole gang alive, he wanted to make them pay. "I'm going to burn your brains out!" The Reaper shouted. "Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!" the gang members yelled.

The Reaper looked over at the gang members. "I'm going to burn you all to death," he said. "I know all your names. I know all your faces. I know all of you. I'll be a pain in your life. I'll make your life a living hell. You'll never be able to forget me. I'm going to burn you. You're going to die, all of you. Your blood will spurt out of your face. Your brains will be all over the walls. Your eyes will pop out. I'm going to burn you all." The Reaper took a step back, and lit up the flamethrower, as the gang members started screaming. "Burn him!" they said, until the fire hit them. They all screamed. It was a beautiful thing to hear, it was almost like watching a horror movie.

Some survived; however, The Scar-Face Reaper came prepared and used the baseball he had in his other hand. He threw it, and it hit one of the gang members in the face. His eyeball popped out. It made a loud pop, like a firework going off. Quickly retrieving his bat, The Scar-Face Reaper struck the gang member a few times. The gang member was still alive, but the Reaper was about to get mad. He took out his bat, and he was going to bash the gang member's head in. He wouldn't leave them alive, he would be a living hell to them. "Come on!" he yelled. "Come on! Come on! Come on!"

The Reaper swung his bat, and the gang members just screamed. "You're next," The Reaper said, as he slammed the bat into a gang member's head. "You're next! You're next!" the gang members said. He continued to bash in the gang members' heads. He smashed the head of the one who had lost an eye. He smashed the head of the one who was bleeding. He smashed the head of the one who was screaming. He smashed the head of the one who was lying on the floor, not moving. He smashed the head of the one who was still alive, but not moving. "You're all next! You're all next!" he said. He was about to get mad, and he was about to get a lot angrier. He was going to get a lot angrier. He smashed in the head of the one who had a face full of blood. He smashed in the head of the one who had a split head. He smashed in the head of the one who was looking at the ground. "You're all next! You're all next!" he said. He smashed in the head of everything human shaped. He smashed in the head of everything animal shaped. He smashed in the head of everything inanimate.

After a while, The Scar-Face Reaper stopped. He looked around, and saw the flames. There were flames all over the place. There were flames everywhere. There were flames coming out of every gang member's eyes. There were flames coming out of their ears. There were flames coming out of their mouths. There were flames coming out of their guts. There were flames coming out of their feet. There were flames coming out of their fingers. There were flames coming out of their nose, and their ears. They were on fire. "I'm going to kill you!" The Reaper shouted. "I'm going to kill you all! I'm going to kill you all!" he said, as he stomped out the flames. The Reaper smiled. He had killed them all. He had killed them all. He had made it so that they would never forget him. He felt accomplished with himself.

Unfortunately, due to how loud The Scar-Face Reaper violently murdered the Ivanov crime family, reinforcements were called in. He saw them, a menacing, very dark looking gang was standing across the street, armed with swords and machine guns. "I killed them," he said. "I killed them all." He was proud. He knew what he had done. He had made his living hell for the Ivanov family. He had made their lives a living hell. He was pleased with himself. However, he didn't expect any less than what he got. They approached The Scar-Face Reaper, intent on torturing and maiming him.

They were about to attack him, when a helicopter arrived. The Scar-Face Reaper looked up at the helicopter. The gang members thought that it was an alarm. They thought that it was the cops coming to arrest them. The Scar-Face Reaper, however, did not have time to worry about the helicopter. The Scar-Face Reaper willingly approached them, confident and as cocky as ever; gripping his baseball bat in both hands, The Scar-Face Reaper was prepared to knock some sense into them. The helicopter hovered overhead, roaring its engines like an annoying truck driver on the highway. However, the helicopter hovered too close for anyone's safety.

The gang members did not dare to leave. They did not leave, and now they were paying for it. They began getting stabbed in the eye. The blades of the helicopter were slowly cutting the air above them. The gang members screamed. They ran. They tried to escape the blades, but it was impossible. The blades, however, were too strong. The blades were cutting the air, killing them one by one. They were screaming, but all that came out was muffled nothingness. They were bleeding, however, they weren't bleeding to death. The Scar-Face Reaper took advantage of his opportunity to pick up the machine guns and shotguns lying on the ground. He aimed for the sky. He took his first shot. The helicopter began losing altitude, and it began turning. The gang members were still screaming, and were dying. The helicopter was not going to save them. They fell to the ground like flies. The Scar-Face Reaper did not look down. The helicopter was now falling back down to the ground. It was not going to last long.

A loud rumbling, like an earthquake, shook the ground. The helicopter was destroyed. He was now looking at the gang members, all dead. The Scar-Face Reaper stared at the helicopter as it fell to the ground like a bird without a parachute. He did not even care. He did not care that they were dead. He was just glad that he had stopped their pain. He made their living hell a living hell. He was just glad that he had stopped their pain. He did not care that he had killed them. He was happy that he had finished the job. He had just finished the job.

The Scar-Face Reaper triumphantly stood over the carnage he had caused; his eyes full of tears of joy, The Scar-Face Reaper stared at the faces of the gang members who were dead. He had finally done it. He was the best. He was the greatest. He was the most feared. He had a body count of 4,096. He was The Scar-Face Reaper. He was The Scar-Face Reaper. He was The Scar-Face Reaper! A long silence was now following. The silence lasted for a few seconds, and then the sound of a siren came in the air. The sound was loud, loud like a bomb. "The cops," the Scar-Face Reaper thought, and so he left. Afterall, he has a game to play now, and he wouldn't miss it for the world.