Lynxiou Fe

He drew his sweat soaked, oily thumb across the flat edge of his tool of trade, leaving a steel bright smeared trail in its wake as it ran through the sticky, congealing blood coating the instrument of death.
He issued a barely audible gasp as his thumb found evidence of what he was dreading... the telltale edge of a burred knick in the finely honed razor sharp edge.
Pensively, his right foot lashed out and sent the severed head of his latest customer half skidding, half tumbling across the podium, the lank lifeless long hair flailing