So hell, since were all in a nicely organised forum I thought I may as well post what I have of my story here as well. It is rapidly turning into a short novel as ideas get expanded on in my mind, and (perhaps rather sadly) I already have ideas for I think im at 4 'sequels' set within my little world, from the ancient past before man existed, the nuclear holocaust that is referenced within this story to man's first voyage out into the starry night sky. And as I discovered in making this thread, my mind is too big to contain in one post.

There are many little snippets of Trivia, and background explanations to some of the characters on the blog found here. If you prefer a word document, that too can be found here. It is a work of Fantasy/Sci-Fi, though I intended it from the beginning to be something of a mirror image of modern situations. No character is without its flaws, and as will eventually be made more apparent, many of the creatures that dwell in this world are strongly based upon certain aspects of man represented through their form. Anyway, without further ado, here is the first draft of the first act of "The Deceit of Angels." I genuinely welcome all comments.






Man had all but destroyed itself. Through war in the name of religion and racial hatred the situation had escalated to the stage where mankind was pushed to the brink of extinction, and then, in their hour of need, she arrived. From the ashes of the old world formed the new. Sure, she had uncovered their demons, shown them another way; a way of tolerance and accepting, providing a world where crime was an abstract notion requiring conscious thought in order to comprehend, a relic of the past seen only in history books, and foolishly, she believed they had learned. In truth all they had really learnt was how to substitute one religious saviour for another, one of flesh and blood that could be seen with the naked eye. And so, just as blindly as before they held their unwavering faith in her abilities, never questioning, never looking beyond their own selfish desires, content in their blissful ignorance.

But not everyone had forgotten how things used to be. Deep beneath the civility of the New World still lay the old, decaying remnants of the past, long since swept under the carpet but plain for all to see by those with the desire to search for it. Demolished buildings now formed the ruins that only permitted vermin to thrive, the old library proudly standing solitary as a testament to what once was. An ominous stone statue stood at its peak, proudly looking out towards the rubble with a – now ironic – look of pride in his authoritarian posture. Human waste flowed soothingly down the old roads, a fetid greenish brown river gently sloshing against the curb in a hypnotically calming fashion, and awaiting in the darkness stood K`mtar, only the faintest shimmer of light trickling through the cracks in city above him providing the minimal light separating his disfigured form from the black. Tall and muscular, his dry, cracking, pale yellow skin covered his hunched over body. Tattered denim jeans and a torn shirt barely capable of covering his toughened skin, visibly peeling back in areas to reveal red sores underneath where the unsanitary air in his surroundings was aggravating his unsightly condition. His unusually wide eyes almost entirely black, and with his crudely fashioned wooden staff he remained motionless, in a state of cat-like readiness, intensely focused on the rocks in front of him.

Deftly he sprang to life, a rapid spin of his staff before it came crashing down, slicing through the air and landing squarely on the rats skull; the loud cracking of the thin bone resonated throughout the underbelly of the city, and with its dying breath the creature uttered its final panic-stricken squeal. He used the purposefully sharpened end of his staff to skewer the morsel before traipsing back towards the remnants of what he assumed was once was some form of town hall (now with only one of the walls still intact), sloppily allowing the dripping of blood and various other bodily fluids onto the cold stone floor. Slumping against the forlorn looking wall, he pried his meal from its involuntary perch and fumbled around in his pocket, drawing out a small, rusted flick knife. Bending the head back to arch the spine, he firmly drew his blade lengthwise along the stomach before placing it between two long broken stones. At either end of his incision he cut perpendicular, the dark blood seeping out, trickling down the still warm fur. Folding back his blade and returning it to his pocket, he clawed at the deep cut and carefully pulled it apart like a child opening a kitchen cupboard. Greedily he looked at the organs inside and began to feast.

A small ray of light shone down upon his arm, and as he looked upon his necrotic skin a look of disgust emerged on his face. Raising one blood soaked hand to his forehead, he gently touched the excess of bone, thickening the mid-region of his forehead and recoiled. He loathed the thought that he had anything in common with those demons. Their rock hard copper coloured skin as dry as the deserts they inhabit, with all the deep seated cracks present in the hard rock floor, grinding together with every movement made. Their three-fingered claws fixed rigid in position, and their wide powerful jaws proudly displaying the long canines that inhabited them. The males also possessed a curved protruding horn on their foreheads, perhaps once for ceremonial purposes but now better suited as a place to hang their hapless victims in a childish show to impress the rest of their despicable kind. He had witnessed the cruel manner in which they toyed with their victims in their numerous attacks on the outlying villages, slowly torturing them until their demise in some sick and twisted game, remorselessly beating their own kind to near death, even resorting to feeding on their own kind where the situation required it. The gluttony as they devoured the raw flesh of their victims was enough to make him wretch, and yet as he looked down at the creature in front of him, he saw that same desire. Cursed with a conscience that forced him out of sight, he felt like an accident; a freak of nature that should never have survived.

Indeed, he had heard rumours of those who had not; the mother rarely capable of surviving the child birth, the overwhelming trauma at giving life to such a revolting creature, a half-breed trapped between worlds, yet belonging to neither. For years he had remained locked away in the foundations of her home, fed through a crack in the floorboard he survived in the dark, though for this he did not resent her. For a time, perhaps, as he heard the other children of the village play their simplistic joyous games, blissfully unaware of his existence. He had always sensed he must somehow be different but it wasn’t until he had escaped, the rage bottling inside of him until he could contain it no longer, breaking through the wooden floor to make for his escape that he saw the true nature of his form. Quickly pinned and tied down by the other villagers drawn to the commotion, it was not his physical pain that caused him grief, but watching as they dragged his mother across the floor by her long blonde hair, normally flowing like in a stream of golden curls, now a torrent of lightning as she screamed and kicked out frantically, desperate to escape the clutches of her new found captors. He could still hear those blood curdling screams tormenting him. They made him watch as the flames arose around her, crackling and hissing furiously, as though possessed by some infernal being getting ever more violent, eager in anticipation of the flesh delivered to them. Tied to a wooden stake, her piercing shrieks for mercy at the hands of the humans punishing her for merely allowing him to survive went unheeded. The fiendish glint in their eye, their absolute belief in their actions; these humans were no better than the demons they feared. He watched as his mother was burnt alive, the nauseating smell of burning flesh lingering in the air, infecting his nostrils with an unholy stench, and as the last scream had finally escaped her lungs it dawned on him that he was next.

It was then that he looked up into the overcast sky and first saw her; wings glistening in the moonlight, floating down like a leaf caught in the wind, her beauty and grace seemed an eternity away but soon she was at his side, ready to whisk him away from the nightmare in which he resided. As he was carried away he looked back at the smouldering remains of his mother, whose only crime was allowing him to live - if he could have traded places with her he gladly would have, there was no place for him in this world - and as she took him ever higher into the night sky the villager’s cries for justice faded away like a distant memory. He didn’t care if she truly was an angel, she was his angel, and as much as his mother had died to give him the gift of life, Tenshi had liberated him and given him the gift of freedom.

He looked about the sewers he inhabited, the ruler of his kingdom of rats. ‘Some gift’ he thought bitterly. He had seen the city she had created – indeed he saw it every day of his life – a haven for all races, she believed her people had changed, despite knowing that one look at his form would be all they would need to decide he was not worthy of life.

He shuffled out of the light; he hated the sight of himself for reminding him of his past. He was far more comfortable in the darkness, out of sight from himself and others. Wiping the blood from his mouth onto the back of his hand, using the fur of the rat he had so recently devoured to get the worst off, he gently placed the remains into the river of waste gently lapping up against the curb beside him, watching as it slowly drifted away from him, carried by the gentle current. Meandering across the river where the road beneath had worn away to yield pits in the stone that lay beneath, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light. Instinct taking over he arose to his feet in seconds, clutching his staff he agilely darted across the river, using the crumbling rock as stepping stones, scrambling up the dilapidated ruins; the only sound the scattering of pebbles crumbling beneath his clumsy oversized feet. With a flying leap, he deftly landed onto the roof of the library, perched behind the stone statue and peering out at the emerging figures, no doubt drawn to crashing of the rock against the ground.

Large firearms at their side and torches illuminating the black they walked, their boots making a satisfying thud with each stride. Long before they could be properly observed in the darkness, their fluorescent blue uniform made use of what little light there was present, and there could be no question of their identity. They were guardians; the peace-keepers for a city without strife. He was sure they would profess their honour at being allowed to so dutifully serve their Queen, Tenshi, but behind the layer of lies the painfully apparent truth was they chose their profession because it was cushy. Her helpful temperament was incapable of denying anyone a position on her staff, and so the streets were flooded with these societal parasites, wandering the streets with a deluded air of self-importance. Their presence here was curious however, they had no reason to subject themselves to the wasteland beneath their beloved city. Patiently he waited, their torches lighting up the ground in front of them as they searched unenthusiastically, and when they had passed he crept down. Something was amiss, something had changed, and there was one person whom he knew had the answers; it was time to see his angel.

“See, the problem with these soft-skins is that they don’t know how to have any fun,” started Chul-Moo, his long curved blade dangling from his belt. His hard plates of skin softly grinded against each other as he walked further away from the cool afternoon sun that lit up his desert homeland, treading deeper into the lush grasslands that claimed host to a range of delicious animals. He looked towards his son, Kwan, and to the look of confusion upon his gormless face. He was growing strong, his horn almost the same size his own, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the slow-minded fool would begin to attract potential mates. He used the blunt end of his wooden spear to scratch his back as they walked. “They’re always driven by foolish notions of right and wrong, questioning their existence, fearing what others think of them,” he spat on the ground in front of him in disgust. “Where’s the fun in that?” Kwan, clearly deep in thought as to this notion, chirped in “so dad, they don’t feel pleasure?” “I think they do,” he responded. “They simply deny it to themselves, and think themselves better for it.” Seeing the bewilderment on Kwan’s young face he continued, “for example, in their culture having sex is a long and drawn out affair, often involving a lot of talking and pretending to listen to what the woman has to say during some form of feasting ritual, and then – if you’ve succeeded in wooing her – she will allow you to mate.” He looked towards Kwan once more, still clearly attempting to use those few brain cells floating inside that hard skull of his to make sense of it all. “Dad… why don’t they simply take what they want?” “Well,” began Chul-Moo, appearing slightly puzzled himself, “for some reason they consider this wrong. There is a word they use for it called ‘rayp,’ which they will yell out.” He chuckled at the thought, “the faces they make…and all the villagers running around…next time we spot a village I’ll have to show you.” Kwan grinned at the thought.

Chul-Moo halted and slowly crouched down into the long blades of grass, Kwan quickly following suit. Passing the spear to him he whispered “cow up ahead. Kill it and bring it back here.” Chul-Moo watched as Kwan got closer, keeping low to the ground he quietly approached the cow as it contently continued chewing. A hundred feet away, a cool gust of wind whistled past, swaying the cool grass. The cow looked up, ‘fool,’ though Chul-Moo, ‘the wind will carry your scent.’ He tried to signal to Kwan to circle around to no avail. Seventy-five feet; desperately he willed him to throw the spear before it became alerted to his presence. Fifty feet, suddenly the cow looked up, startled at the sight of the copper figure in the nearby grass it sprang to life; Kwan threw the spear before the cow could react but it was too late. Deftly he watched as his son gave chase, rapidly retrieving the spear from the soft ground it had landed in. He slowly stood up from his crouched position. ‘This could take a while,’ he thought. Looking about himself, he made his way for a nearby tree, sliding his back down the soft bark to a seated position. As the cool breeze gently caressed his horn, he slowly closed his eyes and began to rest.

Sensing a slithering sensation over his leg he slowly awoke, instinctively grabbing out with his left hand, he opened his eyes to the small snake (perhaps 4 feet in length) that had chosen to make itself known. He must have only been asleep for half an hour but already the sun was beginning to set, offering a diminishing level of light over his surroundings. The snake began to hiss at him with a venomous smile, and with powerful jaws he tore the head from the snake’s still squirming body, spitting it out at the ground nearby. Clamping down at the tail with his hard claws, he raised the snake high above his head and slid his vice like grip up the body of the snake, allowing the blood to drain into his open jaws. As the blood slowly warmed his body, he felt the last of his lethargy drain and returned to a state of alertness. Tossing the remains to the ground, he looked out onto the horizon in front of him and caught a glimpse of what could only be Kwan. Slowly he approached, focussed on the copper blur in the distance, just capable of distinguishing the outline of the cow held upright by the horn driven deep into the back of his neck, the slow trickle of blood dripping down from its deep wound. Faintly the sounds of grunting could be made out, Chul-Moo was momentarily baffled before the realisation of what depraved act he was performing dawned on him. ‘Horny bastard,’ he thought, ‘perhaps he will need a mate sooner than I anticipated.’ Uttering a deep roar that shook the trees, birds took flight into the sky and Kwan turned to face his father, a look of terror in his eyes. With Chul-Moo’s powerful legs supporting his muscular frame, he charged towards Kwan, and within moments he had succeeded in pinning him to the ground, his naked blood-soaked torso lay panting on the ground beside the slowly dying cow, clearly incapacitated by the wound it suffered to its neck and hind leg, evidently where it had been struck by the spear. He spat on Kwan’s forehead in disgust, and slowly released him.

Turning the cow to face towards him, he withdrew his blade and slowly sliced along the creature’s belly, careful not to break much further than the skin. The organs that had been kept locked inside spilled out onto on the soft grassy floor in a thick stew of blood and bile. Placing his blade on the ground, he gripped the incision he had so recently made and thrust his hard claw deep inside the recently slain beast. Feeling around inside, he gripped one the four stomachs and tore it from the barely breathing torso, a satisfying squelching sound faintly heard as he tossed it aside callously to the patch of grass nearby, the dying creature letting out a small, fading pant as each stomach was removed in turn. Ripping out the barely beating heart, the cow displayed one last final wide-eyed stare before finally succumbing to deaths fatal embrace, the last of the blood sputtering out from the heart, splashing onto his leg and the nearby grass. “Eat,” he barked, tossing the heart to Kwan. Dragging part of the long intestine out for himself, he bit off a large chunk and began to chew the tough meat, blood squirting down his long canines and dripping from his hard chin.

He looked towards his son, gingerly gnawing away at the tough heart with an upset look on his face. “You realise we were to eat that creature you were defiling?” he growled. Solemnly, Kwan nodded. “Luckily were giving that to your mother,” Kwan’s startled gaze darted towards him. “You won’t –” “I’m not going to tell her.” Chun-Moo muttered. “The earful I’d get from that whore? Not worth the effort.” He tore off another chunk of intestine, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “But what were you thinking?” Kwan looked down to the ground. “Surely there’s some unclaimed woman that’s caught your eye?” “Well…” Kwan started, “There is one but we don’t visit her clan very often.” Chul-Moo slammed his empty fist to the ground with a loud ‘whump.’ “Tomorrow were going to take a trip to that village so you can sink your horn into her, just run in there pin her against the wall and –” he snorted violently. “If you don’t someone else will.” “But dad –” “No buts, if you’re getting the urges –” “Her mother ate the last three who tried to claim her.” Chul-Moo paused for a moment. “Sounds feisty,” he said putting down the intestine clutched in his blood soaked claw. “Think I’ll need my bludgeoning club?” he finally said. Kwan grinned. “Kidney?” Chul-Moo asked, already fishing around in the creature in front of him. Pulling out a pair of organs too covered in bodily fluids to discern, he sniffed it in a loud putrescent manner, licking some of the thick, sticky brown mess of fluids slowly flowing in a stalactitic manner through his hard fingers. Seemingly satisfied he gnawed away at the tough arteries connecting the two organs, tearing them apart with his sharp teeth and throwing one to Kwan. He tossed the small bloody mass into the air, catching it with his muscular jaws, piercing the resilient skin as he chewed; the juicy innards oozing out and into his mouth as if a grape.

He looked to the sunset behind him, realising it would soon be getting dark. He turned back to Kwan, slowly edging towards the eyeball with one of his sharp claws, freezing when he caught Chul-Moo’s piercing gaze. “Have you forgotten what happened when your brother tried stealing your mothers eyeball?” Kwan shook his head fervently. “She gouged out his eyes in return.” Slowly Kwan withdrew his claw. “And then what was I to do? I can’t very well have a blind son at my side. That woman sure does love her eye candy…” Quickly he snapped out of his reminiscence and began to pulling out clumps of grass, tying them to form a strong rope. Adeptly he tied together the cow’s feet, sliding the long spear underneath. Tucking the blade back into his belt, he took a firm grip of the wood near the head of the spear, Kwan holding the rear, and they arose to their feet. The decimated animal hung comfortably between them, spear resting on their shoulders as they began their journey into the sun and back to their camp.

“Whatever happened to those games I used to play when I was your age?” Chul-Moo began. “You mean like piñata?” “No!” he snorted. “Raising a soft-skin by their ankles, covering your eyes and hitting them with a club? That’s a child’s game.” He thought for a moment, “I remember this one we called ‘chikan.’ You ever play that?” “I don’t think so” “Oh you’d know it if you’d played it. I used to scream ‘chikan’ around other clans until someone accepted my challenge whenever I spotted a human village. You find some soft-skin with young – the smaller and sweeter the better – take a decent club and grind it into a nice thin paste, it must be thin or it’ll clog. Then grab some intestines, any of the other villagers will happily do, and fill it with the paste. Then, grab the mother and just…” he grunted emphatically. “The aim is to finish drinking before she dies; you need to find that balance between not seeming timid with them and not killing them too quickly.” Chul-Moo looked behind towards Kwan’s keen smile and let out a deep, booming chuckle. “I got through entire villages that way.” “Do the humans enjoy playing chikan too?” “Do the –” Chul Moo spluttered. “I don’t think you’ve –” “But Dad, surely there more human villages when you were my age?” “Yeah” Chul-Moo sighed. “It’s a shame we got through them so quickly; especially with your mother being so busy these days, always plotting something. What was she complaining about earlier? Something about an ‘efficy’ or ‘pofficy,’ or someth –” “Prophecy dad prophecy!” Kwan exclaimed. “She said the dark lord will soon be in our midst to take us back to the promised city, the land that should be rightfully ours!” Chul-Moo suddenly stopped, and slid the spear from his shoulder. Turning around to face Kwan he furiously roared “What did I tell you about listening to women!” Displaying all the venom of an enraged cobra, saliva dripping from his bloody fangs as he viciously thrust his powerful claw to Kwan’s neck. Vindictively squeezing until Kwan felt his eyeballs swell under the pressure, struggling for breath as he was slowly raised off the ground, his father’s heavy breathing gliding past his hard skin. Frantically, Kwan kicked out, trying to escape the intoxicating smell of decaying flesh hitting his nostrils wave after wave. “They plot and they scheme in their delusional world whilst we are left to support them; they are worthless!” Chul-Moo threw him onto the hard ground, the faintest patches of grass poking through the hard rock that littered the landscape of the desert wastelands of their homeland. Kwan rubbed his neck, left feeling tender from his fathers vice like grip. “Aren’t women good for one thing?” Kwan countered. Furiously Chul-Moo stared at his son, feeling the pent up rage drain away he proffered a small smile, much to Kwan’s relief. Getting back to his feet and with cow once again firmly placed on their shoulders they continued their journey into the rapidly falling sunset.

Darkness had fallen long before they had returned to the damp caves in which they dwelled. A gentle warm breeze brushed the cool desert sand against their stony feet, the outline of their home faintly visible through the calm mist that engulfed them. Lowering the carcass to the ground, Chul-Moo removed the spear and grassy rope holding the legs in place, raising it for Kwan to re-insert his horn into the deep laceration on the back of its neck in the traditional fashion. Staggering slightly under the weight, they continued their approach. Entering the cool, dark cave, Chul-Moo’s wife, Haneul, enthusiastically greeted them upon observing the food which they had brought her. Sliding the carcass from his horn, Kwan carefully laid it onto its side for them to feast. Chul-Moo leaned against the hard rock and stared at his wife; with deep black eyes displaying a devious grandiloquence and gentle fangs, the blood seeming to erotically dance as they slowly dripped onto the sultry curves of her hard plated skin. Those powerful thighs like an untamed beast, her copper skin glinting in the moonlight. She was the reason others envied him, and her overwhelming beauty the reason he put up with her scheming. Swaggering over, he placed his large hand firmly on her stiff shoulder. “Not in front of company,” she barked. Deftly he spun around to face a dark outline hidden in the shadows. As the previously unseen foe calmly walked forward his dark grey robes and human appearance became apparent, he slowly lowered his hood to reveal his pale purple complexion. Completely hairless, a deep scar ran along the length of his left cheek and his cold, alert eyes focussed on his own. Blinded by rage at his complacency Chul-Moo rushed forwards, taking firm grip of his robes and thrusting him high up against the cold hard rock walls of the cavern. Like a rabid dog he roared “Who are you?” Confidently, the figure gave a wry smile, his thin lips cruelly mocking him. “I thought your wife would have mentioned my arrival,” he calmly responded. Chul-Moo slowly reached for the hilt of his blade, clutching it tightly should the need for it arise. “I am Annwku. Myself and my brethren were sent to assist you.” He gestured with a free hand out of the cave. Chul-Moo slowly turned to look, and through the mist saw the faint outline of five robed figures, solemnly standing adjacent to one another, rooted to the ground, watching with their raised hoods immersing their faces in darkness. “We were sent here to ensure that the prophecy comes to fruition.” Sensing he had little choice but to trust this soft-skin he slowly lowered him back to the ground, releasing his grip. Annwku once more raised his hood, obscuring his face, and turned to Haneul. “I trust preparations have been made?” Looking up from the carcass she had ravenously been devouring, flesh still dangling from her fangs she responded, “Runners have been sent and the rendezvous arranged.” “Then we must make our way for the city.” Chul-Moo watched as Haneul arose to leave, making sure to skewer the beasts eyeball’s with her sharp claws, gently placing one in her mouth as Chul-Moo quietly grinded his teeth in frustration. If she left without him she would surely be killed, and as sure as he was that his life would be simpler without her foolhardy plotting, he did not entertain the notion of finding another wife. Reluctantly he realised that he had little choice but to entertain her scheme and return when it would inevitably fail. Withdrawing his blade, he deftly sliced through the cow’s leg in a single action, throwing it towards Kwan. “We leave,” he barked. Hacking off another leg for himself, he tucked his spear into his belt, strapped to his back, and with the leg on his shoulder they marched onwards into the night.

Awoken by the knocking at the door to her chambers, Tenshi lifted her head and stretched her long slender arms, allowing the flared sleeve of her brilliant white robe to dangle elegantly from her pale soft skin. She had fallen asleep at her computer terminal again, evidently reviewing a scientific theory she was not especially familiar with and was finding particularly difficult. Slowly arising to her feet, she ruffled her feathers and swept her long grey hair back as she fumbled her way towards the door, knocking over more than one stack of papers that littered the thick, fibrous cream carpet of the room that had become as much a workstation as a bed chamber. She opened the large wooden door to reveal one of her subjects, a young male with freckles and short red hair who approached her rather bashfully and held out a glass of wine. Beaming at him, she gracefully took the glass from his hand and gently kissed his cheek before returning once more to her chambers. They were so thoughtful, her heart swelled with pride at the thoughts of all that she had accomplished since her arrival.

Carefully, she placed the glass on the table that stood beside her regal looking bed which – aside from her desk and computer terminal – concluded all the furnishings in her simplistic cream coloured room. She looked over towards the balcony and noticed the large multicoloured holo-projection in the sky; she must have lost track of time for the clock had already begun to count down for the start of the 25th Century. Sliding open the glass door out onto the balcony, she stepped out into the cool night breeze and looked down upon her city, proudly celebrating to music in the city square below; a beautiful meadow of flowers and fruit displaying nature in all its splendour and magnificence, a gentle stream meandering through its centre. Surrounded by tall coloured glass buildings that in daylight shone all the colours of the rainbow, each uniquely designed to result in streets that were refreshing to look at each time. From her perch atop her crystal tower she could even see beyond the stone walls of the city, out onto the neighbouring villages, content in their lives of simplistic pleasure, dotted on the horizon and set against the backdrop of the great mountains of the north. She could spend hours admiring the view from the top of her tower, which whilst being substantially shorter than what she grew up with, she had quickly become accustomed to.

She harboured no resentment towards those who wished to not be a part of her vision. Indeed, she didn’t ask for such deification, though she believed herself worthy of the position and was glad for the opportunity to direct her people to new heights of civilised society. When she arrived to the world over three centuries ago it was a world tormented by those with power seeking to abuse it, filled with corrupt dictatorships and slow, messy democracies, ruled by those without the knowledge to take the appropriate course of action. With primitive fusion power by their side they would instil fear on the populace, acting on behalf of a people they distanced themselves from; thinking back it only reaffirmed her faith that they were correct in entrusting her with such status, and she rewarded them by striving to be a benevolent leader. Despite this, she knew that a civilisation that had lived in fear for millennia was likely to be distrustful towards someone such as herself, constantly looking for some hidden motive, incapable of believing her altruistic intentions, and so as they had done for so long, they fled, driven by a fear of the unknown. Those who accepted her reign were simply looking for guidance; there are those that still refer to her as the angel, sent from the heavens to guide them in their hour of need. She could understand why; she had researched into their history and realised how closely she resembled them after all, harmoniously standing a little less than 7 feet tall, her gracious white wings stretching either side of her slender figure. She hated being forced to deceive those loyal to her, but she too feared what would happen should they learn the truth; would they lose their faith in her? Would the chaos she had worked so hard to end, would all that hard work become unravelled? These people needed a unification figurehead, they needed to place their faith in someone and if the illusion behind her origins was the means by which to do so, she would have little option but to hold her tongue.

As she gazed out onto the party below – reflected in the holo-projection in the sky, perpetually lighting up the darkness of the night – where the alcohol flowed freely and they sung in merriment, she was soon seen observed watching from atop her tower and was quickly met with rapturous cheering. Waving to the crowd she once again noticed how their strange drink affected them in curious ways, making them more extroverted in their nature, and whilst she didn’t understand their strange custom of taking the depressant drug during times intended for celebration, she was content for them to celebrate as they wished. It was seeing such situations emerge from the fruits of her labour that reminded her of the reasons she pushed herself so hard; she was no scientist, but had helped them advance in any way she could. In their time under her guidance she had helped them perfect fusion power, facilitated numerous advances in medical technology and all but eliminated their desire for destructive weapons – only her guardians wielding primitive firearms, the last remnants of the militaristic desires of the few directly under her control – but still there was much work to be done.

She longed for the day she could return to the stars, and free those who followed her from the prison in which they dwell, for she recognised their potential to do great things – even if they did not – and whilst the day would come where she would lead them into a conquest of the stars, such a goal was still well beyond her reach. The day would come when she could reveal the purpose they had worked to advance so rapidly all these years, and she would be hailed as more than just the ender of wars, but as the deity who led their species to enlightenment. The demons which they co-inhabited this planet with are far better at adapting to change, with an innocent simplicity about them, and little ambition beyond personal fulfilment they perhaps lived more enjoyable lives than many she had kept under her wing. She was sure they would dislike the absence of the humans, but they too would then be free to populate the world, and she was confident that their adaptive nature would overcome any obstacles which they might face. She sighed at the thought of just how far they had left ahead of them, it barely felt as though they had touched on quantum physics, let alone begun to explore philotic theory; and she was little use there, understanding little more than the basics.

She knew that the philotes were essential to life, the building blocks of all matter; indivisible threads without mass or volume, raw energy acting along a single line. Each atom’s thread connected in a web within the molecule, twining to form a molecular philotic string, which in turn form a web together with the other molecules within the body, and twining to form great ropes of solid matter; through each cell in the body the philotes formed a web with one another, twining to form a thick rope tethering them to the planet and all other matter it held in great web of energy. They were the glue of the universe, binding together all matter that existed through these great philotic threads. Through each molecule in the ground and sky they existed, forming an intricate web through which everything in the universe is connected, like a spider weaves a web to catch a fly, all of life is caught within its grasp. With focus, training and practice one could traverse this web, sensing their path utilising a sense that had yet to be fully realised by the citizens of this world, identifying the stronger threads – those with a larger number of threads supporting it, and in close proximity to their own philote – following the threads to sense life from afar and influence the manner in which it behaved. Her own expertise, however, was limited to what she had learnt as a child, only adept at influencing cell regeneration within her own body. She was glad her people’s belief in her origins explained her youthful appearance, for whilst she was young by her own standards – having barely witnessed half a millennia – she couldn’t bear the thought of trying to explain the truth.

She looked back to the holo-projection brightening the night sky and illuminating the citizens below in a positive radiance as they clinked their glasses in celebration; only a few more minutes left. Briskly returning inside to acquire her own glass that was sitting solitary on the table beside her bed, she raised the glass and allowed the delicate fragrances, the aromatic smell of fermented fruit to gently waft up and evoke her senses. As she sipped the drink, she savoured the flavours in her mouth, allowing the fluid to gently warm her as she softly swallowed. In all her travels she had yet to discover another race so lavish with their food, capable of producing such a variety of flavours that they managed to present.

Closing her eyes, she began to focus on her hand in her mind, feeling her warm skin pressing against the cool glass, the slow formation of the perspiration from the glands underneath her skin. She concentrated on the calm energy of the liquid, the tension between the finger and the glass, the manner in which it gradually flowed downwards by its earthly philotic connection. Reaching out towards the thin thread of energy, ignoring the sweat trickling down her forehead as she remained in deep concentration; her mind leapt, catching hold of the thin strand of energy tethering the molecule to this world. She emerged balancing on the thin fibrous structure, fumbling around clumsily in the black of the great philotic web of the universe, struggling to determine her path. Eventually she sensed a point where the thin thread split apart, the small drop of liquid’s philotic connection splitting into the molecules that formed it. She gently pushed against one of the thin strands, hearing the gentle snap as the philotic connection broke, the small release of energy resonating as the molecule slowly rose up from the body of water it was no longer tethered to. Sensing her manipulation of the forces she smiled, pleased with her own basic ability.

Gently she felt the thin philote quiver – she was no longer alone. She sensed a dark presence here, somehow familiar and yet different and frightening. In a panic she leapt, hoping for the web of philotic connections between the molecules below to catch her fall, but still she sensed their ominous presence watching her as she scrambled away, getting closer. As she fled, the unseen foe with abilities far beyond her own was following their own path, following the philotic pathways into her own mind. She felt the slow throbbing pain in her mind clouding her thoughts as they manipulated the philotes of her mind. She tried to escape and block him out, but she found herself trapped, being held there against her will; the pain getting more intense as the figure enclosed in on her, cruelly observing the results as he toyed with the energy maintaining her bodies existence. She clutched her head, blinded by the agony she screamed at the hands of her unknown foe, her blood-curdling cries unheard over the rabble of the celebrations outside. The midnight hour upon them, the citizens of the new world remained captivated by the cacophony of the many fireworks lighting up the night sky, blissfully unaware of the fate befalling their beloved angel. Her glass slipped from her fingers, crashing down onto its side, the wine slowly seeping out and embedding itself within the fibrous carpet floor. With the last of her strength rapidly disappearing, she was soon unable to resist any longer and faded into unconsciousness.

Chul-Moo grunted as he picked the bones of the cow’s leg for any last remaining scraps of meat, and satisfied he had picked it clean, tossed the bony remains aside. They had long since arrived at the meeting point; a small clearing amidst the long grasslands, host to some form of small lake. His blade at his side faintly glistening from the thin slither of the moon, providing the faintest glimmer of light in the pitch black night, obscured by the overbearing dark clouds in the sky. Gazing about his surroundings he caught a glimpse of various other demons, evidently here for the same purpose. He looked about for Kwan, and catching the faint shadow of a creature with a large object – possibly a cow leg? – began to make his way across the clearing. Gripping his hard shoulder he made out to speak, when suddenly the sound of an explosion in the distance caught his attention. Spinning around, he looked up into the sky at the continual stream of fiery explosions, a variety of colours fizzing out into nothingness. All of a sudden a particularly loud explosion in the sky resonated around the midnight air, the blinding light emitted disorientating him, and dazed he glanced around at his surroundings, briefly made as bright as day.

Hidden by the long blades of grass, they numbered in their hundreds – Chul-Moo had never witnessed such a large gathering of clans, some of which he recognised, but more he did not. It appeared that Haneul had not simply convinced – most likely the women he thought begrudgingly, of – their neighbouring clans, but also those from clans distant to their own, and it was not just the males present either, women and children alike had arrived to join the effort. Two young males had locked horns with one another, one showing the gentle trickle of blood from his temple where he had evidently been struck, but now appeared to be gaining the upper hand in their blood sport; it was for reasons such as this that such gatherings never occurred, the inevitability of friction resulting in violence could be easily avoided. In the distant horizon, towards the origins of the sky-fire the faintest bright spot could be seen; a tower lit up brighter than the rest of the horizon, and even as the light faded back down into the black of the night, this small spot on the horizon remained stationary in the night sky.

He felt a soft hand gently on his shoulder. “So you saw her too?” Annwku whispered, with an odd sense of nobility to his tone. Chul-Moo growled and looked towards him, the hood of his robe was down and he could clearly see the deep scar running down the side of his face. “That light in the distance is the tower of the ‘New World,’ and is our destination.” “Why are we –” Chul-Moo barked. “It isn’t safe to talk here,” Annwku interrupted, “but I am in need of someone of your…skills.” Annwku’s thin smile met with Chul-Moo’s cold, suspicious stare. “I sense trouble ahead, and need someone with your observational talents to scout ahead,” he elaborated. Chul-Moo looked deep into his dark eyes, beyond his pale purpling complexion and knew there was more that he wasn’t revealing, and from past experience concluded threatening him wouldn’t yield any more information. He looked about him and saw that he was beginning to draw attention from the other clans – perhaps curious as to why Annwku had come to him – and if he remained the undesired attention would not dwindle. He growled angrily at the thought of once again being manipulated like a puppet. “Kwan,” he bellowed. “Just follow the light,” Annwku said with a wry, distrustful tone, raising his hood once more and walking into the crowd, rapidly vanishing from view. Seeing Kwan emerge from the crowd towards him, he gripped his arm and in a hushed tone uttered “We leave,” before dragging him off, the light of the tower acting as their guiding star amidst the night.

They had yet to travel far but already as he looked behind him he saw no trace of their party. Kwan begrudgingly traipsing by his side, the explosions in the sky had since ceased and they were once more thrust into darkness. Only the faintest visible dark outlines giving any indication of their surroundings, the ever-bright light in the distance peering out at them in the starless night. “You remember when you spoke of that prophecy,” Chul-Moo began, “what else do you know of it?” “I thought you said –” Kwan retorted in a derisive tone, halted by the Chul-Moo’s firm hand clenching his shoulder as they walked. Kwan swallowed nervously, “she said that the prophecy foretold the coming of the beast, and that Annwku knows how to convince the beast to help us.” “Help us with what?” “Re-taking the city, we can –” Kwan was cut off by Chul-Moo’s angry growl. “Has that stupid whore not thought that there is no purpose for us in a city? That we might be happier in the warmth of the deserts, with plenty of food and drink, rather than sitting in some uncomfortable city working for others.” He looked at Kwan with a frustrated expression. “Is she blind to the violence that erupts when clans collide? Further proof that women are worthless…” Chul-Moo sneered, turning away from Kwan and back onto the path ahead. “Dad…” Kwan began nervously, “Why do you put up with Haneul’s plans? Why don’t you take another wife?” Chul-Moo grunted, amused by the notion. "You don’t think the complaining of one is enough?” he retorted. Kwan thought about this for a moment. “Could you not find one less troublesome, and then kill Haneul?” “The thought had crossed my mind,” Chul-Moo responded in a fantasised manner. “I could take my new wife and make her watch as I gutted that woman like an animal,” he sighed. “But she’d soon become a pest as well.” “But surely –” Kwan was quickly silenced by Chul-Moo’s hand being placed firmly over his mouth. Slowly, he crouched down into the long grass, Kwan doing the same, and he pointed onto the horizon. The faintest dark patch against the background of the night could be seen along their path, and so slowly, they crept forward.

With Kwan closely behind him, Chul-Moo shortened the distance between him and the object on the horizon, soon close enough to realise that they had stumbled upon a small village. With perhaps a dozen small wooden houses, likely only a single room in size and offering the most basic of comforts, it was constructed around a clearing in the centre. In this central courtyard lay the still smouldering remains of a fire and a long wooden table – evidently where they gathered to eat – and off the way was a fenced off area inhabited by a slew of various animals. As he got closer, he could see the rough wood they had used in their construction, the flat roofs showing the faintest hint of green as they slowly began to rot. He brushed up against the wall of one of the outlying houses, the lack of lights present indicating that the residents were asleep. He left his back crouched against the decaying wooden walls and looked towards Kwan, who remained a short distance away hidden in the grasslands. Slowly he peered through the window of the house before quickly darting back to face Kwan, a large grin on his face. Curious, Kwan clamoured forward and on the opposite side of the window, too slowly peered in to the room inside.

As expected, only the most basic of amenities lay within the house; directly beneath them a small desk, with room only for a small empty inkwell and a pile of paper. On the far side of the room was a wooden chest of drawers, pressed up against the unpainted wooden wall, upon which stood a single large candle housed in a glass lantern. It was not this, however, that had struck Chul-Moo’s attention, for beside the chest of drawers a young woman – perhaps in her early twenties – lay asleep on a wooden bed, her long white night-gown and soft dark hair taunting them; the hay in the mattress making itself known, poking through the soft white cotton sheets that lay between the woman and the woollen duvet warmly wrapped around her. At the foot of her bed lay a wooden cot of similar construction to that of the bed, and surrounded in a bundle of wool lay a sweet baby, with small tufts of darkly coloured hair emerging from its soft head. Both contently asleep, they lay blissfully unaware that they were being watched by Kwan and his salivating jaws. Kwin grinned, and looking towards Chul-Moo whispered “Chikan.”

Amidst the cover of darkness Chul-Moo lowered his sword and spear to the ground and crept around the side of the house until he happened upon the door. A simple wooden handle allowed him entry to the unlocked home, and gently he pushed the door open, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His eyes darted to the window where Kwan remained captivated by the unfolding events, and returning his gaze to the woman caught up in her slumber he stared, lightly treading on the old wooden floorboards as he made his way towards her. The gentle creak where he stepped had him quickly shifting weight away, treading elsewhere. Slowly shifting his weight onto the more stable sounding floorboard, with a load crash of splintering wood the decaying floor without warning gave way under his immense weight. Shocked himself, he looked down to where his foot had gotten stuck, using his hands to free himself he once more returned his attention to the woman; woken by the sound she slowly opened her eyes, rapidly becoming wider as her gaze caught the copper coloured behemoth in her presence.

Like a cat he pounced, diving onto the bed and forcefully placing the hard-plated skin of his hand in her mouth, the sound of muffled screams emitting from her fragile mouth. Scrabbling to attain a more stable footing on the rough floor and subdue the woman more effectively as she lashed out with her feet, using her weak arms to try to push him away, he maintained his grip on her mouth as she screamed for her life. With strength he wouldn’t have expected her capable of she kicked his thigh, and as he slid back against the floor he momentarily lost his stance, his hold on her slipping slightly and like a cornered animal he felt her teeth sink into his fingers; his blood gently trickled down onto her cheek. It took all of his willpower not to snatch it back from her jaws and howl in pain, gritting his teeth he allowed her this small victory and regained his stance. Whilst she frantically hit his muscular arm, he placed his large hoof-like foot upon the bed, and using his claws to clamp onto the woollen duvet tore off three long strips, the satisfying sound of shredding fabric resonating throughout the small room.

He once more turned to the woman viciously biting him like a rabid animal, the blood from his hand smeared against her soft cheek as she lashed out in a futile attempt to cause him further harm. He moved the foot from the bed, kneeling on her torso to keep her fixed in place, slowly allowing more weight to crush her, cautious so as to not break the brittle bones of her chest. Gripping a strip of wool, he forced it against the gap at the side of her mouth where she clenched, with difficulty he pressed it harder, each time she clenched with a new vivacity. He felt something give; applying further pressure with his hard claw-like thumb the tooth suddenly gave way, collapsing in on itself in a stream of blood flowing like a small river into her open mouth. Uncontrollably she spluttered, releasing her grip upon his hand to cough out a fine particulate mist onto Chul-Moo’s face. Seizing this opportunity, he relinquished his hand from her jaws and continued to force the wool into her agape mouth, using his injured hand to hold her head in position.

Taking another woollen strip, he placed it over her mouth forced open, and rolling her onto her side began to tie it firmly behind her head, letting her tangled dark hair flow callously between the knot. Frantically she reached behind her in an attempt to undo the knot as he was tying it; he swatted her hands away, her arm flew across in front of her knocking the glass lantern from the nearby chest of drawers onto the hard wooden floor. With a loud crash it fractured in a number of tiny pieces, the cacophony evidently enough to disturb the young child at the end of the bed who began to cry. Growling loudly, he rolled the mother onto her chest, firmly placing his knee into the back of her spine, her nose smothered on the bed, she flailed incapable of breath. He finished tying the mouth gag before firmly taking her flailing arms and tying them rigidly behind her back.

Clutching her nightgown he raised her from the bed which she laid, standing tall and allowing her dangling legs to flail inches from the ground. Turning his attention the racket produced by the child, he lowered his head into the child’s cot, his salivating jaws inches from the baby’s upset face, breathing heavily he allowed the stench of decaying flesh being emitted from his mouth to flow in its direction, only causing the infant to cry more heavily. Spraying the child with the saliva dripping from his mouth he suddenly jerked his head forward and bellowed a deep short lived roar. Upon hearing this outburst the small child lay petrified, not daring to utter a sound should it further anger the beast. Pleased with himself, Chul-Moo allowed the briefest of smiles to emerge on his face, tenderly salivating at the prospect of his sweet snack shortly to come. It was then that he noticed the warm flow of liquid running down the hard skin of his leg, forming around his feet. Standing up he returned his gaze to the woman in his hands, and looked down to the small puddle of urine she had produced in her own fear at his cry. Disgusted, in reflex he tossed her aside like a rag doll, her delicate forehead coming into contact with the hard desk on the opposite side of the room, collapsing unconscious onto the hard wooden floor. Blood seeped out from her wound, saturating the fabric of her pure white night-gown and staining it a dark red; slowly dripping down through the floorboards onto the cold ground below. Frustrated at how the events had unfolded, he tore the cotton sheet from the bed and placing his foot upon the hay began to mop up the foul smelling liquid from his foot, taking care to try to remove as much of the liquid as he could from the cracks in his hard skin. Smelling the sheet he recoiled, disgusted by the odour wafting from it and threw it over the unconscious woman. With a look of annoyance on his face he turned to Kwan, still peering at the window, his expression quickly transitioning into a look of concern as his gaze caught upon the prominent figure that had emerged from the grasslands behind him.

Sensing his surprise, in an instant Kwan spun around to face the human in his presence; evidently arriving on the horse a short way into the distance, his leather armour only partially hidden by the regal looking cloak, a rich dark green felt-like fabric, with purple stripes on either side, embossed with elegant golden symbols proudly displaying “どんな心配のマスターか” running vertically down the cape. With long blonde hair elegantly dancing about his shoulders, his face contorted with a deep seated rage as he uttered his battle cry. As he raised his crossbow to them and fired the bolt, Kwan’s instinct took over and he dived to the floor, the sound of the wind rushing inches from him, the crashing sound as it glided effortlessly through the glass window and squarely into the shoulder of Chul-Moo. In a fit of blind rage he roared, the cacophony shaking the thin walls of the house, the nearby horse rearing onto its hind legs before fleeing the scene. With a satisfying snap he broke the end of bolt from his chest leaving only the head embedded deep within his shoulder. The unseen attacker dropped his weapon and clutched at the hilt of the sword in its sheath, rapidly withdrawing the weapon to confront Kwan, the demon who had rapidly risen to his feet and was now charging at him. Effortlessly Kwan caught him off guard and swatted the sword from his hand, deftly slashing his claw like hands at his chest in a venomous rage. As the enemy turned to run, Kwan dived, tackling him to the ground, his powerful arms fixed around the waist of his attacker who lay desperately trying to escape his powerful clutches. Spluttering, the soft skin cried “run,” before being met with Kwan’s powerful grip around his throat.

Hearing the cry, Chul-Moo’s eyes darted off into the distance and saw a second figure with the same robe making for their escape. Turning to Kwan, he witnessed the rage as he continued to savagely maul the soft-skin, desperately struggling for breath as his blood seeped out onto the ground, his throat now a bloody pulp of flesh, the hard muscle of his oesophagus exposed to the cold air, pierced under the might of the beast. Charging to the side of the house Chul-Moo retrieved his spear, and with all the expertise of a master javelin thrower made it soar through the air; the distant figure frantically looking behind, incapable of avoiding the weapon as it pierced through the back of his calf with a satisfying cracking sound that could be heard through the night. Charging at the incapacitated figure through the grasslands, the distant figure could be seen slowly withdrawing the spear firmly embedded in his leg, blood oozing out from the wound onto the grassy floor, he tossed it aside and began crawling towards his own mount a short way off into the distance, Chul-Moo’s powerful legs quickly closing the gap between them.

Without warning, from the long grass, a hidden figure took him by surprise; a blur of a dark grey robe that succeeded in tackling him by surprise and together they crashed to the ground. Deftly he rolled for control and quickly managed to pin him down, crushing the bones of his shoulder against the hard ground, he looked up to the horizon, spotting the caped attacker now making his escape by horse. With a roar of anger at having lost his prey, he once more turned his attention to the soft-skin beneath him, gazing into his dark eyes, the same pale purple skin and deep set scar; it was Annwku. “WHY WERE YOU FOLLOWING ME?” he roared, the saliva from his mouth spraying him, the blood lust in his eyes enough to petrify most who would gaze upon them, but still he remained un-phased. “I had a suspicion we were being followed,” he calmly responded, “and you were the bait.” Chul-Moo growled angrily. “You set me up –” “And what a fine job you did luring them out.” Chul-Moo raised a hand to Annwku’s throat and firmly took hold. “Give me a reason not to end this foolish crusade right now.” Annwku uttered a small demonic cackle of laughter. “You think you could get away with killing me? There’s an army marching right this way waiting for me to take them back to the city, an army who saw us together – saw you leave. You actually think they will let you live if I go missing?” Chul-Moo growled angrily, not letting his anger get in the way of his judgement as he momentarily lost himself in deep thought, internally weighing up his choices before reluctantly letting him go. The soft skin was right; he had promised them something he could not, and in doing so had become an impartial leader in their conquest to retake the city. Before allowing him to return to his feet he leant in, his large salivating canines inches from Annwku’s face. “I won’t forget this,” he growled threateningly. Getting up into a seated position, he looked across to Kwan, still maiming the long deceased intruder. Bitterly he looked towards Annwku, also returned to a seated position, his crossed legs and raised hood obscuring his face one more. “Why do we need you at all human?” he growled, each word filled with more disdain and loathing than the last. “I think you’ll find I have my uses,” he responded in a complacent manner. Gently resting his soft hand on Chul-Moo’s shoulder he closed his eyes in deep concentration. Suddenly Chul-Moo felt a pain emerge in his head, as though it was expanding under the presence of another being and was incapable of keeping it there without swelling. His heart began to beat faster, the blood pumping around his large muscular body with an intensity that caused his arms to quiver. He let out a quiet groan of pain as it travelled away from his head, down his neck and across to his shoulder in the vicinity of where the bolt had hit him. He looked down and watched as it slowly began to emerge from deep within the hard plates of his skin. The pain began to lessen the further it came out of his torso, the blood stained metal tip eventually dropping out onto the ground. He rolled onto his back and felt the area he was injured, the wound already scarring over. With a look of disbelief he stared at Annwku’s thin smile, and then off into the distance; the army was approaching.

Since his unexpected encounter he had remained in the shadows, making haste towards her crystal tower. It had to be on this wretched night of nights that the oblivious citizens of her New World would celebrate, their fireworks in the sky illuminating a city that already bears no shadowy refuge, where everyone is put on centre-stage and it’s all you can do to remain inconspicuous. She had tried to rob them of their individuality but all she had succeeded in doing was force them to hide their twisted – human – desires. And so it was that he nimbly ran his way through the sewers so as to not draw any undesired attention, eyes shifting rapidly through the black should any more guardians present themselves.

He soon arrived at the ladder leading to the surface near her chambers, and carefully he gripped the cold steel, silently making his way to the surface. The cover of the manhole was easily lifted out of place, and careful so as to not drag it across the brilliant sheen of the city floor placed the cover a short way behind him. Slowly he rose, deftly observing his surroundings; the walls of the city lay behind him and to his right, the conveniently placed vine-like growth running up the entire length of her crystal tower, long since planted for his benefit, lay to his left, and a short way into the distance the citizens were still present. Even though their fireworks had ended and dawn would soon break they remained as emphatic in their relentless quest for self satisfaction; so enamoured with their own selfish desires that the illuminated distance between him and the foot of the tower would go unobserved.

Leaping out of the sewers he darted for the tower, jumping onto the long green vine, moist to the touch and precariously stretching under his weight, he deftly scaled the smooth crystal walls, fearful should someone discover his large frame. He allowed himself a brief respite and looked out onto the citizens below, driven by such simplistic and mundane desires and yet, those same urges irrelevant on the scope of time offers them solace and fulfilment in their lives. Perhaps she was right to keep so much from them; let them remain blissfully ignorant of their origins, for he doubted many amongst them knew how close they came to extinction at their own hands. Refusing to get lost in his own thoughts he sprang back into life, scaling the towers side once more and scrambling into the balcony, crouched against the side, he gazed into her bed chambers and saw Tenshi lying motionless on the cream carpet floor.

Throwing caution to the wind he charged into her bed chambers, the gently flowing waves of her robe dangling motionless on the floor and the dishevelled feathers of her partially extended wings hanging limp, through a teary eye he raised her up and wrapped his muscular arms around her in a teary embrace. She was as much a mother to him as his biological descendant, caring for him when nobody else would; somehow capable of seeing beauty in even the lowliest of creatures. Lifting her fragile body into his arms he walked over towards her regal bed, and carefully lay her down upon its soft surface, allowing her radiant hair to flow down onto the pillow. Despite spending a solitary lifetime in the darkness, it was only now that he felt alone in the world, and so kneeling by her side, quietly he wept into the soft silky robes of his Angel.

As the dawn began to break upon the New World, the morning light simmered on the horizon, seeping through balcony, gently dancing against the cream walls and the disfigured creature remained motionless at Tenshi’s side. She slowly opened her eyes; her head was still in turmoil, a pulsating pain resonating throughout her body still recoiling from the shock at such a surge in philotic energy. Gently she stroked the bald scaly head of K’mtar, faithfully knelt at her bedside, and watched as he slowly rose his weary head; a fearful look in face, he wiped his reddening eyes and clutched at her hand, as though if he let go she would be lost to him once again.

“And so the saviour has become the saved,” she softly whispered, allowing a weak smile to emerge from her face, and looked at the worried expression in his gaze. “My body is healing, and I shall soon regain my strength,” she continued, the look of concern slowly began to fade from K’mtar’s face.

“Who did this to you? I’ll –” he spluttered.

“I do not know,” Tenshi interrupted, “it would seem there is a lot I don’t know any more.” A small look of disbelief emerged on K’mtar’s face; he was not used to hearing this from someone as wise as herself.

“Then how did they attack –”

“I do not know,” she lied, “but I sensed a power I haven’t felt in a long time, and it is coming.” Anxiously he began to pace, carefully thinking about the situation and what should be done. Suddenly he spun to face her once more, a look of determination in his posture.

“We must prepare, you need to gather the guardians to man the walls; I’ll scout out ahead and –”

“No!” she barked derisively, K’mtar recoiled, even despite her angelic appearance and weakened gait her eyes showed fear at the unknown. “The guardians are equipped with their primitive weapons for show; barely capable of wielding them properly they will be ill equipped to survive the storm that is coming.”

“Was that the purpose of the guardians in the sewers? To search for –”

“Guardians in the sewers?” Tenshi exclaimed. Alarmed, she sat up on her bed, “there is no reason for them to be there, you must have been mistaken.” K’mtar remembered the bright blue uniform and hulking boots; it was no mistake. In a panic K’mtar began to pace once more, desperately trying to decipher the situation.

“If you didn’t send them,” he began, struggling to think of a solution, “then they are working for another! If they are working for the enemy then surely New World is to fall, you must survive, flee and –”

“Unthinkable,” she interrupted once more, in a firm tone. “My own loyal subjects working against me? If the New World is to fall then I shall fall with it.” She looked into the soft eyes of the creature before her, a single tear rolling down the hard skin of his cheek. Desperately she thought; she could not fight this war alone, and would need an ally. Ashiya! She would surely have sensed her philotic distress and would already be on her way! Gradually a thin slither of a smile came to her face at the sudden revelation. “Of course that isn’t plan a,” she stated with a gentle and comforting tone, belying her true worries in a façade of faith. “I need you go down into the sewers, past the old library following the river out to the mouth. It is here that you shall find Ashiya, you are to tell her –” she stopped abruptly, seeing the fear emerge on his face like a wave at the mention of her name. K’mtar quivered slightly.

“Ashiya the Destroyer?” Tenshi recoiled slightly, taken aback at the title. “I read of her in the old texts in the library,” K’mtar continued.

“I thought all the texts were written in my native tongue,” Tenshi began, “you must mean the religious documentation?”

“She’s the reason the world nearly came to end, she returned and treated the world like a plague to be eradicated, taught them to fish and hunt only to cruelly try to take away our ancestors right to live. What evil do we face that requires such a demon?” Tenshi smiled slightly in amusement.

“Ashiya is no destroyer,” she calmly responded. “She did indeed teach them of agriculture millennia ago, rapidly spurring on their journey to a more civilised life, but when she returned the war had almost begun.”

“But why would a god leave her people?” K’mtar exclaimed.

“She was no god, though many came to believe she was. Ashiya belongs to an ancient race from deep beneath the western ocean and came to teach them the foundations of civilisation against the wishes of her own kind, wishing to let them develop without interference. When she was finally able to return she discovered a world torn between those who worshipped her and those who denied her existence. Her arrival was seen as proof of their beliefs, and those opposed to their way of life only strengthened their resolve. Her presence would prove to be the catalyst for their nuclear destruction that she would be powerless to prevent.” K’mtar growled like nervous dog, angry at the thought of requiring the assistance of such a disreputable being.

“I still don’t trust her; if she was worshipped as a deity then surely –” K’mtar barked only to be interrupted by Tenshi, the argument slowly re-invigorating her, now clearly with more strength than before.

“I do not know what became of her, only that she escaped. What I do know, is that there is a dark power pushing the gears of this rapidly approaching war, and if we are to survive we shall need allies.”

“You’re being deceived,” K’mtar cried. “Ashiya has fooled you into thinking –”

“ASHIYA IS NOT A DESTROYER!” Tenshi roared with a dark, booming ferocity the likes of which K’mtar had never heard before, and he recoiled, cowering away from the dark angel before him; her own abilities suddenly made all too frighteningly apparent. Tenshi looked down onto her robe solemnly, she had hidden her dark past from the world for a long time. She felt the tears begin to well up inside her, and through blurry eyes the distraught figure stared into the eyes of the beast she had frightened. Lip quivering, she softly spoke “I know Ashiya is not responsible for their deaths, because I am,” her gentle, sorrowful words resonated around the room, lingering in the air and oozing with feelings of regret. “I was young and –” she was interrupted by the loud sound of knocking at the door. Instinctively she rubbed her eyes of the tears streaming down her face – she could not be seen upset and needed to maintain her illusion of grandeur or all she had worked for could be lost.

When she opened her eyes once more, K’mtar had disappeared into the morning light, the curtains on the sliding door to her balcony gently blowing in the wind. Rushing to her feet she darted for the balcony door, scanning the horizon for any trace of her adopted son, only the faintly visible claw seen shifting the manhole cover on the distant ground giving any indication of his presence. The knocking at the door persisted, more distressed and emphatic in their tone; darting back inside she quickly clutched the glass still on the floor, the wine long since seeped out and embedded deep into the carpet, and rushed to the door. Taking a moment to compose herself, she opened the door to the concerned guardian who stood awaiting her answer. Tenshi beamed at him, an expression belying the true emotions she had been forced to dredge up, and handed him the empty wine glass. The guardian – seemingly content that she was fine – slowly begun to walk back to his post, and delicately she shut the door.

She paced over onto the balcony once more, the rapidly rising sun shimmering an effervescent glow on the citizens of the new world, blissfully unaware of their rapidly approaching fate. Their celebrations had finally begun to dwindle, and whilst some had returned to their homes many still remained, talking amongst themselves in merriment. It had been a long time since her future was so ambiguous, and the thought of the unknown petrified her; but it was not her own fate that she concerned for, but the fate of her loyal subjects. She would not fail this world again.

The dawn had broken. A gentle breeze swept the grassy surroundings and as the sun began to beat down on the marching demon horde, Chul-Moo’s mind raced with the thoughts of what was to come. Two of their number had already fallen on the journey; an inevitable consequence of such a large gathering, but even this had not dampened the determination of the pack. Led by Haneul’s brisk pace towards the crystal tower they rapidly approached; a beacon of light, a monolithic testament to this ‘new world’ his ancestors had so long since been banished from, now clearly observed on the horizon. Kwan – still drenched in the dried blood of their unknown attacker back at the village – had gone to join his mother in high spirits. He had tasted human blood and was excited by the prospect of the oncoming battle. The naïve fool, could he not see through her manipulation? That the deceptive witch had gotten them all involved in this ridiculous conquest of a world in which they did not belong?

He glanced to his left, the dark grey robes of Annwku steadily kept pace at his side. He had refused to let the deceitful creature out of his sight, he was sure he was working on his own agenda, merely using Haneul to his own ends. He could deal with his wife when the time required it, but this human, promising them futile dreams of a life in a city had somehow gained their trust. He spat angrily at the ground; perishing the thought that he would see his own kind working with such weak vermin.

“I trust the shoulder is feeling better?” Annwku said, turning his head to face him. The sunlight offered the faintest glimpse beyond the dark shroud provided by his hood, allowing his thin smile to emerge from the darkness. Chul-Moo growled angrily; the thought that he had tried to redeem himself in a vulgar display of his power sickened him, and he would have his vengeance.

“Who were following us?” he snarled venomously, demanding a response from the man that clearly knew more than he was revealing.

“They were the Alamanni,” Annwku began in a complacent, confident tone, “they are a people from the northern mountains, and whilst they have forgotten their past they will come. It is in their nature to try to prevent such a justice as we are striving for.”

“Then why let them escape?” Chul-Moo roared, “I could have killed him and –”

“And what?” he interrupted impatiently. “Delay our journey further? Let them follow the trail of corpses we so conveniently left behind for them like breadcrumbs to our destination?” He snorted at the thought, “they will come regardless of our actions, and we are on a tight schedule. Once we take the city they will be powerless to stop us.”

Chul-Moo growled angrily at the response, Annwku seemingly capable of deflecting questions without giving any real answer of use; it wasn’t too difficult to see how many of his simple-minded brethren had been so easy to convince, not looking past his confident and convincing demeanour onto the heart of what was being said, convoluted and deceptive in what information he was willing to give. “So we’re to enter the city and kill anyone who moves?”

“That would be correct,” Annwku responded, nodding his head slightly. Chul-Moo let a flicker of a smile flash across his face; he must admit, he liked this plan. It had been a while since he had been treated to a feast of soft sweet human flesh, and this could well be a feast to end all feasts. “And then I get to have my way with that so called ‘angel’ of theirs, I’ll make sure her death is slow and –” Annwku suddenly stopped walking, turning to face him with a glint of rage in his eyes.

“And suffer the eternal hostilities of men? You think they would just leave if she died? These people will blindly follow her to the end of time, and so to control the city we need to control her. And for that, we need her alive,” he blurted out in a sharp, aggressive outburst. “Is that clear? You are not to harm her in any way.” As they resumed their march, the revelation that they were to capture their leader became an insignificant drawback, far outweighed by his reaction to the question; so this soft-skin is still a human after all, still a slave to his emotions. ‘Interesting,’ he thought, ‘this could indeed come of use,’ a small grin sliding across his salivating mouth, a small trickle of drool slid down his chin; all this talk of the human slaughter was beginning to make him hungry. Shaking off this distraction, he focussed once more on the task at hand.

“Wait –” Annwku turned to look at him, the red glint in his eye becoming more prominent through the black hooded shroud, his rage failing to subside “How are we to control her?”

“Through the only one she trusts,” he snapped in response.

Before he could continue he looked ahead to see Kwan racing towards them. The walls of the city could now be observed on the distant horizon, tall grey stone haphazardly built in their haste to seclude themselves from the outside world; a typical soft-skin response, denying their fears exist in order to maintain an ignorant bliss, denying the futility of their lives for their own insignificant purposes. It is far better to accept the harsh reality than it is to fabricate your own. Breathing heavily after his sprint, Kwan composed himself once more, and ignoring Chul-Moo, spoke directly to Annwku.

“Haneul sent me to warn that there appears to be no entrance to the city.” ‘Typical’ Chul-Moo thought, their fear of what lay beyond their brittle walls of stone went beyond simple isolation and had driven them to try and make escape impossible. Annwku smiled his serpentine smile; all the fury that had been shown moments ago drained and his body relaxed from its tense composure.

“You are to head west towards the sea. There is a hidden entrance to the sewers there; we are to take them by surprise,” Kwan nodded and began sprinting back towards Haneul. “That angel of theirs is far too trusting,” he continued, turning to face Chul-Moo, “she was easier than I expected to infiltrate. She didn’t ask any questions of my brothers before offering them a position in her employ.”

Rapidly they approached the vast expanses of ocean, the moss covered stone walls of the city at their side, the sun glistening against the gentle waves of the deep blue stretched as far as the eye could see; he had never previously travelled this far, and was the first time he had seen such a landscape. An ominous mist clouded the horizon, slowly being drawn towards them by the wind brushing against their hard skin, whistling against the gently swaying grass, forcing Annwku’s dark hood down from his face. Even observing his pale complexion and deceitful eyes, the demon legion he commanded did not waver in their faith in his resolve, so blinded by his confidence that they no longer questioned his less than altruistic intentions. Following the slow curve of the city walls, Haneul and Kwan slowly came into view, the grass yielding to the small murky river in front of them seeping out into the expanse of water. The gentle trickle of brown putrid sludge flowed from the large dirt encrusted pipe, the sickening smell of soft-skin waste wafting out into the open air.

He watched as Kwan enthusiastically led the first wave into the dank sewers, eager for the bloodshed that awaited him, and calmly he walked over to his wife with Annwku still at his side.
“Go. Join your brethren with the assault,” Annwku proffered. Chul-Moo growled; his cowardly intentions of waiting here for the path to become clear were all too evident from his tone. He gripped Haneul’s arm and began to make his way for the sewer, quickly stopped by Annwku’s frame blocking his path. “She stays.” Chul-Moo roared, it was bad enough that he feared getting his hands dirty but leaving him alone with his wife?

“What do you want with her?” he barked, deliberately allowing small droplets of saliva to spray his scarred face.

“Only to see her hard work come to fruition; you remember out mutual friend? It is from this ocean that she is to arrive.” His complacency was frustrating; gripping the deceitful, pathetic creature by his hood he slowly raised him off the ground in a threatening manner. Haneul turned attention from the river to the unfurling events.

“Go,” she cried. “I want to stay.” Chul-Moo’s eyes darted between the two; he was unsure which was worse at this point, the soft-skin who had manipulated him into fighting his war or the woman who had welcomed him. She was more trouble than she was worth. Reluctantly, he threw Annwku against the hard ground and darted for the sewers, refusing to look back lest he change his mind.

Through the cracks in their society long since shielded from the outside world the faint trickle of the blood of the slain inhabitants had already began to seep through onto the cold stone floor; the putrid river that gently flowed down its centre slowly becoming more clouded where the droplets fell into the already murky depths. He could taste the sweet blood in the air, the gentle sounds of crumbling rock from where others had exploded through the tight fitting manholes leading to the city surface. Followed the panic-stricken cries through the maze of passages and tunnels, he soon found a path leading above. The protruding steel ladder had been severely bent out of shape, likely from the weight of those that came before him, and so precariously he began to make his way up. He felt the steel give under his foot, and looked up to the surface only a few feet away. Using the failing rung of the latter as a spring board he leapt up, catching hold of the open lip to the city streets – the rung crashing down onto the hard floor below – and maintaining the momentum he sprung forth out of the sewers, landing squarely on the metallic surface with a loud clang.

The streets were filled with the chaotic sound of the screaming inhabitants; panic-stricken and dishevelled by the sudden assault they had begun to flee in every direction to preserve their own existence. Quickly met by the loud screams of a loud male soft-skin, head turned behind him as he ran in his direction, rebounding off his hard skin he collapsed backwards onto the floor. Turning to face the copper behemoth blocking his path, Chul-Moo roared “have you never seen a demon before?” his fury and amusement at their pathetically futile attempts to escape resonating with each word.

“My god,” he cried.

“No, but good guess,” he responded, laughing hysterically, as he stumbled back to his feet and began to sprint away; he hadn’t had so much fun in years. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done this sooner, the sights, the smells and the sounds; he basked in the delectable carnage that took him back to his wilder youth.

With tall glass buildings on either side, he darted in the directions of the screams, soon emerging from the cold and sterile path into the city centre; the crystal tower lay directly in front of him in the distance, reflecting the sunlight in a brilliant blue shade onto the bloodbath that ensued in this edenic paradise. As he waded into the thick forest-like undergrowth that dominated the outskirts, the blood dripped down from the tree’s like the onset of rain; the bodies of those who had tried to hide in the treetops above maimed beyond recognition, gradually bleeding out from their open wounds. Briefly looking up to the dismembered head of an elderly man caught in the treetops, he opened his wide jaws and allowed a drop of blood to splash down into his mouth. Savouring the taste, he continued onwards, brushing past the bushy undergrowth to reveal a large clearing, evidently the origin of the massacre. Bodies lay in their dozens strewn against the blood stained grassy floor, the dark red river gently carrying the disfigured carcass of a young child with its gentle tide.

Through the anarchy of the surroundings, the faintest sound of the cracking of a branch could be discerned above the cacophony of sin. Dropping to the ground he scanned the horizon for its origin; it was too light for another demon and too prominent to be far away. He reached behind his back – ‘damn,’ he thought, realising he left his spear back at the village – his eyes darted for a makeshift ranged weapon. Making for the tree line, many of which bore apples, a female figure slowly poked her head out from the dense forest, gasping at the sight of him and sprinting deeper into the shade it provided; her long blonde hair and blood-smeared salmon pink dress a stark contrast in colour easily observed as it flashed through the undergrowth.

Within moments he was in pursuit, rapidly making for the tree line she dwelled within, he leapt across the gently flowing river, clutching at a dangling apple bore by the tree in front of him he dropped once more, awaiting another flash of pink. He didn’t have to wait long, out of the corner of his eye he caught the blur of a figure dart past, and was once more in pursuit through the undergrowth, refusing to let her out of his sights as she stumbled against an outlying root and came crashing down to the ground. Pouncing down on her as she rolled onto her back and began to scream at the sight of him effortlessly gliding towards her, apple in hand he forcefully embedded it into her mouth, prying them open and muffling her desperate cries. Seizing her hair, he clutched it tightly and raised her from the ground, bringing her close to his blood stained face; his breath close enough to make her eyes water, she flailed, striking him in his torso desperately trying to escape. ‘Pathetic’ he thought, this was too easy. Withdrawing his curved blade from his belt, with a single slash he cut off her hair, causing her to come crashing down to the ground once more. Chuckling at her panic stricken face as she frantically scrambled back; replacing the blade in his hilt he took a deep sniff of the hair still within his hand, the sweet fruity aroma infiltrating his nasal, sweetly tantalising his senses.

His taunting was soon interrupted as he felt the hard impact of steel, embedding itself between the plates in his skin before exploding, taking apart a small chunk of his hard plated skin with it, exposing the soft flesh that lay beneath. Howling in pain he spun his head to face the bold blue uniform of the panic stricken guardian; heavy black boots and short cropped hair, the young soft-skin stood paralysed in fear. It was about time someone offered him a challenge. Returning once more to the woman before him, he dropped the hair on the ground by her side, raised one powerful foot, and brought it crashing down on her head; her skull collapsing with a loud crack, the juicy insides gushing out like a crushed grape against the grassy floor. Purposefully he twisted his hoof-like foot against what little remained to force as much matter from her person as he could. Returning his attention to the guardian who had proffered a challenge to him, he watched as he began to tremble slightly at his gratuitous show of aggression. He smiled at the look of disbelief on his face, suddenly he turned to run, dropping his weapon on the ground; his heavy boots slowing him down. Giving chase, he lowered his head and like a wild rhino he charged after him; horn landing squarely into his back, he felt the resonating pop of his spine where he struck, the gentle trickle of blood streaming down his face from the deep laceration in his back. Lifting his head up, he flung the helpless creature into the air, coming to an abrupt halt only as his side struck the hard bark of a nearby tree; uncontrollably he wrapped around it, landing unconscious on the damp ground.

He had come full circle, the clearing lay a short way ahead. As he went forward to finish the assailant, the loud cracking of gunfire could be heard a short way in the distance. Ducking down amongst the thick undergrowth, he watched as a small group of the guardians, with blood soaked blue uniforms and features that looked indistinguishable to the others, had soon slowly emerged from the bushes; with a flurry of gunshots they frantically fired their weapons into the forest, hoping to hit their target. The first of the demons emerged; a badly injured adult male, despite blood spattered around his person he recognised him as being from a nearby friendly clan. Entirely consumed by bloodlust his hulking frame charged forward, many of the shells popping all around him as they harmlessly bounced off against his hard skin. Like a matador leading a bull out into the open they parted, allowing him to harmlessly run past; the continual stream of gunfire against his injured back finally capable of seeing the hulking mass of demonic flesh fall to its knees. Outnumbered, he died fighting to the end, fighting for what he believed. Irrespective of his own thoughts on this futile war, his death had as much honour to it as anyone could wish for.

The gunfire into the forests resumed, and through the trees he could make out the faintest outline of two more young demons making there way through the dense forest. They appeared to be arguing amongst the chaos, though he could discern little more. Suddenly, one of their number charged outwards towards the guardians leaving the young female behind; out in the open he instantly recognised Kwan’s gait as he fell into the same trap that the demon before him and stumbled into. ‘The fool,’ he thought, knowing that out in the open, outnumbered he wouldn’t stand a chance. Desperately he looked around him for something that he could use as a distraction to draw his attention without giving away his position, scanning the nearby unconscious body at his side. Discovering a small metal canister, he pulled hard on the protruding ring, coming away in his hands. Throwing it aside he seized the belt in its entirety and tore it from his person, the leather uttering a loud satisfying snap as he wrenched it away and threw it towards Kwan. Before the object could strike the ground, it exploded; emitting a blinding light and disorientating cacophonous bang, he quickly recomposed himself to look onto the thick black smoke shrouding them. Having already lost the element of surprise he cried out at the top of his lungs, looking deep into the smoke for any sign of him. He recoiled slightly at the cry of a soft-skin, and watched as he flew through the air into view, collapsing on the ground as Kwan barged through, closely followed by the other young demon.

Knowing their cries would bring along the attention of others, and with no idea how many more remained within the city walls they had to escape for more favourable odds. Turning tail he ran through the dense forests, making sure the others were still in tow, and soon emerged back out in the open; the hard steel clanging underfoot. Darting towards the side of a nearby building, he took the first passage and followed it down to the end; blocked by the stone walls of the city edge, he quickly ducked to his left, down another small passage at the back of the building. Peeking from around the corner he saw them both still in tow, a bold guardian giving chase, firing haphazardly in their direction, catching the young demon’s leg; as she stumbled Kwan lurched back for her; Chul-Moo darted out, seizing his arm he sharply pulled him around the corner. The final defiant cry from the fallen demon was soon silenced by the sound gunfire, ending the life of another of his kind.

Silently, he waited patiently crouched against the dark tinted glass windows of the building for the soft skin to emerge; the slow thudding of boots as he cautiously made his way towards their location. The tip of one black leather boot creeping around the corner all he needed to spin out from his hiding to face the guardian who had dared to attack them. Grasping at his uniform he raised him from the ground, roaring defiantly as he spun him around and slammed him hard against the city wall; the cracking sound as his back came into contact with the hard stone. He let out a small whimper, and fumbling about his person dropped his firearm, clutching for the small canister at his belt. Withdrawing it, Chul-Moo snatched it from his hand, but within moments they were once again under fire from two more of this city’s guardians. Throwing the soft-skin in his hands towards the oncoming salvo he once more darted behind the building, only to be halted by further blue uniformed attackers directly ahead of them. They were trapped.

Frantically, Chul-Moo glanced between the slowly advancing attackers, two on either side looking pleased with their catch. Kwan looked solemnly on the ground, seemingly unconcerned with their situation. “They killed her dad,” Kwan exclaimed. He growled at the love struck child, and with his back to the glass gradually brought out his curved blade, tapping the glass; solid. He doubted he could break through it and escape that way. “She said yes.” His mind raced; there had to be another way out of this situation; the guardians got ever closer, only 30 feet. From this range even the most incompetent amongst them would not miss; he was left with no choice. With more than a glint of remorse he hooked the pin on his large canine, sharply pulling it out and throwing to his right; he turned back towards Kwan hard back; the attackers rapidly responding to his last minute attempt at escape. Through the hail of fire he ducked behind Kwan, thrusting his sharp claws into the crack between the plates in his back, forcing a handhold in the soft flesh that lay beneath. The explosion of the canister temporary blinding to his enemies; he raised Kwan by the hard plate of skin and charged onwards into the smoke, using Kwan as a personal shield against the oncoming fire. Bullets rebounding from his hard skin, he felt the warmth of the multiple small explosions surrounding him; the desperate cries emerging from the demon of his own flesh and blood sent him reeling in anger at the thought of the real demons, forcing him into this position.

With a deadly fury he slammed Kwan’s badly bleeding body into the first of his foes, throwing Kwan back against his far smaller frame; he heard the loud snap of brittle bones as they fell crashing to the floor. Frantically slashing blindly against the smoke with his curved blade, following the sound of the gunshots; his blade soon struck bone, the hard skull of the second of the two assailants. Raising his foot he kicked the recently made corpse’s chest to free his blade, the limp, lifeless body crumpling against the hard ground, he spun around to face those that remained through the rapidly decaying fog. The vision of this gargantuan behemoth, blood soaked and wide-eyed in a bloodlust filled rage, further fuelled by his son’s recent demise forced from his own hand at their aggression was enough to send them reeling in shock. Wide-eyed, the guardians slowly began to lower their weapons; placing his long, curved blade against his shoulder – his elbow jutting out – he spun around in a 360 degree turn, and providing as much strength as he could, threw the sword. Arching over, it slowly began to drop, impaling one of his foes through the chest; the impact forcing him down onto the ground. The last of the guardians began to whimper, blinking in disbelief at this feat of strength. In fear, he fled the scene, leaving Chul-Moo alone once more.

As the smoke cleared, the dying body of Kwan lay on the ground bleeding heavily onto the cold metal floor of this city. As he knelt by his side he felt a deep pain of regret; he should have put a stop to this plan sooner, there must have been some way he could have avoided this. “Thank you,” Kwan murmured, “perhaps now I can be with her.” He smiled a bittersweet smile, ‘the romantic fool’ he thought; perhaps we aren’t so different from those soft-skins after all, both searching for solace where we can find it. Gently lifting his body, he carried him his arms and gently placed him beside the remains of the woman he had desperately tried to protect. Kwan offered a weak smile, and scrambled his hands towards hers, gripping it as tightly as he could before delivering his final breath. His body suddenly relaxed, the blood forming a soft pool around his person. Chul-Moo leant in close, closed his eyes, and whispering into his ear said “thank you for restoring faith in my instincts.”

As he raised his head he looked out on the bloodbath they had wrought upon this city; bodies littered the streets, the smooth surface of the steel ground allowed the blood of those who had been slain to gently flow along its contours; the entire city glowed a ferocious shade of red, the gentle sun overhead shining on the fine particulate mist that had been carried across from the sea. The rapturous cheering from many of the other demons at their triumphs as they continued their rampage evident as they ran through the streets, playfully wrestling with each other in a fit of high spirits. We had conquered a city in which we could never belong; what remained of the local populace had gone into hiding but would soon meet their demise. We had won someone else’s war, but at what cost? Was the loss of life worth the end result?

But a larger question still remained; not of what had they done for that was the past and could not be changed, but what is to happen in the near future. There was much Annwku still had not divulged – still some plan which he had set into motion to try and control this city. They already had control of the city, the battle could not have lasted long but already they had forced their opponent to scatter, dishevelled, disorganised and demoralised, they were now even less of a threat than before. He looked into the sky in contemplation but his attention was drawn by the prominence of a figure on the rooftop; obscured by the mist, the dark outline from his black robes emanating around his person shrouding him a darkness, a disturbing sense of evil filtering down onto the city below. It couldn’t be Annwku; his posture was too powerful, even Annwku had a slight sinister hunch. The figure stood rigid, transfixed by something ahead of him. He reluctantly moved to observe the object of his transfixiation; so there she stood, the angel in all her glory. Bathed in a brilliant white glow, her deceptively innocent appearance captivating, and even in the knowledge of the cruel manner they had been banished from her new world he couldn’t help but be left with a feeling of awe. Gritting his teeth, he felt the anger build up inside; he may not know Annwku’s reason for wanting this war, but she too was responsible for it, and he was determined to find out why.

*****

Whilst the battle raged on within the city walls, just beyond them Annwku stood; arm outstretched, searching amongst the intricate philotic web of life for her arrival. For hours he had carefully traversed these thin strands, searching for that one bright spark amidst a sea of souls blissfully unaware of their own energy tied to this world. And then, suddenly, he saw the briefest glimpse of something powerful. Chasing after it through the web, he had finally found it; the philote he had been searching for. Gently reaching out towards it, he was met with resistance; pushing slightly harder, he was delivered with a sudden flash of pain. He recoiled and snapped back into our plane of existence; a diabolical smile slowly emerging across scarred face, for she had arrived.

This was what their master had trained him and his brethren for; they had been shown how to manipulate the very fabric of the energy that binds us together in order to control another, and they were ready to fulfil their destiny. Joining hands with the rest of his brothers, their connections strong between one another, they once more returned to the philotic plane of reality, rapidly following along the thin strings of energy to their destination. Ashiya resisted once more, but was unable to fight back against their combined power; slowly but surely they pushed their way into her conscious soul; a burning pain as she struggled to fight back; they could hear her screams, the cries for mercy, hoping they would stop their relentless pursuit but still they persisted. The screams became louder and more panic-stricken; the pain began to burn as though their blood was boiling, but they maintained their focus until suddenly she caved; like a bloodthirsty infection they had broken into her and spread throughout her body.

Haneul watched as the gentle waves became more turbulent; the sight of a thrashing beast deep in the blue below. She was barely capable of observing the serpentine creature as it desperately fought back against an unseen attacker. The bubbles rose to the surface in a frenzy, and then as abruptly as it had started she lay motionless in the ocean depths. Haneul turned towards Annwku and the others, the sweat on his forehead, and glimmer of a smile overshadowed by the contrast of his shining milky white eyes, deep in concentration of his control of the beast. Once more the waves returned; the beast was beginning his approach to the surface.

Head arising first; the large bulbous eyes lay protruding on the side of her green scaly head, long snout and frantic tongue darting in and out of its mouth, sensing her surroundings. Her serpentine jaws opened wide to reveal a pair of long, thin overarching fangs; rising further still from the deep, her thick, powerful neck quickly broadened to reveal her lizard-like frame. As it stood on its muscular hind legs it arose 30 feet from the ground, hard scales shielding its soft skin from the elements. It blinked its eyes, eyelids coming across horizontally, and stretched its long forearms across on either side proudly displaying her lizard-like paws, sticky liquid oozing from the tips of her fingers. Like a bat, thin skin-like wings dropped down from her extended forearms, and with head raised to the sky she roared a high pitched shriek, her long serpentine tail flailing around on the surface of the water behind her. Ashiya had arrived.

Amidst the chaos of Ashiya’s return, nobody noticed that lurking in the shadows of the sewers lay the prying eyes of K’mtar. Sent to retrieve this beast for his angel, he watched as they waited, her unworldly form emerging from the ocean to greet them. He gritted his teeth in anger; the mere sight of such a foul looking creature would have caused him concern, but here he had proof that she had been deceived. These mysterious humans had evidently betrayed her to work with the demons and this creature to bring an end to her benevolent reign over the city; his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done. As the creature shrieked into the sky he darted back into the sewers lest he be discovered; he had no option, Tenshi had to be warned. Turning his heels he fled once more to find his angel.



*Awaits its prompt ignorance*

Chapter Seven

It was only half a day before the second coming of Ashiya that against the picturesque backdrop of the northern mountains the Alamanni dwelled, blissfully unaware of the fate that was about to befall the city they had become estranged from so long ago. A simple people, they remained for centuries hidden in the clouds, from their perch high above they observed the world as far as the eye could see, cautious of the roaming demonic entities that plagued their land. Living in fear for the day that they be discovered, they maintained their solitary existence by ensuring that none who arrived survived to report their discoveries.

Through the gentle azure sky, the rocky terrain glowed bright with the fury of the setting sun, two Alamanni trackers continued their chase; hunting rogue demons that had brushed past their city, too close for comfort. The respect they carried by their brethren for their willing to perform the dangerous duty offered them little solace when out against the elements, tracking these foul beasts like rabid dogs to be put to rest. A young male, Dieter, crouched down on the ground beside his steed; his youthful appearance belied his experience, his tanned complexion disguising his toughened skin and with wide, alert eyes he remained in a state of constant vigilance. Gently he pressed his fingers against the faint imprint of a demonic hoof in the sand that thinly covered the landscape; it was still slightly warm. They had been this way recently. Unusually far from their dwellings, he could only speculate as to their their purpose here.

“So where did they go then?” his partner, Aithne cried from her own horse. Dieter turned to face her; long red hair dancing gracefully against her back with the gentle breeze, her keen child-like mentality evident in the manner she bounced up and down in anticipation. He shook his head in dismay; he was given the duty of training this woman because her recklessness had gotten her last trainer killed, and he was fairly confident she would be the death of him as well. Returning once more to the prints on the ground he further analysed the tracks left in their haste.

“The spacing is quite far apart – they were in a hurry wherever they were going. Possibly two or three strong? They travelled single file so it’s hard to be sure.” He looked up onto the horizon, trying to make out their direction of travel; it would be dark before too long, and if they were to find them they would need to do it soon.

“And?” Aithne cried impatiently, “where are they?”

“My best guess would be the caves up ahead. They will need to rest for the night –” before he could finish she had cantered off in the direction he had indicated, regal green cloak flailing behind her. As he got back onto his own mount, he read the golden lettering that embossed all the cloaks of the trackers. He had been taught by his grandfather how to read the old tongue, despite it being a language that had not been heard in use for centuries. He understood ‘どんな心配のマスターか,’ to mean “What worries you, masters you;” words spoken long ago by the great King Weylyn who built their city of Alamannia from the ground. As relevant today as ever, they were words to live by; he constantly striving to push thoughts of her out of his mind and retain control of their master-apprentice relationship. As she began to drift further off into the distance, he began to give chase lest she succeed in finding the trouble she seemed so eager to uncover.

The sound of horse’s hooves hitting the hard ground resonated around them, the wind whistling past his ears as he gradually gained ground on Aithne’s determined form, confidently riding into the fading sun. As the darkness began to fall upon the two hapless heroes, with her vigour suddenly renewed she pressed onwards towards the dank caves emerging on the horizon; like a monstrous creation they arose from the ground, a maze of intertwining passages. He knew that through the network of tunnels was a path through to the other side and into the vast unknown wastelands that lay beyond. Was that where their prey were headed? Straining his eyes to observe what had sparked this new vivacity, he could faintly discern a blurred figure on the horizon, contrasting with the darker brown of the caverns. Obscured by the shade offered by the passage into the rock, there was no way of telling how many lay hidden amongst the shadows.

Forcing his horse into a gallop to catch up, the blur on the horizon rapidly came into focus; the image of an adolescent demon male had begun to run into the limestone caverns at the sight of them. Raising her crossbow, Aithne carefully took aim, deftly firing a bolt into the upper back of the creature, forcing him onto the ground. He watched as the demon spun around in a rage viscously lunging at the horse within its grasp, his swipe only missing as the horse – scared by the outburst – reared onto its hind legs. Aithne helplessly slid from the horse, rolling backwards onto the hard ground as the horse cantered off into the sunset. ‘She was looking for trouble and she’s found it,’ he thought. The demon appeared pleased with himself as he withdrew his sharp curved blade from his belt and paced over to where she lay, a malicious intent in his eye. Withdrawing his own long slender blade, he desperately closed the ground between them. Lowering his blade outstretched on his side he forced the horse between the two figures; the clashing of his blade against the hard plated skin of the demons hand meeting with a loud ‘clang.’ Roaring in pain, the demon uncontrollably flung the sword aside in reflex at the blow.

Placing a single foot onto the saddle on which he sat, he flung himself from the horse, rolling sideways on the hard ground. Ignoring the pain of the impact of the hard ground he spun once more to the wounded demon. Crouched low to the ground he made his way forwards, suddenly taken aback by the now recovered Aithne. Once more on her feet, she withdrew a bolt from the quiver on her back and dived towards the demon, still nursing his hand. With a bloodthirsty rage she thrust the arrow deep into the demons eye, the squelching as it popped like a grape, sending a shower of blood and thick, jelly-like matter onto the ground. As the demon howled in pain wildly, collapsing onto his knees, Dieter approached with blade in hand. Carefully positioning the blade between the hard plates of skin on his back, he drove the blade deep within the soft flesh that lay beneath. As abruptly as they had begun the demon’s cries stopped, choking slightly as the blood began to gently trickle from his agape jaws. Collapsing onto his side, he slowly fell into death’s cruel embrace.

He turned once more towards Dieter, beaming at him as she wiped the pale white jelly from her chin. “That’s what happens when you run off like that,” Dieter said in a condescending tone.

“We kill the bad guy?” she responded facetiously. Dieter bent down to pick up the crossbow she had dropped in the fight and tossed it over to her. “Lighten up,” she said, catching the bow, drawing another bolt from her quiver and reloading the weapon. “We caught the demon and killed it. Job done.” Dieter proffered a slightly bemuse gaze. “I mean, you’re my trainer right? So, if I was surrounded by demons at knifepoint, wanting to have their way with me,” she continued, flicking her hair in an alluring manner, “you’d have to come to my rescue.”

“No. I wouldn’t,” Dieter responded in a firm manner, despite knowing that begrudgingly he was ultimately responsible for her safety, and to abandon her would be to seek the questioning of the council of elders. Aithne was taken aback slightly by his response.

“But if you were in the area –”

“We still don’t know why they’re here, nor how many remain,” Dieter sharply interrupted, anxious to change the topic of conversation.

“Then lets get to it,” she abruptly responded, turning to face the caves which the recently slain demon seemed to be attempting to reach. Through the corner of her eye she spotted another copper figure, stood in shock at the sight of them a short way in the distance. Turning to flee back into the depths of caverns, Aithne in an instant gave chase. ‘Has she learnt nothing?’ Dieter thought, as he grumbled and followed in pursuit.

He watched as the shroud of darkness engulfed Aithne, and then himself. Out of the way of the dying sun and into the cold caverns crudely fashioned by time he ran forward, hoping his eyes would adjust to the sudden darkness quickly enough to follow them both. The narrow entrance quickly opened out to a large chamber with tunnels leading off in every direction, and he stopped to look for traces of the direction they had taken. Blinking rapidly, trying to see more clearly the ground before him, he felt a large droplet of liquid fall onto his shoulder. He began to brush it off, feeling its viscous sticky texture he quickly realising this foul smelling liquid was not from the cavern, and looked up to see the adult demonic figure attached to the low lying cave ceiling. Unable to react before he had swung from crude rock handholds deep in the ceiling, the impact of his hard hooves sent him flying back onto the hard ground.

Quickly he withdrew his blade. Instinct taking over, he ignored the pain covering his torso – the uneven rock floor digging into his soft back – he looked up at the demon’s hulking frame charging at him, sword high above his head. Raising his own blade to defend the blow he was easily overpowered by the demon’s brute strength; his own blade came crashing down to his side, the tip clanging loudly against the hard rock. Sparks flew from the cold stone floor – likely from a flint nodule that could be found everywhere in these caverns – and Dieter shielded his eyes. As the demon’s blade slid down his own, he was temporarily caught off balance, and – seizing his chance – kicked hard at the demon’s leg to try and destabilise him further. Standing rigid, the demon remained unaffected by the pathetic blow. Quickly regaining his balance, he swung his blade down once more, narrowly missing only as Dieter rolled out of harms way, and getting it embedded deep within the rocky ground.

Dieter quickly arose to his feet and taking advantage of the demons plight – still struggling to free his blade from the ground – swung sharply towards his chest, only to have the blow deflected harmlessly away by the thick plated skin of his arm raised in his defence. Caught off-guard the demon lunged with an open fist towards him, forcing him to stumble back out of his reach. With a triumphant roar he finally freed his blade from the rock; a small explosion as the surrounding stone gave way and crumbled onto the floor; he blindly swung maliciously once more, still out of reach of Dieter, who in response lunged forwards, harmlessly falling forward under his own momentum as the demon swiftly sidestepped his attempt. Deftly Dieter turned once more expecting another blow, only to be confronted by the rapturous laughter of his adversary. Shaking slightly in fear he desperately looked about him for any tool to give him the upper hand and end this battle of wills.

Looking to the ground before him, where the blade had become embedded within the rock his vision became blurred, obscured like ripples on water. Deeply he inhaled through his nose, smelling the sweet smell of the gas rising up from the ground. He proffered a smile which quickly drained the demon of his own amusement. Circling the demon, he stood over the pocket of escaping gas, eyes darting to the ground, searching for a glimpse of the dark flint that had been struck moments ago. He raised his sword behind his head and the demon began to lunge forward. ‘Predictable,’ he thought as he swung his blade onto the flint on the ground as hard as he could; sparks flew high into the air and with an intense furiosity ignited the gas in a torrent of flames, seeping out into the path of the hapless demon; using the momentum of his sword swing to twist out the demon’s path, he turned to face the hapless creature become consumed by a torrent of fire.

Ignited by the flames he roared in pain, the smell of burning flesh infesting their cavernous surroundings, and for the first time he could truly watch the demonic form. Free from the power struggle, the instinctive fear of one another, he gazed into the sorrowful eyes of the beast that had acted according to its nature. Would I kill a dog for biting me when feeling threatened? As the demon crumpled to the floor, he extended out a hand towards him, perhaps a last ditch plea to spare his life. I could kick dust over him and let him live – he would be disfigured and still in pain – but that was not the way he was raised. He had hunted and mercilessly killed these beasts for almost a decade, but for the first time he questioned, what gave him the right to live and not them?

Mercifully, he frantically kicked dust onto the flames of the dying beast, putting out the fire and ending the creatures torment; it was his compassion that made him human, and his compassion that refused to allow any creature to suffer this as punishment. With foot placed firmly on the demons chest, he looked into the demon’s relieved expression and thankful gaze; tears began to well up from his disfigured eyes, blinded by the fire. Raising his sword, he plunged it deep into the softened plates of the demon’s chest, penetrating his heart and putting the creature out of its misery once and for all. As he watched, the sound of a crossbow bolt firing in the distance abruptly forced his attention to snap back into focus; Aithne was still present in these caverns and so was the demon they had chased.

Towards the sound he raced, darting down the dark cold circular passageways through the rock, following the weaving tunnels into the black; he could hear the scampering of feet in the distance. A crossbow bolt marked the way through the first fork, the loud cacophony of crumbling rock ahead spurring her on further, and blade still in hand he soon emerged in a small opening, one of the three passages leading away obscured by rock that had collapsed. Quickly he scrabbled away at the debris, the glimmer of the other side through the gap in the rock allowing him to peer through. Only capable of seeing the thick demonic plates of an arm raised high, pinning something against the wall, it was all that he needed to see. Thrusting his blade deep into the cracks, he used all the force he could muster to pry apart the rock, it finally yielding; a small rock flung outwards, forcing a small avalanche to tumble down.

Through the now visible passageway the startled adolescent demon could be seen to have Aithne pinned to the wall by her throat, her face turning blue in the grip of his powerful hand. As Dieter climbed over the remaining rock, sword still in hand, the demon in a panic dropped her weak frame onto the ground beside her crossbow and began to sprint clumsily down the narrow passage, shoulder bashing against the overhanging rocks embedded in the walls, callously knocking sections onto the ground. Shielding his face with his free hand he ran in pursuit of the figure desperate to escape; ducking to avoid the crumbling rock he peered above his arm to the figure up ahead. The demon had halted, confronted by a stone wall blocking his path. Raising his sword, he pounced on the demon, frantically spinning round to meet his assailant; sword coming inches away from his throat.

“Why are you here,” Dieter yelled, looking deep into the panic stricken eyes of the beast before him, frantically trying to avert his gaze. “You have no purpose here, so why have you come,” he pursued.

“You don’t understand, I mean no harm,” he pleaded in an exacerbated tone. Dieter crudely spat in his face and slowly forced his blade closer into his throat; the hard skin visibly bending inwards where he applied pressure with the tip. A tear welled up at the demons eye, a sign of humanity perhaps? Or a trick to try and fool us? Either way he didn’t allow his attention to drift from the matter at hand. “She is coming,” the demon reluctantly proffered, “I was sent here in case –” he gulped nervously, evidently weighing up how much he would need to confess.

“Who sent you? Who is she,” Dieter barked venomously, eyes seething in a bloody rage. She clenched tightly her grip on the blade; its weight was beginning to tire her arm but she ignored the aching sensation, the pain from her bruised ribs became more prominent with every breath.

“Please, I need to find it,” the demon cried, tears streaming from his face. Dieter realised he was genuinely scared, but the fear was not from him, but rather what would happen if he failed his mission. “The Divider of Souls –” he was cut off by a bolt, whizzing just inches away from his own ear to strike the demon squarely in the forehead. Blood gently trickling down from his wound, he raised one claw to feel where it had impacted him before slumping down on the ground before him. Dieter felt none of his rage subside as be turned to face Aithne, still rubbing her neck sorely.

“He had information we could have used,” he roared venomously, hissing at her in disbelief of her ineptitude.
“He’d only have lied,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Did you not think he may be worth more to us alive?”

“The only good demon is a dead demon,” she casually responded, brushing off his condescending tone.
“And now we have no idea why they’re here other than they were sent by someone because someone else was coming –” he began, speaking rapidly. Aithne paced over towards the demon lifelessly slumped against the stone floor, “ – and something about a provider of souls and,” he turned once more towards Aithne, “are you even listening to what I’m saying?” He watched as Aithne put one thin leather shoe onto the demons forehead, and tightly gripping the bolt tore it from the demon’s skull; blood sloshed from the cavity, spattering her torso.

“Don’t want to let it go to waste,” she responded to his vacant glare in a matter of fact tone, wiping the blood droplets from her chest.

“You do not take matters like this into your –,” Dieter continued, adamant to try and retain her attention long enough to make his point.

“Hey, you’re the language guy right?” she interrupted, “this looks like something important,” she said, pointing to a small engraving that had become all the more noticeable by the thin gloss of body matter. Dieter walked over to the stone and delicately pushed the demon’s corpse aside, gently feeling the engravings embedded in the wall. “Can you translate it,” Aithne asked enthusiastically. Dieter turned to her, long red hair bouncing up and down as she energetically displayed her joy at her discovery, before returning his attention to the markings. As she focussed on them, she became sure they were the old tongue, proudly inscribed “ホールの霊魂,” on a single stone slab. Hall of Souls? Could that be the correct translation? Looking around for any further markings proved useless; there was nothing to be found.

“It’s nothing, just scratches on the rock,” he replied. Aithne gave him a knowing look, and he let out a brief sigh. “Fine, I think it say’s ‘Hall of Souls,’ but it’s probably a mistranslation.”

“Look again,” she cried, pouting like a child. Dieter prodded the rock once more, about to continue explaining its insignificance when much to his surprise the rock gently slid into the wall. Surprised he suddenly recoiled, only to be pushed aside onto the rocky floor by Aithne who had seen him stumble. Kicking hard at the loose stone, she sent it flying across to the other side, the sudden loss of the supporting rock sending the entire wall crumbling down. Through the smog of dust that had been kicked up into the narrow tunnel deep beneath the rock they spluttered uncontrollably. Dieter closed his eyes, temporarily blinded he desperately used his hands to rub them clean. Returning to his feet he stared at Aithne, a look of loathing which she promptly ignored as she beamed back. With a skip in her step she bounded over the rubble and onwards down the tunnel with Dieter begrudgingly traipsing behind.

As they made their way past the remains of the wall, through the dark tunnel the cold, moist stone walls began to broaden, curving round in a swirling teardrop-like shape to eventually reveal a vast chamber; the hollowed mountain without a peak lending light to the surroundings. The distinctly drier, warmer atmosphere provided by the darkening sky above provided light down onto their surroundings. Weathered down to a soft fine power over the years, the warm sand covering the floor had remained undisturbed for centuries. Long stalactites hung from the jagged limestone walls, threatening in the manner they had precariously grown, and the remnants of those that had fallen loose from their balanced perch high above could be seen in the large rock cavities that populated the floor. A spiralling stalagmitic structure lay to their left, growing like some hideous deformity of dull amber bones, interweaving as they climbed ever higher, supporting the only other visible exit high above them, well beyond their reach. In the centre of the room proudly stood a single cylindrical stone, clearly carved with some purpose, the gentle flow of the sand incapable of eroding away the engravings clearly visible in the side facing them.

Dieter approached the stone centre, entranced by the carving on the stone ahead she drifted towards it uncontrollably. There could be no mistake now, this was written in the old tongue; a language that hadn’t been spoken for centuries. Her mind raced with thoughts of what they had uncovered. Was this some form of meeting place for her ancestors? Was she standing in the remains of some great meeting hall, where centuries ago decisions would be made that would echo through time? He crouched to examine the inscription further, “公然マインド離す休み中 - The Open Mind can Sever the Closed.” Slowly he stood up, muttering that phrase over to himself, trying to make sense of it. Why would the inhabitants of this place leave such a cryptic message behind?

A loud clang instantly brought his attention back into focus, instinctively drawing her sword and twisting around to the spiralling stalagmite from where the sound had originated. At its foot stood Aithne attempting to dent the stone with an oddly fashioned double-edged dagger; long and unseemly thin it remained perfectly rigid, its colour an opaque pure white colour, bringing an unearthly light to the darkness. He rushed over to her, and grabbing the dagger wrenched it away from her grasp.

“Where did you find this?” Dieter asked in a volatile manner.

“It was on the lump of rock you were looking at,” she replied, shrugging off the threatening tone the question demanded of her. He looked down at the blade, the warmth spreading throughout his body, and noticed a thin gloss reflecting the light more prominently. Using the sunlight to reflect off the glossy coating on the blade, he observed further writing. “分圧器の世界の – Divider of Worlds.” Her eyes grew wider at the realisation that this was what the demon in the corridor was searching for. Delicately she felt along the edge: blunt. The unknown material and the rigidity of such a thin construction concluded what she had already guessed, that this was of foreign origin. But what could they possibly want with a blunt blade? And why would they travel so far for it?

“Hey! Can I have my dagger back?” Aithne cried, annoyed at the sight of Dieter gently sliding the dagger into his belt. “I found it, I get to keep it.”

“And what would you do with it?”

“Sharpen it and crack some demon skulls,” Aithne said, allowing a slight smug grin to come across her face. Dieter turned away from her and started walking back the way they came.

“I’m taking it to Ailis,” he said with a calm defiance.

“That crazy old bat? I know she’s your grandmother but how’s she gonna be able to help?”

“This dagger is what the demon’s were searching for,” he responded, failing to slow down his stride and forcing Aithne to follow behind, “It’s why they came here and if anyone can make sense of it –”

“But she’s crazy! You won’t get a straight answer out of her”

“I don’t need a straight answer, just an informed one.”

Emerging from the darkness of the caves, the outline of the single remaining horse visible in the minimal light offered by the night sky, Dieter looked up to the moon’s ominous glow. The dagger glowing alongside, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed that something was awry; what was it that the demon feared so strongly that required this weapon? He gently slid onto the saddle of his horse and turned towards Aithne, eyes fixated on the ground before her, kicking the dust as she walked. “Get on before I leave you,” he called, Aithne continuing to reluctantly pace towards him ignoring his cry. Gently she slid onto the saddle behind him, and they began their journey back to Alammania.

I didn't read this yet, but holy shit dude, this is a lot of work.