World Beyblade Organization by Fighting Spirits Inc.

Veemer City, a remote city off the coast of Florida, is awfully quiet. Almost everyone is asleep, which is eerily not possible on such a busy city like this. On a nearby neighbourhood, a deathly frigid gale breezes by. As the wind courses through, the street lights of that neighbourhood burst, until only on streetlight is left open, flickering with a wavering hope.

Amidst this sepulchral light, a tall, slender man wearing a plumed fedora and a formal pair of a black jacket and pants emerges. He plants his white walking cane which is adorned by two, twirling snakes. His Victorian Era-esque visage is quickly shattered by him lighting a cigar and putting it in his mouth. Amongst the penumbra, a shadowy figure breaks from its shadowy cover, and the tall, blond man casts a devilish smile. A small, slouched imp-like man crawls his way to the light, and bows before the tall man, who puffs a cloud of smoke.

“Where’s my Legion?” The man asks, without looking at the kneeled man.

“H-here sir.” He says, stammering, as if he’s nervous. “Everywhere.” The blond man, looks around, and he sees several different figures emerging from the shadows. He smiles once again.

“Excellent, my pawn.” He then snaps his fingers and a pillar of flame engulfs the pitiful, imp-like man. He turns around, and then walks to the shadows, opening his arms, as if he were embracing it.

Snow sleets the streets that I walk on. I lower my bowler hat as I cross and slice through the sea of people. I look at my watch, seven in the morning. Not bad, but I have to get to my client in time. I quietly winnow through the people wearing grungy coats, having red and fatigued eyes, which is not very unlike me. My job is a lot more stressful than theirs though, I can assure. It is Christmas morning, and people are on their way back home for their break I guess. Me, I never take a break.

I bump into some business man who drops his suitcase. He yells out a blazing trail of obscenities, which I ignore and don’t want to hear the end of. He calls me back as I start away from him, but he doesn’t really chase after me. I shrug, scoffing as I cross a pedestrian crossing even when the walk sign is off; making me almost hit a taxi car which abruptly stops in front of me. He yells out obscenities, but I just flip him off. Once I crossed the road, with several people chasing after me, I head on down the steep vertical slope, reminiscent of San Francisco. Veemer City can be seen as somewhat of a mesh between New York and San Francisco, having sloping, steep roads leading to the harbor, while there are tall sky scrapers in the city’s centre, where the ground is more leveled. They’ve built it this way because the island was steep, and they didn’t bother flattening it. Unlike San Francisco, though, there are no horizontal “breaks” to the vertical slope – it’s just one, long slope downwards. Even though, the sloping area of Veemer City is the “Residential Area” of the city. It’s a good thing what with the snow that the steep slopes of the city don’t cause you to slide down. It’s very slippery, and the kids take that to their advantage by riding sleds all the way down to the Veemer Harbour.

I cross two blocks downward until I see a white Lexus. I look to the right and a frail but tall – not any taller than me though – woman is standing there, apparently waiting for me. As I approach their house, she runs to me, slowly, being careful not to trip over her high heels, and beckons.

“Mister Frontinus? Is that you?” She asks. I nod in confirmation. My whole name is Vincent Frontinus, but people usually call me by my last name, which I’m not really bothered with. I like my last name because I like my family. I loved them. My entire life mission is because of them; more particularly my father –or rather, my foster father. No, I haven’t been abandoned, nor did my parents die. My normal parents separated when we were living in the Philippines, and I went with my mum back to Aberdeen, Scotland. My father, Kristoph Elias, was Filipino and he married my mother when she was having her vacation in the Philippines. Obviously, the marriage didn’t end well. Back in England, my mother married another wankered wankstain, where I had my step-sister, who I killed, accidentally… long story. I ran from home, and I was found on the street by this very devout Christian family. The rest is history. I don’t feel like telling you my entire story, because I would probably end by the time the possessed lass’ body would be dragged to hell.

And yes, I’m English. Although, I’ve lived in Veemer for so long that I lost most of my accent, but I still retain the slang words I’ve gotten from my mother.

“Yeah. Is uh,” I nod at their house, which is dark brown from the bricks and sports a small balcony on the second floor. “is she up there?” She nods.

“I tried everything. Doctors, scientists, therapists, cultists.They say it’s a mental illness, but she’s been normal ever since she was a child.” She frantically says. I chuckle a little at her, and the doctors. Sometimes, doctors just dinnae want to admit that they’re possessed. Big mistake on their part. The longer the possessor stays in the body, the longer the suffering and eventual death. “I had to settle for you. How can I know you can heal her?” I answer her question with simple words.

“Have a little faith.”


I head inside the house, which is very small and quaint: having a living room, and then a small dining area behind the living room. A flight of stairs is stuck to the wall, ascending to the second floor of their house.

“She’s up in her bed room. Be careful. She’s…” A long pause ensues, but the woman, or the mother I presume, takes courage and finishes. “Not looking nor feeling very well.” She swallows hard. I nod, take of my bowler hat, showing my black, unkempt hair. It looks very messy, even if it is shaved on the sides. From my midnight violet, leather hooded long coat – yes, midnight violet; I’m very particular when it comes it certain colours – I slowly take out a book with “Holy Bible” written in golden letters across it. I also brandish a silver crucifix. Since exorcism is just I driving out the demon from inside, I won’t really need that much fighting force. If ever, I can use the crucifix to slow her down if things get out of hand. If the demon completely possesses the lass’ soul, I’d have to kill it. I don’t want that to happen.

I put the crucifix atop the Bible and gesture to her to lead me upstairs. She reluctantly nods, and we climb up the pale ivory stairs lined with brown. In a few seconds, we have crossed the stairs and a short hallway with three doors is in front of me. One is directly on the opposite side, and it is slightly opened, revealing to me that it’s a bathroom. The hallway is covered with scratches and blood. A cringe-worthy sight, but it’s like a common sunny-side up egg you see on your breakfast plate for me. She leads forward and I follow her to the room nearest to that restroom. Slowly, she opens the door which creaks loudly.

Inside, a teenage girl, probably around seventeen, is in her bed, sleeping soundly. I put a finger on my mouth, signaling the mother to be quiet. She nods, and I push her out. Slowly, I walk across the room, doing my best not to wake the poor lass up. I carefully place the silver cross atop her bed; I then focus on the curtains, and then flick my wrist down, causing it to collapse and fall which lets the morning sun shine in. An ear-piercing scream slices through the room, and the girl starts flailing around crazily. She grabs my ankle with her powerful talons, but I kick her away casually, as if she’s a two month old dog and the possessed lass falls to the floor.

She hisses at me through her unimaginably sharp fangs and glass-like teeth as she stands up. “You’ve never heard of a toothbrush? No wait – you’d need a bloody mop to even clean on side of a tooth.” I remark. She screams, and then lunges at me. I dodge, almost effortlessly if I say so myself, and she clings to the wall behind me. She starts climbing it, mumbling incoherent stuff. I chuckle a little at her mumbling curse. It won’t work on me. Before long, she jumps from the ceiling, like a spider pouncing at its prey. I throw my hand up, making her stop in mid-air, and I move my hand toward the bed. The girl’s body calmly rests on the bed, following my hands gestures. It’s taking all my strength to keep her down, and I can feel blood starting to run down my nose. Knowing that my telekinetic grip wouldn’t hold her for long, I place the Bible on top of and she finds herself stripped from her demonic strength, as if a gigantic rock has been placed on her chest. She struggles to get up, but she can’t even touch the book, let alone lift it. I pull a rectangular wine bottle from my coat that holds a very clean and transparent fluid. The possessed girl starts laughing.

“No. I’m not going to drink. You are, you twat.” I say, sighing in relief. I sit on top of her, open the bottle cap and shove the fluid down her throat. No, it’s not semen, it’s Holy Water.

She starts to convulse and sizzle and I’m afraid that I’ve gone too far: That I’ve burnt the girl’s soul along with the demon. The convulsing continues on for a few minutes – still with her not able to lift her chest – and then stops. Smoke comes from the girl’s mouth, but her twisted face has transformed into a normal teenage human face.

I stare at her – while she’s sleeping of course – for a few minutes, making sure that she’s not going to get bothered by the demon again, until her mother comes in. She sees the small ruckus we’ve made in the room, and me lazily leaning on a wall beside her bed, and she instantly runs to her daughter after seeing her normal face. She cries, saying thank you incoherently, stroking her daughter’s hair. She turns to me.

“Thank you so much.” She says, still stroking her daughter’s brown hair.

“Not me.” I say, and I point upward to the ceiling, as if suggesting that somebody’s there. She gets the message though and immediately speaks,

“I don’t believe in—“

“Well,” I cut her off. “You should. He believes in you.” I say before standing up and grabbing the Bible from her chest. She gasps as I do, assuming that she hasn’t seen it beforehand. “You keep the cross, in case that damned demon comes back. Call me when it does though, yeah?” I inform her. She slowly nods, and I nod back. I start to open the door, but a small voice cuts me.

“Thank you mister.” It says. I turn to see the teenage girl rubbing her eyes.

“What’s the lass’ name?” I ask, pointing to the mother.

“She’s Aria.” She says.

“Don’t mention it Aria.” I say, starting to walk out. At the last minute though, I pause, and continue. “Seriously. Don’t mention it. To anyone.” I say before closing the door. I move downstairs, grabbing my bowler hat placed on the table and start to open the door. Again, a voice interrupts me.

“What can we do to repay you?” The voice – the mother – asks. I turn to her, but not wholly that she doesn’t see my whole face.

“All I need to see is an undisturbed soul ma’am.”I say, trying my hardest to be a bad-arse cowboy. I smile at Aria as she comes down the stairs, and then leave. I return to the sloping road, but this time walking up the steep road, planning to return to my apartment which is where most of the high skyscrapers are.

As I near my apartment, I decide to stop by the bar that I always go to. I cross the street with reckless abandon, causing obscenities and screeching tires to pollute the air with their sounds. I don’t really give a bloody damn. Being run over by a car is the least of my problems.

The bar has a large pink neon sign on its window saying “Daemon Venatores” which I know means Demon Hunter in Latin. I’m the one who gave the owner, Jairus Blakely, the name. He liked it so much, that he instantly wanted a sign made for it.

I enter the bar, with the door creaking and it hitting the bell, making a loud ringing sound. People whip around to see who it is, and they immediately smile. I’m known to solve problems in this bar. ANY problem. They like me so much that they want me to be waiter so they can see me every day. I immediately declined. The bar has tables and chairs and benches planted along the side of the walls and the floor. The smell of cigarettes mixed with... pretty much everything else – although there’s a distinct tinge of puke – fills the air. The bar counter is placed in the middle, right across the door, restrooms for both genders in it either side.

“Well, if it isn’t our favourite Cynical, Aggressive, Sarcastic, but somehow God-fearing and dependable British Occult hero.” The bartender booms with his low voice. Jairus has black sunglasses, which I bloody don’t know why he wears indoors, that is covered by his unkempt blond hair. He’s wearing a grungy white polo and dark jeans.

“You forgot Psionic.” I say. He shrugs while breathing out a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t care.” He says, serving up the usual drink I ask for – Grape Juice. Yeah, unlike most bad-arses out there I don’t drink nor smoke.

“So how’d the exorcism go?” He asks, sliding the grape juice across the table.

“Good.” I casually say. “I’ve got to prepare something for tomorrow – a bunch of Veemer’s High Priests wants a demon extermination. Says their church is being plagued.” I sip a little from my grape juice.

Jairus scoffs, shaking his head. “Why do you even do these things?”

“Well, Jairus,” I start to explain. “I’m the guy who doesn’t like demons. Demons killed me once, and I was sent to Hell. My mom had to sacrifice her life to bring me back, and that’s what I want to do. Satan’s a carp, and I’m about to pound him to the ground. Besides, I need to get to Heaven. I did not like seeing Hell.” I inform him. He nods, as if interested, although he’s heard it a bunch of times. People start to crowd around me though, wanting to know more.

“What kind of guy are you?” A tall lawyer shakes his head. I scoff at his question, but I can openly answer that.

“Like I said,” I start again. “I’m the guy who does not like demons. I’m the guy who would go all the way to Antarctica to just exterminate a demon from the face of the earth. But I,” I point to myself. “I work from the shadows. I’m the guy who, instead of staging dramatic apocalyptic fights, would appear from behind the demon, kick him in the bollocks, flip him off and say ‘Sod off.’ And then disappear again. Some people want to follow my path, but my path is dangerous. My path determines where you go after your mortal life ends. That is Vincent Frontinus. Would you be crazy, stupid, or reckless enough to follow that path with me?”

I come back to the apartment after my small introduction to the people who haven’t known me that much. They didn’t freak out about the demons, because they all know they exist. All the customer of Daemon Venatores has been in an encounter themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if I start seeing the wee lass’ Aria there.

I enter through the sliding doors of my apartment, kept clean by a small, frail landlord. Even if he’s old, he can take very good care of himself and even cleans the lobby so that the visitors wouldn’t be appalled. He has his own motto, which is “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” I gladly agree with him, that man. Inside, the lobby has been cleaned, and the Landlord –Frank, as I call him –has taken his daily rest after cleaning the apartment lobby every morning. I smile as I pass the lobby, with my black, pointy formal shoes squeaking a little as I move to the stairs and climb up the flight to my room. My room is stationed the second nearest to the stairs, so it’s technically easy to remember. I slowly move to my room, removing my bowler hat, when I find the door to be open.

“What the bloody hell?” I curse. Have the demons finally found my flat? I haven’t thought that they’d have the guts to even show up after sending so much of them back to Hell. Slowly, I turn the knob open with one hand, while my other grabs within my long coat my knife which has been bathed in Holy Water, for maximum efficiency when banishing demons. I creep in, past my small bathroom which is behind the first door to my apartment. My room is not very big and luxurious. I got what I could on my budget, and it’s a good one if I get a say. The landlord’s been kind to me all this time; which reminds me: I have to repay him some time, eventually, when I get a small spider-web crack in my schedule against the demons.

My apartment has a small TV, two chairs, a coffee table, a small sink for kitchen uses, a bed and a refrigerator. I peer over my apartment’s small corner to see my television turned on.

Wait, what demon watches soap operas? Haven’t they got enough drama down in Hell with Lucifer crying all the time about his failed rebellion?

“Who’s there?” I say, moving out of the corner and putting my knife in a throwing position. I’m not a marksman, but at this distance, I can sure as hell hit someone between the eyes.

“Whoa!” A girl is there, sitting cross-legged in a chair, sipping on a cup of coffee. Her glasses jump from her face, her hands fly from inside her hoodie’s pockets, and her legs which are only covered until the knee, because of her short, jean shorts lift her up as she stands up. “It’s me!”

“Charlotte?” I ask, squinting a little. Indeed, this wee lass is Charlotte. Seventeen –just like Aria, yeah? –but been my assistant ever since she was fourteen, so she knows a lot about me. She’s my assistant, so she collects occult items for me since their family travels everywhere, cleans my items for me and just makes me coffee every day. She doesn’t like her family much, so she sticks with me a lot. Pain in the arse, yeah, but she’s proved herself helpful over the three years we’ve been together. Saved my arse a lot of times too.

“Thank God you didn’t throw that knife.” She sighs in relief. I shrug. See, even she knows how good I can throw a knife from this distance.

I shrug. “I’m sorry.” I say, removing my long coat, revealing my black shirt underneath. Being trained in several martial arts –although, not mastering them –I’ve built my body a little, but I’m no Batman. “But how’ve you entered?” I ask. She pulls a set of keys from inside the pocket of her hoodie.

“You gave me keys, remember?” She waves the keys in front of me. I’ve forgotten about that! I did give her a set of bloody keys.

“I forgot.” I say, shrugging. I pick her glasses from the carpeted floor. “Here.”

“Thanks.” She takes it and puts it on. Although Charlotte is only seventeen, she’s pure dead brilliant. She’s finished her college course, and I didn’t even know what course she took. She is equally mature if you talk to her, and she might seem intimidating at first. One thing I amuse myself with her is that she doesn’t like boys for some bloody reason. She says boys are stupid or something. I haven’t been listening –probably because I was finishing off a dragonidae demon then.

“Anyway, I came here because I forgot to polish your gauntlets and your sabres.” She points to a set of long, black hard leather gauntlets and sabres that have handguards –like flat rapiers. She’s diligent like that, and she knows when I probably have to use my weapons. Like I said, I’ve trained in martial arts, but I trained in Arnis ever since I was still in the Philippines –because it’s a Philippine sport. Arnis is the art of using sticks and disarming. I don’t remember, I dinnae really listen to the lessons back then. Anyway, Arnis uses two sticks, but I settled using Arnis on two, European sabres. The gauntlets extend my “reach” so to speak, with my Psionic abilities. With them, I can move objects of over five kilometers away from me. It also helps that it hurts when it hits, so I use whenever I have to incapacitate humans. “Thou shalt not kill” as the Commandment goes.

“Uh, thanks.” I shrug. I would’ve cleaned them on my own, but I wouldn’t –so I’m glad she’s here. There’s one thing that holds her from being here though –it’s almost Christmas Eve. “You do know that it’s almost Christmas, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She responds, sipping from her cup.

“Then you better get back home to your family, Char. They’d be worried about you, Besides, Christmas is to be celebrated with the family.” I tell her. She blinks, and then nods.

“How about your family?” She tilts her head to one side. Ah, that’s bloody right. I haven’t told her about what happened to my family yet.

“It’s best you don’t know, Charlotte. Now sod off.” I order. She shrugs, and then stands up and leaves, locking the door behind her. She’s rebellious, especially since she’s a logical lass, but at least she obeys me. Truth is, I saved her life from a demon. This one was an incubus, and… well, you know what incubi do. They ravish women. I saw her, out in an alley, crying and curled up in a ball, being attacked by things people don’t see, except me. I must’ve beaten that demon so hard that it probably didn’t end up going back to hell. It’s probably erased from creation.

I place my bowler hat on my coffee table, finish the remains of Charlotte’s coffee, and head to the bathroom for a good before –Christmas Eve shower. Inside, I wash my angular face that has sharpened features. My hair is a mess, which it always is, seeing that I dance with demons all the time and my chin is covered with short black stubble of a beard. My pitch black hair is the result of years of fighting demons. It used to be a light brown like my eyes, but now both have turned pitch black and a deep purple respectively. Several scars paint my face, revealing my previous battles with demons. My largest one, which was a result of fighting the demon god Marduk, is scarred down my right cheek. It’s not that visible, but you can still see its outline.

After my short vanity session, I take a short bath and drop to bed, planning to relax the rest of my afternoon. Sleeping. My plans are soon broken though, because incessant ringing comes from my phone, and I sigh in annoyance as I pick it up.

“Hello?” I say.

“Is this Frontinus?” A mysterious voice from the other line asks, but it’s a feminine voice. I don’t know that much girls apart from Charlotte.

“Yeah. Who’re you, mate?” I ask.

“Um, this is Noel Ambrose.” She –Noel –says. “Are you free today?” I would be, if you hadn’t called me. Of course, I don’t say that.

“Uh, sure yeah, why?” I ask, trying to push her more to tell me something.

“P-please-“ Her voice is nervous. “Please meet me in Daemon Venatores later.” Then she hangs up. Bloody great. I never knew I’d have another job today. Ah well, my Christmas vacation has to wait I guess.

I put on my long coat, and head out for the Daemon Venatores once again, with a sigh.

Before long, I reach the old bar. I enter and immediately notice that Jairus is not in his usual place at the counter, but rather sitting beside a person on the far corner of his bar. I raise an eyebrow as I approach him.

“What’s up?” I ask him. He turns around and stopping mid-sentence.

“Vince.” He says, solemnly. “She needs you.” He gets up, and walks back behind the counter. He rings the bell three times. “Aight! Serving drinks again.” The people in the bar cheer and start to swarm the counter.

I avert my attention to the woman who’s lowered her head. She is wearing a dark green jacket and uses a hood to cover her head. I sit on the chair across the table, in front of her. Alright, let’s see what we got here now.

“You alright, mate?” I greet her. It’s weird that I still say these very British phrases when I’ve lost most of my accent.

The girl raises her head, and looks at me. She has hazel brown eyes and uses them to stare into my soul. Not literally, of course.

“Yeah.” She says. She’s lying. “You are Frontinus, right?” She asks. I nod, leaning back on my chair.

“The one and only.” I reply. “Not that other people want to live my life.” I put both hands on the wooden table, and she immediately grabs them.

“Please,” she says in a whisper-like voice. “help me.” This is normal for me actually. I’ve gotten a lot of introductions like these.

“What is it now?” I ask, sarcastically. “Demons? Bitten by a vampire? You’re a werewolf? Have a possessed child?”

“A war.” She cuts me off mid-snark. This comment catches me off guard. What war is she talking about, I mean? The war between good and evil? Or is it a different war?

“Yeah. I fight the war all the time.” I say, not knowing what she’s actually talking about. “But if it’s a different war altogether you have to specify to me.”

“Well,” She starts. “I’m part of this cult called Verum Petentes which means “Truth Seekers” in Latin.”

“Alright.” I say, urging her to continue on. I’ve fought, clashed and even disbanded several cults in my mission against the demons. Usually because they threaten innocent people. I’d guess that they’ve gone and want to take over the world now, these Verum Petentes.

“They follow this one motto of ‘The Truth Shall Set You Free.’” She says.

“Taken from the Bible.” I cut as Jairus gives me a glass of grape juice. “Continue.”

“They’ve been fervently searching for the “Truth.” The true purpose of life. You’re popular, mister Frontinus. Especially in the cult and occult.” She says. Yeah, I’ve known that a long time now, since a lot of demons and cults have been hunting me down now. “And so, they thought they found the truth. They think it’s to eradicate the ‘useless filth’ of the world that’s been plaguing it. To make it pure, as God wanted it to be.”

“They mean me.” I cut in again.

“Yes.”

“Then why would you warn me of all the people?” I ask. It’s really mind-boggling, seeing your enemy actually trying to help you. Unless, it’s all an elaborate trick to lure me into a trap, which I’m more than prepared for. I hope.

“Well,” She says. “The way they plan to vanquish you is to bring you to Hell. That can be only done if you did a mortal sin, and to do that, they told the Veemer High Priests –who are part of the cult themselves –to sacrifice one priest to be killed by you.” Ah, bloody hell. I guess that’s why they’ve been calling me the past few days to exterminate a demon but told me to come on Christmas, which is a Sunday mind you.

“Well, how’ll they force me to kill a priest? And, you still haven’t told me why you’re telling me all this carp.” I ask her. She shakes her head.

“I don’t know how they’ll force you to kill a priest. Second, I know that the priest they want to sacrifice is my brother, who willingly wants to die for the truth. I think they’ve gone too far, so I escaped, trying to keep my anonymity. It’s hard,” She hugs herself. “since even my family’s part of that cult, and so I’ve been wandering around ever since.” I shudder at the thought of a woman walking around by herself, having nowhere to stay.

We stay silent for a while, with me comprehending all of what’s going to happen. So a truth seeking cult wants to kill me because that’s the true purpose of humanity’s existence? Very typical, when it comes to a cult. I have to decide now on how to approach this situation. I mean, it’s either charge to the church. I can’t do that. I have to be careful, and I also have this poor lady over here –Noel –that’s stuck in the middle of all this.

“Well,” I break the silence, although it isn’t really silent because the bar is always noisy. “First, it’s a bloody good thing you left the cult in the first place.”

“I know that.” She nods.

“Second,” I point. “I’m one step ahead of the cult now because of you, so I’ll have time to plan out my approach. We still haven’t got an idea how they’ll force me to kill a priest. I’m more lenient with servants of God.”

“But they’re not.” She says. “They’re following the wrong beliefs of the wrong god.”

“Yeah, I know that. Almost all cults are like that.” I remark.

“Good thing I came to you.” She sighs. “You know a lot about the unknown world. I hope you can save my brother.”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” I say, trying my best to reassure her. Not my forte, really, but I guess I’ve got one move to make her feel better.

“You don’t have a stay to place, yeah?” She nods. “Stay by my flat then until tomorrow.” She looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Really?” She asks. I nod. “Thank you. I’ve never met people with your kindness.” She has no idea how aggressive I really am, but I guess I am pretty dependable.

“Come on.” I say, gesturing her out. “I can think better in my flat, where it’s quieter.”




---

We head back to my apartment, where she immediately falls to my bed, limp.

“Sure, you could use my bed.” I say to her, who’s sleeping so I of course get no answer. I guess she must’ve been tired after wandering for so long. Anyway, now that I’ve got almost complete silence, I put the pieces of the puzzle together. So there’s a cult that wants to kill me… by sending me to Hell… by killing a priest. All this information given by Noel, a girl who left the cult because she had enough and she wants to save her brother. Well, that was easy. The only puzzle piece that I don’t understand is how they’ll force me to kill a priest. If they want to kill me, that must mean that they know me, at least. Every-body that knows me (which is not a lot really. All those that know me die because of me. Long story again.) knows I don’t kill. So how would that bloody truth seeking cult do it? Trick me into thinking there’s a demon inside him that can’t be exorcised? Bollocks. Every demon can be exorcised in the name of God. Just that the greater wankstains need more faith and preparation. So how will they do it then?

My constant thinking goes on and on until Noel wakes up. I’ve placed a blanket on top of her so that she wouldn’t freeze to death. Especially on a December, snowy afternoon like this.

“Thanks for the cover.” She tells me. I nod at her and she smiles. I’ve been thinking of a plan while leaning on a wall right in front of the bed, looking at her, observing her. She might be a spy, or she might be the bait to the trap.

“Noel,” I say, as she stands up. “How do I know you’re not actually leading me to the trap?” I had to ask it. I’ve been paranoid ever since I took up the inescapable responsibility of hunting down the creatures of the dark. Back stabbing liars, demons-in-disguise as people, animals and even angels. If you ever live my life, you’ll know that you have to be cautious.

“That’s because,” She says. “I’m not. I’ve left the cult for good. I’m not the lure. They have a lot of other better girls for jobs like that.” I can see what she’s talking about. She’s not exactly a Barbie doll.

“Fine.” I shrug. Sometimes, in my life, trust is also good, but I have to have a backup plan if ever she’s really lying. Paranoia, really.

“Can I take a bath here?” She asks. “I smell like carp.”

“No you don’t.” I chuckle a little. “But sure, I’ve got a few female clothing here from my friend Charlotte.” Yeah, Charlotte sleeps with me. Well, not really. She sleeps, I stay awake continuing my crusade.

“Who’s Charlotte?” She asks in a teasing tone.

“My niece.” I always say that. She’s technically like a daughter to me now, but that would be disrespect to her biological family.

“Ah.” She nods in revelation. I go over to the small dresser drawer underneath the bed, and pull a clean long sleeved top and jeans.

“Here.” I throw it to her. She responds in gratitude, then starts for the bathroom. I’ve noticed something very peculiar with her. She wears a hoodie, remember? Well, she hasn’t taken that hood off ever since I met her a while ago. I didn’t want to remove it while she was sleeping, because I respect her privacy –which is funny for a scoundrel like me –but now I’, bloody curious. “Noel.” I call out.

“Hm?” She stops and turns.

“Why don’t you remove your hood?” I ask.

“Well,” She seems uncomfortable. “there aren’t people here anyway so I guess I can show you.” Why? Does she have the mark of the beast or something?

She pulls her hood off, and reveals her tied up… silver hair. Yeah, not blonde, not black, not brown, but a silvery-white. Surprising. I never get surprised.

“How’d you get that colour?” I ask. She shrugs.

“I got it when I was born. I don’t know why, everything about me’s a mystery.” She says before continuing on in the bathroom. Well, this would be interesting.

White haired girl caught in the middle of a convoluted scheme of a cult trying to kill me because I do what I have to do to protect people. Interesting indeed.