Asmodeus [H.S.]

PROLOGUE

"And in all the stories my daughter shall hear,
it will not be princes that slay the dragons,
but little girls that believe in magic
with big, brave hearts and even bigger dreams.

She will learn to rely on her own sword
in every battle, in every struggle, in every war because she will learn how to devour
every single monster from their very core."

Nikita Gill

⛧ ⛧ ⛧

August 13, 1994

Douglas, MA

⛧ ⛧ ⛧

"Ándale, Daniella," Arturo snaps. "Pay attention, mija."

I roll my eyes at my father with a groan, shifting my sore feet on the damp forest floor.

We've been stuck in the woods for days, tracking a Pukwudgie that's been tormenting hikers, and campers for the last month. Eleven people have gone missing since July, scraps of their clothing, and drops of blood being the only evidence they were ever there.

One local contacted my dad, asking for help, after having a run in with the two-feet tall, porcupine-like cryptid. A run in that left him with one less finger, and a missing dog.

The fear I felt when my dad told me what we were going to look for kept me up for days. The different ways in which the Pukwudgie likes to lure its victims deeper into the woods before feasting on them is a nightmare brought to life.

Usually, he keeps the details of his work hidden from me, but now he believes I'm old enough to learn about the horrors of the world. How thirteen is the right age for such a grisly thing is beyond me.

I've never wanted to go on one of my father's hunting trips. In fact, I begged him to let me stay behind with Father Warren, like I usually do.

"Papá," I whine, adjusting the straps of my heavy backpack that are digging into my shoulders. "I want to go home."

"You have to learn these things, Dani," he sighs, brushing his dirty, sweat-slicked hair back with his fingers. His once-white shirt is now splattered with mud from days in the wilderness, and his dark green cargo pants are ripped in several places from hiking through the thick trees. We've been staying off of the main trails, in hopes of luring the Pukwudgie away from civilization. "I won't always be around to keep you safe."

The reminder of what he's been instilling in me for years causes my chest to tighten, and that familiar dread of losing my only parent left feels like lead in my stomach.

"I know," I whisper, staring down at my feet as I kick a fallen branch.

I hear the leaves crunching under his hiking boots as he steps towards me before his dirty, calloused fingers cup my chin, lifting my head to meet his tired eyes.

My father is only thirty-four, yet years of grief, and hunting have caused him to age considerably.

His thick, dark hair is now streaked with gray, and he has a permanent crease between his brows. His face is a rich, golden tan from spending so much time outdoors, which only pronounces the wrinkles around his eyes.

I was four when my mother died, around eight years ago, but I still remember how young, and full of life my father was. How happy he was, despite his chosen career of demon hunting.

Now, I hardly recognize the man standing in front of me.

"I know you're scared," he says, his dark-brown eyes scanning my face, "but fear is what gets you killed. I am not raising you for slaughter, I'm raising you to fight."

I shake my head out of his grasp, and cross my arms as I stomp away from him, deeper into the trees.

I'm never allowed to be afraid. Never allowed to be sad, or angry. Emotions are weaknesses, and weaknesses can kill you.

"You'll thank me one day, mija," he calls to me from behind.

Heat rises to my cheeks as my anger ignites deep within me, and I swear I can almost feel the tips of my fingers spark in outrage when I clench my fists at my sides. I spin around to face him, the color draining from his face when his eyes catch on my trembling hands.

"No I won't," I tell him. "I hate hunting! I just want to be normal!"

His throat bobs, but finally, he forces his dark eyes away from my hands to look at my face. "You will never be normal," he says roughly, stalking towards me yet again. My breath hitches when he grabs my shoulders, shaking me once. Twice. "You are meant for great things, Daniella. Mighty things."

The corners of my eyes prick with tears, but I lift my chin, holding his gaze.

"You will see, when you are older," he explains, "that you will save this world. You have an important role in this life, and in the lives of humankind. So you will do as I say, and listen to what I teach you. ¿Me entiendes?"

I swallow harshly, my throat burning from the threat of tears, and dehydration from days of being stuck outdoors.

I don't want to save the world. I don't want to have this important role, whatever that means. I just want to make friends, go to school, be a kid. But hoping for something different is useless.

This is my life, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Sí," I sniff, forcing away the trembling in my bottom lip. "I understand."

He purses his lips, his eyes flicking down to my hands, now loose at my sides, one last time before releasing me, and stepping back.

"Good," he nods once, schooling his face into neutrality, as if our conversation never happened. "Let's go. Keep an eye out, I know we're close."

He pushes past me, and continues hiking into the dense forest. I wait until he's several paces ahead of me before steeling my spine, and pushing aside my fears. If this is what I have to do, then I'll do it with a brave face.

With one final deep breath, I follow after him to continue our hunt.