“By the way! this is not how I wanted this night to go, not gifting out blames but you're the one with the magic powers, you didn't expect me to just kill a hundred demons did you now?” He groaned crawling to the wall as he nursed his injuries.
“Forgive me if I thought you were competent, maybe enough to hold them back!” She replied slowly leaping away from the scene.
“Competent, really Hannah? Really!” He replied. He squinted, uttering out words unheard, he gestured his lips in speech but nought to be said, he couldn't believe her words and in it, he was speechless. He knew the events of the past hours, he knew his rights and wrongs, he gnashed his teeth when he recalled actions that whirled the wheel away from the desired destination, he knew his actions had cost them an important victory against a relentless and ruthless foe, and her words, as were uttered haunted his very fabric of sanity, he could feel the rising of dislike for himself, his actions, the build up in his eyes; she sought in him strength and dexterity and had lost it all by his – In his words, ‘weakness’. He could feel his bones weakening, he could feel an aura – as likened to life but not fade within him, as if he had been stabbed deep in the soul, not by the blades of a foe but by the words of a friend.
“Yes Jerold, Really; maybe if you're half! the man you claim to be you'd have done something” She yelled as she turned to gaze into his eye hastily, he ignored the burning pain in her waist and the blood that poured from her knee, she sought there to be a better end that was now lost due to the role Jerold had played, she relied on him and he had cost them defeat. They were vulnerable, open and defenceless against any strike from hell.
She was faint, weak, bloody and her eyes – as she gazed into his dark.
“I didn't claim anything!” He replied, his voice as a little loud whispers, cracking, wavering and deep, there was a tone to it that persuasive but still apologetic, he held in his all emotions that was birthed in his eyes, but it bursted out through his mouth. Her words, pierced into his body as spikes in a battlefield, he pondered and pondered yet oblivious to why her stare, the darkness in her eyes and her words were so simple and rational but still able to power through that walls of his thoughts, and fondle with his emotions.
“We have nothing!” She cried out loudly, her hands stretched out, her hair, rough and in her sight, there was a burning anger and her act of control couldn’t keep in, it occasionally escaped as punches in the air and biting in her body, in and out causing her to be berserk. “You don't get it do you?”, “We are fucked, we can't defend ourselves; they have the blade now, only a matter of time before they flood on these! doors, hunting our! own! heads!”... “Maybe this was all a bad idea” She added as little tears formed in her eyes.
He was benumbed by these words, it snuck into his thoughts and reached for desires which he couldn’t believe, couldn't accept were there, he gasped and swallowed his words as their eyes locked for a second, one that felt much longer, much deeper. He only moved his lips, but words could not be told and as they stared at her eyes, tender and filled with anger, he could feel a burning sensation in his stomach, anxiousness, pain, unbelieve, love.
He could feel his fingers shaking, the unsettlement of his body, he could feel his surrounding, he felt tied to a rock and thrown into the ocean, the words he couldn't utter hindered his breath, and as he forced his tears back in as the aura of everything around him turned against him, he shut down, his emotions, his words his thoughts, his mind... his body. He moved from her sight and welcomed his despair.
She was taken aback by her words, she couldn't remember the journey now that she was at the destination, at least it seemed as though. The events of the past hour were lost in her thoughts, she couldn't believe what she said and she could feel a kick in her heart, one of regret and agony, with loss, she gazed into his eyes for what seemed like hour, wishing that her words wouldn't be taken as is.
She felt every nerve in her body biting at her, every atom and every cell, she felt a wave of hate reach the shores of her thoughts, everything that happened in the past was forgotten, good or bad and not, the hate that was in her eyes against him, and her anger vanished, the thought of life without him was like a thousand swords striking her soul, she was shaky, she was numb, she was loosing her breath and in his eyes dark and stoic, no hope.
It started first with quiet, stillness of the mind as he walked, as he skimmed the dark sides of a bar, the inner rooms, he walked one foot before the other through the narrow and long pathway, it was well dark, he could barely see but heard whispering voices, and by those voices was he led. He proceeded prudently and slowly, he made himself aware of his surroundings, the little he could see, he imprinted in his thought, the aura of sulphur and burning wood he perceived, he could imagine what horror was attached to that stench as he had come face to face with it time and times again; he exhaled and fog like matter wafted out of his lips, he was cold, an it fell hard on his skin, he noticed a difference on the walls and floors, they were a lot harder than it should be, he pondered on this as he walked on.
It was well into the night and he was well into his scheme, he stuck a black pistol in his girdle and a scabbard behind him, he ventured into the wild, under the blurry moon that rose to the tips of the trees, the top of the hill, and under the starry sky and the shivering night.
There were doors beside him but he ignored it as it all was still and quiet, he focused more on the door before him, one in which loud chatters emerged, he held the handle by his right hand, it was cold and it penetrated his palm, he steadied the black 357 Magnum in the grip of his left hand, he blinked his eye and wavered his head around, then he took a long and deep breath.
And he burst the door wide open.
“I really need a new invasion outcome” He said, as he steadied his posture in the room, his legs little apart and his hands strong by his sides, one tightly gripping the pistol and as finger fondled with the trigger.
“Human” One of the men in black garment exhaled.
“What do they say about sulphur and demons?” He smiled squinting at them.
“What do they say about fighting far from your territory” Another replied as he grumbled towards him as others followed behind.
“Make no mistake... everywhere is my territory” He whispered, moving passed the strike of the nearest attacker and up to the table, scattering papers and other pawns that was on it, he flipped forward and landed strongly by the fire place. “To humans fire is pain, to demons it is...”
“Home” One replied locking his eyes on his with a distinct smile and frown on his face him. He had hoped that he would tremble at the sight of beings who once lived in the fierce and fiery depths of the underworld.
He uttered words in a strange tongue, as chants, a tongue they couldn't understand but could very well discern its the outcome. They paused and retreated slowly whilst looking him straight in his eyes, they were frantic, staring at his stable and smiling eyes they felt uneasy, and felt corned, they could feel a continuous tick within them, one they couldn't believe was there, one sparked by a human.
“While demons tortured the dead in hell, you guys were the truly tortured... you make hunters fear to attack with fire with the fantasy that you were born in it, but in reality, it hurts you more than it does us” He said, still standing by the fire, fearless and watchful, to each end, to each corner, to each body, “Some believed the fire of hell was for the torturers, not the tortured... either way, what I have planned for you is down right horrendous; some would say... demonic” He let out a dark smile as he pulled out a sword from its sheath behind him and dipped it into the fire, it took fire in a second, deep blue and well bright, and as he turned to face them, there was a flip within them and as he smiled he could already hear their screams and agony.
And he charged at them with a loud roar and a merciless swing.
Black smoke poured from his lips as he crawled in agony, clutching his torso, he had gone into battle with the mind-set of what little a mortal can do, and now he had reached full enlightenment though it cost him his life, his legs was broken and bent to an abnormal position, he felt bangs in his head and his essence drained as there were countless cuts and openings scattered throughout his body.
He could feel the life in him sing its goodbyes as it faded on, the pains he felt and the scorch marks by his wounds reminded him of hell.
“After years as a hunter, you learn a few tricks” Jerold smirked, walking as he crawled, “I summoned a dark power to lead my flames as I war, courtesy of a friendly witch” He added as he paced with him, he looked down at him with wrath and disgust, and he saw fear in his eyes, he saw hate and he saw hopelessness, “The price for this is bigger than you can ever imagine; hence, your lives”.
“Why!” He cried in misery.
“You invaded a home, tore down a family, I thought why not avenge the dead innocent” He squinted, standing elegantly. “Your massacre of that family of three led me to you, to give a message to your master, Achyls”
“What message?”
“We are waiting”.
“Son, you came asking for trouble... I was building to a more spectacular finish” A man said, walking through the space with elegance and confidence, he was tall, mildly muscular and his face was partly covered by his grey and black facial hair, and in his black and straightened three-piece suit, he carried the aura of leadership and power in his gentle steps and his knocking shoes.
“And you are” He asked, a machete tightly gripped on both hands, he took an aggressive stance as he stared him in the eye, one of anger and prudence, he couldn't tell who or what he was but he knew he was something, it was at the tip of his tongue but he still couldn't say. One actually stood out in his thoughts, one that ran through his thoughts but he could not bring himself to believe, he could not bring himself to accept.
“Haven't you figure it out by now... I'm Achlys; The Prince of hell”
He was startled by this new found knowledge and a wall of defence rose in his thoughts, he could feel the loss of control of his body as it went into instinctive reaction, one of shock, trembles and unsettlement. He forced himself to remain stoic, not to be phased in the physical and mental, he knew this day would come, he had prepared, he had trained, he had armed himself, and he deemed himself ready, and now that he was face to face with evil, one he could have avoided if he had avoided her, he doubted his readiness, his tactics and fore-preparation was tossed out the window as he moved on natural instinct, one he tried as much to control.
She went numb, not of weakness nor of fear but of hate, her thoughts went blank except the voices that cursed at him, for the life he had forced her to live. She had charged at him with the first confirming vowel that he was her hunter, her nemesis, she wasted no time in pacing towards him and striking with all her will, all her strength, or her being, she had waited half a millennia for this day, every attack, every strike, every pain of the past years that originated from him flashed before her, to frighten her and to also fuel her rage, every tears and loss he had cost her did she remember and it was added to her intensity, her roars, her smacks and kicks. It was his death or her death, or both; she'd more likely preferred only his.
The night sky and its splendour was ignored, for all they cared was the head of The Prince of hell, his head on a silver platter, it was unusually silent that night, lest the clasping blades, the roaring fighters, and the words of a viscous Nephilim, it was as though the natural beings of the bushes had predicted a fall of supernatural wrath and turmoil, and had vanished from sight.
Though they were keen and strong, ready and able, they were outnumbered a lot more than ten to one, Achlys had showered his armies on them, every last man was ready and fighting, it was as starving ants, flooding a piece of sugar.
Fist, legs, blades, knives and even chains flew around harmfully.
Achlys just relished from afar at the sight of the savagery and the deaths.
Hannah fought like she had never before, she was lost in thought, in hate and anger, she couldn't tell the length of her anger, only her crying foes could, she didn't take her eyes off him as she tore through his armies, she had grasped little knowledge of her ability and she did grasp more during the conflict.
She had attacked Achlys and was knocked across the room by his servants, she stood on one knee and one foot, grinning at them like a vengeful savage, her eyes were squinted dark, little snarls could be heard in her breath as she folded her hands into fists, she accelerated towards them, with speed so heightened, the two she collided with as she ran broke and fell on impact, she ran to the larger crowd, and hastily fought her way through.
The first and second and third were easy kill and then it got more tough more intense and she got angrier than tired, and as her anger grew like wild fire.
Too heated up, too many, all ready, all flooding, so much her fist grew red hot and smoke wavered through, and as she continued on, pugnaciously through the relentless huddle, she jammed her fist into their face and they took fire with just a touch, just a punch.
It was smooth sailing from there, and loud agony.
Jerold found himself in a lesser but pressing situation, he was a mere human, while she fought men ordered against her, he fought men with whom he had history, demons who yearned his death, some more personal than others.
“Belphegor; I see you're using The Prince power for your greedy!” He smiled, walking back slowly as they cornered him.
“Trust me, your death, is much awaited" He replied with reassurance, “Will much be celebrated” He smiled.
Belphegor, a nemesis, leading demons who had unimaginable hate in their heart against him.
“Wow, how many of you black shit beings are here?... Bune and Corson, Damn you guys must really loathe me” He confirmed, studying his steps and theirs and bridging it with the setting of his mansion.
He had encountered Bune and Corson in years past, Paul and he had taking down their operation, and operation of increasing the might of hell, birthing demon-human chimeras and using their special abilities in the plan for total world and beyond domination, they had invaded their lair and brought it down in endless fire.
“Ohhh how I've planned your death” Bune exhaled, showing the intensity of his anger in his mild tone.
“Okay okay okay, it's enough, I'd say leave before I kill you but I want to kill something so... run” He paused, staring deep into Belphegor’s eye, showing he wasn't afraid of their number against his wisdom, telling him he had done this before and he would do it again, telling him he always has a plan, even down to more unfair situations, “Maybe you might just escape”.
Belphegor saw no fear in his eyes, he could feel his confidence and haven seen him rise to victory in times as they were, he had second thoughts. He never thought of racing away like a little helpless child, he rather access the situation, the space, his weaponry, their formation and other possible disadvantage and still, he couldn't find what could make him speak so confidently in position he was.
“That's enough” Corson roared and rushed to him.
He fell.
And from the shade of the black smoke that was once Corson did Jerold stand with a deep derisive smile, and as they looked closely, they saw him and in his hands not the long machete they saw few seconds passed but a short dagger, with a red eyed carving below the blade, it glowed passed their sight and after it was fear.
“This is fun now” He laughed as they gasped in shock and ran, not towards him.
He was back at the main scene now, where Achlys and Hannah fought vehemently, or rather, Hannah fought vehemently and he just moved along. He had fallen few demons and now he fought Belphegor.
He knocked him around like a little boy, kicking, punching, throwing him around with ease. He looked to Hannah, she was all he cared about, and she was tired in more ways than one, she battled the master of hell, the apex predator, the maniacal master mind, and he held the only weapon they knew could kill him, and he used it against more incompetent foes.
“Hannah” He called out throwing her the dagger, it whirled across in normal speed and fell on her hand as Achlys gripped her neck, she stuck the dagger into the side of his neck and he cried out loud like a wounded lion, releasing his grip on her neck, she wasted to time in jumping to her feet, pulling the dagger out and stabbing it again into his shoulder, this time deeper and his scream, louder.
He raised his hands, and folded it to a fist, his eyes shone greenish yellow as he slammed it hard on the ground and every single one, human and not fell to the ground and groaned in pain as their insides clinched together as his fingers did.
He controlled their being.
He muttered to his feet, pulling out the dagger and exhaling in relief.
“And where did you get a weapon like this?... You continue to surprise me Jerold, that’s the only reason you're still breathing”.
“Fuck you”
“Fuck her, next time... aim for the heart” He said releasing his hands and with it their bodies, “I didn't come for your life, but it seems somebody did” He added as he noticed the testosterone filled glare between heavily breathing Belphegor, bloody Jerold.
“You've seen a glimpse of what I can do now; Ignorance will not be forgiven”.
He snapped his finger and they all vanished.
she tasted in his lips the stillness and alcohol, not a little alcohol, a little more than the quantity needed to lower their inhibitions, she also tasted, in his lips her cherry coated lip cream, the union of these flavour was irrelevant to her, she was more focused on the softness of his lips on hers, more focused on their bodies rubbing together somewhat vigorously and some what gently.
He was conscious, he was aware of his surroundings, he knew well what unfolded but his thoughts was on a whole other journey, a journey to discover just how to spark a new start to the end of an era that never did begin.
He believed in the direct approach to his problems but he felt a sense of weakness and inability, within him, as if an toxic venom had flowed into his bloodstreams, causing his bones to be as milk. He had an urge in him one that yearned for clarity, for peace, for affection, love.
By offering a hand of help, he had ruined her chance for freedom, his act of help – without her knowledge had brought evil to their doorstep, evil they weren't able to handle, evil unlike they've ever seen.
He knew how it all began, proffer help to a stranger from being strangled by men, sheltering a stranger, feeling unfathomably drawn to the stranger, understand the predicament and knowing the stranger, being a friend, fighting her enemies, improving her morale and chance of survival, reminding her why she needs to fight, promising he would stand beside her all the way.
It started as an urge, a feeling, a spark when he saw her the first time, he felt unity, he knew not why he was drawn to her but he knew she was the new beginning he craved, the fresh start.
She came and he felt an emptiness in him filled up.
Her mission became his purpose.
He was already used to the supernatural, the had fought more beings than written in book and with it a sense of un-fulfilment even in the thousands he had saved, he felt no drive in him, no reason, no motivation, though Paul believed they fought for the survival of their species, Paul believed he fought for those who can't, he believed he was the defender the weak, defend those who won't just accept the evil that lurks in the shadows.
Deep down he felt unwilling, compelled to join the life, to pay the debt owed, his dream to serve in the military slowly faded away, a dream he had to protect people without their direct gratitude, to walk around the city knowing he was a part of the reason of peace and stability.
After the debt had been paid, he left, he left The Organisation, he left the field, though he did meddle in it on occasions.
She became he his motivation, her fight was his and everything in between, he tackled and shut down. Now he wasn't forced, now he fought because he believed, he fought because he cared, he fought because he loved.
Nine and some months after the spark of the duo, the plan was ruined, the goal, the aim, the finale was done for, the chance for victory lost and also his motivation, his believe lost, she too; lost.
Days past without her return, and days returned into weeks, then months, still silence on her part.
His drive was downcast... he waited, and still silence, he lost his peace, he lost his rest, and he turned to supernatural, he hoped that in their blood and agony he would find hope, he hoped that in their agony there would be bliss, or peace in their death.
And he journeyed.
Against apex threats, against ancient monsters... the tall thin carnivorous human of the woods of Old Saint Vincent, a small town in East county, he ventured into the woods with match and fuel, he analysed its footsteps and tracked down its den, he went to battle with this sentient being and burnt it to the ground, he rescued the few human stored as feed for later and he moved on to the next, with bites scars and wood cuts.
In this the voices in his head was grew louder, more and more and more, there was unease in him, he’d take in a bottle of liquor to clear his thoughts; he craved the peace he loved but it was lost and deeper and unaccepting than not, he craved love.
He chased down demons, in their little division, hoping to create a trail of scorch and misery hat leads to the goal, Belphegor, but he couldn't find him, it was as if all demons had crawled back to hell, or maybe they were on vacation.
And then came the drunken night, laying numb and paralysed by his fountain, by his car, in his car, in his parlour, on the counter were his wine stood.
He reminisced of times and times with Hannah, the little he got to show affection towards, she'd be too oblivious to see, or maybe to unaccepting.
He did think back to the start of it all, when he accepted – in his thoughts that he did truly have tickles of sensation down his spine when they locked eyes, he reminisced on the night, one memory he shared with her, one he wished didn't end, it was midnight, after a more bloody hunt than not, during the early nights of their friendship, they walked in after the hunt, tired and wet in the bloods of shape shifters, their hands and legs felt red, their hearts pounding, him taking a glass of whisky. She would glory of her supernatural strength against his natural though his wisdom and tactics procured the victory.
Those were the nights that was the foundation of their relationship, the deep conversations they shared, the gentle flow of both of them, their thoughts, their words, their expressions, she cherished his humour and pondered on what soldier has the mind so still clear and at peace. He found her cluelessness, her innocence to the more intimate, emotional and sexual aspects of life to be hilarious, he felt enthralled by naivety.
She removed herself from the stains of her clothes, she stared at him seemingly ignorant, her eyes mild and as a beacon as he gasped at the sight of a nakedness. The glass of scotch in his hands, the tables, the windows, the walls blurred out, everything else in her path faded off as she walked away and into a hot bath. He to took a long gulp of his whiskey as he tried vainly to remove the full image of her from his thoughts.
She had unknowingly enslaved him to the sight of her body.
“What was that!” He asked, squinting, he turned his gaze from her body, though it beckoned with his eyes, he forced himself to burr from his sight and his thoughts.
“What?” She asked again, still naked still seemingly oblivious but now showery.
“You're literally walking around naked”.
“What? Ohh, is this bothering you”.
“Ohh no no no, it is not bothering me” He replied gazing into her eyes.
“So...”
“Yes! Of course it's bothering me, you're naked!”.
“Really, what's with you guys and covering one part but not the other?” She asked not rhetorically, “What about the women on swim suits, aren't they too naked?” She asked, talking over what he was about to say, “Wait a minute, maybe it's not about the nakedness, maybe is just how it makes you feel... I should be able to walk around how ever clothed I want” She said again and still in all seriousness, talking over his words.
“I've said my peace, you've won... please love, walk around however naked you desire, your body your choice my spectacular! view” He laughed, now fully gazing at her body. She walked briskly towards him, flooding his eyes with her stare, she ran her fingers down his blood splashed shirt.
“If I bother you, all you have to do is say It” She whispered into his ears, then whirled seductively to his back, her hands lingered round his neck, he froze on his feet, tempted by her allure and trapped by her charm.
“Maybe I didn't know you're like this” He muttered, lowly, turning to gaze at her.
“What is ‘like this’ huh?” She whispered in his ears and turned to glower at his dreamy eyes, wondering if his eyes would be forced to wander off, through her entire body. He reach out his hand round her waist and pulled her to him, her eyes remained on his, tender and sensual, he saw a rhythmic blend of sexuality and innocence in her eyes, when that shackled him, his thoughts, his being. He trapped in a loop, a loop of indecision and lust, he wanted the intimacy of her lips, he desire pleasure in her body, his heart raced and the blood in his vain hastened, his mouth moved as though he spoke but words weren't said, he moved his lips to touch her as her skin caused his nerves to awaken, “If you can be this quiet and lost, I'd consider walking around naked more often” She blushed as she danced off.
She tasted in his lips the stillness and alcohol, she also tasted, in his lips her cherry coated lip cream, the union of these flavours was irrelevant to her, she was more keen on the softness of his lips on hers, more focused on their bodies rubbing somewhat vigorously and somewhat gently on each other.
He was conscious, he was aware of his surroundings, he knew well what unfolded but his thoughts was on a whole other journey, a journey to discover just how to spark a new start to the end of an era that never did begin.
His actions had cost him Hannah, his actions had cist him love, and his plea and attempts of reconciliation proved wasteful, his effort to move passed, to grow, to evolve also proved vain.
And then came Kathryn.
The one that didn't get away. The la time he turned to her, he did for a new beginning, for a chance, for love, but now it was different, now it was casual, now his thoughts were all Hannah, their time together, her playfulness, her cute naivety he chose to not exploit, her response to his humour, her smile... her words.
Even as she kissed him, even as she grazed her body on his, even as she arched her hips on his thighs, even as she tore out his clothes, ripped off hers, his thoughts remained absent, remained with her.
She could feel the lifelessness of his kisses, his touch, his unenthusiastic movement, she could only wish for that touch, that man with desire, one she let slip from her hold, “What's with you today” She paused, looking into his eyes, she saw darkness, she saw nothing.
“Nothing” He replied snapping himself out if his trance.
“You're different, this is different; what's wrong”
“I don't know if I can do this” He moved her slowly away from his laps.
“We can, just loosening your nerves babe... just relax and lay back down” She whispered, reaching out to him, pulling him back and leading him to lie back, “Just listen to the sound of my voice, just focus on my body, on my touch” she whispered in his ears whilst she sat above him, moving with the sound of his exhales and the breaking of his breath.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson (Prequel; Divinity Crisis Triology)
FantasyA hunter encounters a new creature that changes his definition of good and evil
