The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

Unholy Protector

Cillian had always been a bit of a magnet for trouble. Not the kind of trouble that sought him out, but the kind that seemed to find him, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. This had led to a string of near-death experiences that would have made a sailor blanch. A falling tree branch, a runaway car, a rogue wave – each incident left him shaken but surprisingly unharmed. It was as if an invisible force was guiding him away from danger, though he could never understand how.

His friends, however, were convinced he had a guardian angel, a divine protector keeping him safe. Cillian, being a pragmatist, scoffed at the idea. He believed in logic and reason, not celestial interventions. He wasn't religious, and he didn't see the need for a divine hand in his life.

One stormy night, while walking home through a deserted street, he was confronted by a group of men. They were rough, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoodies. Cillian, fearing for his safety, tried to turn back, but they blocked his way.

"Don't be a smartass, kid," growled the leader. "Just hand over your wallet and phone, and we'll let you go."

Panic surged through Cillian. He had no desire to engage in a fight, knowing full well he'd be outmatched. He was about to comply when a sudden, deafening roar ripped through the air. The men, startled, turned to see a figure emerge from the darkness behind them.

It was a man, tall and imposing, his face hidden by a hood. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, and his eyes glimmered with a strange, almost predatory glow. He moved with a grace that belied his imposing physique, striking the men with a brutal efficiency that left them groaning and sprawled on the ground.

Cillian, stunned, watched in disbelief as the figure turned to him. He pulled his hood back, revealing a face that was handsome yet intimidating. He had pierced blue eyes and a sharp jaw, with a hint of a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

Cillian, speechless, could only nod.

"Good. Now, get out of here," the figure said, pushing Cillian gently toward the corner. He turned back to the men, his eyes filled with a chilling intensity. "Don't try anything stupid again," he growled, his voice a threat more than a warning.

Cillian ran, his heart pounding in his chest. He had escaped unharmed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was profoundly wrong. This was no angel. This was something darker, something more... powerful.

He couldn't stop thinking about the eyes, the way they burned with an unholy light, the way the man moved with an unnatural grace. He couldn't sleep that night, the echo of the roar, the image of the man, burning into his brain.

Over the next few weeks, Cillian found himself in more and more frightening situations. Each time, the same figure appeared, always just in the nick of time. He would materialize from the shadows, deal with the threat in a brutal yet efficient manner, and then disappear again, leaving Cillian breathless and shaken.

Cillian began to research, delving into the dark corners of mythology and folklore. He found stories of demons and spirits, malevolent entities that could intervene in the mortal world. Eventually, he came across a legend about a type of demon called a "Guardian," a being bound to a specific individual, tasked with protecting them from harm, no matter the cost.

He realized then that the man who had been protecting him wasn't an angel. He was something else, something far more sinister. He had a guardian demon.

The revelation was terrifying, but it also held a strange kind of morbid fascination. This demon was not a force for good, but it was undeniably effective. It kept him safe, even if his methods were unorthodox and, at times, disturbing.

Cillian began to understand his strange luck. The near-death experiences weren't just accidents, they were tests. His guardian demon was pushing him, forcing him to confront his fears, to grow stronger. He was being shaped into something more, something capable of handling the darkness that lurked within him.

He still felt uneasy, knowing he was protected by a creature of darkness. But he also felt a strange kind of gratitude. His guardian demon, despite its nature, was a powerful, unwavering force that kept him alive. He had accepted his fate, understanding that he was not like everyone else.

He was not protected by angels, he was protected by a demon. And in a world full of darkness, sometimes, that was the only kind of protection that mattered.