The Phoenix's Mark Book 1: Dogs of War

Chapter 5

Two teenagers were biking through the small stretch of wooded area, just outside of the city. The two friends stopped suddenly and sat on a fallen log to rest. One of them produced a box of cigarette papers and a small bag of marijuana from his jean pocket. He opened the bag and began rolling a joint. "Oh, shit," he exclaimed, as he frantically searched his pockets.

"What?" His friend asked.

"I think I lost my lighter. Let me see yours." His friend produced a lighter shaped like a coffin with a skull wearing a jester hat on one side. He tossed it to his friend, who caught it in one hand. He opened the top, lifting it to the joint which now sat between his lips, with one hand, and using his other hand to block the breeze. He lit the end of the joint, filling his lungs with smoke.

He held in his breath as he hand the joint to his friend. "Can I get my lighter back?" his friend demanded. He reached his hand out and dropped the lighter into his palm. His friend closed his fist around the lighter and returned it to his pocket.

As he went to take a hit of the joint, he felt a finger tapping his shoulder. "What the hell do you want?" He looked at his friend to see confusion swollen on his face as he stared forward. "What's the matter with you?" He lifted his finger, pointing forward. The friend turned his gaze to mimicked his friends confusion as the ground shifted in front of them.

The dirt began to move to the side as a hole slowly opened. A pair of hands shot from the hole, one being placed on either side. The arms hoisted a body from the ground. The teenagers' mouths fell open as a nude man rose from the ground. He wiped some of the dirt from his arms and chest. He turned his gaze to the two boys, offering them a smile. "What year is it?" he asked, in a somewhat soft voice.

The one on his left was the first to collect his wits. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I am curious as to know the year," he replied, expecting the confusion the boys had.

"2012. Why?" the other one asked, confusion spreading on his face.

"172 years." His expression transformed to anger. "172 years and I'm summoned for hunting a child. A child that I don't even care for. Oria has explaining to do." He turned his attention back to the teens. "Which way to town?"

The two friends pointed the direction they came from. "Thank you," he said, with a slight bow. He reached out his hand, pulling the joint from the teen's still gaping mouth. He crushed it in his hand and throw it to the ground. "That'll get you killed sooner than you think," he told them, before walking in the direction they were still pointing.

As he walked across the street, a Mercedes slammed into his side, causing him to roll over the top and fall behind the car. The car braked. The man and woman who were in the car got out and ran to help him.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" the woman shrieked. As her husband knelt beside him to check his pulse.

"Why the hell is he naked?" the man demanded.

The demom opened his eyes, and smiled up at the couple. "You should try watching where you're driving," he suggested before standing from the hot, tar road. He looked at the man's suit and the woman's long, red dress, and nicely put up hair. "Off on a nice night in the city, I imagine." He turned to study the man's suit. "That looks like it'll fit. The man's face lit up with confusion.

He stretched his hand out, graping him by the neck. The woman screamed as he was lifted from the ground. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the man's neck. "Its too bad I couldn't do it the traditional way, but I can't risk dirtying the clothing." He turned his face to the female's and smiled. "I guess I still have another." Her face filled with fear. He forced his arm forward, implanting his hand into her chest. He tightened his grip around her heart, and squeezed it, causing it to pop. He undressed the male and pulled his clothes over his own, slightly more muscular frame. He peered down at his new outfit, grinning in admiration.

"Human fashion has gotten extraordinarily better," he observed aloud. He turned to face the Mercedes that had hit him. He dropped on the seat, looking over the vehicle's interior. He rubbed his fingers over the dash board, steering wheel, and gauges. A light appeared from his palms, and the car started. "Forward," he commanded. Within seconds, the car took off down the street.

He stepped from the vehicle and stared at the brick building in front of him. He burst through the front door. On the inside of the building, a group of men all wearing long black robes stood around a fire pit.

One of the men was wearing a chain necklace with a metal skull medallion. He removed his hood to reveal the face of Oria. "Oria," the man greeted him.

Oria smiled to see him. "Griffin. I trust the trip did not ware you down, correct?" His black eyes captured the light of the dancing fire, causing them to appear to be moving.

"What did you call me here for, Oria?" Griffin demanded.

Oria's smile formed into a frown. "Must I need a reason to call an old friend?"

Griffin took a threatening step forward. "We have been many things, Oria. And a friend is not one of them."

Oria kept his smile. "Well, either way. Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to chat?"

Griffin stepped forward again. The other men stepped in between Griffin and Oria. Griffin offered a devious laugh. "You still favor humans? I could tear them to shreds if I chose to."

"I need a favor. If you do not feel like helping me, I could always return you to hell and call Artimus to do it for me," Oria said, threateningly.

"We both know I'm a better bounty hunter than he's ever been."

Oria smiled again. "So we have a deal?"

Griffin thought for a second before answering. "What's the price?"