Alyster Greymare: Demon of the Night

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Peter was a small handsome boy, he had bare muscles but enough to lift his own weight, his hair was a mess of auburn gold. His thirteenth name day was on the morrow. Yet he went out on one last run. He loved climbing. He loved the adrenaline pumping through his viens while he groped around for a decent ledge to find. He knew Fiora and Fiora knew him.

As Peter reached the top of the City Hall, he felt a soft summers breeze ruffle his messy gold locks. Peter gazed at the mesmerizing sun, he felt its warmth coursing through his body, he felt the light giving him power to do anything. Suddenly his ears twitched, (whenever they twitch, something bad will happens)he turned his head in one swift movement, only to be welcomed by a shining knife.

Peter felt the warm blood seep out of his chest, he touched the hilt of the knife; it had an engraving of a two headed snake which lay underneath a glowing sun, it lay there basking underneath the ball of fire and engulfing the warmth that it gave to it Peter felt his conciousness leaving him, his iron grip on the dome spike began to crumble and all he felt was gravity forcing him down to the cold hard ground.

He fell backwards into the darkness. As he silently fell, Peter stared longingly at the place he was set to die in. He thought about the things he couldn't do in life because of Death. He couldn't have children or get married. Yet he felt himself crying about how selfish he was to go out and go crazy. He fell and fell, it felt like a hundred years to him, until he landed with a bone crunching thud.

Peter gingerley opened his right eye, examining the wet cobblestone. Every twitch felt like he was bieng torn apart so he tried not to move too much. He heard cold hard footsteps approaching him, he felt the need to get up and run away but his body would not allow it. He felt eyes beating down upon his back and suddenly an arm grabbed his shirt from underneath and flipped him the right way up. Peter gazed upon the afternoon sky, with a tear rolling down his cheek, he whispered "What do you want from me?" the figure in the ghostly black cloak said nothing. He merely pulled out a red  demon scythe which was made from pure Alderite and bathed in the blood of the dead. He took this monstrosity out from the mossy green scabbard on his back and held it up above the shrunken child. The figure looked at the boy with hollowed eyes and merely whispered to the boy, "I want your soul."  As the hooded figure said these words the hellish scythe came down, slicing through the air and into Peter's heart.