The Morningstar Brigade

Chapter 38

XXXVIII

DAKEN

Day Six. Seven Days Remain.

Scout Outpost, Forests of Utopia

"You know, I've got to say: I'm pretty impressed with you," Daken said as he kicked down the door to a small shack out in the middle of a dark forest.

A scrawny Nephilim tumbled out of his chair in surprise, throwing the gold coins in his hands across the room as he scrambled into the back corner of the house. "Please, just leave me alone!" he pleaded. "I won't hurt anyone, I swear! And I can pay you!" he chattered nervously, fishing around in his pockets and pulling out a menagerie of chains, watches and even golden rings.

Daken grinned beneath his silverwood mask, the weak light shining across its jagged grin. "Most Nephilim don't think through their moves very carefully after they get to Eden. I assume it's because things get a little scrambled when you get yanked from one world and thrown into another," Daken continued, walking towards the cowering figure. "But you? You're smart. You found this old Brigade outpost and kept quiet. When you leave, you do it at night and you make sure that you're never spotted. You take food sparingly and try to make sure that it isn't missed. It's a not a bad system. In fact, we might not have ever figured out where you were, if you hadn't made a mistake," Daken admitted, stooping over and picking up a coin. "You got greedy. Suddenly, we started getting reports of valuables going missing overnight from Utopia." He tossed the small gold circlet to the Nephilim. "And then your luck really took a turn for the worst when they decided to send me."

The Nephilim clutched his trinkets closely, pressing them against his face for comfort. "W-who are you?" he asked, his empty eyes looking up at the fully armored Apostle fearfully.

Daken took off his mask and set it on a small table. He smiled as he drew his tanto knife and began to sharpen it against his silverwood kneepad. "My name isn't important. What you need to know is that I'm a member of the Brigade and I make a living hunting down Nephilim like you. As far as you're concerned, I'm the Angel of Death." He spun the blade in his hand. "The nickname's a little flashy for my taste, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you how I got it."

"No sir, Mr. Death sir." The Nephilim stammered, shaking his head furiously.

"Mr. Death. I like that. Maybe we can get along," Daken said with a chuckle. "And what's your name?" he asked the small, quivering man, pointing the knife at him.

The Nephilim glanced around the room nervously before returning his gaze to Daken's weapon. Finding no escape, he sighed. "My name is Ditas," he said quietly, running a gold chain through his fingers.

"See? That wasn't so hard," Daken said, sheathing his knife. "Tell me, Ditas: Do you want to fight me?" he asked.

Ditas shook his head again. "No, Mr. Death! Of course not! We don't need to fight!" he said with a hopeful smile plastered over his terrified expression.

Daken picked up the fallen chair, set it in front of Ditas and sat down. "Well, that's good to hear. As a matter of fact, I don't really want to fight you either," he said happily, smiling back down at Ditas.

"Oh thank you, thank you! Bless you, Mr. Death!" Ditas said excitedly, scrambling to his feet and kissing Daken's hand furiously.

"Let's hold off on the kissing for now," Daken said, cringing as he wiped the slobber off his hand. "So, like I said, I don't want to fight you, Ditas. But I've got a job to do, and I'm afraid they want you gone," he explained, feigning regret.