Maryn

Chapter 1 - The Sinner Becomes the Saint

I knew I shouldn't have worn a white shirt today; blood stains are a hell of a nuisance. My hand instinctively went to wipe the red spatters from my face. I tried to drown out the murmurs of Holy verses as the ever-so-faithful Matthew read from his bible. Instead, I focused my attention on the woman in front of me.

Her head was dipped over the bed, so far that she would wake up the next day with a terrible kink in her neck. Her pupils were heavily dilated, and an eerie smile was stretched across her face, much like the Cheshire Cat. There were self inflicted scratches and bites on her skin, and dried patches of bloody saliva stained her sandpaper lips. My eyes trailed to the cuffs that held her down. She arched and strained, never once taking her eyes off of me. Matthew pulled out a vial and I pushed myself back against the wall as far as I could.

The woman screamed as the blessed water touched her skin. A low, guttural sound emitted from her throat, like she was choking on her own blood. She then proceeded to violently shake her head, her dark hair tangling around her face. She'd probably have a killer headache later, too.

"Maryn, now!" Matthew shouted.

I took my cue and placed my hands firmly on her head, holding her still. She screamed before spitting at me again. I ignored the second offense and bore my eyes into hers. For a moment, she stopped thrashing; but it wasn't over yet.

She fell silent for a moment, and then began inhaling and exhaling deeply. She picked up speed, to where she was hyperventilating. I never broke eye contact as she did this, and a vibration coursed through my body. A sudden white light flashed in front of my eyes.

When the light faded, I found myself in the room again. However, time was distorted and slow. Everything was covered in a hazy grey veil, and small particles of light drifted through the air. Facing the corner of the room was a black shadowy figure.

The flowing lines of smoke that seemed to dance around the figure faded. Slowly, the naked and rotted skin of the demon was revealed. I stood and walked past Matthew. A gentle glow emitted from his body. His soul.

If I watched him long enough, I could just barely see his physical body moving towards the woman on the bed.

The demon turned around, a wicked smile made of rows of brown, rotted teeth plastered on his face. Shadows danced in his eyes, and the dark smoke followed his movements as he walked. Black horns broke through the skin at the top of his head and curled down to his jaw.

He tilted his head and let out a tsk. "Prancing around with the mortals now, are we?"

His voice was deep, and like that of a seventy year old smoker, mixed with someone who had gargled nails. I cringed, wondering for a moment if I ever sounded like that. For the sake of my self esteem, I hope not.

"Look, you and I both know how this is going to end," I said. I cocked the gun and aimed it at his head. The demon was amused, and held out his hands like a showman gesturing before the circus began.

I was already anticipating his next move, but I played along and pulled the trigger. Immediately after, I spun around, being met with jagged fingernails clawing towards my face.

I grabbed the demon's wrist and kicked him hard in the ribs. With a crack and an ungodly wail, he doubled over, and I took the chance to retrieve my twin daggers from their holsters.

The demon jerked his head up and slammed his body into me, merging into a dark shadow once more. His body passing through mine was like a metallic kick mixed with internal frostbite. I fell back, crashing into Matthew, whom at first seemed unaffected by the impact.

He appeared again, his grin taunting me.

I leapt forward, throwing my fist towards the creature's mouth. Again he disappeared, and I frantically looked around me. I closed my eyes and felt the heavy vibration of his energy.