First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

7. The Roaming Specter

                 'GOOD EVENING, MICHAEL.' SAMAEL firmly shook his hand, the signature double-grip a warm welcome; a pleasant sign the conversation was off to a humble start, which was a must considering the magnitude of the topics on his mind. Michael was still hesitant to spend some time alone with him, the leader of the strange team shrouded in cluster of mystery. Though he seemed obviously generous, offering a complete stranger a room in his magnificent home, there was always a catch, he was positive. There was an enigmatic and tentative silence about the gritty ascetic that revealed an almost cosmic cognizance—more in-depth than anyone he'd ever known; a father-like presence which made him feel very on the spot, possibly even judged. Though he had not voiced such distinct feelings, it was his eyes that gave Samael away. His red irises were certainly unnatural, but there was an honesty within them that read more like a billboard than a book, and difficult not to notice.

    His hair was neatly brushed and tied behind his head in a ponytail, a few small braids pulled back neatly with it, accentuating his only slightly receded hairline. His attire was similar to when Michael had first met him, minus the cloak of course; a black shirt, laces hanging loose at the collar, appeared handmade. He wore brown leather arm braces that clamped together with a series of small buckles up the forearms, Viking-like in appearance. Though Samael was a mere inch shorter than himself, his gentle but firm approach demanded a certain amount of intimidation and respect that could not be ignored.

    The majority of Michael's bitterness was aimed at the fearless leader, but now that he stood before him, there was a certain amount of humility that found the newcomer rehearsing his words in his head before bringing his grievances to light, second guessing himself before he even began.

    'I trust that you have been well cared for since this morning?' he asked with his charismatic smile.

    'I suppose,' Michael replied, trying his best to be honest, though ignoring the incident with Urielle, and trying to remain optimistic.

    'I heard that you rather upset Urielle earlier.'

    'I upset her?' Michael gasped, which only made Samael laugh. 'She shot at me! At point-blank, no less.'

    'We do not have much exposure to the outside, here. The world changes around us, and we are, at times, reluctant to realize just how extreme we can be at times. I hope the incident wasn't too draining.'

    Michael had lost much of his anger over the episode, though a small amount of bitterness still lingered.

    'It was a tactic. When we originally brought you here, we were unsure what to make of you, to be quite honest. Urielle was just trying to speed up your progress. Though she might seem gentle, our young friend has much to learn when it comes to patience, I'm afraid.'

    His direct approach made him curious if Samael had been expecting the one question that stood atop his priorities.

    'What was with the hostility?' Michael didn't bother holding back, as though Samael's presence alone silently demanded he get straight to the point. 'There was no need for it, I assure you.'

    His kind demeanour quickly turned serious as he gestured Michael to walk with him.

    'Unfortunately, we were under the assumption that you were of a darker descent.'

    'What does this have to do with my bloodline?' he joined him in his casual stride.

    'We come across many diverse types of entities in our line of work, you understand. You remember the creature from the shack?'

    'Leviathan? I'm trying to forget,' he admitted, recalling all too well her dripping black eyes and rattling tongue.

    'Well, we encounter that type of entity on a somewhat routine basis, unfortunately. They find their way into our realm, usually looking to stir up some kind of trouble. Sometimes, they even try taking something back with them. A rupture between realms is rare, but never without purpose.'