Quintessence: Bobby Ex demon

Chapter One; Not Again....

".....Your Quintessence."

Your heartbeat falters at the mention of the very word that defines your existence. Bob stares at you hungrily, deep set eyes boring hard into your soul, awaiting a reply.

A jagged grin dominates his face with vicious accuracy, then a chilling laugh that sends you cowering inside.

How, you ask yourself.

How the hell did he know?

About the Quintessence?

The demon raises a curled fist into the air, ebony mist swirling maliciously around a freakish silhouette. Locks off cold vapour materialise into a solid object within Bob's grip as the mist takes another route up his arm; an item upon sight, shatters your earlier curiosity into a thousand shards of ' No .'

Nonononono, you deny.

It can't be.

But the incessant tug at your throat abolishes any doubt you have concerning your guess.

The item's lengthy, curved blade swimmers with ironic beauty in the face of the moonlight rays that fall upon it. A doggedly fashioned stick bound to the magnificent blade, overshadowed by it's protege but nonetheless basking in the glory of your petrified agony.

You would've been scuttling safely on your couch on the hunt for the T.V. remote, back home in your rundown apartment in Chicago, on the condition you hadn't met master in the first place.

Or fiddled with his toys.

But no rewind button was capable of saving your sight the torture of seeing that cursed blade again.

A blade, that didn't deserve existence.

Not since the fall of Godfather Kronos.

The imperial Scythe.

Bob's antagonist amusement heightens, sensing the intense flash of recognition within you- emotions he perceives you can't help in the presence of the very weapon that ruined your life.

And your world, as you once knew it.

He raises it high above the foggy earth eagerly, but you can read the spell on his lips, seconds before he can take action.

"Panga-"

"NO!" you bellow with half the confidence you have left, onto your next word.

"Aeolla!"

You swipe two extended fingers in Bob's direction, and a strong gust of wind responds simultaneously with your spell, sweeping the demon off his feet and onto the brick floor. His hard fall both pleases you and brings your blood pressure down, relieved that you've at least stopped him from uttering such a powerful spell.

Bob appears momentarily fazed by your attack, but not for long, as his previous aggression returns. "You will pay dearly for that, insolent mortal!"

His words thoroughly sink in, before you begin to once again hear clamouring whispers once more in your head, the voices filled with a compelling malice eager to rip you apart. Each individual seems to usher one command or another, testing your attention span and your sanity. Unable to bear the torture you start to claw desperately at your hair, hoping to mute the whispers.

They don't stop.

They only get louder.

The demon before you is visibly pleased with your lunatic display, leaving you 99.9% sure that happens to be his fault. With every step Bob steals toward you, the sound amplify; and you're not sure how long it'll take before your common sense slips away.

Until abruptly, the voices are dominated by one lone command. A very familiar Echo mutters two neat words belonging to one long dreaded spell.

"Alter Ego."

                     X.                   X.                    X.                    X.                   X  

Your eyelids fling open, as your mind snaps back to reality. A see ring pain hits you within your stomach, only for you to stare down at your listless body to see the uncalled for pain has been justified with a ghastly wound.

Eyes darting round the large room you try to unravel what just happened, but you're met by an interlocking sight of rubble and shrapnel, no thanks to getting knocked out by your own subconscious.

Curses.

You wince pathetically as you try to lift yourself with an arm, the overwhelming punishment pushing you close to tears. Vivid scenes flash before your eyes, as you begin to recall bits of your blackout.

The last thing you remember, that makes the most sense, is a bizarre scene of you wielding the imperial Scythe. With a diabolical flair of rage you can't relate to yourself, using the cursed tool to slash across the chalk Pentagon in a bid to shatter Bob's source of power.

On second thought, you think, that makes the least sense.

First, you wouldn't- over master's funeral wreaths- dare to USE that scythe. if you had your way and found it in your fingers, that stick was gonna snap.

But it's beyond impossible to believe that someone as weak and inexperienced as you, in all things abnormal, would have the power and guts to attempt damaging a stone-etched Pentagon, and actually succeed.

No one could.

However, the images are right there - too lifelike to pass as virtual reality; the vision of the scythe's blade, birthing a bold scrape across the face of the sangria Pentagon, Bob writhing in pain as his flaky skin began to simmer and burn.

The ODD part?

instead of burning off, the flesh was building up. Which, any master would tell you, is highly unusual for cast out demons.

Those screams did ring a bell. It HAD to hurt bad..

All of a sudden, two hands seize you by your collar.and lift you clean out of the ruins and your memories. You release a traumatised squawk at your assailant, wondering what the check is going on.

Confused but wide awake, you begin to study your attacker. A dude with shaggy Brown hair, and cerise eyes staring back at you with deathly fury. He appears well built, with a Caucasian gam-gam explaining how he'd picked your body so high without straining a muscle. Wearing.a huge black cloak, permitting no skin other than his finely chiseled face and arms be seen.

The misty aura within the room a minute ago, or so-called has vanished into thin air; but traces of the eerie fog continue to revolve steadily around the guy, hissing to protect it's master.

He bares horny fangs at you in an estranged scowl.

"You monstrous mortal! I shall destroy you!"

His voice claws into your head, with a strangely recognizable whiff of darkness.....

"B...Bob?!!"

The stranger's anger falters with a gentler sneer; tainted with a tinge of newfound sadness and agony that touches you so much you wanna pet him.

Abruptly, something catches your attention. A medium-sized scratch docking a spot on Bob's cheek, doused in a milky red liquid, dribbling without decorum down his chin...

Hold it.

Is that...

Blood?!

"Answer me this instant, child of man," he demands, taunted by your silence.

"What have you done to me?!"