Life of a Grimm

This is the life of me... A Grimm. We don't hurt, don't bite, almost never steal... We relieve. The other one left a long time ago... Or "passed on", I don't know. Us Grimms are what you mortals would pronounce us as "Grim Reapers". We do not reap the souls, only relieve them of their duty called life. I am the last Grimm, reliever of the dead.
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I yank Michael off the sidewalk by his shirt, half-dragging, half-running with him, shouting for him to run. I only barely hear his angry protests over the roar of an exploding mailbox to my right. When he watches the chunks of metal hit the street, he runs faster. A few people scream, scattering away from the mailbox as they look at a half-blind kid running from an invisible force. Cars and trucks stop on the road, a chunk of metal hitting ones' windshield.

I curse under my breath as another explosion happens right in front of me, blowing the car on the road to bits. Whatever kind of assassin they hired, it was not a stealthy one. "COME ON, YOU'RE KILLING THEM!!" I yell over my shoulder, dodging the flying metal and flaming skeleton of the car. As we're about to pass an alley, I grab Michael by the arm and throw a bright red ball of fire to the concrete beneath us.