supernatural war

War

She emerges from the ornate carriage, concealed in black velvet, stepping onto the slick cobblestones and into the curling mists of the London fog. She shivers from the damp air that cuts through her cloak and causing the material to cling to her lithe form. The streets are void of any human life. All sounds are at rest except for the soft click of her kid boots.
The moon is nowhere to be found this night. Bilious clouds formed early this day and have not yet dissipated, plunging everything underneath it into unrelenting darkness. The surrounding buildings are desolate, and appear to shun her as she walks by. Shutters are secured and drapes are drawn in place. Tonight, the confined occupants would not venture outside. She is alone in this fight.
Slowly she walks down the street. The lampposts offer small circles of light to ward off evil, although there is few and far in between. Shadows flooded the alleys hiding anyone and anything evil like a cozy blanket. Her cloak rasps against the wet stones. Her steps are sure and steady, whereas her heart is pounding an erratic rhythm. Her mind set with only the thought of revenge and duty. She is on a journey, one that would lead her straight into the fiery grasp of hell.
She could feel their presence. From the shadows they watch her progression into the town square. The mass of predators anxious to pounce, waiting for the final moment. Fear tried to wiggle into her soul but she new if she let it in she would not have a chance to survive the night.
Almost to her destination, soft hissing emerges from the dark. The shadows slowly begin moving in towards her. The hissing turns to taunting whispers. Their red eyes pierce the night burning with eager anticipation to feast on her lovely pale flesh. They begin to follow her.
She pauses listening to the air around her, it crackles with silent electricity. He is out there, in the darkness watching and waiting. Every pore in her body screams to run but she forces herself onward. A strong gust of wind blows her hood off, exposing a mountain of crimson curls, and teases the misty ends into a riot of flames dancing in the air with each step.
She reaches the centre of town. Instantaneously all ceases to exist, the fog, the wind, and the voices dissipate into the shadows. Quite like the dead. There was nothing. Silence continued on, for what seemed like forever, only the beating of her heart could be heard by all. Suddenly the air is pierced with the bellows of the church bell proclaiming midnight, the hour of evil. She searches the area for her nemesis, announcing, “I’m here. Christian, show yourself. Or are you afraid of me?”

“Child I am afraid of no one. You are but a toy to me.” Silver eyes appear from the depths of the shadows and advances towards her floating above the ground with the grace of man and predetor.