The Beginning

         I crouched in the alley, watching my target amble along. He could pass for a mortal drunkard staggering home but only I knew the real reason behind his intoxication. Having recently devoured a child's soul he was in euphoria. Snarling quietly to myself I drew my blade. It had begun its life as my father's but in his passing it was transferred to his only living descendant. Me.
         A Destroyer's weapon is commonly about two feet long and much resembles the Japanese Katana. Normally a Destroyer creates his blade shortly before graduation from the Academy, but as mine was basically given to me (and considering my other Special Circumstance (more on that later) the academy saw no reason not to let me keep my father's sword and train me with a graduating class.). I am now thirteen and have been with my sword since I was seven, the night my life changed forever.
         My name is Ginger, family name Banks. I was born and began my life with orange hair and blue eyes. Now, six years into a life that promises to be short and violent, I have black hair and gray eyes.
         My target (hiding behind the name and body of a David Craven) falls up a stoop and fumbles to unlock his door. I remain motionless, though I doubt he would notice if a train of dinosaurs came thundering past, and watch through narrowed eyes. I searched his house earlier and left the back door unlocked, he won't even bother to check tonight. I sheared my blade and crossed the dark street as he fell into his living room. His first mistake had been not to notice the lack, of streetlights. I had cut the power only an hour ago (making it look like an accident. I am trained in the art of deceiving the mortals, though they are not even aware that they are married to, or raising demons. The power man will be out in the morning. By dawn I will be on a plane back to New York City, leaving this Chigaco block in the dust of my memory.)
         I crept down the small path between his house and the neighbors, every nerve aware of any changes in my surroundings. I stopped moving as a car cruised past, though no mortal can see me unless I desire it so. I reached a wider section that was separated by a three foot chain link fence. It was the yards of Craven and his neighbor. Grinning to myself I easily cleared the fence and landed, cat like, in his dying yard. Soon he himself would be dying.
         I stood on the back step, my ears tuned to any noise in the house. With one hand on the knob and the other on the hilt of my sword, I carefully opened his door. All was dark and seemingly quiet in his mud room. Still on my toes, as you mortals say, I crept into his darkened kitchen. It was barren as he usually ate his food while it was still alive and far from his home. I tiptoed into his dining room and then into his living room. He wasn't in either and I assumed he'd gone upstairs. I took a deep, calming breath and placed a foot on the first step, which creaked. I froze, my breath stopping as my heart hammered in my chest. A young girl screamed somewhere upstairs and a dark chuckle filled the house. I cursed in the language of the demons and charged up the stairs, my mistake.
         David was waiting for me at the darkened landing and had faked his last victims scream. Perhaps, he had matured beyond a brown level. I charged past him, blindly following my ears to his bedroom. He wrapped his thick arms around me and we crashed to the floor. I was about a hundred forty pounds (Mag says this pretty healthy, considering I'm about five foot ten) whereas he was probably about two hundred pounds. I can lift my weight; I could probably lift his weight, actually. Yet he'd wrapped his legs around mine and his arms around mine. I tried to form my body into a push up position but he pressed his body into mine. I shivered, though I had naught to fear; I was already half-demon.

         I struggled a bit, whimpering like many of his victims must have in their last moments. I wondered if he knew my story, my identity. He was obviously prepared for a demon hunter. If he'd been waiting for Ginger Banks then all this was for naught and he would have called for backup. Black level back up who would love to get a price of the bitch who'd sent their cousins back to Hell. All I needed was for him to turn me around (possibly in preparation for mortal like rape) so my hands face my chest. He pressed his tummy into my back and whispered, "You can give it up, half-blood."
         "If you believe me to be the half-blood then why do you not call for back up? Do you know how many brown levels I have defeated?" I hissed, tensing my slim body.
         "But dear, I am not a brown level. Yes, the demon you were hunting last week was a brown level but he was easy enough to defeat I could have done it in my sleep (as the mortals say)." His words chilled me and I began to understand why he knew he had me. "Would you like to guess again?" I knew then what he was. I understood why he could so easily slaughter a lower demon and yet preserve the host body ... which I hadn't seen done since I'd been in class and our teacher was reviewing the assignment that had left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her days. Considering she went in with a team of eight other men, who were just piles of goo by the time help arrived, she got off easy; even if he did eat her legs.
         Perhaps I should have warned you before I began this tale, and I sincerely apologize. I shall leave you with this and do hope you continue to read my tale.