Night Hunters - The begining

WARNING: This story contains graphical (gory) descriptions of Demons and Undead that may not be appropriate for some people regardless of age.


         The solid oak door in front of me has protective charms on it. I can feel them, even though they are very well hidden. I have walked by this particular door often in the past and have never felt anything odd about it. Either the change is new or the wards are growing weaker. Either way, it means trouble.
         I first sensed the wards two days ago, but this is the first opportunity that I have had to investigate them. My life is pretty busy. See, I’m a hunter. I hunt demons. Some people would think I’m crazy, delusional or that I’m using it as a metaphor for the struggles in my life. If only it were that simple. There are times when I wish that I were delusional. Maybe then Beth would still be alive.
         I have heard that there are other hunters out there, though I don’t know any of them. Stephen has told me of them. They must feel as I do, that there is safety in anonymity. There are times, though when I think a meeting would be fun. I picture the bunch of us sitting around in some Holiday Inn meeting room in a big circle.
          “Hi, I’m Patrick Gulliard,” I would say, “and I’m a hunter.”
          “Hi Patrick,” would resound around the room and I would sit as the next hunter stood.
         I always get a chuckle out of that image.
         I glance down at my watch to confirm the time. 2:38 am, right on schedule. If the door belonged to a warehouse or business I might be able to do this at a more reasonable hour, but since it belongs to a row house, I don’t really have any choice. Its downtown on a Friday night and there are still people strolling around. Even though the building is not on a main street, but down a side street lined with trees, there is still too much activity for my taste. Most of the stragglers are drunk or high or looking to get drunk or high, but it won’t make what I have to do any easier. I’m sure the full moon has called out more than just people as well, and that, more than anything makes me wish I wasn’t here.
         It’s kind of ironic because I am not a vampire, but I haven’t really seen the sun in over three years. Occupational hazard, I guess. Of course, if I ever wanted to become a vampire then I wouldn’t have to adjust my sleeping at all. I’ll have to remember to ask Stephen if it was a problem for him when he joined the ranks of the undead.
         One more time I look around. It looks like there are three floors to the house, and maybe a basement. All the windows are dark. The center dwelling in this set of rows, it is sandwiched between three houses on the either side, all identical. That makes me smile. Protected by threes, I can understand why they chose this house. I am beginning to believe that there has been something going on behind these doors for a long time.
         I take a deep breath and blow it out. A slight mist follows along. It seems like it’s getting colder earlier every year. It’s only September, I shouldn’t be able to see my breath. I check the daggers strapped to each of my wrists as a nervous habit. They are forged of wrought iron and blessed by a friend who still has faith. They are the best weapons against demons; I don’t even carry a gun anymore.
         Gently I knock on the door, resting my fist against the wood with the last rap. Normally I wouldn’t touch the door, but with so many people nearby I have to do things a little differently.
         A surge of static raises the hairs on my arm as one of the wards probes me. I let it. Blocking it would alert the master of the charm faster than anything it might find on me. Or anything I will let it find, I should say. Regardless of what it finds out from me, I will find out more from it. I say it, but I should say she. This particular ward is female. She is very subtle in her probes. An average person wouldn’t even know they were being scanned. Some of the more sensitive ones might feel the hair rise on the back of their necks, but nothing more. She is a very powerful ward; however she was placed here more than a month ago and is growing tired and careless. It should be an easy thing to release her. First I have to find out how many more are watching.
         I wait for her to subside back into the door, convinced I am not a threat, and allow my own scan to follow her back, snaking into the door following her trail. With my hand still resting on the solid wood, I allow my vision to focus elsewhere.
         There are two more wards in here. Whoever lives in this house is obsessed with the protective power of threes. That might work out to my advantage. I can hear one of the other wards asking for an update. He must be a monitor ward. His only purpose is to watch the other two wards and make sure nothing happens to them. He will be very difficult to banish so I hope that the plan I am formulating will work and that I won’t have to try to act on him directly. The third ward must be the attack ward. I have no idea where or what it is, but if it is anything like the other two, it’s something I would rather not deal with.
         I pull my scan back from the wood as there is no more information I can gather. Now comes the part that I really didn’t want to do in such an open place.
         Inside my pocket I find a piece of dried licorice root. If anyone asks, I eat them, but the truth is I can’t stand the taste of it. My hand finds it easily and I kneel in front of the door, praying that no police stroll by. Ha, that’s a kick, me, praying. But this is an affluent neighborhood and so it has a standard police patrol.
         It takes me five long minutes to complete the symbols around the door handle. There are three, all drawn with the licorice root - two pentagrams and the Seal of Solomon. The first pentagram will release the ward that scanned me. She is longing to be free and so it will not have to be very powerful. Better to let her go than try to contain her. The other two wards will not be as easy as her. The second pentagram is to keep the watcher ward silent; it will not permit anything inside the door to communicate out. The Seal of Solomon is to contain the attack ward; there is nothing more effective at imprisonment.
         I look around one last time, making sure that no one is close enough to be bothered by me. The sigils are only the first part of the process. There are two spells that need to follow - one to activate my charms and the other to open the door. I take a deep breath and let go of all my thoughts. The words come to my lips almost unbidden as I shiver with the chill of power flowing through me and my quiet voice drifts through the night air.

         “Like with like by the power of three
         Bind the door, the wards to me
         Power the charms, they are key

         “One for Watcher, set her free
         One for Monitor, don’t let him see
         One for Attacker, at peace he’ll be

         “Power the charms, they are key
         Bind the door, the wards to me
         Like with like by the power of three”

         The sigils on the door flare with an intense orange light and then fade away to disappear completely. That means they were effective. With the wards silenced, all I have to do is open the door.

         “The Winds of Dawni come to aid
         Against this portal mortal made
         Locate the latch of steel within
         Release the lock, let it begin!”

         It takes only a few seconds to cast this spell and a faint, warm breeze ruffles the curls in my short red hair as it completes. An almost inaudible click informs me that the spell has worked.
         I grasp the handle slowly. I know that my spells have been effective, but I have the distinct feeling that I have missed something. The knob turns easily in my hand and the door opens silently. The fact that I am still standing and holding on to the handle means that my symbols were accurate and the wards have remained silent.
         I push the door open slowly and step into the dark room. Once I close the door and face the room, I am keenly aware of the presence of magic, but it is not my magic, it is dark magic.
         I decide to chance some light so I pull the Maglight off of my belt and click it on. The tiny beam pierces the darkness as I fully enter the room.
         With my back to the door, though not in contact, I scan the room. It is small, an entrance foyer that leads into a bigger room on the right and a hallway straight ahead. Relief slips through my lips in a long sigh. I made it inside without incident, but I know there is much more ahead of me. The floor is carpeted and there is a small table with some keys on it against the left wall. An umbrella pail hides behind the table, though there is only one small umbrella in it.
         As soon as I take two steps away from the entrance, I know there is something wrong in the house besides the use of the black arts. The skin on the back of my neck starts to tingle and I can feel movement in the room to my right. They know I am here.
         My right wrist flexes slightly and one of the twin daggers slips from its sheath into my waiting palm. I adjust it into attack position as quietly as possible as I glance into the room. It’s a living room or family room. Although I can’t see the whole area, the walls I can see are lined with chairs - big plush Lazy Boy style recliners. I count eight of them, but I am sure there are more. I can see the start of a marble fireplace, but the archway blocks my view of the rest of the room. What really captures my attention is the art on the wall. Though it is a little too dark for me to make out, it resembles a collection of masks.
         To my right, in the section of the room that I had not been able to see is the continuation of the fireplace and a huge oak entertainment stand. It houses a TV and some stereo components. I notice that the room has no windows, which is odd because from the outside I was certain one was there. Maybe they boarded it up to stop nosy people from looking in. Good for me.
         The feeling of being watched and the sensation of movement nearby has not subsided at all, yet the room is empty save for the furniture. I am starting to like this less and less with each passing minute, but I know that I have to investigate what is in this house.
         Fully into the room now, I approach the masks. Maybe there is some meaning in them. As I get closer and they are better illuminated, I see that I am mistaken. They are not masks. They are faces. If not for the jagged cut lines along the sides of the cheeks, I could claim them to be extremely lifelike reproductions, but there is no mistaking it. Someone has a trophy room of human faces.
         My light wavers and I turn my head. I’ve seen worse, but that doesn’t mean that I enjoy it. When I open my eyes again I am looking back out into the entrance way and I notice something I hadn’t seen before. A large mirror hangs in an ornate brass frame above the table with the keys. I know I could not have missed that.
         The sensation on the back of my neck spreads up to my scalp as I approach the mirror. I can see my reflection faintly in the light. I stop right in front of it and bring the flashlight up to look at the frame. When the light reflects off the glass I catch a glimpse of movement behind me, in the living room, even though I didn’t hear anything. I spin, dagger poised, but there is nothing there.
         Slowly I turn back towards the mirror. I see only my reflection. As I raise the flashlight so that the beam is reflected through the mirror, it illuminates a face behind me. I cast my head backwards and see nothing, yet when I look in the mirror, the ghastly face is still there, hovering a few feet behind my right shoulder. The light outlines him like a dim reflection in a pool of water. I can make out that he is male, but not much else. His hair seems short, but that may be a trick of the light.
         As I watch, he opens his mouth as if to speak and I feel an arctic chill race down my spine. I sense more than hear his plea for help. Stunned by the cold and the shock I can only stare dumbly at the apparition. My eyes grow wide as others join him. They are like moths drawn to a flame. On their faces are looks of pity and bewilderment. And they all want the same thing: release. Whoever lives here is holding them captive.
         I have met spirits before, have been able to see them since I was a young boy living in Ireland, but I have never seen as many in one place as I now do. There must be at least a dozen. Most of them are middle aged, from what I can make out, but there are two girl children. They look like twins, dressed in their Sunday dresses. I have a hard time illuminating the entire gathered crowd with the reflected light. There are so many, they fill the mirror and I have to change positions to see them all. I decide to focus on the first apparition. He seems to be a spokesman of some sort.
         His eyes are hollow and looking into them sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the hatred and anguish flowing from him like a desert storm across my senses. He definitely has something to tell me.
         His mouth opens again and my skin crawls, as if a thousand ants have suddenly started scurrying along my limbs. He only speaks one word, “Saur’een” but it carries such power that my mind is flooded with images of torture and rape. I almost vomit, but hold it down as I fall to my knees grasping my head in pain.
         When the images fade, I pull myself back up in front of the mirror. All the apparitions are gone save the spokesman. He points down the hallway further into the house and then he too disappears.
         At least now I know who I am up against. I have never heard of Saur’een, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are so many names for Demons and Angels that I can never keep them straight.
         With my light still shining and the dagger gripped tightly in my right hand, I head into the hallway. Now that I am really looking into the hall I can see that there is a faint light shinning out from underneath the door at the end. About half way down the twenty or so foot hall I start to hear faint music. There are two more doors in the hall, one on each side, not quite opposite each other, but only the last one shows any illumination.
         My forehead has broken out in sweat and I find it hard to keep my hands from trembling. This Saur’een guy must be pretty powerful, it’s been years since I have felt dread like this.
         I stop in front of the first door and let my senses linger on it. There seems to be no activity behind it, so I try the handle. I am sure that Saur’een is in the last room, but what I don’t want is for something to come up behind me after I find him. It opens towards me with a slight pull and reveals carpeted stairs going up. I head up, closing the door behind me.
         A quick tour reveals only two bedrooms and a bathroom. The laundry room is empty and other than a mattress that has no sheets on it, there is no furniture. All of the windows have been closed off.
         I start to make my way back down the stairs when I feel movement behind me. Without thinking I duck and I hear the wall above me crumple as pieces of drywall litter the floor. Rolling over, I kick blindly up towards where I was just standing and connect with something solid. So solid, in fact, that I actually push myself further along the floor instead of forcing the attacker back. That’s not a good sign. I finally get my light out from under me so that I can get a good look at what I’m up against. Almost instantly I regret not fighting it blind.
         At first look, it’s made of stone, but as my eyes adjust in the dancing light, I realize that it is made of bone - blackened bone. It is not quite a skeleton in the anatomical sense of the word as the bones seem to have been thrown together in a haphazard way. There are two skulls for the head and instead of a spinal cord there is what I think is a leg bone, a femur, maybe? I’m not all that up on the human skeletal structure, but I know it doesn’t look like this.
         The warped ribcage protects sickly black organs, some of which are pulsing with a rhythmic beat, squishing fluid around its innards. Thick green bile oozes out its side leaving a steaming trail on the carpet. The hands and feet are wrapped in torn flesh, sewn together to look like leather boots and gloves, although the coloration is all wrong. The two skulls have hair although the faces have been cut off to reveal the bright red muscle tissue underneath. I guess the actual faces are in the trophy room.
         The thing hobbles towards me faster than I would have thought possible considering its makeup, but I still move faster. Easily, I step to the side and jam my dagger though an opening in the ribs, slicing through the mucous and organs underneath. A gush of icy bile coats my hand and I pull the blade back, shaking the goo off. It lands of the floor with a wet slap, leaving my hand clean and untouched. I get momentarily distracted from the creature as the bile shudders and slowly begins to crawl back towards its host body.
         The delay costs me dearly. Although slow, the automation is extremely powerful and it lands a heavy fist right across my chest, blasting the air from my lungs and hurling me through an open door into the bedroom. I land hard on my back and lay still trying to regain my breath and determine if my ribs have shattered. Oddly they haven’t.
         Pushing myself up with a roll, I barely manage to avoid the foot that crashes through the floor boards where my head was a mere moment ago. I’m sure that blow would have killed me, despite the fact that the pain in my chest is already subsiding.
         The creature appears stuck, having trouble yanking his foot from the hole in the floor. Its jerky movements make it look as if it is dancing. I don’t wait to see how it manages. My blade again bites deep, this time up through the back of one of the skulls. I’m not sure if there is a brain in there, but my other attack seemed to have no effect so I figure it is worth a try.
         A sharp squeal and a wild backhand are the response I get. The backhand misses, but the squeal tells me that there is something in there that can be hurt.
         Before I can attempt another strike, the thing tears its foot loose from the floor causing it to loose its balance. The angle it is at doesn’t give me a clear shot at its head, but I slam my fist into its back, toppling it over onto the floor.
         I turn and bolt out the door, slamming it shut behind me. Across the hall and into the other bedroom I sprint. Once that door is closed I haul the mattress over and prop it up against the door. I know that won’t stop it, but I hope that it will buy me a little time.
         I am positive that I will not be able to kill this thing with just my blades, but unfortunately an exorcism takes way to long. I’m going to have to improvise. I kneel on the floor and begin to carve a glyph through the dark brown carpet. It’s a very simple one, since I don’t have a lot of time. I shape a foot long tear drop and then fill it with three different symbols of power. I just hope that I have time to complete the spell.
         Still kneeling I let the blade drop to the floor and fold my hands in my lap. I rushed the glyph, but I cannot rush the spell.

         “Head my call, Powers of the north
         I summon your minions, send them forth
         Power this Tear, make it gleam
         Ice and snow fill this seam”

         The glyph begins to shine with a crystal blue light, filling the room. The outer edges of the tear fill with ice and the temperature in the room starts to drop. I hear the creature smash trough the door from the other bedroom.

         “From the Sigil of Gywn draw your might
         Feed your hunger on the child of night
         Feel the evil that is this blight
         Lend me strength to make this right”

         I touch the first symbol and it flares with a crimson glow that spreads up my arm and over my entire body. I can feel the energy swirling inside me and know that the spell will work, given the time. My breath fills the air around me with steam and the windows have formed a layer of frost on them.

         “From the Gryphon’s Mane I call the ties
         Bind this creature, silence its cries
         Come to me with evil’s rise
         Unleash the power before my eyes”

         The second symbol grows warm at my touch and the carpet around me springs to life, like a field of wheat in a wind storm. It gathers up around my feet and climbs up my legs, rooting me to the floor, filling me with protective warmth against the cold that has locked the room. The icicles that have formed over the mattress shatter as the creature pounds open the door, launching it and the mattress across the room. Instantly the cold clamps over the beast as it makes its way towards me. I can see the organs in its chest freezing over, the pulsing beat slowing to a barely discernable twitch. Yet still it comes.

         “Now has come the time to sing
         All the Powers form a ring
         Now does vengeance take its wing
         Unleash it on this evil thing!”

         As the skeletal form closes in on me, the carpet swirls and gathers around it, binding it in place. As quickly as the strands of fabric wind around, creeping in through the spaces between the bones to pierce and constrict all the organs, ice forms around the living rug shooting along the strands like a thing possessed.
         I place my finger gently on the last symbol and a blizzard surges to life around me, circling so fast that my vision is obscured. I push the raging storm out, away from me with outstretched palms and the ring of fury expands, engulfing the abomination. The howling winds and shards of ice slam into the creature and it shrieks in fury, but its torment is swept away in the wind. I approach it - the blizzard moves with me - and with only a few steps, the undead is inside the eye of the storm with me.
          It is entombed in strands of carpet and frozen solid, there is no movement left. Still, I can feel the evil life inside it, desperate to get out. I grant its wish.
         I place my hands, still surrounded by the crimson glow, on its heads. The glow flows from me and onto the creature, leaving me cold and drained. In a heartbeat, all of the sound and furry collapses in on the ice statue, pulling in everything around me, like a black hole.
         And then there is silence. The blizzard, the cold, the carpet, and even the mattress are gone. I stand alone in an empty room and the only thing I can hear is my heart pounding in my chest.
         I slump to the floor, exhausted.
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         I’m not sure how long I lay on the floor, but it’s not very long. When my ears adjust to the silence, and the thumping of my heart subsides, I hear the music again and it reminds me why I am here.
         I push myself up and search for my dagger. Oddly it is back in its sheath and the Maglight is back on my belt. I was certain that they were both gone, sucked up in the maelstrom that I had summoned. I thank the air for the small miracle, knowing that I am being stubborn in not thanking the One that I really should. Old wounds heal slowly.
         Back out into the hall I see the splintered door from the other bedroom and realize just how close I came to being splinters myself. I know that I am in trouble since I still have to face Saur’een and one of his creations almost took me out.
         At the bottom of the stairs I stop and listen to the door. My fight must have alerted others to my presence. I’m sure the music isn’t that loud. When I hear no activity outside the door, I hazard opening it. The hall is empty. I step up to the other side door, not quite directly across the hall from the one I just left and listen there as well. Again, there is no sound.
         Slowly I try the handle. I keep telling myself that whatever is in here can’t be worse than what I just faced upstairs.
         I find a set of wooden stairs leading straight down into darkness. It is dank and I can hear the trickle of water into water. Once again I pull out my flashlight and click it on. The beam shows me the bottom of the stairs, or I should say where the stairs meet the water. From where I am I can’t tell how deep the water is and I am about to take a step onto the stairs, when something floats across my field of vision. I aim the light in the direction of the movement and sigh. It is a body, floating face up. As it drifts closer to me I recognize it. The face is that of the spokesman spirit I met when I first entered the house. His corpse is naked and bloated. As I watch it drift, the eyes snap open, startling me and I almost drop my flashlight. His face is somber with accusation. I look back down the hall towards Saur’een’s door for a moment, knowing what the spirit wants. When I look down again, the face is once again frozen in its mask of death.
         I close the door, sure there is nothing down there that will come after me.
         With only one door left, I place the Maglight back in my belt and prepare the other dagger. I doubt that I will have any chance to use spells against this foe and so my daggers will be my only defense.
         I stop at the door, the bright red light illuminating my black boots. I scan it, though I am sure it is unprotected. Never underestimate your opponent. I’m correct; there are no wards so I focus my attention beyond the door. I recognize the music blaring from the room. It is Rob Zombie. Appropriate, in a sick way. Under the music I can hear a faint whine, almost like a drill or power saw. That explains the music. It’s easier to have neighbors complain about loud music than it is to explain why you were sawing things up in the middle of the night. The problem is I know what he’s probably sawing and I taste bile rise in my throat again.
         After twenty six years of hunting I think that I should be a little more jaded than this.
         The door opens easily and with all the noise already in the room, unnoticed. I peer around the half-open entrance and stare in shock. The floor of the room is sunken and there are six wooden stairs that lead down to the bare concrete floor. The light that floods out into the hallway is white, five huge operating-room style lamps illuminating the chamber in front of me. The red glow from under the door must have been the reflection of the light off of the blood that pools at the bottom of the stairs. It must be at least an inch deep. The walls of the room are covered with skins. Headless skins, obviously the remains of the trophies hung in the living room.
         The skins are perfectly intact, cut open in the back like Halloween costumes. Even the arms and legs are opened in a similar fashion. The hands and feet are missing from all of them. At a quick count there are eleven. How can so many people go missing without anyone noticing?
         In the center of the room, which is about forty feet square, is an old man with a circular saw. He has bleached white hair and a short, unkempt beard. He can’t be more than five foot two and his old limbs are shriveled and thin. He is wearing a blood stained pair of blue overalls and nothing else.
         There are four tables placed evenly around him and he seems to be working on all four simultaneously. There is a bloated, water logged body on each table, all in the same condition. The hands, feet and heads have all been removed and from what I can see, the old man has just finished opening up all the backs, the circular saw is dripping with blood and the old man is splattered with it.
         As I watch, dumbfounded and heaving, the old man places the saw on a small work bench that also supports a black sound box, and retrieves a tiny electric hand saw also with a circular blade on the end of it. He brings it down on to the leg of the closest body and begins a slow careful cut up to the buttocks.
         I can’t take it any more. I scream for him to stop and jump down into the blood, splattering my jeans with crimson. I make it to the first table before the old man is even really aware that I am there. I leap over the table and the body on it to land squarely behind the murderer, blades ready to bite into his flesh. But then he’s facing me and I can see into his deep green eyes - eyes very similar in color to mine – and I am captivated. There is something familiar in them, something that I feel I should know more about. The daggers drop from my hands and sink in the blood, but I barely notice.
          “So, you have finally found me.”
         His voice flows over me like a warm wind and makes my skin crawl like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. My hands clinch into fists and I have no idea why. There is a tone of familiarity in his charnel voice.
          “I was beginning to doubt you would ever heed my call.”
         My mind goes numb with the possibilities. How can he know me? There was no call; I felt the wards on the door.
          “Of course you did,” he replies to my unspoken thoughts, “I let you feel them. Do you really think that I would let a hunter into my house unbidden?”
         His voice grows deeper and more powerful as he speaks and his form begins to shimmer. Slowly, painfully, his arms and legs stretch impossibly thinner as his torso bloats up like a balloon. His skin mottles over, darkening from a pale white to a dull, dead grey. His eyes retain their green glow; however, his face elongates, forcing his jaw out and pulling his forehead back into a sunken scowl. Razor sharp fangs sprout from his previously toothless gums, giving him a sinister smile. When his transformation is finished, he resembles a poor imitation of an Easter Island statue; he stands over seven feet tall, long, gangly arms and legs supporting an obscenely bloated body.
          “Why did you run from us, Partiric? You were one of my favorites.”
         The dull roar of his voice carries with it the sound of a thousand tortured souls and it sings to something deep within me. Memories buried so deep that it pains me to even look for them.
         I am speechless as the unbidden recollections rampage through my mind. One of his favorites? Yes I was. I remember it now. Remember the hunting, but not of demons, but rather of mortals, of Angels. But how, how is this possible?
          “It is possible through my will. When you turned on us, killing your half-sister as she fed, I banished you instead of destroying you. You were the greatest hunter of us all. Greater than even I. But you grew weak. The teachings of your mother tainted you. That dumb, angelic bitch taught you compassion. I don’t know how she managed to reach you from her prison, but she did. I should have killed her after she gave birth to you.”
         The hatred flows from him like honey and it washes against me, filling me as well, though not with hatred for my mother, but for my father. I can hear the whispered words of my mother calling from deep within her prison cell as they tortured and raped her, forcing her to give birth to half breed Demon/Angles. I prayed for her death, but my prayers were never answered. I cast my eyes to Heaven.
          “Why didn’t you listen?” I scream at the ceiling. “Damn You,” it is little more than a sob as the memory of my tormented mother bears down on me.
          “That’s right; remember your hate for the Light. He could have stopped us. He could have given her release, but He chose not to. The good of God? Ha!”
         My arm begins to tremble as my father keeps speaking. It has been more than a hundred years since I have seen him, since I tried to kill him and failed, since my banishment to a mortal world. It all makes sense now, the magic and the knowledge and the desire to hunt. It is what I was bread to do, but I did it too well. So when I started hunting them, they cast me out.
         All my life I have brought pain to those around me. Stephen would never have known about vampires if not for me. Beth – poor Beth. I never thought that I would know love until I met her. She knew there was something torturing me and she wanted to help. That must be why they killed her.
          “Of course that’s why we killed her! She knew too much. I needed you to be ignorant so that I could control you.”
          “Shut up!” I scream.
         He laughs at me.
          “Still weak, little boy? You couldn’t kill me last time, what makes you think you can kill me now?”
         With that he bats me with his puny arm and the blow flings me across the room, knocking over one of the tables. I slam into the concrete wall and fall into the blood face first. Yet I feel no pain. In fact, I feel stronger than ever, more alive than I have in years. I can no longer deny who I am or where I come from. There is no place for me in this world and yet I am inexorably bound to it. For the first time ever I embrace my true heritage and the strength of it flows through my veins.
         I stand, and feel my own transformation begin to take place. I can see from the shock on Saur’een’s face that he was not expecting this.
         Pain wracks my body as it twists and grows. My jeans and jacket rip open as my muscles bulk to at least three times the size. My shoulder blades erupt in agony as wings sprout from them, tearing flesh and bone away with them. The tone of my skin deepens, taking on a dusky red sheen. The wings, feathered and light are also of this color. I know that my mouth has fangs, but I am sure that other than the coloration change nothing else on my face has changed. Truly I am a half breed. I know without looking that there is no halo on my head. I have wallowed too long in the blood of others to be blessed with that, but maybe one day He will forgive me for the sins of my father.
         A feral growl escapes my lips as my powerful legs launch me up from the floor towards Saur’een. Instinctively I open my wings and use them to guide me to him. We collide and the force of the impact sends us sprawling through the tables behind Saur’een scattering the bodies, tools and radio into the blood. The music dies suddenly.
         I see fear in his eyes, fear and hatred. He knows that I have something that he can never have and it drives him mad.
         The claws at the end of his thin hands rake my back, cutting deep grooves between my wings, burning the flesh. The pain is unlike anything that I have ever felt before, but I do not let it stop me. I am surprised by the ease with which I pick Saur’een up. He screams as I batter him into the wall, my own claws biting deep into the flesh of his chest. He struggles and again his claws sink into my skin, tearing at my forearm as I hold him pinned to the concrete.
         I bite down on the pain and think of all the lives that this monster has ended for no other reason than his personal, sadistic satisfaction and the thought of tearing out his heart is suddenly very appealing to me. A smile creases my lips, stunning Saur’een into inaction.
         A quick jerk of his arm and I tear it clean from his body. His howls are music to my ears. The second arm comes away cleanly as well and falls unheeded into the blood on the floor. I carry him back to the center of the room and place his body over one of the legs of an overturned table. I am still smiling, but Saur’een has quieted. He knows what is coming.
          “I will come for you,” he promises with a weak breath.
          “No, you won’t. Goodbye father.”
         With all my might I impale Saur’een on the leg, forcing his body all the way to the floor, showering the room with his own thick black blood.
         The wound does not kill him, as I knew it wouldn’t. I only need him to stay still.

         “In this room no more shall die
         Those entrapped here gather nigh
         From the captor comes a final cry
         Watch in silence, see him die”

         I no longer need the mirror and the flashlight to see the spirits in the house. They have all gathered around with the summons of the spell to cast their judgment on their murderer. Leading them is the spokesman. None of them look at me; their focus is the impaled demon in the center of the room.

         “The Light shall find him, make him pay
         A soul of darkness He will weigh
         Against the measure of the Way
         Evil shall find its end this day”

         Saur’een screeches in agony as a sliver of silver light pierces the room and dissects his body. It illuminates the spirits with a glow like the early dawn and I can see how beautiful they are basking on the rapture of release.

         “Cleanse this place of mortal sin
         Light the pyre from the flame within
         Release the souls held fast herein
         Brand your Mark upon his skin”

         I place my hand upon Saur’een’s chest and his screaming begins again with renewed fervor. My palm burns its mark into his skin, starting it smoldering. Slowly the mark spider-webs out, leaving the dead grey flesh cracked and flaking. With a final shriek, Saur’een is driven from the body and absorbed into the shaft of light hovering over him.
         With his passing I watch as one by one the spirits flow into the light and then the light vanishes. Saur’een’s empty shell crumbles to dust and falls to the blood, igniting it on fire. Within seconds, everything in the room is ablaze with a purifying fire that leaves nothing intact.
         A firestorm flares around me and there is nowhere to escape to. I feel the flames around me licking at my skin and I fall to the floor, knowing that I too will be judged by the flame and found wanting.
         Engulfed in the Holy fire, I loose track of all time, aware only of the presence of something so pure it makes me weep. I give myself up to it. I cannot change who I am and though I know that I cannot undo the crimes I have committed in the past, I vow that there will be retribution.
         As suddenly as the flames started, they stop. The entire inside of the house is gutted. I have no idea how it is still standing, but the outside walls are untouched.
         I stand and once again cast my eyes to Heaven. This time there is no curse that falls from my lips, but thanks that flows from my soul. I know that I have been given a second chance, maybe because of my heritage, maybe because I have repented. The reason doesn’t matter. I will not waste it.
         Evil be warned.