Act I, Chapter I: An Unwelcome Sight

Something vexes him. Rain plundering the air, it strained the night. The night that was suffocated by the grey clouds. The clouds in turn tainted by the lusting gaze of the moonlight upon the city. The Hunter posed above the labyrinth of alleyways, slowly becoming as still and cold as the stone angel next to him, with both of them becoming clothed in shadow. 1

... something else we have in common. He thought, as he looked upon the angel.2

As he gazed upon the maze, he caught sight of someone running. Running, along the outside the alleys. A safe bet for any man, the path was wide enough, and straight enough so he could see for a good distance in either direction. Unfortunately, so could anyone else. 3

Or, any thing else.4

It was the latter that was after the man. It was the latter that he was interested in. His name, not that it would matter, was James. After catching sight of the man running, The Hunter instantly drew to investigate what James was running from. A little ways back along the path James ran on, The Hunter saw both of them. He has a target. So do they, he thought. After catching sight of his target he followed them with his keen eyes, careful not to give away his position for fear of losing them, or worse, losing James to them, his new target. James ran through the darkness, confident of his escape. He raced into and through the alleys. And pressed on for his life, clinging onto the postulate that his speed would outmatch their determination. Yet determined, they were.5

But so was The Hunter.6

Observation decreed that both parties had stopped. A fortunate thing, really. The target stopped to regather its direction, and James stopped, his back to a wall, to regather his mind. Satisfied at their negligence The Hunter emerged from his shaded tomb and stared at the scene that was painted before him. A haunting vista of a skyline raped the horizon and tore at the union of sky and earth, emitting cold colours of red, orange, blue and white that only a city alive and yet dead could pull off. That is what vexed him. He was in battle with his innermost senses at the how something so horrible-a-sight, be so beautiful to look at…7

He knew how the sky looked, and in response looked down to the streets below him. Glancing at his target and the man he noted that they had not moved, and among the desolate back-streets and unearthly silence of the street ahead, the target had no need to move. But he silently urged the man to move on. Somewhere... anywhere.8

The target began to move...9

Guided by instinct, and forces beyond our control, they honed in on the man. James, knew nothing of this. Among the alleys, he was blind and mute in his motions. The target, however, continued to close in on James. Where they were exactly, well, that would be telling. But The Hunter knew where they were. He knew that the dead street lay ahead of them, cutting from left to right or from right to left depending on the traffic. He was horrified at James' mistake, stopping against the wall… You can always rely on their sort to make such errors, he thought. With his piercing eyes fixed on James, and too close for comfort, his target, he remarked at where they were, a visual memory traversed the shape which the dark brick alleys formed, the symbol of St Peter. To him, the wall was at the bottom, leading to the street and a second alley cut across the first nearer to the wall, thus forming the symbol of St. Peter.
‘An inverted crucifix…’ He noted.10

Not long passed upon this night when The Hunter made his move. The thunder and rain of the night sang in harmony with his movements, masking his sounds with nature’s own. Swiftly gliding among the slick rooftops, he came to the dank alley where they were. Standing directly above the wall, no-one or thing could see him. For the clouds had blotted out any moonlight that might have breathed out his position, and with his attire, his shape and colour were that of the black clouds that disrupted the beauty of the night sky above him. A second time, he was not glad in the situation that presented itself to him. This occasion, it was the fact that James does not have clairvoyance. An ability The Hunter himself possesses, and one that would have held this mortal individual in great stead upon this night.11

In time with a thunder clap, he descended the wall, halting upon the ground, his long black trench-coat following suit, surrounding him with his hands at either side of him, melting into the ground. All the while, the target drew closer to James. Although The Hunter's face was focused upon the floor, giving the impression of a man waiting in earnest, he stood there, a beacon of their fate, placing himself between James and his target. A wise mistake, his mentor would have said. He preferred this notion, because he liked seeing himself gain ground while his enemy lost theirs. But not on this night, no. He would not advance as he wished. All he would do is stand there and draw his weapons…12

…and kill them.13

Hearing his descent, they all turned, and fear spread like plague over his target, suffocating any feelings of hope and happiness. Not that they had those feelings anyway, he thought, their kind has not the capacity nor will to entrust themselves with such feelings. All they would do is sin, for that is their purpose in this plane. His purpose, was to smite all those who crossed over to Earth from Below. His nature ascends that of Man, yet stumbles at that of Angelic. He remembered the stone angel he perched next to not a few moments ago… that is more divine than I, he surrendered in his mind.
'What's going on?!' asked James, his blind eyes shifting back into focus, and staring at the horror of the scene around him.
'This world is far darker than you know...' said The Hunter, as he turned his head toward the man, keeping his stance prepared for the worst, his eyes piercing as they looked at each other. In the moment after, everything stopped. Everything about the encounter to come was revealed; the players, the surroundings and the motives. There they were, three parties. The first, the man, James, stood in fear against the wall, his mind screaming his legs to carry him off, but they would have none of it. The second, was The Hunter, intent on protecting the man, and destroying his target. The third, the target itself, were two daemons. A clotted mix of dog, man, and a supernatural evil that whispered sweet nothings of death to the observers. They waited on all fours, snarling quietly, and getting into position.
'I cannot guarantee your safety or survival,' The Hunter said to James, his eyes now never leaving the daemons, 'but I can assure you I will do what I can to protect you. Stay behind me, and do not attempt any heroics.'
'Why the hell do you think I'd be a hero at this?' James desperately replied, his face visibly pale, and his eyes dancing between the dark hunter and the daemons.
'Just a thought.'14

The moment had passed, it was time to act. The first of the daemons, the one closest to its prey, focused its attention to the one in between the morsel against the wall. Instantly, citing the source of the holy fear, its eyes widened in horror.
'It's him! It's Archus!' said the first. The tone was guttural - harsh, deep and distorted; a tongue spoken by neither Man, nor Angel. To the man, it resembled nothing more than a wolf's snarl, yet to Archus, its true nature was revealed. The second daemon snarled through its salivated and bladed teeth, its face twisted with pain and rage. Their priorities shifted instantly. They could no longer be satisfied with taking James, they would have to survive Archus' defence instead. He was too much of a threat. At once, they changed their positions and, through silent acknowledgement, began to act.
'Go to hell, Archus!' shouted the first, just before jumping, or rather, pouncing, as these daemons tended, onto Archus.
'You first...' Archus replied with a warm smile. Opening his coat with one swift motion, he stood one shoulder width apart, solid and calm. With that he withdrew from his coat two cylindrical grips. Black like polished stone but as definitive as metal. A spiral of silver licked the grips twisting in and out of each other down the length of the hilt. As he held them, he flicked the top of the grips with his thumbs in a definite clockwise motion. With that, two silver blades grew with remarkable speed out of the sword hilts. With no cross-guard, it was easy to conceal them in his trench coat. The closest common sword that it could resemble is a ninjaken, only the blades on our hero’s have a longer and, undying double edge.15

The instant before the blades took to their full length, Archus acted. For in mere moments after the first daemon launched upon his divine enemy, Archus had sliced a rift for the daemon to pass through with one sword, and cleft the daemon in two with the other, with both carnal halves descending back to the Hell from whence it came. After the rift cleared, Archus' eyes realigned to where the daemons were originally in formation. All he saw through the rain was darkness, the street, and the distorted outline of the skyline of the inner city. 16

At this, everything stopped. The sounds of the rain faltered, descending into silence within a heartbeat. The occasional reference to a car driving through the night streets had gone cold. The breathing of the man whom he had just sworn to protect had eased to nothingness...
In that moment, Archus realised two fundamental truths. The first, was that all time had stopped. The second, and this was the worst part; was what had caused such a disruption. He did not need to look around. The answer was in front of him. For through the alley, the one leading to the street, he could see, across the road, a dark figure. A young woman, with a pale face – dead, wasted, staring at him from across the road. The truth struck him worse than a bullet. In terrific fear his eyes widened, and in hesitation, turned around to the man, James, near the wall.17

There was a reason he could not hear James' breathing. As Archus looked down at the man, he saw that he had none. All he saw now, was James, cradled in the second daemon, its right hand clenching his heart as it slotted through James' torso. The blood poured out of both sides of the hole in his chest, much to the delight of the daemon, and much to the disgust, fear, and anger to Archus. The daemon released its hold on its dead babe, still clutching the heart as the man lay at the floor, creating a separation between hunter and prey. This daemon, the more fearful of the two, stood there and beheld the same fate as his predecessor.