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maybebovinity · 11 months

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RE:INCARNATE [Reaper/Soldier:76] CHAPTER 2

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RE:LATIONSHIP

At first he didn’t understand what he saw, flesh torn apart revealing nothing but an open ribcage and a still heart. His organs didn’t shiver nor move from their place, although they should have – and he thought to himself that it was bad enough; the pain of having his flesh torn apart almost unbearable. His screams deafened him long ago, his vocal cords already broken to the point where he just screamed blood.

The pain should have stopped there, but he felt things inside of him. He didn’t want to look, but he did.

Maggots. Thousands of maggots squirming inside of him, slowly – so slowly - eating him until he was hollowed out and blood only bubbled down his chin and over the worms who greedily sucked the liquid up.

It should have stopped, but the maggots vomited everything back up until he once again tried to understand what he was seeing.

… … …

He didn’t wake up spluttering and heaving, as one would normally from a dream watching your own body being eaten again and again. No, instead his eyes simply opened and he took one deep breath and raised his hands in front of his face to ensure that right now he was not being tortured.

The click of a tongue next to him didn’t bother him that much either anymore, already used to the disapproving tittering of his friend. She shuffled closer to him, signalled by her clothes dragging across the floor from her side of the small room. She barely slept more than he did, and was it was usual for her to be there when he woke up like this.

She had tea in hand, ready for him to drink and fall back asleep, but he could see that this time she wanted to talk.

“Again?”

“Yes, I felt it more too.”

She simply nodded, casting a look at her sleeping child before turning back to him again.

“Are you well to work in the morning.”

“I have no other choice.”

“Yes you do-”

“It’s the only way to gain a lot of money you know this. The shopkeepers will see me as too old to learn by now, it’s alright Amira.”

She only huffed, but he could see the worry in her eyes. He knew his profession wasn’t the best one, but it has been a part of him since he was a small boy – having been sent by his father to keep his old friends company while receiving hefty coin in return. He was good at what he did… and he couldn’t have Amira work too with her new born; husband killed for a crime he never committed. She was alone and he promised to provide for her no matter what.

He could see Amira wanted to say more, but the baby cried and the woman shuffled away again to quiet her. He drank his tea slowly, and sighed as he tried to rest again. Hopefully the dream won’t come back.

… … …

It was never a glorious thing to have a man cum over you for the sake of a coin, but the deed was done and his heavy pocket made his heart feel just a little lighter. Amira and the babe would eat tonight, and maybe well. She never asked if he got something for himself, but she assumed he did before he returned home.

Of course he couldn’t tell her he only ate what he could beg for, wanting to spoil his kind friend more than himself. It wasn’t that hard of a task to do, his body was not well and he knew the bones were sickly looking – yet the men who took him did not complain, because all they simply had to do was close their eyes and indulge in a pleasure their wives would frown upon.

It was when he was in the marketplace, having paid for fresh bread, when he heard the news of newcomers into the city. It was not the people nor the guards who announced this, but the neighing of impatient horses with pale men on their backs.

He heard about them, many times, but never thought they would come here.

Crusaders.

He should have cared that men with such hollow plans to take back what they believed theirs now resided in his city, but he couldn’t because he knew he would not get involved. Don’t look in their eyes, and don’t cross their paths. Apologise and grovel, drop to your hands and knees if you have to.

Don’t let them get near you.

He spared a last glance at the beasts and their men before scurrying back to the place he called home.

… … …

It was just another normal day, everyone out and about while he lurked in the alleys where most of his clients knew where to find him. He didn’t join the women like him in their houses, scared to endanger them if the guards ever found him – but he was still welcome to visit them if his day was slow. Such as today.

Nobody came since the sun was up, and he saw that no one was about to come for a very long time, so instead he headed to the women for some company before maybe begging for some coin to feed Amira.

It was while he was walking when he felt hands yank him back behind a building, foreign words in his ears as rough hands pulled at his clothes. He understood the tone of their voices, it wasn’t lust nor possession, but mockery, and the cry torn from his lips was enough for him to understand that the men who grabbed him thought of him as a vile creature.

He couldn’t understand how they would be aware of such things, but it has been some time since the Crusaders came and it was possible they noticed him and his activities. He knew he could have fought back, but it wouldn’t benefit him in any way – he was weak, only strong enough to handle a grip on his hips without feeling the bruises the next day.

He was shoved into the ground and the fists pounded harshly into his skin, a sword was produced as well and retracing old scars on his back he wished he could forget about. It always happened for some reason, men attracted by the patches of rough skin on his shoulder blades – always wanting to see them bleed again and heal uglier than they were before.

He didn’t know how much time passed since the men grabbed him, but his muffled cries carried on even after they left him. He hurt, and he didn’t want to go home. Amira would yell at him, begging him to stop but he couldn’t… what else was there for him than to give his body for coin?

She once spoke of him starting a family, but how could he force a woman he didn’t love to bear his children? He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t pick himself up from when he fell as a boy. He was satisfied to die poor and used, only because he knew no better.

The sun was about to set, and he had to go home he knew he did – but something held him back.

It was when a hand gently touched at his aching back did he once again cry out in fear and pain. Twisting his body to face his attacker, he was met with another Crusader armed and ready for war. It was this which had the aching man cry again and pled in a tongue he knew the foreigner would not understand but did so for the sake of his life.

Pale grey eyes stared back at him in confusion, mouth opening to question the sobbing man but he was too late; in his hesitation to question him, did he force himself back onto shaking legs and run away as far as he could.

… … …

“You met one of them?”

“He was… strange…”

“They are dangerous you know, I have never seen your back this bad before.”

“I know Amira, but… it was like he forgot about his sword.”

The woman was quiet, but the sadness in her eyes was enough.

“If he finds you again?”

“Maybe I will speak to him, if he understands.”

… … …

It was on the fourth day when he returned back to the streets, a new purpose leading his feet to the alleyway he wished he died in. It was strange for him to willingly seek out a man, but he was curious. The Crusader did not look like he wanted to cause harm, and he might be a fool to think such a ‘Holy Man’ would see him as anything other than the vile creature he is… but he could hope.

Of course he didn’t tell himself he really wanted to meet the man again, panic still set deep inside of him at the thought that the Crusader could kill him without anyone noticing his death until Amira comes looking for him… no, instead he told himself that he would do business as usual but just be aware of any passing Crusaders.

And he thought that perhaps someone out there has cursed him, because just when he found a client did he also find the Crusader. His client was angry when he was shoved away in an attempt to clear a path. The Crusader at first was blind to everything, but spotted the frantic man as he tried to get as far away as possible.

The Crusader was a highly trained man, and such came the end of the chase as he did not trip over a loose stone and almost bashed their head against an opposing wall. But his figure loomed and blocked the sun, casting dreadful shadows which had the running man feel fear once again.

“Leave me please!”

Jibril felt no shame as he pleaded, he was beyond such feelings. He cast his arms over his eyes and waited for forceful hands to start touching him. A hand enclosed around his wrist and he bit his lip hoping some sort of wrath of any God will save him – but he didn’t need it.

The solder replied in his foreign tongue, and although Jibril did not understand it, the concern in the soldier’s eyes surprised him. He yanked his arm away and struggled to his feet, where he tried to run away again.

The soldier called after him, but Jibril counted his blessings and ran home.

… … …

Amira said nothing as she stroked the old scars on Jibril’s back. Her babe was sleeping soundly, as was the whole city, yet the friends could find no comfort in sleep now.

“I ran into the Crusader again…”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing.”

She said nothing and continued to the dress the wounds she was previously tasked with, her eyes willing to find any distractions.

“I think you should humour him, make another friend.”

“You’re enough.”

“I won’t always be here Jibril.”

He sighed and looked back at her, at her beautiful face wrapped up carefully in order to hide her identity. A woman shunned from the city, yet sought at refuge in the house of a man whore.

“When you die, I’ll kill myself.”

She said nothing, but a knowing glint in her eye had his body trembling.

… … …

He didn’t plan on meeting the Crusader again, or at least not again in this situation. Jibril was bleeding and bruised, and he had to lean against a wall to withstand the ache in his back. He carefully thumbed the coin in his hand and watched in the shadows for what he was to buy.

He was simply on his way to get more food for Amira, but an old client quickly took advantage of him. Jibril wanted to cry and complain, but money was money.

He saw a stand with some fruit and was about to step out of the shadows when the Crusader with the pale grey eyes saw him. Sacred, Jibril tried to back away into the shadows but he was too late. Once again the man tripped as the foreigner loomed over him.

Jibril spat and cursed at the man, trying to ignore the fresh trickle of blood running down his crack. The Crusader only knelt down and said something, but Jibril didn’t understand. He tried backing away again, but the pain was deep and he bit his lip as he tried not to cringe away from it. The Crusader grabbed his hand, and inside he placed a few golden coins.

Jibril’s heart stopped. He was asked to do many things in the past, but this… this could be the death of him. He frantically looked up to the Crusader, expecting to see the lust but he only found a caring smile.

Jibril opened his mouth to ask the foreign question of ‘why?’, but the Crusader appeared embarrassed at first before opening his mouth, pointing a finger at it and then using the same finger to point at the stall behind him. Eat the gesture implied.

Jibril closed his eyes for a second too long in surprise, long enough for the man to have vanished yet not long enough for him to realise the man had that he had forgone his uniform, and stalked the marketplace in a hood.

A strange Holy Man indeed.

… … …

It happened again, Jibril was resting by a fountain when two golden coins was pressed into his palm. He was sore and thirsty, and wanted to sleep, but men kept finding him no matter where he went. The cold press of coin against his palm had him jump as he realised he had to suck another cock, but upon opening his eyes he only found the Crusader staring at him.

Jibril was ready to get down on his knees for the man, but he only stepped away and disappeared again.

… … …

It didn’t stop happening, every day when Jibril was battered and bruised the Crusader would magically appear and give him two golden coins. It was on the fifth day when he couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed the Crusader and spat in his face.

“Take your fucking money back you goatfucker!”

The Crusader said nothing, only stared down at him in confusion before smiling.

He pressed another gold coin in Jibril’s hand, grabbed his chin and kissed him with a passion the whore never knew.

… … …

“Another gold coin?”

“Yes…”

“Jibril?”

“Mmmm…”

Amira only smiled at her friend, unsure of what to think as he sat the whole night rubbing his lips and smiling.

… … …

The next day Jibril went to his usual place to find the bodies of five men brutally gutted and scattered around. They were naked and had crude phalluses carved into their backsides. At first Jibril had no idea what to think, but when he found two golden coins hidden expertly in a groove in the wall, did he think of those pale grey eyes glistening in delight.

… … …

Jibril wanted to confront the man, but he had no ways of doing it. He didn’t know where he was, and they didn’t speak the same tongue.

As luck would have it, he did manage to find the man again – but he wasn’t alone. With him stood a tall and mighty man, he was almost a giant compared to everyone in the city. When the giant spoke his voice vibrated in Jibril’s chest, although he wasn’t enough close enough to hear what his Crusader was saying.

His Crusader.

Jibril was about to turn around, but pale grey eyes locked him into place. The man had no idea what to do as the Crusader walked towards him. The man’s face was soft, and upon closer inspection did Jibril notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, and the soft silver in his hair. The man must be older than he appears, yet it wasn’t the oldest man Jibril had been in the company of.

Jibril was ready to turn heel and run, but the Crusader held out a hand. The movement confused him and had him still long enough for the man to take his hand in his own and softly squeeze it. The gesture was not an unfamiliar one, having seen it done before, but he never expected to do it himself.

The Crusader smiled gently and spoke again, a single word. At first Jibril had no idea what it meant, and the man realised this as he prodded his chest and repeated the word again, “John.”

John. It was his name. Understanding Jibril repeated the action and his own name. The man seemed pleased and lifted Jibril’s hand to his lips before gently placing them against his knuckles. Blood rushed to his face and his chest ached with unfamiliar feelings.

The Crusader, John, let go of his hand before returning to the man he spoke before.

… … …

“He wants something from me, I know it. He gives me money, he kisses me, but he won’t fuck me.”

“That sounds like a decent husband, if only my man had money to offer.”

Jibril was in no mood for his friend’s antics, and threw a wooden spoon at her.

“This isn’t right! I can’t take his money like this! It’s wrong!”

“Then they don’t you seduce him? Or court him?”

Jibril lost his energy, and sighed into the pillow he bought for Amira with the first gold coin he got. She deserved some luxury.

“No… I can’t do that, I can’t make people love me…”

“Jibril-”

“I was born unloved, I was always unloved. Every time I loved someone they left me or betrayed me, I can’t do that. Not again Amira.”

And Jibril almost flinched at the ancient pity in Amira’s eyes, so strong he wondered sometimes if she was human like him.

… … …

Over the next few weeks Jibril and John would have various encounters. It was always in the dark alleyways, yet it had Jibril being in less pain as the days went by and the bodies piled up. He wanted to pity the women who lost their husbands, but he could feel no such thing as he knew somehow they were better without those vile creatures in their homes.

During these encounters Jibril would find himself cornered against a wall as John would softly kiss his fingers, and sometimes when Jibril was sure he was going to die, his lips. It confused him and made him feel things he only felt when alone under the moonlight. Hands never went to grab and grope at him, instead they stayed away until the end when a golden coin was passed on.

It was during their latest encounter when Jibril felt too guilty about the coin. They were again in the shadows and John was so close, yet Jibril made sure to use all the strength he had to block the man from coming further. He took a coin from his pocket, pointed at it before grabbing John’s crotch.

The Crusader yelped and blushed, and took a step back in shock. His hand protectively covered him as he stared accusingly at the golden coin. Jibril wasn’t sure if he did something wrong, so he tried again.

This time he tucked the coin away and settled on his knees. He beckoned John closer, who did so cautiously, before pointing at his crotch and opening his mouth. John did not appear pleased at the notion, and instead joined Jibril on the floor.

The closed the man’s mouth and gave a sad smile. He said something in his tongue, shook his head, repeated the words and then frowned. Jibril was on the verge of tears, he did not want the man’s money for nothing. He knows how to please a man in all the right ways, and yet here was taking it without giving anything in return. He was disgusting.

John leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then the other, his forehead, and lastly the corner of his mouth. He reached for his pocket, pulled out a coin and placed it on the floor between them. It confused Jibril, but he kept his gaze on the man for any sign of wanting to fuck.

It never came.

John only lifted a finger to his lips, tapped twice before tapping the coin. Vaguely understanding, Jibril briefly kissed the man. After pulling away, John contemplated something before shaking his eyes. He had a twinkle in his eye as he tapped his lips again. Jibril leaned forward to give another kiss, but when he wanted to pull away a hand at the nape of his neck held him in place.

At first he wanted to panic, but the hand was gentle and moved to his shoulder all the while still kissing. Jibril wanted to end it, but he could not. Silently they held still what felt like years, before John sighed and pulled away. He smiled, kissed Jibril’s hand and gave him the coin.

At least he could give something.

… … …

These innocent and confusing touches were all Jibril had to do for coin, and it truly only was that. Somehow the Crusader had scared everyone away until it was only them in the shadows softly kissing. It was enough, yet Jibril knew he could offer so much more.

When he was brave he took a hold of the other man’s cock, who would gently push him away and kiss his hands. It confused him, but he never stopped his attempts. John never got angry because of this, but it must have been one too many times because when Jibril tried again he was pushed away a bit too harshly.

Fearing the worst he began to lift his arms, but John reached for his cock and not for him. At first Jibril was sad to finally have to bend over for coin again, yet at the same time he felt a small victory in his chest at finally having to earn the coin.

He watched as the man opened his pants and pulled out a flaccid cock. Silence followed as Jibril patiently waited for the man to get an erection, but as both stared at it nothing happened. He followed his instincts and reached for it, slowly stroking it to life – yet nothing happened.

Confusion clouded his mind. Without a thought he dropped to his knees and placed the man inside of his mouth in ways which would have the wealthiest of men throw riches at him, and indeed it had John twitch and tremble but the cock in his mouth remained soft.

Jibril separated himself and felt humiliated, insulted. Blood pumped to his face in anger and he was ready to yell at the man, but John simply tucked himself away and tapped at his lips. It was a strange thing to do, but Jibril finally understood.

He softly kissed the man and apologised, but John only pulled him close and hugged him. It was in the warm embrace of the Crusader when the whore came to a sudden and frightening realisation.

… … …

“Amira-”

“I think you should tell him, the man clearly likes you and would be pleased to hear you do too.”

“What if he rejects me?”

“Then cut off his balls.”

The woman was blunt, and it shocked Jibril until he found himself laughing at the sight of a confused John as he tried to understand why he was lacking such precious organs. But the fear still lingered, so he held onto his dirty little secret while John would kiss and hold him with more satisfaction than any man who has ever fucked him.

Sometimes when John was hidden in his hood he would accompany Jibril around the marketplace. He would buy fresh fruit and they would sit in the sun and eat together as they enjoyed each other’s silent company.

It was on one such event when John suddenly stopped eating and gave a grim look to Jibril. His eyes were dark and glistening. Jibril wanted to ask what was wrong, but he would be unable to understand. Instead he took a hold of the other man’s face and gently kissed him in reassurance.

When the kiss ended did John give him a piece of paper. It was folded in two, and when opened revealed words in his tongue – yet it was useless to Jibril. He pointed to the page and shook his head, trying to convey his lack of understanding.

The silent words reached John and he only looked grimmer. Tears began to silently trail down his cheeks, and Jibril was hopeless. He tucked away the note and pulled John into his arms. There the man gave silent and violent sobs until the sun began to set.

He pulled away and gave Jibril a kiss. It was soft yet passionate, tasting of salt and a farewell.

Why did it taste like a farewell?

… … …

“He gave me a letter.”

Amira looked surprised and took the letter in question to inspect it. Neither of them could properly read, but she knew more than he did. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she tried to decipher the words, but she gave up with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“I will take this to scholars tomorrow, perhaps a kind soul will be able to translate this for us.”

He didn’t know if he wanted that to happen.

… … …

John did not appear the next day, nor the day thereafter. Two more days passed without John or a single Crusader in sight. He began to worry, his heart still holding his precious secret he had to tell John.

It was that night when Jibril arrived home to find Amira bearing the ill news:

“He is not coming back my friend. He is off to fight in the war.”

… … …

It’s been months or years, he couldn’t tell. He resumed his old job when John’s coin ran out; Amira’s daughter the only indication of time these days. The little girl was already running around with glee and Jibril knew he needed a lot more coin if she was ever going to be growing up properly.

So he went about his day as usual, but his heart still ached after the one man he truly loved. He could still feel his lips and hear his soft sighs… but the thought of John actually dead, it hurt.

The Crusaders passed by again, but very few, and when no one came to visit him in the middle of the night he knew the truth. He was alone once again.

And the truth struck again when he returned home to find the wailing of a child and the screams of a woman. Jibril did not hesitate to find the source, near the end of the small house was a stranger with a sword.

Amira was slowly dying, her gut slit open and the sword already pointing to her throat, so the man threw himself at the stranger trying to save what little family he had left. Jibril was not trained in any way and was still a weak man, so it was only after a few seconds of struggling that the word reached up and slit his own throat in return.

The broken man died unable to protect the ones he truly loved. He thought he saw the Crusade’s mark on the stranger, and tried to understand what they did to offend the attacker. His last sight was that of the stranger’s hood falling off, revealing long blonde hair held up.

He thought he saw breasts and a blue eyes, perhaps tears.

But the thoughts didn’t last very long, as Jibril was soon released into death.

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maybebovinity · 10 months

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Nightshade Eyes [Reaper/Soldier:76] CHAPTER 3

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A lithe figure hidden by a heavy cloak and hood stalked the shadows with a heavy bag tied around their waist. The eerie night brought a sense of peace as the lack of ghouls signalled another safe night: but it hardly brough comfort when the only protector was currently bedridden and dying in the house of their new resident.

The bag bounced as the stalker tried their best to go unnoticed as some decided to enjoy the night by standing idly outside of their abodes. The delivery was nothing to be ashamed of, and barely illegal outside of the castle’s territory, alas it was something they all pretend to ignore in a facade of if the king will not save us, then our offerings shall go to the Devil herself.

The cape got stuck on a thicket and the nearest resident (a strange jittery man with burn scars and a pennant for setting ghouls alight) cackled at the failed attempt at stealth.

“Ye being inconspicuous?” He dragged out the final word in an attempt to display his newfound vocabulary, courtesy of the nomadic scholar who frequently visits them.

The figure tried freeing their cape but failed as the thicket refused to let up. Frustrated and with little time to waste, the cape was ripped off and thrown to the floor revealing an irritated woman clad in tight impractical leather. Her fashion choice was an adaptation of exorcists’ mandatory attire, and she swore it instilled fear in those who saw her.

But she was not supposed to be seen.

“Oh look at you! Learned a new word, rat?” she sneered as he continued the cackle. The insult did little affect him and only fueled his laughter. She stepped forward to manually silence him, but the weight around her hips reminded her of her mission. He was dying. Deciding that the rat-man’s life was a lot more insignificant than his , she spat an ancient curse at him before bolting to the house on the hill.

No candlelight nor fire flickered in the windows, and she was reminded of Mei’s soft-spoken warning of the newcomer’s obstacle: he was without sight. Something easy to remedy, and yet the man who hails from the castle walls continues to live such a difficult life. If he were a smart man, he would travel to the Fae Forest and have them cure his unfortunate loss with little payment. Once, she asked the question of why the King and his men feared magic and she was promptly reminded of her orphanage which only confused her more, for her memories never went that far.

The house was quiet and a fear washed over her as she wondered if he was already dead. She raised her hand to her temple and gently pressed against the skin beside her eyebrow; a spark of electricity emitted from her fingertips and travelled down her body, to her legs and entering the ground at her feet. She followed the trail as it entered the house and connected with a barely alive body.

Relieved, she stalked around the house to where the pulse found him and was pleased to see that the newcomer did not vandalise the windows yet. It was a common practice to always board up your windows if you do not want visitors, the countryside etiquette took some time getting used to.

And to prove that, she carefully pried open the windowpane and effortlessly slid inside with the heavy bag carefully lifted to not accidentally puncture. If she had to go all the way back to get a new one, then she would have to count her losses and prepare the funeral for she saw no pleasure in returning to the Devil.

Inside, she spotted the forming corpse on a depressing bed and no one else in sight. Unsure if the newcomer would interrupt them, she first crept to the door and carefully locked it as she was shown to do in case of emergencies. The corpse coughed as he sensed her presence, or maybe he realised he was finally getting fed. Not wanting to waste time, she hurried over to the body on the bed and made work to detach the bag and pry it open.

Inside she carefully wrapped her hands around a wet, dying heart. Whose it was she never asked. She sent a spark through the organ and it beat once-twice to allow the remaining blood to expel from its orifices. The body groaned and leaned in towards the smell of fresh blood.

“Hurt yourself and I will be the one to explain to her why her child is dead you fool.” She spoke as she lifted the organ and held it just above his masked face. Another spark sent blood gushing out and she aimed it to slide past the well-concealed opening to his mouth. As soon as the blood made contact did his eyes shoot open and his body jerked towards her.

Throwing the heart at him she observed as he pushed aside his mask, and ignored the pain as it tugged at his flesh where it was forcibly embedded, and dug teeth and claws into the falsely pulsating organ and began devouring. He only growled and moaned as the tough flesh was ripped apart and slowly began disappearing down his throat. She wondered if they all fed the same way, but again she was reminded of his usual feeding etiquette: quiet, reserved, and ashamed.

The heart was gone almost as soon as she gave it to him, but she knew it would not be enough to take him back home. Fed, the body lied back down and gave a final sigh. His mask was still pushed aside and was tearing his skin apart at its current angle, but he had to wait before it could be returned to its place. Creeping closer once again, she pulled out a piece of cloth and did her best to clean the mess. He hated being dirty.

“ Gratias tibi… ” he groaned out in his ancient tongue. Although well-versed, she did not particularly enjoy conversing in the tongue of days passed. Finished, she carefully pulled at his mask to cover his face and listened as the skin slithered to pull it in deeper into its proper place.

“It is a pleasure you fool.” she noticed blood-soaked bandages across his chest from when he sat up to feed. She was hardly a healer herself, but even she could see that unskilled hands tried to tend to him. She undid them by retrieving a small but deadly blade and cleanly cut through them, revealing the wound which bound him to the sorrowful bed. At first she was confused, because a wound so small would hardly weaken him, but as she scanned his body she realised his neck was the problem: a deep cut was drawn almost all the way around, and if not for the immediate intake of fresh blood she was sure he would be spending some time to mend it.

“Your neck.” she said. He reached up a weak hand to touch at the wound and grumbled, “Boy.”

“I told you to stay away from him.”

“Attack. Me.”

“Which is why I told you to stay away. One would think a man of your age would have learned the ways of the world.”

“Young. Scared.”

She placed a hand over his mask, where his mouth should be, and only shook her head. Only he would try and chase down a rabid werebeast in an attempt to save them. Although she could barely remember when she met him, she knew he had done the same for her. He would always do that, risk his life to save others. It was a wonder the Devil was not bored with him yet.

“ Mama is scared. She thought you died. That fae was here for not long and she is clearly a healer. Did she heal you? Your wounds are worse.”

He nodded weakly and touched the wounds on his torso already beginning to heal. If she returned to the Devil tomorrow, he would be ready to come home in less than a moon-change.

“ Spurius discere debuit. ” His words made her turn her attention to the locked door. She almost forgot about the newcomer. From what she heard he was rather… unpleasant and would often growl and glare at whoever decided to come bother him. She tried to imagine him tending to wounds with the aid of the fae, and wondered why the poor bandaging was allowed by the healer. But it hardly mattered because she would go back to the Devil and have him healed before the King could be informed about his existence. The last thing they needed was another Knight trying to rid the world of evil. If only they knew.

She heard the distant cry of a crow and a flick of her faze confirmed that her time was running out. The night was still young, but the moonlight was making her weary since she had to forgo her cape. She made sure the blood did not stain the floor and pressed a kiss to the temple of the mask in farewell.

“Stay strong vetelus. ” the ancient word stung her tongue. She did not listen for a response and quickly jumped out of the window to return home.

… … …

The locket burned against his skin as he uselessly opened his eyes. It was sunrise. Jack could feel the warmth from the infiltrating sunrays and groggily pulled himself up from the uncomfortable cot he requested to be placed by the broken fireplace. He would rather be uncomfortable for the rest of his life than share a room with an exorcist.

He sat still and tried to listen for any evidence of the monster still being alive, but the only thing he could hear was the village waking up and an irritating cock announcing the sun’s visitation.

Angela depended on him to ensure the exorcist was alive, and no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, even he understood what it meant to simply let the thing die. He has killed many of their kind, and yet this was the first time he heard of people being fond of their existence. And if they were fond, then the probability of it having some relations were high.

And Jack would not like to fight off an angry village with or without sight.

He pulled himself up and out from his cot and made to check up on the corpse when a knock on his door stopped him. He has already threatened those who came to bother him, but the insistent knocking demanded attention and he was too weary to ignore it. Trying his best to navigate his unfamiliar surroundings, Jack came to the door and pulled it open to be met with a fist connecting with his collarbone. The contact sent a sharp tingle down his body and he hissed at the uncomfortable feeling.

“You are much taller than I expected! I thought old men were supposed to be tiny!” The voice was feminine and much too cheerful.

“What do you want?” He grunted out not wanting a visitor.

“I am here to check up on my, mmm, how can I say? Superior?”

He was not given a chance to respond as the stranger pushed past him and entered the house. He closed the door and turned to where he thought they were, but the location was quickly revealed:

“Hey vetelus! Wake up!” the voice came from the door to where the corpse resided, and Jack asked himself how the stranger knew, and knocked again on the door. He wanted to inform the stranger that the door was open, but a jingle of the doorknob confused him: he never locked the door.

“ Faex, I really would have liked to not go back to her.”

“Who are you?” Jack has had enough with all of these people infiltrating his deathbed. The others had the decency to at least enter respectfully and be pleasant, but this one was… it reminded Jack of the snivelling brats who would awe every time he paraded down the street clad in his armour and proudly held up the head of a recently slain exorcist.

“Hmm? How rude of me: Sombra, exorcist in training.” She took hold of his hand in an attempted greeting, but he pulled it back as the words registered. Exorcist in training.

“There’s more of you?”

“Oh, a non-believer? Let me guess, you were very happy when the Knights came back with a head?”

He kept himself quiet lest he reveal his true past. If there were two exorcists, then it could only mean him harm if his identity were revealed. His existence proved to be boresome as the young exorcist resumed her knocking and yelling. Jack was tempted to send again for Angela, but his pride would not allow him. He was the one who wanted to die, did he not?

What better way than for two exorcists to tear him apart?

“Hey-!” the yelling was cut off as the door was torn open and slammed loudly against the wall. A brief, yet eerie, silence overcame the house. Jack does not know the full extent of an exorcists’ abilities, although they had similarities the powerful and ancient ones had unique powers only granted when the Devil favoured them too much.

And he had no idea who the exorcists in his house were.

“At last.” the stranger, Sombra he refused to say, muttered and quick footsteps indicated that she entered the room with the monster. Curious, he followed and listened:

“Look at you, able to open doors are we?”

A grumble responded.

“Your neck looks better, but you might need more. Would you prefer a wildebeest this time?”

Your neck looks better. The words horrified Jack. The previous evening he was sure of an intruder, but he chalked it up to being paranoid at the evil in his evil. Angela once told him he was prone to hallucinations when she healed him, and he considered it to be a permanent side-effect.

“You! You broke in last night?” He spat.

“Me? Are old men not supposed to be deaf?”

“Sombra, shut up.” The third voice was unfamiliar but belonged to the only other presence in the room: the exorcist. Its voice was gluttral and sounded painful as it pushed out the words. The voice of a Devil’s child.

“Forgive me oh dear Re-”

“ Sombra. ” The words were harsh and Jack felt a chill run through his bones as the words echoed in his head. Whatever this exorcist was, it was powerful. Jack had heard tales of many exorcists, but the one that remained a favourite among the troops were the Devil’s First Child: a powerful ruler whose bloodlust turned them to discover the most evil power known to man. If the tales were true, then this exorcist is possibly the strongest creature alive.

“ Fine. Ungrateful bastard.”

There was a short, yet intense, whispering session before it abruptly stopped. A deep sigh, “Then I’ll see you tonight vetelus. ” The apprentice made to leave the house and stopped by Jack, he could feel her stare at him but he could not return the favour.

“Do not attempt to care for his wounds, you are sloppy and your lack of training only makes my life difficult.”

“Gladly.” he sneered at her.

He heard her footsteps fading, the front door opened and he was once again left in the company of the primary exorcist. Only this time, it was awake.

“Thank you for healing me.” The voice said in a low growl, the chill from earlier repeated. Jack did not want to speak with the thing, so he remained silent.

“I was unaware of someone moving in.” the exorcist spoke up again. “One would think I would be allowed to have my own home, but even they cannot see me as nothing but a Devil child.”

“You live here?”

“Yes, but don’t hurt yourself by leaving. Once I am healed, I will return to my family.”

Family. Jack did not know what to do with this information, in fact he hardly knew what to do about the entire situation. His habits wanted him to find the nearest sword and end it, but knowing that someone was here and actively seeking the thing out was enough to keep Jack at bay. The apprentice sounded young, and youth often had an advantage in battle.

In unfamiliar territory, Jack found himself hesitantly torn between simply leaving the conversation or staying and ensuring the exorcist was not on the verge of dying as Angela feared. Angela.

“I must send a message.” Jack announced as he pushed himself away from the door and slowly walked towards his cot. The door between himself and the exorcist was still open and he could hear a grunt as the bed creaked from a slight movement. The exorcist was more human than those he had encountered; usually silent and mysterious, speaking in a tongue no one remembers and releasing animalistic sounds in battle.

But this one spoke like a human and it reminded him too much of a love gone wrong.

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