An Immortal's Tale

An Immortal's Tale
The Man In The Black Suit
Part 11
"Cry Hallelujah"

The rain was heavy and cold, sticking Jon's shirt to his skin, slathering his hair to his scalp, and washing off the blood that was trying to dry on his face. The end of days. The Cult of Altur'rang was finally going after that which they'd always wanted to accomplish. The immortal's head swam with all the things that could go wrong, all the prophecies that had plagued him for eons, and all the time he'd thought he'd be prepared. He wasn't. That much was clear now. His feet lead him nowhere, night heavy over the city he loved. Lights painted the city in a cascading scene of never ending movement, hiding the still city through a falling curtain of thick drops of water.

This was too big for him, he thought, as he crossed another street. He caught his own reflection in a shop window and he stopped mid stride. He faced the man he'd become, the Paladin, the warrior, the wielder of powers that he was barely coming to understand. His skin was pale in comparison to the dark splotches and dots of blood on his face. Old words of even older priests played like staticy records in his mind and he tried his best to pick out the words he needed, but those were centuries ago. He needed help. Jon wiped the remaining blood from his face with help from the weather and adjusted his coat, turning to a direction, finally.

The Paladin didn't like taking cabs this late, drivers liked to ask questions and he wasn't in the mood to talk. He was to be the one asking questions and he'd get answers. If it killed him. Or if he had to kill. Two hours later he approached the thick mahogany door of the main church of Seattle, knowing documents would be able to spell things out, and knowing the ones guarding them wouldn't be so willing to give them up. It was late, but they'd be up. Jon's eyes focused on the doors before him, reaching out to knock when he saw the sliver of light seeping through the ajar door. Before his hand touched the shattered metal and wood that used to make up a handle he knew what had happened.

The scent of burning paper, cloth, and blood began to tease at the Paladin's nose as he entered the room. Sorrow began to wash through him as he took in the carnage. Gore and pieces of the men that guarded the sacred notes were spread everywhere, over every wall, and dripped from the ceiling. Still smoldering remains of the texts were scattered over the dark floor, not a word left to read. The two tables that were in the room were all but splinters, now, the pillars of stone had deep gouges and burns in them, the walls were missing pieces, too, heavy stones that had been in place for over a hundred years torn out and thrown around like they weighed less than nothing.

As Jon walked amongst the chaos, saying silent prayers for the men that had guarded this sacred tomb to find their way to heaven he came across something he didn't expect: a survivor. The boy couldn't have been older than fourteen years old, one arm ripped off completely, one leg cut off at mid-thigh, and the other at the knee, his middle torn open so badly his bottom ribs shown through like white fluorescent lights coated in red. The boy's face was lily white, decorated with his own viscera, eyes wide and pleading with Jon as he reached up with his only intact appendage. The immortal knelt down beside him, holding the clammy, cold, hand of the young man. "What's your name?" The boy's breathing was slow and ragged, like his speech, "My...name....is......Augustus..." Jon kept his face black and stern as he spoke, "Can you tell me, in a few words what happened?" Augustus nodded, his breath quickening, "The cult...destroyed.....all.....said...Paladin...must go....to.....to.......Bethlehem...if....to stop.....end..." Jon nodded his understanding, comforting the boy and giving him his final rights. "Please....stay...with....me?" Again Jon could only nod.

Jon walked away from the massacre that had been left for him, a message, and a demand. Augustus had only lasted another minute or so after he asked the immortal to stay with him until he went to heaven. Rage burned hot and hard, making his very skin feel like a pan left upon a stove for too long. He could only see red, but his reflexes were on high alert. He felt the pack of demons in front of him before he saw them. Six of them, all large, dangerous, armed and muscular, and all aiming to do him harm. The first one spoke, "We know of the Cult's plan. And we know how you plan to end it. We're here-" Jon's temper flared and he could hold his tongue no more, "And you're all here to throw yourself upon the mantle of sacrifice through a bloody and brilliant death..." The red, glowing eyes of all six demons narrowed at the man standing in the rain and threatening them, they must have thought him mad. The half dozen of them stood, full fledged demons, each near seven feet tall, each with arms thicker than the man's waist and accentuated with horns running the length of them, all in a state of amused shock.

Despite their muscular body their face was skeletal, skin from a conquered and eaten human stretched across it, held in place by several smaller horns all over their heads. The leader of the creatures spoke again. "You'll be the one to die, Paladin. We're full demons. Not petty little things that you've dealt with before." Jon's eyes finally found them, unblinking in the rain, and his voice lowered to a near growl, "And just the same I pronounce you guilty for betrayal of the truce. I sentence you to death. Now. DIE!" Muscles fueled with emotion launched the man forward, towards the new threat. Axes and swords, along with daggers, guns, and glowing orange power were unleashed and put to work. At the end of it all the immortal stood above a demon crawling away, all but one of it's limbs either ripped or shot off.

With each grunt of effort the thing pulled itself away from it's would-be murderer. Jon's heavy breathing was illustrated with each huff into the cold air, turning each one into a cloud of white. The victorious Paladin walked to the shoulder of the thing and with his foot turned it over onto it's back. "Finish me!" It growled at him. "I have something much more creative in store for you. What's your name, demon?" The thing answered with a growl. Jon's foot smashed down upon one of it's severed limbs. "What's your name?" He asked again as the thing screamed into the rain and the night, both which had seemed to have to turned their backs upon the seem, falling and existing in silence to the horror happening. The foot twisted, eliciting more of the creature's yellow blood to pour forth, making the point that he would not ask again. "JASSIOUS!!!"

With his answer the Paladin straddled the creature's shoulders and took it's head in his hands, staring deep into it's red eyes with his gold-rimmed grey ones. "And the fallen of Mark, Emmanuel, and Bauptiste, shall find their place in heaven. Jassious, I, Paladin Jonathan Ross, forgive your soul it's sins..." The demon began pleading, screaming and struggling, but to no avail. "And with that forgiveness give you permission to enter the gates of heaven. Cry hallelujah unto me and be saved, Jassious." "Never!" Jon's thumbs slid up and began to press into the demon's eyes, "Cry hallelujah unto me and be saved!" Another denial came as the eyes began to give way under the pressure. "SAY IT! CRY HALLELUJAH!" At last the beast did, over and over again. White light banished the night for a moment, blinding any who bore witness and the demon Jassious was gone.

The Paladin knelt in the mud, letting this new rage he'd found settle into him, become a part of him. He burned the five other bodies and went on his way, after a while. It was clear and obvious what he had to do. With a heavy sigh he found his feet and began walking again, rage giving way to sadness and solemnity. Morning broke in the Seattle International Airport and a young, blonde woman greeted Jon, "How can I help you?" He wanted to smile, to return her beaming look, but he couldn't. "One ticket to Bethlehem, please." As she nodded he turned to the TV playing the news nearby, reporting that a part of the world was burning, the sky was red as blood. The last image that flashed across the screen before Jon turned away was a man, bleeding from his head, holding a sign that said 'The End Is Nigh'.

Hail To The King (Original Short)

He was beautiful. The way he moved on stage, his hips, his hair, the way his eyes concentrated on the words flowing from to the microphone to the crowd. She'd watched him on the television, heard him on the radio. His voice was so wonderful. With her heightened senses she could feel the timber of it rumbling through her every time a song came on. She knew months ago that she had to have him.

She was in the concert, now, watching him. Her bright, blue eyes were hidden behind wing tipped glasses, but it didn't matter, he would notice her. The crowd screamed loudly at the first notes of the next song, so deafening was it, she actually cringed from the pain. Her slender, pale hand pushed back the mane of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder as she was pushed closer to the stage. In her two hundred plus years on this plane she had never lost her cool, she wouldn't start now.

She wasn't human. Not even close. She appeared to be one, when she chose, beautiful and come-hither, but she was not what she looked like. She was a predator. Something ancient and evil, according to scriptures, and she fed on the life-force of men. She had had a few females, but the men were all so much better. She loved their essences, their strength, their taste. It fueled her. THEY fueled her. And their screams, when she finally showed them her true self were the dessert at the end of the meal. She wondered, idly, if he'd scream.

She stood among the crowd of females, generic compared to her. She was beautiful. Her long, black hair cascaded down to her hips, her breasts were large and her waist thin. The curve of her hips into her slender thighs usually drew eyes away from her perfect face with alabaster skin. She had a perfect smile hidden behind plump lips. At first glance no man or woman could tell her succubi true form lurking beneath the polished surface of her flawlessness.

The concert raged on, not a dull moment, every girl in the crowd becoming hoarse and sweaty from their screaming and jumping and pleading. Some stood with quivering lips, their make up smeared down their cheeks as they wept from joy at seeing him. She smiled coolly to herself, knowing she'd have him and they'd be left wanting. Despite her nefarious plot she let herself enjoy the music, the band behind him, the guitars. But it was his voice. Oh his voice awakened something deep inside her, a lust she'd not felt in years.

The night drew to a close and the crowd began shuffling out. She stayed calm and smoothed down her skirt, primped her hair, made sure the bright red lipstick on her thick lips was flawless. The she began her plan. She walked to the nearest security man and introduced herself. Her name didn't matter. They all fell under her spell. One after another they let her deeper and deeper backstage. Finally she reached the door she had dreamed of for months. She knocked.

The white door with the golden star upon swung open. He smiled at her. She tried to act shy, let her cheeks flush at the sight of him. His black hair in disarray and his lopsided smile made it easy. She looked up at him and smiled back coyly, giving her name. Her spell had already trapped him in her web. After looking her once over he introduced himself as she walked inside and the door closed behind her, "Well hello, miss. I'm Elvis Presley."

For Vixi

The Blade Of The Princess Part 1 of 2. (Original Short)

Her sword cleaved through another one of the giant rodents with ease, severing bone, sinew, and muscle. She wouldn't stop until she had eradicated them. There were dozens of them, coming from all directions of the dark and misty woods. Her armor saved her, as did a protection spell. She spotted the next assailants in her peripheral vision, and let the power she had inside herself awaken and collect in her left hand, the one without the short sword. As fast as thought, a ball of liquid flame appeared in her upturned palm and she flung it at the half-dozen fanged creatures. Though the ball of fire - that could burn any living thing down to the bone in seconds - was near her, she ignored it. She was raised with magic, and it was a part of her. The creatures that looked like giant rats with equally giant, gnashing teeth, burst into flames and screamed a horrible death.

She again began slashing, tearing, ripping through the hordes with her sword, throwing balls of flame and air so compressed it was as thick as steel and sharp as any blade. Soon the threat was no more than gore and ash. Sweat slicked her body, pushed to its limits. Her breathing was rapid and deep, sucking in thick, cold air and pushing it out with effort. Her bare thighs tingled from a slight breeze sifting through the thick woods, her neckline sharing the same sensation as she sheathed her sword. Pulling back bright auburn hair, the fleeting wind cooled her slightly. Her breast plate was heavy, and the thick leather belt round her waist weighed down by the enchanted blade was chafing. Her boots, that reached to her knees, were sweaty. Adding insult to injury, she was covered in blood and fur from her encounter. She wanted to feel clean again, but the nearest town was a day's journey in the opposite direction, and she needed to press on.

With an exhausted sigh, K'anda, the princess of Zhu'ul, started down the long path ahead. Mid-morning sun beat heavily down on her little trail. Her mind was put to the task ahead of her: find a king for her land. Men were of short commodity, sold as slaves, as womankind ruled the lands freely. The last great war was waged and many of the men in her land, and the surrounding kingdoms, were destroyed. Though the war happened years before she was born, the tales were heavy with her people. Old, silver-haired females would share them, telling of the fire that fell from the heavens and burned the lands. Of the monuments that stood proud and symbolized so many things, but were now ashes and rubble. Though she was a day's walk from it, K'anda decided to visit the 'Lake of a Thousand Eyes,' something her elders suggested she do before she wed.

The air was sweet with blooming flowers and the rains that had come days before. Her gold eyes scanned the landscape for threats as the trees gave way to an open field with a dirt trail cut through it. She kept her pace steady, not letting the grand and flat nature of the new terrain spook her. Off in the distance she glimpsed huge, yellow glowing eyes in the dusky tree line that belonged to Leviathan Owls. They were the size of a full-grown man, but could sometimes easily double that. They hunted what they wanted, and hunters were quick and full of pride to show off if they'd ever killed one. The afternoon came in heavy with more sunlight and dark clouds on the horizon. It would rain tonight, and she was still a half day's travel to the Agaden mountain village where she'd choose her mate.

The field she walked in was wide, but the woods bordered it with menacing stature. The forest had been cleared to let people travel without fear of the vicious things lurking behind the giant trees with dark bark. K'anda kept walking, knowing that a wayward house had to be somewhere near. Huts that travelers had set up to stay in for the night were mostly deplorable hovels, but it was better than chancing an encounter with a Moon Wolf. These bloodthirsty creatures bore glowing red eyes, fur as black as coal, and were three times the size of a large dog. Thinking of them made her eyes sweep the waist-tall grass again, coming to rest on a sign that indicated the direction to nearest hut, the Lake of a Thousand Eyes, and the Agaden village. With another, more careful look, she discerned the path to the lake cut through the grass. With quiet resolve, K'anda made the choice to head down it.

The path took the princess through another section of woods, though this time the rodents of unusual size didn't mar her journey. She ate apples picked off low-hanging branches that were brown and sweet with a cinnamon flavor. Red, green, and yellow peppers wrapped in mint leaves the size of her palm supplemented the apples. Although content with a full stomach, she still stank of sweat and blood from her morning encounter. The sky darkened to a bruised red with streaks of yellow and pink swashed through it, while the sun sank behind distant, snow-capped mountains. As she walked, the air changed from arid and sweet to thick and moist. The lake was not far and she would have to spend the night there, hopefully in an empty shanty of a fisherwoman who had long forgotten it.

Finally the dark trees broke on to white sand, and a lake that seemed to have no end. The stars had just begun to shine by the time she'd reached the Lake of a Thousand Eyes. The still water was like glass, reflecting each of the bright stars above. She looked to the left and right, but saw no land on either side, just more water. Along the shore of the monstrous lake sat simple huts, each with one window glowing orange from a carefully lit fire. Though the lake was more than beautiful as it was now, shining like diamonds strewn across black velvet, it wasn't the reason for its name. The miracle of the name came from what happened at dawn, and only to those brave enough to swim or row out onto the waters.

Smoke from the fires built white pillars into the darkening sky, and she used them as landmarks to find one without an occupant. The door swung in with little effort, revealing an iron stove with a chimney, a small bed with a straw mat for a mattress and a single window facing east. The door had a latch on the inside, but the window didn't open. Until then K'anda hadn't noticed how exhausted she was, so the dirty bed looked more fine and comforting by the moment. She swung the stove door open and discovered still burnable pieces of wood inside. Like flexing a muscle, she brought forth the power residing deep inside her and collected it in her palm, tossing the small ball of flames into the hearth to ignite the wood. It immediately caught and she now had an orange hue around the small shanty to go about her business. Though she wanted to throw herself onto the straw mattress, she knew she'd regret not removing her armor and boots first.

The process was quick and well-practiced; soon her sword, belt, leather skirt and chest piece sat across from the bed under the window, alongside her boots. Only white underthings that she wore for modesty remained. The night was cooling rapidly, so she was thankful for the small fire and stove to fight off the chill. The straw mat poked her with coarse fibers and rough straw, but it was more comfortable than she could imagine due to her level of exhaustion. With a long sigh, she let sleep take her. K'anda swam through dreams of her childhood, her sisters, and the palace that awaited her return. Her mother's face, warm and smiling, framed in black hair, and decorated with ice-blue eyes, was the last image she saw before she was jerked awake by screams.

The eyes of the Princess Warrior from Zhu'ul snapped open. She was quickly on her feet and running, undoing the latch and flying out the door onto the wet sand. The moon was high and illuminated the shore perfectly. The ground beneath her feet shook, and the sound of timber cracking and splintering apart filled the air. The shanty two over from hers had been smashed by a giant tentacle. Her gold eyes traced the offender back to its owner and saw the monstrosity: A squid. A squid twice the height of the tallest tree she'd seen today had come ashore to plunder the small, wood shacks. The inhabitants of the shore fled the oncoming attack. It seemed the stories of giants living in the lake were true. K'anda was glad she didn't try to swim the glassy waters at night.

Her royal ancestry provided her with magic. Her kind were rare, and treasured by their parents. That was why, though she was not the eldest, she would be queen of her land. She clenched her jaw with the effort and her arms followed, calling forth powerful lightning that danced down her tanned skin, from shoulder to clenched fist. Her eyes firmly fixated on the target to receive the lethal dose. This was the opposite of flexing her muscles. She relaxed them, using the well-practiced aim she had to direct the bolts flying from her outstretched fingertips to the creature. With a loud 'crack' the night lit up like high noon and her aim proved true. The ground, water, and air shook with the deep bellow of the creature as the white lightning danced from the big burn spot it had just received.

The squid slowly turned its giant, spade-shaped head and body toward the offender, tentacles slamming down on the beach, sending shocks and waves of sparkling sand into the air. Black orbs that were the creature's eyes saw her, standing alone in her white slip of a shirt and panties. She flexed again, bringing forth more power to lay another bolt into the thing, when she was distracted by the four women running in her direction. Calling out a warning, it came too late. A giant tentacle smashed down upon them, their screams interrupted, and cut short. The white sand that flew up was stained with red, trails of sinew and entrails connected the massive appendage to the beach below as it was retracted.

Fury fed her powers, the lightning dancing across her skin turned from white to red, this time. K'anda screamed as she let fly the lethal power, twice as large as the last. It tore across the light brown skin of the squid, leaving a huge gouge. High-pitched whines emitted from the monster as it accepted its defeat and started to slink back into the lake, its cries and moans carrying across the shore. The princess wondered how many had died. In the middle of the chaos of the people, screams, and darkness, it was impossible to tell.

A moon tired of the violence below slowly began to hide behind heavy clouds, and then the rain came: heavy and hard. The ice cold droplets felt good, but she was still tired, and now more so. She walked slowly back to her cabin to let the rain wash off a little of the muck and grime she was covered in. After hanging her things to dry, she went back to sleep, dreaming of what was to come.

Dawn broke through the tiny window, the fire in the hearth dead. She climbed up to consciousness, fighting to come awake. She had to move fast if she were to witness the miracle. She donned her underthings and tied together the rest of her armor and sword, dragging them down to the dock that stretched deep into the lake. She ignored the red spots of blood on the sand when she left her shack, paid no attention to the smashed shacks that had claimed others while they slept. Instead she concentrated on witnessing the miracle. Giant, dark shapes unidentifiable on the surface swam through the crystal-clear waters below. They sought shelter from the coming sun. It was a dangerous time, but she took a deep breath and plunged off the side, into the frigid waters.

Her long, muscular legs pumped and her arms pushed her down, fish and all other manners of creature moving out of her way as she descended. It would happen soon. Then she saw it. The reason for the name of the lake. A giant stone square, still a ways down from her, but large enough to be easily seen. It was gigantic. The stone turned brown and green from the algae under the water, but still some grey parts shone through. There were countless squares cut into the stone face of the giant, dark and staring at their visitor. Then the rays of the sun caught up and suddenly the squares was shining bright, each one giving the sun back its light and with luster. The sight was truly amazing. She marveled at it, drank it in, memorized the details as best she could. Then she noticed the equally giant letters on a rock bed nearby: O, E, T, L, H. She wondered what the word was, originally.

She broke the surface of the lake, gulping in air and finally feeling clean. After calming her breathing she made her way to the dock where her things were. Squeezing excess water from her hair and underthings, she donned her armor and weapon once again. Her duty as the next queen of her land pressed her on. Agaden waited. Her first steps today started the rest of her life. K'anda of Zhu'ul was now near the end of her journey.

An Immortals Tale: Part 6

The Man In The Black Suit
Part 6
"It's Only Stupid If It Doesn't Work"

Jon's body was slow to move, taking it's time to react to the giant sword coming down on him. Even his mind seemed to have taken a small break at this more than crucial moment, not bringing forth anything that was of any use at all. In fact he had to remind himself later why he was thinking of recipes for potato salad later, but now he had to act fast. He did the only thing he figured he could do: Work a hunch. Many years ago Jon heard that even a holy man could control the most demonic of creatures with a gesture of a hand and the right incantation. He dismissed it as stupid. Now he racked his brain to figure out what the incantation was. The whole idea seemed ubsurd but he thought after a second, 'It's only stupid if it doesn't work."

His hand shot out, missing the descending blade by a breath and he made the sign of the cross, backwards. Down to up, right to left, then he shouted as quickly as he could while still being understandable, "Creature of the inferno in the name of The Lord I hereby command thee!" His hand was still pointing at the creature, his eyes wide, muscles tense as rocks, and a heavy sword resting it's razor sharp edge against the crown of his head, just above his hair. The world was paused. Then the sword lifted and the demon before him began to take a knee, begrudgingly as it was, but it complied. Jon laughed like a madman while he scrambled to his feet, trying to get the chalky, white dust off his suit. He squatted before the creature and adjusted his hair, his grey eyes focused intensely.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get those sand grains out of a suit like this? We're going to have a little chat now. Depending on your answers you could either walk away from this or your people can come collect you with a sponge." The demon's eyes were filled with hate and ire, staring at the imoortal as it had to obey every word it was told. "Y....Y-yes....Master..." Jon nodded and let the conversation between two things that should not be begin.

"Who sent you?"
"My clan."
"For revenge?"
"For the honor of justice."
"Because I killed your brother, was it?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Did you know your brother along with five others were at a place with a copy of the Devil's bible and the Spear of Tristen?"
The creature hit it's first wall, "......No. But he was doing his duty to-"
"To the one who abandoned your kind here? To the one that cast you out to be slaughtered on the end of the swords of people like me?"
"........There are things you do not understand..."
"Oh? Like the fact that your kind gets promised a thousand times a day to be sent hom in exchange for your servitude? Or that the Templars still hunt you?"
"Like you know anything, puny human!"
"I'm not human. Far from it. I'm older than your entire race. And I know the promises and the subjugation that your kind has suffered, as well. What's your name?"
"....Krevwath....."
"Okay, Krevwath. Here's the sixty thousand dollar question: What do you know about the ones buying up all the realty the old graveyards stand on?"
"Only one thing...."
"Go on."
"They're human."

Jon stood up and nodded his head, his hand coming up to rub his smoothly shaved chin, deep in thought. Humans mean more trouble than misguided demons and their silly, ancient beliefs. And now he had a solid clue to stand upon as well as the addresses of the graveyards. Money had to be flowing as well as the land moving. He needed to speak to a banker. Usually there'd be some odd nomenclenture that came with the entire banker premise, but this time it was just a banker. Then the issue of the giant, horned, revenge seeking demon at his feet came back around.

Again he squatted before Krevwath and looked deep into the burnt brown eyes of the demon, "You'll not get your revenge today. Or any day. For that matter you no longer serve the one below. You serve me. Now. Go back to your normal life before this quest and I'll summon you when I need you, Krevwath. This is not a mercy. This is my way of showing you the truth of what it is you're claiming to want. Stand and go forth." Jon stood up as did the demon. It stared at Jon for a while then sneered and snorted it's disapproval for all the things Jon had just said. Then it turned, sheathed the giant sword, and walked away.

'Zealots.' Jon thought. 'They make the world blind.' Jon restarted his inturrupted walk to the curb again and his phone chimed, alerting him of new messages. Fingers now wide awake with adrenaline and a mind working a million miles an hour pulled the phone out and checked the newly received news. It was an email from Ricky, the vampiric bartender, with the subject line "Brutal Murder On Capital Street". Jon's face twisted into a puzzled expression as he opened the message and read the first line. Then he froze. The line was plain and easy to read and Jon knew what it meant
.
"Michael Larotche, private banker, gunned down in front of business on capital street."
For once the immortal was behind the line, the enemy a step ahead. And that's never a good way to start a fight. If humanity stood a chance Jon needed to even the odds, and quick. He'd need more than a vial of holy water to do it, so he closed the email and switched to his contact list, scrolled down and hit dial. "Hey there, Peter. I'm going to need some stuff. Be there tonight." He flagged down a passing cab and hung up on the contact named 'Armory'.

An Immortals Tale: Part 5

The man in the black suit

Part 5 

"Sword Fights Are For Romans"

He Waited a long time, the man in the black suit, longer than he thinks he should have. Another sunless day with grey clouds greeted him as he walked out his door, the seven automatic locks clicking shut behind him. With something as big as trying to merge the three kingdoms people behind this would be looking to do a few things and real estate was number one. Can't raise an army of they have somewhere to stand. 

Although he didn't need to Jon enjoyed eating and drinking all the flavors of the world, so on such a big discovery and the possibilities of a lot of people dying he decided to spoil himself a little bit. On a crowded corner of his city there was a very special place for him: Jim's Hot Dog Stand. "A special with everything on it, my good sir." Jon's smile made the very tall and skinny man smile in return, "Jon! Oh this must be a special day if your here. One special with everything coming right up." Jon waited patiently, hoping for rain, for some reason. Jim handed the paper wrapped confection to his customer and refused the money Jon was trying to hand him. 

Jon smiled and sighed, "Really?" Jim's smile was almost child like in innocence. "Okay." Jon thought for a minute then snapped his fingers, "Ah. Okay. There was no second gunner. Oswald acted alone." Jim iclapped once and laughed out loud. "I knew it! Thanks, Jon!" The two men smiled and shook hands and parted ways. 

The tasty treat was quickly devoured and he kept walking. He took out his phone and sent several emails and text messages, some purposefully sent to the wrong recipients to provoke the right reactions. As soon as the mobile device slipped back into his pocket it started chiming and sounding alerts of emails and text messages being received. Jons grey eyes sparkled with mischief and a sly smile crept across his face. Today would be eventful. 

He had to buy time to let the pot stir so he stopped by a local coffee shop. As he stood in line to get his third favorite beverage of choice he checked the contents of his pockets to make sure that he had all he needed. Vial of holy water? Check. Rosary made of the bones of saints? Check. Pocket bible? Check. Gloves of the great alchemist Mikhael? Check. Double mocha coffee with extra espresso? Check. Time to see the messages he's gotten. 

Two denials, three 'have no idea', and five with fingers pointing to one name: Scud. Jon didn't answer the messages, just to keep the pressure up. But. He had a destination and a name. He polished off his coffee and left a generous tip as he walked out. Luckily one of the messages had an address providing a door to knock on. Or kick down. Either way he'd be doing it with a smile. And depending on his reception an apology. 

Outside in the cold air Jon stood still and let the wind wash over him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the chill atmosphere of the city around him fill his lungs. He let it out slow and hailed a cab, enjoying it all. Inside the cab he gave the address and sat still for the 45 minute ride, his body still slightly chilled from the outside. Grey eyes watched the city change from behind the window of the back seat, the cabbie not wanting to make conversation and Jon more than fine with that. 

The streets changed from the crowded and bustling city to that of warehouses and empty bays of half destroyed buildings. He tried hard not to let his mind wander to memories of his life, instead saying small prayers and going through all the ways to defend himself from demons and all the beasties that could be waiting for him. 

47 minutes after he stepped into the cab it slowed to a stop at his destination. Jon handed the man his fare and again tipped heavily. His expensive shoes landed on a gravel road in front of that seemed to be an old garage. The large door and the skeletons of old cars around the premise giving reason to believe garage. The immortal took a moment to gather himself and steady his nerves then approached the door. The handle gave way and the door swung in. 

Inside there stood a single counter with car parts scattered across it, the walls decorates with nails holding various belt loops and fans, and a single person behind the wooden barrier with car signs all over it. He was a tall man, taller than Jon, with a thin and bony frame, an almost shaved head and a prominent nose between two bright purple eyes. The man held up his hands in a surrendering pose and spoke first, "Look, man, I know who you are and I don't want nothing to do with you!" Jon smiled suspiciously and closed the door behind him, walking towards the counter and letting the nervous man do all the talking. 

The man with the name "Scud" sewn on his mechanics shirt backed up hurriedly and nearly tripped over a chair. "I'm serious man, I don't know anything." Jon let his grey eyes lock on the man and kept a stern look on his face. "Come on, man! I'm just a mechanic, here! I got nothing!" The immortal didn't budge. "Alright! Alright! I'll tell you what I know! Just don't...melt me or anything." Jon gestured for the man to sit down at the counter and the man obliged, albeit very nervously. 

"Start singing, Scud." And he did. "Okay. There's some weird stuff going on in the underworld. Like, a lot of new faces trying to buy old relics. And a group of...demons, not like me, man, but real bad dudes, trying to buy up old graveyards." As he spoke he dry-washed his grimy hands over and over, "My garage here is on top of this old....miners graveyard or something and they came here and tried to buy it. I couldn't sell it cause it's the only place my kind can live, and they got mean with me. They started threatening and smashing stuff and so I compromised with them." Jon leaned in and put a bit of authority in his voice, "Compromised how?" 

Scud was taken aback a little bit, nervousness pouring off him in waves, "I told them a list of old graveyards they could probably buy up. That's it, man! I swear!" Jon nodded, seemingly half satisfied with the information, "Okay, Scud, because you're going to write down that same list for me I won't have to subject you to the old method of getting cooperation: A sword duel. And I must warn you. I'm an expert." The mechanic nodded enthusiastically and brought a piece of paper around and started writing quickly. After he was done he handed the information over and quickly backed away from Jon's hand reaching for it. 

The list was folded up and Jon started walking towards the door, ready to exit when Scud's voice came from behind, "Hey...were you really gonna hack me up in a sword fight or something?" Jon paused at the door and turned back, a big smile on his face, "Of course not. Sword fights are for Romans." He stepped out and slammed the door behind himself, proud of not having to resort to violence. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and began answering all those messages he received, sending an 'All clear' to the recipients. 

As he hit 'Send' on the last message and tucked the phone back into his pocket movement ahead of him caught his eye. He looked up just in time to receive a heavy fist to his left cheek so powerful it lifted him off his feet and sent him back a few feet. After Jon coughed out the white dirt from his lungs that the impact sent flying he tried to focus his vision and looked down his body at the owner of the big hand. 

There stood a hooded demon, horns and a flat, pig face barely visible under the heavy robes. Pain radiated slowly from Jon's now bruised cheek to other parts of his face and he struggled to listen to the words that came from the creature. "For my brother fallen under your hand I will eat your soul, immortal." Jon's face twisted with pain as he tried to recover himself, trying to focus his blurred vision on the method of the next attack. 

Metal sung as the beast drew a scimitar from underneath the heavy robes and started closing the distance between itself and the immortal on the ground. Jon's body was still swimming with pain when the demon lifted the heavy blade above its head.