The Devil’S Imperium: Legacy

By Wina K

Chris and his older brother Matt go separate ways during the quest to find their familys murderer. On his journey, Chris comes across Amy, a mysterious girl who possesses the power of healing.

Just when finally they become friends, Chris finds out that Amy has a blood relation with his familys murderer. Now, Chris has to choose between fulfilling his oath and loosing a friend.

When a secret society sends their huntsmen after Amy, while Chris is fallen into a trap that causes him to lose himself to the darkness and becomes evil, the battle begins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467880367

Wina K

Wina K grew up as a farm kid in a small village where she spent her days listening to the urban legends. She became addicted to foreign language since the first time she had an English lesson at age 12 and her interest in stories had grown into an infinite passion that led her to finish her first children book at age 16. Her parents, being farmers, convinced her to give up writing and to work in an office after she got her Diploma. After many years however, as she couldn’t stop loving papers and pen, she started writing again and finally finished her first Fantasy novel in early 2010, The Devil’s Imperium. Her short stories have been published by the local magazines, newspaper and online. She also has won a few competitions and her short stories were compiled with other authors and published into books.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Chris sped up against the wind; the sharp gust snapped at his sweat-soaked face. He saw the dark smoke zooming out from a distance and forced himself to fly faster; his heart raced. He could smell the fire from far away, and a familiar horror filled his chest.

As he flew, he sent a silent prayer that the Lord would spare him from another loss. The wind blew the smoke toward him, and he dove down, spiraling. He was coming down too fast; he couldn’t stop himself from hitting the ground. His backbones cracked at the impact, and he felt himself roll uncontrollably to the ground until he stopped with his face flattened against the dirt. His wings and claws retracted back underneath his skin, leaving him soaked in his own sweat, the soil plastered to his bare chest.

Chris struggled to his feet, spitting the dirt from his mouth. And then he saw a picture out of a nightmare. The wooden house was a glimpse of blur image, collapsing in the ocean of fire. The fire was still dancing fiercely upon the remains, and he dragged himself to the ruins. Like a crazy man, he clawed through the burning wood.

He dug and dug… and dug.

His hands were burned and his nails were torn from his fingers, but he kept digging through the ruins until he found what he’d been searching for.

Parts of them only.

The burnt body of his father was laid before him, a blade in his chest. His little sister was a few feet away from him, her body black and smoky, her long hair was totally burned off, leaving an ashen scalp he dared not touch, afraid he would destroy what was left of her. The fire burned his knees, and his hands buried deep beneath the ashes that he squeezed in his fists.

The sound that came from his mouth was an unearthly scream, breaking the dead silence and wrecking the still summer air, calling for their souls, wishing he could bring them back to life. Hell, he’d trade them with his own soul if he could. He hated to see himself healing more than ever now, wishing they could at least have half of this power to survive.

But they were only human.

And he wasn’t.

His hands were shaking when he gathered his sister’s body and lay her on the dry grass, right beside his father. His eyes were filled with hot tears; he couldn’t see them clearly, or it was the dark clouds that obscured his vision? But when he looked up, he found only the clear summer sky, and he choked back the tears, knowing he would not be able to stop if he let a single drop fall from his eyes.

He stared at the dark corpses of his beloved father and sister; from the corner of his eye he saw his brother, Matt, limping toward them. Matt fell on his knees like Chris had, looking as dead as him. Matt reached out with his bleeding arm, stopping at midair, unable to go further to touch their sister, and Chris heard the same agonized sound he was making as though it was coming from himself. The pain he felt was then doubled with his brother’s; his head fell on his hands, and he sank deeper into his grief.

It was unbearable.

Henry, his foster father, was a good person, a noble man who deserved so much better than a gruesome death. He had given Chris a life he dared not hope for, he had raised him and loved him as his own child. He was his savior. And Elizabeth… his beautiful little sister, she should yet have years to come, a future to reach. God, she was only sixteen. She’d never hurt anyone, she was pure and innocent. He could still hear her voice in his head, he could still see her face twisted with anguish when he told her he would leave.

And he realized he would never be able to see her again.

It was suddenly cold.

He felt cold and alone.

Chris and Matt buried their father and sister with bleeding hearts, a pure rage filled in their chests with every single drop of soil they spilled on their graves. Chris watched his hands pour the dirt, one clump at a time, like he was in someone else’s nightmare. It hurt more than he could imagine, and he figured if there was a hell, then this was it.

Then he cursed.

He cursed the day he was born.

Cursed the day the hell opened.

Cursed every single damage his existence had brought upon this world.

Cursed himself for being what he was.

And then he felt ashamed, more than he could bring himself to tell. Ashamed at hating himself, for his mother had risked her life for him. For she had betrayed hell itself to love him, treating him like an angel when he was nothing more than a devil.

He stood stonily like a lifeless statue at the fresh graves, repeating their names in his head over and over. His mother, father, and sister. Their memories would haunt him for the rest of his life, filling his days with guilt and sorrow. What else was left? He had left them, hoping to keep them from the curse he’d been carrying. Yet here he was, standing before their graves, mourning for eternity.

He had failed them.

How could he ever say that he was once a part of their life, for he was the reason they were all dead? He was the reason for every single scar they had and every single nightmare they endured. He was nothing more than a doom to those who were closed to him.

He felt like he was death itself.

He wished he could die with them.

He begged the Lord to take his life.

And end the suffering for good.

A strong hand on his shoulder jerked him up, and he turned to find Matt standing right next to him. He had not yet treated his wound, and Chris could feel his warm blood against his skin. They both were shaking with grief, anger, and despair. Their eyes bore into each other’s souls.

Chris saw what he didn’t see before. He saw his own reflection in Matt’s eyes, and he knew they both looked the same. Their faces were a mask of horror, filled with hatred and pure rage. Apart of the engulfing sorrow and the wrecking agony at the loss of their family. Chris found the fire.

Matt’s eyes were telling him in silence, but he could hear it in his mind like he had said it out loud:

Revenge.

I won’t let the bastards get away with this, Matt said, his voice full of fury. Are you with me, brother?

For a moment, Chris froze.

Brother, the word echoed in his head, and for the first time Chris saw that he meant it. He saw a brother in him as he felt the same rage rushing in his veins as Matt’s. They’d lost the people they loved today, and all they had left was each other.

Chris stood like one who was condemned. He released a shaky breath and swallowed. If his mother was watching from above, she would be disappointed. For he let the hatred take control. For he wanted to be evil, for he was going to shed blood with his hands, willingly. At the moment, he didn’t care. Let him be the devil, let the monster inside him win for once. Let hell laugh at its winning, for Matt was right.

He was right, no one that committed such a terrible crime should escape and live a happy life.

It was unforgivable.

And they must be punished.

Chris placed his hand upon Matt’s, and then with the same tone as his, he said, Let’s go.

He would hunt them down, annihilate them.

Every last one of them.

CHAPTER 1

Winter had brought chill upon the day; it snowed heavily at dawn and had only stopped a moment ago. Roads, trees, and rooftops were covered in white.

It was a little odd for Chris to see people buried under the thick layers of their furry coats, because he wasn’t. A plain white t-shirt and a worn-out jeans were his only protection from the cold. But Chris wasn’t anywhere near cold. He glanced sideways at a man who walked past him, looking puzzled at his choice of clothes.

With a low grunt, he dropped his backpack on his feet, pulled out a hand-knitted sweater, and put it on; he did not want to draw any more attention to his presence.

He flung his pack on his left shoulder and resumed walking through the railroad. It was nearly afternoon. He realized he had not yet gotten himself any food since the morning, but it didn’t matter, what he was doing was far more important. Matt must have been doing the same during the search for the Saints, a secret legion that hunted demons all over the world in their mission for peace. This was the very same legion responsible for the death of Chris and Matt’s family. Chris had been searching for months, but so far he had found no sign of the secret group. None.

They were well hidden; some simply simply lived and disguised among normal people. The man entering the hardware shop could be one of them, or the boy riding a bike; it could be anyone. The last couple of days, he had begun to think it was impossible to find them, and he thought of showing himself to draw them out. That was the best plan he could think of, even though he didn’t like the idea, not a single bit. But if that was what it took to bring them out, to give him a chance to release his lust for vengeance, then it must be done.

Chris had lost his mother when he was only nine, a very young age to lose someone so important. The worst part was, he had witnessed her murder with his very own eyes, memorizing every detail of it. It had become a part of him, had forged him into a strong boy far before his time. He would have been alone after her death if not for Henry, who had raised him like his own son. If Henry hadn’t taken Chris in, he might still be alive; for all Chris knew, the Saint who killed Henry had been looking for him. Henry had risked his life and his children by saving him. For years, they had lived in fear, moving from one place to another, escaping the hunters.

Henry had given him a life he dared not hoped for, a life with love and joy of being in a family. He became his father and also his teacher; he taught him how to live and how to love, he showed him right from wrong, just like his mother had done during her time. For once, Chris had a life, a home, a family. He had a father to call upon and a brother to play with, although Matt wasn’t someone you could play with or talk to. He was more of a lone ruler, giving orders and making rules for others. He would rather beat someone to death than show a little affection, something Chris could not fully understand. He knew that Matt was a good person inside; he had his own way of caring, of protecting. Chris thought that the only reason Matt did not show what he truly felt was because he didn’t want to look weak. Henry agreed with this.

Then there was Elizabeth, their little sister, who always knew how to make Chris laugh, even in his darkest hours. She would have grown into a very beautiful young lady, if only she had lived. If only those people who called themselves Saints hadn’t killed her and Henry.

The day Chris left the house, intending to give them a new life without fear of being hunted, was a day that would haunt him for the rest of his life. They were killed that day, when he was nowhere near them, and he still blamed himself for it. Matt failed to come to their aid on time, and Chris knew that he, too, felt the same burden of guilt as he did.

The more he remembered what had passed, the more furious and depressed he became, and it wasn’t a good thing. It was bad, very bad. The anger became overwhelming, and his body reacted instantly. Trembling with fury, blue lines started appearing under his skin, along his arm and down to his wrist, reaching his fingers, where his nails grew into claws.

He tried to suppress the anger by picturing the smile on his sister’s face, to maintain control of himself before someone saw what was happening. It wouldn’t do him any good to be seen changing form in the crowd at the center of the town. Rushing to the narrow alley, he repeatedly inhaled and exhaled, pushing all the disturbing thoughts away from his mind. It was nearly impossible.

Desperately, he looked for a distraction to prevent him from revealing himself in all too soon. The noise from the nearby vehicles mingled with shuffling boots and the chattering of people rushing around, eager to get to their destination and escape the winter chill. His breathing became more even as he walked down the quiet alley.

He slowed down his breathing as he stared blankly at his own shoes, walking with his head down. The play of afternoon light hit his tall features, creating a misshapened shadow.

Chris dropped his pack in the empty alley, leaning his back on a cracked, dirty wall with a huff. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and tilted his head back, thumping it once against the wall with a frustrated sigh.

That was when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a school bus speeding uncontrollably down the road and then crashing into a shop. People screamed in panic and ran out of the shop; the bus crashed through a wide window, shattering it into a million little pieces, destroying almost half of the shop before it stopped. Chris could see the kids trying to get out of the bus, their hands pounding desperately against the windows and pushing at the emergency door, but it wouldn’t open. A couple of men were trying to break the door open by kicking it, with no luck. The fuel tank was leaking, and a strong smell of gas filled the air. If the bus caught fire, all the kids would be caught in it.

Chris hesitated for a moment, but then a girl ran to the shop, grabbed a rock from the rubble, and smashed one of the bus’s windows with it. Chris knew that he was about to get himself in trouble, but he decided to come to her aid anyway. He ran to her side, clearing the broken glass to make an exit, and pulling out the kids one by one.

A spark of fire lit the back of the bus.

In a split second, a loud explosion hurled him and the girl backward, throwing them and two other rescuers into the street. Screams rang through the air, as the bus was engulfed in flames. Chris could feel the heat of the fire on his face. He didn’t like fire, every time he saw one, he was reminded of his mother, his father, and his sister, and his heart cried out in agony.

With no time to think, Chris jumped through the flames and snatched open the bus door. It cracked painfully and nearly dropped off its hinges. The kids crawled out the doorway as other people rushed to help them out.

The others are still trapped inside!

The girl’s voice nearly made him jump, but he made no reply. Instead, he rushed through the doorway. Two girls were lying unconscious, and a boy was trapped under a broken seat. His legs were pinned, and blood poured from his open wound. His watery eyes found Chris’s, and he mouthed the words Help me before he fell limp.

The fire continued to devour the bus. One girl’s skirt was hooked on something; he couldn’t pull her out. He struggled to yank her free, tearing the thick fabric of her skirt as he did so, and dragged both girls out the door. Without so much as a breath, he covered his head and went back through the fire to get the boy.

The boy’s thigh was impaled by a sharp edge of the steel seat, and he was buried beneath the twisted wreckage of a row of seats. Chris gripped the bottom of the mess and thrust them aside. He carefully pulled the boy free from the seat edge, the fire dancing fiercely toward them. He took a deep breath before lunging forward and carrying him out of the fire. As he stumbled through the doorway, he fell onto the ground as someone pulled the boy from his grip.

Help him! he heard someone shout, and then he could hear the sirens wail. The firefighters arrived, along with the police. Chris coughed a couple of times; someone had covered his sweater with a thick wet cloth to protect him from the flames. There was a hiss, followed by an awful smell as the fire was extinguished. He closed his eyes as he realized that he just destroyed one of his treasures; his little sister had made him that sweater, and it had been very precious to him.

With another grunt, he snatched back his pack and started to move on, wanting to get away from there as fast as possible.

A soft hand grabbed him unexpectedly, and he turned to see a pair of golden eyes looking into his blue ones; his gaze dropped onto their clasped hands. The girl pulled her hand back.

Sorry, she said, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you need to get that stitched.

She pointed at his left arm. He didn’t remember getting cut, but he knew that the blood running down his upper arm was all that was left; his wound had sealed itself perfectly. He was glad that the girl didn’t notice. She still stood there, staring at him with a frown on her face. Her golden hair fell out from beneath her hat, some of the locks plastered to her face, but even with the sweat and dirt, Chris thought he had never seen such a beautiful girl before.

I’m fine. It’s nothing, he said, rubbing his face with the tip of his sleeves.

That was very brave.

I can say the same to you.

The girl smiled at this. He had seen her run toward the bus with a rock in her hand before he had a chance to help.

Chris didn’t like the look she was giving him, it was too kind. He didn’t like her smile either, it was too sincere; no one had ever smiled at him like that, and it made him feel uneasy. He had caused himself trouble by helping to rescue the kids, and he wanted to leave. The girl started searching through her bag for something. She pulled out her handkerchief and was about to hand it to him, but when she looked up, he had disappeared.

•     •     •

Amy gave up after she could not see Chris anywhere around; she used her handkerchief to wipe her own face and then slid it back into her bag before she started walking back home, ignoring the calls from the people around her.

She walked toward her house, hoping her parents were not home yet. They would be terrified to see her bruised hands and torn shirt. It was Friday, and her dad had told her he would be home early from the office. She thought of a plan. They normally sat in the living room, watching TV. She could sneak in the back door and go down the hallway to her room without them seeing her. Or if they’re in the kitchen, she could easily use the front door instead.

When she reached her house, she looked through the kitchen windows and thanked all the good things in the world that her parents were both there, cooking.

Amy carefully turned the doorknob and crept through the front door. It swung open without a sound, and she was thankful that her dad kept the hinges well oiled. She took off her shoes and walked up the soft, carpeted stairs toward her bedroom.

Amy, is that you?

She was only halfway to her room when Mary called out. Amy gasped sharply as she heard her mother coming out of the kitchen to check on her.

Yeah, it’s me, Mom! she called, rushing up to her room; she threw her shoes inside and grabbed a jacket to cover her torn and dirty shirt.

Honey, why are you late? I thought you said you’d be back at four, her mother asked from the bottom of the stairs, still holding a wooden spoon in her hand. Why are you wearing that jacket? I thought you wore the green one this morning. And what happened to your hair?

No, I wore this one. You must have forgotten. She skipped down the stairs and gave a little peck on her mother’s cheek. Dad’s cooking today? she asked, heading to the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

Hi Dad! Amy said with a smile.

Patrick opened the jumbo-size oven before turning to look at her. Hi honey, he answered, pulling a big turkey out of the oven. The smell made Amy’s mouth water. Her father was indeed a good cook.

Wow! Are we having a party? she teased. She moved toward the turkey and measured its size with both hands, and then placed her hands against her stomach. Both her parents laughed.

Your dad invited some friends for dinner. Mary wiped her hand with the dry cloth above the sink before she circled her arm around Amy’s waist.

Mmm, Amy said, nodding. If they don’t finish this turkey, they will want to take the rest back home, ’cause it smells like the best roasted turkey ever.

Patrick laughed at this.

I’ll go upstairs and get cleaned up then, Amy said, skipping up the stairs one at a time to her room. The door closed with a soft click, and she leaned there for a good long minute before she took off the jacket and went to the bathroom.

She turned on the shower and started stripping off her dirty clothes while waiting for the water to get warm. The shirt and jacket were burnt in some places; she would have to throw them away so that her parents would never know what had happened. She stared at the jacket for a moment. It was her favorite. She traced her fingers on the thick material as if telling it that she was sorry, then she stuffed it into a plastic bag before stepping under the running water.

She winced a little as the warm water flowed over the bruises on her hand; she slowly washed her skin with the soap and rinsed off the dirt.

Something suddenly flickered at the back of her mind. Something about the accident, and the guy. That guy who had helped the kids escape the burning bus.

She blinked. She remembered when he tore the door open simply by pulling its handle. She knew the sharp steel edge had given him a deep gash, but he didn’t even flinch. He hadn’t even given the paramedic a chance to tend his wound. What is he hiding? Amy thought to herself.

•     •     •

Good girl, Patrick mumbled after Amy headed up to her room. Do you think she looks normal, just like other girls her age? he asked Mary in a whisper.

Of course she’s normal. She’s our daughter, Patrick! Mary protested through gritted teeth.

You know what I mean. He sighed, clenching both hands on the edge of the table. He bit his lower lip, his face suddenly cloudy. She always acts normal around us; she thinks we don’t know anything, when it’s the other way around. We’re the ones who have been lying to her all along.

Mary took a step closer and lightly squeezed his hand. Stop it, Patrick, don’t let her suspect anything. Don’t you want Amy to be as happy as other girls?

Of course I do, Mary. You know I do. I love her like my own daughter.

You better shut it and help me set the table before your babbling causes us any trouble!

Ugh, you’re so fussy, Mary, he muttered as he stacked the Tupperware on the table. And I like that, he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

Oh, cut it out, she snapped, but she couldn’t hid the blush on her cheeks.

Patrick pulled her to him, and without knowing who started first, they were kissing.

They heard a noise and jumped apart to find Amy leaning on the door frame; a soft giggle escaped from her mouth.

Oh, I didn’t ruin the moment, did I? she asked, watching her parents.

Gimme a break! Mary huffed, looking away.

Come on, you don’t have to do that every time I catch you two together. I’m not a little girl anymore. She bulged both eyes on them, hands on her hips.

Patrick laughed. Oh, Amy… He kissed the top of her head gently, and she placed her hands around his waist.

Mary made a face as she looked at them. You’re not going to say that you have a boyfriend, are you? she asked incredulously. Because I really don’t like that boy Darren who keeps calling while he seems to be chewing something.

Amy laughed. It’s Warren, mum. And he only calls because he’s my science lab partner and we have a paper to write together. Besides, why would I need a boyfriend when I have the two of you? she said playfully as Patrick held her tighter.

Mary shook her head, a smile twitching at the edge of her lips. Amy helped them prepare the dinner, while her mind went back to the boy at the accident scene; she wondered if she would ever see him again.

CHAPTER 2

The thick coffee tasted bitter, but Chris didn’t want to add any sugar. He liked it that way, it helped him clear his mind. He almost told Matt about the plan the other night, but he decided to wait for another couple of days, to see what he might find in this town. He had sensed something odd, something that seemed out of place, but he couldn’t decipher what it was. He had a feeling he was about to find out soon.

It was his second day in East Haven, New Hampshire, his second day of searching in a new place. He came because of a rumor that the legion was in this town; he hoped it was the Saints. He took another sip of his coffee and watched the people come and go. He watched as customers ordered breakfast, as they ate, and as they left tips for the waitresses. Sometimes he met the gaze of other customers; it never lasted long before they looked away from his cold stare, and he hid his smile. They feared him. They should.

A flow of golden hair passed by.

Chris straightened his back; it was the girl from yesterday. She came into the diner with another girl, who was giggling at what she said. They took a table in the center of the room, the only one that was empty. Time for him to go, he thought.

As he stood up, he felt an odd tingle, and it came from the girl. He froze. In the slightest gesture, with her back to him, he saw her fingertip brush the stem of the flower in the crystal vase on her table, and the magic happened. The withered flower came back to life, its fading color refreshed as it became a fresh bloom. He could see the faint glow of energy flow from her finger before she drew it back. Her friend sitting with her didn’t see it, she was busy looking at the menu; no one else saw it, no one but him.

For a moment, he stared at her back, wondering at what she just did. He swallowed. He knew that he had found a reason to stay longer in that town, but there was also a new problem behind it. As he finally left the diner, his only thought was to find out who the girl was.

•     •     •

That guy was looking at you, Jennifer said as she stirred her strawberry milkshake, a small smile on her face. He’s a charmer; too bad he left. She made a slurping sound as she drank from the straw.

Amy put a small piece of pancake into her mouth, chewing slowly while she read a book. She took another bite, and another one, while she kept reading until Jennifer snatched the book from her hand and placed it on the table in front of her.

Did you hear what I said?

Yes, of course I did. Amy offered a smile. Have you forgotten what I told you before? I’ve heard enough talk about guys at school, more than you know, and you promised that you would stop talking about that subject.

Jennifer sat back on her chair but said no more, and the rest of the lunch passed quietly. When they finished, they stood up to leave; Amy waved to the girl at the counter.

Bye, Casey, she said, and the girl returned a smile. Amy often went there for lunch, and she knew Casey quite well. The two girls walked out and went their separate way.

Amy put a scarf around her neck, It was colder than before; she could see her own breath as she walked to the bus stop. Snowflakes were falling gently on her shoulders and onto her hair; she brushed them off with her hands. She thought she should have brought a warmer jacket, as the bus stop was still a hundred yards away and the snow was falling heavier. Looking down at the sidewalk covered in snow, her mind drifted back to the accident. When it happened, she didn’t know how she would react, but she was glad that she helped. She thought of the guy with the blue eyes and wondered where he was. She got into line at the bus stop, still thinking about him.

When the bus came, all the people in line rushed inside; there was no room for Amy, so she decided to wait for the next one. She clasped her hands together, blowing her warm breath onto them. Two boys walked up to the bus stop and sat on either side of her, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

Hey, hot chick. What are you doing out here alone? one of the boys said, putting his hand on her knee. The other one laughed, snapping chewing gum in his mouth.

Amy looked up at them. They were only schoolboys, probably the same age as her. She was thinking of how to answer them back without causing any trouble; she didn’t like the way they looked at her.

I don’t want any trouble, okay? Amy said as she raised her hand in front of her chest; her voice was calm.

Hey, we just wanna talk to you. The tall one held out his hand and said, I’m Nick.

Amy was about to take his hand when she heard a cold voice speaking from behind her.

That won’t be necessary, the voice said. She’s with me.

She could tell from the boys’ faces that they had been frightened by the warning; they drew back and left the bus stop, crossing the road in a rush.

Amy held her breath and turned to look at who had spoken. She broke into a smile when she saw the blue-eyed boy from the accident. She had recognized his voice but she wasn’t sure it was him.

Thank you, she said, looking into his eyes. He awkwardly returned her smile with one of his own.

I’m Amy. She held out her hand to him. He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it. His hand was warm and strong; she liked the feel of it.

Chris, he answered, withdrawing his hand and shoving it into his pocket.

Amy watched his warm breath on the air.

How’s your arm? she asked.

It’s fine.

I’m glad to hear it; there was so much blood on it the other day.

I got it mended, he said in a tight voice.

A long, awkward silence filled the still air. Chris simply stood there, his eyes looking into the distance. He didn’t know what he had just done; it was the first time he actually talked to someone on his own account. All his life, he’d been avoiding people; why was this girl different? Because of her power, he answered to himself.

He had seen her using her power and somehow it had drawn him to her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a warning, but curiosity got the best of him. When she used her power, he could feel it draw him near in the oddest way, and he needed to find the answer.

Do you live around here? Her voice broke the silence.

When he turned back to Amy, he found her golden eyes staring right at him. To his discomfort, he couldn’t look away.

No. I came to visit a friend. His voice was cold, no emotion.

Lucky to have you as a friend.

He seemed to be surprised at this and asked, What do you mean?

She smiled and tugged a lock of her golden hair behind her ear. You saved people that you don’t even know, risking your own life. I can only imagine what you’d do for a friend. You have no idea how glad I am that you chased those boys away. I can see that you’re a good person.

Chris swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. A good person, she had said. He averted her eyes, the hands inside his jeans pocket curled into fists. Curses and insults had become a part of his life; he had not expected this.

A man walked up to the bus stop and stood next to them; he took out a cigar and flicked his lighter. Amy saw the change in Chris’s eyes; his jaw locked tensely.

You don’t like fire, she said.

"I hate fire."

But then… when you were saving those kids…

He looked down at his feet and then gazed back at her. If you cannot swim, and you see a little boy fall into the water, do you wait for someone else to save him? He smiled knowingly. I acted on my instinct, like you did. I saw you running toward the bus without thinking of your own safety.

She fell silent at this. Then a bright smile formed on her lips, her golden eyes sparkling. Chris, you and I are going to be great friends.

He stiffened. Friends?

Yes, friends. Unless you’re leaving town.

He shook his head. I just got a job near here.

That’s good, she chimed. I think you will do just great.

He glanced at the road, trying not to look at her. Don’t be too soon to judge, he replied coldly.

He heard the bus coming before it showed up around the corner.

Amy gripped the bag on her side and smiled. I hope to see you again, Chris, she said sincerely before climbed onto the bus.

As she rode off, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

I’ll see you again, Amy, he whispered to himself.

With long steps, Chris walked away from the bus stop. The day had grown dark, and so were his thoughts. Part of him wanted to find out more about Amy, about the power that she had, but somehow he felt like he shouldn’t. He pulled out his hand and stared at it for a long moment. He could still feel her soft hand there.

He stopped in his tracks as he heard someone yelling, Give it back, that’s all I’ve got!

An older man was chasing two boys, who were running toward Chris. He saw one of them stuff some cash into his pocket. The boys must have stolen his money.

Chris ran after the pair and caught one of them from behind. They both fell hard onto the sidewalk. The other boy stopped and turned back to help his friend, but they were no match for Chris. He easily held them down and pulled the cash from the one boy’s pocket.

The man caught up to them, and Chris handed back his money; he thanked Chris, headed back up the street, got behind the wheel of a taxi, and drove off.

Chris turned back to confront the boys and saw one of them holding a gun; he shot Chris, who fell to his knees. He felt a burning pain as the hot steel went through his flesh, breaking his ribs. Blood streamed down his shirt.

The boys threw curses at Chris and spat on him before they left. The pain was soon replaced with pure anger.

Damn him! the taller boy snarled as he marched away. His lip was bleeding where Chris had hit him. He could feel the blood in his mouth and again he cursed. The boys stopped under a bridge; they leaned against the wall and started to smoke when a hard thud came from the other side.

Under the shade of the gloomy night, a tall figure was standing before them, spreading a pair of massive raven wings. A deep growl emerged from the figure’s chest as a bullet fell from his body, hitting the ground with a metallic clang. The bloody bullet hole started to fade before their eyes.

The tall boy grimaced. What the…

His voice trailed off as the figure walked toward the two of them. Their mouths opened wide, but not a single sound escaped; their minds cried out for them to move, but their bodies failed to react.

The dark figure growled again, and with both claws he broke their arms, which snapped like a pair of dry twigs. The boys screamed and wailed, stumbling backward.

The winged figure grabbed their shaking heads. Both boys kicked and struggled, but their effort was pointless; he shook them like a pair of puppets. They cried for mercy as he drained out their energy, and they dropped to the ground in a heap, their whole bodies shivering. Both eyes were wide open, and white soapy bubbles dripped from their mouths.

The figure growled one more time before flapping his wings and flying away, twirling toward the open sky and soaring through the thin night clouds.

CHAPTER 3

Meanwhile, It was a cold night in Ireland. Among the town’s abandoned old flats, an empty orphanage, and an old church, a small nightclub was still standing stubbornly. Music blared from the speakers and colorful lights blinked rapidly. The bartender, a middle aged bald man with a thick curly beard, wore a sleeveless t-shirt under an apron so filthy no one could guess it had once been white.

The bar was small, but that night it was quite crowded. Three old men sat at a table in the corner, playing cards. At the billiard table, a huge man with long hair was playing by himself. So far, he couldn’t get a single ball into the hole. The bartender glanced at him and smirked while he cleaned a glass with a dry cloth.

A customer stood up from a table and put some cash onto the bar before he left. As he passed another table, a woman stood up and followed him out of the club. She admired his dark hair, lost in the depth of his black eyes.

They walked through the railroad and stopped in a narrow street. Soon they were kissing.

Not far from there, on the top floor of the empty orphanage, a dozen men were watching, weapons at the ready.

Father, I think it’s time, a young man whispered to an old man.

Sam shook his head and said, No. Not yet, Ethan.

But the girl could die. Ethan hesitated. He didn’t like what he was seeing, didn’t like what he knew would happen to the girl.

He will know we’re coming before we get near him. Let him get what he wants first, he’ll be distracted. Wait for my command.

As they watched in silent expectation, seconds crept by. Ethan readied his bow, pulling the string taut; his hands were sweating from the effort. Ethan watched as the dark-haired man in the street moved his hands and dipped his head toward the girl’s neck. Ethan held his breath; Sam had not given the sign to attack, but he could wait no more.

There was a whoosh of air after Ethan shot the first arrow. At the very moment, the man’s long claws ripped through the girl’s chest. Too late, Ethan thought with regret.

The arrow headed toward the man’s head, but he suddenly turned and caught it with his left hand; his other hand was dripping blood.

Now! Sam’s angry voice ripped the air as he snatched Ethan’s hand from his bow. You should have waited for my sign, Ethan! You just made it more difficult to get him!

Ethan swallowed hard. His stomach churned to see the beating heart in the man’s hand. Sam’s dark robe flew behind him as he leapt through the balcony, and the others followed. In a split second, arrows poured down on the man like rain; the bowstrings hummed as poisonous arrows filled the air. In a flash, the man swooshed away like a shadow; all they could hear was the snapping sounds of their own arrows as they fell like dried twigs onto the ground.

The man suddenly appeared on a nearby rooftop.

He growled out loud and swallowed the girl’s heart before it stopped beating. Before their eyes, his body grew twice the size of a grown man, his skin changed into pure black scales, and his eyes glowed with a sinister red light. A pair of dark wings emerged from the demon’s back. The huge batlike wings spread out, shadowing the light from a distant moon. In the wickedness of his eyes, he saw himself surrounded by armed men, each wearing a long dark robe with golden cross on the chest, a pair of white wings on the middle of the cross.

Symbol of the Saints, the Hunter.

The demon let out a gurgling sound from his chest. He was laughing, showing his razorlike teeth and his fangs, thick disgusting liquid dripping from them.

Spears and swords were drawn, the metallic ring filled in the air. Ethan charged forward with a spear in his hand, roaring a battle cry as he leapt from one rooftop to another in pursuit of the demon. Just when he got close enough to thrust the spear, the demon disappeared. Ethan looked around, and the demon reappeared right behind him, slashing his claws at his face. He bent backward, and the demon’s long claws missed him by mere inches. Arrows continued to fall around them.

Ethan had been trained to face such situations; his friends would not hesitate to shoot arrows and throw spears at a demon even when he was struggling with the beast; hesitation would only bring death. But as Ethan rolled away, he slipped and fell from the roof. He managed to grab a bundle of cables and hung on with one hand, dangling forty feet above the street. With a single swing, he jumped to the ground and landed smoothly on his heels.

He heard a loud thud and saw two of his friends fall to the street, dead.

Keep a steady move, avoid his eyes! Sam warned, joining the fight.

The demon roared angrily; they caught him by the wings and held him in place with strong chains, preventing him from flying.

Ethan’s friend Bill ran forward with a spear. He brought it down onto the demon’s head. A dark hand grabbed the weapon and yanked Bill off his feet, like he was a kitten. He fell into two other young men who were holding the chains binding the demon. The three of them slammed to the ground; as they struggled to regain their feet, they heard a deafening scream.

The demon had freed himself; the chains rattled as he spun, sending five men sprawling, spitting blood from their mouths. Sam rushed in with a small silver knife in his left hand; he jumped over the chain and thrust the blade at the demon’s heart.

Avoiding the razorlike claws, he managed to bury the knife in the demon’s thigh. The demon roared madly, grabbing him by the back of his shirt.

Get the chain! Lock him down! Sam cried as he swung his arms, trying to break free; from the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan leap behind the demon, armed with only two poison-tipped arrows; he held them like they were swords. Sam wondered what the stupid boy had in mind.

Four men had retaken control of the chains, holding the demon at bay. Its red eyes flashed dangerously at the two of them. With a flick of the demon’s finger, the two men collapsed, screaming in pain. They clasped their hands on their chests, as their hearts pumped furiously and their eyes widened in shock. They coughed, blood running freely from their nose and mouth. Terror washed over their faces as they drew their last breath.

Two more Saints had fallen.

Bill grabbed the loose chain and pulled on it with all his strength.

Sam finally broke free before the demon could bury its claws into his skin. Avoid his eyes! he warned his men.

Ethan jumped onto the demon’s back; he swung back and forth as the demon tried to shake him off. The boy lifted one of the arrows high above his own head.

There was a loud snap as the first arrow missed the target.

The next one, however, found its mark.

The demon screamed in agony; blood ran