No Heaven for Us (Manticore & Aine)

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
Marcus could agree with her remark about demons being like animals in the zoo. While there were still some that blended in society so well they were almost impossible to find, there was also a growing number of those that acted like they had zero intelligence, but immense thirst for blood. From what had Marcus learnt about the demon hierarchy, it all pointed to the fact that the lesser ones were now growing in numbers, which meant nothing good. When does one recruit more soldiers if not before a war? Despite the fact that their presence seemed to be tightly linked to Laylah's, Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that there was something bigger going on behind the curtains. "Ohh… It's easy to be a smartass when you're not the one with a handicapped guardian angel by your side," Marcus smirked right back, secretly enjoying their mutual teasing exchange. By then he had already forgotten about his initial response to her existence, for his mind was now set firmly on the task of protecting her life, even though she really wasn't his responsibility. But then again, so wasn't anyone else's, and yet he was still willing to risk his life to save as many human souls as possible. Surely, he acted like he didn't care about the lives he had saved, but the truth lied far from that. So far that sometimes even Marcus himself couldn't see the amount of self-sacrifice he was willing to endure to save another soul.

With the help of her instructions he drove them straight to the archives, all the while checking the rear-view mirror in case someone or something was following them. Although, demons were usually fonder of just teleporting themselves behind your back, these days one just couldn't be too careful. Once outside the car he stepped to the back of the vehicle to get some stuff from the trunk. A shotgun with salt bullets, designed specifically to weaken the demons, one revolver with silver bullets that was easier to handle, and two flashlights. It wasn't nearly enough to ward off the whole legion of demons, but still. He had no intention of sticking around long enough for the whole Hell to show up.

To be honest, he was quite surprised by her craftiness and the whole 'I'll lead the way' stance. For someone with the bounty on their head she was incredibly calm, which was something worth admiring. Clearly, his previous remark about babysitting her was a bit out of line. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm actually glad you're not completely useless," he remarked tauntingly, holding up a bursting chuckle as he watched her pick up some rocks. He let her do her thing out of sheer amusement, while monitoring the surroundings for any signs of demonic trouble. "You know, I'd give you a gun before, but you were so adorable throwing rocks around," he said once they had made it past all the cameras. He handled her the flashlight, because switching on the lights in the storage room would be just a bit too daring. "That should be hard enough, considering weird is the new normal," he remarked cynically. He was obviously referring to her, although he knew that from her perspective weird had even more mundane definition. Being around for thousands of years, if not even more, clearly added to one's perception and understanding of the world.
Compared to that his knowledge was null, which was kind of ironic since he was considered to be the expert on the supernatural.

"So what, this thing was supposed to fall somewhere, just like you did, right?" he asked assumingly, while walking past the shelves to find a box worth looking into. The archiving system clearly wasn't set to their advantage, for it looked like the papers were mostly stashed pretty randomly. Some were sorted by dates, while others by theme. And hoping to find a box labeled with 'Miracles' was obviously pointless. Once they found the section that held every documented event that had happened in the year of 1990, the real desperation just began. There were hundreds of boxes, some sorted by dates, and others not so much. "Well, here goes nothing," he grumbled, grabbed one of the boxes with the proper date written on it, and put it on the ground for an easier access. He took a pile of papers and began leafing through them. Weddings, deaths, disasters, accidents…all horrible in one way or another, and yet very ordinary. It was like they were looking for a needle in a haystack. "3rd of February 1990… I was what, 10 years old then? Damn, that was a long time ago." Marcus murmured mostly to himself, while still browsing through the papers, when he suddenly raised his head. "Wait, I think I remembered something. Something about a meteorite and a desert? It was all over the news." He was watching TV with his little brother, while their father was once again away for the job. It often occurred that he had to leave his two sons alone to fend for themselves, while he was hunting monsters. Even then, Marcus had to carry an enormous responsibility for another human being that was his brother, despite the fact that he himself was still just a kid. And when he later told his father about the miracle in the desert, his old man told him not to be stupid and not to believe everything that is on TV, for the world was way too cruel for any true miracles to happen. Marcus took those words to his heart as everything else his father told him, and never thought of that occurrence again. Until now.

"Here. I found it. Green oasis appears out of nowhere." He read of the title of the paper he managed to find rather quickly after knowing exactly what to look for. "After numerous reports on sightings of a meteorite falling in the midst of the High Plains, Western Kansas, the local authorities have confirmed that there are some unusual changes to the terrain, where the unknown matter had hit the ground…. Now, listen to this. The hiker who was the first at the scene claims that he saw "a ball of blinding light fall from the sky to the Earth"….He also claims that as a result ''the sandy desert ground around the point of an impact became overgrown with grass in a matter of seconds.'' ….there is also now a small pond of water that seemed to appear out of nowhere….What do you think? Could this be…?" He didn't manage to finsih his sentence nor get the answer to his question. Completely mesmerized by reading the news out loud he completely forgot to pay the attention to their surroundings. So when he noticed the expression on Laylah's face, he knew that their little break was over.

"There's someone behind my back, and it's not a security guard, is it?"
[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
"Yes, that is correct," Laylah confirmed and reached for one of the boxes supposedly containing info on important events from 1990. It was quite heavy for something filled with paper documents only which suggested hours and hours of entertainment, at least if you also enjoyed activities like watching paint dry or counting blades of grass in your garden. "The good news is that it couldn't have landed too far from here because it was separated from me during the fall and laws of gravity applied to it. The bad news is that few hundred kilometers still fall under of category of not too far from here as physics tends to circumvent the usual rules in such heights, so I doubt it's buried somewhere in my back lawn." Then there was the issue of the demon army lurking right behind the threshold, yet Laylah chose to withhold any commentary on this one. Cynicism could be an effective vaccination against disappointment as it stripped you of unrealistic expectations, but just like any medicine, it required moderation in dosage. Too much of it could easily lead to hopelessness, and it didn't take a genius to recognize it as greater of two evils. Once you crossed the despair event horizon, path to re-discovering the balance could be thorny or outright blocked. Marcus likely wouldn't succumb to defeatism so easily - not when he dealt with odds stacked against him for large part of his life - but she didn't intend to push her luck too much. Constant reminders of how fucked up they were wouldn't fix anything. Wiping the dust off her box gently, the angel turned on the flashlight and immersed herself into the text.

How come I started reading five minutes ago and yet I have a feeling as if the search has already consumed half of my life? One would have thought pages upon pages filled with descriptions of murders, car accidents and arson would induce a greater emotional reaction in their reader, yet she had to resist the urge to yawn aloud. While these stories could have been powerful individually, seeing them lumped together in a homogeneous blob of suffering weakened their impact. The robotic tone in which the writer had recorded them did no wonders for the sense of drama, either. Gosh, even The Bible is way more interesting than this and let's be honest, that book's authors knew nothing about pacing or basic sentence structure. Still, Laylah could hardly throw her share of work away á la spoiled child and leave everything up to Marcus, so she turned pages frantically, looking for signs of anything suspicious. Her grace had probably created a remarkable spectacle when it came in contact with Earth, meaning the report depicting it should stick out like a sore thumb, but humans could be unpredictable sometimes. It was entirely possible they had confused it with some natural phenomenon and let it slide into obscurity instead of giving it the coverage it deserved. No, relying on perceptiveness of the reporters wouldn't be a wise decision. Aaaand it's fucking nothing, what a plot twist. Would it be cheeky if I resorted to praying for a miracle to liberate me? The angel set another box aside to continue the investigation when Marcus claimed he finally cracked the mystery. Indeed, the incident with oasis appearing out of nowhere matched all the criteria on her proverbial checklist. Was it grand, inexplicable with modern science and impossible to falsify? Check, check and check. Too bad she didn't have time to rejoice because a goat-shaped creature with wings materialized from the darkness behind the hunter.

"Why hello, little angel," the demon smirked and extended hand in a gesture all too familiar to Laylah. "Get down," she hissed at Marcus, crouching quickly. The fireball missed them narrowly, though the same couldn't be said about shelves full of boxes. The characteristic smell of burning paper spread through the air, tickling her nose in the most annoying manner imaginable. Of course that was the least of her worries at the moment. Additional silhouettes began appearing in the room, drawn to her like flies to a rotting carcass. What a fitting comparison, the girl thought bitterly, I'll probably qualify for the status of corpse pretty soon. Despite all the dark predictions, Laylah refused to surrender to the panic threatening to crush her spirit with an iron fist. Blood, flesh, skin - all those organic components that formed her as a human - could never overwrite her true nature. Her true identity that had existed long before birth of her physical body and would exist long after its inevitable decay. She was an angel, a being designed to give the demons hell, and such minor obstacle as not possessing her powers couldn't hinder her enthusiasm too much. Raining down destruction on their heads would be in the realm of fantasy at this point, but nothing could make her cower behind Marcus and weep quietly. That just wasn't her style. "Give me the revolver," Laylah opted for the less dangerous firearm, knowing it would be easier for her to handle, and fired few bullets in the general direction of the demons who dared to get too close. Few howled in agony, but more of them emerged to replace their fallen comrades. They didn't need to communicate verbally to understand the only feasible way to survive this was through strategic retreat. Not caring about blowing their cover anymore, the angel advanced to the exit while overturning all the shelves that weren't too heavy for her to move in an attempt to block the path.

Wait a sec, I got an idea! The powers they had stolen from her were connected to her lost grace, yet knowledge could be a fine weapon in itself. "Hold them off for a bit, Marcus. I can paint a sigil that will slow them down. It'll buy us some time." Drawn by an angel at full strength, this sigil had the potential keep the demons at bay for days while it would almost certainly last half an hour at maximum when a human used it, but she didn't feel like complaining. The mere fact it even worked for mortals counted as a small blessing. Laylah ran ahead to the nearest wall, bit her finger strong enough to cause bleeding and outlined a crude symbol that resembled a pentagram. "Virtus tempestate mihi de te," her words resonated throughout the room, "quod ignis potestatem super te, ego interitupotestatem super te potestatem super te in lucem dedi. Atque ego proiciam vosspiritum immundum. Sancta discessit, aut dissipabuntur in ignem. Precipio tibirelinquo, relinquere cogunt vos me vade et-Ah!" her voice broke into a tiny shriek when claws sank into her arms from behind. It seemed their plan of simply running away backfired, mainly because the demons didn't hesitate to abuse their tactical advantage and surrounded them.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
Barely dodging the fire ball, Marcus' adrenaline level arose in a second, switching his body and mind to a full fighting mode. Much like Laylah he wasn't used to succumbing to fear, although his survival instincts screaming at him to retreat were getting lauder and lauder. The smell of sulfur was downward stifling, which could only indicate one of two things – either the gates of hell opened right beneath them or there was a whole army of demons circling all around them. To say they were completely screwed would be an underestimation, yet giving up on the spot was never an option. If they were to go down, they might as well go down swinging. Quickly, he handed Laylah the revolver, and retreated away from the burning boxes, because catching on fire would just be sad compared to being barbequed by an angry demon. He cocked the shotgun and shot a salty bullet back at the demon that made a move after Laylah, making it scream in agony and fall back if only just to regain its strength. Even if Marcus had used the gun that was able to kill demons, it wouldn't do them much good. There were way too many demons, and his supply of bullets was very limited. Was it naïve of him to insist on saving them for the one demon that was responsible for killing his wife, now that there was a good chance that he won't even live to see the day of his vendetta? Maybe, but a promise was a promise even if it resulted in his premature death.

He went after Laylah, shooting a couple of demons that crossed him on his way to the angel. He didn't consider her idea as a good one, especially because it included her separating from him, who was supposed to protect her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If painting a single sigil could help them just a bit, so be it, although he haven't yet heard about one that would be so powerful on its own. Usually, one had to cover all the walls of a room with a specific combination of sigils to keep the demons out, but surely they had no time doing that in the middle of a warzone. He was just reloading the shotgun, when he heard Laylah's uttered incantation turn into shrieking with pain. Swiftly, he cocked the gun once more, and put the bullet into demon's back, forcing it to let go of Laylah's arm. Turning his back to the vastness of the storage room, however, proved to be a reckless move shortly after as one of the strongest demons waved him into the air and crushed him at the wall. With the power of telekinesis he held him off the floor, completely disabling him from any sorts of movements. Meanwhile, two of others unharmed demons grabbed hold of Laylah, preventing her from finishing the sigil. Marcus, pressed with his back on the wall, snarled through his teeth as his body shook in pain.

"Oh, Marcus…what a good soldier of god you are, risking your life to protect the angel, when it should be the other way around. Too bad the old man doesn't give a damn about you." Demon smirked at the hunter, slowly approaching him to indulge in a little mockery. Marcus snarled again, this time in a threatening manner as if that would make the demon shit his pants. "You know, you really are pathetic. Trying so hard to win a ticket to Heaven, when you don't even believe you deserve to go there," demon continued making fun of him by pinpointing the darkest truths that only demons were able to see so clearly. Marcus clenched his teeth trying to deny what has been said about him, not willing to admit that any of it was actually true. "What is it with you demons that you always try to psychoanalyze me?" he taunted back in a hoarse voice, feeling slightly annoyed by the fact that those creature always wanted to chat with him for some reason. "I don't know. Entertainment?" demon smirked back amusingly, slowly turning his head toward Laylah. "And speaking of that, this scene must be all too familiar to you, isn't it? A damsel in distress, and all you can do is watch." That again. It seemed the whole hell thought that reminding Marcus of what had been done to his wife was considered more horrid way of hurting him than setting him on fire or breaking his nose with a punch. Well…it was true. Nothing hurt more than reliving past mistakes that resulted in your loved ones being killed.

"Let her go." Marcus uttered in a voice that was a mix of plea, demand and a good old threat. He glanced over at Laylah, and seeing her like that felt as if he was stabbed in the abdomen. "Or what? You'll smite me with your thoughts?" Demon laughed at him, clearly enjoying the fact that he had completely overpowered the Team Angel. To be honest, Marcus had undergone closer near death experiences, but hanging on a wall being completely powerless was way worse than any injury his physical body had ever suffered. It was one of those moments, when you could think of nothing that would be able to save you at that moment. No trick, no word manipulation, no cursing, no nothing. They were completely alone. Two god-forsaken souls that tried so hard to stand for what's right in their minds, only to fail utterly and completely trying to survive. Was it his fault again? Would she be ok if only he hadn't set foot into that bar? Will that darkness ever stop following him around, taking lives that he grows fond of too quickly?

With contempt written all over his face demon approached Laylah to take one good look at her, and mock away whatever has left of her divine presence. "No… Laylah!" Marcus coughed in her direction, feeling the demon's grip around his lungs tighten and squeezing the air out of him. The world around him began to spin, and as he slowly started drifting away he could hear himself pray for the very first time in his life.

Please, God. You have to help me… Don't let her die. Not again…
[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
"Marcus!" With no concrete plan in mind, Laylah ran towards the demon who had captured her comrade, but two pairs of strong arms dragged her back as if she didn't weigh more than a feather. "Aww, leaving the party so soon? How impolite of you, little angel," one of them whispered to her ear, his breath so smelly it took a lot of willpower to suppress her gag reflex. "Fuck off," the redhead uttered through her teeth, mobilizing all of her strength to break away from their grip. Even her best efforts, however, were met with laughter. The trick when passion and righteous anger gave you an unexpected power boost to fend off the forces of evil unfortunately only worked in action movies for the universe cared very little about upholding laws of a good storytelling. This world didn't keep a protective hand over improbable heroes solely because good guys winning would set a fine moral example for children. "Aren't you a little cheeky for someone who is going to experience our hospitality soon? Tone it down and maybe you'll get to keep two organs of your choice. It's a limited time offer, so don't think about it too much!" The demon wielded his statements like a saber, evidently used to penetrating psychological defenses of his victims, but that wasn't what hit Laylah so hard. Words didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. He could be painting vivid imagery of flaying her alive with his descriptions and she wouldn't bat an eyelash. Threats, no matter how scary, hurt nothing aside from her feelings. Moreover, the angel would rather swallow the cyanide pill than grant them the satisfaction of seeing her scared.

No, the dread spreading through her body like cancer arose from the realization she truly couldn't do anything to stop this. Centuries of kicking the demons' collective asses had gotten under her skin, infecting her with the false premises of immortality, yet this reality check opened her eyes. The old days of glory and delusions of grandeur were about as relevant as last year's leaves. Possibly for the first time in her life, Laylah tasted how complete powerlessness felt like, and the flavor was so vile she wouldn't wish it on her arch enemy. I'm going to die here. Hell, what's even worse, Marcus is going to die here and I am to blame. Sure, one could argue that his career choice alone ensured he wouldn't get to greet the grim reaper lying in a comfortable bed surrounded by his crying grandchildren, but this wasn't his fight. Their fates weren't intertwined. No promise or contract obliged him to take fallen angels under his wing, either. Under his usual modus operandi, the hunter would likely survive for years to come before inevitably biting off more than he could chew and choking on it. Marcus shouldn't have gotten involved at all. What had possessed her to think accepting his help would work? Ignorance? Or was it something more sinister? Selfishness, maybe? Had she subconsciously predicted it would end up like this and rejected to carry the burden on her own? The question repeated itself in her mind over and over like a broken record, doomed to remain unanswered. Fuck, I don't need to know why it happened, I have to save him somehow. I'm an angel, humans shouldn't be dying to protect me. Going into damage control mode, Laylah ransacked her brains over possible solutions, but the bolt of inspiration didn't strike her. Still, something had to be done!

"Listen, seizing Marcus wasn't your main objective, so release him and I'll cooperate," she offered, trying her best not to give away her desperation. "And if we don't? I don't think you're in a position to bargain, although it's cute how you're trying to save an innocent life. Should have thought of that before you painted a target on your back and made him responsible for your safety, little one. Would you like to watch him getting killed so the lesson sinks in? I could make it really entertaining. Humans can be surprisingly durable, so it would last hours," the creature smiled and caressed her cheek, leaving bloody scratches behind in the process. The desire to spit in his face was overwhelming, but doing so would dig an even deeper grave for both of them, which prompted her to go with a murderous stare instead. Suspicious sounds started coming from Marcus' direction; sounds that spoke of struggling for oxygen. No, no, no! Why can't I think of anything? Why will nobody help us? Please, please forsake the politics for once and do the right thing... Someone... Anyone... A drowning man grasped at the straws and Laylah wasn't an exception in this regard. No hero would swoop down from the heaven to save them as altruism had its limits, usually tied to self-preservation, but the naive idea still comforted her.

Suddenly, a blinding light descended through the roof to the center of the room. It hovered in mid-air for a while, forcing everyone to cover their eyes, and then it dispersed only to reveal figure of a tall man. He seemed completely ordinary with his short brown hair, chestnut eyes and a messy stubble on his chin, yet almost tangible aura of power surrounded him. "Zerachiel?" Laylah asked, tempted to pinch herself in order to confirm this wasn't some delusion born out of yearning for salvation. "Great to see you again, Laylah," he replied in a casual tone as if the two had just met in a supermarket by pure coincidence. "You look nice, although it's sad you still haven't outgrown your charming custom of always getting mauled terribly. Is it some kind of a fashion statement?" The horde of demons immediately erupted in what had to be unalloyed panic, but Zerachiel simply snapped his fingers, freezing them all in the middle of a movement. "What... What are you doing here?" "Haven't you guys called? If you don't need my help, I can always leave. Just say I'm not needed here and I'll be on my merry way, no problem," the archangel smirked in a boyish manner totally incompatible with his status. "Oh, so the boss lifted the embargo on assisting... what was the phrase he used... traitorous scum? I doubt it. Are you trying to commit suicide by proxy, Zerachiel?" she accused him. "Well, aren't you optimism personified? It's sweet you care about me, but I'm not going to get in trouble. After all, I won't be the one to save you. The honor will belong to him." Even though Laylah opened her mouth to continue asking questions, Zerachiel walked over to Marcus.

"Thank you for taking care of my friend. Your aid will not be forgotten. As for this situation..." A shiny blade covered in ancient-looking runes emerged from nothingness and the man handed it to him nonchalantly. "Here, use this to slay the demons. It's a part of your family's heritage, so you don't have to feel too grateful. It should have been yours to begin with. Since other duties demand my undivided attention now, I'm afraid I need to say my goodbyes. Good luck." Not willing to spend more time with them, Zerachiel teleported away as fast as he appeared and the demons awakened from their sleep.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
They say that when you die you see a light at the end of a tunnel, but Marcus never thought that such a light would be so bright. Hanging at the edge of his consciousness, his perception of the world around him became slightly imaginary. There was a man descending from the sky in such a graceful manner that a true believer could easily say it was a manifestation of God. But even if Marcus was far from being one, the arrival of this man filled his heart with awe. It was a miracle. One minute, he and Laylah were both as good as dead, and the next they were saved by what appeared to be the answer to his prayer. You see… all you have to do is ask, a mellow voice echoed in his mind, as he was trying hard to fight the heaviness of his darkening mind.

Suddenly, the horde of demons froze in time, releasing Marcus from the demon's grip. He slid down the wall and on the ground, violently grasping for the air that had been missing from his lungs. The sense of reality came back to him rather quickly, although his skepticism and rationality still could not argue against what his heart was telling him. He got to his two trembling feet, and lifted himself in the upright position, just in time for the proper face-to-face with the savior of the day, who seemed to go by the name of Zerachiel. His head was still a bit fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, but beholding the ancient looking blade really caught his attention. The fact that this creature had only now decided it would be wise to give it to him, went by him completely non-accusingly, for his mind was already set on the task at hand. Under any other circumstances, Marcus wouldn't buy into the whole 'I'll just handle you the demon-killing weapon, and let you do your thing without demanding anything in return' so easily, but at that moment he really didn't feel like doubting anymore.

Temporarily blessed by the whole divine experience he felt as if everything in his life was set to lead at that very moment. Getting hold of that blade filled him with a sense of power that was like a sweet vendetta compared to the helplessness he experienced just a few minutes ago. Zerachiel was long gone, when Marcus charged at the demon, who had been mocking their lives away. He stabbed him in the chest with no hesitation, just when the beast regained the control of its body. The demon screamed in agony, when the cleansing fire burst out from his chest, shattering his demonic being into billions of pieces. With contemptuous smile he pulled out the blade, and turned around swiftly just in time to stab another one of the demonic bastards, who tried to instantly avenge his fallen comrade. Without their leader and with a vivid example of what can be done to them, demons began to disappear one by one, leaving Marcus with very little work to do. Of course, not all of them were that smart, and they still tried to overpower him, only to fail miserably at their reckless attempts to knock him out. By the time Marcus was done, the body count reached the number five, and made the place look like a scene from a cheap horror movie. Yes, the price for demons' demise was awfully high, for it resulted in the same amount of lost human lives, but if Marcus were to burden himself with it, he could never operate as a hunter. There will always be some amount of a collateral damage, but at the end the number of saved souls would exceed the numbers of those we had to sacrifice for the greater good, his father used to say.

For a moment or two Marcus just stood there surrounded by bodies, thoughtfully looking at the blade that was said to be his family heritage. He didn't know such a thing even existed, let alone belong to his family, but holding it felt strangely familiar. Possessing such a weapon clearly changed everything for him, which was something even demons realized, for the silence that had spread throughout the archives proved that they were gone. Then he remembered that Laylah was still there, and so he turned around to face her for what it felt like after a very long time. "Are you ok?" he asked her, and approached her to make sure she wasn't just playing tough. Looking at her face, he realized just how badly he had treated her the very first time she had revealed her true nature. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or the shock, or the fact that his brain suffered some minor damage due to the lack of oxygen, but he suddenly felt remorseful about his judgemental attitude towards the angels. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a heavy voice that spoke of how hard it was for him to be saying that. "I had no right to blame you for what has happened to Kathleen."

To say that he was a changed man would be an exaggeration, yet there was some difference to the way he perceived the world around him. Maybe he wasn't as doomed as he made himself believe, and god, or whatever, actually had a plan for him. There must have been a reason why he had encountered Laylah, and why they were both saved by some sort of a divine intervention. Why else would any of that happen if not for some great purpose? Surely, the cynic in him wasn't willing to believe that load of crap, but at that moment it was like Marcus couldn't even hear it. He was a man on a mission, and he knew exactly what should be done next.

"We better go, and call it a night. If that had scared them as much as I think it did, we might even get some quality sleep tonight," he said, picking up the shotgun and a flashlight from the floor, before heading back toward the exit of the building.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
Taking the hint, Laylah pushed her pride so far to the unused corners of her mind it might as well not exist and hid behind Marcus. The recent events had taught her the hard way she was just as breakable as every other human, except God in his endless mercy had also granted her the superpower of attracting every single demon in the radius of ten miles. It was hardly an act of cowardice to seek protection when forces of hell conspired to kill you. The cries of pain turned into a sweet symphony in her ears, filling her with the kind of satisfaction only revenge could ever produce. Certain people insisted that vengeance always left you empty inside as it could never really compensate for your loss, but those were just fairytales these people told each other so they didn't have to feel bad about their own weakness. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; such had been the definition of justice before civilization corrupted it with needless bureaucracy, and echo of that knowledge still survived in hearts of those who listened to their instincts. Laylah didn't know whether Marcus had studied fencing in his youth, but if he hadn't, then he possessed a natural talent that would make most of swordsmen green with envy. Watching him slice through the enemy lines like hot knife through butter was a pure poetry in motion and the angel couldn't help but admire the elegance with which he ended their lives swiftly.

"It's just a flesh wound," Laylah assured him as she wiped blood off her cheek, secretly snickering at the Black Knight reference. "No, really, I'm fine. They were too busy mocking me to do any real damage. True weakness of demons isn't holy water or that fancy new toy you just received. It's inability to shut the fuck up when it's sensible to do so. Most of them are too in love with the sound of their own voice to resist a good old villainous rant, and we all know that tempting the fate tends to be a risky endeavor." The amused grin on her face fizzled out upon noticing Marcus still looked as if he had just discovered they had officially cancelled Christmas and implemented obligatory visits at dentist's instead. Was he beating himself up for killing all the innocent people along with the fiendish parasites stuck inside of them? While only a psychopath could be unambiguously happy about performing the deed, shame shouldn't hold him down. Human bodies simply weren't built with the intention of storing two entities at the same time. Weaker demons like the one that had controlled the drunkard in the bar clang to the original soul, slowly sapping the precious life essence until nothing but hollow husk remained from it, so these victims could be saved if you acted fast enough. More powerful creatures, on the other hand, shattered the original soul to million pieces. Even if Marcus somehow managed to expel the demons without hurting the hosts, they would be likely sentenced to spend the rest of their days in an insane asylum. The angel wanted to explain this to him in order to lessen the guilt, but it quickly turned out that wasn't the reason behind his gloomy attitude.

Ehm... What? Laylah would have been less surprised had the hunter announced he was done with monster slaying and decided to pursue his lifelong dream of becoming a singer by participating in American Idol. Could it be that the near death experience had set things in a different perspective for him? Or had Zerachiel's intervention made him see her kind in a different light? Well, nevermind the cause, the apology pleased her. Refraining from any passionate arguments for the sake of their mission didn't mean the accusations of orchestrating his wife's death weren't bothering her at all, especially considering the price she had paid for straying from the path was so high. "Don't worry about it. I understand you... weren't exactly motivated to worship me or my brethren and I can hardly blame you. Just say Pater Noster five times and everything is forgiven," she chuckled, blissfully unaware of the inappropriateness of joking in the presence of a pile of cooling corpses. To her, death of those people wasn't a tragedy worth mourning. No, they had been liberated from the puppet masters who had forced them to commit heinous crimes. They had returned to the natural cycle of existence and now awaited a fair trial that would separate wheat from the chaff. "I agree, let's get out of here." Following Marcus' example, Laylah collected the revolver from the ground and went back to the car. "I think we should probably stop by at my place to pick up my stuff before we do anything else. I also need to notify my room-mate I'm not coming back, otherwise she's going to alert the police. My flat is close to the bar, maybe two hundred meters away from it, although I'd advise you to choose a different route in case they're still investigating there."

There was one problem with the otherwise flawless plan, though. How am I supposed to explain this to Lara? "Hey, my friend, I fell in love at first sight, so I'm going to elope with this mysterious stranger. Delete my number and never search for me. No, not even then. Bye." Geez, why can't I shake off the impression of it not being a good idea? It would be incredibly out of character for the level-headed Sophia to leave everything behind for a new boyfriend and Lara would realize something was off. Women who howled with laughter whenever some TV station aired Titanic rarely underwent a magical transformation into romance-crazed loons overnight. Wait, loon? I may be onto something here. "Say, Marcus, have you ever wanted to a doctor? Now is your prime opportunity! There has to be some justification for me to disappear like that, so let's pretend I had a seizure and thus I have to be hospitalized again. You can act as my assistant who has come to help me pack my things. It has happened before, so it won't be too suspicious, and the fact you're wearing civilian clothes won't matter because I'm client of a private mental health clinic. It's perfect because she won't even contemplate contacting me before I'm healthy again if we play our cards right. It'll also explain our injuries; I attacked you during that episode of mine. Now I'm calm as I'm on my meds."

As she was wrapping up her little speech, they approached the house that had been her home for the past few years. The past tense felt a little weird, but Laylah couldn't lie to herself. "Home" consisted of something more that just a building where you fell asleep every night. To call a house your home meant you were bound to it on the deepest level imaginable whether you liked it or not, and the angel harbored no such emotions towards any place anymore. "Okay, we're here. You can stop." Realizing she had to play a role here, Laylah leaned on Marcus a bit as if she required support to walk and put on a slightly confused expression. Medication, at least the kind that could stabilize violent urges, always sucked away all of her energy. Simulating that state seemed like a logical step. One they rang the bell, the door opened swiftly, almost as if Lara had been expecting them. "Oh my god, Sophie! What happened to you? And who are you?" she asked, eying Marcus with a healthy dose of suspicion.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
Laylah's response to his apology was rather authentic, to say the least, but it made him smile nonetheless. If only it were so easy. Marcus might indeed give the appearance of being cold and indifferent, but that was just his defense mechanism against…well, whatever would otherwise eat him alive from the inside out. One could easily thought of him as being a martyr if only Marcus would be willing to unload his burdens to anyone with a pair of ears. But that was not his style, for he rather suffered in silence than reached out for help. Besides, he didn't think of himself as being worthy of forgiveness, especially not after a scene like that. Seven dead human bodies in one day was actually quite a lot, and while he should be concerned about the fact that his killing spree might get him in trouble with the police, he didn't care enough to make sure his tracks were completely covered. Now, some hunters might say he was just being stupid and sloppy, but one closer look – especially if done by a very insightful demon - would reveal his hidden tendency to punish himself via self-directed passive-aggressive behavior.

He wasn't exactly pleased that they'd be making additional stops on their way to the motel, but her words made enough sense that he couldn't argue. The last thing they needed was the police on their tails, especially now that they could charge him with more than just a kidnapping of a mentally challenged girl. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, and put their stuff back in the trunk, whilst keeping the demon-slaying knife safely inside his jacket. They drove into the night as if they were just returning from the movies, and not from a slaughter house. Marcus had to admit to himself that having an angel – even a useless one – as a hunting partner was actually pretty…tolerable. The two of them seemed to share the same attitude toward variety of things, one of them being the ability to do whatever it takes in order to do the job right. Even if it meant breaking and entering, killing innocent people to get rid of the demons, and pretending to be someone you are not.

After hearing the whole of her master plan of deception he couldn't help but burst into laughter, which was something not many people had witnessed before. "So, now you want me to be your shrink? Man…you really are crazy," he said, still with a smirk on his face. He might have a long and rich history of pretending to be someone else, while also keeping a pretty neat collection of fake IDs, but playing a mental health assistant surely was something new. He stopped the car where she ordered him, and looked himself in the mirror to put his tousled hair in some order. "What? Looking good always makes things go smoothly," he justified his behavior, and put his hand around her as she leaned on him. Surely, that felt strange enough, but as a professional con artist he didn't even twitch. Not even when her roommate basically shot him with her eyes.

"Hello. Everything is fine. My name is John Miller, and I'm her personal assistant from the clinic," he quickly introduced himself, realizing that first impression was always critical. "Can we come in?" he asked the roommate, who was now just standing there in complete perplexity, not quite understanding the whole picture. "Yes, yes, of course," she said with a trembling voice that was a clear indication of her deep concern for Sophie, and immediately opened the door wide open. "Thank you," Marcus decided to play an awfully kind and polite doctor card. "Is she ok? Sophie, are you ok?" Lara demanded to know, still eyeing Marcus witch suspicious look, giving him the clue to explain the bruises. "She had a relapse due to her misuse of medication, which is why I'll be taking her back to the clinic. We just came here to pack her stuff, because it might take a while before she gets better." Marcus explained everything as briefly as he could, because he'd rather not get into the details of the things he knew nothing about. "Oh…did she hurt herself? She looks…" "No, no, not herself. Well, she might, but luckily I was there so she took it out on me, kind of. Anyway, she is fine now, as you can see. Right, Sophie? Everything is just fine." He couldn't help but slightly tickle her ribs, just to pay her back for all the rubbish he was forced to communicate without a prior proper alcoholic aperitif. "Do you feel like you can do it alone, or do you want me, or perhaps your friend here to help you with packing?" Marcus asked her with a hidden chuckle that only Laylah was able to perceive.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
Huh, not bad, Laylah evaluated his performance, slightly surprised at the ease with which he had gone from a jaded monster hunter to a gentle doctor every daughter would love to introduce to her parents as her potential husband. Some awkwardness would have been completely justified due to lack of preparation and she was ready to rush to his rescue in case he fell into a verbal trap of his own making, but Marcus avoided all the pitfalls expertly. Thinking about it now, it could have been expected. Basing his very existence on deception wouldn't get him far in life if he wasn't a decent liar. Lara's obvious dismay at her friend's state did awaken feelings of guilt within her, yet they weren't strong enough for her to snap and reveal the actual state of matters. In fact, not even some quality time with medieval torture instruments could convince her to spill the beans right now. Unfiltered truth would be hard for humans to digest. The falsehoods they had been fed since childhood were like steel structure keeping their identities intact, and taking them away would lead to a spectacular meltdown. After all, who would enjoy realization they had been kicked off the top of the food chain and thrown into a world following rules completely alien to their understanding? Lara didn't deserve having her bubble burst in such a cruel manner. Nobody did.

Laughter almost escaped from her lips when Marcus tickled her slightly, but fortunately, the angel kept her cool thanks to the biggest comedy anti-dote ever; by imagining sad puppies. What a tease! This provocation of highest calibre obviously called for revenge. Deciding two could play this game, Laylah smirked slightly and stepped on his foot, somewhat regretting she never wore high heels to work. Of course, if someone looked at her in this moment, they would see nothing but embodiment of innocence. How could someone blame a clearly drugged mentally ill girl for a small misstep, right? "Yes, I'm fine," she replied in a robotic tone, pretending to struggle with words a little, "a-and I think I'll handle it alone. I'll let you know if I encounter issues." Laylah let go of his hand for the first time since they arrived there and walked to her room slowly, kinda like a drunkard aware of his reduced sense of balance. Once inside, she immediately dropped the act and pulled out a suitcase from under her bed within speed of light. The ties binding her to her room-mate couldn't be severed fast enough. Every second spent here increased the chances of Lara becoming a target to these feral animals. When demons failed to hurt you directly, they usually chose the path of least resistance which translated to defenseless friends and family members. It rarely accomplished anything in the long run, yet suffering could be a reward in itself by their twisted logic. Okay, so far I've packed clothes, toothbrush, comb,... What else do I need? After few moments of deliberation, Laylah concluded more item would only make the luggage needlessly heavy and staggered outside.

"I believe I have everything," she announced. Without a word, Lara approached her and locked her in a bone-breaking hug. "Promise me you'll get healthy soon, alright?" "You bet Lara. Don't worry about me, I'll call you when I can." Technically speaking, this didn't qualify as a lie. Laylah had just conveniently forgotten to mention that conditions favorable enough for the two of them to get in contact again would never occur. Well, at least not unless hippie revolution destroyed the current order and demons started preaching the famous "make love, not war," but even Ku Klux Klan suddenly advocating for the rights of oppressed minorities was a more likely scenario out of the two. So they said their goodbyes with Lara not realizing the separation may very well last forever and Laylah left another piece of her past in the dust. "I had no idea you were such a capable actor, Marcus," she told him when danger of somebody listening to their conversation passed. "Why are you wasting your talent in such a thankless job? I can almost hear Hollywood producers weeping in the distance over this terrible loss. C'mon, you know you were born for fame. Humanity could benefit so much from your contribution," the angel teased her comrade with a big smile on her face. Hunger forced them to stop at one of those shady fast food stands that always filled you with a creeping suspicion you were about to eat someone's beloved dog and soon enough, the redhead was staring lovingly at her hamburger. "In occasions like these, I understand why vegetarians tend to be such hateful people. Poor, misguided souls. If only they could see the light and return to the glory that is protein."

The night had already progressed considerably, so they parked at the first cheap motel with light up sign "Vacancy". It was hardly a Hilton hotel, yet the place looked way too clean to be overrun with rats and cockroaches which nipped all the protests from her side in the bud. "We'd like one room, please," Laylah said to the small bald man behind the counter. "Sure, as you wish. Currently, there are only single bed rooms available, though. I presume it's not a problem?" "Not in the slightest. Actually, I'd go on a rampage if I were denied this privilege," she winked at him, evidently hellbent on utilizing every single opportunity to joke at hunter' expense. Marcus had thrown down the gauntlet already, and he would discover soon she pulled no punches. After receiving the keys, the pair climbed to the third floor where their apartment was located. Just like the rest of this motel, the interior couldn't be called impressive even by the nicest reviewer around, but it suited their needs quite well. A large bed, a table, a television; who would ask for more? Sure, a longer stay here would probably drive more sensitive individuals to suicide because of the grey color being literally everywhere, yet one night couldn't do any lasting damage. "Wow, the very existence of this room just gave new meaning to nihilism. Good thing I carry blessings of our Lord with me wherever I go otherwise I would slit my wrists." Suddenly remembering she was still wearing the blood-stained shirt, Laylah took it off casually and began searching in her suitcase for an appropriate replacement. "Anyway, what kind of sigil do you want to use? I could help you with drawing."
[/fieldbox]

 

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
Marcus clenched his teeth together, preventing himself from giving out the sound of pain. The angel was obviously not a believer in the famous phrase 'If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also', which was something he should have learnt so far. And since he was the same, the whole teasing game would probably continue if they hadn't had more pressing matters at hand. He watched Laylah as she pulled away from him to go pack her stuff, when he realized he was left alone with her roommate, who looked so worried it almost made him feel sorry for her. It's the moments like this that made him wonder how does it feel to lead a normal life, full of normal worries, normal troubles, and normal daily activities. Being raised as a hunter from the day he was born robbed him of ever experiencing such a life. Even when he got married to Kathleen, which was probably the closest thing to what ordinary couples do if they love each other enough, the whole thing was far from being common. Living happily ever after was never an option, and the whole 'until death do us part' was more real than with any other couple.

Luckily for him, Lara was too absorbed in her own thoughts and wasn't bothering him with unnecessary questions, and Laylah was back from her room so fast it almost seemed like she'd pulled some mojo out of her angelic ass to hasten the process. Playing his part, Marcus grabbed her suitcase, which was somehow heavier than he anticipated. Angel or no angel, this creature had lived as human for over two decades, and it was only natural that she'd embrace some of the women's stereotypes – like having too much clothes. Being aware of the lurking danger, he couldn't wait to leave the house, and return to his proper self. He smirked at her words about contributing to society and being famous, for that was already his thing, although on a much bigger scale – minus the fact that humanity wasn't really aware of his good work, and his fame for it brought him nothing but wrath of hell. "What can I say, I had a terrible career advisor," he concluded with a broken smile that agreed with her statement of hunting demons being a thankless job.

Stopping for a snack reminded him of more carefree times, when all that mattered was a good food, good drink, and good company. Needless to say, those moments were very rare, yet crucial for hunter's well-being. Chuckling at Laylah's remark and taking a bite out of that simple, yet delicious hamburger, made him forget about the reasons that brought the two of them there. If only just for a minute. To a normal human being a minute of his time meant close to nothing, unless he or she was being told that they were dying. Well, being a hunter was like being told you only have a couple of years left if you're lucky. If not, you could be out tomorrow, or even later today. Hell, maybe the next second if shit really hit the fan. It was the kind of life, where future didn't matter much. Especially if you had already lost everything that you ever held dear.

Staying at motels was his regular kind of deal, so he barely even concerned himself with its quality. All that mattered to him was that the place wasn't being haunted, or else his stay would be more about working on a case, banishing the evil spirits, than having a place to crash. Once he parked he made sure he took everything they needed to protect themselves from demon invasion, and put it in a travel bag that only made him look like a regular visitor. He also pulled out a fake ID, which he used to rent a room, and let Laylah do all the talking. He smirked at her enthusiastic response to the fact that they were bound to share not only a room, but also a bed, making a quick decision in his mind that he'll do everything in his power to not do the latter. Even if it meant he'd be sleeping on the floor. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable sharing the bed with an angel – it was the fact that she was, despite her supernatural origin, inside a female body. And we all know what that does to a mortal, lonely man.

"You know, I had no idea angels could be so cynical. I'm starting to feel inferior in that department," he made a comment on her remark about the ugliness of their room. He threw his bag on the bed and started pulling out the stuff they needed in order to write the sigils. His family grimoire and a bunch of chalks that could be used on the walls. Surely he wasn't prepared for the scene unfolding in front of him, no matter how innocent it was. Seeing a good looking lady only wearing a bra wasn't something he'd be used having around since his wife died. "Amm… Actually it's sigilS. There's a combination of them that seems to work best," he managed to utter, and then he turned around so she could have some privacy changing her clothes, and he wouldn't have to feel what he wasn't supposed to feel – or more importantly - what he didn't want to feel. Guilt.

He couldn't remember the last time he shared a room with another female. Not since his wife died, anyway. And he couldn't even remember when it was the last time he shared the room with her. While some would mourn their way through such a loss by banging a random stranger they'd picked up in a bar – ironically, Laylah fitted that label perfectly – Marcus chose another route that involved zero human contact and a lot of alcohol. And speaking of that, his faithful bottle was right there in the bag, patiently waiting for him to take her in his hands. Which he did without a second thought, because something strong and burning was exactly what he needed in order to properly end that particular day. He carefully peeked back at Laylah to see if she was decent, and then he grabbed a grimoire to find the page with the sigils on. He put the book on the bed, so she could see what he had in mind. "One on each wall. Plus, I'll draw a demon's trap before the door, just in case somebody decides to bring us a deadly breakfast," he explained to her, barely looking at her, for he was still feeling slightly uncomfortable around her. "Need a drink?" he half stated and half asked her, and then handed her the bottle of Jack before proceeding to the door, where he first made sure they were securely locked. He squatted down on the floor and begin drawing the pentagram that had the power of trapping the demons inside its circle. "So what do you plan on doing after we get your grace back?" he asked her out of a sudden realization that their little partnership probably had an expiration date.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
"Marcus, please. Anyone with a working pair of eyes is qualified to make this observation. If this is what you consider to be cynicism, well, I have some bad news for you," Laylah smirked as she continued searching for a suitable attire. Seriously, though, what has happened to our reputation and why do people seem to think we're a bunch of tree-hugging hippies who blush at the idea of using a swearword in public? Angels were never meant to be shining paragons of morality and the fact this portrayal had somehow entered into the mainstream knowledge didn't mean anything. If humans collectively started believing that sharks had switched to a vegetarian diet, for example, the sheer power of delusion wouldn't make the animals abandon their natural habits, either. No creature possessing free will could be expected to walk the path of virtue without faltering. Some shook the impure thoughts off, preferring to preserve the status quo to the risk that came with exploring new territories, some embraced fate widely regarded as damnation and sought their own answers, but they all questioned their conviction from time to time. Such was fruit produced by an independent mind. God, on the other hand, demanded an unwavering loyalty from his offspring - the blind kind of loyalty that never paused to look for rifts in his narrative - so he usually used human prophets to spread the faith. Angels who understood inner workings of the heavenly politics knew a bit too much to achieve similar levels of uncritical devotion, and thus they primarily served as messengers to humanity.

"Combination, huh? Interesting." "Inefficient" was the word threatening to slip from her lips, but antagonizing her sole ally didn't seem like a wise idea, so she kept herself at a tight leash. Besides, it would be in poor taste to insult craftiness of mortals who had learned to fend off demons despite not having a single magical cell in their bodies. One could compare it to participating in Olympics while missing a limb and winning. Well, okay, sometimes winning would be a more accurate way of phrasing it since hunters' life expectancy only barely exceeded that of a may fly in most cases, yet that didn't lower their merit in her eyes. Quite the opposite, actually. Unlike the angels protected by the divine light shining brightly inside of them, humans had been cursed with every single evolutionary disadvantage available at God's arsenal and yet they insisted on resistance with stubbornness so characteristic for their kind. The struggle was fairly inspirational if somewhat tragic in its futility. They shouldn't be forced to rely on each other with odds being so heavily stacked against them. Leaving them alone in a mess of your own creation - mess of catastrophic proportions - deserved the label of a war crime. It was a common sense not to rush to your children's rescue every time and let them overcome some obstacles on their own, but that obviously didn't apply when predators specifically designed to kill them emerged out of wood work.

Being used to co-existing with roommates peacefully, Marcus' discomfort at her state of undress flew completely over her head. After all, there wasn't anything strange about wanting to get rid of a blood-stained t-shirt, right? And how could anyone not transported into the present via time machine possibly get offended at the level of nudity similar to wearing a swimsuit? Operating under this assumption, Laylah saw no reason to hurry, yet it also didn't take ages for her to pull a black top over her head. When the hunter dared to steal a glance at her again, everything about her looked so innocent not even the most hardcore conservatives would protest at her becoming a teacher in a kindergarten. "Show me these sigils of yours so I can help you draw them," the angel requested, an academic interest apparent in her voice. Just what sort of mechanism did the hunters use to banish the demons? Did it work like the spells sometimes used by her brothers and sisters or had they discovered a different approach? It wouldn't surprise her as penchant for innovation seemed to be their trademark signature. Laylah turned the fragile pages with utmost respect, careful not to damage them out of sheer clumsiness. "Fascinating, truly. I've never seen anything like that. I mean, yes, the structures seem to be a bit analogous to the traditional symbols, but they defy laws of conversation of energy. Logically speaking, this should offer zero protection and yet it evidently somehow works. Hmm... Ah, thanks, but no," Laylah rejected his offer, "maybe later, but now I want to focus on these symbols. I don't know them, and I don't particularly wish to invite a demon invasion to our apartment because of a drunken mistake. That wouldn't be a nice epitaph on my tombstone, would it?"

Engraving the pattern in her memory, Laylah went to the closest wall and began drawing on it, her tongue stuck out in concentration. Marcus' question brought a smile to her face. "What am I going to do, eh? Well, why do you think the demons are so hellbent on stopping me now? The answer is simple; it's because they know they aren't going to get another opportunity. When I regain my grace, it's game over to them. While we don't get cool visuals like halo - which is an eternal shame, if you ask me - we do get what is practically immortality. Since I have always been a warrior, I think I'm going to go on a little genocidal spree for the old time's sake. I'd be more than happy to join you for a while to repay my debt, but I'm not sure whether I should ruin your lone wolf reputation. Your fandom would suffer a large hit," the angel chuckled. Suddenly interested in the mindset that had given birth to the hunter caste, Laylah felt compelled to ask few questions as well. "Say, Marcus, why do you even keep hunting demons? What drives you forward when you know it would be easier to move to the other side of the planet and forget about it all?"
[/fieldbox]

 

[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
"Clearly," Marcus muttered in response. "So what? Does it come with age, experience or it is just that being cynical is what makes angels fall in the first place?" He didn't know much about angels, but he knew enough about cynicism to be concerned about those who practiced it. After all, he was being one of them and he knew very well that all those remarks were just a cover-up for his misery. They say that underneath every cynic, there lies a disappointed idealist. So when this becomes true of angels, the beings that originate from the one place that was supposed to be idyllic, one has a very good reason to become concerned. From the human perspective, Heaven was the only thing that ever promised eternal peace and happiness. Now imagine that you tell the common mortal that there is something terribly wrong with their favorite last destination.

Marcus got a feeling that Laylah wasn't really impressed with what he considered to be the most efficient way of keeping the demons away. However, thanks to the confidence in his own expertise, he didn't feel the need to defend the secret magic behind those sigils. They've been used in his family for generations, so he didn't exactly know where they originated from. To be honest, he never really thought about it, since it wasn't crucial for their effectiveness. Why care where did the blade come from if it only mattered that it could kill? Ironically, that was exactly what has been bothering him in regard to the demon-killing blade that had been handed to him by an angel of the Lord himself.

He listened and drew the first line of a large pentagram that was meant to serve as a demon trap. He must had drawn it for over a thousand times already, yet he had never done it in exactly the same way. Sometimes he'd drawn it in haste, other times in fear or angst, or with no emotion whatsoever. But this time he did it in such deliberate manner as if the whole 'being in the moment' would anyhow enhance its efficacy. In the times of war it was always the little things that brought him solace. Like cleaning the guns, making salt bullets, or in this case drawing the sigils. "What about your own kind? Won't they be pissed you're back in the game? Is there any way they can hurt you again?" he asked out of curiosity, for he already figured why the demons were so obsessed with her. Surely, he didn't understand why it took them so long before they'd found her, and he was afraid that he himself was playing a part in their discovery, but that trouble promised to be over as soon as Laylah got her mojo back. At that point he could only hope she had more brothers like Zerachiel waiting for her to return to her proper self. "As for you joining me…I wouldn't mind having a real, functional guardian angel by my side, believe me, but… I'm not sure you'd be safe around me. No one ever was." His lips curved into a broken smile as he glanced over her to see how she was doing with the sigils. Of course, he was being afraid of the so called Blackwell curse, although he wasn't sure if it also applied to supernatural beings. However, one could never be too careful, and as much as he hated to admit it he cared for Laylah's safety. It had been long since the last time he genuinely gave a damn for another human or non-human being that needed his protection.

Her question was very well in line, but he was lacking a true answer, for there were forces inside of him that he wasn't yet aware of. "Somebody's got to do it," he smiled in response. "Since you angels obviously cannot handle it on your own." His words were obviously meant to do a little teasing, but the truth was he was having a really hard time providing an honest answer. It was basically the first time that someone had asked him that, because no one ever came to think that he must have been tired of fighting at this point of his life, and after everything that happened. But then again, the answer was pretty simple. "It's what I am meant to do. Being born into one of the oldest demon hunters bloodlines didn't leave me much choice, but to become a warrior." That was the truth. He never knew a normal life. His father was a hunter, and so was his mother, although she passed away before her time. It was almost as if the curse had waited for his mother to bring the next of kin to this world, and then he claimed her for itself. His younger brother, Killian, who was actually his half-brother, was luckier in that department, for he was the result of a summer romance between Marcus' father and a pretty lady from Iowa, who was up to that day still living and breathing. "Surely, that doesn't mean I haven't thought about quitting. If I haven't been set on getting revenge for the last couple of years, I'd probably already pull the trigger on myself," he admitted. Moving to the other side of the planet clearly wouldn't be enough – a least not for a man of his caliber. The demons weren't just America's problem. They were everywhere, and there was no ocean wide enough to keep them at bay. "Although I'm not so sure I'd be enjoying what the other side has in store for me," he concluded, being aware of the guilt that was creeping inside of him.

''So what is Heaven like anyway?'' he finally asked the question that has been nagging him since the moment he learnt of its true existence.
[/fieldbox]

 

[Aine]

[fieldbox= Laylah, yellow]
That was a good question, actually. Where should one look for the roots of cynicism, the most prevalent of heavenly sins? Upon examining past interactions with her brothers and sisters closely, Laylah came to believe a clear answer existed, even though those who hadn't devoted their lives to pursuit of truth didn't bother to open their eyes to see it. And why should they? Rewards for untangling the knot of deception weren't exactly lucrative, at least unless you didn't suffer from a particularly bad case of masochism. "Neither. Age is a factor, certainly, but it is by no means the main reason. While I obviously can't speak for everyone, I'd say cognitive dissonance is the culprit. To an extent, all angels must have it. Some of us are just naturally better at rationalizing the conflicting messages we receive. It is a self-brainwashing process we all undergo voluntarily to preserve the illusion of righteousness. Those who fail at it generally fall in the end." One didn't have to be a genius to predict poking the hornet's nest would lead to severe stings, but it was hard to continue supporting the old values when you were wired to fight injustice. All it took for evil to triumph was for good men to do nothing, after all, and everything within her protested against such brutal betrayal of her principles.

Laylah worked relatively fast despite never having seen those symbols before, solely because they did share some superficial similarities with the sigils familiar to her. The sudden concern about her safety did warm her heart a bit. Being assigned the role of a protector, nobody had ever really deemed it necessary to watch out for her well-being and in a way, they had been right. It would have been rather silly to fake a genuine fear for her life and telling each other goodbyes with tears in their eyes before every mission when the chances of her getting seriously hurt approached zero. Still, the clinical coldness with which they tainted the camaraderie blossoming between had often made her feel as if she was nothing but a cog in a perfectly oiled machine. A mere component which enabled a smooth operation. A component that had gotten discarded the second it showed symptoms of defectiveness only to be replaced by its identical clone. No, that's not correct. Not an identical clone. They probably got someone who knows when to shut the fuck up. "Well, technically they could hunt me down, but I sincerely doubt it. I'm not a good target for their purposes. I'm a trained fighter, which means they would have to expend considerable resources to track me, not to mention actually kill me. The cost to profit ratio is simply too unfavorable for them at this point, at least if I don't antagonize them openly. Keeping my head low should do the trick." And that was exactly what Laylah intended.

Letting the current order burn in the flames of revolution did sound alluring, yet it would remain a pure fantasy. They eliminated every hint of disobedience before it infected other angels, preserving thoughtless hegemony where true resistance could never form. Moreover, revolution always devoured its children; there was no way around this golden rule. "Why?" the angel asked when Marcus expressed worry he might drag her down with him. "You seem to be forgetting that acting as a catastrophe magnet is my job, thank you very much. If anything, guilt should be eating me from inside right now because my aura shines like a lighthouse in the darkness for the demons. You've effectively stepped into the spotlight by agreeing to protect me. Well, you were probably there before with your career and whatnot, but my presence definitely served as a catalyst. In other words, it's objectively my fault." Why would he consider himself to be responsible for her misery in this context? Was it a standard messiah complex so many heroic figures embraced or could it be something else? Perhaps the memory of his wife distorted his worldview and framed him as the culprit? Death of a beloved person could do horrible things to your perception.

You know, Marcus, we are not that different, you and I, Laylah thought as he explained his motivation for playing a Savior in a godless society. Biological imperative had been swapped for the burden of family tradition in his case, but both of them were trapped by their duties forever. Only the sweet kiss of grim reaper could shake the conviction defining their entire lives. "I guess I understand," the angel said, abstaining from any clever commentary this time. It was her way of acknowledging him as a fellow warrior and believe it or not, even she preferred not to joke about these matters too much. Respect for your peers did feel holier to her than empty symbols like chalice or crucifix. The next inquiry was something Laylah expected to come out of his mouth sooner or later. Curiosity, both the greatest virtue and plague of humanity at the same time, had to manifest itself somehow. "Ah, the dreaded heaven question. I'd love to help you, Marcus, but I'm afraid I can't. I've never actually been in the heaven mortals get to experience. I used to be an employee, someone who worked behind the scenes so everyone else could enjoy it. Kinda like a a projectionist in a cinema. I do have access to some insider info, though. Essentially, heaven is different for every resident, changing according to their whims. You'll have to die in order to find out..." Since the atmosphere was getting a bit heavy, Laylah grabbed a pillow and tossed it after him, hitting him in the head. "Which will probably happen soon with such shitty reflexes," she burst out in laughter.
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[Manticore]

[fieldbox= Marcus Blackwell, blue]
Clearly, there was more to the angels than humans were led to believe. As above so below was indeed the truth, which posed an uncomfortable question – were such differences also native for the underworld monsters? If Heavens weren't all white, was it possible that Hell wasn't all black either? Surely, it was against all reason, but Marcus had heard other hunters say that not all demons were equally bad…as not all of the angels seemed to be equally good. "So you can be killed? By another angel?'' Marcus got curious, and worried at the same time, because it all pointed to the fact that demons weren't the only thing endangering her. Or him for that matter. How would the angels feel about a mortal, who dared to defy them by helping the unholy traitor?

"It's hard to explain, but… People tend to die around me. Good people. Especially the ones I care about." What else could he say? That his family was being cursed, but he had no real proof of it? That all of his partners ended up dead within a year, except for his lovely wife, who for some reason lasted much longer than that? Knowing her she'd probably laugh at him for being so silly as many others did. "Although, technically you're not a person, so perhaps you'd get a free pass," he concluded with a smile, genuinely hoping this was indeed a case, for he wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with being responsible for yet another death. "As for stepping into the spotlight… It was my choice. Despite Ellen having insisted on it, it was still my call. I swore to myself I'd protect you long before I knew you were an angel, which is what brought us here.'' And this was the truth. If Marcus had been anything, then he was a man of his word. The lengths he would go to protect another innocent soul were unfathomable, which was something angels could take as an example of good citizenship. In the face of all the darkness that was inside of him, saving other was the only light he saw at the end of the tunnel. So for him quitting was never an option, no matter how tired he was. Without a purpose he was nothing, and he dreaded the moment when he'd have to let go of everything.

Laylah's laughter filled the room and casted away the gloomy thoughts spreading inside his head, before he could swallow the bitter fear of never experiencing the Heaven himself. He didn't expect to be hit by a pillow, especially not by an angel, so when he turned around to face her, a strange image flashed before his eyes. For a brief moment it wasn't her, but it was Kathleen, laughing at him tauntingly. It happened to him before, and sometimes he wasn't sure whether he was imagining things or it was really her, reaching to him from the other side. The only thing he knew was that her face always aroused guilt within him, and that the only thing that helped him with that was getting drunk. Clearly, wasting himself was far from being an option at that point, so he chose a wiser method for clearing his head. "Well, I'm all in for the slumber party and pillow fighting, but I really need to hit the showers first. It's been one hell of a day, thanks to you," he smiled, and drew the last line on the floor, thus finishing the demon trap. He got up and walked across the room, while inspecting Laylah's drawings. "You did good. For a newbie hunter," he teased her, and took of his jacket. He took out a shampoo from his traveling bag, and headed toward the bathroom. "If something jumps out of the closet, or grabs you from under the bed, let me know," he instructed her, although he had a feeling that screaming would be the last thing she'd do in order to protect herself.

Once inside the bathroom, he left the door open, so he could hear if anything unfortunate would happen while he was taking a shower. He trusted Laylah not to come spying on him, because she didn't strike him as a nosy one. He needed some privacy, some alone time to clear his head, because he wasn't used to be around someone all the time. Especially if that someone was a good looking lady that reminded him of what it felt like to be able to laugh. He took his dirty clothes off and inspected his body in the mirror. His muscular torso was covered in bruises that hurt like hell if being pressed on. There was a good chance that one of his ribs was also a bit fractured, but that wasn't something he would concern himself with. Physical pain was nothing compared to what was hurting him from inside, which was probably why the fighting always made him feel better. Taking a shower was like a blessing from Heaven that washed away all the unholy dirt he had accumulated during the day. And there was quite a lot of dirt, not to mention the blood that wasn't even his. Being clean was a simple pleasure he was still able to enjoy if it only lasted for a few hours a day. After he was done, he stepped out from the cabin, and reached for a towel, only to realize Laylah was standing in the middle of the bathroom, staring at him while he was shining in his whole naked glory. ''Ohm..." Perplexed by an unexpected and rather awkward situation he quickly grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist, so his manly parts were being safely covered. "Everything ok?" he asked her in a trembling voice as his heart began to race violently.
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