[ S T I G M A T A ] by Donut & lone

[glaizedonut]

[fieldbox="Lena S., teal, solid, 20"]My eyelids buzz with the same warmth in my throat as they lay themselves against a cheek. My face is buried in a neck, lips nibbling on pink skin and teeth poking out along with tongue to graze a forming bruise. I chuckle and gasp, hushed compliments and senseless flirting rolling out of my mouth like a gospel I've known too well, and I am hitched up on a counter full of dust and broken shards of wine glasses.

"Leeeena...."

He moans the prayer of my name against my skin – plump, bare skin, flushed with my full of alcohol and a regret that will seep in a while later after this deed is done – and I nuzzle my nose into his hair. He smells like sad sweat and offputting cologne, but I squeal in feigned delight over him. Our ministrations are scattered and endless, swinging from focus on one part of flesh to another in an inexperienced confusion, but it remains clear that all and every action is empty. Nothing but want, a transient want, a little snack to get rid of the hunger. It sure is taking long, though.

My shirt is halfway parted in its silver buttons and my panties are damp against the smooth icy top counter when my phone lights up in an e-mail alert and I swear I can see the face of my partner grim further in the darkness as he is interrupted in the middle of pushing his little weed out of his boxers. I manage a restrained chuckle as I check the message: my eyes twinkle with warmth at a reminder from a superior I am fond of, but also disappoint more often than is my cup of tea. As it is the case with anything in my life, but for her – a determined leader with the compassion of a war-time nun – even more so, with remorse. I have to wonder why she hasn't fired me yet, but her selfless smile looking down on me from her pedestal gives me the reason again.

I shrug my pants back on with sloppy, drunk haste and shuffle myself into my trenchcoat when I feel my now resigned partner grope my bottom. His hand is rough, shaky, but I do not flick his touch away. Instead I step out of the bathroom with a grace known only to me after a few shots of the barkeeper's favorite vodka, leaving my partner in stressed denial in the room. My superior's face flashes a soft picture in my mind when the door chimes in my departure, along with her message that seemed more urgent than necessary.

"Does she want to see me that bad?" I mumble, short of breath even shorter as my hands light a perched cigarette between my chapped lips with an expertise known only to old bastards long dead from their prime. Perhaps I am one of them – just wrapped in younger, softer flesh.

I snort at the sun setting by the other side of the long, filthy asphalt. The clouds are darkening overhead but not with the weight of the sky's water about to fall – of something else, a crackling light like thunder but without its sharp abruptness. Almost like a spotlight behind the thick mist of cotton clouds, each evening twisting more and more into a deep angry red than its usual heavenly light at noon. Nobody seems to care, though. "Maybe I've been taking that powder too much," I speak in a loud, singsong voice as though to actually converse with someone, though the streets are deathly empty and I am not drunk enough to avoid feeling lonely. I sigh, snapping my phone out to re-read the message as a short-living comfort. "'Meet me at HQ, got things to show and tell. Hurry.' Hope it's your lingerie collection, madame..." I breathe out in a chuckle as I muster a few steps.

Thunder looms in the background and I whip my head back to the skies. The sun is still bright, setting but still high in the scape, and the clouds are far from dark – they are bright, a bright blood red. I bite down on my cigarette, feeling the bitter heat dampen between my teeth. I recognize the three tall bronzed statues perched on top of buildings far apart from each other, dark forms stark and menacing against the hazy backdrop of red. I suck in a breath and shoot my eyes downward - they are here again, and they chill my bones to the core and if I look at them again I'll suffocate from their cold, judging stare. Statues of angels have been leaping around the city, usually seen on rooftops of buildings or in reflections. No one else has seen them but because I'm a crazy alcoholic, I apparently can...but I have never caught them in action.

I hope not to, I think, quickening my pace and shoving my shaking hands into my pockets. They watch me, shit- I slow my pace to a comfortable speed but do not lift my head up. I feel an icy wind grace my back and the hem of my thick coat fabric and I nearly slip. Thunder rolls in the sky again and I know this time my world has twisted itself into the funny business I've been haunting myself about for weeks. Despite not having snorted any of that pink shit, I'm hallucinating, hearing imaginary thunder and scaring myself petrified by filthy bronze statues of angels.

Only now admitting this insanity in my head has made me realize how absolutely ridiculous I am. In an effort to ditch the humiliation and calm my paranoia, I whip my head up to the sky.

Everything is red.

Not just the clouds - its colors have stained the sky with blood, and flashes of light pulse behind the thickness of the clouds along with bouts of thunder and hum. But what I fear most is the angel staring down straight at me, eyes literal hollows, arms now curled by its sides, and wings outstretched.

I suck in a deep inhale, forgetting about the cigarette that trips over my thick rumple of clothing in its descent to the sidewalk, and close my eyes. Shut. Painfully shut, and soon I'm walking again in a deliberate pace with a heart beating louder than the thunder that keeps rolling and tears as hot as the breath on my neck is cold. I snap my eyes open and turn to my side, to the mirror, to follow a small voice commanding me to 'wake', and see a monstrosity of human limbs and intestines and fabrics of void trailing after me. And it has wings. The same, bronze wings of the angels.

My shriek will be the only sound to comfort me as I sprint as fast as my legs can carry me away from the creature, hallucination or not.
[/fieldbox]​

 

[lone]

Pale hand scratched the wall, leaving a long trace of red hand mark. Taking another step, I curled my hand against the pebbles falling off from the wall. Bitter taste of blood and gastric acid filled my mouth. Spitting dark lump of blood, I leaned on the wall. Wavy line of blood trailed meters on the wall behind. As I stepped forward, something soft wobbled under the blood soaked boots. I almost fell down, but managed to stand up. The drug was starting to mess up my brain once the battle was done. Under the red line of the wall, corpses of humans and angels were tangled, trailing the road I took, and reaching out to the end of the alley.

Glancing at the mayhem behind, I turned my head forward. Of course, I wasn't the Hades who killed all those monsters and weaker, but equally monstrous hunters. Grabbing my left side, I dragged heavy body. Like bloated cotton, every step felt like lifting an angel made of leads. My sight faltered slightly as I carried another step. On my left was a wound that looks as if something clawed deeply and hooked the flesh out. Blood wasn't dripping yet, but with the speed of bleeding, it would soon start trailing a red line on the ground too.

"Worst of worst."

As always. Despite grim situation, fickle amusement wriggled inside. When I thought of the worst, the world didn't fail to show me the worse. But it was also true that the worse provided me an emergency exit most of the time. Even when I think of it again, I couldn't decide if it was lucky or unlucky that angels attacked while he was cornered by the hunters.

Enemy's foe is my ally. In this case, I was the enemy of both angels and hunters, but neither was ally of the other. For me, enemies (hunters)' foes (angels) were enemies (angels)' foes (hunters). The two forces clashed against each other, and the result was delighting. Far from executing the main foe, the two annihilated. Reminiscing my nickname when I was hunter, I snickered. My nickname was the most loved of Fortuna, goddess of luck. They would have had no idea that this luck would push them into hell.

Stepping another flesh, I shifted my glance irritatingly to the ground. Somewhat familiar face was looking up, with hollow eyes. The corpse's expression was terrible, horrible, realistic, and almost artistic. Grinning faintly, I kneeled down to scavenge the sword on his hand.

"Allan? Or was it Alfredo? Whatever. I still remember your morning greetings when I was hunter and evening curses in our frequent encounters."

You were such a great friend. I highly score your thorough considerations for my affair, whether it be greeting or curse. But I was most touched with your provision of weapon even after your death.

The drug was making me talkative. I rambled to the dead while removing the hardened and icy fingers from the intricately ornamented sword. With some sincerity and mocking, I succeeded in acquiring a good weapon for survival. Most of time, I favored weapons with long distance, but all I had was a hand canon, which only had one bullet. Ally's weapon seemed the best among the junks of this mayhem.

"I will probably forget your gratitude, but I will at least remember it for tonight. Rest in peace, Aaron."

Farewell, my friend. Instead of waving, I judged the weight of the sword on my hand. It was one-handed sword, and complicate magic was inscribed on both sides of the blade. Although the magic was covered with blood, I could still sense that it was working. A…something ranked quite high even among the hunters. If he kept that ranking, this weapon would be quite useful in coming battles.

On the way, I picked up some more useful stuff to lengthen my life a bit more. Countless farewells followed – Thank you, kid. I'm taking this dagger. Oh, aren't you the hunter who speared my lungs? Hey man, thanks fo- shit. Where's your dick? Pitiful. Hey mister…fucker. It's an angel.

When I arrived at the end of the alley, I possessed some emergency medicines, bandages, daggers, and pennies. Decent weapon was only the sword I picked up at first. Still, the scavenge wasn't fruitless. Looking down at the bandaged waist, I put on my jacket. Now, moving became somewhat easier.

"-----"

At sudden shriek, I looked up. The red sky didn't change at all. Although it was melting down due to the hallucination of the drug, the color was still dreary and bloody. I was still in the world where the creatures of mindless desire for murder were deemed angel. The emotions were quite unfamiliar, but familiar at the same time. It was unfamiliar in this world, but familiar to myself. The sound was calling out for help. She called out for someone to save her life. Although my instinct rang red bell in my head, I did not hesitate to run to the direction of the shriek.

Hunters were less monstrous than angels. However, they were definitely more monstrous than ordinary people. Most of them vowed to give up their life, fighting against angels. Some were stimulated by rage of losing their family due to sudden portals that connected these two worlds. Others were incensed by justice, sense of duty, all the glorious responsibility and hero hallucinations. Later were usually killed earlier.

In any case, this suicidal feature of hunters, like that of moths flying into fire, was disgusting. It was one of the reason I betrayed the hunters. Black dots appeared and disappeared in the sights. Although it was just after effect of bleeding too much, and running while hiding from angels, it looked like dots of moths flying around.

As I turned a corner, a woman showed up, running frantically from an angel. She was drawing even more angels around her. He hesitated for a while. Her shriek was unique for once in a while, but throwing away life was another thing. Like I said, I liked her for similar quality with me. I want to live. If impossible, than survive at least. It was then when the angel that looked like it just came out of gore movie looked at me. My eyes met the blood shot pupils of the angel.

"…..motherfucker."

Smiling widely, I firmly grabbed the sword. The feeling of battle, uncontrollable thrill of risking my life, overcame the dreamy effect of the drug. Pain gradually disappeared, and ever sharpened senses filled its place. My sight cleared out, as I stretched my arms backward. I was ready for a bit more extreme and dangerous brawl with a bit more monstrous and mindless thug. I threw the sword.

Just as my sword (the only useful weapon) penetrated the angel, throwing it into a store with loud shattering noise of glass, I snatched the hand of the woman, and ran. The angel won't be killed that easily, and while it's slowed down, I, no we had to get away from it as fast as possible.

"Not so nice to meet you, but let's introduce ourselves later."

Hoping that the angel will bring that sword with it when it catches us, I grabbed the hand of the woman tighter. I wasn't the type who regretted choice I made, but I couldn't ignore the feeling that I'm going to regret this.

 

[glaizedonut]

[fieldbox="Lena S., teal, solid, 20"]"Not so nice to meet you, but let's introduce ourselves later."

My eyes are spilling tears that drip from my face along with cold sweat. I am sure, as my vision is as cloudy as the filth of my thoughts, that I am going to die somehow, anyway, even as my legs carry me with the wind and a strong hand grips me forward, further, faster, away from the black twitching abomination about to devour us both. I blink away the tears but am met with a whip of my long damp hair straight at my face and I nearly trip - if not for the hand that steadies me without effort and hauls me forward again. We dive into corners and streets, the smell and sharp breath of the monster-angel fading away. I still refuse to look up, though.

I wish I did as my feet shake and collapse onto the asphalt. The alley is full of shit, piss, and dead bodies, yet my body is too stiff to stop myself from looking down.

"I'm going to die," I mutter weakly but begin running again, anyway, as the hand that holds my pathetic bony wrist keeps me upright and practically throws me forward. We sprint and barely dodge posts and fallen garbage cans, the wind howling and the simmering sound of a storm rolling in the distance. My legs ache as much as my lungs do, throbbing and breathless, and my heart rammed so hard in my chest that I barely hear my own words as I try to speak again, still running, still trying to ride the wind away from a monster that may still be chasing my behind. "If the bronze statue isn't going to eat me, you're going to murder me. I'm going to die."

I don't hear him reply and do not know if he does. My head snaps forward to see a familiar street - a corner shop I recognize with mild embarrassment as I used to throw up on drunk nights, which was, well, often - and I dash forward with a miraculous surge of energy pumping through my weakening legs, finally leading instead of being led from death, at least for a short while.

I stumble out the front and instinct orders my body to tighten and for my throat to coil so the bile doesn't shoot up and spills itself all over my fine clothes. I don't end up doing that. Instead, my shaking hands find the door handle and I emerge inside with the man holding me tightly, still. I have the sense to lock the door, barricade it with the mass of chairs folded neatly on each other, before I finally let out a quivering breath and start sobbing as I sit and lean against the shield on the door.

I cough, feel bitterness rise up my throat and the thick nausea settle in my brain, and stifle my crying to speak. "The owner should be here. We're going to have to explain."
[/fieldbox]​

 

[lone]

A sharp throb pierced throughout the veins as my senses became keener. Muttering curses under breath, I fumbled my coats with shaky hands. The effect of the drug was wearing off, and the surging pain was becoming clearer together with battle-ready senses. I pulled the woman falling behind rather harshly. Anyway, I only displayed courtesy to spend night with them. Fleeing with a woman who was on verge of deranging wasn't an easy stuff to do, especially when the one chasing them wasn't some mad boyfriend or father of the beauty, but a blood lusting beast that was close on their heels. So I just gave up on looking for the drug.

Faint cry of the beast, or rather the holy angel came with the wind. Sky rumbled far behind, and the sound of the creature was almost buried with the rage of the nature. Rain would be good, I thought. I wasn't thorough with the theory, so I didn't know how the mechanics of these holy creatures worked, but their senses surely dimmed in the rain. I glanced back, in futile hope for the angel to lose us, but it was still on our trail. The thing that looked like a deformed human jumped and hopped around, sometime using its wings to take short flights in dodging its obstacles. Kicking a trashcan to lessen its speed, I looked to the front grimly. The running angel would have been quite a comedy if it was behind the screens. Too bad that I can't laugh at god's humorous yet lethal gift.

"If the bronze statue isn't going to eat me, you're going to murder me. I'm going to die."

Thankfully, the woman didn't give up yet. But she definitely seemed to be hopeless. I couldn't help but make a hollow smile. So she's giving up on her life now? Well, my reason in coming to rescue a damsel in distress has become a fucking suicidal mission. Grumbling, I agreed. "Yes, I will kill you. But let me do that on bed, naked." I glanced behind, and see that she doesn't reply. Boring. I'll just have to wish that her face and body are not as boring. Then I felt a sudden pulling from the woman. She sprints to a direction with such energy. I chuckle as it became my turn to be dragged. "So you were enthusiastic about that after all." I do like body language.

Regardless of my rubbish, the woman entered a shop. The angel lost us around a corner when she suddenly dashed, but it will soon smell our trace. So being indoor while tailing an angel isn't a good idea, but the story is different when there is alcohol in the building. The woman does some safety measures that would last for only a few seconds. It was fruitless, but I didn't stop her. At least, that was better than throwing up or fainting. Moreover, from past experiences, I found that labor subdues panic or fright, or something similar. If she has something to focus on, she will be able to gather herself.

So instead of helping her out, I snooped around the shop. With all the lights out, it was hard to guess what kind of shop it was, but there was a rack of wine, and that was enough. I grabbed a few bottles and smelled some. Rich fragrance of the sweet liquid filled the room. I found what I was looking for easily. Actually, it was harder not to find my target since almost all wines were made with grapes. I tugged one in my clothes, and opened the other with my teeth. Throwing the cap, I felt the lukewarm liquid being poured into my throat. It did satisfy some thirst from all the running and brawling.

"The owner should be here. We're going to have to explain."
"Nah-"

Wiping my mouth, I shrugged in disagreement. "He won't be here. If he is, we won't have to." I offered the woman some wine as I looked down on her. Feeling a crooked smile on my face, I motioned outside with my eyes. The street was covered with corpses of humans and monsters. "No explanation is needed to corpse."

The poor thing was half-sobbing. Unfortunately, sweet consolation and tender stroke (possibly with some subtle seduction) was not allowed for this timing. So instead of consolidating the woman sweetly with subtle seduction, I offered the woman some wine with subtle coercion. "Take it. It will calm down your feelings and stop the tears. Your sound is attracting angels." It wasn't, but it will if she keeps it up.

I looked around. The store was dark, and its geography wasn't familiar to me. I looked back at the woman. It wasn't familiar to me, but she would be different. I decided to gamble some faith in her confident attitude in barging in, and mentioning the owner. "You know if there's some basement or emergency exit?" Staying here means decorating ourselves as excellent dinner of that multi-limbed angel. Not an ounce of thought in becoming a participant in some gruesome comedy of Mr. Poly-limb was present in my mind. We had to find a refugee to stay until the dawn, or run farther away. Or should I say, I? Giving a sidelong glance, I wondered if I should keep her up or discard her. For now, former seems wiser. For now.

 

[glaizedonut]

[fieldbox="Lena S., teal, solid, 20"]"No explanation is needed to a corpse."

Although I expect his booming voice to echo throughout the empty room, his tone remains controlled, almost hushed, as though he has trained himself to speak with clarity in thin volume, silky voice and delicate words and all. I frown at his statement and sniffle away the rest of my tears, wiping the damp from my face and my mouth, only to find my sobbing worse. Shrill screams pound against my head, a playlist of cries and the thunder of the invisible storm and the faint growling of angels roaring louder and louder. My vision is pink now but my eyes must be puffy from the tears. My mind reels back to textbooks of dialectic therapy, of mindfulness training and all sorts of tricks I have to keep myself as sane as I like. I suck in a deep breath and repeat a solid mantra in my head:

I am Lena Suarez, a young but experienced journalist at Paper Walk. I am Lena Suarez, and I have just been rescued by a stranger...from...an angel.

I groan and bury my heated face into shaking hands and attempt deep breathing. This makes as much sense as my boss showing me her lingerie collection or my father coming back to life and telling my mother he did not mean to point a gun to her head. I settle with this memory, and the rush of anxiety clouding my brain is subdued by a dulling ache in my heart. I rub at my eyes furiously, bite down on my lip with sharpened teeth, scratch at my forehead - my mind is running away and my body cannot catch up with its fear. I spiral until his voice wakes me up again with a sneering charm, one that I make sure to pay attention to.

"Take it. It will calm down your feelings and stop the tears. Your sound is attracting angels."

I hear the slosh of thick liquid against my face and I snap my head up to be greeted by a sly, crooked grin on the man's face. I snatch the bottle and waste no time downing it to half-full, until the warm fuzzing alcohol has managed to soothe the panic in my head. I pull my body up, unfold my arms and level my eyes with the stranger.

Fair features describes him - a kind of fair you would want to avoid, for fair is self-preserving against any harshness of the world. At the same time, I take note of the malignant glint in his eye, and despite the dark atmosphere that has nestled its way from the room to the pit of my stomach, I learn to trust the stranger who looks like murder. I open my mouth to say something, but he is already scavenging the room like a hawk with a business with death and to-be-dead. I suppose he does, with the way he handled the angel, the corpses, and me.

He looks back at me in the midst of his shuffling. "You know if there's some basement or an emergency exit?"

I click my tongue, eyes darting towards the queue of tequila bottles on the counter. I've been drinking since six in the morning - any more would be another trip to the hospital, and another round of bills I don't have the money to pay for. "Don't know about emergency exits, but there's a basement." I trudge towards him and grab his hand, wrapping his knuckles firmly around my wine bottle. "Never been down there, though, so we might surprise ourselves."

I feel the bitter liquid settle in my pores. My body heats up and my arms flail around the thickness of my trenchcoat to shuffle it off of my shoulders. I hold the thick fabric close to my chest, instead, and walk back a distance from the stranger. "Your name though, kind gentleman. I'd like to know what it is so I know what to scream when you drag me to the basement and chop me into pieces." I give him a half-smile and distract my attentions with leading both of us to a door by the counter, opening to a narrow staircase down to the basement. My shoes click against the marble stairs, each step shaky but a feigned, confident walk down. The cool air makes my hair flutter over my shoulder and I wonder if this really is the basement.

"Seriously, though. Saved my life, offered me wine - you are practically boyfriend material, and I don't even know your name!" The words are light, cheery, but they are spoken in a broken sing-song as my voice cracks and my eyes prickle with tears again. I am so afraid. I am so fucking afraid, as I lead myself and a stranger who possibly could be a murderer or a rapist to a door which may be the basement or may just be the outside world of corpses and red skies and thunder and angels. But I calm myself, hand on the doorknob but not turning it, whipping my face instead to the stranger with a cheeky grin. "Mine's Lena."

My idle, childish attempts at chit-chat establish a mood I am more suited to: superficial conversation, questions, curiosity. All part of a job I am not sure I have, with how the drugs are fucking with my head at the moment. My eyes widen at the thought of the pink powder.

"You...saw all the shit that just happened out there, and you saved me," I manage to whisper. My tongue rolls in my mouth and my thoughts stop being filtered. "Either you're a fucking druggo and we're in a shrink where it looks like we just got chased by a multi-limb angel, or what I saw just now - no, what I lived just now, and have been for weeks, is not an insane well-fabricated hallucination from the pink powder I've been snorting to cope with insomnia..."

I turn my eyes upwards to him, ready and pleading for a response.

[/fieldbox]​

 

[lone]

"Don't know about emergency exits, but there's a basement." I grabbed the bottle she gave and shook it. The weight was certainly lighter, but there were some leftover still. Bittersweet taste of alcohol lingered in my mouth as it took place of the drug. Although slight, there was certainly a difference between drug and alcohol. If the former had unrealistic atmosphere and floating sensation, the later was more of swirling world and dreamy feeling. I enjoyed both, but preferred the former in battles and flee, and the later with women and leisure. I guess I'll have to settle with alcohol since I'm with a woman.

"Never been down there, though, so we might surprise ourselves." Half-heartedly nodding at her words, I tugged in the wine. The woman wraps her trenchcoat despite her ruddy cheek. She was being wary, but who wouldn't? She should be given a reward for not fainting in such situation. "More surprising than angels leeking intestines?" Not expecting her answer, I shrug, with no effort to close our distance. Relieving her was necessary but that didn't mean befriending her. But her next words genuinely surprised me. "Your name though, kind gentleman. I'd like to know what it is so I know what to scream when you drag me to the basement and chop me into pieces."

Gentleman. When was the last time I heard it? For these days, the most common nicknames I had were son of bitch, filthy traitor, fucking bastard, shitty asshole, and so much more. The ones narrated were relatively refined compared to other ones. I didn't know that there were so many words to describe a bad ass. So I was able to laugh at her joke. If she was serious, that was fun in its own way. "Believe me. Cursing will make you feel much more better than shouting the name of serial killer." With chuckle, I added. "It's from trusted source." My previous colleagues.

The cold air on the corridor to the basement brushed by my face, making goose bumps against the bare skin. Two footsteps sound strangely eery here. It wasn't completely still, but the sound of storm and angels' faint cries resonated, creating an eery atmosphere. Or maybe it's just my feeling. I wasn't staggering yet, but would most likely be in an hour. Thankfully, the basement looked sturdy. Too engaged in scrutinizing the basement door (and whether it will be able to withstand the angel's attack until we get away), I didn't notice the emotional state of woman beside me. "Seriously, though. Saved my life, offered me wine - you are practically boyfriend material, and I don't even know your name!" Her cheery voice was noticeablely shaking, although she doesn't seem to realize it. She puts her hand on the handle, but has no intention of going in. "Mine's Lena."

Sadly, I wasn't attentive toward her. I did recognize her voice as if I hear it from far away, and I finally realized the name of the woman whom I risked my life, but they were just so trivial compared to that pale hand that stretched outside the window of the shop. "Um, Lena." I mumble as I keep an eye on that thing. I would kiss his feet if that's a hunter, but if not, we could be doomed. But she doesn't stop. All her words pass by my ears as the hand slowly progresses, revealing the rest of its body.

"You...saw all the shit that just happened out there, and you saved me,"
"Lena, my dear."

I unconsciously muttered, but had no capacity to stop her while observing the hand. Two more come out, with a leg located above the arm. Wow, some hunters do give piggy backs to others in this dimension. I would really love to see the face of that crazy bullshits. Despite my frantic escapism, the reality was thrown to me, hard. I've got the chance to see the face of that crazy bullshit, which was hanging on the place where a foot should have been. Large wings and the sword I threw a while ago stuck on that 'thing' completely crashes my hope of a radiation contaminated person with his head on his foot drifting into this dimension.

"-I've been snorting to cope with insomnia..."

With a perfect timing, Lena's rambling stopped. I look down at her pleading eyes and make the best sympathetic smile I can. "Excuse my language, but we're fucked."

Before Lena could react, the window of the store breaks with shattering noise. What a hound dog. But I did think that we rambled a bit too much. Grumbling, I opened the basement door and pushed Lena in, actually more like jamming her, and rush in right after. Just as I close the door, I hear the shrill cry of the angel. My hands were instinctively covering Lena's mouth. Even hunters, although most of them are novice, shriek in overflowing fear when they hear the cry of the angel or see one in real life. A woman who is completely obscure of such things would surely freak out. Slowly sliding down, I sat on the cold marble, which contributed to my skin hair bristling even more. Lena's body was placed between my legs, as I close my eyes. How unromantic when I'm holding a woman in my arms. I held her body tight and blocked her mouth even tighter. Her breathe tickled my finger, but all of my senses were focused on the outside. Thankfully, the sound of shattering glass must have covered our rush to the basement.

"Lena, you would be an excellent girlfriend material for me if you follow my words. Okay?"

With lowest voice, I whispered next to her ears. She was shivering and trembling for the whole time. I had a weapon to finish off that deformed messenger of god in an instant, but couldn't use it here. My hand canon was quite pretentious, and one shot would be a party call for almost all angels around this area.

"If I count three, run. Deep into the basement."

But if it's in a basement made of marbles and stones, I could practice my gunmanship here with no heavenly neighbor to complain. And usually, basements don't have any angel. If there is...let's not be pessimistic. I opened my mouth. "One," Then something thumped against the other side of the basement door. Pale hand stuck through the gap and wriggled as if it was looking for something. I shouted. "Three!"

Darting up, I gripped Lena's arm and sprinted. The iron door cracked and folded like a thin paper behind us. Enthusiastic cry of angel rang as it chase us. Okay. If it catches us, I may as well sacrifice a pure virgin, um, is she? Whatever. Considering its own monstosity and heresy, it should just satisfy with a female. Hoping that she could at least delay that thing when time comes, I ran, keeping a firm grip on a woman who is something like my second life.