Chrono Crusade Fan Fiction ❯ Pandemonium Moment ❯ After-birth ( Chapter 3 )

The Pandemonium Moment

By Prinder

 

Rated: R for violence, Religious warping, and questionable topics.

Summary: Just what kind of person is the child of Louis and Samantha? What is the reason for his mysterious birth? Who is Chrono, and who is Rosette, and can any tell from one face to the next?

Disclaimer: Chrono Crusade does not belong to me.

Legend: “talking”

`thinking'

reading

written

“Talk Electronically sent somehow”

 

 

Chapter three: After-birth

 

“14 years, it's hard to believe that you've been gone for fourteen years…” Azmaria said to the grave, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail behind her habit so that it would be out of her way. Normally, when people are seen at graves, it is because something bad had happened; but that wasn't true in Azmaria's case. “I was just promoted. I'm now a Novice, and Anna is going to join the Militia.” She explained to Rosette's tombstone. `It's so strange, they buried Rosette and Chrono in the same grave, but they only put Rosette's name on the tombstone.' Azmaria thought, placing roses on the grass in front of it before taking out a handkerchief to wipe the dust and grime that had slowly started to collect over it, her mind drifting again to Seventh Bell orphanage to the girl who was rumored to have Stigmata, the catalyst for her life as an exorcist now. `Nelly said that Lucia doesn't remember anything of being an idol, or that's what she said the last time we visited them…Seven years ago.'

 

A soft breeze swept across the Catholic cemetery, the sun's rays illuminating white headstones and gray grave markers; indiscriminate of the bodies held within, even the grave of Rosette and Chrono, which was under the shade of a blossoming oak, still seemed to be highlighted by the celestial orb.

 

“Azmaria! We have marching orders! Are you done yet?” Anna hollered from the car, waving the ear piece to the phone. Even though they were now considered seasoned veterans on the field, Anna still could not believe that Azmaria (now 26, and Anna just turning 30 herself) could still get lost in her own flights of fancy. “Azmaria!” Anna called, smiling as she thought `I'm really lucky to have Azmaria, someone who will never change on the inside, no matter what happens.'

 

Their bodies had grown and, although Anna could never say that she was under developed, she found that she had a twinge of regret that she was a Nun, and so did many men who saw the flamboyant redhead. Her emerald eyes twinkled with mischief as she watched Azmaria. Azmaria was the exact opposite of Anna, in many ways; while she was easily the most graceful to watch, when she was put to a task, she tripped and fumbled when she became distracted. It was always a debate between the Brothers in the Militia on which one was the most attractive—or that was what Mary had told her. Anna could see why they would, Azmaria was more angelic and had an air of ethereal beauty to her.

 

“Huh? I'm coming, Anna!” she called back, putting her handkerchief back into her belt pouch and running over to the car, climbing into the passenger side. “What did Sister Kate say?”

 

Ever since her first mission as an exorcist 14 years ago, after Rosette and Chrono had passed away, Azmaria had done everything she could to live by their example. From the day she helped take Lucia to Seventh Bell—a mission that took seven years to complete—, through the challenging trials of devil extermination, to coming to accept that her powers as an apostle would never return, no matter how much she prayed or sang. `But, I'm not sad about that,' she thought, `Not while I can still help people in other ways. I'll always be thankful.'

 

“The Nevada branch requested our team, since we have experience with strange instances—her quote not mine—they wanted us to come down there and take a look at some photos.”

 

Azmaria looked at Anna, puzzled. “Some photos? What kind?” she asked as Anna started the car.

 

“It's a little hard to explain, I'm not sure I understand it myself. They want us to look at the pictures, and then they want us to take over the investigation for them.”

 

“So we'll find out when we get there…”

 

Virginia City, Nevada, 24 hours later…

 

The smokestack from the train issued clouds of black vapor as the train's whistle blew and the wheels turned and cranked, it leaving its passengers behind. Anna adjusted the straps to the large box-pack of weapons on her back as she waited for Azmaria to grab their other bags. It wasn't a terribly long trip, considering that Nevada was on the other side of the U.S. from New York, it passed rather quickly on the train; even with Azmaria jumping at every sound—which was often considering the form of transportation they took—as if a giant spider were to drop out of the baggage rack above them. If anything took too long, it was the actual packing and making sure that all of the preparations had been made. Anna smirked, `Now I know why Sister Kate retired to a desk-job when she was still in her twenties. I'm getting too old for this.'

 

Azmaria shivered, hugging her arms around herself to shake off the feeling.

 

“What's the matter with you?” Anna asked, raising an eyebrow to the younger woman in question.

 

“I guess I'm glad that the train ride is over. One time, I rode with Rosette, Chrono, and Satella on the train, and the experience was frightening.” Azmaria replied, remembering the devil Rizel. Azmaria felt a hand on her shoulder and looked at it's owner.

 

Anna smiled sadly. “That was really a long time ago, Az,” she said, thinking, `But for you, it must only seem a few days ago.'

 

“Hello there!” a young man, at least ten years Anna's junior, in an exorcist uniform, called from the window of his car, waving his hand at them, “Aren't you the ones from New York?”

 

Anna shared a smile with Azmaria, “Guess that must be us, huh?” She said before leading the way to his car. “Who might you be?”

 

“Uriel Leonard, Level 3 exorcist from the Virginia City Branch. I was sent to pick you up.” The man replied, stepping out of his car (a two-door, black, 1932 Ford Rhode Island—Anna noted) and tipping his hat, his blonde hair underneath it a tangled mess. His brown eyes were welcoming, though looking tired, as he helped them load their things into the car. Azmaria sat in the back while Anna took the seat next to Leonard in the front.

 

“So do you know why we came all the way from Brooklyn, New York?” Anna asked casually as she watched the scenery change outside her window.

 

“There's a folder in the back that should explain some of it. I was working on the case myself, for a little bit. I'm glad that we have some pros here now to help out with it; it's a little intimidating.” He replied, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them.

 

Curious, Azmaria dug amongst their things and found the large envelope, secured by a string to keep it's contents inside. Glancing at her partner, who nodded the go-ahead, she undid the tie and slipped the contents out into her dainty hands, paging through it as Leonard continued to talk.

 

“Exactly ten months ago, a man by the name of Louis Richardson ran his car off of the side of the road and met head-on with a tree. Tests show that he was not impaired in any way, it happened before noon, there was no struggle, no suicide note; in short, there was nothing to explain what happened to him.” Leonard said, stopping at a sign before making a right turn.

 

“So, why was it handed over to the Magdalene Order's jurisdiction?” Anna asked, turning to regard his profile.

 

“Because, two weeks later, a neighbor of the late man's wife contacted us with pictures of a small `gremlin' creature with wings entering and leaving the bomb shelter near where they lived. She said that she had started seeing it shortly after Ms. Samantha disappeared into the apartment.”

 

“Gremlin…?” Azmaria said, blinking, taking the information in.

 

Leonard nodded slightly, “We went to investigate, and it turns out that they were right about the figure.”

 

Azmaria looked down at the pictures in her hands, the shadowy figure in a blurry photo stood out from the others. Picking it up gingerly, she passed it to the front for Anna to see. “That one, am I right?” She asked.

 

“You've got some good instincts. I took that picture myself; I was surprised when it actually developed right, with how dark it was that night.”

 

Anna inspected the picture, nodding before returning it to Azmaria. “What did you find out?”

 

“His wife, Samantha, moved out of the complex and in with her friends, Mr. And Mrs. Hatchet, no more than a week ago. But what was really strange was that she wasn't pregnant, and there was no child with her.”

 

Anna raised an eyebrow and looked at Leonard, ask hence.

“Wasn't pregnant, Mr. Leonard?” Azmaria asked.

 

“According to her neighbors, she was at least 8 months, maybe more, along the last time they had seen her before she moved—which was about 11 months prior to the death of her husband. On that occasion, they had left to visit the Hatchets, but no one saw them come home until a few days later with a large basket full of blankets in their hands; there was no baby with them.”

 

“Did something happen to their baby?” Azmaria questioned with a look of dread on her face, her eyes wide and her hands poised at her chin.

 

“It's likely. Maybe it was stillborn or something. Either way, Ms. Samantha came home notably less pregnant than when she left. As far as we have been able to trace witnesses, that was not only the last time they saw Samantha leave the house during the day, but when the strange noises and instances of things being stolen at night and early morning began to be reported.”

 

“What kind of things?” Anna asked, her mind reeling full-tilt, into what, she wasn't sure, but the pit in her stomach suggested that it wasn't pleasant. `So almost two years ago she left pregnant, a few days later, she comes home no longer pregnant and there is no sign of a child being born. She had not left the apartment after that, 11 months prior to her husbands death. Her husband dies in a one-way fight between his car and a tree; the tree won. 10 months after his death she moves out, prior to that disturbances are reported in the neighborhood and there is supposedly a Gremlin. Were they Satanists?' she thought, trying to make a connection

 

“Small things. Shoes, toys, bottles of milk on the doorsteps. Someone said that their laundry was nicked one evening.” Leonard answered, pulling into the gate entrance of the Magdalene branch.

 

“How have things been since she moved?” Azmaria said, wondering aloud.

 

“Worse, if possible. What's really strange is that her friend, Ellen Hatchet, comes to the bomb shelter every now and then with a box; what she is using it for, we don't know yet, we haven't been able to question her.”

 

“Have you searched the shelter?” Anna asked, stepping out of the car once it had stopped in front of the main entrance.

 

“We have, but you see, Sister…” Leonard trailed off, seeming to have misplaced their names in the midst of all of the other information on his mind.

 

“Oh no! We forgot to introduce ourselves!” Azmaria exclaimed, bowing apologetically, having realized that he was never told their names in the first place, “I'm Azmaria Hendric, and this is my partner Anna Valentine.”

 

“As I said before,” Leonard said, smiling gratefully, “I'm very glad to meet you. As I was saying, we have already searched there, but there's nothing inside that we could find.” He nodded curtly to them before snapping to attention as the headmaster, a tired old woman in her late 70s, Sister Abigail walked over to them. “Sister Abby, may I present Sister Anna and Azmaria, from the New York branch.”

 

Azmaria took the chance, during their introduction, to glance around the branch grounds. It wasn't nearly as big, or as old, as the New York branch location, but the dusty brick with white painted block buildings were pleasant enough for the solitary life they were expected to live. Even when she tipped her head back to the point where it touched her shoulders, she could not see the top of the steeple.

 

“Brother Uriel, thank you. You are excused to finish your reports.” Abby said, her voice firm yet still remaining gentle, though her blue eyes demanded the respect of her rank.

 

“Yes, Sister Abby.” He said, bowing again and politely excusing himself. Azmaria and Anna turned their attention to the older Sister.

 

“The other sisters will see that your things are taken to rooms. Do you have the file that I sent with Brother Uriel?” Abby asked, her tone soft, though her voice crackled with her age as they followed her up the stairs to her office.

 

“Yes, Sister Abby, I have it.” Azmaria said, fumbling with it's contents, trying to return them to the envelope.

 

“Very good. I leave everything in your hands. How was your trip?”

 

“It was Jake, ma'am. No problems at all.” Anna replied, pausing a few steps below the headmistress, who had stopped at the landing.

 

“Good, good. Then I won't make you waste your time with me, report to me once your work is finished, and if you need anything, let me know.”

 

“YES MA'AM!” They answered none-too-gladly before turning and heading back down the steps to plan how they were going to approach the investigation.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Just what are you?”

 

Ellen remembered asking herself that, her voice quivering as she looked down at the shining yellow eyes of the baby as it toddled along on all fours, the first time she had seen him. When Samantha told her what happened, she couldn't believe it; she had almost thought that Louis, kind, sturdy, loving Louis was going to live forever. Ellen, as a true friend, begged Samantha to leave the old apartment and move in with them for a time so that she could get back on her feet. The arrangements were made quickly; the next time Samantha called, only a week later, she let her know that she was ready to start moving. Ellen and Bob were over that afternoon to help her pack; it never even occurred to Ellen that there was something odd about the apartment. Only after seeing the child now did it occur to her that something did not seem inherently right about her friend's home.

 

Thinking back, she recalled that the sink wasn't full of bottles. There was no smell of diapers and powder. No baby rattles, no padded books, no mobiles and no signs that a child was even living with them. Even though the thing was born almost two years ago, now. Samantha was a disaster, personally, however; she looked like she had not slept in days, weeks even, her hair was hastily done up in curlers and she seemed to be permanently glued into her night gown, slippers, and robe. All of the makeup in the world, not that she had bothered to put any on in the first place—which was also unlike Samantha—could never have been enough to hide the red welts formed by saltwater tracks down her face. At first, Ellen bushed this off as the look of a woman grieving over the loss of the love of her life, or she did, until the night she heard Samantha's confession.

 

Ellen's memory still burned from the sight of Yashua, hurrying to the shelter the hour after Samantha had told her the truth. She recalled the instant she decided that she had to talk to Samantha and make her tell her what happened to the baby; if not for Samantha's sake, than for her own, so that she could relieve herself of her pitiable heart. The child that Samantha gave birth to on the side of the road. Bobby never saw the thing, in fact, he didn't even know about it, because Louis had begged her to not say a word to anyone about the child until they were ready themselves to face them. Samantha's admission did nothing to soothe her mind.

 

`Ya-Yashua? We put it into the bomb shelter. Ellen, you mustn't go down there! We locked it inside more than a year ago, I haven't even been down there to feed it in at least that same amount of time!' Samantha's words echoed in Ellen's head, she could still hear her panicked voice as she begged her not to come down here. `I haven't fed it, but I swear, that thing isn't human! I know, because it's still ALIVE!' It was then that she knew that she had to see the truth for herself; and if it was even possible, the child looked even more monstrous than it did when it was born. Yellow eyes that pierced her, and the things on the side of it's head were bigger than before as well, white and shale-like, they were like rough horns. `No,' she thought as she looked down at the child at the foot of the stairs, on that first night, `They ARE horns.' Even his ears weren't normal, they were pointed, and twitched at the slightest sounds made. Before, as a newborn, he had no hair on his head, but now, even in the unlit pit that he sat in, she could tell that it wasn't black, or brown, or even red; it was a ghastly shade of purple.

 

“Who are you?” The small child had asked, standing up, his lips moving to sound out each word to perfection.

 

Ellen remembered how she froze at the top of the stairs, her breath stuck in her throat; unable to respond, and unable to scream.

 

“Who are you?” he asked again.

 

Fear gripped her, triggering her flight-instinct, Ellen had screamed and ran, locking the door behind her, pressing her weight against it, half expecting it to chase after her. “A monster.”

 

Now, while she was still terrified of the thing that only seemed to sit in an abandoned chair at the far end of the room and stare at her, she could not understand what caused her to be so frightened, `monster or not, it's not terribly big, if I wanted to, I'm sure I could just kill it… and then, and then, Samantha might be able to recover from all of the misfortune it brought her…Oh God, forgive me! He's still just a child!' She thought. Still the child watched her, unmoving, though it's eyes, which seemed to burn into her with every movement she made—a very clear indication that, even now, it was still alive.

 

Why did she even bother to come back to this place? Maybe it was pity, or maybe it was malice. Every time she came, she took everything the creature had collected—she never stopped to ponder how it did that, because the door was always locked when she arrived—and removed it from the shelter. There were always milk bottles and soiled clothes, but after the first time she removed the toys; she had not seen any more since. In short, she came to clean the place where it lived, to make sure that it was still there, and to try to figure out what she was going to do with it—it was made perfectly clear that Samantha or Bobby would not be able to deal with it, so it was up to her to take care of the monster.

 

Feeling its eyes on her again, she turned and glared. “What do you want?!” She demanded.

 

“Who are you?” That seemed to be the only thing it could say, though she never answered to find out.

 

She turned back to her work. “You filthy monster. Do you know how much pain you give people just by continuing to live?! Why aren't you dead already?” She growled, using her anger for it to fuel her strength and finish her task quickly. She was using a broken shovel, `another thing it stole, without a doubt,' to scoop trash into the box and tried to ignore it as it seemed resigned to sit and watch her toil.

 

Watching the woman as she came and took things away, both good things—the smell of urine and feces would eventually have become too intense for him if she did not—and bad—like taking away any source of food that he managed to collect, he could not decide what to think of her. She didn't seem to have a name, which he found to be sad, because (when she wasn't calling him a monster) she called him “Yashua,” though he didn't know what that meant, it sounded nice, so he liked it, regardless of what it meant. Every now and then, he would catch her muttering to herself about the people she called his mother and father. `mother… father…?' more foreign words to him.

 

When the woman wasn't there, he would sit and listen to people speak outside during the day, and at night he would go out and look for things he liked. He quickly found out that he liked the white substance in the containers people left at their doorsteps, and he drank as much of it as he could, when he found it. He also liked things that were smooth and were shiny under the light, or made small clinking noises or had interesting textures under his fingers—anything to stimulate his mind.

 

He didn't understand the word “monster,” did it mean that he did not look like the woman, or any of the people who lived outside of his dark home? His horns gave him powers to make them stop moving (he had once used them when some people entered and tried to find him. He did not like how the things they held glowed and made his eyes hurt.) The first time he had used this power, it did not last very long, but thankfully it lasted long enough for him to fly outside and hide, his wings were not strong enough to carry him for long distances, though it gave him hope that he would be able to go out during the day soon, because he had learned how to make them disappear and reappear at will. His horns gave him powers to do things that others couldn't, he was sure of it; it was also why he had only known life in the dark room underground.

 

The room he lived in was large, three out of four of the walls were lined with shelves; they were all empty, but he supposed that they must have been there to keep things neat and tidy, but he never used them. If he tried to fly, he could reach the top one that towered even over the woman's head, but he never did because he was afraid that, if he did, he would simply fall from trying to carry extra weight. The stairs at the far end of the room from where he sat now, were made of metal and wood, they were very sturdy and did not squeak when the woman would walk up or down them. There were lights in the room, but they did not work well, and since they might draw unwanted attention, the woman had taken the bulbs from them the day she saw that he not only could fly, but could turn them on and off on his own. The walls were thick and lacked any character of their own (they were poured cement), the same with the floor, which was cold under his feet. Usually, when it was light out (for some reason, though he could not see any light when the door was closed, he could tell day from night in the room—something he didn't realize was a unique skill) he would sleep in a pile of blankets on the floor, or he would sit in the chair he was in now, and listen through the dirt and walls with his large ears to hear the people outside. The sound of their voices was calming to him, when he heard them not only did he learn how to speak, but he could almost picture them if he closed his eyes, it was euphoric, like daydreaming.

 

Ellen threw the shovel at the wall next to where he sat, startled, he tipped to the side and landed on his hands, before pushing off on them and landing in a crouch, his eyes wide.

 

“You can keep that thing here! Only a thing like you would want something like that piece of trash.” She said, grabbing her box; it was now full, and walked up the stairs to the only doorway out.

 

“Who are you?” He asked again as she slammed and clicked the lock back into place. Alone in the dark room he allowed himself to slouch up against the thick stone wall, his glowing yellow eyes welling up with tears. `Why do you hate me? Why don't you tell me who you are? Why aren't you my friend? Why can't I have my mother and father like all of those other small people outside? Why am I a monster? Why?'

 

Outside, two nuns watched from a car they borrowed from Virginia City branch. Ellen left the bomb shelter with the box in her arms, walking to her car, which she had parked around the corner. Anna turned and whispered to Azmaria, “Do you want to follow her or should I?”

 

“If it's all right, Anna, I want to look into the shelter.” she answered, keeping her eyes on the structure, seeming to hold her breath.

 

“Brother Uriel said that they already looked in there and didn't find anything, though… Listen, if you have a hunch, do it. Take the pack with you though.” Anna said, nodding to her partner.

 

Azmaria smiled her gratitude. “Okay, thank you, Anna. Be careful yourself,” she said, getting out of the passenger seat, heaving the large wooden pack onto her shoulders with great effort—she was never quite strong enough to carry it, which was why Anna usually did it instead of her.

 

“Will do!” Anna exclaimed, giving her a thumbs up and starting the car, driving off before she lost track of Mrs. Hatchets' taillights.

 

Azmaria steeled her nerves as she crossed the street, looking both ways as she did to make sure there were no cars coming, and walked up to the building that Ellen had just left. As she reached for the door, a feeling surged through her body and she froze in place. Her eyes wavered with thought. `What is it?' She turned the latch, which she examined closely because it did not match with the door or the knob, `This was added not long ago. Why would someone put a lock on the outside of a shelter, unless they wanted to keep something in?' and she slowly pulled the door open, looking down the stairs, the feeling increasing as she slowly walked down each step. `What is this sensation? Did they put a—` She did not finish her thought.

 

“Who are you?” A small, weak, voice asked, making Azmaria jump and reach for her gun out of instinct before calming down.

 

Peering into the darkness, she could barely make out a form, no bigger than that of a toddler; she slowly relaxed her grip on her holy gun's handle. “Sister Azmaria Hendric, I'm from the Magdalene Order.” She answered, waiting for the figure to make the next move.

 

“Are you my Sister?” it asked, shifting to stand up on it's chubby legs and bare feet.

 

Azmaria blinked, surprised, moving her hand away from her gun, her fear ebbing away. “I'm an exorcist of the order. They call us Sisters because we work for the church.”

 

“Ooh… You're like those ones who came before; not like that other one, the ones with the things that glow.” The form said, pointing its tiny, clawed, finger at her holster.

 

Not sure how to respond, Azmaria chose to be honest as she reached the bottom of the stairs, though the small figure tried to stay in the shadows where it could not be seen clearly. “They wanted to know who was down here.” She said, refusing to use the word `what' to avoid hurting the feelings of what sounded like a small boy. “What is your name?” She asked.

 

For a moment, Azmaria wondered if he wasn't going to answer. She was about to ask him again, when he gave her his answer. “Yashua, the monster.”

 

Azmaria blinked, `Monster?' she thought. “Can you come out where I can see you?”

 

Slowly, wobbling on his legs, he rocked from foot to foot, walking into the light that shone from the lamp outside, through the doorway at the top of the stairs. He stopped in his tracks with alarm, hearing her gasp, seeing her eyes wide and trembling. `She's going to hate me too.' He thought, his ears drooping, all hopes of having someone like him being dashed as he waited for her to scream.

 

“…Chrono.” She whispered as she stepped closer, crouching onto her knees to his level, though, even then, she still towered over him. He backed away a little bit, but he did not make it far, because the next thing he knew, her arms were hugging him and she was crying onto the top of his head.

 

Yashua's pupils were dilated, and his eyelids were stretched open as far as they could go as he stared at the cross that was hanging from her dress' collar, the shape of it frightening him for reasons he didn't understand, but not enough to make her let him go. `Why is she sobbing? Did I do something wrong?' he thought.

 

`Chrono! He looks like Chrono! Everything about him looks like Chrono! Another devil like Chrono. Oh God, I know I shouldn't let him live, but he's still just a baby, and now that I know he looks like Chrono, I don't think I can do it!' She thought, pulling herself together slowly; picking the small child up into her arms seemed only right then. Even when she stood up, she couldn't let him go, so she carried him up the stairs with her, it wasn't until they were outside when his frightened voice reached her ears.

 

“No, no! You can't! She'll come back and see me gone! She'll be angry and scared! You can't take me out! They'll hate me! Please! Azmaria, please!”

 

“Huh?!” She looked down at him, “You mean Mrs. Hatchet?”

 

The devil child calmed down slightly. “She didn't tell me her name…” He said quietly before regaining his resolve, “But you can't let me stay out here. They're all afraid of me! I'm a monster! I'm a monster!” he said, struggling.

 

“I don't care!” she snapped, stunning him into silence before she continued, “Not all monsters are created equal! I knew another one who was just like you! Because of that, I can't let you or anyone hide you or kill you just because you were born. It Isn't Your Fault that you are different.” She looked him in the eye, surprised at how intelligent he was, but grateful for it, because it made making him understand so much easier. “No one has the right to kill someone for just existing—“

 

“I made my father die.” He said, cutting her off, his voice pained, “Mrs. Hatchet said I did. I made him insane and then he killed himself. I lived instead of him! My mother doesn't want to acknowledge my existence because of what I am! They didn't want me because I'm a monster, she said so! I was supposed to die, but I can't! I can't die! Why did he die because I lived?! Why does a monster get to live?”

 

“Yashua… How can you just accept the fate that others hand to you? Why do you want to give up so easily?” Azmaria asked, her eyes watery as she started to laugh, “If Rosette heard you, she would have had a fit…”

 

Yashua looked at her, his expression one of childlike puzzlement. `Who is Rosette?'

 

“God has his reasons for everything, but that doesn't mean that you should just let things happen. If you don't fight, you aren't living, and life doesn't have promises, so live, while you can, because when it is gone… it's only in the end that the dying ask themselves why they didn't challenge their destinies.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“Well if you want the thing so bad, you can have it! And good riddance! That monster has no right to try to control Samantha anymore.” Ellen told the Sister firmly, standing next to the open trash bin in the back of one of the stores where she lived; she was emptying the box of it's contents there before returning home.

 

“So you say she gave birth to a devil?” Anna questioned, not quite believing it; usually when a baby devil was involved, it was summoned by a Satanist.

 

“Yes, that's what I said. I was there and saw it with my own eyes. I watched as its horned head came out of her and everything that followed. Right in my own car! You can see my cleaning bill and the police report to prove it!”

 

“Police report?” Anna asked.

 

“Yeah, apparently they get suspicious when someone calls the cleaners to have a large amount of blood removed from the back seat of their car.” Ellen snorted, “At least they were able to hide that thing's horns when they came by to verify the story, or I could be in prison right now.” Ellen added as she walked around the nun and walked back to her car. Only to turn and glare at her when she put her hand on the car door so that she could not open it. “I have to get back to Samantha and my Husband.”

 

“You should be considering yourselves lucky that he -IS- a devil, because if he wasn't, I would have hauled you down to the police station a long time ago for child abuse. As it stands, the only thing that saves you is that, technically, he doesn't exist. Just remember that.” Anna said sternly before stalking back over to the Magdalene car and climbing back into the driver's seat. “Also be glad that I went after you instead of my partner! Because she knows of at least one Devil that did brake the mold as far as their race goes, and she isn't beyond defending that memory!” she yelled before driving off.

 

`Azmaria, you better know what you're doing. I know you're sympathetic to devils because of Chrono, but if that child does turn out to be evil, I pray that you can find it in yourself to stop him from doing something we will regret.'

 

 

Chapter three end

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~

 

For those who haven't realized it yet, you have to guess which people are which as this story progresses—But expect the unexpected, not everything is always what it seems.

 

The attempt was made to make time blend together in this chapter, but still keep it clearly defined, but if I failed, it's actually spelled out here:

 

1922—Rosette and Chrono die. Lucia, the girl with fake stigmata, is discovered. Azmaria is 11 years old.

1929—Joshua dies, Remington is captured by Aion, Azmaria and Anna come back from their seven-year mission to track down the girl with stigmata. Azmaria is 18 years old.

1936—Yashua is born on July 26th.

1937—June 3rd, Louis dies.

1938—March 17th, Samantha moves.

 

For those who may become confused in the next chapter, the years that are not in sync with the time-frame will be marked by date. Oh, but I recall something about 11 Legions, just where do they come in? And can will you be able to tell the difference between good and evil as the story goes on?

 

Until next time,

 

Oh, and Read and Review, folks, I want to know how I'm doing!

 

~Prinder