Demon Diary Fan Fiction ❯ Insert Witty Title Here ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I don't know how I thought this up, but it just kinda came to me. So, bear with me on this.

Who needs titles anyway?

Chapter One- In which some get some sleep, and some don't.

Cold winter win soaked through her oversized shirt. Street clothes: grey sweater and black jeans; easy to blend into a crowd with. Intense red hair snaked over her green eyes and she brushed it past. Concentrate. Focus. The target was in sight…

The target.

By doing this, she could start a war. By doing this, the man might be dead, but his followers would flourish.

A hesitant sigh.

She couldn't think about that.

A breath.

Don't think. That's not your job.

Aim carefully. That's what you do. That's all you need to do.

She knelt down, ignoring the cold. She needed to numb herself anyway. No feeling, no emotion, just aim and shoot.

The latter the easiest thing.

This job did have its perks.

Aim…

She rested the weapon on her knee, hooking her finger over the trigger.

Aim…

A pause.

Fire…

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A sigh.

The man beyond the balcony, preaching to the converted. They gathered around him, their eyes raised hopefully for good news, for the good news. What better news than that from the prophet's mouth.

No one knew the man was really insane.

No insane-insane. Just enough to make him start his own religion, spread it across the countryside, and grow a following so large he could start an army.

Another sigh.

It wasn't his fault he was classified follower. He was the `sheep.' Bah. He wasn't anything.

A shrug. Who needed this? He could just get up and leave. He had clothes on beneath his religious garb. Who needed this crap? He didn't believe a word of it.

He stood, quickly glancing around. Just a shrug of the shoulders and his outfit would fall off, revealing the black shirt and jeans. Not too hard to rustle his hair a bit so it didn't seem like he was too neat and proper. No one in the crowd would notice him, and the preacher would be caught up in his sermon.

Easy enough.

He quickly headed downstairs, breathing a sigh of relief as the cold night air brushed against him. Ah, yes, this was better than sitting in some stuffy old hallway waiting for the preacher to finish. Why was he even there?

A better question: what did these people see in these sermons?

He paused to listen. It all sounded like a load of crap to him. Damn, this stuff was pure bull; things never ended happily, so why should one expect them to?

He continued on, pushing through the thick crowd. People stepped aside in his wake then pushed closer as he passed, wanting to hear the seductive words streaming from the preacher's mouth.

A bunch of sheep.

He wasn't anyone's sheep.

He glanced up at the sky, past the buildings in front of him… He squinted. There was someone on top of one of the buildings, probably a follower who didn't want to be in the crowd…

The person seemed to be carrying something, aiming it at the preacher.

Someone screamed.

Things happened too fast for him to be sure…

The figure withdrew itself; he turned to see the body of the past preacher slump back, a smirk still sitting on his wrinkled face; the crowd began to churn, pushing and pressing together; he was pushed out, slammed onto the sidewalk; he looked back up; the figure was gone…

Somebody stepped on him as he sat on the sidewalk and scrambled back, wanting to get away from the angry crowd. They demanded blood, compensation for whoever had just murdered their famed priest!

He sighed; he really just wanted to get out of this alive.

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“What's that?”

A young boy (girlish looking though), his blond hair tied back in a bun. He pointed to the crowd only a few feet off, no longer a crowd but a mob. Chaos had broken out: people were fighting, some were climbing up the walls of the great building before them, white and gold shaded in moonlight.

His companion, the tall elegant man stretched an arm over the boy, pulling him closer. His eyes were sharp, intense, as he stared at the crowd with distaste.

“That would be humanity at its best.”

The boy looked up at him, slightly confused. He was not a sharp lad, but sharp enough to see the angry crowd was not something he wanted to go strolling into.

“Should we continue?”

“I think that would be best, Master Raenef.”

A smile from the young boy. If anyone had been paying attention, they would've thought it strange for the taller gentleman to be referring to the young one with such a title as `master.' Still, most of the crowd was crumpling within itself; church members were trying to keep the violence down with little luck.

“Come along.”

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She ran down the stairs. Her job had been finished. She needed to get back. In movies they always jumped across buildings or disappeared into the void of the night, but in real life, the safest way to go out was through the front door, especially with all the chaos downstairs. If policemen were coming, their first priority would be to quell the rising violence, giving her ample time to merge with the crowd and head off in any direction she wanted. No one would suspect her; a young girl killing one of the most powerful men in the country? Preposterous.

She flung open the double doors of the building, noting the chaos around her, and ran right into a person.

Her training was starting to fail her.

She tripped over him, stumbling forward and being pushed back by the crowd. For a moment it was like a game of ping pong, but it ended when she landed on her backside on the hard concrete.

Except she hadn't landed on concrete…

No, this was softer…

More like a person…

She turned quickly, scrambling back (but still a safe distance from the crowd.)

Ice blue met warm green…

Held for a beat…

A moment…

Two…

Someone else screamed, and both sets of eyes turned to the crowd. She scrambled up, turning quickly. She had to leave now and…

Those eyes again…

“You…” the boy was speaking.

She didn't have time for this!

“It was you…”

She started. No! This could not be happening now!

Police cars could be seen in the distance. She turned on her heels, gazing everywhere… Where could she hide...?

There!

She turned back to the boy. She had no choice but to take him with her…

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him along, running, running, running, always running, and dove behind a nearby house. The houses were arranged in rows, no spaces between them. On one side was street, the other…

She realized her mistake too soon as she teetered over the edge. Rushing water beneath her. The boy was struggling beside her. One thought entered her head:

This could not end well.

They tumbled into the water beneath.

She hit her head on the bottom of the canal and scrunched her face in pain. Her hand still clutched the boy tightly as if he were a floatation device. He was still struggling, kicking and shouting as his head broke from the water. But everyone else was shouting, and they were moving from the crowd too quickly.

She rose above the water, taking a deep breath of air. Quickly she pushed him below water, holding him there was he still tried to shout. Her head was throbbing, her legs were aching, her lungs were aching. She began to swim to the side of the canal, dragging the boy with her. She clutched the side and attempted to hoist herself over.

She slipped.

Dammit!

The boy was coughing, flailing about.

Damnhim!

She tried again, throwing her legs over. Slowly she managed to drag herself onto the tiny space between house and water (not so tiny anymore, she noticed) and pulled him up too.

She lay down on her back (was that grass beneath her feet?), breathing hard. Her vision was dimming, dimming, dimming…

Black.

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“Damn policemen,” Eclipse murmured as they entered the house. Raenef was still smiling beside him, their hands clasped together firmly.