Ghost Orchid
Kahn of Outworld
Anthelme's pact with the Witch of Endor was a simple one: sacrifice enough demons to keep the connection between Minette and the living strong. Meanwhile, the Witch of Endor took a small pittance of what he raked in for her.
However, Anthelme knew better than to trust the words of a demoness. She was playing the long game; in which his newfound abilities would eventually break his mind. Thus, Anthelme would be susceptible to the supernatural draw of hell, and his soul vulnerable to the witch.
His demise was inevitable, Anthelme knew that much. However, he was determined to return Minette back from hell before then.
Until that time comes, he would cut down every single demon that crossed his path.
That, he solemnly vowed.
The night was cold, yet it did not bother Anthelme who found it to perfectly bracing to keep his mind sharp. As he stood under a streetlamp in waiting, he played around with the rifles that hovered seamlessly around him. He would make two of them, hilt to hilt, twirl around before being joined by a third, and finally, a fourth to complete the quartet. Each one was decorated with an inscription to match its namesake. For the past year, they served him well in his hunts. Only recently had he attached bayonets at the end of them.
In the air, he formed geometric patterns. Then, he would have them twirl around and encircle him. It was only when the sound of claws against the stone pavement did suddenly his firearms freeze. In a split second, the barrels of his weapons turned and opened fire. Each rifle shot exactly five rounds before stopping. Twenty bullets; enough to kill any minor demon, and perhaps injure a stronger one.
A second passes by in complete silence before something from the shadows just beyond the light, fell to the floor in a heap. He scoffed; hardly a prize.
Two of his rifles floated over the mangled corpse, aiming their barrels down at the demon. With a small gesture of his hand, they sunk their attached knives into its flesh in short, but quick jabbing motions. Anthelme scrunched up his face in utter disgust from the grotesque sounds made by the creature's body.
Displeased that there had only been one demonic beast he encountered thus far, he turned to the porcelain doll that he had set down on a nearby park bench. "This is where the demon is supposed to be? You said there would be a strong one, but all I see are kitchen scraps. Hardly worth the effort."
The doll's eyes blinked hauntingly on its own. From within came the decrepit voice of a little girl. "My, my, is that anyway to speak to your patron? Even after I agreed to look after Minette?" One of his rifles instinctively raced forward in an arc and landed the bladed end of its bayonet into the wooden back of the bench right by the doll's head. The doll did not flinch, but merely stared back at him with its big blue eyes.
"The contract doesn't say anything about me having to talk to you nicely," he replied with an edge to his tone.
The doll feigned a sigh of disbelief. However, it seemed to find amusement in their banter. It knew as well as he did that there was only one way this ended for the both of them: his soul being devoured, and she, the witch, amassing more power.
"Anyhow, we can work on your manners later. That boy you've been thinking about has decided to pay you a little visit tonight."
Anthelme narrowed his eyes, "Him? For what?"
The doll giggled. In doing so, its brown curls bounced around. "Perhaps to help you kill that demon?"
The witch's cryptic response made his frown deepen. As he got off the lamppost, he strode over to where the doll was and sat down beside it. "I don't need that idiot's help."
"You're afraid of something, but what, dearest Anthelme?" His jaw tightened at her words. There were few things he feared after facing abominations again and again. For once, he had nothing to say and instead remained silent.
If he had to chase off that white-haired pizza-loving bastard, he would.
However, Anthelme knew better than to trust the words of a demoness. She was playing the long game; in which his newfound abilities would eventually break his mind. Thus, Anthelme would be susceptible to the supernatural draw of hell, and his soul vulnerable to the witch.
His demise was inevitable, Anthelme knew that much. However, he was determined to return Minette back from hell before then.
Until that time comes, he would cut down every single demon that crossed his path.
That, he solemnly vowed.
The night was cold, yet it did not bother Anthelme who found it to perfectly bracing to keep his mind sharp. As he stood under a streetlamp in waiting, he played around with the rifles that hovered seamlessly around him. He would make two of them, hilt to hilt, twirl around before being joined by a third, and finally, a fourth to complete the quartet. Each one was decorated with an inscription to match its namesake. For the past year, they served him well in his hunts. Only recently had he attached bayonets at the end of them.
In the air, he formed geometric patterns. Then, he would have them twirl around and encircle him. It was only when the sound of claws against the stone pavement did suddenly his firearms freeze. In a split second, the barrels of his weapons turned and opened fire. Each rifle shot exactly five rounds before stopping. Twenty bullets; enough to kill any minor demon, and perhaps injure a stronger one.
A second passes by in complete silence before something from the shadows just beyond the light, fell to the floor in a heap. He scoffed; hardly a prize.
Two of his rifles floated over the mangled corpse, aiming their barrels down at the demon. With a small gesture of his hand, they sunk their attached knives into its flesh in short, but quick jabbing motions. Anthelme scrunched up his face in utter disgust from the grotesque sounds made by the creature's body.
Displeased that there had only been one demonic beast he encountered thus far, he turned to the porcelain doll that he had set down on a nearby park bench. "This is where the demon is supposed to be? You said there would be a strong one, but all I see are kitchen scraps. Hardly worth the effort."
The doll's eyes blinked hauntingly on its own. From within came the decrepit voice of a little girl. "My, my, is that anyway to speak to your patron? Even after I agreed to look after Minette?" One of his rifles instinctively raced forward in an arc and landed the bladed end of its bayonet into the wooden back of the bench right by the doll's head. The doll did not flinch, but merely stared back at him with its big blue eyes.
"The contract doesn't say anything about me having to talk to you nicely," he replied with an edge to his tone.
The doll feigned a sigh of disbelief. However, it seemed to find amusement in their banter. It knew as well as he did that there was only one way this ended for the both of them: his soul being devoured, and she, the witch, amassing more power.
"Anyhow, we can work on your manners later. That boy you've been thinking about has decided to pay you a little visit tonight."
Anthelme narrowed his eyes, "Him? For what?"
The doll giggled. In doing so, its brown curls bounced around. "Perhaps to help you kill that demon?"
The witch's cryptic response made his frown deepen. As he got off the lamppost, he strode over to where the doll was and sat down beside it. "I don't need that idiot's help."
"You're afraid of something, but what, dearest Anthelme?" His jaw tightened at her words. There were few things he feared after facing abominations again and again. For once, he had nothing to say and instead remained silent.
If he had to chase off that white-haired pizza-loving bastard, he would.
