The Dead Masters - Demon: His Master
A church in white, that’s where he was heading.
Never before did he imagined himself to step into the holy place – he thought once was terrible enough. It had burnt his skin before, but this time, it wasn’t as bad. The place had lost its holy aura. He didn’t know to consider it a shame or a lucky coincidence.
There weren’t as many people there anymore. The only pastor here, that Nathan Cross, had gone missing, for a reason only he knows. It used to be a place full of desperate people trying to reach that one sliver of hope, as the world today is but an endless chilling frost and with it comes the misfortune for the resident. None of them ever realized that they were so lucky to have their town protected still, albeit by one so vile. The man of red wondered why the hell did those people still believe in god.
Well, now that Nathan Cross is no longer praying for these poor souls, the church could no longer function. At first, people were worried about him; they looked for his house, his old school, yet they couldn’t find anything. His friends had considered the possibility that he committed suicide – it was a stressful job after all. They started to question whether they had been pushing their emotional and spiritual burden to him. He was a great man, but sadly a lonely one.
The man of red was appalled at how inaccurate their assumptions are. They were human, after all. That was the first time the man of red walked into this church. When he was still there – and he was there for days – he observed how the concerned follower began to disappear one by one, until came a day when they no longer look for Nathan Cross. The church no longer offers them salvation, and the pointless effort just made them tired, he guessed. He watched the once holy place turn into mere shelter for the homeless – its floor bloody, its wall cracked. “That’s how men really are,” the man of red thought to himself.
Pay no mind – he was here for Nathan Cross.
A shame to those looking for him, they didn’t know that Nathan Cross was in that very church, albeit no longer quite human. Behind the crucifix as large as a grown man, there lied a crimson orb – a clear contrast to the whole divine atmosphere that the church once had. There lies the consciousness of Nathan Cross – trapped in an object so demonic yet was praying to Him still. To this, the red man was not amused.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The man of red crouched to talk to the orb lying on the floor. Yet Nathan Cross didn’t flinch and continued chanting his praises. His veins bulged in fury, and in a flash the man of red stood and delivered a powerful kick to the crucifix, its banging sound echoed through the silent church as many of the homeless turned towards him. “Listen here, Nathan. You may be my master but it still pisses me off that you tried to pray to your god after seeing the demons.”
“I can’t help it if I have faith,” the man in the orb answered after he finished his prayers. “And didn’t I tell you that you could live freely from now on?”
“That isn’t the issue,” the man in red sighed. In fact, nothing was the issue. He wasn’t quite aware as to why he stepped into this church in the first place – besides talking to Nathan. He didn’t even know what to talk about. As he cursed himself of this weird behavior, he sighed once more and leaned on the crucifix. Not a great idea as he felt pain instantly after doing so. “Gosh, this thing still stings..”
“So, why have you come here?”
“Just reporting the situation,” the man of red brushed the question off.
“I am under the impression that the “game” no longer have any relation whatsoever with me,” the man in the orb inquired, yet the man of red continued on. He mentioned Durge, the fifth participant, as well as the plan to include two extra participants. “That Jaguar guy had been a pain in the ass as well,” he added, and to all these Nathan Cross merely listened without saying a word. “Don’t worry, little guy, I’m getting you out of there.”
“Are you going to win the game to do so?”
“Nah,” the man in red dismissed the idea, as if there was some other way to do it. He knew that killing people wasn’t exactly Nathan’s cup of tea. “I’ll make him do something somehow. Regardless, I’m already in the game, so whoever stands in my way..”
At that, Nathan sighed. If he could help it, he would rather remain in the crimson prison from which he could pray without needing to eat nor sleep. He was never fine with the idea of him participating in the first place – never one to kill another just to save himself.Well, that was expected. It was much better if only Nathan Cross died when he committed suicide. This whole situation was just a complete mess, he thought. “Make sure that you go to the confessional each time you deal with a person.”
“I’m a demon, goddamit,” and at that the man in red walked away.
The pastor and the demon; if it wasn’t for this twisted world, the two would never have exchanged words, let alone help each other. Nevertheless, realizing that they have quite the same goal, the strange relationship between the two were forged. It was weird for the man of red to think about such thing, but he didn’t dislike it. Their contrasts just made them better companions.
“Hey, you there,” at that the man of red flinched. As he turned around to return the cold greeting, he found a man around his thirties holding a bunch of plastic bags. His brown complexion, thin black hair and brown hair helped the demon realize that Nathan had been so close to an enemy all these while. “Never saw you ‘round here before,” the man continued.
The red eyes met. The scythe splits the air.
“You’re the Jaguar, aren’t you?” the man of red inquired as he single-handedly put the blade of his scythe close to his neck. His hands up in the air, his sweat rolling and some mixing with the blood dripping from the edge of the scythe touching his neck, the man was shaking in fear. His eyes were telling the man of red that he was innocent, but apparently it wasn’t convincing enough. Every participant are enemies, after all.
The scythe of black with red inscription all over it was pulled back by the man of red, swinging it backwards like a horse rearing to charge. He was planning for a simple cut in the neck, a rather painless and quick death. ‘He would scold me otherwise,’ the man of red thought, and so he swung the scythe forward, only to find that the man dropped himself to the ground in fear that he missed his aim.
“I-I-I swear.. I don’t know what you’re talking about..”
“Amusing,” the man of red commented on the sight of a man in terror and helplessness. He feast on such emotion, after all. Grinning from ear to ear, the man of red slowly approached the man, now sunk in the thick snow, as he screeched in dread. He rose the scythe one last time, high enough for the man not to see the already faded sun, before finally delivering the sentence down to him.
Yet the blade never reached the pitiful soul.
When the demon regained himself from that split-second attack, he grasped what was happening. A black figure had struck him from the sides, but in front of the church was but a plain field covered in snow; there was nowhere to hide. He would like to know where he came from, but for the moment the black figure with the white mask was of greater concern. As his scythe was thrown quite a distance, he couldn’t help but to face the black figure bare-handed. Not that he couldn’t handle it.
Both pounced at the same time, and struggled to dominate each other, but it was mere seconds before the man of red finally pinned the figure down and broke his arms. It wasn’t that the man of red is unharmed – his shoulder had been pierced by one of the blades, yet wasn’t bleeding much only because of the cold. With strength much like a bear, the demon gripped the figure’s neck, going for the fatal strike. The black figure let out a beastly roar before finally drawing its last breath.
“That was easy,” the man of red commented, albeit while coughing.
The man of red was taken aback when he found the head of a jaguar behind the white masks, proving that his accusation earlier was off the mark. He took a glance to the man who greeted him, and found him still frozen, not by the winter but by fear. That doesn’t make any sense, the man of red thought to himself.
“Forget it,” the man of red mumbled, no longer paying attention to the man that was then trying to pick himself and his groceries up in a hurry. Yet his mind was never one to obey to his mumblings, as his was still racing to reach an explanation to his mistake, as he walked back to the church to fulfill his promise with the imprisoned believer. That was his first time, and it felt ridiculous for him to even pretend to repent for his sin of killing a man. That was the kind of man Nathan Cross is, and the fact that he had faith couldn’t piss the man of red off more than it already did.
Well, he was about to, but when he looked out the window and found that the body was no longer where it should have been, he grinned. There is no need to confess, no need to re-speculate. No need to stray away from the path he already walked on.
A church in white, that’s where he was heading.
Never before did he imagined himself to step into the holy place – he thought once was terrible enough. It had burnt his skin before, but this time, it wasn’t as bad. The place had lost its holy aura. He didn’t know to consider it a shame or a lucky coincidence.
There weren’t as many people there anymore. The only pastor here, that Nathan Cross, had gone missing, for a reason only he knows. It used to be a place full of desperate people trying to reach that one sliver of hope, as the world today is but an endless chilling frost and with it comes the misfortune for the resident. None of them ever realized that they were so lucky to have their town protected still, albeit by one so vile. The man of red wondered why the hell did those people still believe in god.
Well, now that Nathan Cross is no longer praying for these poor souls, the church could no longer function. At first, people were worried about him; they looked for his house, his old school, yet they couldn’t find anything. His friends had considered the possibility that he committed suicide – it was a stressful job after all. They started to question whether they had been pushing their emotional and spiritual burden to him. He was a great man, but sadly a lonely one.
The man of red was appalled at how inaccurate their assumptions are. They were human, after all. That was the first time the man of red walked into this church. When he was still there – and he was there for days – he observed how the concerned follower began to disappear one by one, until came a day when they no longer look for Nathan Cross. The church no longer offers them salvation, and the pointless effort just made them tired, he guessed. He watched the once holy place turn into mere shelter for the homeless – its floor bloody, its wall cracked. “That’s how men really are,” the man of red thought to himself.
Pay no mind – he was here for Nathan Cross.
A shame to those looking for him, they didn’t know that Nathan Cross was in that very church, albeit no longer quite human. Behind the crucifix as large as a grown man, there lied a crimson orb – a clear contrast to the whole divine atmosphere that the church once had. There lies the consciousness of Nathan Cross – trapped in an object so demonic yet was praying to Him still. To this, the red man was not amused.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The man of red crouched to talk to the orb lying on the floor. Yet Nathan Cross didn’t flinch and continued chanting his praises. His veins bulged in fury, and in a flash the man of red stood and delivered a powerful kick to the crucifix, its banging sound echoed through the silent church as many of the homeless turned towards him. “Listen here, Nathan. You may be my master but it still pisses me off that you tried to pray to your god after seeing the demons.”
“I can’t help it if I have faith,” the man in the orb answered after he finished his prayers. “And didn’t I tell you that you could live freely from now on?”
“That isn’t the issue,” the man in red sighed. In fact, nothing was the issue. He wasn’t quite aware as to why he stepped into this church in the first place – besides talking to Nathan. He didn’t even know what to talk about. As he cursed himself of this weird behavior, he sighed once more and leaned on the crucifix. Not a great idea as he felt pain instantly after doing so. “Gosh, this thing still stings..”
“So, why have you come here?”
“Just reporting the situation,” the man of red brushed the question off.
“I am under the impression that the “game” no longer have any relation whatsoever with me,” the man in the orb inquired, yet the man of red continued on. He mentioned Durge, the fifth participant, as well as the plan to include two extra participants. “That Jaguar guy had been a pain in the ass as well,” he added, and to all these Nathan Cross merely listened without saying a word. “Don’t worry, little guy, I’m getting you out of there.”
“Are you going to win the game to do so?”
“Nah,” the man in red dismissed the idea, as if there was some other way to do it. He knew that killing people wasn’t exactly Nathan’s cup of tea. “I’ll make him do something somehow. Regardless, I’m already in the game, so whoever stands in my way..”
At that, Nathan sighed. If he could help it, he would rather remain in the crimson prison from which he could pray without needing to eat nor sleep. He was never fine with the idea of him participating in the first place – never one to kill another just to save himself.Well, that was expected. It was much better if only Nathan Cross died when he committed suicide. This whole situation was just a complete mess, he thought. “Make sure that you go to the confessional each time you deal with a person.”
“I’m a demon, goddamit,” and at that the man in red walked away.
The pastor and the demon; if it wasn’t for this twisted world, the two would never have exchanged words, let alone help each other. Nevertheless, realizing that they have quite the same goal, the strange relationship between the two were forged. It was weird for the man of red to think about such thing, but he didn’t dislike it. Their contrasts just made them better companions.
“Hey, you there,” at that the man of red flinched. As he turned around to return the cold greeting, he found a man around his thirties holding a bunch of plastic bags. His brown complexion, thin black hair and brown hair helped the demon realize that Nathan had been so close to an enemy all these while. “Never saw you ‘round here before,” the man continued.
The red eyes met. The scythe splits the air.
“You’re the Jaguar, aren’t you?” the man of red inquired as he single-handedly put the blade of his scythe close to his neck. His hands up in the air, his sweat rolling and some mixing with the blood dripping from the edge of the scythe touching his neck, the man was shaking in fear. His eyes were telling the man of red that he was innocent, but apparently it wasn’t convincing enough. Every participant are enemies, after all.
The scythe of black with red inscription all over it was pulled back by the man of red, swinging it backwards like a horse rearing to charge. He was planning for a simple cut in the neck, a rather painless and quick death. ‘He would scold me otherwise,’ the man of red thought, and so he swung the scythe forward, only to find that the man dropped himself to the ground in fear that he missed his aim.
“I-I-I swear.. I don’t know what you’re talking about..”
“Amusing,” the man of red commented on the sight of a man in terror and helplessness. He feast on such emotion, after all. Grinning from ear to ear, the man of red slowly approached the man, now sunk in the thick snow, as he screeched in dread. He rose the scythe one last time, high enough for the man not to see the already faded sun, before finally delivering the sentence down to him.
Yet the blade never reached the pitiful soul.
When the demon regained himself from that split-second attack, he grasped what was happening. A black figure had struck him from the sides, but in front of the church was but a plain field covered in snow; there was nowhere to hide. He would like to know where he came from, but for the moment the black figure with the white mask was of greater concern. As his scythe was thrown quite a distance, he couldn’t help but to face the black figure bare-handed. Not that he couldn’t handle it.
Both pounced at the same time, and struggled to dominate each other, but it was mere seconds before the man of red finally pinned the figure down and broke his arms. It wasn’t that the man of red is unharmed – his shoulder had been pierced by one of the blades, yet wasn’t bleeding much only because of the cold. With strength much like a bear, the demon gripped the figure’s neck, going for the fatal strike. The black figure let out a beastly roar before finally drawing its last breath.
“That was easy,” the man of red commented, albeit while coughing.
The man of red was taken aback when he found the head of a jaguar behind the white masks, proving that his accusation earlier was off the mark. He took a glance to the man who greeted him, and found him still frozen, not by the winter but by fear. That doesn’t make any sense, the man of red thought to himself.
“Forget it,” the man of red mumbled, no longer paying attention to the man that was then trying to pick himself and his groceries up in a hurry. Yet his mind was never one to obey to his mumblings, as his was still racing to reach an explanation to his mistake, as he walked back to the church to fulfill his promise with the imprisoned believer. That was his first time, and it felt ridiculous for him to even pretend to repent for his sin of killing a man. That was the kind of man Nathan Cross is, and the fact that he had faith couldn’t piss the man of red off more than it already did.
Well, he was about to, but when he looked out the window and found that the body was no longer where it should have been, he grinned. There is no need to confess, no need to re-speculate. No need to stray away from the path he already walked on.
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