I killed a man today. Shot a Five-Seven through the back of his scull. Now I'm at a damn art store... Fucking blood. There's a fine example of nine to five for you. For once I want a clean job. Sorry fuck. One more down for takeing the wrong damn money. Shit.

This one.

Shit. Bet he had kids. Two rich shit girls. Fuck. Great thing to come home to. Why does it have to be so damn bloody? Fuck.

This is fucking expensive.

Fuck!... Calm down. That's a fucking great thing to come home to. Their mom will be fucking hystarical. Shit cops trying to explain it. Damnit. Damion breath you shit.

What are you looking at.

Fuck.

I don't need anything else.

It's a job. just a job. Nine to five. Don't take it home. Ingore it. Just ignore it. Breath. Work. People fucking die every damn day. Get fucking mixed up. Get fucking shot. Forget it.

"Sir!"

"What? Uh yeah. Sorry, how much?"

"Forty-six eighty-four. You okay? You seem kinda out of it you know"

Fuck off. "Just work"

"Guy like you doesn't seem like he should have to think so hard"

Is she fucking hitting on me? "H'ya, well we all have our skeletons" I just made a pun out of my last corpse. Good job. You getting over it.

"Hey, do I recognize you"

Really bitch? I don't know, do you? "You might. I get around" Fucking finish my transaction.

"Yeah. You don't have a look a girl forgets, you know"

I know. Bag it. "Guess not"

"Like, a lot guys can't wear their hair so long and still look so rugged you know"

ya know ya know ya know. Fuck! "Haha, thanks. Honestly I'm used to people saying I'm kind of girly" Why did you just give a reason to keep talking? You fucking polite bastard.

"No way, not with that scruff. It's hot"

Ohh kaay. Time to beat it. I'm not in the mood for a cheap fuck. "Wow. Well, thank you" Card. give me my fucking card.

"Oh my God, and that accent. You are like from England right?"

Is there a fucking manager around. Please let a line start forming. Please. "Welsh. Can I get my card?"

"Oh. My. God. I. Am. So! Sorry. Here you go"

If she fucking touches me. Fuck. What an easy fucking cunt. "Thank you. Have a good day" Just get the hell out.

Oh man. Hope he was cheating on his wife and beat his children.

Damion Kreigh walked through the door of his penthouse. Middle of Soho and a block from Broadway. Three floors loft style. Open as can be floor plan. Huge windows. High ceilings. Three beds, two baths. Indoor second floor pool. Garden patio. His damn baby. Hundred years of selling his soul to the highest bidder finally paid of. Sort of.

The place was a mess with art. His mostly. Now that he had a stable name in pop culture he could actually sell the stuff. Even the shit he sold on the side of the street started to pop up and take value. He barley made a penny from it. Now he opened galleries and made commissions. Fifteen years ago he could barley buy food after the drugs. Now he was on Magazine covers. Head line "Top Ten Sexiest Men on Earth" and him bare chest and engulfed in a mane of gold curls. Pulling of a shy smirk he knew made women swoon. He was actually kind of embarrassed by it to be honest. Didn't stop his friend Gael from blowing it up and hanging it on the his parlor wall. Gael's version of a practical joke.

He didn't make shit as an assassin. He didn't make shit working for the fucking Seals. At least he sort of liked that job. He liked his team anyway. Best men on Earth. Men he would die for and they had fallowed him into hell time over again. The grand US of A always wants some one dead. At least when he had those hits the fuckers seemed pretty good for dead. Some times. And then that other fucking job.

Servitude.

Damion kept busy. He kept sane. Or at least was able to keep some sort of fancy facade of that sanity. His outlet for ever had been vice. God oh god sweet vice. The only time he was properly sober was when he worked with the Seals. Then they were his outlet.

Ten years ago the high ups let him make his own team. Most skilled people he ever met. More then marksmanship and strategic. These shits knew music. Who the fuck would have thought. These fuckers could make some damn Rockn' Roll. Kids. In their twenties. Gael was some crazy sixteen year old prodigy.

Around a campfire. Time off. They took a trip to Norway for some good jumps. Real extreme stuff. Barry pulls out this beat up guitar and plays this Spanish shit that almost made Damion cry. Then broke into Damion's heart with some old blues tunes. He sung along. They all plays around a bit. Turned out they all could play shit. Marcus had an old metal band in high school. And that man could kill the drums. Vincent. Black dude. Fucking dreads to his ass, played the bass when he got stoned out. Gael could pick up almost anything. But made a Sax melt. Kid could also do some shit with his voice. Damion knew how to play just about everything. As a young man he played the violin on street corners to make an extra buck. He even made three albums. One in the sixties, when everyone was. Two in the eighties. Not many sales until after he made his band. Turns out people didn't get into jazz, blues and art rock to hard in the eighties.

He didn't know how he suddenly became the lead writer and singer of a damn grunge band. But he fucking loved it. He was with his best friends all the time and could make money doing something that didn't make him want to jump in front of a train. He didn't need to sell himself in between jobs anymore to. Now sex was only for fun. He lived in a real damn place. No more jumping from crack house to underpass to cheap ass apartment to the bed of his boss. He even had pets. What a damn revolution.

And fuck did the media love him. He was the polite bad boy. An ace front man. He was a natural on stage. Not like he hadn't been trying it for sixty years. His voice was flawless and he fell into the music like sex. He was never boring in front of the crowd. He actually felt happy up there. And the crowd could tell be his ear to ear grin.

And the polite bad boy was a controversial theme park. The drug use. The sex. Pictures of him getting fuck men. His extremist views opposing religion. Oh, and then there was that little incident twelve years ago when suddenly demons started popping up on the news. Chicks with fox ears and fishy girls. At first the world thought it was some Japaneses prank. Then shit got kind of real. Peace talks. fear in the media. Fox news having a field day. And then a rising for demon rights. Being "openly demon" and a well known member of the community he had become a sponsor for demon rights. Then there was that last bit about him being a known friend and guessed lover of an other well known demon. A Gangster. Or large business owner in Brooklyn. Veek Shak.

Fucking Veek.

But now some time had past. The band had twelve albums and ten years. Barry was married to a cute Korean gal. Good woman. Had a kid. They still partied hard when they weren't around the world pretending to not be themselves in combat and hiding in foreign alleyways. The media had moved on to the pop stars of the time. And at least Damion had a bit of quite for himself.

He did a line of cocaine. Then an other. Poured a Cabernet Sauvignon. Switched on Pandora. A Korn song blasted from the sound system.

Calm down.

He waited.

The box he kept in the side table was empty.

Fuck!

He kicked a hole through an abandoned canvas.

Fucking heroine. Fuck.

He felt his body tense up. He started to shake.

Shit. Fuck. Calm down. Breathe. Listen to the music. Neil Young. "Come on down from the river of sight..." fuck. Deep breath. "And you will come around" sounds so fucking beautiful right... I need some weed.

He rolled a joint. The Beatles started to take the station. He took a deep drag.

See. Shits good. Shits so good. God yes.

The world started to take a calm form. He closed his eyes and let the music take him away. Deep breaths. Mississippi John Hurt. Better the drugs.

He sung to the songs until he fell asleep.

The phone had the audacity to ring in the middle of a lovely dream. He held on to the starry night. The crisp air. The sensation of flying and then.. and then. He lost it.

Unknown number.

Work. "It's late" Fuckers, I was having a good dream.

"It's noon"

Noon? Fucking hell, I have a fucking head ache. How much did I drink? "It's early"

"People in the real world have been up for hours"

Fucker "What would you know. You live in fairy land"

"Get here. The hire ups have something for you"

Oh great. Just what I always wanted. Spirit shit. "Work? Yeah, sorry, been busy lately, find someone else to play with"

"We did. You getting a partner for this. Get your ass here"

Alright. Dancing monkey ready for duty.

He hung up.

"Shun, I couldn't care less about this fucking job. I'm not going to play in your stupid tournament. I'm taking a vacation"

"You want a vacation Kreigh you take it from your thug work. You should be Honored they let a demon work with us for so long"

"Funny, I didn't know 'let' was the term we were using" Fucking SDF fucks.

"What's that you did yesterday? Shot a human in the head. Your lucky your not down with your brother on lock down"

Keep your mouth shut Damion. "Fuck off. Shot him. A gun. Killed by human means right? Your pretty Spirit rules. You use me because I'm fucking proficient at following your pretty guidelines. As long as I play it like a human I'm under human jurisdiction" Far enough Damion. "Haven't done anything to send you fuck against me yet" There you go. Pushing away.

"Was that a threat demon"

Don't "I sure wish It could be" Oh yup. Now hes going to hit you.

Shun-jun pushed Damion against the wall and punched him in the jaw.

"Been slapped by children harder" Just stop. You had your fun.

"You do not threat the SDF. You do not mock the SDF. You are a damn servant to us, you hear me? They may like you because you don't know how to be a demon, but if you keep up this shit I will kill you"

"Try me"

A man walked around the corner. "Shun-jun, Koenma asked me to work with the man your currently threatening. I suggest you allow us to discuss the matter at hand. I'm sure you have important business else where" He walked into the light.

"I'm working with him?!" What the hell are they thinking?

"Intimidated working with someone how actually has an once of demon energy?"

Damion landed an uppercut and Shun-jun went out cold. Then turned towards his new partner.

"You don't seem please"

"I wasn't expecting the thief to be working with me"

"I wasn't expecting a demon in the SDF. Or for him to be pop idol"

"Rock star" Bitch. "What ever. They told me you were creating a team for this shit"

"I have a few people in mind"

The Dark Tournament. With the new surplus of demon activity the Tournament had become huge. And with the promise of any wish you could dream of, after reading the fine print, there was often the threat of powerful demons and humans with malicious plans. This year wasn't any different. But this was the first year Damion had been told to join. In fact his work his the SDF normally didn't involve demons at all. Only apprehending humans who had ill intent that could bring attention to the Spirit World. He only went after demons under very special circumstances. And the there was the task of deriving information. Ninety years in the military had made with quite good at it.

"So basically you didn't have enough people for your little famous team so they are making me join along"

"That seems to be what they are thinking"

Fuck. I'm a damn after thought. "Well remember what this fuck," he kicked the unconscious Shun, "said. I Am not very useful when it comes to demons. And I'm not a fighter. I kill. I'm not like your sort"

"For some one that doesn't know how to fight you sure seem to have a practiced arm"

"He's a light weight. I box. I fight humans. I am not comfortable in this sort of situation"

"Koenma seems to think you will be quite the asset"

"Well hes in diapers" What is this shit. Koenma knows I can't release me energy like normal fucks. Is he trying to kill me?

"I guess we will just have to see next week. I suppose they only wanted us to meet. So I will see at the tournament" He turned around and raised a hand in departure. "Until next time Damion Kreigh"

What's with this guy, he is weird calm. "Yeah. See you then" Man. he is not anything like I thought. He looked damn cheery. Like the hole thing was humorous. Shit. They said he was a scary cold bastard. The fact that he wasn't is kind of scary though...

Damion Kreigh. What a strange surprise. Imagine some artist being a part of the SDF. I suppose we all have many life's.

...

I wonder how wrong Shun-jun knows he is about the energy. I have never seen such immense control. He keeps it kept so densely packed in himself. Why would some one go to such lengths to restrain themselves. It must be immensely painful. And to be flexed like that. I see why Koenma thinks he will be such an asset. And then that energy signature. I can't recognize it... However...

...

He's a Durant

He's also incredibly sexy.

The Durant:

A species of demon commonly associated with tropical birds. Said to have a high chance of having an intellectual capacity to rival any. Typically they hold powers that can control mater. Most commonly used to create sparks, fire or explosions. Like those of quest class these abilities can be used to create tangible objects with a great deal of practice. It is said that a true master of the art could posses unlimited possibilities. Being a bird race they have long wings of nearly every color and pattern and long spans. Physically these demons posses no more strength then that of a human. Relying entirely on their energy.

Five-thousand years ago the entire race had left the demon world. Because of powerful magic said to be stored in their feathers they were nearly hunted to extinction. They made roust in the human world for safety. However had to leave after humans had called them fallen angles. Demons from hell. It became dangerous there as well.

They left the human world then diapered from any record. Some colonies were left however. They were call fanatics, taking the humans side. Calling them selves hell spawn. And carving off their wings.

There is a rare genetic disease as well that forms like a tumor inside their energy. Essentially making it so their energy eats them alive. A typical case will take twenty to forty years to kill the victim, however in a few rare cases, such as the one in subject Damion Kreigh, a strong suppression in demonic energy may allow the subject to live up to one-hundred, or even older. No cure has been found in record.