The Devil and the Angel by Sierra Shadow Nightingale

The Night Angel is visited by none other than the Devil himself. What happens when Justice, Vengeance and Mercy, the three Faces of Judgement, collide with the dark forces of Hell? One-shot. Rated T for mild language and also because it's Kylar here.

Kylar could feel someone approaching him from behind. He didn't need the black ka'kari to tell him so.

"Come out, whoever you are." He stated coldly, drawing his knives out from their respective hidden sheaths. He didn't draw Retribution out yet, as he didn't sense maliciousness in the being behind him…well, not much anyway.

"Ah, calm down, little Angel," A chilling voice ran down his spine. "I'm merely here…for old times sake."

"If I recall, the old times were never pleasant." Kylar kept his tone steady, but hid a warning between his smooth words.

The being chuckled again, seemingly unaware of Kylar's warning. Anyone who could stand there and stay unafraid was either a huge fearless idiot…or something else entirely. The voice was slightly familiar though. He racked his brain.

Living for eight centuries muddled his memories. He still had excellent memory for short term things, maybe the last few hundred years or so, but if anyone asked him which guild did he come from at first, he wouldn't have been able to answer. He had lived a lot of lives, reincarnated many times that dying soon became a natural cycle.

But he could not find anyone matching this speaker's voice. The stranger had a deep brass voice, heavy on the vowels with no apparent accent. There were no clues.

Kylar finally turned to face the stranger. Being so old (mentally. He still looked not a day over twenty) made sure life had no more surprises for him. He was able to keep his slight shock in check. The stranger was wreathed in shadows, as if they were a cloak wrapping around him. They however parted at his insistent eyes, and Kyar saw a young man.

He was handsome in a terrible way. His hair was black as night, darker than ink. His eyes were horrifying, swirling dark pits that promised petrifying terror. He was pale, as if the sun had never touched his skin. He was clothed in dark garbs, with no visible weapon upon his body.

~Ooooh. He has a lot of Talent.~

You think I don't know?

~Judging by your awestruck face, I guess you don't.~

Kylar sighed. He sometimes hoped the ka'kari didn't have such a sense of humour. But the ka'kari was what anchored him sane. Without it, he would've gone mad like Ezra a long time ago.

Is he a threat?

~I thought you said you knew he had a lot of Talent?~

Yes, he does.

~So, if you add a man plus a huge load of Talent, what do you get?~

A wetboy?

~My guess is he's as dangerous as a wetboy, most probably more.~

What the ka'kari offered was something he'd suspected already. Looking at the stranger, he felt something tingle down his spine again.

The stranger dipped his head. "Night Angel," he said as a way of acknowledging him in a respectful way.

"I'm afraid we are not well aquainted." Kylar stated.

The stranger laughed. "Why, I'm the Devil, of course."

The Devil? Kylar felt another chill down his spine. The Devil was a well known wetboy, but he was newly arisen. He was sort of a legend. But the Devil killed for what reasons, Kylar had yet to figure out. But if he could whip out his Judgement face right now…

Help me out?

He could feel the ka'kari sighing. ~He has an even balance of dark and light. Very few can achieve of such.~

Kylar frowned slightly. "Well then, Devil, how may I assist you?"

"I would like to be your apprentice, Night Angel."

"I will not train any apprentices." He had heard the rumours. Heard that the Devil killed his Masters as fast as he apprenticed himself to them. Many good wetboys had fell under the Devil's blade. It was one of the reasons why he was famous.

Besides, he did not want an apprentice.

"You will find me a willing student."

"My decision stands."

The Devil straightened his shoulders. "If you do not agree, I will assassinate the High King. I have heard the stories, Kylar Stern. I know that you were once good friends with the High King Logan Gyre."

"Tell me, then." Kylar inquired. "What is the High King to you?"

The Devil looked a little unsure, for the first time. "My target. A target I will not miss."

Kylar smiled then. If anyone had the unfortunate chance to glance upon the two men, they would've found themselves paralysed at the anger flowing from the shadow wreathed stranger, and the dangerous smile of a predator on the other's sharp face. "You do not qualify as a wetboy then, Sidnethy Fleet. An assassin has targets. A target they can miss. A wetboy has deaders. A deader they do not miss. Mark my words, Devil. Until we meet. " He spat the name out, then turned and walked away.

—-—

The current High King was Rahuel Gyre, a descendant of Logan. He had ruled for six years, and had many to come. He was a just and fair King, in Kylar's opinion. Luckily, King Rahuel had six steady heirs already, and a lot of beautiful daughters.

Kylar set off to the Palace. The Devil would most likely carry out his threat, and Kylar had to arrive before him. Perhaps to warn the King, or protect him himself. But he'd probably need another alias. Kylar Stern was too well known, as was the Night Angel. It would only draw gossips and more foolish young men throwing themselves to the challenge to see who could best the legendary wetboy. No, better apply for a guard position.

He arrived at the Palace. There were guards around the perimeter. Apparently Rahuel was clever enough to keep his guard up even if it was a peaceful time. Sort of.

He contemplated his options. He could sneak in, no big problem there, and tell the King of the danger. But there were many flaws in this plan—the King might not believe him, which meant he had to flash his real identity. He did not need that.

But the second option was much more tedious and boring. It probably took a long time to apply for the guard position, and then they had to train and train and all those things he'd rather avoid. Showcasing his abilities was even worse.

Kylar had led an extremely long life, he couldn't help but wish for some excitement. But he needed to put duties before fun. Maybe he could kill the Devil before he struck? No, he had an even soul, according the black ka'kari. The Night Angel would not allow that to happen.

So the second option it was. Perhaps he should downplay his abilities. That would make it better.

It was as boring as Kylar had predicted. Many young men were vexing for a chance to serve the King and also get a chance to get close with the princesses.

Idiots, Kylar snorted.

It was finally his turn. "Name?" the castle butler or whatever he was asked, looking as tired and annoyed as Kylar was after waiting for several hours. Kylar could sympathise with him.

"Kagé," he said simply.

The castle butler looked him up and down. Kylar had changed his look into lean young man with sharp green eyes and light brown hair with a scar down his face. There was a chance that the illusion would break, so Kagé brought a box of cosmetics. "Last name?" His tone was as sharp as his eyes.

"Flintstorm." was the first word that went into Kylar's head an out of his mouth. Flint, for Durzo Blint he supposed. Storm for whatever reasons…

"Age?"

Crap. "23." He said, hoping the butler didn't catch the slight hesitation. Gods, he was out of practise. He needed to lie more.

"What's in that bag?"

"First Aid kit."

The butler looked suspicious. "Open up."

Thankfully, Kylar's makeup box was white, and it fooled the butler.

"Alright, enter the left wing," the butler said, writing it down. "Next."

Kylar entered the left wing. There, he saw fit and strong young men, muscular and handsome. These were probably the best that were selected from the line. But how were they going to be—

The door opened, and a bulky man lumbered in. He had multiple scars crisscrossing his face, marring his straight features. There were more littered around his lightly clothed body, making him look haggard. But he wore them proudly, as if they were trophies. And in a way, they were.

"I am Admiral Ryn, here to oversee your guard training. You are probably here for many reasons," the Admiral said. Many nods.

"Well, I hope you all had a nice lunch and spent some time with your family, because this is some harsh training. What I am saying is true. We have had men die of exhaustion. Our standards are high, because this is protection for the King himself. Work hard, fight hard, survive, and you'll be rewarded well. Laze off, our punishments are severe. Is that understood?" Before waiting for confirmations, he plunged on. "From now on, you will be guards-in-training. And you will refer me to Sir, or Admiral."

"This goes without saying. At the end of this training, we'll have a fight-off. The top ten out of you thirty will make it to the second round, where you will join the last few rounds of contestants. There, we'll have more fight-offs, until only twenty of the contestants are left. Is that clear?"

A chorus of "Aye aye Sir!" resonated in the air. Kylar inwardly smirked. This should be easy. He practised fighting at least five hours a day, and that went for eight centuries. He also had his assignments, which also required fighting. In all, he was in great shape.

Admiral made them start off by learning the basics. He asked if anyone knew how to fight with a sword.

Everyone shouted yes, except for Kylar. Men pushed each other, trying to please the Admiral. Yet Ryn's eyes were set on Kylar, most possibly because he was the only one not to shout yes.

"You runt, come out. Let's see how well you fare in a fight." He tossed Kylar a wooden sword. Kylar caught it deftly out of reflexes. Great, what had he gotten himself into? Should he display his prowess, or just get whacked?

~Tone it down a little. You can't best the Admiral. Whatever you do, just don't do that.~

Damn. I shouldn't have done this.

~Well, too late.~

The men parted in a circle, some jeering and sneering, some silent. Most were eager to see how well the Admiral fought, and how humiliated Kylar would be. There were bets going around. Admiral hushed them like little children.

Kylar tested the water. He swung his sword right, then feinted right. Both blows were parried easily. Kylar dove deeper, and flicked his sword in a series of motions. To the audience, it would look like a storm of swords hailing down. Yet none found their mark, as the Admiral deflected them. He looked pleasantly surprised. "Good, good."

Now the Admiral forced his own attack. Kylar followed the flow, as he blocked every coming attack. This went on for a while, before the Admiral proclaimed stop. He was flushed, but also beaming. "What is your name? We can't call you runt if you fight like this."

"My name is Kagé, Sir." he said.

"Shadow? Hm. I'm afraid I can't teach you much here. Perhaps I'll get some others to spar with you."

Kylar dipped his head, accepting the praise. The men were looking at him with all sorts of emotions etched upon their faces—surprise, indifference, awe, respect, envy and hate.

"In the meantime, the rest of you will learn in a different room. The room is separated by multiple stations—spears, javelins, swords, daggers, whatever you fancy. Go out by the violet door, the rest of you. I'll come back shortly. Kagé, stay here."

He left, and the men buzzed around. Some were already establishing friendships, or making enemies, in his case. There was not a friendly look tossed his way.

"Hey, runt, why don't you do us all a favour and crawl back to whatever hellhole you came from?" One of the bigger ones jeered. Kylar ignored them. They were just little annoying pests acting like children. He dealt with worse before.

But when they started pressing closer, calling him dirty names and probably trying to get a rise out of him, Kylar decided enough was enough. He straightened up suddenly, and breathed deep, in and out. In and out. In and out.

Then he walked away, into another corner and away from the sneers that hit a little too close to home for his comfort.