It wasn't really his fault he was stuck like this. No, those stupid village elders were the ones to blame – they'd misled him and left him to die like a lamb for slaughter. Totally deliberately! What kind of savages were these people?
At any rate, he hadn't meant to end up tied to an altar surrounded by a wall of green fucking fire. How was he supposed to know the creepy little ritual would lead to this mess? It's not like he knows every tiny detail about every weird-ass Kingdom village and its weird-ass inhabitants. Every village has its own little secrets they don't tell passing strangers; even the really heroic ones like himself. This particular one, England or something, was just weird to the extent that even he, Alfred F. Jones, was slightly as-terrified-as-shit. He hailed the Kingdom of America, for Feiron's sake. The Kingdom of crazy antics and exuberance, where odd was practically ordinary.
But this latest predicament?
Alfred winced against the ropes tying him to the altar.
This blew every 18th birthday celebration out of the water. With knobs on.
And the best part?
He hadn't even met the goddamn demon yet.
AN - Ok, hello! This is just a prologue of something I might or might not continue with. Send me a review or PM or contact me at my Tumblr account if you wish to see what happens next! (The title is only a work in progress. Any ideas...?)
Sparks
AN 2 - Yeah... I am continuing. Yay? Please continue to read if you want to find out more, just beware, it might take a while to actually reach this part in the story. It's going to be a long one. :)