Three heavy-laden trucks pulled into a clearing from the forrest. A black-booted foot stepped out of the first truck. Priest walked around to the bed of the truck, opening the hatch. Four other men climbed out, five people clambered out of the second truck, three of them men and two women. Four people climbed out of the third truck, three women and one man. Every one of the men had leather kuttes on their backs, advertising their status as members of the Templars MC. Adara had gotten out of the third truck and was currently strapping on ammunition magazines; she had a thirteen-inch blade made of silver strapped to her thigh. Priest shook his head, she had a hijab on, tucked tightly into her shirt. She'd insisted on wearing it; she was stubborn.

Priest grabbed a katana from out of the back of the truck, using the scabbard strap to secure it to his back. One edge of the blade was silver, the other steel. The shotgun shells and regular ammunition were varied. Some were rounds dipped in blessed Holy water, others were silver, some had garlic powder ground up and combined with the powder in the jackets, others yet were hollow-point rounds. One never knew what quite to expect when going to take out a portal, vampires, werewolves, demons, even humans could be expected to guard it. After everyone had suited up and notified Priest of their status, he turned around, facing the mouth of a non-descript cave. These were the coordinates that Death had sent them. Death said that Belphegor preferred his followers to gather in caves. Death had also assured that they wouldn't be facing Belphegor. It took an amazing amount of ritual and sacrifice to summon a Prince of Hell, but told them to expect lesser demons. He lit a cigarette, not minding about the smell alerting whoever was in the cave. They would already be aware of his presence. He glanced back at Adara; her steely brown eyes were set on the cave's opening. Priest smiled, he was glad he had her; she was one hell of a fighter. He turned his head back toward the cave and started walking.


Death licked his lips. The daily newspaper crossword was frustrating him. He'd been stumped on a clue for three minutes. He was sitting in a diner in New York city, a steaming cup of coffee infront of him. To the right was one of those trashy tabloids that somehow still remained to stay in business. Something caught his eye on the tabloids cover. To the right of the cover, in a small 3-inch square, read the tagline "Scotsman converses w/ Angels!". Death put the newspaper down, taking a sip of coffee. He picked up the tabloid, flipping to the according page.

"Local Highland man, Willy White, was fishing on Loch Ness, when he says he saw a figure standing by the bank.

'"I rowed me boat up to 'im, an' sai', "Hullo, stranger. Why're ye standin' on the banks in a right proper suit?". He just looked at me and says, " 'e is the first of the works of God, let 'im who made 'im bring near his sword."

"An' then I says, "Wot are ye talkin' about, lad?", and the lad looks at me and 'e says, "Beware."; then 'e just disappeared. Just disappeared, clean as ye like. Vanished. At first I thought I was drunker than me mother, but then I realized 'e'd left behind a pair o' footprints. Ain't like 'e walked up to the bank. There was only one set of footprints. Like 'e'd appeared at that spot, then vanished."

Death put the paper down. After checking his watch, he closed his eyes. No, no, no, no, no. The timing was wrong. The Call had not been issued to him and his brothers. When this happened, he and his brothers would have already been forewarned about the coming events. Something was wrong. 'Brothers, meet me at Loch Ness. Highlands, Scotland. Immediately.'

The waitress stopped by to check on the man with the cool grey eyes. She started, then looked around. He'd been sitting here just a second ago. He must have snuck out when her back was turned. $2.13 for the cup of coffee and a $25 tip. Not bad for just a cup of coffee, she thought to herself as she pocketed the tip. She shook her head and cleared the table, a pep in her step for the rest of the day.


"Hold still!", Priest scolded. Adara was sitting on the bed of one of the trucks. It'd taken them an hour and a half to cut down the creatures guarding the portal and destroy it. Two of Priests' brothers were dead, and they ones who remained all had some sort of superficial wounds. Priest was currently attending to a cut above Adara's eyebrow. "You're bleeding.", Adara mentioned reproachfully. Priest glowered at her, "Will you shut up and let me finish? I know I'm bleeding. We can tend to that later. We patch you up, you go and help any of the others, and then you take care of me.". He applied a small bandage to her head. He grabbed her chin, giving her a quick kiss. "Better? You did well today. Knew that knife I gave you would come in handy.".

Adara hopped down from the truck. "Thank you.", she said. She walked off, kneeling down next to one of the woman, who by the look of things had at least a broken wrist. Priest lit a cigarette; he didn't know what was wrong with Adara lately. Always moody, sulky, she seemed to burst into tears or anger at a moments notice anymore. He dug his foot in to the dirt and swiped it back and forth, looking at the two bodies in the bed of another truck. They'd have to have the funeral tonight in three days. Templar bylaw: any member who died was given three days-stemmed from the old medieval tradition of waiting to see if the person was actually dead so as to not bury them alive-but it also served another purpose. Anytime a member died, no less than three Templar MC members watched over the body for three days, in case of vampire bites, werewolf scratches, etc. If the dead member in question did become one of those things, the members on watch would dispatch it. At the end of three days, any Templar MC member in a 200-mile radius would show up for the funeral. It was a sad farewell, but also a happy reunion. After lighting the funeral pyres (also another safeguard against undead risings/spirit attachments), the MC members would throw a 'Sending Off' party. Less a party and more a drunken ball. The expression 'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we shall die' always came to mind during these parties. Priest spat on the ground. Facing his own death he could deal with perfectly. The death of two men he called his brothers bothered him in a way he couldn't really articulate. Of course, he would never show this to anyone. Not even Adara, pissed off for some reason, though, as she was. He guessed it was just because of the deaths. These men, who did the same work as them, had become their family. Yes, that was it, Priest figured. She was just as upset as he was and showed it through anger. Priest stubbed the butt of his cigarette out into the dirt: he had work to do. War would want to hear about their success, but that could wait until after the funerals.


The Four stood at the bank of the Loch Ness. A shroud of atmosphere so dark it was almost suffocating plagued them. The grass around them had wilted and died within a 10 foot radius-Famine's subconcious doing.

"What do you mean, brother?", Famine had asked.

"I mean that someone, angel or demon, is trying to bring about a very old creature ahead of schedule.", Death explained.

"Demon or angel?", Pestilence asked.

"Doesn't matter. Overzealous angel or scheming demon, I'll take care of the problem. They meet my sword, I deport them back to their respective abodes. Problem solved. Problem staying solved.", War spoke plainly.

Death shook his head vigorously. "No! Ugh! Sometimes, I think you three are so oblivious, you're human!"

"Hey! No need to get personal. Ass.", War crossed his arms defensively.

"We're at the Loch Ness. What creature am I talking about?", Death asked patronizingly.

"That mortal legend? It's a human bedtime story to scare children and something old men pursue after their wives no longer satisfy them.", Pestilence retorted.

"Or if they can't satisfy their wives.", Famine jibbed. That was met by chuckles from War and Pestilence. Death, however did not look amused. "There's a mortal saying, behind every legend lies a grain of truth. But it just so happens that this grain of truth happens to be well bigger than the damn legend! Are you really this daft?".

"You're the oldest! Obviously, we don't remember, so enlighten us.", Pestilence looked hurt. Death closed his eyes, calming himself down.

"The first of our Father's works."

That was when the grass started to die. Everyone's mood turned as sour as Death's. Famine's stomach gave a loud rumble, and more the trees started to wither away. Pestilence looked a little more sickly and a bird flying overhead started to fly lower and lower, having difficulty flying, deathly sick. War was so irritated that the water from the mud of the banks on which he was standing turned to blood and some parts of the lake even turned a dark crimson. Vultures appeared from nowhere, sensing Death's sour mood. The first of God's works. A creation so utterly bloodthirsty, power hungry, and monstrous that it took the entire Host of Heaven, pre-Fall, to wrestle it to the very bottom of the sea and chain it. Glyphs and spells were put upon the titanic-sized chains to ensure it never broke out. After the Fall and the Adam's disobedience the chains were reworked to be released at a certain time. The creation had had children. Creatures so large and intimidating that legends from the past of dragons and gigantic creatures still survived. The Loch Ness monster legend was loosely based on one of the creation's children; however, the children were one thing. The origins of these creatures was even more terrifying. One word rang through the minds of the Four, a word that would strike fear into the hearts of angels and demons. The first time any angel had felt fear was when this abomination had tried to turn on it's Creator. And it had almost won.

Leviathan.