Damien Chaput was a sorcerer under a lot of stress. He had just graduated from university, got a job with a government-funded private military company in order to learn about magic and pay his bills, his parents refuse to speak to him for doing so, and now, he has a secret mission from one of the heads of the organisation in order to spy on a high-ranking member of the group. The person he was sent to gather information on just so happened to be the most dangerous person at the organisation. Damien had seen Johnathan kill in cold blood, even when it wasn't necessary for him to do so, so if he were caught, the warlock didn't even want to imagine the consequences.
Yet, what choice did he have? He was already in far too deep and was left with no other option but to keep digging. Luckily, he ran into someone who associated with Johnathan before he joined Honeycutt. It became abundantly clearer to Damien that he didn't know anything about "Emil Stark." He knew that he was a demon. He knew that he was scary, deadly, and cold. Other than that, who was he? Who was "Emil Stark?" Damien was given the story about how Johnathan helped Honeycutt overthrow the rebels in the civil war over in Namara, but who was he before that? He hoped to find his answer when talking to Brittany. So, he offered to buy her lunch.
Despite the fact that neither of them had spoke before, they both agreed that it was for the best to at least know who the supernaturals of ORSAP were and to be on their good sides. Plus, Brittany was more than happy to accept a free lunch, but she, too, was on her guard. She could tell that this man was older than her. She knew that it was indeed a bit strange for a man his age to ask to buy lunch for a woman of hers. While technically, she was seventeen, and had been an "adult" for almost a year already, she was more than aware of the implications.
You see, although Brittany was once a girl who would have happily gone along with things without a second thought, flattered by the attention she was receiving, that was no longer the case. The sparkle had gone from her eyes, now. She was no longer idealistic, no longer naive, and she no longer wanted to entertain such flights of fancy, now knowing that there are consequences to everything in the world. She sat across from Damien in the canteen, quietly eating while watching him like a hawk, even if she wasn't necessarily doing it with her eyes.
"How have you been liking Paris?" questioned the warlock, taking to his own plate. "I hear it's rainier in England."
"It is. The weather's nicer, for sure." the young woman replied. "I haven't really been able to go out and do a lot, though. The language barrier makes things tough. Sometimes, if I just point, I can get by."
"Isn't that tough at like, the supermarket, though?"
"Not really. Punching things into Google translate usually does it. It's just stressful when there's like, a line or something. I'm always convinced the people behind me are talking about me for taking so long at the counter! What about you? How'd you get so good at English?"
"I took a few classes in college. Nothing special, really. My parents really wanted me to move to England for a while. They've even talked about going themselves, to escape Iscariot."
"Well, with them gone and us handling things, they won't have to."
"I guess, but they still don't trust it. They didn't want me to join up at all. What about your parents?"
"They don't know I'm here." Brittany casually said, bringing her fork to her lips. "They probably think I'm dead or something. I haven't talked to them in about a year." She looked up from her food and watched as the man sitting across from her opened and closed his mouth, wanting to ask, wanting to console, and knowing that it was none of his business.
"I'm mostly okay with it now, if you're wondering." the girl continued. "It was my own fault. I got bitten on purpose because I was a dumb teenager who wanted to have control over something in my life. I could've gone back to them if I wanted to. I just didn't. End of. Now, I can't go back anymore. There's no use being upset about it."
"I'm… sorry?" Damien wasn't asking for clarification. He was asking if it was alright of him to be apologetic. "Sorry." he said with more conviction. "I forgot that a lot of supernaturals have some… baggage? Is that the word? Everyone seems to have something in their past. I sort of forget, sometimes. My bad."
"Don't be sorry. It's not like you don't have your own shit too. That shit with your parents? Hate to break it to you, but you've got a tragic backstory, too. You just keep undermining it because it 'doesn't seem that bad' to you. Welcome to the club."
Damien felt bad for trying to get information out of her after that. Still, he did find that a bit validating. "I miss them, sometimes." he said, yet the woman only shrugged.
"You'll get used to it. You've just got to learn how to fend for yourself."
"That's a bit weird, coming from you. No offense, but you look sixteen."
"I'm seventeen, and I've seen some shit you wouldn't believe." the girl replied a bit defensively. She wasn't like this man. She was different. She had seen things that he wouldn't believe, and gone through things that were far worse than simply being separated from her parents. "I fought in a war, you know. We were trying to overthrow the crown so that supernaturals could be on top of things, but now I know that that was a stupid idea."
"What happened?"
"What do you think happened? The humans slaughtered us." Brittany stated. She looked at Damien, but her eyes didn't seem to see him. It wasn't like Johnathan, however. She was seeing something, just not Damien. "We were stupid, thinking that we could go against the humans. A lot of us who joined up from the supernatural cities were young, we wanted be apart of something, and hadn't grown out of ideas that we were invincible. A few of us who survived went back to the cities and tried to start over, but I knew I couldn't do that. Too many people knew my face. I didn't want to go back and live the rest of my life as a traitor. That's why I'm here with the others Jo—Emil rounded up."
"Jesus..." the warlock said. That was a lot to take in. Perhaps his problems really were small after all. Still, he tried to stay focused. He caught the girl's stuttering of the demon's name. He didn't know what "Jo" was, but knew that if he pressed right then, she may get suspicious of him. "And just like that, you're a professional soldier? England and then Namara, and now France?"
"No, I've never been to Namara. He went there by himself." the girl clarified. "Emil brought us over here, set us up a place to live, somehow, and told us to wait. We had no idea where he went until he came back with Honeycutt. We weren't allowed to try and contact him at all unless Caesar died—you don't know him. He was in the hospital. I don't know if he still is, but it's not my business anymore."
"Huh..." Damien paused to think about that. It was a lot of information at once. The name "Caesar" didn't sound familiar, but if Mister Stark wanted an eye kept on him, he must be important. What would have happened if Brittany told him Caesar died? Would he have immediately come back? He seemed to be an important piece to whatever it was that Johnathan was plotting, yet Damien had never heard of him. He knew that he needed to ask around and see if anyone knew anything. "I only get sent out on regular missions. Must've been nice, being on standby..."
The man leaned over with his elbow on the table between them and his chin resting in his palm. He looked off to the side as he tried to imagine it, only to realise that Brittany had gone quiet. Looking up at her, he saw the far off look in her eyes again. "Brittany?"
"No… It wasn't easy..." she said, but her eyes did not blink, nor did she move. "I was stuck in the same house with a bunch of strangers. None of us had any directions. We didn't have any idea when he'd be back. He didn't contact us at all, the whole time. We were trapped in a foreign country, none of us spoke French, and we had no idea just how long we would be able to stay there until someone found us or the rent stopped being paid and we were forced out onto the streets. Combat is better. You can control the situation, at least."
"What happened after that?" Damien asked. "Did he ever call you?"
"No. He just… showed up at the door one day and told us that Caesar died. After that, he told us we were becoming mercenaries, and here we are. That's how it happened." Pausing, the woman lowered her utensils and let out a sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload everything on you. It's just that nobody ever talks about it. It's kind of frustrating."
"It's okay. I was curious. Everyone around here has interesting stories. A lot of the time, though, they aren't fun at all. Sometimes, though, it's just people who are kind of horrible..."
"Yeah, a lot of our mercenaries are people who were too nutty for the military or the police, so they thought they'd make money by shooting people another way. There's a few tragic backstories in the bunch, though. Most of us are supernaturals, though."
"That's the trend with us, too… I hope that won't be the case one day, but for now, it's the norm."
The conversation naturally died out after that. Damien paid for the food and bidded the woman farewell. He headed off to sift through his findings in order to get his story straight before reporting it to Miss Munier, leaving Brittany alone to carry on with her own day. She watched the man walk away for a while before looking down at her plate in order to finish her food. She didn't lift her head until she heard the sound of the chair in front of her moving again and saw a shadow move across the table. Thinking that Damien had forgotten something, she looked up, seeing a different man entirely. Brittany's stomach dropped.
"Hi, there." Johnathan greeted, smiling sweetly at her while resting his chin in his palm. All the woman could do was stare back at him with eyes the size of saucers. While she didn't know exactly what the demon wanted, she realised in an instant that her talking to Damien about him was the reason why he wanted to talk to her. It didn't seem like anything she told the warlock was a secret, but with Johnathan, one never knew. "Having a nice lunch, Brittany?"
"Yeah..." Brittany meekly replied, looking down at her plate again. This time, however, she did not eat. She simply sat there, her body completely frozen. Her muscles tensed as she felt the urge to run away, yet she knew that she couldn't. Running would only make her look even more guilty of something.
"That's nice." the demon said. "I, myself, don't really eat lunch. I don't eat anything, really. It's like my sense of taste has shriveled up. Food doesn't taste like anything at all… Then again, it's not really the sort of thing my kind is meant to be eating."
That was a threat. He didn't say it like it was a threat, but that was a threat. Brittany knew it. It was a bad idea to ignore any little comment the demon made, no matter how innocuous it may seem. People had died by thinking he was simply being friendly. Still, she didn't move. She didn't even dare to speak. Even if she thought of something to do or say, she was completely at the demon's mercy. Despite this, he still smiled at her, going through the motions of appearing friendly.
"So..." he began, tilting his head. "What did you talk to Damien about?"
Unaware of Brittany's plight, however, Damien pressed onward, having already given some thought as to how he was going to contact Miss Munier. He had his personal cellphone, of course, but he couldn't contact her while at headquarters. It was already dangerous enough as it is, having talked to Brittany so publicly. Thus, he decided to go outside and walk a little ways down the street. Cars drove by him, but none of them moved slowly enough for him to think that they were following him. Still, he paused for a moment, checking his surroundings before ducking down a narrow footpath. It was dimly lit, but no one was around, so he felt safe enough to give it a shot. Still, he anxiously shifted his weight on his feet as he listened to the dial tone. It seemed to ring for an eternity. Then, the sound of the woman picking up sounded from the other end of the line.
"Hello?"
"Miss Munier!" the man enthusiastically said, sighing in relief. "I have information on the 'Stark' situation..."
"That was fast..." Miss Munier, herself, was comfortably in her hotel room, winding down for the evening while staring at her suitcase. "Report."
Damien stumbled over his words as he did his best to relay what he had learned from Brittany. He spoke with lightning speed, causing the minister to ask him to slow down a few times, but he was completely on edge, given the situation. He was a spy, now, and he was alone in the dark in this dirty, narrow, walkway. He constantly looked over his shoulder, but this was a matter of great importance.
He told the woman about Brittany and how she and some of the other supernaturals that Johnathan acquired arrived in France. He told her about Caesar, although he did say that he didn't know how that was. He told her about the bid to overthrow the British monarchy, and how the demon that they had unwittingly left in charge of things was somehow involved. Munier didn't have to know all of the details for a switch to be flipped in her mind. That was why he ended up abroad and that was why he was so secretive about his origins. She now had greater reason to suspect that the demon was using an alias, as Brittany had flubbed the name "Emil Stark" and almost said "Johnathan." This was bad. This was beyond bad. All of this time, she and the other ministers had left this creature in charge of their organisation, giving him practically unsupervised access to their resources, meaning that he could be doing God knows what with them. Munier's stomach dropped and her body felt more and more numb with each possibility that ran through her head.
"I'm supposed to leave the day after tomorrow, but I'm going to leave right away." she said, standing up. Rapidly, she began to throw her belongings into her suitcase as she held her cellphone against her ear. "Keep an eye on things until I get there. I'm going to put a stop to this!"
She knew she should have done this earlier. She knew that things had gotten out of hand, by now. But still, the mistake was made and it could cost them all dearly. Munier had no idea how she was going to tell her fellow ministers. She debated whether or not she should tell them at all. If she could just take care of it right now, then it would be as though nothing had ever happened. Yet, if it were discovered that she didn't warn the others and hid information that could possibly affect national security, the consequences would be dire, for her. She would definitely lose her job and never be allowed to hold public office again. She might even face jail time.
"Just… Stay safe and act normal." Munier instructed, finally stopping her rapid movement. "I'll take care of it." She didn't wait for Damien to reply. She hung up and threw the phone on her bed and stared at it for a moment. Then, she raised her hands and covered her face.
Her underling, however, was left on his own. "Hello?" he asked, listening to the monotone note of the line going dead. "Miss Munier?" Pulling the device away from his ear, he looked at it for a moment before hanging up. That was that, he supposed. Everything was out of his hands, now.
Fiddling with the device for a moment, he turned on its flashlight and shined it on his pathway out of the narrow passage. Turning around, the light shined on the wall before he lowered it to the ground. He could see the exit, as the street was lit, but for that reason, he could also see that he wasn't alone. At the end of the exit stood a figure. Their features were concealed by darkness, save for a pair of glowing, red, eyes staring back at the warlock.
"Who's there?" Damien demanded, slowly lowering his free hand to grasp the handle of the wand sheathed at his hip. True, he had a plethora of magical gemstones on his hands, his ears, and around his neck, but glowing, red, eyes were never a good sign. Immediately, he understood what sort of danger he was in. Raising his light, Damien saw the figure's eyes squint as the light reflected off of their glasses. Doctor Rigaud raised a hand, shielding himself.
"Is there a brightness setting on that thing?" the doctor asked, prompting Damien to lower the light slightly, just so it wasn't in Pierre's eyes.
"Sorry. You scared me."
"Pretty bad, too, it seems. You're still grabbing your wand."
Damien was very reluctant to let go, but knew it was suspicious to seem like his guard was still up, so he dropped his hand to his side. "What are you doing out here? On a mission?"
"Something like that." Rigaud replied, stepping a bit closer. "Mister Stark wants you back at headquarters. He sent me to come get you. A few people said they saw you go this way, so I just followed your voice until I found you."
The warlock stiffened, unable to hide the worry on his face. "Oh, yeah? Good thing my mom decided to call right then, I suppose."
"Your mother?" the vampire asked, closing the gap between them even more. "You're talking again?"
"Just a little." Damien lied. In his haste, he had forgotten that Rigaud knew a little about his situation. "I doubt she'll call again. She thought she was risking a lot just to see how I'm doing."
"Well, that's wonderful news." Rigaud answered with a smile. He was right in front of the warlock, now. "I was confused for a second, there, because it sounded an awful lot like you were talking to Minister Munier."
In an instant, the warlock's stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. Everything that could possibly happen flashed before his eyes. He took a step back as his eyes looked up at Rigaud's, completely fixed on his blood-red gaze. "I-"
"You were talking to Munier, weren't you?" Rigaud questioned, matching the younger man's steps. "Traditionally, lies are almost universally frowned upon, but there are situations where telling lies is not considered immoral. Like if one was immediate danger, for example. Tell me, Mister Chaput… Do you think you're in danger right now?"
Quickly, Damien reached for the wand at his belt, pulling it out of its sheath, but before he could swing his arm to point the instrument at the vampire, he heard a loud crack! For a moment, he felt like he was floating, before landing harshly on the paved path. His wand clattered on the ground somewhere as the world around him spun. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to quell the throbbing in his head as the doctor crouched down and picked up the wand. Rigaud held it at both ends in his hands as he walked forward.
"Such a shame..." the older man said, snapping the wand in half and discarding the pieces somewhere behind him. "I was only told to follow you to see if you were up to anything, but now that you are, you're officially a supernatural enemy of the state. Instead of making ORSAP your shield, you've made an enemy out of us. I'm surprised at you. You're usually rather bright."
"How can I be an enemy of the state if I'm working for the state?!" Damien forced out. "I was told by the Minister of Defense herself to report to her on Stark! How does that work?!"
"Is Munier here? Who has the reigns right now? Munier or Stark? I'd rather listen to the one who can grant me my freedom or bind me in chains right now, instead of listening to the person who could maybe do it sometime in the future. Besides, despite my confusion as to what Mister Stark's motives really are, he give me what I want to have. Everyone has a reason for joining, Mister Chaput, as we've discussed, and I am no exception."
"What's your reason? You can't perv on any of your students, here."
"I don't have to. I can cast a net that's even bigger than before." Rigaud was standing over Damien, now, but instead of kicking the younger man while he was down, he instead squatted, resting his elbows on his knees in order to be on the warlock's level. "You're a smart person, Chaput, even considering your current circumstances. Here's a pop quiz: There are many ethical schools of thought in order to gauge what is the correct course of action to take in any situation. Many of your coworkers, favour utilitarianism. They do what is necessary for them to continue living, even if it means doing something that is considered to be otherwise immoral, like killing people. You, for whatever reason, have abandoned this way of thinking in favour of virtue ethics. You could have just kept your mouth shut or lied to save yourself and continue toward your ambition of learning magic, but you didn't. Instead, you had to do what you believed was 'right.' So, my question is: What school of ethics do you think I favour?"
"Being an asshole?"
"Close. I, personally, am quite fond of hedonism." Rigaud stated. "You're quite fond of warning women about me, aren't you? I hate that. What does it matter to you what I do? It doesn't affect you. Even now, it's sort of a pain to kill you, because it would be fun if you were a woman. Now, it's just a chore."
Damien's eyes widened. "I thought you were just creepy..."
"Oh, you didn't know? Ah, that's what I get for talking too much. It's such a bad habit to have… But yes, I've killed women before. I was bitten by a vampire back when I was a teacher, after all. Don't worry, though. I never ate any of my students. It would be a pain if it were traced back to me. Prostitutes are better targets. No one cares if they go missing, and you don't have to pay afterwards, if you just eat them. They're always so surprised, too! It's kind of funny. What did they expect? Nice men don't see prostitutes."
"At least you're self aware..." the warlock said, moving himself so that his body concealed one of the pouches on his hip. Slowly, he fiddled with the clasp that held it shut. He just needed to keep the man talking. "You're awfully casual about it, though… How can you do that so easily?"
"Do wolves feel badly for hunting deer? Do you fell badly for the pig that became the meat for your dinner? Why should I feel badly for my own meal? It's simply nature, Chaput. There's no point in fighting it. It's best to just do what is gratifying rather than suffering and lamenting that you have to follow the strict social conventions that society has laid out. Blood packets are fine, sure. They'll sustain me, but would I be living? Sinking my teeth into someone is the way that it's meant to be done. Good food, good sex, and good times are all any species needs to feel carry on. It's what makes life worth living."
Damien fished out the tin he was looking for and kept it out of sight. He struggled to get the lid off with just one hand, but somehow managed while the vampire was talking. "Interesting thought, but vampires don't reproduce sexually, and without living in a society, you would be incredibly lonely."
With a laugh, Pierre threw his head back for a moment. With his gaze interrupted, the warlock scooped a hefty amount of the contents of the tin. Before he could use it, however, he had Rigaud's attention again.
"That's true, but the drive is there, and listening to it isn't as enjoyable as not. Still, I suppose you're right." The vampire's arm shot out and grabbed the back of his prey's cloak. "I'm not really listening to my impulses, right now. I've never eaten a man before and am not really interested in doing so, but if I do, I can secure my freedom to keep doing as I please. Mister Stark has promised me that much."
Baring his fangs, he leaned forward, holding the warlock firmly in place. Then, with one quick motion, Damien smeared his face with the salve in his hand, causing it to glisten. The vampire stopped, recoiling in disgust at the sight, only for his eyes to widen at what it did.
"Corpus animalis!" With those words, Damien used all of the magic he could harness and hoped that his intentions were clear despite not reciting a full incantation. The vampire watched in horror as the warlock's features began to distort and shrink. His pupils became thin slits and his nose and jaw became longer. Before Rigaud's very eyes, Damien's fingers nearly vanished, shrinking down to small toes as his hands became paws. His ears became pointed and his body became covered in dark, brown, fur as he disappeared into the cloak.
Blinking, Rigaud stared at the fabric for a moment. His mind was struggling to keep up with what had happened. Slowly, he stood up, lifting up the cloak with him and holding it out. Sure enough, out from underneath it fell a cat with no tail. It landed on all four paws and took off running, easily maneuvering around the doctor's ankles without him having the sense or mind to move to catch him. Rigaud watched after it in shock as it made it's way down the path and out of the alley. Once it turned the corner, the vampire snapped back to attention.
"Wait!" he called out as he took off running as well. "Chaput! You can't hide forever!"
Then, he was out onto the sidewalk again and Chaput was nowhere in sight. Rigaud's eyes darted around the street to see if he could spot any traces of a stray cat with no tail, but saw nothing. He realised that his target must have gone down one of the many paths and alleyways to make his escape. With a huff, Rigaud shoved his hands in his pockets. He grimmaced, knowing that Mister Stark was not going to be happy about this one bit. Damien was on a time limit, however, so he couldn't keep his disguise for very long.
While banned in England, there were no such rules about magical pelts that transformed the user into an animal in France. Damien just so happened to keep one he fashioned from a dead cat he found on the side of the road. He wore it on his belt, and it was one of his greatest tools. It was also his most dangerous, however. The longer one wears pelts like these, the greater chance one has of not being able to turn back. Many sorcerers had been trapped as animals this way and since Damien didn't recite the entire spell, the time limit was even shorter.
That was alright, though. All he had to do was create enough distance between himself, Rigaud, and ORSAP, so he just kept running. He ran, and he ran, and he ran, and he ran, down streets, in and out of traffic, and across rooftops—anywhere that Rigaud might have trouble keeping up with him. The warlock didn't look back until he reached his limit.
Turning down another path, Damien went underground. He was at the mouth of the catacombs before he sat down, unwilling to go deeper and face the dangers inside, but unwilling to resurface and risk the dangers outside. Sweat trickled down his face as he panted, trying to recover his sense of humanity and direction. Everything was spinning and the idea of having only two legs seemed tedious. With the sleeve of his shirt, he reached up and wiped the cross-shaped makeup from his eyes, staining the white fabric, but he didn't care. He was just planning on catching his breath before smearing more salve on himself and transforming again. This time, he would do it properly.
After a while, he regained enough sense to think to call Munier and relay the situation. It would be fessing up that he failed his mission, but he didn't have much use anymore for that once Munier returned. He didn't know what she was going to do once she got back, but he knew that she needed to do something.
"I can't help you, right now." Munier told him. "I have to regain control of the organisation before I can do that. I'm sorry… You'll just have to hold out or get on the next ferry to England."
"Yeah..." The warlock figured that would be the case. "I think I might be able to manage that. I don't have much money, but I think I can sneak on..."
"Just stay safe." the woman replied. "I'm sorry… I'm really sorry… I wish I could do more..."
This was already having negative effects. Without any supervision, Johnathan was now able to kill other operatives that got in his way. Worse, if Damien hadn't escaped, he would have gotten away with it. It would have been as though the man never existed. And it was all Munier's fault.
She should have warned the others as soon as she knew something was wrong. She shouldn't have left Johnathan in charge. She shouldn't have trusted him. To be fair, her associates did as well, but she was the one who left it to simmer for so long. Now, she knows it might be too late, but she still has to make a choice.
It wouldn't help Damien that night, though. He was still completely defenseless. He was a wanted criminal that was to be killed on sight. His options were limited and so were his resources. He needed to get across the channel, but it was still a long ways a way until he reached the sea. So, he cast his spell, changed his shape, and started walking.
The warlock was exhausted by the time he reached the first train station. There were a few people there at this time of night, but they were all giants to him. They were all frightening. He had to be careful so that he wasn't stepped on or tripped over. It was difficult, given the fact that he was already dead on his feet.
He didn't have a lot of money, so he snuck on. Cats certainly weren't allowed to be there, but he hid under seats and did his best to keep his eyes open as the rocking of the train tried to lull him to sleep. He kept repeating this procedure, only getting shooed off once by an attendant, until the trains stopped running and he made some decent progress. That night, he slept in a photo booth at the station until the trains started running again, removing his disguise so that he wouldn't wake up a cat and not be able to change back. The sun was up by the time he awoke, and it was time to keep going.
His feet were sore, he was tired, his body was tired, and he hadn't eaten in a long time, but eventually, he made it. There was the boat. People were in line to pile in, but he didn't think that his human shape was in any condition to be trying to buy a ticket. Besides, ORSAP might have positioned people to look for him at the queue.
Luckily for him, there were also cars in line to be driven onto the ferry. Many were stopped as they prepared to board, giving him ample opportunity to slink into the bottom of one of the vehicles, being careful to avoid the whirring and groaning machinery. He had to stay completely still in order to not be caught in the metal and crushed, or burned to a crisp from the heat.
Then, it was all over. The car parked and he was home free. He waited for a while in order to make sure that he wouldn't be spotted leaving the car, but there, he was, on the ferry and having escaped. Finally, he dropped his feline form and collapsed in the parking lot. He was covered in oil and grime, but he didn't care. He would worry about the possible consequences of that later. First, he was going to sleep for a little bit. He shut his eyes and drifted off, only to wake up a few minutes later.
He should have been out like a light, but he felt a vague sense of unease. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself lying sideways on the floor, staring at a pair of nice, polished, black, shoes. Rolling over on his back, he followed the feet up the legs and all the way to the face, only to see a pair of blood-red eyes looking back to him. Immediately, the warlock bolted upright.
"Da-mi-men~!" Johnathan greeted with a playful smile. He was still wearing a black turtleneck and grey blazer in the middle of summer, only now, he added a backpack to the ensemble. "Excellent work! I'm impressed. You made it all the way here. Congratulations are in order, I think."
The warlock, or course, said nothing in response. What could he say? He was completely trapped. There was absolutely nowhere he could go! He was on a boat surrounded by open sea! All he could do was look up at the demon, eyes wide and mouth agape as he was both stunned and sure of his death.
"Relax. I've brought a peace offering." Removing the backpack, Johnathan crouched down and set it on the ground in front of Damien. "There's a new set of clothes inside. There's also a phone charger and some money, too. It should be enough for you to get where you need to go."
"But… But why..?" Damien began. "I thought… I thought you were gonna- you sent Rigaud to..."
"I did, I did. I really was intent on having you killed, but when Rigaud turned up empty-handed, a thought occurred to me." Squatting in front of the man so that their eyes could meet, the demon explained: "I knew that you would have to escape somehow, and what better way to do that but to travel to a place where supernaturals have a pretty good means of living? You see, what I need is a messenger. I need somebody to scurry over to England and deliver a little message for me and that somebody is you. For that reason, I can't let you die just yet!"
"How did you know about what I did?"
"I overheard you and Brittany, of course, so I asked her what exactly she said. I thought it was a bit odd that you were so interested in me, so I wondered if Munier might be planning something. I was really annoyed at that." The demon paused and tilted his head. "I suppose that you're wondering what happened to Brittany, hm?"
"Is she… Is she dead?"
"Well, now, that's the kicker, with me." Johnathan reached out and playfully poked the other man's forehead, causing him to flinch. "You've already realised that I'm not what I appear to be, but the one thing that you can count on is that as long as you're useful to me, I won't kill you. Understand?" Slowly, Damien nodded. "Good. That just leaves the matter of whether or not you accept my mission."
"Ju-just a message?"
"Just a message. I don't even care if you come back or not. As long as you deliver my message, we're good, but if you don't..." Johnathan paused, pulling out his cellphone and unlocking it. "There will be consequences..."
Holding up the screen to Damien's view, Johnathan showed the warlock an image that made his stomach turn. It was a picture of his parents. They were sitting in their living room at night while watching television. The only problem about this was that it wasn't a picture that Damien recognised and it was taken from outside of the house.
"I don't think I need to explain much further." the demon said, putting his phone away. "So, do we have a deal?"
Now, common sense would dictate that making deals with demons was, quite frankly, a terrible idea. Historically, it has never ended well, but what choice did Damien have? He could stay in France and die, leave and have his parents be killed, or carry out this mission with the hope that Johnathan would simply leave him and his family alone. He had no way of guaranteeing that the demon would keep his word, but at the very least, it could help buy him some time to come up with a better idea.
"Where do I need to go?" With that question, the warlock found a folded piece of paper being shoved in his face.
"Here are two addresses as to where he could be. One is HELLSING Headquarters and the other is his home. I'll give you… three? 'Three' is a good number… I'll give you three days to find him and deliver my message."
"Who's it for? Some bigwig at HELLSING?"
"Technically, yes… You see, over on that side of the channel, there is a man who looks just like me, only he wears an eyepatch. His name is 'Ciel,' 'Earl Ciel Phantomhive.' He's a sour sod who's unfortunately gone a bit soft as of late. I don't need you to say a lot to him." Slowly, the demon put his hand on Damien's shoulder. "Just tell him… that 'Johnathan sends his regards.'"
With that, he patted Damien's shoulder. He stood and straightened out his clothes, before turning to take his leave. "I'll leave you to it. I don't need to go to England just yet."
"Afraid HELLSING might get you?"
"Well, yes. But also, if I'm going to take on The Queen's Guard Dog, I want to do it on my terms. There are still things to do before then. Remember: you have three days. Use them well. As for me, I have a boat waiting. Adieu~!"
Johnathan disappeared from the parking deck, heading toward a speedboat that had pulled up alongside the ferry. Damien didn't need to know where he went, though. He didn't have the time or energy to care. Instead, he had to wrap his head around what he had just gotten himself into. Brittany's story about fleeing her home country because of a betrayal came to mind, but mostly, all he did was sit and stare into space, completely overwhelmed by the shock of it all. He now had a second mission to try and carry out. He just hoped that it couldn't possibly go any worse than the last one.
A/N: Somehow, it feels like this chapter is way longer than it is... maybe it's because it took me way longer than normal to write it. Sorry about that... I'm still ever swamped with homework. I actually have a paper I'm supposed to be writing...
I really wanted to get this done, though, so it's not almost four in the morning. I was dozing while writing this... My eyes were actually closed for the last couple of paragraphs. Fortunately, I can type using the home row...
Shit has kinda hit the fan, hasn't it? Poor Damien. Also, fuck Rigaud. Figuratively, of course. He talks way too damn much. It's a character trait, I know, but it's still like: "Can u not?" I don't know how I feel about that...
God, I'm so tired. Night night everyone
Until the next chapter, my duckies~!
