He was getting sick of McAllister's games. Every time he had a job he didn't want to dirty his hands on he would call him. Like he was some fucking attack dog. One of these days he was going catch him off of holy ground. When he did he was going to take his time, draw it out as long as possible. But that was in the future, tonight Michel wanted to relax. Using the fortune he built over the years he bought an old ware house and converted a section of it into a modest looking apartment. The rest was either barren or modified to be his personal training area. With some Lacrimas Profundere playing in the back ground he held a wine glass filled with some of the purest bottled water he could find. He never drank anything that dulled his senses. Sitting back in a Victorian chair he liberated from an Immortal queen he defeated centuries ago he listened as the beats felt like they vibrated within him. The music was one of the few things he could actually stand in this time, it reminded him of some of the music he heard when he was a child.

Getting up he wondered over to one of several bookshelves along the wall. Studying the spine of each one he looked for something that fit his mood. If one were to ask McAllister about his collection he would swear on a stack of bibles he had nothing but books on how to torture a man. And truth be told he did have a sizable collection on the subject matter. But he had seen these methods first hand, if not experienced in some way. To read the words written by these so called experts… well there was a reason why he thought of it as the "comedy" section. But he wasn't in the mood for that so he moved on to a section of book that Michel was certain that if McAllister ever learned about them it would leave him stunned enough to take his head. Several books of poetry lined the selves in the next couple of cases.

He smiled to himself as he studied the titles. He never would have looked at this if it wasn't for a beauty of rare strawberry blond hair showed him there was more to this world than war and conflict. His one saving grace who almost changed him until… Shaking his head he lost the smile. Michel did not live this long remembering about the past. He did not forget it but he refused to live in it. His eyes settled on a book of poems from the eighteenth century that always pleased him so he took it and went back to his chair. Settling back into the chair he carefully handled the worn pages and started to read. His moment of tranquility was broken when he heard the rain fall on the windows.

He stopped and listened to the rain for the few moments. Rain, Michel had learned to hate the sound. Due to some cruel twist of fate all the major developments of his life happened in the rain. And very few of them were a pleasant experience or memory. Closing his eyes he remembered the day his life started on the path it did.

~1017~

He was nine years old and the sky poured down on top of him and his family. His Father was cursing their luck that day. Nothing seemed to going right for them at all. It was almost like the Gods were playing with them for their own amusement his Father had said. None of them was looking where they were going and ran into a group of drunken soldiers, an angry group of drunken soldiers. Both his father and the soldiers exchanged some angry words. Then they jumped on top of him. Taken by surprise his Father didn't stand a chance. As he watched the soldiers kick and stomp at his father something inside young Michel snapped, he rushed in and grabbed the sword off of one who wasn't watching. Swinging wildly he injured a couple of them before they were able to contain him. One was about to bring his sword down on his head when somebody grabbed his arm. "Stop this right now!" They recognized their troop leader and let go of young Michel immediately.

"This… boy attacked us," he said trying to defend their position.

"After you attacked his father!", he snapped back. "If any of you showed the pure spirit he just did maybe we wouldn't have lost that battle, or any of the others! Instead you would rather get lost in your sorrows instead of trying to get better." One of them open their mouth and he was greeted with a fist to the jaw. "You do not get to talk!", he spat. "No get out of here before I take out my frustration on the lot of you!" They quickly did as they were told leaving the troop leader with the family. "What is your name?"

"Dijkhuizen," his Father answered as he slowly got to his feet.

"Congratulation," he said, "your boy just became my new soldier. His training starts in the morning."

He walked away with Michel protesting, "I don't…"

"Quiet," his father ordered and Michel obeyed immediately. "This might be the bit of luck we need."

The soldiers came for him the next day. The troop leader didn't hold back on him because he was a boy. He trained him just as hard as the other soldiers under his command, if not harder. Several times a day Michel felt his fist every time he didn't meet expectations. At one point the other soldiers started to taunt him as well making him mess up even more. One day he was in sword practice with one the soldiers who kept on making fun of his swordsmanship, "Not so good without catching somebody from behind are you brat." He kept coming at him not giving Michel an inch or breathing room. Suddenly he cut him twice, once on the arm and on the leg.

The soldier laughed at him and the others soon joined in. Feeling the troop leaders eyes on him Michel felt his hatred grow. With a wild look in his eyes he charged the soldier. Swinging wildly he was able to drive the soldier back. So fierce was his attack he was able to knock the sword out of his hand. "Aargh!", with one swing of the sword he sliced through the man's chest, blood spurting everywhere. He fell to the ground as the troop leader and the other swarmed around them.

One of the other soldiers checked the fallen man, "He's dead." They looked at him. The dead man's blood running down his face he had the look of a wild animal being backed into a corner. The other started to draw their swords. Knowing their intent he raised his prepared to die on his feet.

"That's the look I wanted," the troop leader said as he rushed through his men. "I knew this little bastard had it in him."

"He killed…," one of them started to say before he was silenced by a backhand.

"He was a moron who left himself be beaten," he said. "It's better the bastard died here instead of showing his stupidity on the battlefield. Training for the day is over." The group started to disperse as Michel stayed his ground. "That rage you're feeling, I can show you how to harness it. How to release it at just the right time. I can show you how to make your enemies fear you."

Michel was still speechless at what he just did. He knew he should be horrified at just happened. But instead he felt a sense of power for some reason. And he liked it a lot. "How soon can we get started?"

~now~

Walking over to the window Michel watched the rain. As much as he hated it she loved it just as much. Bekah, he hadn't thought that name in several lifetimes. He became a feared warrior just like his old troop leader said he would be. On more than one occasion he had heard those he was about to kill call him a demon. A nickname that quickly stuck. More than one of his fellow warriors called him by that moniker. It got to the point those in his village, even his own family, started to fear him. He didn't care, al he wanted was the next battle.

But Bekah, she wasn't afraid. For some strange reason she saw it as her mission to tame the savage beast he had become. He should have shoved her off, ignore her. But for some reason he let himself listen to her. Oh he told himself he was just humoring her, lining her up so he could ravage her at the first possible moment. In fact he saw more than one opportunity to do just that, but he never took them. He just sat there and listened. And wondered why she was wasting her time trying to show him there more then war in this world.

~1028~

Michel and the others had come back from a successful attack on other village who wanted a treaty with them. As always he earned his nickname, leaving several bodies missing limbs and the occasional head. More than a few were cut open and left for dead. And again she was waiting for him. Several others had tried to get her attention but she didn't pay any attention to them. Every time anybody asked her why she was so fixated on him her only answer was, "I know in my heart we are meant to be."

She walked up to him and without a word led him back outside the limits of the village. "I just came this way," he snapped.

"Tell me what you see?", was all she said.

He grunted but he told her what saw, "I see a battlefield. I see ground covered in bodies and the blood still flowing from their wounds."

"Very descriptive," she said. Michel went to leave but she stopped him, "I see the sun setting and the clouds and sky colored in purple and red. I see the Gods painting a splendid picture we rarely see." He was getting tired of this and went to tell her just that. But when he did he saw the sky and for a brief moment he saw what she did. Watching him she smiled, "Now that wasn't so hard now as it?"

"Why are you making me see this?", he demanded. "Why are you so determined to change me?"

"I don't want to change you," Bekah told him. "Unlike the others I see the soul in the savage beast. I'm afraid if the soul dies the body will soon follow. And I will defy the Gods themselves before I let that happen." The silence was deafening for several moments as they stared each other. Out of the blue she said, "So is that for bauble for me?"

"What?" He looked down at his waist, there was a chain of gold hanging out of his pouch. He had forgotten he grabbed it off the original owner right before he killed him. Michel had no idea why he did it, he had never had before. Taking it out he handed it to her, "Take it if you want it, I have no use for it." She was about too when he noticed it still had the previous owner blood on it. "Wait," he looked around and saw a river. Making sure it was flowing away from the village he washed the blood off it as best as he could. Handing it back to her he said, "Nothing covered in blood should come into contact with someone as beautiful as you."

"Michel," she said a little shocked, "That was the most poetic thing I think I ever heard you say. I didn't know you had it in you." Smiling she took his arm. He was surprised when she led him back to his home.

~now~

Michel watched the rain for several minutes before turning away. Any thoughts of relaxing disappeared as he grabbed his leather coat and headed for the door. There had to be an immortal out there that was fucking stupid enough to cross his path tonight. Walking around for an hour he didn't feel anything, no immortals where around. And of course the mother fucking rain wouldn't stop. Movement behind him told him that he was being followed, that he was certain about. Given the situation it was probably somebody looking to rob him. Alright he'd play along for the moment. Right now he'd take on anybody. Turning a corner he saw a figure stop and try to make it look like she was doing some window shopping. And it was a she, there was no mistaking that profile. Well this was a first.

He waited a little further down the street. Either way he was going to relieve some type of frustration tonight. She turned the corner and stopped when she saw him. A second later a group of men grabbed her and dragged her in an alley. One of them pointed a gun at him to warn him to stay away. He grinned in a way that made the gunman falter a bit before backing away. He let them have the woman, he really wasn't in the mood any way. Michel got a good look at her face as they dragged her in and felt his heart grow cold. She looked exactly like… "No," he said as he tried to walk away, "that's not Bekah. She's dead."

~1031~

It was raining, that should have been his first hint something bad was going to happen. Michel and his soldiers ran into another force that was more than ready for them. During the battle Michel found himself without an opponent. In fact the enemy force made sure the battle stayed as far away from him as possible. "Fight me you cowards!", he shouted at them. Then he saw movement in the background. Archers took aim and fired right before he noticed them. An arrow pierced his forehead right before the others struck him. The enemy picked that moment to rush him. Several swords violated his body before his army could drive them away from him. By all rights he should have died right then and there.

But he didn't, in fact he had to endure the pain of pulling out each arrow all alone. Not sure what else to do he made his way back toward the village. Of course he should have expected the greeting he got. They had him cornered, the only thing keeping them away was the sword in his hand. Somebody came at him with a pitchfork but he quickly cut him down and dared somebody else to try their luck. Bekah made her way through the crowd and got between him and the mob. "Leave him alone!"

"Get out of the way Bekah," he said.

"Get out of the way woman!", the village elder ordered. "That isn't Michel. It's a demon taking his form."

"It is Michel," she argued. "I know this man better than any one of you. This is Michel, I know it."

"He's bewitched her!", somebody shouted. "Kill them both before they bewitch the rest of us!" The waves of agreement came fast and furious as they came closer. Michel got in front of Bekah and swung wildly at the crowd. Slowly he was able to get them closer to a way out. During it all Michel forgot the most important thing his old leader told him. Be aware of your surrounding. Some coward snuck behind and grabbed Bekah from behind. Michel turned around just in time to see the knife slit her throat. Time seemed to stop as he let her go and she fell to the ground. His heart beating again he ran in and ran his sword through him. Then he turned his attention toward Bekah. He saw the life leave her eyes as he held her.

Shaking in anger he looked at the crowd who suddenly started to back away. They looked at him like he was an beast. "You want an animal?" he said through gritted teeth. Griping the handle of his sword, the same sword the old troop leader gave him years ago, he pulled it out of the corpse as he rose, "You want a demon?" They backed up even more as he came toward them. The tip of the sword dug a grove into the ground, "I'LL GIVE YOU A DEMON!" He cut off the head of the first person he came across before any of them could react. Another lost an arm while another held the bloody stump of his leg. The carnage seemed to snap the others out of their fear and tried to swarm him again. Several more dead bodies decorated the ground before they finally made him back up. A few of the soldiers climbed on the houses and dropped on top of him, pinning him. Getting the sword away from him he held on tight as they hauled him up.

"BURN HIM!" somebody shouted and again the group agreed. They dragged him to the center of the village as other quickly gathered wood and prepared torches. Out of desperation he head butted one holding his right arm. Free from him he turned around and bit the one holding his left right deep in the neck. He screamed and tried to keep the blood from flowing. Swinging wildly he cleared himself some room to fight. Somebody came at him with a sword, his sword.

Michel caught his wrist and saw the fear in his eyes. "Keep your filthy hands off of my sword," he growled right before he broke his arm and the sword fell out of his hands and stuck in the ground. Pulling it out of the ground he started fighting for his life again. With all his soul he wanted to make this entire village pay for what they did to Bekah. But his warrior instinct told him this was a fight he could not win, the numbers were more than against him. Slaying a few more of his fellow soldiers and any stupid enough to get in his way Michel escaped the village and get on going. Bekah was lost to him forever and he had no place to call home. This world told him he was a savage beast, a demon and he would be that. But he would not let this world kill his soul, that is what Bekah would have wanted. And he would do anything to keep that from happening, just to keep her spirit happy.

~now~

The gang tore at her clothes as she screamed. Michel stood at the opening of the alley and watched. The gang noticed him and stopped. Slowly he drew his red bladed sword as they stared at him. The tip scraping the ground he slowly came toward them. He started running as the gunman from earlier drew his weapon. Before he could take aim Michel was already on top of him and cut the hand holding the gun off the arm. He dropped to his knees as Michel quickly spun around and jammed the sword into chest. Grabbing another by the throat he freed the blade and sliced deep into the man chest. He swung again in a wide arc and the sword came into contact with the man's neck. The head landed by the woman's feet and she was too frightened to scream.

Lightning started to flash in the sky as he cut off the arm of another one. Not even thinking he jammed the sword into his throat and pulled the blade out. The last one started to back away but ran into a wall as Michel stood there. In another cruel twist of fate this fucking bastard looked exactly like the coward who killed his beloved Bekah. "Wh…what are you?", he stammered

"A beast," he said. Then he started grinning manically, "A demon." He charged the gang member who was too scared to even move. He didn't even protect himself as the red blade came at him. Michel didn't stop with one cut, even though he knew it was a fatal blow. He kept swinging and slicing at the body as it died and grew colder. By the time he was done it could be hardly called a body any more. He turned toward the woman who was still on the ground. She was trembling in fear, of him. He held out a hand and she recoiled. "Bekah…", he said as he came toward her, the rain made it look like the blood was following him. Finally she screamed and ran out of there. He started to chase after her but he stopped. His still outstretched hand slowly balled up into a fist. That wasn't here, it could never be her. Punching the wall in frustration he screamed at the heavens pouring down at him.

The woman ran for a couple of blocks. Finding cover under a canopy she tried to catch her breath. After a few moments she pulled out a digital recorder and turned it on. "Watcher log, while trailing Dijkhuizen I was jumped. For some reason he saved me. I don't understand why." She was quiet for several minutes. Lowering the recorder she whispered, "How did he know my name?"