Tonight, I had a strong feeling that the hours ahead would last forever. My footsteps echoed softly along the deserted street as I neared the concealed entrance to the bar frequented by magicians and the like.. The establishment bore the unmistakable marks of age, evident in its weathered appearance. Wooden tables and chairs populated the interior, with additional seating along the walls. At the far end of the room, a substantial bar displayed an assortment of bottles as a backdrop. The exchange of knowing glances with the bartender signaled our mutual greeting.
"How are you, Mr. Wilbert?" I inquired as I approached the bar.
"I'm well, Morgan. Thank you for asking," Wilbert replied. "May I offer you a drink for this solitary night?" When I was about to respond, Mr. Wilbert was already preparing a glass of Whiskey on the rocks. It was apparent that he knew my preferences all too well. After the weariness brought on by my recent assignment, a glass of spirits seemed like a well-deserved respite.
"Don't mind if I do," I accepted, as the bartender slid the glass toward me. Raising it to my lips, I savored the fiery liquid as it coursed down my throat.
"Thanks, Mr. Wilbert."
"You're welcome, young man."
I settled into a worn leather stool, the cracks in the aged material cradling me like an old friend. My fingers idly traced the rim of the glass, nursing my drink as I surveyed the dimly lit bar. It was a place where time seemed to have come to a standstill, where the scent of aged wood mingled with the distant hum of an antique music console. Hushed conversations drifted through the air, spoken by patrons who, much like me, had ventured here for a job or simply to while away the hours. In this realm, people eked out a living through commissions and odd tasks, from the mundane to the perilous. I had become a regular visitor to this establishment, a familiar face amidst the shadows.
The weight of my last job lingered in my thoughts, a feeling of fatigue I couldn't easily shake. Mr. Wilbert and I had forged a connection over the years. Perhaps we were friends, or maybe he was merely willing to throw me a bone, here and there. In truth, I didn't care about the specifics; Wilbert was an intriguing man I had known for half a decade.
The bar itself was a relic of a bygone era, a place where the supernatural mingled with the mundane, where deals were struck, and alliances formed. The dim lighting cast long shadows that danced on the worn wooden floors, and the soft strains of an old console filled the air with a haunting melody.
"So, Kid, how did your last job go?" Wilbert inquired, his weathered hands methodically cleaning glasses with a well-worn rag. His eyes, hidden behind a pair of round spectacles, held a shrewd curiosity.
"Everything went smoothly for the most part," I replied, my voice a low murmur. "But there was a minor hiccup with some fallen angels in the vicinity. They didn't detect me, but it disrupted my pace."
"That's the nature of this business when you're dealing with the supernatural," Wilbert mused, his white mustache went up with the hint of a smile. His gaze briefly shifting to a collection of antique trinkets displayed on a nearby shelf. Each item held its own story, its own connection to the world beyond the ordinary.
I sighed, the weight of my responsibilities settling heavily on my shoulders. I had chosen this path that led me into a life of wariness. The boundary between the two worlds blurred in this bar, where patrons from all walks of life sought refuge or opportunities in the moonlit realm.
As I slouched on the counter I took another sip of my drink, when I noticed a cluster of patrons nearby, magicians and mercenaries for hire, their faces etched with a mix of fear and awe. Their hushed conversations sent ripples through the bar's subdued atmosphere.
"...we were completely outmatched...!" one voice trembled. "...We could have been easily killed...!"
I turned back to Wilbert, my curiosity piqued. "What happened to them? They looked a bit freaked out" I asked, my voice a conspiratorial whisper.
Wilbert paused, his hands momentarily stilling their task. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to match mine. "Well, if you must know, Morgan, the group by the entrance, had an encounter with a stray devil in the area. It seems they stumbled upon its domain unknowingly and narrowly avoided a gruesome fate."
As he relayed the story, a sense of unease washed over me. A stray devil – a devil that had gone rogue, cut off from the support of their peerage king. In such circumstances, the power of the evil piece within the devil could grow uncontrollably. While rogue devils were not uncommon, a stray devil in our vicinity, one I was unaware of, gave me pause.
I cast a sidelong glance at Wilbert, his eyes betraying a knowing glimmer. "Is there a reward for dealing with this stray devil?" I inquired, my words tinged with a hint of eagerness.
"As a matter of fact, there is a substantial reward for the one who can put an end to this devil," he replied, his attention now turned towards a row of glasses he was cleaning in the sink.
"Excellent, I'll take the job," I said, my determination evident. I began gathering my belongings and setting aside money for the whiskey.
Wilbert observed me with a knowing eye. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it matters little whether there's a reward or not for you," he remarked, a amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
I offered no response to his observation, merely an acknowledging nod as I accepted a slip of paper from him. The paper bore an address, the last known location of the stray devil. "Be careful, young man," he added, his voice low and almost conspiratorial and full of mirth. "We wouldn't want the Venatores to fade away, now, would we?"
I couldn't help but snort softly at his jest. Mr. Wilbert might be an elderly sage in this supernatural realm, but he seemed to derive an unusual pleasure from teasing me. Well, a man of his age still thriving in the enigmatic world of the supernatural had certainly earned the right to enjoy life's peculiarities.
With that, I nodded my gratitude to the barkeeper and headed toward the exit. The comforting weight of my whip and sword at my side reassured me. With newfound resolve, I prepared myself for the night's hunt. It was time to fulfill the sacred duty of the Venatores: to vanquish evil, no matter the cost.
"...This should be the place the stray was last seen," I muttered to myself, my breath forming misty tendrils in the chilly night air. The soft, persistent drizzle seemed to conspire with the shadows, casting an otherworldly feeling over the streets. It was the kind of weather that lent an eerie beauty to a lonely night, where the pattering raindrops provided a haunting sound to my investigation.
As I ventured deeper into the desolate streets, the faint hum of passing cars in the distance served as a stark reminder of the ordinary world just beyond the veil of the supernatural. It was a world unaware of all the dangers that veil the moonlit world. Sometimes I wonder what my life could have been if I had never stumbled upon the supernatural. Bah. There's no point thinking like that. I don't think Victor would like that.
With each step, I scoured the area for any signs, any clues that might lead me closer to the truth. The dimly lit alleyways casting unnerving shadows, and I listened intently, my senses finely tuned to the mysteries that lay hidden in the night.
After a while of searching I was starting to lose hope. It seems this would be a failed hunt.
"Dammit" I muttered between my teeth. I was going to head again to the Bar to tell the news to Mr Wilbert. Maybe some other magician will stumble with the stray. So unlucky. I decided to take an alternative route to head to the bar, passing through some old abandoned warehouses. The weathered orange brick was my only companion in the chilly night. In that moment, my senses picked up something. A bounded field. I turned my head to where I sensed the bounded field. Just an indistinguishable warehouse, one more of a lot.
I carefully made my way to the warehouse, its weathered orange bricks and a rusted metal door welcomed me. This place has seen better days. And it just makes the perfect hiding spot for someone that wants to hide from the devil laws. Also if my suspicions are correct then, the perfect hunting grounds for the devil, just as the mundane world was this close from it.
"...Hmm…" The bounded field did not look all that impressive. Its only purpose is to detect unwanted guests in the area. Lucky me, I'm the unwanted guest. I guess these are the perks of being a magical hunter or whatever. Well here goes nothing.
As I stepped into the bounden field I was hit with the faint smell of iron in the air. Shit. Another indication that passed into the field was the color of the sky, it was purple. Most likely the stray devil already knows that someone has entered its domain. So stealth wasn't an option. I headed towards the rusted metal doors and pushed it open. A screeching sound that hurt my ears came from the doors, and stepped into the warehouse.
As I ventured further into the dimly lit warehouse, the atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive. The musty scent of old crates and damp wood filled the air, and a cold draft whispered through the dilapidated structure. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes were fixed on me from the shadows. My senses remained on high alert, every nerve in my body tingling with anticipation. The bounded field's activation had undoubtedly signaled my presence to the stray devil, and I knew that our inevitable confrontation loomed closer with each step I took.
I couldn't resist the urge to break the tense silence with a bit of banter. "Come on out, you stray," I muttered to myself, my voice laced with a tinge of humor. "I promise I won't bite... much."
The color of the sky outside had shifted to a foreboding shade of purple, a telltale sign that the devil was aware of my intrusion. Stealth was no longer an option; we were locked in a deadly game of cat and mouse, and the stray devil held the upper hand in its domain.I continued to explore the warehouse cautiously, my footsteps echoing in the silence. It was a labyrinthine space, filled with towering stacks of crates and long-forgotten relics of a bygone era. The dim light filtering through cracked windows cast eerie shadows that danced on the decaying walls.
"Ah, the classic hide-and-seek routine, huh?" I quipped, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're really nailing it, Devil. Top-notch hiding skills." But even then, I couldn't see the damn stray.
As I turned a corner, I caught a fleeting glimpse of movement—a shadowy figure darting out of sight. This bastard was trying to toy with me. Well too bad, I'm not so easily fooled. My heart quickened, and I knew that the stray devil was toying with me, testing my resolve.
The tension in the air was palpable, a suffocating weight that pressed down on me. I couldn't see my adversary, but I could sense its presence lurking in the darkness. I rested the palm of my hand in the grip of the morning star, its familiar weight providing a sense of comfort. Unable to resist a final jab, I muttered under my breath. "You know, Stray, this game is growing tiresome. Why don't you do us both a favor and reveal yourself?"
A heard a footstep to my right and quickly turned my body towards the sound. The sight gave me an unexpected surprise. A woman's sudden appearance that sent a shiver down my spine, her allure almost convincing enough to lower my guard.
I couldn't deny the ethereal quality that clung to her, her features almost too perfect to belong in this dilapidated warehouse. Her long, dark hair cascaded like silk, framing a face that seemed to glow with an otherworldly radiance. Yet, her eyes, though pleading, held a hint of something far more sinister beneath the surface .My skepticism remained unwavering as I took a cautious step back, the palm of my hand resting in the grip of the Morning Star. "Well, this is an unexpected twist," I muttered to myself, my tone still laced with woman's voice, soft and melodious, broke the eerie silence. "Please, you have to help me. I'm trapped here, a monster captured me and it will come back at any moment, please, you have to help me…!""
I couldn't deny the allure of her plea, but I had learned the hard way that things were rarely what they seemed in the supernatural world. Her beauty might have been captivating, but I knew better than to trust appearances alone. Over the years I learned to read people by expression, body language and eyes. This woman is not even a bit afraid. She must have nerves of steel; with a roll of my eyes I addressed the woman.
"Help you?" I replied with a wry smile. "Forgive me if I'm not inclined to play the hero. Why don't you tell me who you are and what you're doing here?"
The woman's expression wavered for a moment, something I quickly noticed, a hint of frustration flickering in her eyes."There's no time for questions. Please, I'm in danger, and you're the only one who can save me." She said while fluttering her eyes. Do I really seem that naive?
I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism deepening. "Well, isn't that convenient?"
With a swift, practiced motion, I reached for one of the knives strapped to my belt and hurled it toward the woman's head. But before it could make contact, she dissolved into a cloud of inky smoke, the blade passing harmlessly through the illusion.
I cursed under my breath, my suspicions confirmed. The woman had been a clever ruse, a mirage conjured by the stray devil to lure me into a false sense of security. It had almost worked, but I was not so easily deceived. The warehouse seemed to come alive with a malevolent energy, As the devil emerged from the shroud of shadows, its form was a chilling fusion of grotesquery and seduction. Its once-hypnotic violet eyes had become crimson red orbs, radiating a malevolence.
Its elongated limbs ended in razor-sharp claws, and its leathery wings unfurled with a haunting rustle. Its voice, a chilling blend of seduction and menace, filled the air. "How heartless, Hunter. You strike a woman without a hint of hesitation?"
I remained poised and vigilant, my grip on the Morning Star unyielding. Years of experience had taught me the peril of underestimating supernatural entities, especially ones as cunning and unpredictable as this stray devil.
With a steely resolve, I countered the devil's performance. "Save the theatrics," I retorted, my voice a stark contrast to the tone taunting and teasing form before. "I've danced with your kind before, so don't think I can be so easily tricked." The tension in the warehouse had reached its zenith, a suffocating weight that hung in the air like an impending storm. The devil's leathery wings twitched with frenzied anticipation, and its claws were poised, ready to tear into my flesh.
In the blink of an eye, the stray devil lunged at me, its claws gleaming like daggers, ready to pierce my heart. Its triumphant proclamation was cut short by a sudden, cracking sound that shattered the eerie silence of the warehouse.
"Hahah! Say your prayers, human! Prepare to di—" The devil's voice was abruptly silenced as its body was pushed back with tremendous force. The sickening sound of hissing flesh filled the air as it skidded across the floor, leaving a trail of scorched marks. "Ahh! T-this is holy energy..! I didn't know exorcists were in the area!"
I let out a small chuckle. "Well fortunatly for you, I'm no exorcist. '' With a series of agility and very rehearsed moves, the Morning star returned to its initial position. Like a snake ready to attack at a moment's notice.
"You bastard!" It clenched its clawed hand, and crimson magic circles materialized around it. With a menacing grin, it hurled a barrage of fireballs in my direction.
I reacted quickly, the fireballs were fast, but I'm no amateur. I dodged and weaved between the flying fireballs, each impact sending a burst of searing heat and fiery debris into the air. The warehouse erupted in a series of explosions as the fireballs struck the walls, leaving scorched marks and billowing smoke in their wake.
I couldn't help but whistle quietly as I surveyed the damage. The stray devil was no amateur; its proficiency in spellcasting was evident in the destructive power it wielded. This was going to be a challenging fight, anyways I'm always up for the challenge.
Using the chaos and smoke as cover, I closed the distance between the devil with calculated precision. I knew that getting in close was my best chance at landing a decisive blow. My heart pounded in my chest as I approached, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. With a swift motion, I swung the Morning Star in a sweeping arc, aiming directly for the devil's elbow joint. The tip of the whip crackled with holy energy as it sliced through the air, closing in on its target.
The stray devil, quick to react, realized the impending danger and attempted to move out of the way. But I was faster. The Morning Star struck true, and the crackling chain whip wrapped around the devil's arm with a sickening thud. The force of the impact caused its arm to bend at an unnatural angle, a gut-wrenching sight that elicited a howl of pain from the creature.
I wasted no time capitalizing on the distraction. With my free hand, I tightly gripped the hilt of my sword, the blade gleaming with a deadly intent. I sprinted towards the injured devil, closing the gap between us in an instant.
As I reached the devil, I unleashed a powerful slash with all my strength, aiming for its exposed flank. The blade of my sword cut through the devil's flesh like a hot knife through butter, drawing a spray of dark, ichorous blood.
The devil's agonized cry echoed through the warehouse as it staggered back, clutching its wounded arm and side. It was clear that my strikes had taken a toll, and the tide of the battle had shifted in my favor.
The devil breathed heavily, its wounded form trembling as it struggled to maintain composure. "J-just..." it stammered, desperation evident in its voice. "Who the hell are you!? You are way more experienced than the magicians and warriors I've seen in the area. Someone of your prowess would be more recognized! So tell me, who the hell are you!?"
I couldn't help but smirk at the devil's frantic inquiry. "My name?" I replied with a quirked brow, the Morning Star still crackling with holy energy as I swung it in a circular motion before me. The devil's eyes fixated on the weapon, a mix of fear and curiosity in its gaze. "Ohhh, that's right. I never introduced myself, did I?" I continued. "How rude of me. If you really want to know, well, my name is Morgan. Morgan Venatores."
The devil stilled, its trembling eyes locked onto mine. It seemed as though a wave of recognition had washed over it. "Venatores...?" the words escaped its lips in a hushed whisper. Its wide eyes began to tremble, and a shiver ran down its spine. "But that's impossible... The Venatores were wiped out centuries ago..."
I maintained my stance, my whip still in motion, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "That's how the official story goes," I remarked casually, a knowing hum leaving my throat "As far as I'm concerned, in the eyes of the supernatural, I'm just a particularly well-trained hunter. But like all stories, these tend to be... incorrect, for lack of a better word."
The stray devil, realizing its impending doom, knew that it's only chance lay in making a desperate run for it. It had witnessed firsthand the extent of my abilities, and the revelation of my lineage had sent shockwaves of fear through its very being. I watched the devil carefully, waiting to see whether it would attempt to flee or if it had one last trick up its sleeve. It appears the stray wouldn't go down without a final attack.
The tension in the warehouse reached its stray devil, despite its fear and desperation, still clung to a dangerous spark of defiance in its eyes. With my grip on my whip unwavering, I knew it was time to end this battle once and for all.
I took a step forward, my voice cutting through the silence with unwavering determination. "My name is Morgan Venatores," I proclaimed proudly, my words echoing off the decaying walls of the warehouse. "Last son of the Venatores clan." The devil's eyes widened, its defiance momentarily faltering. "And I will uphold my sacred duty!"
With a swift and fluid motion, I swung the whip in a wide arc, channeling all the holy energy it contained into the strike. The chain crackled with intense power as it lashed out, aiming for the devil's midsection. The whip struck true, and the holy energy erupted upon contact, engulfing the devil in a blinding flash of divine fire.
The devil let out a blood-curdling scream as the holy energy seared through its form, purging the darkness that had consumed it. Its body convulsed and contorted in agony, its once-malevolent aura dissipating into nothingness.
As the fire light bathed the battlefield, I maintained my stance, the Morning Star crackling with residual energy. The legacy of the Venatores clan had been upheld, and our sacred duty to vanquish evil remained unyielding.
As the last traces of the devil vanished, I lowered the Morning Star, the battle finally at an end. The warehouse, once filled with tension and darkness, was now bathed in an eerie silence. I took a moment to catch my breath, the weight of the battle's intensity slowly lifting from my shoulders.
"I'm so tired…" I wheezed, the adrenaline of battle slowly receding, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. Even though I hadn't sustained any injuries, the mental and emotional toll of the battle weighed heavily on me. The constant dance with danger and the unrelenting need to stay vigilant had drained my reserves.
As I stood there amidst the lingering echo of the battle, I couldn't help but long for a moment of respite. "I need another drink," I muttered to myself, the desire for solace and the numbing comfort of alcohol washing over me. With that thought firmly in mind, I made my way out of the warehouse, my steps heavy with the weight of the night's trials.
As I pushed open the creaky door and stepped into the dimly lit, almost deserted bar, the late hour was unmistakable. It seemed like the entire town had already surrendered to the embrace of sleep. The only soul present in the establishment to greet me was Wilbert, the grizzled bartender. He sat behind the counter, engrossed in his newspaper, with only his eyes peeking over the rim of the paper as he acknowledged my arrival.
"Welcome back," Wilbert muttered, his gravelly voice carrying a note of familiarity. He was a man of few words but always seemed to have a story hidden beneath that weathered exterior. "I hope you had a successful hunt?"
I stumbled over to the counter, the weathered stools groaning beneath the weight of my weary body. The creak of the stool signified my full descent into its embrace. "A very successful one, if you ask me," I replied, my words slurring just a tad. "I just feel like I've been running nonstop since the morning. Not good for anyone." I chuckled softly, feeling the exhaustion seeping into my bones. Wilbert responded with a faint, understanding chuckle of his own, his eyes crinkling at the corners as if he had seen many a weary traveler in his time.
"Hey, Mr. Wilbert," I began, trying to muster a bit of enthusiasm. "Can I have something to drink?" I looked at him with a hopeful expression, my eyes attempting to convey my longing for a bit of liquid solace after a long day's work.
The man turned around slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with an unimpressed glare. "You again," he grumbled, his rough exterior giving no indication of his intentions. "C'mon, Mr. Wilbert, throw this poor man a bone over here," I pleaded, attempting to coax a smile out of him.
I heard Wilbert sigh heavily, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "Fine," he conceded, his gruff demeanor softening just a touch. "But only a glass for tonight." With that, he left the counter and headed toward a service door at the back of the bar, presumably to fetch me a glass. I couldn't help but offer a silent prayer of gratitude for his begrudging kindness. God bless him, indeed.
As I sat at the worn bar, nursing my thoughts and awaiting my drink, I was jolted from my reverie by the soft chime of the entrance bell. It signaled the arrival of another soul to this otherwise empty establishment. At first, I didn't bother to look over and see who had entered. Instead, I chose to remain ensconced in my own world, lost in the labyrinth of memories that often haunted my weary mind.
The stool next to me groaned, protesting the newcomer's weight, and I couldn't resist stealing a quick glance. My eyes met those of a roguishly handsome middle-aged man. His jet-black hair with blonde bangs cascaded effortlessly, framing his face. A well-maintained goatee adorned his chin, adding an air of sophistication to his rugged charm. His attire was equally intriguing – a perfectly tailored blue suit that hinted at affluence, and over it, a well-worn brown trench coat, no doubt for protection against the unpredictable rain that often graced this town.
However, it was his eyes that stole my attention and held it captive. They were a percing, muted pink-purple hue, an unusual shade that seemed to defy explanation. Those eyes observed me with a mischievous, amused expression, and his small smile, just a tad too wide, hinted at secrets hidden beneath the surface.
I couldn't help but steal glances at the mysterious stranger. There was something about him that seemed out of place in this empty town, something that sent a shiver down my spine. Yet, despite the strangeness of his appearance and the curious glint in his eyes, I couldn't perceive any ill intentions emanating from the man.
The minutes ticked by in silence, the only sound being the low hum of the bar's neon sign. It was then that the enigmatic stranger leaned in slightly, breaking the silence with a low, smooth voice.
"You know," he began, his words carrying a subtle weight, "this town seems particularly strange, doesn't it?" His tone was casual, but there was a knowing glint in his pink-purple eyes as they locked onto mine.
"What do you mean by that? '' This man knows something about tonight's hunt. Definitely related to the supernatural. No doubt. Why has my luck been so bad?
The enigmatic stranger's smile widened ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Oh, just a feeling," he replied casually, his words cloaked in a veneer of nonchalance. "This town has a way of attracting the... unusual, wouldn't you say?"
"I wouldn't know. What brings you to this bar late at night anyways?" The stranger's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement, and he leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Oh, you know," he replied casually, "sometimes one seeks solace in the most unexpected of places, hoping to find answers to questions no one has answers to."
The air in the bar seemed to grow heavier as Wilbert returned with a whiskey bottle in his hand, breaking the tension that had settled between me and the enigmatic stranger. He offered a brief apology, "Sorry for the tardiness," and then turned his attention to the mysterious man, his voice laced with curiosity. "Evening Mr…?"
The stranger responded with a simple and enigmatic introduction. "You can call me Azazel."
As those words left Azazel's lips, both Wilbert and I felt a shiver run down our spines. It was as if the very atmosphere in the bar had changed, and a palpable sense of unease hung in the air. We exchanged a wary glance, our bodies tensing involuntarily. Azazel, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the discomfort his revelation had caused. His smile widened, a knowing glint in his pink-purple eyes. It was clear that his presence in this quiet, seemingly ordinary bar was anything but coincidental, and the mysteries surrounding him had only deepened.
Wilbert let out a resigned sigh as he grudgingly acknowledged the presence of Azazel. "What can we do for you, Azazel?" he asked, his voice carrying a weary tone, as if he had encountered his fair share of enigmatic figures over the years. Azazel's response was surprisingly mundane, given the air of mystique that surrounded him. "Well, you can start by pouring me a glass too, please." He gestured towards the whiskey bottle, his smile never wavering.
Wilbert, ever the professional bartender, compiled without hesitation. He poured two glasses, one for Azazel and another for me, the liquid amber catching the dim light of the bar. As he set the glasses before us, I couldn't help but steal a glance at Azazel. I knew exactly who and what he represented – the current leader of the Grigori, and a very powerful fallen angel.
The fact that the leader of such a formidable faction was standing beside me screamed that he knew what had happened tonight, that my life had become entangled with greater forces. Azazel turned toward me, his pink-purple eyes fixed on mine as he inquired, "So, what's your name, kid?" I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing with uncertainty. After a brief pause, I finally replied, "Morgan."
The man's expectant expression urged me to continue, so I added, "Morgan Venatores." As I finished introducing myself, I couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Azazel's demeanor. His gaze held a hint of quiet awe, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"So, it's true then," he mused, his tone tinged with a sense of satisfaction. "Huh. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know Victor had a son". With his words I completely forgot that I was talking to a faction leader.
His words struck me like a lightning bolt. "Wait, you knew the old man!?" I blurted out.
"Yeah, I knew your father. He was the last-" Azazel began, but before he could finish his sentence, I quickly interrupted him. "He's not my father." The abruptness of my response seemed to catch Azazel off guard, and the surprise on his face spoke volumes.
"He's not?" Azazel's curiosity was palpable as he leaned in, clearly intrigued by the revelation. "Then why are you wearing his family crest?"
I hesitated for a moment, memories of my time with Victor flooding my mind. "Sometime ago," I began, my voice tinged with melancholy, "he saved me from a terrible fate. He took me under his wing, trained me, and when he passed away, he told me that now I was the last Venatores still kicking around."
Azazel nodded, a newfound understanding in his eyes. "I see," he said, his tone softened by empathy. "Your father was a remarkable man, and it seems he saw something in you worth protecting."
As the weight of our conversation settled in the air, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. My connection to my late mentor and the mysteries surrounding his past were now intertwined with the enigmatic figure of Azazel, the leader of the Grigori. It was a revelation that hinted at a deeper, more complex web of secrets.
"Anyways, what are you here for anyways?" I asked, taking a sip of my drink. Mmm. Tasty.
Azazel leaned in slightly, his eyes locked onto mine with a newfound intensity. "I came for you, really," he replied, his words hanging in the air with a sense of purpose. "Or more for what you represent."
His response left me with a sense of unease. What did he mean by "what you represent"?
"As you may know, the extermination of the Venatores clan was a tragedy born out of mistrust, fear and manipulation. A very unjust event, something I still regret to this day."
"As you may know, the extermination of the Venatores clan was a tragedy born out of mistrust, fear, and manipulation," he explained, his words heavy with a sense of sorrow. "A very unjust event, something I still regret to this day." His words hung in the air, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions. The history of my clan's demise had always been shrouded in mystery, and the idea that Azazel, the leader of the Grigori, carried regrets about it was both surprising and perplexing.
"I've spent a long time seeking to make amends for past mistakes," Azazel continued, his eyes locked onto mine with a sincerity that was hard to ignore. "And part of that journey has led me to you, Morgan Venatores." "I want bring back the Venatores, Morgan"
The notion of restoring the Venatores clan, a lineage thought to be extinguished, stirred a powerful sense of responsibility within me. It was Victor´s dream. And the same stories he used to tell me when I was a boy.
"But how?" I asked, my voice laced with both hope and uncertainty. The challenges ahead loomed like shadows on the horizon, and I needed to understand the path Azazel envisioned.
Azazel leaned in slightly, his pink-purple eyes never leaving mine. "Making a name out of yourself," he replied, his words carrying a sense of determination. "The Venatores were once a respected and formidable clan of hunters. To bring them back, you'll need to prove yourself."
While I was pondering over the idea the man continued. "Right now, I'm living in Japan in a small town named Kuoh, the territory is being occupied by two devil heiresses, but with your skills I think that being under the radar should be a piece of cake for you"
I couldn't help but voice my concern as the weight of Azazel's offer settled in. "How would this work?" I asked, "From my point of view, you're doing a lot of things for me, and I give nothing in return."
Azazel's enigmatic smile returned, and he leaned back slightly, his gaze still locked onto mine. "You have something that's quite valuable, Morgan," he replied. "Potential. The human potential that Father once spoke about; that shine; I want to see it."
Azazel began to talk. "But if you really want a more straightforward answer," he said, "you could say that I could give you some jobs to do." He responded with a chuckle, and I frowned a little at the prospect of the tasks that awaited me. Im no errand boy. But even then it was a very good deal, and a part of me wanted to honor Victor's wish I contemplated in silence.
"Fine, I accept your deal," I replied with a sense of determination. Azazel's smile widened, this time a genuine one, and he extended his hand. I shook it firmly, sealing our agreement. "Pleasure doing business with you, kid," he said warmly.
As our hands parted, Azazel handed me a piece of paper. "Here's my number, kid. Give me a call if you need anything." I nodded in acknowledgment, taking the paper and tucking it safely into my pocket-
After Azazel vanished in a flare of magic circles, the bar returned to its usual quiet state, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I turned my attention to Wilbert, the bartender who had witnessed the entire conversation. His expression remained unreadable, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation in the air.
"Aren't you gonna say something?" I asked, breaking the silence. To my surprise, Wilbert chuckled, his weathered face creasing with warmth.
"You're a grown man, kid," he replied, his voice filled with wisdom. "You're responsible for your own decisions."
I smiled warmly at him, a sense of gratitude filling my heart. I began to pack my things and prepared to leave the bar. However, just as I was about to step out, I was stopped by the sound of Wilbert's voice.
"Just keep in touch, got it, kid?" he said with a hint of nostalgia in his tone.
I turned back and nodded, appreciating the genuine concern in his words. "Yeah, I'll see you later, Mr. Wilbert."
"Good night, kid," he bid me farewell with a nod, and as I stepped out into the night, I couldn't help but feel that this small town bar had become a place of melancholy. With Azazel's support and the unexpected allies like Wilbert, I was feeling ready for honoring Victor´s wish and the Venatores Legacy.