by George Fry
Stolz seemed pleased with himself.
“You look irritated.” He jest.
While Drifter didn’t look hurt, protected by his white aura, he did seem frazzled by Stolz’ sudden power escalation. He wasn’t like most demons, he wasn't fighting on instinct or ego. This was a true warrior.
Drifter drew his sword and charged forth, once again. Stolz returned in kind. He ran forward until the two of them clashed, at least that’s what Stolz expected to happen, but Drifter instead chose to use his sword to joust himself over Stolz at the last second, landing behind him.
Without even turning to aim, Drifter pointed his finger behind himself and fired another sparkling shot at Stolz, but the demon spun around, smacking the light grenade away with his darkness infused fist. The blast collided with a tree, vaporising it.
“Stop playing games!” Stolz demanded.
“Now who sounds irritated.” Drifter retorted.
“If you refuse to fight seriously, then I shall make you!”
Stolz clashed both of his swords together, raising them into the air as he gathered, his full might. The blades crackled with dark bolts, as they glowed with an intense black luster. The blades slowly merged together, forging a massive murky sword, twice their size.
“Now… Face me!”
Stolz hammered the gargantuan zweihander down upon Drifter.
Without even facing his opponent, Drifter lifted his hand and caught the blade, that was intent on crushing him under the weight of its sheer force. The earth shook at the ferocity of the power on display, as Stolz pushed against Drifter’s single palm harder and harder.
“Why!? Why!?” He questioned as the pressure intensified.
Even with the ground splitting underneath him, Drifter refused to budge, his white aura growing ever more fierce. He felt his hand along the heated sword, until he found the spot he was searching for.
“Got him.”
With a sudden firm clench of his fist, Drifter snapped the thunderous saber in two.
The world became still again, as the large beaming blade returned to its original form, with one of the zweihanders landing beside Drifter.
He picked up the smoking blade and tossed it over his shoulder, back to Stolz, who was still unamused by Drifter’s lackadaisical performance.
"How did you do that?" Stolz asked.
"You combined your swords together, so I just found the spot where the blades met and split them apart again. It's not rocket science." Drifter responded.
“Why? Why do you hold back? Why do you refuse to face me head on?”
“Not my style.”
“When I came to this world, I expected CORE’s wielder to be an unparalleled warrior, whose power was absolute, but I was wrong. You are no warrior, you’re just another human.”
Stolz turned his back, but before leaving he left with one final comment.
“I do not understand why you humans continue to lie to yourselves, fearing your own potential. I can only hope, that one day, you will take responsibility for the power you’ve been blessed with and discover how to use it properly.
Whatever insecurities are holding you back, once you've overcome them, I’ll gladly fight you again, with your real strength.”
With his parting message, Stolz tore open a portal and returned to the demon world.
“You going to lie there all day, kid?” Drifter asked.
“You could give me a hand, you know?”
“You’ve got two, don’t ya?”
Drifter looked up at the acolytes, still stunned by the battle they witnessed.
“What the fuck are you people still doing here!? Your little cult gathering is over! The mist demon’s gone! Go home! Get a beer, watch some TV, go back to your normal lives!”
The crowd meekly dispersed, unsure of what to do with themselves now that the demons they had put all their faith in were defeated, by just a couple of humans. However, one stayed behind. They needed answers, advice, anything to put them back on the right track.
“Lord Anderson told us that humans were weak, that succumbing to the demons was the only way for us to survive the coming new world, but you contradict those teachings… tell me, are you our saviour, or another devil?”
Drifter wasted no time in responding.
“Fuck off, retard.”
Chapter 8: White HEathen
Having reached Templar Square shopping centre, close to Donnington. Drifter was surprised to see that the area was fully populated. The extent of the mist demon’s plague hadn’t reached this far. The people went about their day as normal, despite the massive loss of life, just a mile away from their commute.
As was typical of the British, even if tragedy had struck just across the road from their home, they continued on as normal.
Drifter and Dale took the opportunity to rest and relax at a cafe inside the mall.
“Tea and cake?” Dale criticised.
“You got a problem with that?”
“That’s so gay.”
“You didn’t say a goddamn thing when I ordered it, but the second the rim of the cup touches my lip, that’s when you object?”
“Why can’t we go to a pub and get a beer, like normal people? I feel so exposed.”
“You’re just saying that because everyone's staring at your blood stained clothes.”
“To be honest, they’re not drawing as much attention as I thought.”
“People these days have a higher tolerance for weird shit. We’ve all just grown accustomed to horrible violence at this point.”
“It’d be admirable if we weren’t so complacent about it.”
“There’s not much normal people can do when it comes to demons.”
“Now I really need a drink…”
“Then stop your bitching and go get one already.”
“I can’t … I don’t have ID…”
Drifter laughed uproariously at Dale’s plight.
“So, that’s why you want me to go!? Get fucked, idiot!”
“At least I’m not some poofter who sits around drinking tea!”
“Tea is an integral part of our culture.”
“You one of those cunts who thinks they’re better than everyone else because they refuse to drink alcohol?”
“I don’t need to do that to prove I’m better than you.”
“I bet you’re just too scared to get a little tipsy.”
“I couldn’t get drunk if I tried. The Demon Sword’s power protects me from harmful substances.”
“Cursed to be sober your whole life. Such a cruel fate.”
“Beats being poisoned.”
“What other bullshit does that sword protect you from?”
“Disease, viruses, drugs, smoke, fatalities, dumb magic.”
“What magic?”
“Every so often, you get some tard who thinks he can use mind control or some other stupid shit to kill you, but it never works. The Demon Sword can’t really stop it though, it’s just makes me immune.”
“I’m starting to think that sword is a little overpowered.”
“You have no idea…”
“What do you… oh no…”
Dale suddenly stopped mid-sentence as he stared wearily behind them.
“What? Oh fuck….”
Drifter cringed as he turned around to find a group of hooded individuals, carrying signs, marching up and down the centre, chanting: “Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Demons are the way to go!” and other expertly crafted slogans, while handing out pamphlets to passers by, whether they wanted them or not.
“Are they the same cultists we saw yesterday?” Dale reluctantly asked.
“Different faces, same cult, except there’s more of them and they're way more embarrassing.”
“I think now’s a good time to go take a piss.”
Dale left to do his business, leaving Drifter to deal with the freak show unfolding before him. He couldn’t grasp the concept of anyone willing to waste their time doing something so hu
miliating.
It was extremely rare to find anyone who had sympathy for demons and the acolytes weren’t exactly providing solid arguments for them. Clearly they were the bottom rungs of whatever organisation they were screaming for.
The whole march looked like a waste of time and energy, for everyone unfortunate enough to get involved, prompting Drifter to ignore them and return to his tea.
A spot of milk, with two teaspoons of sugar, a simple yet divine blend of sweetness without overpowering the bitterness of the tea. The perfect drink to help him ignore the madness around him.
Before he could enjoy his brew, he felt a stinging sensation near his temple, like a bug bite, irritating him. He lifted his hand to check his skin, rubbing it before checking his fingers.
“Blood?” He thought. “Been a while since someone tried to assassinate me, let alone drew blood.”
Drifter ignored it, assuming it was probably an insect that got lucky, as the cut healed over without any issue. Then, a second shot hit his hand.
“Who keeps doing that?” He questioned.
His hand bled, but it was hardly serious, again like an insect bite. The real concern was who or what was being fired at him. With no bullet being left behind, Drifter could only assume it was something demonic, but he didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, besides the obnoxious crowd.
He went back to his drink, but as soon as the cup came close to his mouth, it shattered in his hands, spilling shards and tea all over his cake. His lunch was ruined and he was quite upset.
Rising from his chair, he looked at the glass ceiling over the shopping centre. It was brief, but now that he was paying attention, he noticed a slight demonic presence, just before the third shot desecrated his food.
As he turned his attention to the roof, he noticed one of the windows was open sightly, with something peeking through the gap.
Lying on her stomach, sniper rifle in hand, a woman looked down the scope of her bizarrely dyed gun. Her calm composure was shattered the moment Drifter’s sight met with hers. She had been spotted.
Wishing to exit the centre to confront the sniper, Drifter was forced to converse with one of the acolytes, as the obnoxious group were blocking the walkway.
This request proved far more difficult than he initially thought, as people dumb enough to obstruct the daily commute of the average citizen weren’t going to be the easiest people to persuade.
“Hey!” He called one hooded individual. “Could you move?”
“I have all your answers right here, good sir.”
“That’s not what I-”
The bemused man, completely ignored Drifter’s request and handed him a pamphlet, titled: Daemonism, but Drifter barely acknowledged it, immediately tossing it.
“Okay, I’m going to ask again. Can you move, please?”
“The only thing we aim to move are the hearts of the people, who have been mislead by their leaders.”
“What the fuck are you-”
“For we have seen many things these past few months. Monsters, massacres and madness, but thanks to Lord Anderson, I have finally seen the light of truth. We all have. The light of Lucifer himself. A light of hope, shining upon humanity’s destiny. Indeed we-”
“Please stop.”
“I’m sensing great animosity and antagonism from within you. You should join us, and let our demonic brethren lead us to a new world.”
“God, shut up.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, for we have been tasked with spreading the word of Lord Anderson, to save as many souls as we can.”
“Fine, fuck you. Go play in traffic.”
Bored with their lofty preaching, Drifter prepped himself, before launching through the ceiling, wishing he had just done this from the start.
As the man watched Drifter perform such an inhuman feat, he was reminded of what his fellow worshippers had spoken to him about, only yesterday.
The man in the white coat, who had murdered their demonic leaders ruining their first true contact with beings from the other world, setting their plans back to square one. Upon this realisation, the man quickly rallied his fellow worshippers to bring the man to justice.
While the sniper quietly tried to crawl away, they realised they hadn’t planned an escape route, in case they were spotted and thus, were stranded on the roof. It wasn’t long before Drifter burst through the windows, landing in front of the woman, as she tried to escape.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He questioned.
She was a short haired blonde. A real tomboy, with baggy trousers, large boots, jacket and sweater. She seemed foreign, possibly American.
“Hold up there, don’t try anything funny with me.” She pointed her white gun, threatening Drifter.
“You gonna shoot me?”
“Pardon?”
“Come on, get it over with.”
“Wait. This ain’t any ordinary gun. I could blow you to pieces with this thing.”
“I doubt that.”
“Wha-? Are you stupid or just plain suicidal!?”
“Can’t do it, can you?”
“That’s not it!”
“Can’t pull the trigger now that I’m right in front of you.”
“Shut up!”
“Can’t bare to look a man in the eye before you end their life, can you?”
“Fine! I warned you!”
In a flash of light, the woman transformed her rifle into a shotgun and without hesitation, fired at Drifter at point blank range.
A burst of energy exploded upon contact with Drifter’s body, covering the roof in smoke for a brief period. The woman breathed heavily, shocked by her impulsiveness.
Unfortunately for the woman, once the smoke cleared, she found Drifter to be completely unharmed.
“That’s a strange gun you got there. Can’t think of any in the human world that transform and shoot demon energy like that.”
“Oh shit.” The woman exclaimed, slowly backing away.
“Where did you get it? Let me see it.”
Backed up against the edge of the open window, the woman needed an escape plan and fast. Luckily the distraction she needed suddenly came in the form of a loud obnoxious noise.
“White Heathen! White Heathen! White Heathen!” Chanted the crowd at the foot of the building.
Drifter, dumbfounded by the incessant yelling, marched over to the window.
“What the fuck are those idiots doing now?”
Unable to sense any demons nearby, he peered inside the mall, only to find the acolytes shouting back at him the moment he came into their view.
“There he is!” The previously mild mannered acolyte decried. “The vile White Heathen! The true evil threatening to bring this world to its end, through his violence and terror!”
“Whoo!” The woman exclaimed. “What’d you do to piss off the crazies?”
“Who cares about the pillock parade? Are you gonna tell me about that gun, or what?”
“Sure… if you can catch me, first.”
“Oh yeah? And how do you plan on-”
Before he could finish, the woman pointed her gun downward and blasted the ground. A bright flash of light, blinded Drifter, giving her ample time to slip through the window, with the crowd below breaking her fall. By the time, Drifter recovered, the woman had already disappeared into the mall.
“That was a cunt move… I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”
Drifter looked around the roof of the building, hoping to find her exiting the mall.
“Dammit, if she were a demon, I’d be able to track her. The only way I’d be able to find her now, is if she fired that weapon again.”
He kept searching until he caught a glimpse of her heading for a cafe, just outside the multi-storey car park.
"Or, she can just run around in the open like a retard."
Drifter prepared himself for another huge leap, as the woman disappeared from his sight behind a tree. Not wanting to accidentally crus
h anything, or anyone, upon landing, he aimed for a clear opening in the road. Even if it put him further behind the woman, he was confident he’d be able to catch up to her quickly from there.
He flew off the roof, landing just outside the mall’s exit. He toppled slightly as he wasn’t used to doing massive leaps, as they tended to draw too much attention. After pulling himself together he found that the woman had already hidden herself. She was nowhere to be found.
“Oh… fuck me...” He moaned, as he now had to play hide-and-seek to find her.
“MURDERER!” Cried the acolyte, now suddenly equipped with a megaphone.
He marched down the street towards Drifter, followed by his army of cultists, drawing the attention of the public, who were just going about their daily business. The man called out to the people, hoping to rally their support from his outburst.
“This Heathen, is a murderer! He killed our priest, slaughtered the demons who swore to protect us! The fall of mankind will rest entirely on the shoulders of those who oppose the divine machinations of these creatures, with such horrific violence!”
Naturally, his fellow protesters echoed his sentiments with their repeated chants of “White Heathen!”
The citizens turned to Drifter out of confusion, who merely shrugged, dumbstruck by their childish ranting. His bewilderment was all they needed to confirm that the acolytes were talking bollocks, rolling their eyes, like they’d seen it all before.
Drifter ignored the fanatical group and continued his search. This only angered them further, as they soon began throwing rocks and other objects, as they yelled more insults to try and provoke him.
Thanks to his protective aura, Drifter didn’t even feel the projectiles hitting him, and found their insults more amusing than hurtful, especially when the insulters drowned each other out with their incomprehensible screaming.
“It doesn’t even look like a real gun, you dumbass!” A woman yelled as she was forced out of a cafe.
“First you break in through the back and then you pull out a freaky gun!? I can’t let you leave, yet! Tell me where you got it! Don’t make this difficult!”
As the woman backed up, Dale stepped out of the building, blade at the ready. Relieved he didn’t have to search for her with a crowd trailing him, Drifter attempted to catch the woman while she was preoccupied.