by George Fry
“Sounds more like the work of a deranged psychopath.”
“Deranged!?”
“Yeah, a disturbed killer, taking advantage of a shitty situation to cover up his crimes, because he’s too scared to face the consequences of his actions.”
“Scared!? You bitch!”
The man punched Catherine in the face, knocking her on top of the body.
"I was just going to rob you and cut you a little, but maybe I should do the world a favour and shut that mouth of yours!”
In a rage, the man threw his arm down to penetrate Catherine’s chest with his knife, but on reflex, she caught his hand, stopping him.
“What the fuck!? I can’t-! My wrist!”
Catherine had no clue what to do next, she couldn’t fight him, but she had to defend herself somehow. Without thinking, she gathered dead cells from the victim and forged a claw on her hand.
Thankfully, before she was forced to use it, a couple of police officers, emerged from the bushes and knocked the man down, cuffing him.
One of the officers quickly comforted Catherine, as she hid her grotesque claw in her jeans, as the dead cells, slipped off like a glove. She was confused by the officer’s sudden appearance.
“I’m sorry! We shouldn’t have let that go on longer than it should have!”
“Wait… what?”
“We heard threats, but we were in the middle of another investigation. But, we once we heard signs of a struggle we had to step in.”
“Oh… okay…?”
“Thank God. Thanks to you, we finally found our killer. Please, just get home safe. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Sure… right…”
The officers escorted the criminal out of the park, although when they got to the car, the man was still clutching his wrist, leaving them baffled.
He was only thrown to the floor, as per standard procedure, and yet his wrist looked completely mangled. The other officer was also confused, by the lump of flesh just sitting in the grass. He was certain it wasn't there when they first arrived.
Catherine was left even more agitated than before. The police officers treated her like a defenseless child. She knew they were only doing their job, unaware of her personal issues, but it still hurt.
She could have easily defeated the thug, but if she did, then she’d be the criminal, the demon assaulting a human. Not to mention the strange powers she discovered. Manipulating dead skin? A revolting power, fitting for a demon.
Once home, Catherine left the sink cleaner on the kitchen counter and went to her room. Laying on her bed after a stressful night. She unravelled her tail, staring up at it, as she aimlessly waved it over her face.
“Cathy.” Her grandmother asked, letting herself in. “Is your tail cramping up again?”
“Yeah… you’d think I’d be used to wearing it like a belt by now, but it still gets sore after a while.”
“I keep telling you, putting it down your trouser leg would more comfortable.”
“But it’s riskier. I’ll stick with the belt strategy.”
“Fine, whatever you think is best.”
Catherine let out a saddened sigh, rolling over on her side. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending to be human. Hiding myself from the rest of society. Scared of being seen as a monster.”
“I thought you wanted to keep your demon self a secret?”
“Not if the alternative is just being miserable.”
“Then, maybe it’s time to stop hiding. Maybe we’ve sheltered you too much and you just need to start being honest with people and prove to them that there are demons out there that aren’t monsters.”
“Like that’ll work, they may act neutral in real life, but online their thoughts are unfiltered. Humans despise us and I don’t blame them. The Birmingham incident was the last straw. Demons are monsters.
I never wanted anyone to fear me, or pity me, or feel like they have to do anything. I don’t see humans as inferior or different, we’re all people, right?”
“Humans are tribal, Cathy. They like to stay with the people they trust and understand and are cautious around those who are different. If those outsiders are seen as enemies, then over time that thought becomes ingrained in their society, making it difficult to change their minds.
But, if you can take small steps to help them understand, if you can earn their trust, then maybe their society will change for the better. After all, most people would rather welcome newcomers than fight them.
Understanding other people’s fears and proving those fears wrong and earning their respect through honest effort. That's the best path to acceptance. I mean, if we can accept you then surely there have to be others out there who will accept you too.”
“I hope…”
“We’ll figure something out, but for now, try not to get too depressed about it.”
“Right, thanks… I needed that.”
“We’re always here if you need to talk.”
Her grandmother left the room, leaving Catherine alone. She always appreciated their talks and the thought of one day meeting humans as accepting as her grandparents gave her peace of mind, allowing her to sleep soundly that night.
Unfortunately, that was the last pep talk they would ever have...
The next night, Catherine and her grandparents were driving home from a restaurant. It was just a small night out, that turned into a nightmare when the road suddenly became shrouded in a thick mist. It was impossible to make out what was happening on the road, so they came to a stop.
They kept their windows up, in case it was smoke from a fire. Then Catherine saw it, the hulking husk of a lanky creature, emerging from the mist. Before they could even comprehend what was happening, the creature swiped at the car, tossing it several feet into the air, as it crashed through a building.
Catherine was injured, but managed to roll out of the wreckage. Though terrified for her life, she was more concerned for her grandparents well being, but it was too late, the crash killed them instantly.
No warning. No final goodbyes. Nothing. In a matter of seconds they were gone. Reduced to bloodied corpses, hanging out of the car, pierced by broken window glass and crushed by debris. There was nothing she could do but stare at the gruesome scene.
As the monster entered the building, searching for survivors, Catherine had no choice but to abandon her family and escape, passing by the monster who simply watched.
It’s eye sockets were empty, spewing fog. The monster’s visage was otherworldly. Most demons at least showed some human or animal like traits, or a motive for their actions, but this thing, was a soulless killer.
All she could think to do was run home, even with the mist, she could still remember the general route to her house.
Her chest tightened, her stomach ached and she couldn’t stop coughing, but she soon forced her way through the door and locked it shut. At this point her only hope was to pray the creature would leave town and forget about her.
For one week, she was trapped. The monster's presence lingered and she had to survive on whatever food she had left. The whole time, her eyes remained red, unable to change them to a more human colour from all the stress. So, she simply stopped trying to.
She refused to cry, not until she was safe, a promise she made to herself to give herself strength, but she couldn’t keep her word and teared up during the lonely, fearful nights.
Eventually, she had no choice, but to venture outside and attempt a journey to the store to stock up on food. Luckily, she didn’t encounter the monster, but she discovered plenty of corpses, littering the streets.
There was no annoying cashier to greet or embarrass her, just the occasional body, that seemed to have been beaten and tossed around. Whatever that thing was, it was vicious and it was safe to assume, from the silence, that no one in town was left alive and that the only reason Catherine hadn’t perished with them was because of her own natural demonic resilience.
However, the journey home proved too much even for her. She tried carrying bags of food, but her body soon caved in to the infectious smog and she was forced to abandon them if she wanted to make it home alive.
The closer she got, the worse the pain became, like her ribcage was imploding. She was suffocating, but refused to stop moving. However, despite her best efforts, she collapsed just outside her garden gate. She couldn’t move anymore. She focused what little energy she had left on staying alive, but it wouldn’t be long before she too succumbed to the deadly mist.
At this point, she was awaiting death, her life, as far as she was concerned was over. Then from nowhere, a man in a white coat passed by. She didn’t know at the time, but reaching out to that man, in a desperate cry for help would change her life forever.
Drifter, the most dangerous human a demon could encounter, saved Catherine’s life, only to soon discover her true nature. Were it not for Locke’s intervention, she would have died that day, too.
From that point on, Catherine could never return to her normal human life, not while Drifter knew of her existence, so she turned to the last person she could trust. A demon she'd known since she was a child, Locke.
After retreating from Drifter into the Demon World, Locke informed Catherine of who Drifter was and the source of his power, the Legendary Demon Sword, CORE. As well as how demons were attracted to the weapon, which explained the sudden appearance of the mist demon.
As they conversed, Locke lead Catherine outside the gates of a small castle. At the top of a large peak, surrounded by a chasm of darkness. Having reached the castle, their conversation shifted to the matter at hand.
“There’s no one around?” Catherine wondered.
“Yes. It seems Nahas’ men have already left.” Locke answered
“But, where to?”
“According to the rumours, an island in the South of England.”
“Wouldn’t want to be those guys…”
“What’s important now, is that we’ve finally found his resting place.”
“A castle in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yes. Imprisoned in his own kingdom for the past five years.”
“How did you not figure this out sooner?”
“Gathering information after his defeat, was near impossible. If I hadn’t heard the rumours of Nahas' men’s disappearance, I would have never even considered returning here.”
“I can help free him.”
“You’ve been through enough. You should return to the human world.”
“No! There’s no reason for me to go back there! Not as a human!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not! Tired of holding myself back! I want to embrace my demon heritage! I want to know the real me!”
“Catherine. Demons are proud, competitive creatures. For over a millennia we’ve lived with a might makes right mantra, but you’re different.
You lived with the humans and learned from them kindness and cautiousness. In other words, you’re not blinded by your own sense of pride. Are truly willing to throw all that away, just to become another demon?”
“I’m not throwing it away. I just want to discover what I am.”
“The only way you can accomplish such a goal is to stay in the Demon World, alone. Survive in the wasteland, teetering on the brink of death and only then will you’re dormant instincts finally awaken, but, I can’t guarantee your safety. You could die out there. Do you have the tenacity to risk your life, just on a hunch?”
“After everything that’s happened, I don’t have much of a life left to live. Please, I can’t ignore the nagging voice crying in my demon heart! I need to know!”
“Very well. I'll keep watch over you at the beginning, in case you change your mind, but once I'm gone, that's when the real test starts."
Of course, understanding her demon powers wasn’t her only goal, Catherine wanted to become stronger so she could one day challenge the man in the white coat. The one who inadvertently, yet carelessly ruined her life.
“THAT’S FUCKING BULLSHIT!” Drifter protested.
“Dude, do you really have to make a scene?” Dale sighed. “There are other people here.”
“Obviously! What kind of shit-tier tea is this!?” He yelled.
“I-it’s just Tetley, sir.” The waiter replied, just doing his job.
“I should have known. I’m a PG Tips man! Here take it back!”
“Y-yes sir.”
The waiter quickly returned with Drifter’s correct order.
“Better.”
“Hey, Drifter?” Dale asked.
“What?” Drifter replied, kicking back in his chair, his tea break interrupted.
“Any particular reason we’re just sitting around a beach cafe, in the south of England?”
“You’re asking now?”
“It’s a conversation, isn’t it?”
“To take a break from all the bullshit.”
“You mean all the cannon fodder we’ve curb-stomped over the past week?”
“Curb-stomped or not, it's still boring work. I’m relaxing now.”
“You treat this like your job?”
“It’s more like an inescapable nightmare.”
“So, a job?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, but is there a reason we’re all the way out here?”
“Didn’t I tell you, already?”
“No! You don’t tell us fucking anything! You barely speak to us!”
“Oh yeah…”
Drifter put down the tea and sat up straight. He felt they deserved some kind of explanation by this point.
“Locke mentioned shit was about to go down on an island, in the South of England and the further South we’ve gone this past week, the more I started to feel a strong demonic presence.”
“Cool, so what’s the next step?”
“Taking a break.”
“That’s not… okay… I guess a break would be good for all of us, right Amanda?”
On the opposite end of the table, staring at the ocean, with her coffee untouched, sat Amanda, who had been less than talkative during the journey.
Over the past week, the three of them had been on the move non-stop. They were able to catch a break with a few bus rides, but they were always inevitably interrupted by demon attacks.
Luckily, with Amanda and Dale at his side, Drifter never had to worry about any civilian casualties as his companions would either defend the people for him, or fight off the demons without him ever having to lift a finger. They were quite the time savers.
However, Drifter still considered travelling alone the better option. He couldn’t remember if he had any kind of relationships in the past and he didn’t want to put in the effort to start any now. Being alone was just easier.
“Amanda?” Dale called. “You feeling okay? You’ve been pretty quiet the past week, too.”
Amanda continued staring at the sea, absentmindedly.
Then Drifter flicked her cheek.
“Ah! What the-!?” She cried.
“He’s talking to you.” Drifter responded.
She turned to Dale. “What is it?”
“Uh… you okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re not acting fine.”
“Yeah.” Drifter intervened. “You were way more obnoxious when we first met.”
Amanda rose from her chair, insulted.
“The hell did you say?”
"That's more like it."
Amanda slowly fell back into her seat.
“What am I doing? Getting mad won’t help anything. Being sad won’t help either. Not that I have the energy to get sad. I just feel empty…”
“I don’t want to be rude.” Dale cautiously stated. “But, maybe you should go back home. Grieve with your family? No one will blame you if-”
“I can’t go back home!”
“Why?”
“Becau
se… I don’t have one.”
“Oh God, here we go…” Drifter muttered.
“My home is gone. Destroyed by demons.”
“You have demons all the way out in the US?”
“Yeah, lord knows what they were doing out in the countryside... I came to England because my sister was the only family I had left, and now she’s gone too...”
“What exactly happened?” Drifter quickly became interested in Amanda’s story.
“They treated us like cattle, planned to slaughter us like them. We were locked in the basement, waiting for death, but I passed out. When I woke up, my family and the monsters were already dead, the only other thing I remember was our wrecked car, burning in white fire.
After that, I used my family’s savings to head on over to England.”
“Huh...”
Drifter had a curious look on his face, but it didn’t last very long.
“Jesus…” He complained. “Another sappy backstory? When did I become a sadness magnet?”
“...sorry…” Amanda apologised.
“Nice one!” Dale yelled. “You made her feel worse!”
“Fine.” Drifter got up and headed out. “I’ll just leave then.”
“Now? What about Amanda?”
“If she can’t handle a stupid insult then she shouldn’t be following me around. She’s got a weapon and money, so she can handle herself.”
“But, she’s so vulnerable right now.”
“Not my problem. I’m not her babysitter.”
Amanda soon pulled herself up.
“I’m staying!”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m… gonna keep fighting… until I figure out what to do with myself. That’s what Abby would have wanted.”
“Then stop shaking. I’m heading for the bridge.”
Drifter pressed on, leaving his companions to catch up to him.
“A bridge? What bridge?” Dale questioned.
“The one that leads to the Isle of Wight.”
“What!? There’s no bridge to the Isle of Wight, you fucking, liar!”
“Yeah there is. Look, it’s just up ahead.”
Drifter wasn’t lying, a massive white suspension bridge, stretched over the ocean and into the horizon, leading to the island, vaguely visible from across the sea.