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  “This is the only thing in my domain which looks same to everyone. This little thing of mine cannot be triggered by human perception.

  “I was born before time was even created. I can’t die, Caspar, because at the end of the day, you can’t reap the reaper. Here, look at this.” His head swung in the direction of the hourglass. “This is my essence,” he said, his voice dull and hollow, yet petrified, as if something nasty was going to happen. “I assume you would have seen the cracks around the hourglass by now. That is me being destroyed, slowly. The

  cracks are destroying my essence. You might want to know how, don’t you? How are these cracks forming on my essence?”

  He patiently waited for Caspar’s reply. Yet he gave none. Instead, he stood there, offering Death a stony glance, unable to utter a word.

  “The souls – the penniless souls which crumble my essence...You see, souls are the most powerful thing, even more powerful than me. These cracks are happening because these unsatisfied souls, after their death, go into my domain and shake my essence, thus leading to these cracks. Limbo is the place people are who neither dead, nor alive go. They stay on Earth, but the ones who don’t come here and pour all of their anger upon my essence. They are unsatisfied, unhappy, and vindictive.”

  “May I ask why they are so troubled?”

  “Theirs is a useless death. You see, deaths are of two kinds, a peaceful death and a chaotic death. Peaceful death includes disease, infection, old age, accidents. It’s not the soul’s fault. It’s just their destinies. Chaotic deaths are those such as murders, becoming food of a vampire, or a prey of demons. When they die of these reasons, they come here and start destroying me.”

  “What is my role in all of this?”

  “Your role is to help those souls. Not the ones in the domain, but the ones up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling. “I will give you the contract and will tell you who you have to save. Not every soul, mind you. I will tell you to save those souls that are important. Those souls have the power to weaken my essence.”

  “Why must you specify?”

  “Because souls have various categories. Some are strong. Some are weak. The weak souls I am not interested in, as they cannot harm me. The strong ones, however,

  are the ones that can make me vulnerable. Those are important. Those souls need to be saved.” Death offered him a crooked smile. “You need to save people as well as their soul.”

  “Just like hunting,” “Only worse,”

  Caspar sighed deeply. “I like worse.” Death tapped his staff with enthusiasm.

  “What happens if the hourglass breaks?” Caspar asked. “You can’t die so it doesn’t make sense. Death can’t be dead.”

  “I’ll go into a deep sleep. Forever.”

  “I feel as if I’m being used for your own purposes.”

  “I stated as such, not too long ago. You are saving Earth, at least. Does that not make you feel better?”

  Caspar arched his brows in confusion. “By saving you, how am I saving Earth?”

  “I am Death. I reap. If the one who reaps goes into a deep sleep, then . . .” “People will not die as there would not be anyone to take their souls. The

  order will break and chaos will fall. Am I right?” he muttered. “Exactly! I handle the order and the order handles me.” “You have these reapers of yours, but...?”

  “They are...Well, they are connected to me. If I go, they’ll go as well.” He rubbed his palms together while cradling his staff upon his shoulder. “Now, if all your queries are answered, I hope you want to go back to your body. Every floating spirit is a desperate maniac in this place.”

  “You can count me as an exception, then,” Caspar replied.

  In

  Ashes

  The dark woods were nothing compared to Hell, yet it gave the dreadful sigh of it. The treacherous gentleness of the water, which swung along a winding path and crushed against the rocks, radiated a tint of silver in the bright moonlight.

  The noise of the crackling wheels came to a crashing halt, suddenly splashing the wet mud. The door opened. From the driver’s seat descended a thin, slender man with a nose slightly bent inwards, like a skull outside of the skin. The darkness hid the person’s face and most of his appearance. With flashy boots and a long loose overcoat, the man walked across the edge of the forest, stamping mud out of his boots as he reached the foot of a large gothic mansion that was covered with bushes and leaves.

  The doors were shiny and reflective. The mansion had a mysterious sense of grandeur about itself, which appeared further alluring because of the two statues that stood facing each other as they guarded the entrance.

  The man’s hair was cropped at the back, slightly beaky and edgy like thorns, and gleamed like silver. He stopped in front of the door as the guardsman’s hand touched his chest. He did not react, aside from the smirk that crossed his thin lips. Beneath the guise of darkness, the man’s bloody gums interspersed with numerous maggot-like insects were visible and curled repulsively between his conical fangs. They were enough to cause the guard to step back and look at him in disbelief.

  “Who are you?” the guard asked as he gulped with nervousness. “I am an uninvited guest.”

  Another guard bravely stepped forward and said, “This is private ground. Y– Y – You a – a – are not a – a – allowed h – h . . .” He was unable to complete the sentence without stammering.

  “The event taking place in there isn’t really private, is it?” A chuckling gurgle came from him. “It’s more a sort of...public thing, isn’t it?”

  “W – W – What are y – you?” the guard asked.

  “Mostly,” the cold-blooded laughter came loudly, “I am...How shall you say? Nothing, but your nightmare!”

  He snapped his fingers. The guards exploded into ashes and splatters of blood. He shouldered the door open and walked inside. His eyes, sunken deep inside their sockets, were burning with fire within them as he turned to face the crowd assembled in the common hall. He kept silent, hands inside his coat’s pockets, his body crooked and his head bent toward his shoulders.

  The men and women all stood in mournful positions, their face scarred and dangerous. They possessed bleak eyes and cold skin. Fire crackled and emitted orange light, shining across the hideous frescos of fabulous beings upon the walls. There were no seats, only an empty room with logs kept on one side.

  Standing at the front of the room was a demon, easily recognizable with its overwhelming appearance of hideous tattoos and runes woven and intricately threaded across its face. The pupils were a profound blue and rendered an unusual effect to its surroundings.

  Hidden within a dim corner, the man didn’t speak a word. Sometimes, he coughed. He was wary, lest he should attract the attention of the mob. The mob was too busy in their deliberations, however, to take much notice of him.

  “We gather here to discuss an unfortunate tragedy which has struck our Order,” the demon said, anger flashing within its cold stare.

  The man could see that the men and women looked as if they were humans. They were, in fact, actual vampires, werewolves, demons, or warlocks. Their human appearance was but a necessary façade to keep those outside of their world at bay.

  “This great Order, which has all the distinguished members from hell – Abaddon, Azazel, Leviathan, the other Princes of Hell, and every demon of any kind with vampires, warlocks, werewolves, and our brethrens in cause, is in great danger. The vampire, Vorlok, the High Priest of our Order in Moscow was found dead by one of the hunters from Newcastle.”

  The vampires flashed their fangs in anger and frustration.

  “We made this legion, this order, to have a balanced sustainability on planet Earth after our realms were closed for us and long forgotten. Through this order we tried to remain together in a pact to fight those treacherous, heartless beings above us

  – those humans. Now, the main agenda behind our dream is shattered by the machinations of mortal be
ings.

  “We are losing. Our people are being hunted. We have no ways to go up against humans who are larger in numbers and hunters stake us until we breathe the final testaments of our life. Look into each other’s face again, for you will never know when you will be seeing those faces again.”

  Everyone shared glances with each other. Fear of extinction crossed their pale faces, cold vices turning the tormenting brutality of each and every one of them into innocence of gender. Their eyes were tired and they looked scared. They could feel the pervasiveness of tension, of fright, which they couldn’t hide. They looked at their daughters, at their beloved tenderness. They noted the innocence of their sons, the

  new breed of werewolf, the new flesh of vampire, the newborn warlock offspring, and committed everything to memory.

  They feared that they would be slaughtered, their heads sliced off and fingers chopped. The hunters wouldn’t leave a touch of magic on this land, not even their offspring’s, who were mere children and could be tamed. They would kill them as well with no guilt and no mercy.

  “Now, now. Losing hope without giving a try is a frail stupidity,” the man spoke up, moments later, a smile dancing across his clean-shaven face.

  “Are you a new member?” the demon asked in a grievous tone. “More like a guest,” he replied in a cold, peculiar tone.

  “We have given our complete last effort against those vermin. We didn’t succeed.”

  “Success comes with blood.” He stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the demon. Men and women stepped aside to give him room.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Manfred Croft,” he said. “And the rest of my history is not more important than the matters at hand. What matters now is how to reestablish that lost hope within you crazy people again.” He turned towards the members as he spoke.

  “And how would you regain our hope?” the tattooed demon with a chiseled his jaw inquired.

  “Hope is never regained. Hope is always won.” He paused. “In a battle,” he laughed loudly like an insane man. “I can do that. I can win hope for you, for the order.”

  Amazed gasps came from the crowd. They all looked stunned. The magicians nodded as the vampires narrowed their eyes. Werewolves sniffed the air, crinkling their noses. The other creatures seemed a tad confused.

  “And how would you do that?”

  “No, no, no! Bad question, you idiot!” he laughed, clapping his hands together momentarily.

  “I, the Abaddon, the demon of destruction, cannot stand your insanity here. Furies, take him to the dungeons! I shall kill him myself.”

  “That’s a bad idea, you see. Killing the one who is going to help you raise Lucifer Morningstar,” Manfred replied.

  A silence of dread descended upon the entire room before it was broken with gasps of disbelief. Everyone, both the knowing and the confused, could feel the aura of something hard, something damned. They couldn’t bear the idea that Manfred Croft, an outsider, an outcast, would raise the Devil from Hell’s Purgatory, the inner cage where Lucifer was bound. Could he really break their Father, their Creator, free?

  “You liar!” someone hissed. “You come here with courage and assume that we would believe that disgusting lie of yours?”

  “You can risk killing me and live with the guilt that you had a chance with someone like me who could have raised the one who created all of you,” he said smoothly and exhibited his white, pointed nails at everyone. “Or you can assist me.”

  “How do we know that you are not lying?” another prodded.

  Manfred laughed. “You idiot! Look around yourself. There are creatures of every kind here. I...I am just a normal trickster. I could be killed by anyone of this Order right now, instantly. So why would I lie in a place where I am in peril? I wouldn’t. I am telling you the truth. What to say? Well, I am an honest man.”

  “Yes, I believe you,” Abaddon whispered coyly. “Not about raising Lucifer, but about getting killed by anyone here, especially myself.” He moved forward to catch him as a woman shouted in the distance.

  “We can take his help!” she cried. “Yes, we can,” another said.

  Abaddon assessed the crowd. “We don’t have a choice here, do we? I know the last thing we should do is trust a stranger, but isn’t every person among ourselves is a stranger?”

  “Yes, yes, if he doesn’t help us, I will kill him,” a warlock assured. “I will snap his neck. But we should try him out, at least.”

  Abaddon gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe that the mob was on the stranger’s side. Yet he knew he had no choice in the matter. The warlock had said it right. He just had to be where the flock dwelled.

  “All right!” Manfred chuckled as Abaddon raised his finger. “But answer me this, trickster. Why are you doing this? What is it that you will get out of the rise of Lucifer?”

  “Chaos.” Manfred licked his bleeding lips. “Some people have no reason, no purpose behind their actions. Some people...Well, they just want to see the world collapse.”

  A vampire yelled from within the crowd, her voice smooth and silky. “How would you raise our father?” A deceiving smile spread across her mourning face. Nevertheless, she felt hope reaching out for her.

  “Don’t try to question curiosity. Because then it will lose its meaning,” Manfred replied.

  The vampire’s smile didn’t fade. It only grew. “Surely every method of raising our Father has been tried? He was forever caged in Purgatory with no way out,”

  Manfred smirked at that. He ran unsteady fingers through his silver hair. “Every lazy person finds easy ways to do things,” he said in a sleek voice, his cold laughter spreading across the hall.

  Da

  ncing Dream

  Caspar looked around, trying to recall how he’d ended up in a diner. It was bustling with men and women who cuffed their sons and daughters, buying food, snacks, and drinks for them. They looked busy in their own, small worlds, chatting.

  Everyone was engrossed within what they were doing. A pregnant waitress dropped the used dirty trays and plates in a basket while taking orders. The chef was roasting a pink flowered steak in his frying pan. Men with bald heads and lazy eyes sat with beer cans in their hands and discussed the oncoming football game. Families were clustered together talking to each other in whispered conversations so no one else could hear their gossip.

  Caspar didn’t know this place. He didn’t know where he was. He’d just arrived there, but how? Something was blocking his memory and not allowing him to see the past.

  He headed for the door and yanked it open. Endless swaths of the desert met his eyes and flabbergasted him. A simple, dusty road was the only feature that stood out in the monotony of desert along with a petrol pump. Several cars were parked nearby. He hurried back inside as the aridity and heat of the desert was oppressive.

  He approached the waitress and asked, “Excuse me, where am I?”

  “At the Happy Diner,” she said, flashing her wide, welcoming teeth as she

  smiled.

  “No. I mean, where am I? What desert? How did I come to be here?” His eyes were bulging, his grave voice threatening.

  “You are weird, Mister.”

  He grabbed the woman’s shoulder and looked directly into her eyes with a searing stare. He had never touched a woman with force and he never intended to. Yet something was odd. He’d appeared in a diner in middle of desert with no clue as to why. He desperately needed to know where he was.

  “What desert is this?” he asked again.

  She hesitated. Her eyes were full of fear, tears shining within the depths of her beautiful, brown eyes. He briefly took note of the brown curls that gently framed her face. He had never liked girls. They were selfish, intolerant creatures, but somehow this woman – this girl, exuded a different feel altogether.

  “You are pregnant!” he murmured and let go of her shoulders and stood uprightly in an apologetic manner. “I am...um . . .” It was hard for him to s
ay sorry, as he never really said it to anyone, not even to his parents.

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes, that word.”

  Caspar swallowed past the lump in his throat. His face was devoid of any emotions, but his unnerving narrowed golden eyes showed the awkwardness to his previous action.

  “You could have asked kindly.”

  He gritted his teeth and managed to smile, pursing his lips and hiding his angry teeth. He didn’t know what to say and blurted out, “Kindly, can you please tell me which desert is this?”

  “It’s just...after Tom left me . . .” she breathed as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. She began her story. “I felt hopeless. How can he do that? I mean, first he proposes, tells me how much he loves me and next thing you know, he leaves me after hearing about my pregnancy.”

  Caspar rolled his eyes. He couldn’t become sympathetic to her plight. “For God’s sake, lady. I’m the last person you want to have this talk with.”

  “Wha...?” she sputtered.

  “Oh, yes, open your stupid mouth and say your stupid words. I don’t care if Tom or Klaus has left you. I just don’t care. You were foolish enough to fall in love with him in the first place. Your mistake. It’s entirely your mistake. But now I think I know why he left you. I know exactly why he left you.”

  “Why?” Her face had gone extremely white. “Three words – you irritate people.”

  The woman didn’t say a word. Caspar stared down at her wide angry eyes, his expression stern. She walked away, refusing to glance in his direction. “You are like the person in a medical show who is crippled,” she said.