THROUGH WORLDS AND TIME

It's 2am and he isn't pretending that he's working like he might have on some other night. The living room is dark save for the TV. He has some random anime streaming from a YouTube playlist. There's a cold Cup Ramen sitting on the small table beside him, still full. In the middle of it all, he sits with his knees up to his chest on the couch. His chin is buried in his arms. He looks like the couch could swallow him if it so wanted to do so.

The melancholy of day time has made way for late night depression. At least when the light streams in through the windows, he can make himself busy with phone calls and associates. They're still fugitives, after all. They need to figure out how to move around without the FBI on their tails. Right now, they're fine in the middle of nowhere, but they lay low. They're lucky they didn't get caught in NYC, but Hal suspects that has something to do with the bigger problem in the Hudson River.

He has the sudden need to wash his hands, even though there's nothing on them. He's been doing that a lot lately. Hal forces him to stay still when he hears the creak of his partner's footsteps. It's for his benefit and he knows it.

It reminds David of when he used to still live in Alaska. When all he had for company was the nightmares playing on loop in his head, the smell of burning flesh seared into his nostrils, and the alcohol that could make it all go away, if only for a little while.

Maybe this isn’t the same thing, but he doesn’t want to see him fall down the same hole he did.

“In the river?” Snake asks. He can only assume he’s referring to the tanker incident. “Hal, you couldn’t have known it was a trap. It’s not your fault.”

His posture feigns hesitation, Eluhim cradling his brow in his palm. "I wish I knew what to ask of you, my friend. The last conflict we had with Hell's legions ended with more dead than I've seen since my eldest first fell. I fear for what may happen if they make it up here..."

Partial truths make better lies, more times than not- and he truly had no clue what may happen should Hell climb its way to the gates. True, his Exorcists had weapons plenty, and Michael was still loyal. Razael, Tfazael, even Azrael still stood strong at his sides. But the ferocity and numbners of the Sinners..

Lilith alone had been enough of a problem.

But there were sympathizers to his granddaughter. The Nephil girl, the.. abomination child. If Eluhim, in his might, simply smote the legions of Hell, how many who believed in redemption would lose faith?

It was a difficult balance to be sure....

"Paradise is supposed to give Man's lost children a place of rest, and now we stand on the brink of war." His teeth grit, trying to find his best words.

“I don’t know,” Cassius admits. He really, truly doesn’t know what he could do that isn’t just fighting. “I’d ask the Great Slayer for help, but… I don’t know where he is, and I’ve been trying to find him for a long time.”

He knows, with absolute certainty, that if his father was around and knew of Eluhim’s plight, he would help with this crisis. Because that’s what he’s always done — protecting those who could not protect themselves, vanquishing darkness wherever it dares to rear its ugly head, and punishing those who would take advantage of the innocent.

The agaddon kept his head tilted up at the towers and cloisters and other overgrown structures bathed gold in the sunrise, sword slung across his back as he walked into one of the mountain city's courtyards.

It all seemed as familiar to him as it looked alien, and that was saying a lot for someone born as a human on 22nd century Earth and then lived quite literally in Hell where he eventually turned into...whatever he was now.

But it was still nice to get a few days off (or their equivalent of however they kept time in the hell-realms) from work and the associated violence every now and then, so he had to savor it. He stood still for a moment and let the wind circling in the courtyard weave around his horns and the "armor"-like chitin that formed around his chest and arms.

There once was an empire here.

The journey he’s set out on, searching for the Great Slayer himself, has taken him to many, many different places. Across countless worlds, through the threads of time, treading upon the fabric of reality and seeing where it takes him. He’s seen the darkest depths of Hell, the cold and rusty surface of Mars. He’s even visited Earth once, well after the felling of the Icon of Sin.

But Argent D’nur is a place he hasn’t come home to in a long, long time.

He remembers the civil war, the betrayal of the Deag Priests, how the Maykrs so heavily swayed their influence over his people. He doesn’t know if that still holds true, if the people remain blind to the terrible truth of Argent Energy, or if they’ve risen up against their dark masters. Truthfully, he doesn’t really feel like taking a risk and finding out the hard way.

Even as a Night Sentinel, he’s never really belonged here.

So instead he’s come here, to the old and ruined city of Taras Nabad. He knows it has significance. Nowadays it is a grave, every crumbling building a headstone for countless lives lost here, warriors and innocent alike. It’s the final resting place of the wretched Dreadnought, and it is here where the Great Slayer’s throne still sits.

His father’s throne.

He’s not sure what he’ll find there, but he hopes that, if it doesn’t bring him one step closer to finding him, that maybe he can learn something new, something to further cement his heritage as the Slayer’s son.

But what Cassius doesn’t expect is to hear another voice. Immediately he ducks down behind some rubble, spear clutched tightly in his hands; he has the positional advantage, being situated near a ledge overlooking one of the larger courtyards, but he feels his heart lurch with dreadful anticipation when he peeks his head around and gets a good look at the source.

A demon. An Aggadon hunter, from the looks of it, though it looks… strange. Much less heavily armored, and with an actual humanoid face instead of a gnarled, monstrous visage. It looks to be alone, and the words it’d uttered has him doubting its bloodthirstiness, but he knows from experience that just because a demon may seem friendly does not necessarily mean that it actually is.

Still. If trouble breaks, he’s confident he can handle it. Although he’s wondering what the hell a “BF” is supposed to be.

Cautiously, the Sentinel steps out from his makeshift cover, the elaborate spear still gripped in his hands in case the demon decides to throw itself at him. “Um… hello?”

Horror related asks, could be for any mun that's just a fan of horror or runs a horror blog!

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Share a scary story from your life! Could be something innocuous or a nightmare, whatever you're comfortable with.

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