He would be a Gentleman with all his soul, if he had one

Denne historie er en skoleopgave som vi skulle skrive. Det er en fristil, som I sikkert også hurtigt vil gætte. Aleck is not what you'd call normal, nothing that surronds him, is normal. He's a Demon, so adopted into a troop of Elves, Demons, Sorcerers and other creatures, he finds himself looking for a reason. No. The reason, why he was raised the way the was, why he was made what he is today. He wants a reason. He will find it, and don't you dare stand in his way, if you don't want to die, that is.

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1. Chapter 1

Hell is my bitch. Heaven is my lover.

*erase*

...

Hell is my lover. Heaven is my bitch.

 

As he crept through the tight space, which was his way out of the stone castle, a small but deep, sigh was heard from his lips. It wasn’t enough that he old man just didn’t want to die. He also had to creep through a small space - where he was surrounded by stone bricks - the knife, which hung from his belt around his hips also bit into the fabric of his pants and into his flesh. He could feel the blood tickle down his leg. A job usually wasn’t this difficult. Or that hard to accomplish... Who would have thought that an old man, like the one he just had liquidated, was still jumping around as if he was 250? Well, at least he was getting out of there.   That was at least, what he thought.      His eyes grew wide with chock, as a hand grabbed his right foot.   Bloody-!   He didn’t come any further in his mental cursing, before the hand - which he knew was wrinkled and very old - tried desperately to pull him back out in the cellar of the old stone castle. He hated to admit it, even though the old man was a thousand years old, he still had his might in place.   This, of course, was unfortunate for him, as it made him very difficult to kill. But... As they say; Demons do stay fit for a long time. Although, this one had chosen to get old - in looks that is - and if it wasn’t for the latter trying to kill him, he would have wondered why.  The old man had now placed each of his hands on both his legs and there was nothing more he could do, than let himself be pulled out.     He had two choices; either he could kill the man, as he had tried in the first place, or he could find another way out of the cellar. He chose the first as he let himself land safely on the stone floor. The old man behind him stood there, and heaved for his breath. At least he wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped for. Finally something, that came to his luck. He turned around, facing the old man.

“Is there a... Reason of your, attempt on my life?” The old man asked, as if it was of no concern to him. He nodded, no words sprung from his lips though. The man waited in patience - but if he continued that way, he’d be waiting for the rest of his eternal life.   “Well?” His curiosity had finally got the best of him. His lips curled into what looked like a smile. It did give away a hint of a smile, but the old man wasn’t sure. He moved his right foot a little backward, ready to run, if he needed to, the... Boy before him wasn’t what he had thought in the first place.   “If you must know, this is just one of many jobs, which I take care of. But, I guess, you could also call it... A hobby of mine.” The smile now grew, to its true form. Wide as it was, it spooked the old man even more. He knew deep down, he had hoped. He knew that the old man had hoped, that he - who was standing before him - was just a little boy, who didn’t know, what he was doing. He was, oh so, wrong.    “You wouldn’t have a pen or a quill on you, would you?” The old man frowned at this, and why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t exactly a normal thing to ask, when someone was about to kill you. “No, that is not a thing within my possession right now.” He said, looking rather confused and, if he wasn’t mistaking, slightly impatient. “Well, then if you can tell me the answer to this.” He reached down into his pocket, actually glad that he hadn’t finished the old man off before. Then he wouldn’t be able to answer to the question, which was the whole reason he was there (except for killing him, of course). From the depths of his pocket he drew out a piece of paper. What was written on this particular piece of paper, he had no knowledge of. But he knew it was a question and that he had to get the answer to, what was written on it.    So with this knowledge he handed man opposite of him the paper. Or, he would have, if the old man had accepted the paper, which he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at him, as if he was mad - which some would agree with him in, but that was whole different story. Then his lips were pressed together into a thin line and he looked questioningly at him. He raised an eyebrow at the old man and his lips parted. He didn’t say anything though, he just look at the paper, finally accepting it and took it into his own hands.   “Now, about that pen...”

Through corridors they walked and walked, it seemed, as if there was no end to the castle. Not that he complained - he was used to such a thing. The old man then, suddenly, came to a halt. He stopped with him and looked at the door before him. It looked worn, as if someone hadn’t cleaned it for centuries; which wouldn’t surprise him, if there wasn’t.   “Here we are, there is a quill in there.” The old man said, turning to him. An approving sound, followed by a nod, came from him - as the old man had stated the obvious - and he motioned toward the door. “Oh...“ The old man said, but somewhere within his hurry into the room, he had cut himself off. A small grin had spread across his face. A rummage sounded from the room, he crossed his arms and tapped at his arm, impatiently, although the grin was still in place.   “I’ve found it.”   “Good, bring it out here, so I can see you writing.” The old man did what he was told and stood now before him, quill in hand - along with the piece of paper, in the other. He watched satisfied as he scribbled words - which seemed unreadable - down onto the paper. He was happy he wasn’t the one who was supposed to read it. He held out a hand, reaching for the paper.   For a second it looked like the man wanted to hold onto the paper, but then gave it up and placed the piece of paper into his hand. He smiled.   “Thank you, sir...” With a smile some would have called wicked - he couldn’t see what was wrong with it - he added: “And goodnight.”

You’re sure you didn’t overdo it? You could have just snapped his neck, but quill? You’re really taking this “hobby” of yours seriously.   A voice sounded in his head, as he crept through the small stone passage - yet again.   Or you could’ve used the knife you brought?   A suggestion he didn’t need. Done was done and the voice knew that, it just chose to ignore it. Much to his irritation.   He reached the end of the passage and stuck his head out of the opening. He was met with fresh air and a moat. Another deep sigh rolled of his tongue and he looked despairingly at down into the depths beneath him. He was sure, that in just a second a crocodile would stick its head out and look up at him, calling its friends so they could share the “treat” it had in sight. To his surprise, no crocodile was in sight, not that he complained.   He let a hand go through his hair and tried - without luck - to find a way to get out of his castle. Alive. It wasn’t a long fall, but he had no idea if the depths of the moat, was enough for him to jump into and get out of it again. Again alive.   He had no other option than, to jump into the water and hope for the best - and how he hated that! Not knowing, what would happen. Anything could happen! He looked up from the water beneath him. Looked to the forest, which surrounded the castle. Nothing. Not even a wind moved the leaves of the trees, in the forest. A slight irritation moved within him, but he pushed it aside. Turning around, so he faced the sky above him, he seized the edge of the square whole he was hanging out of and pulled his legs out. His reflexes, he thanked them for the improvement of the latter, was good enough for him to seize the opposite edge of the place where he seconds before were hanging out of. Now facing the wall, he tried to keep a grip onto the edge, but he couldn’t stay there forever. He had to let go sooner or later, so why not now?   The feeling of falling came instantly. As soon as his fingers unlocked their hold on the edge, he felt as if he was flying. Although, he couldn’t be more wrong. As his body fell toward the water, a thought went through his mind:   How did I end up like this?   Along with this thought came a memory. A memory, he hoped he’d forgotten, but knew, he never could. He closed his eyes, tried to push away this picture, which he was better off without, but it only improved with his effort. He hid the water, too deep into his own mind, that in that second, the water started to flow into his open mouth. He didn’t even try to struggle and the last thing he saw, before closing his eyes was flashing pictures of his memory.

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