I Refuse To Fall, When They Still Exist

Rio has been hunting for angels since she can remember; travelling from state to state since she was born. When a shadowey succubus nearly takes away her breath, she has to fight to survive. And fight off her desires for the mysterious emo kid that helped her out.

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7. Chapter 5

The snow had started falling again, as I scrubbed down my 5 stakes. They're not just for vampires, you know. Just a touch from one of these on an angel, will cause it intense pain. Ram it through their chest or down their throat, and it will kill them slowly and painfully.

The 5 ones I have, are designed to kill based on what they're made of. My personal favourite, the rowan one, has killed many angels. The other 4, clear quartz, silver, crushed yarrow and silver-edged rowan, all have their place, but the rowan is the most used.

I scrubbed it hard with the Holy water, got from the local church. That stuff is the bomb for anything from the True world, as it's like acid. I always wash my stakes down every two days, so the angel-killing power doesn't get weaker. After all, you have to kill those fuckers before they can do what the Archangel wants.

Let's just get one thing clear. Angels, are not good. Not good at all. Those paintings on the Sistine chapel showing them as beautiful, kindly creatures with huge white wings and those golden plate-thingies on the back of their heads, are 99% bullshit. They are damn beautiful, I'll give Michaelangelo that, but they are evil mother fuckers who would stoop low enough to kill a whole family, just for the guys. That's always what they're after, to keep the Archangel, or the leader if you prefer, from killing them.

Angels always take the form of beautiful women and girls, roughly between the ages of 14 and 29. They're the kind of "girl" that nearly every man would want. That turns out to be their downfall though, as an angel will knock out her victim, then send his lifeless body over to the leader, for her to drain him of blood. Only one hunter has ever seen the Archangel, and that was in the colonial era, just before the Declaration of Independance was signed.

I continue scrubbing down the stakes, dipping them in Holy water occasionally, when I notice something over the non-sound of snow falling. It's a bit like someone breathing down the back of your neck, but really loudly, combined with little, metal sticks tapping on glass.

Tip Tap, Tip tap, TapTapTap, Breath In, Tip Tap, Breath Out

What the flying fuck is that? I sat in Dad's camping chair, still clutching the stake, listening as the sound came again, but slower this time.

Tap, Tap, Breath In, Tip Tap, Breath Out, Tap, Tip Tap

I slowly dropped my stake into the bowl of Holy water, as I quietly stood up. The seat creaked, and I froze, as the sound came again.

Tap, Tip Tap, Breath In, Tippety Tap, Tip Tap, Breath Out, Ti-Tip, Tap

I crouched low, as Dad taught me, before taking hold of his spare bowie knife on top of the ammo crate. I held it how he taught me; loose grip on the handle, with the hooked point in line with my eyes, as I crept through the living room. The tapping and breathing got more frantic as I got closer, almost like it knew I was coming for it.

Or the other way round.

TapTapTapTapTap, Pause, Breath In, TipTapTipTap, Breath Out, Tap, Ta-Ta-Tap

It was coming from the kitchen, on the outside of the back door, but not the conservatory door. Whoever, or most likely whatever, it was, had gotten through the conservatory door. Why wouldn't they just come through the back door then?

TipTip Tap, Breath In, TipTip Tap, Breath Out, Tap Tap Tip

It was definitely trying to fuck with my mind, and knew I was there. After all, it tapped out "Little pig, little pig. Let me in." on my back door.

"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin." I harshly whispered, backing up against the living room wall. The door was just to my left, and the back door was directly opposite that. All I had to do, was take a look around the door frame, and I'd finally put my mind at rest. Stabling myself, I turned my head around the door frame, and my heart instantly sped up in my chest.

There was a succubus at my back door, and a roughed-up one at that. Masses of that black, smokey stuff they're made of, flowed down from a gaping hole where its jaw should be, and just as much tumbled from the slashes in its chest. Something had torn its chest up, and eaten half its face. The skeletal, fleshless fingers drummed themselves on the glass panel window, as the colour-changing eyes rolled to face me.

A succubus is kinda like a cross between a ghost and a zombie. They exist for one purpose, and one purpose only. Stealing people's breath to feed itself. Most of the time they hang around in cemetaries or mausoleums, looking for their next snack. I've never heard of a succubus coming to someone's house before, unless someone or something, had given it a target. Then, they drift/shamble in the shadows and don't stop until they've sucked the last breath out of their target. Not the brightest things, succubi, but they're determined.

It's colour-changing eyes focussed on me, as I crouched in the doorway. It tilted it's head to the side, forcing more black smokey stuff out of the deep gash on its neck, as it analysed me. It must have been matching my face, to the target in its mind. For what seemed like hours, it watched me, before the clouded pupils of its eyes shrunk to mere dots, it clenched its bony fingers into a fist, and punched it's way through the door.

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