Heathens

Apollo and Dion, a dysfunctional rag-tag pair of demon hunters have been sent to investigate the city of Havenbrook and its inhabitants.

The mission is simple: to find the cultists responsible for a recent string of murders and to bring them to justice. Even if it takes killing dozens of demons on the way there.

But things are never that simple when you deal with the dark arts. Cultists, demon pacts, sacrificial murders all stand in the demon hunters' way as they search for the truth. A truth that will force them to question their own identities, a truth about the absolute evil lurking beyond heaven and earth. The question is, if they find the truth, will they be strong enough to handle it?

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17. 1:39 AM

The world looked slanted as she walked. Her friends were like walking canes, three wandering trees. She grabbed at their necks and their arms and held them as she fell. A few shots, a few drinks, a few dances had made her tired. Her body felt hot but she could not feel the sweat, only the cold from the outside that felt good against her skin and chilled her.

“That annoying prick wanted to fuck me for so long.” She said. A friend to her side only nodded and typed away at her phone.

“The uber is coming soon.” She said.


Another friend stood by the edge of the street with her hands wrapped around herself for the cold had become almost unbearable. They were beneath a light post that felt like a hot lamp right above their scalps. Though the drunk could not feel much.

“Yeah, he wanted to take you home. We saw.” The friend was annoyed, she always spoke low when she was annoyed. The drunk only giggled and looked behind to a door that opened from a bartender taking out trash. The drunk held onto her friends sweater and stood herself as she pushed down. She rubbed her legs together and suddenly felt how full her stomach was.
 
“Can I use your restroom.” The bartender stared at her for a bit. She grimaced, scratched her head. She didn’t say yes or no, just mumbled something and the drunk rushed past her.

“Sorry. She gets a little aggressive when she’s wasted.” One of the friends said. They looked at each other in the dimming light and smiled all the while the drunk ran through the bar, past empty bottles that laid on their sides on tables that laid on their sides, chairs with uneven legs up above the tables and the smell of urine and nail-polish scented whiskey that permeated the air. It almost made her want to gag and she ran to the bathroom faster. There she turned the faucet and ran the water down her head like baptism. She wanted to get rid of the layer on her face. Used makeup, spotty with dirt and sweat that seemed heavy on her. And when she was done and her legs finally could not bother being still she went into the restroom.

She sat and urinated and looked at the numbers of whores, mostly men and few hearts with strangers names etched in them. These were all around her. Some graffiti, too. 

It made her head ache, a pulsing that came in waves. This wasn’t the fun time she was looking for. 

She put her head down, away from her phone that buzzed and bounced out of her pocket. It cracked on the floor but all she could stare at was the cracked tile as her eyes were heavy and she wondered if she still had her makeup on as she drooled. The faucet ran, her leg tapped to keep her awake.  

All she felt was cold and relief. It was like that for a while, just the buzz of the phone and her head nodding off and her body slanting away on the porcelain throne that made her legs a little numb and prickly.

The phone stopped buzzing sometime in her fading attention and somewhere in that she heard the stall open. She thought nothing of the sound of the rubber guard scraping against the floor or the light footsteps, like hooves against rock. Clack. clack. Someone’s here. Clack. Clack. It was only enough to wake her up. She opened her eyes to the tile. Her neck was stiff. She heard the stall open now and the noise it made as it crashed against her adjacent wall. She did not breath. Only yelped slightly. The person did not hear her it seemed as it just rubbed against the walls and the toilet and dropped something into the water.

She listened. She stopped breathing. A strange sound. 

She heard the slobbering sound of eating. The wet gritting of teeth, a noisy hunger. The drunk hoped it was just her head and the half bottle of tequila and she begged it to be just that. But the noises became louder and when she stood and put her shorts up, the noises stopped. She wished they hadn’t, that they were just tricks of the mind. But they stopped. And she heard something plop again into shallow toilet water. It flopped, it fell out from the rim. She looked down at the tiles and saw the bloody fingers half eaten, she saw ivory and the knobs of bone. She saw blood pool and fill every broken crack. Her hair rose. Her body was stiff. And she ran.

Out the restroom. Into the bar room. Her heel snapped somewhere along the running line. It flew off like a bullet casing. She pushed herself off the wooden bar and looked back to see worse things. Her friends, what was left of them. She saw them in strange ways. Ways the human body should not have been shaped and torn. She saw them, strewn along the ceiling like ribbon decorations and across the floor like red lacquered wood. It was everywhere, the bits and the pieces that made her shriek and her eyes bulge. She moved. Almost slipped on Abbey. Moved and screamed out for her friends that were not here anymore. 

She did not notice her sprained ankle. She did not wobble anymore. She ran out to the street with her hands waved up in the air. The taxi had just arrived, only barely and braked hard. 

“Drunk idiot.” He nodded his head and looked at the blinking GPS on his dashboard.

“Are you-” 

“Get me the fuck out of here!” She forced herself into the passenger seat and he did not debate it. He was entranced by the look of her dirty face and the way it seemed broken and half-frightened, half-mournful. The nose dripping, the eyes glazed and unable to blink, the mouth trembling. He did not think much and switched gears on the car.
 
Then she screamed again. 

For the driver was gone.She scratched her face. There was only a body next to her, spilling out of his waist. It was over the clutch, it was down the seat, across the window. There was no driver. Only matter, and the slowly leaving blade like a sharp whip, coming out of the punctured body. 

Her voice cracked, she moved forward. There was a layer of makeup on her face again but she did not bother with it. She only pressed down on the twitching leg and felt the pedal pushed. There were howls all around. The engine, the girl, the beast.

 

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