Paavo Harker used to dream of fire.
His mind no longer offered what he considered beautiful, living paintings. The pain that wracked his body would help cradle him to blessful delirium. Watercolor portraits of all consuming rivers of flame would erupt from the cracks of blank city concrete. Descending warriors with damaged wings fell from the clouds to collide with the ground and spill out brilliant colors. He would watch those colors churn and whirl, turn to clay and form the mountains of Earth. Neon colored angels would tell him the stories of creation as they kissed his lips, caressed his wounds and drowned him in the purple and black oceans of subconscious. He would awaken again to the pain and the blood but the dreams sustained him. When the world ended, he no longer had to dream to see the fire and the angels.
The cascades of sharp pain that greeted him every morning were distant. The aches were pushed deep down and replaced with something heavier. He couldn’t open his eyes. Beyond the dark was an invisible wall. Paavo could feel the blood behind his skin. He took time to rediscover his arms and legs and found all his limbs were still attached. The black wall pressed down and pinned him flat. Something sour poured into his mouth when he cried out. The taste of dust and dirt hit his tongue. He turned his head as far as he could to his sides to empty his mouth. Little points of light cut through the unfamiliar darkness. His eyes followed the points of light like stars in a night sky. He felt warmth. Behind the weight of the dirt, was sunlight.
What was in the darkness had not yet crushed him. Paavo took deep, measured breaths and worked one arm free and then a hand. Above the soil, he could hear thudding sounds and screams. After one hand was free, he slowly inched and worked free another hand. There was something else pouring from above, also attempting to press down on his body. Paavo could taste sand in his mouth as well. He turned to his sides to keep from being flattened. Paavo wormed for small pockets of air. The little points of light above him changed and grew in size behind the descent of dirt. Once both hands were free, he could dig. His hands moved on instinct. Hunger pangs hit his stomach like bullets. Sweat had soaked his body. Something began to itch and burn across his chest.
Paavo continued to push the soil and sand. He used those pockets of air to breathe and pull himself upright. The dirt that kept his legs down began to buckle as he slipped one leg free, then another. The points of sunlight above created dull shadows. He could see nothing but miles of wasteland at first. As he looked up, his vision of the world was twisted. There were colonies of dirt that stretched beneath the horizon of yellow sea. Paavo touched his face with his hands. His tongue lapped across his teeth. He pushed against the endless earth. He pulled himself up and embraced the dirt that had nearly devoured him. The dimmed lights above coalesced into a beacon that called to him. Paavo grabbed handfuls of dirt until he found pieces solid enough to hold his weight. Soon after, he found places in the dark to hold his feet. The soil no longer pushed down but instead, it had held him. It made space for him to climb. Silently, he praised the earth for letting him go.
Whoever had attempted to bury him, did not dig deep enough.
The thudding sound had stopped but the screaming did not. Paavo was soon greeted by the sun. He closed his eyes to keep them from drying out. There was new pain that introduced itself as he pulled free of the soil and out from his grave. He took small glimpses of his surroundings. His hands were bloodied. The black blazer, pants and dress shirt that covered him were stained with streaks and pools of red. His black hair was stained with sweat, blood and sand. Red lines ran down and stained his brown boots. He heard a weak whimper behind him. The thin man in black, sickly and pale, turned and saw a young boy, shaking and holding a shovel.
“Did you bury me?” asked Paavo.
“Not all the way,” said the boy.
His hair was shaved down to nothing. A metal ring stuck out from his lower lip.
“Thank you,” Paavo said, unaffected.
In the distance, a striking sky of azure that bled out shapes of silver sat behind the sun. Between the gusts of wind, he heard screams. A gang of men took turns smashing their faces together. They pushed and ripped at each other. They moved between fighting each other and trying to lift something he could not make out. The men were covered in blood of their own, maybe his. Their pants were shades of stained brown, ripped and tattered. Their shirts and boots were decorated with red streaks and holes. Their jackets were spiked and covered in patches of faded graffiti.
“What’s your name, kid?” asked Paavo.
“Joshua,” the boy sighed.
The name was familiar. There were flashes of words exchanged with a woman. She had the kid’s dark hair and auburn skin. She served him tea in the kitchen of a small white house and showed him a photograph. He remembered her tears. She showed him the burned houses and all the graves that were dug in town because of “them”. He made a promise to her.
“I was supposed to bring you back home,” said Paavo.
“I know,” was all the boy said.
Paavo saw what young Joshua was wearing, a cleaner uniform then the others. The boy had the same style vest. The gang continued to scream and spit in each other’s faces. They were ravenous. Paavo’s eyes finally settled on the object they fought over. It was a sword. The thing was massive. The men were trying to lift the sword. Each one of them failed. Paavo looked back to see a stain of blood on the shovel in Joshua’s hands.
“Did you hit me with the shovel?” Paavo asked.
“No, I swear,” he pleaded.
“It’s okay,” said Paavo.
Further from the scene, a long patch of gray highway cut across a tapestry of sand, grass and valleys of red and orange stone. Two vehicles sat off to the side of the road. Both were large jeeps with shattered glass. One was missing its tires. Paavo knew which one must have been his.
“Where are you from, Joshua?”
“Osaki,” he said.
The name of the city triggered more images no longer buried by the pain. Paavo saw highway signs and mile markers. He remembered the fire in a bottle that hit the side of his jeep. The crash threw him from his seat. He saw the colors of the sky and then felt his face breaking glass. Paavo looked back at the gang. There were four of them. Two of them were shaved bald with cuts and scars that decorated their skin. The others had shades of pink and blue staining their hair. Paavo felt for the gun that was supposed to be in his holster. The space was empty. The word “Bastards” was sprayed in dripping white paint across each of their backs. Joshua’s vest did not have the same badge.
“Do you have my gun?” asked Paavo.
The boy fumbled in his own jean pockets until he found a safe grip on the Desert Eagle.
“Here,” whimpered Joshua.
Paavo took his weapon back.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
The clip was still there, but was missing its bullets. He quietly holstered the gun and turned back to the boy.
“Initiation?” he asked.
“Yeah. They grabbed me in the middle of the night. I swear I haven’t hurt anyone.”
The mother said the Bastards took young kids out to the hills and made them dig holes. The kids either came home terrified or they ended up joining the cause. There were whispers that the bodies they threw down into the earth were all twisted up, the skin of their victims shades of green and gray.
“They told me to just bury the bodies.”
Paavo looked around across the desert. He wondered how many bodies were put down in the dirt like his own.
“Bandits?” he asked.
The boy shook his head.
“They run the desert. Where we live, they’re the law. They’re murderers,” he said.
Pieces of his memory returned. There were brief flashes of faces in a darkened bar, driving on roads, chasing the sun down. The images came and went from what felt like dreams. Paavo looked out towards the highway and saw the edges of the town behind the mountains. He remembered walking past bombed out buildings and streets stained with blood. Paavo recalled the faces of people in the bar when he first arrived and how they salivated over the sword. He took care to hide it from everyone until he could no longer.
“How many holes have you dug so far, kid?”
“Just a few like yours,” said Joshua.
How many days had it been since he sat in the white kitchen and promised to bring him back?
“I never wanted to join, okay? They would’ve done worse to me or my mom if I didn’t,” Joshua pleaded.
Paavo waved his hand. The boy kept his mouth shut. Paavo felt behind his shirt. He searched his skin until it felt like his own. He was searching for something. He was searching for that itching feeling on his chest.
The screams stopped and the Bastards turned their attention back to the two at the top of the hill. The blue haired Bastard held out a machete towards them both.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” he screamed.
Paavo found what he was looking for. The hole in his chest was wide enough for him to stick his hand inside. There was something inside. Paavo felt his heart and its weak pulse. There it was, he thought; the source of that familiar pain. The memories of cold mornings in the city feeling, cursing his heart chilled him. The heart was a machine, and it still continued on. His hand was stained with blood when he pulled it back. Joshua was frozen in place.
“You know it’s time to go home, right?” asked Paavo, as he wiped the blood on his shirt.
The men slowly walked towards him and the boy.
“Yeah,” Joshua said. He gripped the shovel, unsure of what to do.
“Do they have my bullets?” he asked.
“No. He does,” said Joshua.
“He?” asked Paavo.
All the sound in his ears was gone. Something heavy hit the back of his head. His body crumbled. His face smashed into the sand. Joshua tensed and took a step back. A new voice echoed in the haze.
“You’re a hard one to keep down,” it said.
A combat boot struck Paavo in the cheek that drove his head back into the sand.
“Vale, I’m sorry,” Joshua whimpered.
“It’s alright, kid,” said the voice.
Paavo wiped the blood from his mouth and felt the traces of sand on his face. He looked up to see Vale. He was another sunkissed, orange desert freak like the Bastards slowly closing in. Black sunglasses covered his eyes. His jacket was blackened and frayed. Branches of gray ink danced and spiraled down his shoulders and arms. Smooth gray hair jutted out from the side of his scarred head. Gold plated teeth stabbed out from his smile.
“We’re a brotherhood of understanding and forgiveness,” said Vale.
A gunshot cut the silence. One of the Bastards fired at Paavo and barely missed. Vale looked up and returned fire at his own people. His bullet did not.
“Fuck are you doing, Scab?!” he screamed.
The blue haired Bastard fell over to the sand.
“We need him alive!”
Vale’s men looked down. They left their partner to get up on his own. Paavo noticed that his vest had stopped the bullet. The Bastards had armor.
“We need him to tell us how it works,” Vale said.
The leader of the Bastards squatted down and pulled a blade of his own.
“What’s that?” asked Paavo.
“The sword,” said Vale.
“We’ve been watching you for a while now, little man. I’ve seen you carry that thing like it’s nothing. My boys are much bigger than you. We’ve been here for hours and they can’t lift it. So, how does it work?”
Paavo looked past the gang to the sword of stone.
“You want it?” he asked.
Vale’s fist cracked the other side of Paavo’s face.
“It’s already ours. Show us how to carry it, or we carve you up,” he said.
Paavo smirked.
“Can you help me up?”
Vale nodded.
“That’s a good boy,” he smiled.
The leader looked out to the desert and then signaled to his crew.
“Boys, can you help our new friend please?”
The Bastards sauntered over and pulled Paavo to his feet. They pushed him towards the sword of stone. Vale stood next to Joshua. He wrapped his arm around the kid’s neck and pulled him close. Paavo looked back at Joshua. He was shaking. The kid was terrified.
“Don’t worry about this young man. He’s in good hands,” shouted Vale.
Paavo met eyes with the kid. A hand grabbed his arm.
“Thought you could outmaneuver us, eh?” asked the blue haired one. Paavo tried to remember what the leader called him. Scab?
“Can’t touch us. Can’t touch Vale. We’re on a mission. You don’t know what’s out there. There’s monsters in the sand.”
Paavo felt the edge of a knife in his back as he walked towards the massive weapon.
“How do you use that big shit anyway? What are you, like, 150 pounds?” asked Scab.
He looked back to see the blue haired one was further away, his gun pointed right at him.
“Pick it up, yeah?” shouted another one.
Paavo did not answer. The sword was seven feet in length and three feet in width. The blade’s texture was akin to dormant magma; with almost decorative waves of dead ash and melted rock. Dark minerals formed the handle, with cold, jagged lines carved into the stone, rough to the touch. He found a familiar space in the stone for his fingers to grip. Paavo began to move the weapon from its place in the ground. It felt weightless to him.
The men behind him were in shock. One of them called out to Vale to take a closer look. Paavo pulled the sword from the sand and swung it hard in a circle. Half of the crew were knocked down in an instant. The blue haired Bastard howled and opened fire. Paavo turned the weapon to its side to deflect the bullets. He took another swing that felled the shooter and dropped the sword on the three Bastards still trying to get to their feet. Scab’s gun hit the sand and its handle stuck out. The weight of the weapon pushed the Bastards back down to the hot sand. Paavo held his breath and threw a right cross that stunned Scab. The gun was in Paavo’s hand. He met eyes with their leader, who held his knife to Joshua’s neck.
“Mister! Please!” the kid screamed.
The men pinned down struggled to slide out from under the massive stone weapon. It was too heavy for them.
“Well played, friend!” said Vale.
Paavo stared through him.
“Good to know you can fight a bit.”
The thin man in black aimed the revolver at the Bastard’s forehead.
“So, tell me. How does it work?” Vale continued to bark.
Paavo looked down to the sword.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Vale laughed.
“You don’t? You just swung that thing like it was nothing,” he said.
Paavo looked at the weapon and then at his hand.
“It’s in my blood.”
“You’re lying,” Vale said.
“We’ve seen everything out here, things you can’t even imagine. Don’t play with us. What is it? Some kind of magic?”
Paavo said nothing.
“Listen. You’re not going to like how this ends,” said Vale.
The leader of the Bastards pointed his knife at Paavo. His other hand squeezed Joshua’s throat tighter.
“Take the sword off my boys or we bury two bodies out here tonight. Maybe we bury the kid’s family, too.”
The mention of family drove Joshua into a frenzy. Vale kept his grip on the boy. The edge of the knife against his throat stopped him from resisting.
“Maybe I take your sword and that woman of yours for myself.”
Paavo lowered the gun. Woman?
Those images returned but changed, as if the viewfinder had expanded; the walks through town staring back at those uneasy faces, the rides facing the sun’s descent. He didn’t come to Osaki alone. He could feel her hand in his.
Vale cut a line along the side of Joshua’s neck that made him recoil in terror and snapped Paavo back into reality.
“You can’t just walk into our home and make it yours. We run this place. We run this desert. We run the Reverse. You aren’t saving a goddamn thing.”
Paavo saw something stirring in the soil and sand between them. The vision of the woman was further buried back into the dark. His heart stopped. Something new had taken hold of him. There was a new fear. Paavo dropped the revolver. The Bastards pinned down had seen it too. Paavo heard the faint warnings of gutting his body and bleeding him dry. He paid no mind. None of them could see what was climbing from the hole that opened beside them. Something was digging its way up from a place much deeper than his grave.
Claws cut through the ground like meat. Joshua and Vale followed Paavo as he circled the gang and the opening in the earth. The Bastards finally saw the creature that emerged. Their screams had changed from rage to fear. The monster was an indigo serpent. It held the face of a snake with yellowed eyes and needles for fangs. Its massive limbs were decorated with scales like embedded stones that collected at the top of its head like a crown. The creature’s hands and feet were pointed claws, bloodied from the climb to the surface. It let out a scream that cut through the wind. The sound chilled all of them. The Bastards hollered for someone to open fire. Vale was happy to oblige.
The bullets cut the creature’s skin and blasted through its neon hide. Blood began to flow from its wounds like rivers. Tears ran down Joshua’s face as he looked back to the man running past the monster. Paavo reached for the sword and pulled it to his side as the creature rose back up. He grabbed at the gigantic hilt as if he was feeling for something. The Bastards were now free and joined in attacking with their leader. They opened fire together as the serpent had leapt into the air. The bullets that were lodged inside its skin had been pushed out by new blood and muscle. Its wounds had healed in seconds. The claws of the creature found a target. The blue haired Bastard crumpled under its weight. Its eyes found a spot of soft flesh and its fangs bit down. Its tongue tasted blood as its tail swung and leveled the others before they could react. The screams from Scab were sudden and sharp. The other Bastards scrambled to pull the creature from their fallen friend. Vale had left Joshua to join them. They cut and cut at the limbs with their blades. They shot bullets into its head point blank with their guns. The serpent continued to drink. They could not free Scab’s body from its unbreakable grip.
The sword of stone smashed open. Great fires exploded from the blade. The coating of black ash and molten rock were gone. Like a shell, fires cut through the cracks until the pressure became too much and its covering blasted off, sending shards in all directions. The creature’s flesh cut open, seared by pieces of shrapnel and the unknown substance that covered it. Vale’ eyes grew wide at the sight. The Bastards screamed out in fear. Joshua dropped to his knees.
A burning flame was exposed. Flares uprooted from the blade and spread out around its holder. Each flame moved as if it were alive, slithering back and forth across the blade. The sword was a body of fire, its limbs growing in length and width. Paavo gripped the hilt of the weapon. Feeling the weight, it became easier to lift as the fire burned greater. Power rushed through his body. He took deep breaths, inhaling the burning air. The pain in his heart went numb as the flame seared his chest and made him whole again.
Paavo Harker no longer dreamt of fire. He was the fire.
He placed the sword blade down into the sand. The flame poured from the edge like lava and became a river. Joshua called out to him. A strong wind cut through the air that silenced his voice. Paavo gripped the handle and felt the blade react. The fire pulsed and contracted, as if it were breathing. It adhered to his command. Paavo heard another voice, hidden behind the wind. It was too faint to make out but a feeling lingered. He felt the pangs of a deep hunger. The living flame moved with inhuman speed and encircled the creature. With another grip, the heat intensified and the creature relented. Scab screamed once he was free from its claws, in shock his skin was somehow unburned. The Bastards dropped their weapons and helped pull him back as the creature writhed in pain.
“Please,” the voice returned.
Paavo heard it now. He looked to the others around him, to see their mouths were still.
“It burns.”
Paavo’s eyes returned to the creature as it spun in the sand to try and put out the fire.
“The pain,” it said.
The creature was speaking to him, Paavo realized. The flame continued to pulse. The screams from the creature turned to a piercing shriek. He remembered something from the black pool of his memory. The words were a simple phrase; a classification he had forgotten until then.
“A Lesser Demon,” Paavo said.
The voice in his head continued to plead with him in his language.
“Help me,” said the Lesser Demon.
The voice grew softer.
“Feed me,”
The pain behind its words hit him in the chest.
“I’m sorry,” Paavo whispered.
The creature’s face turned to Paavo as the fire turned its brilliant neon skin into a blackened hide. The Bastards hollered in excitement. They raised their arms in victory. Paavo watched the creature’s eyes go soft. The screams had ceased as the fire claimed it. The desert was silent except for the crackling of meat and skin in the flame.
Paavo looked at Joshua. Tears streamed down the kid’s face. Paavo loosened his grip on the weapon and the fire died down. The corpse of the Lesser Demon was ash. Joshua screamed again. Vale fired a shot at Paavo. A column of flame took shape. The bullet never made it past the massive hand. The weapon acted on its own to protect its owner.
“In your blood, eh?” Vale called out.
The Bastards stepped over the remains of the Lesser Demon towards Paavo.
“Suppose we’ll be taking some of that blood too, along with the sword.”
Paavo gripped the handle of the blade. The living flame shifted and grew a deeper red. The Bastards stood still as they now felt a heat that was absent.
“It listens to me,” Paavo murmured.
“It hurts who I want it to,” he said.
Scab reached out his hand and pulled it back once he felt the flame.
“You a hunter?” Vale called out.
Every Bastard who had guns aimed them at the man in black.
“Something like that,” said Paavo.
The flame pulsed and became a line that divided the Bastards from Paavo and Joshua.
“You know about the demons?” Paavo asked.
Vale nodded.
“I told you. We grew up out here. We see them. We survive them,” he said.
Joshua stood behind Paavo and the sword of fire. Vale walked up to the dividing line. He touched the fire and licked his fingers once he felt the heat.
“You trapped it down there, didn’t you?” asked Paavo.
Vale walked alongside the barrier of fire.
“We did. The only way to stop them was starvation,” he said before turning back to the sword.
“That is, until now,” said Vale.
“You aren’t terrorizing the town. You’re trying to protect them,” Paavo realized.
“The kids you take from Osaki? Stolen?” he asked.
“Volunteers. At least, once they see the monsters, they all take the vow to join us and keep the pact.”
Paavo cut a glance at Joshua. He stood shivering, still terrified.
“We’re all servants of the desert,” said Vale.
“How many of you Bastards are there?” asked Paavo.
“Not a lot of us. You see how strong these things are. You see how fast they heal. Everything living needs to eat, though,” said Vale.
The leader of the Bastards turned his head to the sand. His face changed to something broken.
“If the town saw what was really outside those walls, there would never be peace. A lot of brothers have given their lives to the Reverse.”
Vale’s eyes seem to trace a line in the sand.
“You think you can protect them with what I have?” asked Paavo.
“I know I can. You coming here was a gift. What made you come down here anyway?” Vale pressed his hand against the fire.
Paavo said nothing. He couldn’t remember.
“Can your sword stop a bullet when you sleep?” Vale asked.
Paavo did not respond. The heat from the fire grew more intense.
“Okay, hero,” said Vale.
He pointed his knife at Joshua.
“Can you walk the boy back to the city? It’s about twenty miles from here.”
Paavo stayed silent as the fire continued to burn atop the sand.
“Don’t talk much do you?”
Paavo twisted the handle of the weapon and Vale felt the pulsing flame surround his feet. He watched it coil like a serpent and rest in a perfect circle.
“I thought you were a brotherhood of understanding, and forgiveness,” said Paavo.
Vale laughed and snapped his fingers. The Bastards joined him as they put their guns away.
“How about this, then?” We’ll take your boy home back to mama since you saved mine,” Vale offered.
Paavo looked to Joshua, who turned to see the remains of the demon and the ruined vehicle before agreeing.
“Say thank you, Scabby,” said Vale.
Scab sneered and wiped something wet from his nose.
“Much appreciated,” he spat.
Paavo lessened his grip on the sword. Vale waited for the circle of fire to wane before he stepped over it. He walked to the Bastards’ jeep. Inside was a pile of guns, grenades and a blue cooler that carried its own scars and burns. Vale opened the wounded cooler and pulled out a bottle of water.
“I can see now why they’re scared of you,” said Vale.
He walked back to the fire and tossed it. Paavo caught it with his empty hand.
“Who?” asked Paavo.
Vale smiled and light reflected off those gold teeth.
“The people in town,” he said.
Will they come for him? For the sword?
Paavo did not let go of the weapon. The thirst for water cut a hole in his throat.
“You take the boy home. You leave the family alone. If not, you will be seeing me again,” said Paavo.
Scab called Joshua over. He caught eyes with Paavo and mouthed the words “thank you”.
Vale waited for the Bastards to start the jeep, then walked to Paavo. He took his knife and pointed it to Paavo’s hand.
“The sword’s still mine. Be seeing you,” said Vale.
Paavo finally smiled. A strong wind blew past them both, pushing sand in their eyes and ears.
“Bullets?” asked Paavo.
Vale raised an eyebrow.
“What bullets?” he asked.
Paavo opened his jacket to show him the empty Desert Eagle.
“Oh yeah. Those bullets,” Vale laughed.
He searched his jean pockets for a clip and tossed it to Paavo’s feet. As he turned back towards the jeep, Paavo called to him.
“If you can carry it, you’re welcome to take it,” he said.
Vale thought about trying it, but remembered his men struggling for air beneath the massive weapon and let it go. He saluted Paavo with the tip of his knife. Within seconds, the jeep blew past him and hit the highway. Paavo waited for them to be out of sight to exhale. He took his hand off the sword. The living flame split into twin rivers, one receded into the blade and the other found a home in Paavo’s chest. The fire slithered across his clothes and skin like it mimicked the serpent it had just slain. The flame coiled and nestled into the hole in his chest. The pain that greeted him every morning was smothered away; buried in fresh, cauterized skin.
Paavo took a sip of the bottled water. He felt something churn inside him and he emptied his stomach onto the sand. The liquid was a mixture of red and pink that swirled and puddled near his boots. A dizzy spell shook him and Paavo fell to the sand. His weapon crashed to the ground next to him with a heavy thud. He drank more water and covered his eyes from the sun. The silver clouds had parted. The heat from above poured onto the desert and the roads that stretched beyond. Paavo took another sip of water and got to his feet. His legs shivered. Paavo bent down to pick up his clip. The bullets were still there. Paavo pulled the massive sword onto his shoulders and began the walk on the highway back to Osaki.
The mile markers were solemn reminders of how far he had to go. Paavo draped the sword across his shoulders and stayed on the shoulder of the road in case the Bastards returned. The sound of his boots hitting the pavement became a rhythm. How was he able to carry the sword? Paavo searched the dark of his mind for an explanation. It was given to him. He could see the room, somewhere in the distance where the road met the sky. The room was near the highest point of a skyscraper. He was brought there as a guest. Paavo was presented the sword by men and women in hooded gowns adorned with gold.
He stopped to breathe and take small sips of water. The wind smacked him across the face and brought no relief. Paavo walked with the pain and took small draws from the bottle until it was empty. The brilliant colors of sky had disappeared from his sight. Without clouds to block the light, the desert was now a glowing white. The glow had brought its own pain in extreme heat. Perhaps it was karma for revealing the flame to the Bastards back there.
What was it those men and women said to him? He began to feel a thousand images and words, memories of a life so removed from the desert, all happening at once. Paavo spoke the words to himself, like telling a story. He felt his thoughts solidify like colors on a blank canvas.
Hundreds of years ago, a weapon was carved from the stone of the mountain, the heaviest rock. Some say it was tempered in the fires of hell. As such, it was the only way to scar the flesh of the demons. It was called the Nameless. There were no identifiable markings on the blade or handle. People from all walks of life had come far and wide to put their hands on it. It was said that no one could lift it from its stone sanctuary. No one could lift it until it was given to him. He was told he was special. The ones draped in gold spent years trying to find him and others like him. Paavo was told his father was a fallen angel who came to Earth and made a son with a human woman. This bloodline of divine right was kept secret. Their secret was protected until the day that those rejected from heaven would flood the world. There was a name they gave to those born of angel and human.
Nephilim.
He didn’t know what it meant.
They told him the archangel Michael wielded the same sword. The Nameless would guide those who remained after the flood to paradise.
“The flame of God,” someone said that night.
Paavo remembered a promise to keep it hidden. How long had it been since he had seen a demon? The designation of the serpent even, Lesser Demon, implied there were greater ones. He stopped under a sign that said something was fifteen miles away. The old name had been painted over with black and red splashes. The shadow cast by the sign was a brief reprieve from the white hot sun. The words stared back at him;
“Hole, two miles. Osaki, fifteen miles,” it warned.
The hole was one of many gateways; the bleeding edge of the Underworld that slowly crept into the human world once those holes had opened. Beyond the gates, were the mirror image of the desert, a twisted reflection of the human world; the Reverse.
He took a deep breath, dropped the bottle and continued his walk back to the city. The heat pushed down on him with every step. Sweat had pooled on his arms, legs, chest and neck. Paavo counted the miles with each marker passed. There were no cars coming or going. The only sound besides his breath and boots was the wind. The weight of the weapon on his back kept him steady as he fell back into the images he lost to the Lesser Demon. Paavo kept one eye open to focus on the road ahead and he stepped back into the dark to catch a glimpse of her.
shadowart 