The city street was deserted. It was also, dessert-ed, but that slice of key lime pie was trying to do get the hell out of dodge like everyone else had.

See, the city street was not deserted because the city was deserted as well. It was just empty. In the manner that all the people who were smart enough to know when to survive had left. The reason was quite evident after a minute or two of waiting.

Lining across the street from one end to the other was a line of people in simple black uniforms. Shoulder to shoulder holding ballistic shields that basically cut off this area and isolated it from everywhere else. Behind them came the quiet rumbling of assault vehicles and lines of soldiers holding their weapons in rigid discipline.

The crest on their lead vehicle was a cross, bright and white and with doves or scarves or something peaceful. But the people who stood around it looked about as peaceful as most religions are, which is to say, not very peaceful at all.

The Militant Mormon arm in Rhydin only showed up for major problems to their religion.

Once everything was in place, and the noose was tight, there was nothing left to do but wait. It was the natural manner of all combat.

"What do you think this is about?" Asked one of the men on the line, quietly politely to another standing beside him in formation.

"A heretic. A full blown demon in human flesh....I hear they are bringing in the paladins for this." With the comment trailing off in that manner of mystical reverence.

"Cheese and rice!" Exclaimed the first man, more youthful than the second.

"Watch your language!" Chided the second, immediately.

And right on cue in the timing of heroes, they showed up. Stepping through the holes made in the line as other men and women quickly stepped to the side and watched their gleaming armored forms stride past. There were quiet murmurs of prayers. Some wept and fell to their knees at such holy warriors preparing to righteously do their duties.

There were three of these titans stepping over broken asphalt and concrete. Proudly moving towards the one building the mass of men and metal had separated off from the rest of reality. It was almost humorous, the way they had to actually open the door rather than just stride through wood and nail because they were above those sort of things, as well.

The collective group of black uniformed and armored soldiers held it's breath as the door shut and the three heroes were left alone.

The stark difference between how long it took for all this to be set up, and how long it turned into a dangerous hell on earth was quite extreme. The people outside barely had time to register the human sounding screams of pain and terror coming from the building before one armored form was tossed out of a window and landed right in the middle of the cordoned street. The armor smoked still, and from the way it laid there, there was not much flesh underneath anymore. Now it just looked like a pile of broken metal and bones.

What followed next, was worse. A mostly naked form leapt from the same broken window and landed beside the broken armor. It should of been much easier to deal with, due to the man was holding a towel around his waist with one hand while red eyes glared out at the gathered masses there. But it was not easier. With the bareness of his flesh they all could see the multitude of sacreligious tattoos that covered his body. Some directed right at them. Some to other Gods and religions, some not even understood.

"Why do you mormons always show up when I am in the bath?" This was asked quite calmly considering the amount of anger and rage pouring off the man was enough to set the very air around him on fire.

It was only a few minutes later until the mostly naked man was tearing down the street in one of the armored vehicles of the Militant Mormons. Towel tossed out the window without much of a care as he tried to get comfy with his balls on the holy upholstery.

If life had the ability, right here would be the moment it all froze and two single words and a name would pop up near that mug that grinned with too sharp teeth.

It would read simply:

Abraxas The Lucky



It was the same city, but in a place where the world could change street by street, being on the other side of it was the same as being on the other side of the galaxy.

It was further out than the city proper, high into the place where hills turned into mountains. It was here that the forms of red dragons circled in the air. Large, but far too small to be fully grown.

No one would come here with good reason. Even the fools stayed away from areas like this. Tonight though, one man stepped over rocks and up a broken path not meant for someone his size.

He was dressed impeccably, so much so that he was wonderfully out of place for the natural surroundings. The two piece suit held him well, and he wore it like he had came from the womb wearing it. His scent carried on the breeze, so much so, that the young dragons stopped flying and scurried into a rather large mouth of a cave. The same cave mouth that the man soon stood at, blatantly letting the light from the outside silhouette his form.

The dragon that met him was far larger than he. But it was soon almost a joke by the head that moved from behind it. The larger one still just a younger beast. The larger one looked to be an adult, from the size of it. An adult, or some nightmare borne into too much flesh and scales. Its head was large enough to build a house in. And its eyes were larger by far than the man they watched cautiously. Amazingly though, there was no attack.

The large dragon just nudged the younger one away, leaving the entrance to the cave. Letting it be just the man and the parent. Between them, a rather large ox smoldered on a fire. The large dragon after a few long moments, carefully stepped its enormous form closer to it and tore a shred of cooked meat off of it to slowly chew it down.

The man, after watching this stepped closer to the fire himself. Without fear or care, he reached a gloved hand into the fire and tore off a shred of meat himself. He began to chew down on it. For a long couple of minutes, it was just that. Dragon and man eating, while never taking their eyes off of the other.

Finally, the dragon spoke up with words so deep and loud it shook the very cave even if it seemed to be its version of a whisper.

"Azazel?" A name. A question. A hope the man wasn't there because of such.

The man just nodded slowly though. The dragon finally blinked. It shrunk, a bit. Looking momentarily defeated for some reason, but it spoke on.

"I told him everything I knew! I have no idea why you are here! This is quite disrespectful and outrightly-" The dragon was interupted from speaking when the man raised a glove hand quietly.

"Azazel wants to know about Grigori." The first words from the man were a direct difference to the dragons. They were actually quiet, but quite easy to understand from man to dragon.

"I told him everything I knew about that traitor! May flies rot the wings from his body-" Again, the dragon was interrupted by the raise of the man's hand.

"Azazel wants to know about Grigori." The comment was repeated, in the same tone.

"I told him everything! About his actions! About what I knew about The Gift! I swear on all of my hatchlings I don't know where it is! Tell Azazel that!"

The silence reigned for a while there as the booming words of the dragon died off. The man was left standing there quietly contemplating and watching the dragon.

"Look! I have much gold!" The Dragon spoke up again in the silence. Such was the size of its form that it could curl around and move all the way back to a spot the man could not see. When it came back a moment later, it's maw was filled with gold and jewels. It poured them on the ground beside the man in a lewd display of wealth.

"Take it! Take it all! Take it back to Azazel and tell him you killed me!"

The man's hand reached into the pile and picked up a ruby that was larger than his fist. A slight moment to look at the light through it, then he was tossing it into the pile with a careless shrug.

"The problem is, that when I get paid, I always do a job?" The man said, without much care to the predicament.

The dragon knew what this meant. In a second it's mouth opened and in a snap it took in a huge rushing vacuum of air. Fuel to its liquid fire it was about to spray all over the man standing there.

The man was quicker though, and had less to do. In a single simple fluid motion he drew a pistol from his suit and fired one shot right into the beasts mouth.

The dragon reared back, confused. But it seemed enough to stop the terrible fire that was about to come. It came back down sharply at the man, face first. It was the last mistake it made.

As the man's weapon had not lowered, it just waited there for the right moment. And the dragon gave it as it looked to snap him up in its jaws. One last shot, straight through the dragons large eye and into its brain.

The dragon went from motion to stillness, to a crumbled form on the floor of the cave in a moment.

There was nothing else. The rest of the beasts family stayed in the back and hoped that the man would not walk back towards them. Its mate curled protectively around its young in a horrible moment of emotional agony. But the man just turned and walked out of the cave with the same nonchalance he had coming in.



It was still night, across the city. Where in one of the many glass lined commercial buildings, the lights were still on in one of the highest offices. There a man with sharp white hair and a crisp white suit sat at a desk and took notes. The loudest thing then was the scratching of pen to paper. Even when the Assassin stepped from the shadows in front of the desk.

The pen stilled for a second in surprise, but did its best to keep moving even as the white haired man spoke.

"I take it the dragon is taken care of." His tone was beyond perfect, it was a beautiful symphony to the ears. Every word was honey on the air.

Such things did not affect the assassin much. There was just a nod from the man before he spoke.

"He is. He said a lot of things that might interest you. Some things that interest me."

"Oh?" The pen never stopped moving.

"Yes. Said something about Grigori, I think he is in town like you wanted."

"That's excellent." The pen still moved.

"Yes. And then he said something about The Gift."

"Did he?" The pen stopped.

"Yes. That's the thing that interests me actually."

"That is not part of your deal and you will not seek out the gift, nor ask about it, is that understood?" The pen was left near the paper as the white haired man looked up from what he was writing and right at the man standing in front of his desk.

"Well, that is a problem. As my original contract was not to you. But to find The Gift." The man let that sink in for a moment.

The white haired man's eyes began to glow a bit.

"And the Dragon, actually paid me too. I think the idea was that I kill you, Azazel."

"Was it, Knight?"

"Yes. It was. And you know me" I always see a job through."

With the ending of words began violence. It was a clear seperation as both men went into quick motions. The Assassin drew his pistol as Azazel drew up in form and power. But it wasn't enough for the white haired man.

The terrible clip of shots were not loud enough to overpower all the chaos coming around them from Azazels transformation, but they were more important. As the first one landed right in Azazel's eye. Then the next one, and the next one, then the next one. Until the Angelic form of the man was half changed, half still mortal. Writhing in agony against the spiderwebbed glass behind his desk.

One last shot hit the same hole the Assassin had been firing on. Sending the mess of an Angel out into the air. It did not fly though, it fell. All the way down until it hit the street heavily.

Up above, the assassin was the only one left in the office. In the darkness, there was a slow curl of his lips into a rather evil looking grin.

Here is where life would pause again. Two simple words, and a name.

It simply read:

Knight The Bad



Another part of the town. Another world. There what was once a Militant Mormon armored car was tearing through city streets. Driven like it was stolen, which it unsurprisingly was.

Around the corner waited a trap, and with the speed the car was traveling it didn't even have time to see the spike strip that was tossed out in the road in front of it. One tires hit metal, car lost control and flipped. Its momentum continued as the car went over and over and finally settled in a the middle of an intersection on its roof. Once again silence decended over an area, even as a half dozen forms moved from the shadows surrounding the wrecked car.

The door was kicked open, and out stumbled the form of Abraxas. Thankfully, he had seemed to find clothing from when he had first gotten the car. Unfortunately, he did not seem to look much better. Black blood poured from a number of wounds, and his arm was bent at an odd angle. Still though, defiance blazed in his eyes as he did his best to look around to see his attackers.

"I wouldn't." Came the gruff voice of an Orc that stood over eight feet tall. Even more with the layers on layers of armor it wore. In its hands it held a firearm as large as it was, pointed right at Abraxas as he stood there. The five other mercenaries looked about the same in size and temperment. And even tactics, as their scattered around the fallen car in a half circle.

"Do you know Demon, that you have a face good looking enough to be worth a hundred thousand dollars?" The Lead orc laughed this out in the thrill of victory and the anticipation of payment. He was joined by the rest of his group, much to the annoyance of the demon leaning on the broken car.

"Is he worth that much?" That was not the voice of an Orc, or a demon. That was the voice of a human. The laughing stopped immediately, as everyone there looked over to the form of a man sitting on the hood of a parked car casually. Currently holding a smoking cigar between his fingers as his tall and broad shouldered frame rested there in blue jeans and a white T shirt. Normal, almost, except for the revolver at home on his thigh in a leather holster.

"What is it to you, human?" The lead Orc found his confidence quickly and along with it, his anger. He turned to face the man and snarled out his question.

"Well, I might just have to take it myself if the demon is worth that much?"

This got an even bigger laugh from the Orcs, as if the man was just making a joke. But the laughter ended when the man slowly stood off from the hood he was sitting on. Cigar sliding up into his lips as he paced forward slowly until he got to that perfect spot that he felt. The pistol on his thigh, quite evident now as he stood there. Right hand cracking knuckles in the air in a tight fist, before they opened up in the air beside the butt of his revolver.

The Orcs watched this for a moment. Then had the gull to laugh once again as a group. The leader hefted his weapon and aimed it down the line at the man.

"I do not think-" The orcs words were ended by a single shot from the man's revolver that had left his holster in a motion that even the orcs watching him found hard to track. Everyone watched as the Lead Orc went silent, then just, fell over.

Five more shots rang out in quick succession, and all five orcs fell over as well. Leaving just the man and the demon in the middle of the empty streets.

The revolver was emptied of its old shells, and new ones were loaded in as the man stepped up to the quiet scene.

Abraxas took this as a good sign. The grin he wore almost split his head in two as he walked slowly over to one of the fallen heavy rifles.

"I thank you friend. I might not have made it out of there if not for you." With a laugh as his fingers closed around the barrel of the weapon, looking to pick it up. A cowboy boot from the other man pressed down on the weapon though, holding it to the ground.

When the demon looked up in confusion, he saw the barrel of the man's revolver aimed down at him squarely.

"How much are you worth now?" The man with the revolver asked humorously.

"One hundred thousand dollars?" Abraxas answered back, confused.

"That's right. One hundred thousand dollars?" Rumbled out from the grinning man as he slowly thumbed back the hammer of his revolver.





It was later when the man and demon pulled up to the rather ornate and enormous cathedral that looked more like a fortress than a church. But they weren't militant because they were nice.

The man drove the car. The demon, was on the hood like a killed deer. Bound in thick iron chains that wound so tightly and fully across its body it was hard to see anything underneath. But the demon talked, did it. It was louder than even the engine with the curses it was laying down on the man driving the car. His family. His friends. And generally anything else the demon could curse.

It continued even after the man parked right infront of the large double doors into the cathedral, which soon were shoved open by a multitude of armored people pouring out. They surrounded the car with raised weapons, but they soon lowered once someone else came out of the church.

You could tell the someone else was important, he had a very tall hat. It was a Bishop. This was easy to tell because of the hat, and the general roundness of the man.

"Blessed be our Father, the demon has been caught!" His exumberance was felt on the air as he came down the steps and the many guards moved aside to let him pass.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Blessings on you and your life for bringing this monster to its knees!" The Bishop was quick to get a handshake from the man who had climbed out of the drivers side door. The glare from the man did not even do anything to change the bishops good mood.

All the Bishop had to do was point and the demon was pulled off from the hood of the car, still spilling curses and vile threats at anyone who was in earshot. The Bishop and the man were left looking at each other as the demon was marched up the steps with not much ritual or care.

"My money?" The man finally asked as he leaned on the door, he had not even shut it. It was clear he did not want to be here any longer than he needed to be.

"Oh yes! Here here. One hundred thousand dollars." A smaller man appeared beside the Bishop to hand over an envelope to the Bounty Hunter. It was immediately opened and looked through with a careful eye of a man who enjoyed his money.

"Won't you stay' Service is soon, then we shall burn the demon alive! Punch will be served after?" The Bishop stopped his words when he saw the look the Bounty hunter gave him and thought it best to enjoy the day for what it was. He hurried away with his enterourage. Leaving the bountry hunter to climb into his car with a sly little grin.





Say what you want about the Mormons, they were punctual. Right on time, after their service but before the punch was served, a cross was dragged out in front of the cathedral and placed among a pile of wood.

On the cross was Abraxas, looking quite unlike a man who was about to be burned alive. Though he did have a good sense of humor.

"This does not look good." The Demon said over to the hooded man pouring gasoline at his feet. He did not get a laugh.

"Tough crowd?" A murmer, but still the demon grinned in a manner that was unlike someone in his situation.

The bishop was more than happy to pour pomp and ritual on the moment. A procession marched out the front doors, pouring incense, chanting hymns. It was a long line of people. Preachers, guards, followers. It did not end until there was quite a crowd around the waiting form of the crucified demon.

The bishop, easily found and identifiable by his hat, read the holy words. Reciting the scripture and spoke on the sins of the demon in front of him. It spoke of robbery. Of gross sexual acts. Or corruption of men and women of the faith. Of Jaywalking. Abraxas was a very bad demon. But still he grinned.

Somewhere, a half mile away, the Bounty hunter sat in a chair in front of a window. If he squinted and looked far down the line of the street, he could see the crowd gathered around the captured demon. Of the tall hat of the bishop. A couple of puffs of his cigar as he patiently waited.

"Abraxas, demon of the ninth realm, master of the dark and follower of the great evil"!" Yelled the bishop, voice growing louder and louder the closer to the moment of fire grew.

"Also known as "The Rat"." Rumbled from the Bounty Hunter a half mile away, right on cue. A hand reached down beside him and picked up the rather large sniper rifle. Bipod was placed on the window sill, and the man got situated without ever leaving his seat. Cigar pulled from his lips before he placed his cheek gently down on the stock to look through the scope. The scene became crystal clear through its magnification. The cross hairs hovered over the face of Abraxas.

"...You have been sentenced to die by holy fire! May got have mercy on your soul!" The Bishops hand reached for a simple unlit torch a nearby gleaming armored paladin was holding. With a word, it burst into a white flame.

The bounty hunter eased the crosshairs slowly but fluidly over the light, and pulled the trigger. The sound was the equiviliant of a thunder crack. The .50 caliber round turned the torch into something less than splinters. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as the torch exploded in the bishops hand before it could touch the wood surrounding the demon.

The bolt of the rifle was pulled back to eject the heavy shell to the shag carpeting. A new one slammed home without the rifle really moving. A small squint as the cross hairs settled right below the demons bound feet. Trigger was pulled again with another roar of gunpowder exploding and the sharp battering ram slam into the bounty hunters shoulder.

The base of the crucifix exploded just like the torch did. Leaving the demon to fall down on the pile, still bound to the wood of the cross by his arms. But he stood up.

The crowd reacted in immediate panic. They scattered just as the guards tried to move through them to the demon. Another thunderous sound rang out and a sword of a paladin was tossed from his hands. Then another, and a rifle in another mans hands exploded. Another hit the stones near the wood and sent sparks on the gasoline wet wood, igniting it just as the demon jumped down and ran with a loud and deep, inhuman laugh.

He ran, and ran, and ran. All the way until he found an alley way where the bounty hunter was already sitting and smoking on his cigar.

"Fifty thousand for you. Fifty thousand for me." The bounty hunter said in the darkness around the two of them once the meeting between them began. A pile of bills handed over, the exact amount. Abraxas couldn't help but count it though, he might trust other demons, but never would he trust a human with money. He made a pleased sound once he was sure it was correct.

"You know how much you are worth now?" Asked the bounty hunter as he leaned against a brick wall and smoked his cigar.

"How much?" Asked the demon with a heavy hint of greed.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars." Answered the Bounty hunter with a slow nod of his head.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" Responded Abraxas in kind. With a dark laugh. The wad of money, his cut, was pocketed.

"There is a problem though." Abraxas went on after he was sure the money was deep in his pocket.

"...Which is?" The bounty hunter asked without curiousty but more dangerous implications.

"I am the one almost being set on fire."

"Almost." Responded the Bounty hunter.

"Yes, almost. But I should get more money. I should get a bigger cut. The way I see it, there are two kinds of people in the world. Those that almost get set on fire. And those that shoot the gun."

A long moment of silence came over the both of them after the demon finished speaking. The bounty hunter growled for a moment, but spoke a moment later.

"You might be the one almost getting caught on fire. But I am the one shooting the gun. Maybe if I get less money, I get a bit less accurate. You might get a bit crispy?" The threat wasn't even a threat. It was just what would happen.

Abraxas couldn't do much else but swallow his words in the darkness of the alleyway.



It happened again, who knows how later. Another church, another group of fanatics, another cross and another burning. Another man in a tall hat listing another long list of crimes and sins that Abraxas just grinned too. Especially so when it came to "Lewdness with a Nun" and one of the gathered women fainted at his snarl at her.

Another torch. Another shot. Then another and another. Abraxas ran when the crucifix broke by another accurate shot.

Another alleyway. This time the bounty hunter was sitting in a car with the engine idling when Abraxas ran up. His hands still bound on the wood of a cross he had not gotten rid of yet.

"Hey, Hunter" Help me out here." That was Abraxas" hello when he came up to the car. To which the Bounty hunter just clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Mmmn. I don't think so Demon. See, I think this is where we part ways." With a motion of his cigar holding hand around the steering wheel to motion out to the street. To the future.

"What"! You son of a whore! This was not part of the deal!" Abraxas hissed out loudly, but quieted when he realized that he was still a demon bound to a cross in the middle of the city.

"We never had a deal demon. This was just an agreement, that I just broke. I'm keeping the money. You can, keep the cross." With a small laugh, as the car was shifted into first gear and left the demon standing there almost speachless.

Almost. It left the departing form of the car with a loud roar of anger.

"Curse you Hunter! You can't leave me like this! Curse you Dillon Jones!"

But it was sounds left to the rear lights.

This would be the time when life would pause. Just as the bounty hunter looked into the rear view mirror to the angry form of the demon. And grinned deeply.

Two words, and a name.

It simply read:

Dillon Jones The Good