It doesn't take long, of course.

Looking like he does, it's easy to make the mistake of assuming he's not much of a fighter. Even the unnatural eyeshine that glows in his eyes in the dimmest of light is usually passed off as an oddity, nothing to worry about. If more people knew where he got it from, they might be willing to let him pass on by.

But, it seems that the two scumbags creeping up behind him in the shadows of the alleyway don't know any better. Or they didn't see it. Or they're too stupid to realize that there are reasons they say not to judge a book by its cover.

Any which way, the result is going to be the same.

He stops in mid-stride, turning to face his stalkers. "Y'know, if you're gon' be creeping up on a body, 'llow me t'give you a bit of advice - firstly, try not t'make y'self so obvious." His voice is low, a melodic baritone, with what sounds like a Cajun accent to it. "Secondly - and this'll be th' real imp'rtant part - make sure your target is gon be som'ne you can take down 'thout a big hassle on your part."

With that last comment, he holds out a hand, cupping it so the palm faces up. In an instant, with a buzzing, crackling sound of electronic arcing and a sharp smell of ozone, a ball of lightning form in his hand. For a moment, Kaleb simply stares at his would-be accosters and, with a flick of his wrist, tosses the ball at them. It arcs over to the pair, coming to land in the dirt between them and suddenly detonating with enough ezplosive force to throw dust and rock particles into their faces in a stining hail, causing them to flinch back and throw their hands up to protect their eyes.

A moment later, their fading footfalls can just barely be heard as they beat a very hasty rereat, probably to find easier prey elsewhere.

Fools. Perhaps next time they'll think again before they just assume somone will make a good target.

He continues walking on for a while, weaving his way in and out of dark alleyways, getting to know this section of town.

This place is dark, dank, corrupted - he can feel it, see it, practically smell it all around him. There is something definitely not right about this place. Oh, nothing on the surface, of course, but there is definitely something amiss here - evil, he can feel it in his bones. The demon within him can sense it as well, rising, trying to stir, but held in check by the human side's superior willpower and conscience.

He turns the next corner, and suddenly stops.

There in front of him are several street scum of the same type that had been following him earlier...and what do you know?...included in the group is that very same pair.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't our friend the showy smarta**. Bet you're not feelin' so confident about your chances now, are ya?"

Kaleb takes a moment to count the array of individuals in front of him. Ten of them, it looks like. His ears pick up the sounds of a few more coming up behind him as the group in front of him walks forward, hemming him in.

He sighs and shakes his head, looking down at the ground. Some people will never learn.

He takes the pack from his shoulders and holds it by the handle on top of it, looking back up again into the leering face of the one who had spoken - obviously the leader of this ragtag little band - and his eyes catch the light, seeming to gleam from within with a fiery reddish light.

"All right, mon frere, come on an' get me then."

As though they had been waiting for this, four of them rush forward - two in front, two behind. Just before they reach him, he strikes.

The pack in his hand he swings up and around, towards the head of the first one coming at him. There is a heavy-sounding thud as it connects with the skull of the man, with enough force to knock him bodily sideways and into the second thug charging towards him. The momentum from the bag spins Kaleb around to face the two charging in from the rear, and using that momentum he leaps up, letting go of the pack and flinging out his right leg as he twirls and catching the closest punk behind him in the temple with his foot. His ehad snaps sideways and he goes down like a pile of stones, tripping up the fourth - and final - punk charging him.

For a moment, the remainder of the gang is still, not knowing quite what to do with this. The guy had just taken out four of their street-hardened comrades in the blink of an eye, and all without breaking a sweat.

Their leader makes up their minds for them. He pulls out a long, wicked-looking knife and screams, "GET HIM!!!" and charges forward. The rest of them, mindless sheep that they are, join him in a frenzied rush.

God damn it, don't make me do this, he thinks.

But it looks as if they are not going to give him the choice, and as the leader is getting close enough to begin inflicting damage, he finally just lets go of it.

The sensation is always simultaneously painful and pleasurable at the same time, as if he is letting out some pent-up animal from within himself and it is ripping its way out of his skin. His vision goes red, as if the entire world suddenly became drenched in fire and blood, and a cloud comes over his mind. He tries his best to maintain some control over the beast, as always, but still, he is all too aware that while he hates this part of himself, he LOVES what it is capable of at the same time.

The leader brings down the knife, not into the flesh of a man, but into the stone-hard surface of a demon straight from the Abyss, a vision from his worst nightmares. It is almost comic to see the gang come to scrambling stop around him, looking up at this sudden, hulking monstrosity that just appeared out of nowhere, as if the young man in front of them had suddenly exploded and this was the result. Heat pours off of him in waves, veins of white-hot fire course over skin that looks as if it is made from stone, the same fire that glows in his eyes. Horny growths sprout from his joints and two long, curving horns stand out from his head.

He looks down at the leader with those hellish glowing eyes and laughs - a cruel, growling, gravelly sound that grates and rumbles. He hates the sound of it - evil and wanton, bloodthirsty and ready for violence. With one huge, clawed hand he reaches down and grabs the man by his neck and head, lifting him bodily off the ground and up to eye level, close to his face to stare directly into his eyes. There is a sizzling sound as his flesh begins to fry in his superheated grip, and the bacon-like smell of his flesh burning wafts through the air. The man screams in pain and absolute terror as he is lifted off of his feet.

"What's the matter, maggot...didn't I tell you you should be a bit more careful picking your targets!?!?!?"

The voice is loud, a deomn's voice screaming to be let loose...but the human in him won't allow it. Instead, he simply flings the man away from him with a flick of his arm, sending him hurtling through the air to crash into a wall. He is mercifully knocked unconcious in a moment, a huge, charred handprint that wraps around his neck, head and part of his face. He'll bear that scar for the rest of his life.

Kaleb the demon rounds on the rest of them, a loud roar issuing from his throat that is heard across most of WestEnd.

"NOW GET OUT OF HERE! ALL OF YOU!!!"

They don't need to be told twice, scattering like mice when the cat comes in, running for fear of their very lives.

He SO wants to run after them, chase them, play with them, smashing their bodies into broken, bloody pulps and then charring the remains just so he can smell the tantalizing aroma of burning flesh.

But the human in him rebels. Outwardly, he grabs his head in his hands and the demon shrieks in pain and anger as he begins to shrink...cool...

...and a moment later, there is just the man again.

He's sweating, trembling, feeling weak. Turning into the demon is the easy part - it's coming back from that state that really takes it out of him. He collapses to his knees, finally, shaking all over.

F**k you, God. You bastard.

He's still kneeling there, in the middle of the alleyway, when he hears the soft impact of someone else landing on the ground behind him.

Internally, he shakes his head to himself. He gets rid of one set of a**holes, only to have one more want to try again. It never fails. One of these days, word will get around - no doubt, it's already spreading thanks to the little gang he had sent running for their mothers with their tails tucked firmly over their balls - but until then, in this new city, he guesses he will just have to deal with jackass after moron after idiot trying to take him for what he's got.

He closes his eyes, willing his temper to stay in control. He doesn't want to let the demon back out - it takes a lot of effort to put him away again, and he's not sure he could manage it twice in this short a period of time. He waits until he feels the stranger get close enough, calling on his inner reserves of strength to still his trembling and enable him to move.

And with sudden, liquid smoothness, he stands, whirls, creating a ball of pure fire in his right hand. The sudden white-hot ball of heat and flame throws it's own light around the alley as he whirls, hurling the ball of flames at the shadowy person he sees coming for him.

"Don't you f**kers ever learn! Leave me ALONE!"

As the man snatches his fireball out of midair, he pauses. His anger at being bothered - yet again on his first night in RhyDin - is derailed for a moment. Most people he's met can't just catch a ball of demonic fire in their hands and play with it - fewer still are those that can shape the fire into something else so accurately. Oh, sure, he knows there are those that can, but they aren't many.

A grudging curiousity takes the place of his anger and aggression as he looks the stranger over. There's something about this guy, he thinks, something...well...familiar. What is it?

He thinks about the last time he's felt like this, and suddenly he has it.

This guy is a demon. Like him.

Of course, demons know their own, and who else could have caught a ball of hell's own flames? He'd be willing to bet the guy could have let himself get hit with it and it wouldn't have done much more thatn burn his coat.

Of course, the fact that the man before him is a demon makes him all the more wary, and he readies himself for another fight. He's had to wrestle with a demon or two, but as he's here and they're not, it pretty much proves the point that he can hold his own. And he has no problems letting loose his own inner demons on his 'own kind' - he figures they deserve it more than most. Just because he comes from them does not mean he considers himself their kin.

Finally, he speaks, and edge of caution and anger in his voice. "Just who the Hell are you and what do you want? In case you missed it, I've had enough of people botherin' me for one day."

At first, he can't believe his ears. A demon...with a soul...?

This has got to be the biggest load of bulls**t he has ever heard.

But then something strange starts happening. He can feel the truth behind the man's words, as surely as if he were inside the man's head. Even as he draws closer, Kaleb is held in place by sheer fascination. Indeed, he should have been teleporting away to some other place of safety, anywhere, really, just as long as he's not in danger. This stranger in front of him has already shown he can stop one form of attack, and he has no reason to doubt he can do the same for any other.

And even stranger - the closer he gets, the harder he can feel the demon within him struggling to get away. Like it's in pain. Like it can't stand to be near the man. And when the demon in front of him holds out that strange amulet...

...the demon in him screams. Not just any scream, either, but the scream of an animal that has the hope it may, one day, be free, suddenly realizing that it is going to be imprisoned forever.

It is that one thing that makes up his mind more than anything else. This is what he has been hoping for - the power to truly, totally control that evil force inside him, to be free of its influence on him and the strength to be able to cage it whenever he wants to.

Though one small part of him whispers a doubt, he cannot help himself. Anything, any one thing, that may be a help is, indeed, a blessing.

Before those doubts, that untrusting part of him, can change his mind, he reaches out and takes the amulet and places it around his neck. Looking into Lupinius' eyes, he nods to him and says, "I'll take it."

No soone has he said that than there is a sudden flaring of brilliant blue light, surrounding him, dazzling his vision -

...and then, darkness.

At first, he thinks he must have been tricked. That the strange demon he had been talking to had cast some sort of spell on him and hypnotized him, or something, and sent him to some hellish purgatory.

But this doesn't feel that way. This is...comfortable. Relaxing. Peaceful.

He can feel, still, the writhing, outraged cry of the demon within him, but now, for the first time in his life, it is a distant, almost impersonal thing. Something he doesn't have to focus on. In fact, as soon as he thinks to himself that he wishes it would just shut the f*ck up...it does.

Just like that.

It is a strange thing, he thinks, to be adrift like this...nothing to see, no where to stand. And as soon as he thinks that, he feels as though he is standing on something...level...and from above him comes a brilliant, sapphire blue light.

He looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. There, descending towards him, is an angel.

Not just any angel - a beautiful, brilliant blue angel, lit up as though she were made of sapphire light, huge, brilliant blue wings spread as she comes down towards him and lands in front of him. No sooner have her feet touched the ground than she walks right up to him, a lovely, shapely object of beauty such as none he has ever seen. She reaches out and strokes his cheek, and it is then that she speaks to him.

"Ah, Kaleb Holliday...you are the new master of the Second Amulet of Avalon. Ah...a demon...your life has been full of anger at God, and your mother...those you see as making you waht you are. And guilt for the pain , death and suffering you ahev caused. You have remarkable gifts, my new friend...and yet all you see them as is curses. And yet you have never let these things corrupt your soul - you have too much love for your own humanity, a want to be better than what you are, the strength to rise above your flaws. You will make a great Guardian, my friend, despite what you have come from. You have your demon, yes you do, and so I gie you the gift of control over that which you despise about yourself, without sacrificing its capabilities. You will have need of them. Beware, however, that there will be times that you will still have to work at it - but should you ever need help, call on me - I will be your guardian angel against the darkness in your own soul."

The angel draws closer to him, her eyes just inches from his now. "And now, my friend, one final gift, a simple gift, as you have persevered all this time with this curse, as you refer to it, with no help from anyone save yourself - I give you the gift of peace, both for yourself and to grant to anyone who feels they need it. Farewell, Kaleb Holliday, the demon with the heart of a man. And never forget - we are Guardians!"

She leans forward, the light from her body and wings enveloping him, surrounding him...he feels a phantom touch of lips against his...

...and suddenly, the light fades from his eyes, leaving him standing in the darkened alleyway, the one who calls himself Lupinius still standing before him.

At first, he thinks, he doesn't really feel any different - and then, he realizes.

Silence.

Peace. No turmoil, no feeling of something writhing within trying to claw its way out, and lastly, no anger.

No hate.

He feels...peace.

Wow...

He looks up again at Lupinius, a smile touching his lips for what feels like the first time in ages. "I...thank you, mon frere...you did not lie...you gave me a gift, indeed."

He looks down at his amulet again, just in time to see it give another glimmer of sapphire blue light, then looks back up at Lupinius again. "So...what are we about now...?"