Stranger Days | Part 1

Dead eyes gazed to the floor, the life of the youthful blue hues had been taken away, leaving only husks of their former brilliance to observe the scene before them. A realization of the current events inflicted the young man with a terrible sense of dread. 

The open windows greeted the night's cold zephyr with open arms to cast the thick smell of iron that filled the air. The curtains blew in the direction of the wind, with the light of the moon casting itself above to illuminate the coils of mortality being broken away. 

"This can't be possible," he muttered, weakly uttering each word as tears welled at the corners of his eyes. 

Images overlapped, the same one played at different angles: the same dead body, with the same pool of blood collecting beneath them which soaked into the dark, hand woven rug and poured onto the oak wood floorboards. He recognized the body, but his disbelief made him deny the possibility that his mind repeated, leaving his mind scrambling for the peace it desperately clung to. 

Pale digits sunk into his silvery locks, his hands clenched strands of hair that risked being torn from his scalp. His knees hit the floor, body hunched over as he leaned over the cold corpse underneath him. 

Reality desperately crawled back to bring himself to the truth that was calling for him. His thoughts collected and ran rampant. 

"My blood…" he said, palms dropping to the ground on either side of him. Slowly, he was accepting the truth that presented itself. The scent that filled his nose was familiar, and he knew it well. It was indeed the blood that belonged to him. "My body…" he added, his head hung low as his eyes locked with the ones of the lifeless husk. The loose fitting white shirt he wore over his malnourished body had been dyed red. The large, jagged slash marks across his back were wide open. 

He was unable to remember the culprit behind those slashes, but they belonged to something of bestial origin. 

What exactly caused this to happen? It was a question that his mind could not answer, calling back to mere minutes before was a struggle that left him with a headache that he felt was ready to split his skull open. 

The idea of this merely being a twisted nightmare was shattered like a pane of glass. The intense emotions that his heart hopelessly worked to contain were real, and he felt the brunt of each one. 

At a snail's pace, he gained the strength to stand back up, a task that proved to be far more arduous than what he thought. Though, with each improvement, he grew closer to accepting everything. It was until he had finally planted both feet onto the ground once again that he gazed up at the starry sky through the opened windows. 

"This is all too unbelievable, but what else can I really say? Can't get any more real than this. But, why am I able to see this?" he'd ask no one, only the howling wind was able to provide a response in the form of blowing more intensely. 

"Shouldn't I be somewhere else? Like, shouldn't I be having my soul judged? Isn't that what happens at the end of something like this?" his next question was ignored, leaving him to come to his own conclusion. 

His train of thought that led him to where he was now had left him in total silence as seconds passed by. 

However, the young man found that his moment to grieve had been cut short by the creaking of hold hinges from a door being opened several feet away. His head turned slowly, matching the pace of the opening door before his lifeless hues met with ones that were an elegant shade of green. 

At her hip was a weapon, her hand tightly gripping the scabbard that was wrapped in a bright red cloth that exposed hints of gold underneath. A small ring made up the pommel, large enough to fit a single finger through, the hilt matched the cloth of the weapon's scabbard. The blade itself was long, and curved slightly. He identified it as a katana, but it seemed too long to be a standard one. 

Her voice was soft, and she spoke into something that resembled a microphone that was attached to an earpiece in her right ear, "Lost spirit found. Possible cause of death appears to be a Daemon attack, with the corpse having slash marks across their back. Remnants of daemonic aura have also been identified. Requesting approval to approach."

She raised her free hand to tuck an umbran lock behind her ear, eyes scanning the boy's movements as though she was ready to attack upon seeing a centimeters worth of change. 

It appeared that the approval she desired had been given to her, as she now took a few steps forward, stopping mere inches away from the boy. Her face remained expressionless, like she was a doll. 

"Name," she'd say, patiently waiting for whatever the boy would reply with in response. 

He'd blink, taking his time to process the situation as it happened rather than instinctively progressing. He gave a quick glance to his body and sighed. "Uh, Aiden. My name is Aiden," he'd reply, he felt as though he had almost forgotten his own name for a moment. 

A soft hum escaped the female, who crouched down to the corpse, closely examining it as though she was a detective. Under her breath, she'd mutter, "Only a few minutes at most have gone by. The marks… there's not much time until…" 

Her words trailed off before she stood up to face Aiden. "Stand back," she commanded, pushing him away before a slip of paper was drawn out from her pocket. Various symbols were drawn along the length of it before she held it over the body. 

"Purge," she uttered, dropping the paper before a faint blue light was emitted from the symbols. It descended before being dropped onto the open wounds, which began to stain the paper in crimson. 

On the other side, Aiden could see another symbol as it fell, but it was unlike the others. It was more of a logo than any mystical rune or any other magical letter that one would see in fantasy books or video games. It was a lion's head with a sword piercing it from the top. 

To him, it felt familiar. He made an attempt to call back to when and where, but the memory was foggy, with an abrupt and sharp pain accompanying it. 

Despite the pain, the sense of familiarity plagued him. He merely wished to save himself from further damaging his psyche. 

"Traces of daemonic aura have been purged. Threat level has decreased. Awaiting next course of action," her monotone way of speaking continued. She was almost like a sort of drone, only moving when given the order and all movements being interrupted upon completion. 

Aiden noticed something about her after just a few observations: only when she was given orders was she able to move. As long as the order was in effect, she can move however she wants and whenever she wants. She had some form of sentience, but it was still limited. 

He had forgotten his current situation, and he started to feel bad for her. He was a man who truly believed in the importance of freedom. Seeing a person who had theirs stripped from them was a terrible way to live. 

The only two questions that he was able to come up with were "why?" and "who"? If his deduction was true… then why was this necessary, and who in their right mind wanted this to happen? 

Aiden kept them to himself. None of it was his business. He understood that well enough. There was no reason for him to step in front of something for someone he did not know. 

Only a moment later, after the glowing symbols had dimmed did black ash rise from the wounds into the open air before disappearing with the wind. Aiden simply watched in confusion. He did not know what to make of it. He asked, "Was that Magic?"

The female turned her head, faintly nodding as the paper disappeared into a faint blue flame, leaving no trace of its existence behind. 

"Humans that die after being attacked by Mother Class Beast-Type Daemons reanimate into living corpses that exhibit animalistic tendencies, such as food scavenging and hunting for prey. "Purging" is important in order to eliminate the first problem," she explained, holding up her index finger before raising another, indicating that there was more to the explanation. 

She'd pause for a moment, however. She felt the air around them suddenly grow heavier. The air that blew in had stopped. The creaking of the floorboards forced all other things to remain silent. Every few seconds, the noise got louder. 

Aiden's brow raised, "What's the..." 

Before he could speak another word, the girl brought her hand up to cover his mouth, with her other hand gripping her sword. His eyes wandered to notice the concealed weapons hidden underneath her gray coat given the closed gap between the two. She seemed excessively prepared for combat situations. 

From around the corner, a low growl was heard, a thick mist from the maw of a preying beast that had finally returned to check on its recent victim. 

With teeth like jagged razors, it revealed itself as a hulking monster, it's body reaching the ceiling on its four legs. It's brown fur was stained with red, with claws that were fit for tearing flesh and bone alike. It had an overall appearance similar to that of a tiger that was mutated to be an evolved killing machine, fit for mass destruction. 

With its fearsome aura that it released, any normal person would have lost their minds and accepted their deaths without resistance. It was like a haze, as the aura radiated forth, blurring Aiden's vision for only an instant before he finally stared into its eyes. 

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨… 𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, Aiden thought, remaining still as he checked how the girl was reacting to the hellish monstrosity.

The stranger beside the lost spirit remained as neutral in her features as ever. 

Her sword had been drawn, with its silver edge facing the monster. 

It's response to the threat, the beast had brought its head low, limbs moving to widen its stance, its claws dug into the wooden floor, splinters and chunks ripped from the surface.

"Mother Class Beast-Type Daemon has appeared. Designated as Prowler Number Ten. Now beginning erasure," she spoke as she readied herself by assuming a stance with both hands holding her sword firmly, her hips squared and prepared for combat.

Without a moment to think about hesitating, Aiden had taken his chance to run. While he was a spirit, he had no idea if the Daemon had the ability to cut him as easily as it did his body. The risk was too great for him to consider staying to find out. So, he swallowed the pride he had and did what was best. 

In a flash, steel against razor sharp claws clashed against one another, ringing through the halls of the small two bedroom apartment that was being torn apart on the inside. 

The floor caved in and cracked, the walls were marked by claw scrapes and cuts from a silvery blade that ripped through the air. It was all accompanied by the horrendous, fear-inducing screams from the hellspawn that desired its claws to taste the flesh and drink the blood of the young girl that threatened its own survival. 

Behind a flipped over sofa with the cushions torn to ribbons, Aiden marveled in horror at the scene. The monster was not what scared him, but the cool-headed nature of the girl. He wondered how someone could possibly keep themselves reserved in the face of such danger. 

His eyes only widened more than before upon witnessing a running stream of red trickling down her leg as the beast had cut her exposed skin. Not a single reaction to the pain came from her, but Aiden's reaction was far more powerful. 

His heart had skipped, and he felt his mouth begin to salivate. It came with no warning, but he felt the urge to feed, as though he had been afflicted with a hunger that had spanned for weeks without even a crumb of food.