Chapter 7

My first hunt was for a nest of vampires that were breeding in Detroit. Thirty-two monsters, heads flew off just like that. If I ever got into Highlander, I'd be a major star. I got to them the usual way, namely the news on TV about the increase in missing people.

Yes yes, even I sometimes need to rest more mentally than physically, but I do. I decided to do this on purpose, I even found out that the hunters were preparing a raid.

Thirteen people got together, came to the warehouse where the bloodsuckers clumped together, picked up the cold stuff like machetes, knives, axes, one even had a katana. Syringes with dead people's blood on them, all dressed up. They were about to surround the building, but then the warehouse door opened and out came me. Covered in blood, I held a straight one-handed sword with a meter-long blade.

What can you say to people who aim a dozen different guns of varying caliber at you?

- Hello, lads. - I waved. - What's the occasion? If you're going to a party, it's a little late. - Silence was my answer.

I can understand them. A guy in his twenties said he'd carved not the smallest nest of vampires himself.

- Who are you, kid? - Asked me, apparently their leader, a man with a cap and a beard. Hmm, something familiar. Oh, fucking paranoia, Bobby Singer, this is going to be a useful introduction.

- Hello again, my name is Adam and I'm an alcoholic... uh, killed everyone here, here. - and waved my sword at them.

- And you killed everyone there yourself? - I could tell by my voice that they didn't believe me - Don't do anything stupid, kid. - Without even waiting for an answer, they started to surround me. - We need to make sure you're human.

- No problem man. - I answered and handed one of the hunters my sword - Careful, it's very sharp. - I warned him by raising my hands. And here we go. Lift your upper lip, drink holy water, poke yourself with a silver knife. They even threw a handful of salt at me. - Well, will I live? - I asked mockingly.

But I was not answered, the hunters who checked the warehouse came back and confirmed everything. And then I was invited to the bar to celebrate the successful hunting and to get to know each other better. It is clear and understandable that they do not trust me and will continue to check, I do not mind, let them. But new acquaintances will come in handy.

- How did you get to this point, boy? - Bobby asked me. - You don't get into this shit from a good life.

- Totally with you, Mr. Singer, but when your parents get killed by demons, you got no choice. So I grew up, built up some muscle, learned about all that supernatural shit, and now I'm gonna do some good and do some justice. - I joked at the end.

- That doesn't explain how you single-handedly chopped up a bunch of bloodsuckers. - He didn't appreciate my feeble attempts to lighten the mood. The rest of the hunters were listening in. - The man can't do that, can you explain?

- And maybe it's none of your business? - The silence was my answer.

- Not ours, but maybe we'll learn something useful. For the hunt, of course. - Bobby spoke, unobtrusively demonstrating his slyness.

- Fuck it, look, I don't mind. - Why, I don't feel sorry. - I met a witch a couple of years ago, he likes to play poker, and the stake is years of his life, you lose - you grow old, win - you get back your youth, or you live longer, you understand the scheme? - I clarified. I was nodded, and a few not young hunters began to think.

- And so. - I go on talking. - I won a hundred years from him, and in exchange for eighty, I bought a couple of weak spells, which were very useful in hunting.

That's how he decided to legalize some of his opportunities.

- Did you kill him? - One of the hunters asked a question.

- No. Why? - I was really surprised by this question, and I didn't hide it from the others.

- Why? - Now he was surprised by my answer, and not only him, a couple of hunters also looked at me "askew", - he's a damn sorcerer who kills people, and you let him go, - continued to rant the hunter. - Maybe you're in on it.

- Calm down, Glen," Bobby interrupted this angry tirade. - But the question is, boy? - That's for me.

- Why kill him? - It's a rhetorical question, so I'll go on. - He doesn't force anyone to his table, and he warns them of the consequences. You want to play, you don't want to go.

- You don't know shit. - that asshole Glen practically yelled at me. - We don't just do our jobs, kill freaks like him so other people can live in peace. Every one of us has lost loved ones.

- Look, man, you got your opinion, I got mine. - looking at him, calmly trying to explain my point of view, I did not want to argue with him, but I will not allow myself to push. - First of all, I'm not going to be insulted by a smelly drunk like you," the commotion at the bar died down, and a guy named Glen tried to hit me.

- Rigescunt indutae. - A few words in Latin, and the hunter freezes. - Secondly: I kill monsters, not wipe people's snot, if someone wants to fuck up his life in cards, let him, it's not my business, if he sold his soul to a demon for an extra two centimeters in his underpants, then again I will not run and rescue from the Hellhounds, but the demon itself will be swatted. I hope you understand.

- I do, Adam, I do. - Bobby said in a conciliatory tone. - Just let Glenn go, he's a little drunk.

- That's... - I scratched the back of my head - and I don't know how, but in about ten minutes it would pass itself - and smiled halfway across my face.

A second of complete silence, and the hall burst into laughter from a dozen tinned throats. Poor Glen had to listen to stupid jokes for ten minutes, which didn't lift his spirits at all. But he never touched me again.

And so began my hunt. I seldom picked up my own cases. Mostly it was Bobby who got me jobs. And I suddenly liked that kind of life. Maybe it was because I was a fan of the show, or maybe it was because I wasn't threatened by the usual monsters.

I flew around the country killing bad things, saving people. Sometimes I got bored at times like that, so I took the seals off my bones and went out to kick the feathered assholes, they found me fast enough. I tried to be quick to kill, devour, steal a blade, and get away.

I met with Gabriel, found out which of the pagan gods he knew. We were not friends, but I did not want to quarrel over such a trifle. So I told him. I was given carte blanche for all but his girlfriend. Yeah... You don't need any enemies with friends like that.

I asked Singer to let me know exactly what happened. For which I soon got the nickname, Godkiller.

Loud and pathetic, just the way I like it. In my defense, I can say that the pagans added a lot of bogatyr strength. In just one year I had increased my power by forty percent. Hehe, I will soon catch up with Gabriel. But only in quantity of strength, not in quality.

I've also become a kind of rapid-response service. The fact that I could move anywhere, of course, no one knew, but the fact that I am fast enough to appear in the right place is not difficult to notice. No one asked any questions about me, or that I wasn't a demon, or that I was pulling guys out, or whatever. So if any hunter is fucked up, they call me. Already a dozen of them owe me a favor.