‹ Prequel: In the Night
After the Sun Sets
Prologue
The broad-shouldered man watched on absently as the grayish deformed creature before him hurled a heavy wooden chair across the room, the object splintering into countless pieces. He heaved a bored sigh, glancing around the empty restaurant. It seemed like such a strange place, with tacky decor littering the walls. Humans were quite peculiar; they gathered into groups to eat. How strange. Nonetheless, it was where the spirit had requested to return.
He was only mildly surprised by the anger the apparition exhibited. Souls were malicious, horrid creatures by nature, but even this was extreme. The man watched on quietly as the beast went about shattering glass tabletops and destroying more furniture, tilting his head slightly. Someone or something in his former life had certainly pissed him off. The man ducked swiftly as a picture frame sliced the air over his head, imbedding itself in the wall behind him.
"Hey," he snapped, "Watch it."
The spirit ignored the man and went about ripping the room to pieces. The man huffed and straightened his dark leather jacket over his black shirt, his red eyes watching the creature with disinterest. His pupils were black slits and his hair was a rich brown, short on the sides and longer on top. His skin was on the pale side, and his teeth were gleaming and sharp. The man was unnaturally tall and well-muscled, navy blue jeans skimming his legs and black boots on his feet.
Just as the man's red eyes began to wander the walls of the destroyed restaurant once more, a particularly loud crash sounded through the room, echoing off the walls. He snapped his attention back to the spirit, noting the large pile of shattered ceramic vases lying at his feet. The man frowned.
After a brief glance at the worn, scratched watch on his wrist, the man returned his eyes to the spirit.
"All right, all right, that's enough. Do you remember what you're here for?" he asked quickly, his patience suddenly worn thin. He didn't have much time left. The beast before him nodded eagerly. The faintest of smiles cracked the corner of the man's mouth. "Then go get 'em, boy."
The spirit raced past the man, headed for the front door of the restaurant. He was only a few feet from the exit when a dark, looming figure appeared before him, clad in a black dress shirt tucked into the same shade of dark pants.
Azrael stuck out an arm, his fingers collapsing around the spirit's throat. The soul was drawn within him almost immediately, and the room was swallowed by silence. The Reaper turned his eyes to the man before him, the younger creature half scowling, half smirking.
"Chasner," he said stiffly, his eyes boring into the man before him.
Chasner huffed as he was addressed, "Father." The smirk on his lips grew, and a moment later, he vanished from sight.
He was only mildly surprised by the anger the apparition exhibited. Souls were malicious, horrid creatures by nature, but even this was extreme. The man watched on quietly as the beast went about shattering glass tabletops and destroying more furniture, tilting his head slightly. Someone or something in his former life had certainly pissed him off. The man ducked swiftly as a picture frame sliced the air over his head, imbedding itself in the wall behind him.
"Hey," he snapped, "Watch it."
The spirit ignored the man and went about ripping the room to pieces. The man huffed and straightened his dark leather jacket over his black shirt, his red eyes watching the creature with disinterest. His pupils were black slits and his hair was a rich brown, short on the sides and longer on top. His skin was on the pale side, and his teeth were gleaming and sharp. The man was unnaturally tall and well-muscled, navy blue jeans skimming his legs and black boots on his feet.
Just as the man's red eyes began to wander the walls of the destroyed restaurant once more, a particularly loud crash sounded through the room, echoing off the walls. He snapped his attention back to the spirit, noting the large pile of shattered ceramic vases lying at his feet. The man frowned.
After a brief glance at the worn, scratched watch on his wrist, the man returned his eyes to the spirit.
"All right, all right, that's enough. Do you remember what you're here for?" he asked quickly, his patience suddenly worn thin. He didn't have much time left. The beast before him nodded eagerly. The faintest of smiles cracked the corner of the man's mouth. "Then go get 'em, boy."
The spirit raced past the man, headed for the front door of the restaurant. He was only a few feet from the exit when a dark, looming figure appeared before him, clad in a black dress shirt tucked into the same shade of dark pants.
Azrael stuck out an arm, his fingers collapsing around the spirit's throat. The soul was drawn within him almost immediately, and the room was swallowed by silence. The Reaper turned his eyes to the man before him, the younger creature half scowling, half smirking.
"Chasner," he said stiffly, his eyes boring into the man before him.
Chasner huffed as he was addressed, "Father." The smirk on his lips grew, and a moment later, he vanished from sight.
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Hello, again!