The city was in ruins, a darkened messed of burnt buildings and stray rubble under a reddened, smoky sky. Cars were tossed aside and strewn about like candy wrappers. Light poles, recently used as baseball bats, now lay on the ground, bent and useless for their previous task of lighting the night. In the distance, you could still hear distant howls and roars where the demons dwell.

A lone woman lay on the ground, sobbing, her face covered by black ash and her own tangled brown hair. She tugged uselessly where her leg was caught under a girder. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked in the distance, at a blanket-wrapped bundle. The ground shook, and she felt true fear.
"MY BABY!" she cried. Something had started tipping over a nearby apartment building, and it began to teeter downward, like a massive hammer towards the defenseless infant.
"MY BAAAABBYYYYY!"

A short distance down the street, yet more carnage ensued. An entire bus of people who failed to evacuate, now stood like sardines in a can as it was surrounded by merciless Hell Prides. The lesser demons slowly made way for a Wrath to march forward, carrying a heavy bomb on its shoulders. The humans inside screamed.

Above the city itself, a military helicopter was engaged in combat against a swarm of large, batlike demons. Its autocannon made short work of the ones it could hit, but it quickly grew useless as sheer numbers began to pry at the armor playing. The pilot inside drew his pistol, shouting and aiming at a gaping maw on the cracking windshield.

As if in answer to the womams desperate prayers a man tore out of a nearby alleyway into the street between her in the child. He looked round wildly, saw the women trapped, followed her eyes toward the bundle, then let his eyes straight upward to the building that was even now starting to tumble down. He took a deep breath, then sprinted toward it.

He reached the infant, sliding like a pro base runner to scoop it up, just as he heard the crack of the building giving way. He spun on his heel and began desperately sprinting back as rubble started falling all around him like driving snow. He cleared his mind of all else but the sound of the rubble falling through the air, shutting out the stench of acrid smoke, the horrid glare of distant fire, the screams of mother and child. Like water he seemed to flow around the debris falling towards him without losing even a hint of speed until the final titanic and the rushing of wind and dust broke through to his mind. He hunkered down to the ground, cradling the child to protect him from any more flying rocks, and waited for the dust to clear.

He turned round to see the building smashed to pieces on the ground barely a few yards away. He smiled. "A miracle!" he shouted, turning to the fussy child cradled in his arms. "You see little one, if I had been but one moment later we both would have been pulp! But I was not late. I showed up precisely when I did. That is what is called a miracle!"

The explanation of the nature of miracles did little for the childs mood. In fact having this large, red faced man shouting at it only seemed to increase its distress. Grigori frowned at this as he walked toward the woman. "Come now little one. You're mother is already worried sick. Show her a happy face, huh?" He faced a finger in the air, the tip of it glowing so faintly as to be impossible to see. He brought it down, tapping the babies nose with a light "boop." The change was almost instant. The baby quieted and looked confused for a moment, then its face broke into a wide grin that Grigori returned. "There, see?"

He knelt and handed the the women her baby before moving to the Girder that had her trapped, taking a deep breath and gripping it with both hands to wrench it up and free her.

An extremely loud shout echoed through the streets saying one word. "HEATHENS!" As the echo reached the Hell Prides, thousands of papers started to swarm around the entire group. "Did you think you would get away with killing this many innocents?" As soon as the figure finished his sentence he lifted his right hand and started to produce silver knifes flinging each one into either a lesser demon's heart or head. About 30 seconds later, half of the Hell Prides were on the ground, slowly turned to ash.

"My name is Black Mist, nice to make your acquaintance." Then he smiled as he pulled out a giant silver cross blade about the size of himself. That smile not only made the people on the bus somewhat nervous, but even the Wrath was somewhat unnerved by that smile. Black Mist started to run through the crowd of demons slicing them like a hot knife through butter. He kept cutting a swathe through the lines of enemies, and even had time to stop and throw knifes at the ones he missed with his cross. He finally reached the Wrath, and he stopped That is one big demon."Hey! You better either swallow that bomb, or I'll stuff it down your throat!" The Wrath proceeded to try and throw it at the bus, but the 35 knifes now in his arms said otherwise.While the bomb was over his head his arms slowly and painfully burnt to a crisp, and the bomb fell down right onto his skull. Which didn't do much, but then Black Mist cut off his jaw and then stuffed the still active bomb down his throat. "And to make sure you don't upchuck it!" Black Mist sticks three knifes through its throat.

As Black Mist walked toward the bus he snapped his fingers and the paper notes surrounding the group now solely swirled around the Wrath, and the explosion was contained within the notes, but the notes were destroyed afterward. He wiped out the blood, and cleared his throat. "My children are you okay?"

A few dozen miles away from the city, there was a gas station. It sold gasoline for two dollars and seventy-five cents a gallon, and sold terrible snack cakes for a dollar and sixty-nine cents a package. Nonetheless, it faced quite a lot of business due to its savvy location and the immediately recognizable shell logo it had emblazoned on top of the roof. It serviced trucks, sedans, minivans, jeeps, motorcycles, and even an APC once, though nobody knew who owned that one. Currently, it was serving a perfectly-preserved Spanish man-o-war, which was odd because the nearest body of water was a small lake eighty miles away and the Spanish naval empire was dismantled over a century ago.

Situated at Pump #1 was a sour-faced Spaniard wearing a 16th-century nobleman's clothing and someone who, by every metric of his being, demonstrated that he was the first mate of a ship, presumably the man-o-war mentioned previously. The Spaniard's eyebrows furrowed as he experimentally prodded at some buttons on the pump. Unsatisfied with the results this was getting, he turned to his first mate.

"So," said the Spaniard, "you're supposed to swipe this card in this... device, and then you pull the trigger on the gun to make it discharge oil?"
"Aye, cap'n! Leastwise, that's what t' tradesman said when Yangqui put the sword to 'is throat." said the first mate. The Spaniard did so, causing the display to read "SWIPE AGAIN".
"It's not working, Mister Edwards!" the Spaniard growled. The first mate scratched his head and glared at the card. He tried swiping the other side of the card, which seemed to work. Laughing triumphantly, the Spaniard unhooked the gas nozzle and squirted an experimental spray of petrol on the ground. Satisfied, he squirted it into an old-fashioned gas lantern and handed it to his first mate.
"Have the men fill the rest of the containers, Mister Edwards," said the Spaniard, "and I expect not to hear of any more issues today. Return to the ship when you've finished."


The Spaniard looked up to the hull of his ship, towering over him and the gas station. After a brief moment of calculation, he unholstered a pistol from his hip and aimed it at the ground behind him. With a terrifying

the Spaniard sent himself spiraling skywards. At the top of his ascent, the Spaniard hurled himself forward and swung over the railing on the top of the ship in one smooth motion. "Attention!" a voice cried, "Cap'n Alonzo's on the deck!"

Captain Alonzo holstered his pistol, and strode to the ship's helm. Navigator Juarez extended his rotting arms in a stiff salute, and moved to Alonzo's side.
"Barometric pressure's dropping, cap'n," growled the navigator, "there's a storm on the horizon. Your orders?"
"Stay on course, mister navigator. Mother's magic predicted an... event would be happening somewhere in this area. The fabric of reality is growing thinner here, and we need to be there before it disappears entirely."

Alonzo turned to address the forecastle. "Midshipman Briggs!" Alonzo roared. A timid-looking skeleton wearing far too much jewelry for its own good stood to attention. "Unfurl the Spectre-Sails and call the men back to the ship! Come hell or high water, we will reach the city square before the storm breaks!"

With a mighty roaring sound, the ship's masts flared to life with a canvas blazing green transluscent cloth. Bathed in a corona of ethereal energy, Alonzo gripped the ship's wheel tightly and turned it to face the road. Like a ghost on roller skates, the man-o-war glided weightlessly along the streets, aimed directly towards the middle of the city.

Zacharias looked out upon the chaos of the city, frowning. For God's beloved children to be brought so low, and for the demons to revel in their debauchery made him ill. It was a sickening sight, to be certain, but then again that's why he was here. He bit down on his cigarette, which crumpled, and loose ash fell onto his cassock.

But that was fine. Black didn't stain.

He dropped his gigantic briefcase, which hit the ground with a resounding thunder that promised penance to the heretics and cracked the already damaged pavement under its weight. He flicked it open, and claimed his partner: the Al Azif. He took its great heft into both hands and looked out at the city once again. Other hunters were already making their moves. One was working on a woman and child while another helped with a bus, leaving...

Damn. The air wasn't exactly Zacharias' cup of tea.

"Leave someone else to clean up the hard one, eh?" he grunted to himself, spitting his cigarette onto the ground and smashing it underneath his heel, "yeah, I guess I could use a warm-up."

He hefted the humongous Al Azif and pointed it at a building. Utilizing the blade and chain combo, he swung expertly to the top of the building nearest the helicopter, landing with a heavy thud and glaring at the bat demons. Doubtless they sensed him now, and were afeard of the holy wrath he would soon bring down on their heads. The smarter ones began to flee right then, but none would be spared.

"And Elijah said to them," Zacharias shouted, revving the Al Azif which joined him in his holy unholy roar, "Seize the prophets of Baal; let not one of them escape!"

The blade shot out of the housing faster than a blink and immediately sliced a few of the hellspawn in two. He yanked it backward, the engine shrieking the knowledge of death to every demon there, and swept it around again, expertly carving every demon surrounding the helicopter and leaving the aircraft untouched. The blade sliced through the air and back into the housing, and the engine purred satisfactorily, as if the blood of evil had quenched some great thirst. Blood splattered all over his sunglasses.

"And Elijah brought them down to the brook Kishon and slaughtered them there," he grunted, lighting another cigarette and crunching down on it, "they should have known. Looks like these kiddies missed Sunday school."

Well, class was in session.

Meanwhile as the city found itself under the threat of devilish terrors, both known and perhaps unknown, and at the same time being relieved of them, there was a much more horrific scene going on. Yes, anyone would say that demons attacking your town is spooky and those off-kilter would just say kooky, these creatures caused a much, much, much more vile problem to occur within most of the city and slightly outside the city.

Traffic Congestion.

It is here far enough away from the demons to take action but still close to be effected by this supernatural strife, where we set our scene upon a white Ford Escort which was angrily blaring its horns and blending in with the cacophony of other angry motorists.

"I GOT MILLIONS I GOT RICHES BUILDING IN MY DNA" blared out from the radio in the car as the middle-aged man slammed his hand on the horn again. "Come on assholes! Some of us have client visits to do!" howled out Saxton Cane who began smacking both of his fists against the wheel. After a few seconds of venting his aggression Saxton sighed and adjusted his glasses, "I should have just taken a taxi, at the least I would be wasting some other prick's gas..." Cane grumbled out before just setting his car into park seeing as he wasn't going anywhere soon.

Saxton turned to the passenger seat and began stroking his briefcase that was in the passenger seat, "Soon enough I will visit my client, and I am definitely charging extra for the travel expenses today." Saxton opened up the glove department to check on his pens, retrieving a ballpoint and then reached into his pocket to pull out a business card. After testing the pen to make sure it was still good, which it was, he placed it in his pocket next to his cards. On the floor of the passenger seat, Saxton Cane took the fastfood bag which accidentally slid there and placed it on his lap. Carefully Cane pulled the yellow wrapping paper that encapsulated his burger and began to chow down while bobbing his head to the melodic rap tunes playing from his radio.

Hopefully his day would go smoother once he could get through this traffic.

From the top of a distant hill, the 7 feet tall behemoth known only as Tyr gazed upon the chaos currently engulfing the poor city. He imagined that there were already demon hunters taking care of the beasts prowling around, but it wouldn't hurt at all to lend them a helping hand.

Or, better yet, a hammer.

After hefting the Hammer of Justice over his shoulder, Tyr began running as fast as his mechanical body could manage. A few small, bat-like demons flew around him as he rushed, but they were quickly disposed of with a simple swing of the hammer. An experienced demon hunter like Tyr would be absolutely worthless if he allowed such cannon fodder to kill him now.

While he ran, Tyr noticed a familiar face inside a car. Saxton Cane, a supposed 'fellow law-bringer' and demon hunter. He seemed to also be intent on stopping the demonic chaos currently occurring, and Tyr was, despite having less than positive opinions on the man, willing to assist his fellow demon hunter.

The 7 foot tall mechanical behemoth made a rather risky move; after coiling up his legs like springs and releasing, Tyr grabbed the car with his free hand during the resulting long jump, held the vehicle high, and began running on the sidewalk towards the chaos.

"It's been a while, Mr. Cane," Tyr remarked, keeping his sights set on the center of the city engulfed in chaos. "Have you ruined the lives of any fellow humans lately? Or would you prefer to bring down judgment upon these demonic cretins, like a true demon hunter should?"

@Pleek

While Zacharias may have been unaffected by the demon blood, the pilot certainly wasn't. The black, tarlike substance splattered all over the helicopter's rotors, solidifying rapidly and jamming the motor assembly. The gunship began to lose altitude as the movement of it's blades slowed.

Suddenly, the silhouette of a woman doing a sickass toe grab rocketed off the roof of a nearby motel, trailing a cloud of frost. She let go, slicing the door off it's hinges with an intensely radical 720 and swinging herself into the cockpit feet-first. Scooping the panicking pilot into a princess carry as she passed through, the woman slid across the bay and through the other side, kicking the opposite door open in one smooth motion.

Gliding out of the chopper on an aerial avalanche, she transitioned into a heel slide and skidded to a halt on the pavement as the helicopter crashed and the loosed rotors became a terrifying buzzsaw of knife-edged death, conveniently mowing down a number of Prides milling about in the background and embedding itself in a wall. The snowboarder looked over at Zacharias as she unceremoniously dumped the still-screaming pilot into a snow bank.

"Gotta snow down there, padre! Keep the oneliners for after you save people, alright?"

Finishing his cheap and not that nutritious fastfood burger Saxton Cane balled up the paper and tossed it on the ground of the passenger side. The attorney placed his left hand on the steering wheel as he began to bob his head to the radio to the latest song blaring from the car speakers.

"NOW HERE'S A FUNKY INTRODUCTION OF HOW NICE I AM..." Saxton Cane felt the groove flowing through him as it made the traffic seem less bad; after all he was going to charge his client more for these travel expenses after all. As Saxton Cane allowed his mind to linger on those thoughts he felt a very prominent disturbance as if his car was being jacked or towed with him in it.

Glowering he turned down the radio and opened his side window. It was at this moment he saw that the "The Machine They Call Tyr" was responsible for lifting up the car and actually moving it towards the city. Saxton Cane adjusted his glasses, removed his seatbelt and brought his briefcase a bit closer to him.

"So..." Saxton Cane began, "Tinman we meet again. It does not appear as if you have learned anything from Tijuana. So I will make my statements for the record brief so you can follow them." Cane cleared out some phlegm from his throat as he started up again. "The first and, perhaps most noteworthy, error you have made in your speech is thus; you did not refer to me by my correct honorifics. You do not address me as a mere Mister Cane, you address me as Special Attorney Cane or Cane Esquire."

"Second" Saxton elaborated further as he stuck out his index finger, "You have not specified the definition of ruined. And more important than that lack of clarity your tongue writhed out those words in a..." Mister Special Attorney Saxton Cane Esquire took a somber expression as he mulled the word for dramatic effect as if he was pulling at the heartstrings of jurors, "scandalous manner. I might allow you to recant that and not take you to court over your words in some attempt to harm my personal character as long as you safely get me to my client..."

"And of course lastly any man can judge, but it takes a superior man to prove or disprove guilt. And I am that superior man. And you are using that term wrong. It is not a matter of bringing judgment; what you speak of is just simply an execution, maiming or brutalizing, assuring a kill if you will."

Saxton Cane reached into his pocket and pulled out a card from his stack of business cards. He reached out of the window and held it down in an attempt to show it to the metal man known as Tyr.

"I always carry my 'Official License to Maim'." Showing off the laminated license he returned it to his pocket and pointed at the city. "Drop me off at Lukewarm Avenue. I'm expecting my client there."

@GarlandDaHero

As soon as the despicable attorney known as Saxton Cane began speaking, Tyr was reminded of why he could not stand the man. Groaning to himself, he kept his sights set on the city as he listened to the human filth talk. The Tijuana incident, which was mentioned immediately after Saxton called Tyr 'Tinman', was a very sensitive nerve to touch upon so freely. If he wasn't a fellow demon hunter, Tyr would have abandoned the man right then and there.

Honorifics? Saxton deserved no honor at all. The cretin gave law a bad name, and, as such, any formal titles such as 'Special Attorney Cane' or 'Cane Esquire' were wasted on such a man. The shortest straw was all he deserved.

Proof of the fact was given when Saxton continued to berate Tyr, going so far as to call his manner of speaking 'scandalous'. It was ironic to hear those words come from a man such as Saxton Cane, to be sure. He was already considering throwing the dastard to his destination. Waste of flesh.

And then Saxton 'Ha! Your Case Was In Vain' Cane began denouncing the righteous judgment Tyr was ready to rain down as thoughtless murder. Not only that, but the absolutely vile attorney apparently had a license for not only 'law', but 'maiming' as well. Tyr's sanity was at its end. He needed some catharsis.

Now.

"Saxton Cane," Tyr bellowed, picking up the pace on his running, "by the power invested in me, I hereby sentence you to having the rest of your pitiful day spent picking off the hellspawn demon hunters like you should be disposing of!" After directing his gaze upwards at a very large, condor-like demon, Tyr pulled back the arm that was carrying Saxton's car...

...and tossed it at the flying demon.

After drawing a heavy sigh, Tyr mentally began begging forgiveness from Lady Justice, and continued running towards the city being engulfed in chaos. Saxton would, for better or worse, end up surviving such an experience. After all, he was a demon hunter.

Some were just more deserving of the duty than others.

@Pleek

@David Gorgon

"Hold that bus!" Shouted Grigori, running up with the women and child cradled in his arms. The woman's leg was beyond his abilities to heal, but he had at least managed to completely staunch the flow of blood. As he approached and raised one hand to the man in black. "Namaste, brother. I witnessed your explosion from up the street. Very nice." He said, walking past and tapping on the buses door. "Room for two more in there?" He asked. "And is there a doctor? This woman leg needs to be set." Girgori had never really concerned himself with how to treat injuries, either before or after his enlightenment. It hadn't seemed pertinent at either time, so he unfortunately could not do much more than this. "Do not worry, good people. You will escape. If God had intended that you should die, he would not have put us here."

"That was a rather cool save," Zacharias called, sliding down the building with the Al Azif and landing with a profound thud in front of the snowboarder, "I had assumed a military helicopter could withstand the blood of that which they were sent to destroy, but evidently I was wrong."

Zacharias shrugged.

"But I bet someone is regretting the whole 'separation of church and state' thing now, huh? This guy knows what I'm taking about," he said, gesturing vaguely to the pilot who, at this moment, was seeing his own mortality swimming in the pool of gore around him, taking in the ambient noise of the screams of the innocent, and joining them in their song. Right now he was seeing either heaven or hell, and either way, he would never be the same.

"But look! By divine providence, he has been saved! Many thanks to you. I am father Zacharias," said the priest, extending his hand, "ice to meet you."

With Tyr knowing it had failed in the art of discussion, persuasion and banter, he had no choice but to throw Saxton Cane's Ford Escort into the condor demon circling around the city. Special Attorney Cane knew what Tyr meant by this speech, but sadly he wouldn't have enough time to officially announce all the charges. So he had to make it short.

"I WILL SEE YOU IN COOOOOOOURT!" screamed out Saxton Cane shaking his fist while his car barreled far into the sky. Moving quickly Saxton opened his glove box to pull out copy of his vehicle's insurance policy. Jamming it into his back pocket, Saxton Cane flung open his car door and took a hold of his briefcase. Cane gritted his teeth, crouched down on his seat and popped his head out.

Special Attorney Cane took a deep breath out as he knew what he had to do.

"It looks like I am going to have to juuuump~!"

And lo did Saxton Cane lunge out of his vehicle as it made its way to slam into a gummed up military helicopter. Kicking his feet back and extending both of his arms as far as he could, the attorney desperately tried to grasp onto something. In the end he managed to lock one of his hand on a side of a building. With one hand clutched onto the ledge, and the other clutched onto his briefcase Cane knew he was not in a good position.

More so as he felt his fingers twitching and losing its grip on the structure.

"SOMEONE, ANYONE, HEEEELP! I WILL CHARGE YOU SLIGHTLY LESS FOR LEGAL REPRESENTATION!"

AND THERE WAS MUCH REJOICING. The crowd inside the bus cheered as a group of mostly battle-priests excised the demons assaulting them, and the injured mother was carried forward, offering her thanks to Grigori. "You saved my baby!" she repeated. "My baby!"
A shaky bus driver exited the bus, and greeted the demon hunters. "Thank you! Is there any chance you can help us get out of the city? The front tires are slashed, and a scythe was lodged in the engine; I think it cut the gas line."

A short distance away, the helicopter pilot picked himself up from the snowbank, taking a deep breath. "Thanks for the save, kid. The name's Lieutenant Left. I don't know what the hell those things are, but they're more your expertise than the army's, huh?"
He reloaded his handgun, and nodded. "I think I can make it back to base, but listen. There's an attache case a grenadier team left on the roof of an apartment building two blocks north. You might like what's inside."


Harold Robinson was a portly, balding gentleman in an ill-fitting and tacky suit, sitting on a bench on Lukewarm Avenue. He was entirely unaware of the city-wide evacuation, as he had spent the morning watching reruns of Friends. He was also entirely intent on suing Baal and a local business owner after the pair had torn his Cadillac in half during a particularly nasty battle.
"Late again, Cane?" he sighed to himself, wiping his sweaty brow with a hanky. "I swear, we make a killing every time that white haired freak smashes my car. Who the Hell passes up easy money like this?"


A low rider cruised up by Alonzo's ship, blasting what could only be called an obscene mix of heavy metal and Slavic folk music. An Imp poked its head out the window, staring up at the ghostly Spaniard while it puffed on a cigarello.
"Ey mang, you 'ere for the 'thing'? Jus' say the word, mane, I'll 'ave you goin' in an hour, tops."

The mighty prow of Alonzo's ship soared high above the street as it drove ponderously along the street. Having steered itself into the left lane, the ship cheerily tore through traffic. Those too slow to flee their cars were crushed under the ship's relentless keel, passengers and all.

On the bridge, Alonzo relished in the grand nostalgia of captainship, happily aware of the dozens of lives he was destroying with every meter of progress he made. The feeling got him to thinking. All the while he had been mouldering and rotting in his prison, he had only thought of escape. He'd forgotten everythng-- the motivations of his crew, where he had buried his treasure, even the name of his boat. What was the name of his boat? Alonzo decided to give it a new name, whatever its old one was.

"All hands on deck," Alonzo called, "we've been aboard this accursed tub for so long, even its name escapes me. Well, no more! From this day onward, we are all crewed aboard the Revengeance! No longer will we suffer under the shackles of those too afraid to allow us our freedom, and those too proud to relinquish their goods! We will earn our rightful positions on Earth and on Hell! We shall have our revengeance, men!"

A rousing cheer came up from the crew, thrilled at the prospects of plunder in their immediate future. As they worked, they gossipped about glory and victory, and all the lovely shiny things they'd decorate their thrones with.

Somewhere between the smoking ruins of Fifth Street and the cratered mess that was Oak Boulevard, a demon driving a car drove by the ship.

"Cap'n! Thar be a little fellow trying to catch our attention on the port side!" cried First Mate Edwards.

"Oh? What's it saying?" said Alonzo, not taking his eyes off the wheel.

Edwards shrugged. "Dunno, cap'n. 'E's a house-length away from us an' he ain't using semaphores. Your orders?"

"Ah," Alonzo sighed, "have the men shoot the little cretin from the deck. Maintain our course."

A trio of men dutifully brought their muskets to the side of the Revengeance and began taking potshots at the low-riding demon. Though the muskets were hideously inaccurate, the men had nothing but time to practice their marksmanship, and a few stray bullets thudded into the car's windows. The Revengeance sailed on. Alonzo was set to reach the city square within the next few minutes, and he would not be deterred by neither rain nor snow nor debauched demon drag-racing.

@Pleek

Nodding in satisfaction as he watched a distant demon lose its wings, Udrac rolled his shoulders and sighed as the red glow began to recede within him. Taking a moment of calm to resurvey the city, he was quite impressed with the architecture, even if it was quite ruined. He couldn’t remember ever standing atop a building as high as this before; why he could see the very edges of this city from his vantage point.

Of course it also let him see the rampaging demons tearing their way through the city streets below. So small and truly numerous from where he stood, Udrac felt his blood boil as he clenched his fist and hurled another blast downwards. It detonated in the middle of a street, surprising some of the vermin, and giving the fleeing humans a few precious seconds. Hopefully that would be enough. While he longed to descend down and feel the crack of bone against his fists, providing overwatch from his current position was proving to be much more helpful.

Blinking in surprise as a sudden explosion in the air caught his attention, Udrac tilted his head as the injured condor-demon screeched like… well a demon. Grunting as he hurled another blast at the distracted monster, he nodded in satisfaction as the resulting detonation sheared an injured wing clear of the beast’s body and sent it tumbling down towards the ground.

Only then did he become aware of the small silhouette that fell towards a building from the felled demon. “Oh no,” he murmured gravely before he backed up enough to get a running leap and jumped across the gap between the buildings. Cracking the concrete as he skidded to a halt, Udrac hurried over to the edge and grabbed the man’s arm. Heaving him onto the rooftop with casual ease, he smoothed out the man’s suit quickly before looking him up and down before nodding. “Good, you are unhurt, yes?”

@Gentlemanvaultboy
Black Mist nods and agrees with the bus driver. He looks to the priest, "So you're a priest correct? Well good for you brother." Black mist surveys teh rest of the passengers. "I'll do what I can, but we do need a professional doctor for some of these." Black Mist walks over to one of the injured and puts a healing ward holy scripture across the gash in the person's leg. "As long as you don't move too much, you'll be able to heal quicker with this." I look to my scriptures, I only keep a few healing ones on me in case of really bad situations, but this is obviously one of those times. I can image the sadness in the hearts of these people, not knowing whether or not their loved ones are dead, and it sickens me that demons do this for sport.

@Zombehs

With a sigh of relief Saxton Cane adjusted his glasses and stared at the larger fellow who answered his plea for help. He then took a moment to see how well the 'probable juicer' brushed off his suit. Grimacing Special Attorney Cane used his free hand to brush off the sleeve elbow on the side in which the briefcase was being held.

Wordlessly Cane carefully set down his briefcase as he pulled out a single business card and a pen that survived the journey. The Tinman shall rue this day... thought Saxton as with a graceful flourish he autographed the backside of his own business card.

Click.

Returning the pen to his pocket Saxton Cane grabbed his briefcase, and handed the signed card to Udrac. "You must be very honored to receive this one of a kind deal from me. Just present the card back to me when you are in need of legal representation. Understand Tarzan?"

Pushing on the rim of his glasses he scoped the best means of getting down from the building safely. After all he had real business to attend to.

"As for your question," Saxton began, "any and all damages I have been through this day will be proven, perhaps settled outside depending on how much groveling the Tinman will do for I am a genteel man, in the proper arena of Civil Court."

Straightening out his tie, Special Attorney Saxton Cane Esquire once again made sure to find his best manner of escape. "While I am certain you have much admiring of me to do, I really must be going. I have a client waiting for me."

Gears in his head began turning; perhaps he could use this brute to keep further distractions away. After all why bother with the riff raff Demons outside the courtroom?

"Tarzan" Saxton began, "do you want to help more who were unfairly cast into precarious situations? I sense you do, after all you lifted me up from a ghastly affair. I intend to do the same for my client. Help me get to Lukewarm Avenue and you will help more than you could have possibly done alone. So what do you say?"

@David Gorgon
"I'm more worried about the bus." Grigori said t the man as he went about healing the wounded. There wasn't much he was going to be able to do for the engine if it was completely busted, but if the only major damage was the gas line that might be something simple enough that even he could fix it. They certainly couldn't protect these people if they tried to hoof it out of the city, especially with so many of them injured. "We either need replacement parts or another vehicle. I don't think we'll find another bus, but maybe something strong enough to haul this one. A tow truck would be ideal. You seen a garage or something like that around here?"

---

The apartment was dark but for the quiet whisper of the air conditioning. A few dull screams were heard through the walls, causing the covers of a queen-sized bed to shift. A body rolled across the bed to the right to bump into another body. An arm rose until fingers grasped the edge of the blanket and pushed it down to reveal a blonde woman whose locks were strewn across the slumbering man’s chiseled chest and then a red-head who was using his stomach as a pillow. Blindly, for the blonde was too tired to open her eyes, her hand left the blanket to first grasp the fiery head of the red-head before the blonde’s hand rose higher feeling the man’s chest up to his neck. Her hand cupped around his bristly jaw and then rested over his face before she clutched it and turned his head left and right.

“They’re too loud,” the blonde breathed sleepily into his ear. “Too loud…”

Blue eyes cracked open as the blonde’s hand melted down his face, her fingers falling off the cliff of his chin. The man stared groggily up at the ceiling, taking in the apartment room that he just remembered existed. He turned his head, his forehead centimeters from having slammed into the forehead of the blonde woman. His face was barely inches away from her own as he stared at her, trying to remember who the hell she was. Regardless, she was hot—still hot even after the effects of the whiskey wore off. He done good. His head returned up-right, and then he lifted it to peer down his chest at the red-head with furrowed brows. She was pretty too. If only he could remember what happened, he needed more liquor. The man sighed and resting his hands palms-down on the mattress, he sat up and slid his body out from under the red-head. He turned his hairy legs to the side and reached over to grab the bottle of Jack by its brown neck and brought it to his lips. There was about a swallow left that he took into his mouth, swished it around like mouthwash, and then gulped it down his throat. The bottle was returned to the lamp desk as he rose from the bed and padded over to the bathroom.

He could hear the roars and dull screams outside, which didn’t sound like a party. He paused before he entered the bathroom and walked over to his gun belt, drawing Desperado from its holster. Popping open the dial, the gunman peered at the empty slots where rounds were supposed to go and spun the dial with his hand. As the dial spun, a white feathery energy spiraled into the holes, filling them before the man jerked his gun to have the dial clap closed. The man’s face scrunched up as he felt a yawn coming on. He headed back over to the bathroom, yawning heavily as his gun-free hand went to his pale ass cheek to give it a scratch. He flicked on the bathroom light and closed the door behind him.

A loud bang sounded at the apartment door, startling the two women awake. They held the blankets against their breasts, staring like doe at the door until the big, red grunt burst through. The door shattered into splinters as a red, glowy-eyed demon trudged into the apartment. The two girls shrieked in horror and fled from the bed as the demon squealed and dove across the mattress at them. It swung claws that could shred boulders at them as the two nude babes raced over to the bathroom. In their haste to open the door, the door swung open and they tumbled inside to land in a heap before the feet of the gunman who was seated on the toilet with a sleepy look on his face.

The behemoth swam, twisted and crawled until it plopped off the bed and charged the bathroom. Screaming in horror, the women clung to the gunman’s ankles as though expecting him to do something. Lifting his pistol, the gunman stretched his arm out across the sink to his left and pointed the muzzle of the gun at the demon.



The red demon’s head snapped back with a burst of black deteriorating demon cells. Its body thumped upon the ground, dissolving into embers that blew away on an ethereal wind. Bringing the revolver back to his side, his blue eyes lowered to the women who were gawking at the disintegrating demon corpse.

“Ya mind?” he said irritably.

The women peered up at him and then slowly rose to their feet, creeping out of the bathroom and closing it behind them. In the life of a demon hunter, it was just another morning…or was it night? He didn’t know.



The toilet was clogged and the gunman had a plunger and was pumping away at the plumbing trying to clear the drain. The demons didn’t seem like they were going to stop. The girls had long left his apartment after the first invasion, and he was glad they did for if it hadn’t been the demons that would chase them out, it probably would have been the smell. The next demon that snorted, snarled, and screamed its way in to his apartment and over to the bathroom door was met with the end of the plunger. He had pulled it from the toilet and clubbing the beast right between its eyes, sent it reeling back. With Desperado, he shot the demon much like he had shot the first one, sending it bursting into oblivion. The plunger was returned to the toilet as he resumed pumping away.



With a pink showerpuff covered in body wash lather, the gunman scrubbed his neck and shoulders, washing away filth and dead skin cells. He brought the puff to his face, closing his eyes as he scrubbed it with soap. Suddenly, the wall disintegrated as a large fireball sped by to slam into the apartment building behind his. Naked and exposed to the elements and chaos of the demon-infested city, the gunman rinsed his face and turned in the tub to face the city, watching people running around, burning cars crashing into walls, and demons galloping through the streets.

Scowling as his black hair became matted with the water that gushed over it, Wilson grumbled, “Ah hate this damn city…”

He resumed washing himself. Meh.