“Call me young one more time…” Kalen replied glaring at the Fallen one. “You can call my by my hosts name, Jasper Raven. My name true is not for your ears, fellow fallen one.”

“I have walked for thousands of years on Earth while you play in the pit. I’ve worn fleshling Hosts and done our masters bidding with each of them.”

Turning it’s gaze to Agrid, “Payment before is simply a down payment for actions to be taken. A guarantee of services and a binder of the contract. Perhaps You’re not as high on the food chain as I thought.”

Sitting back he relaxed into a chair and smiled. Inside he was pissed. Sacrifice himself for anothers goals, and if he survived he’d get paid? But the payment if the gamble worked off. Such a payment. “I’ll accept payment after, as long as we have an accord that the one that injured Puriel is MINE! No one slays him but me.”

“We have an old score to settle.” he finished. Yeah, they had a score al right, and Kalen kept coming up short, but he’d kill that self righteous bastard if he had to blow him, and the building he was in, apart.

1881
Tombstone, Arizona
John Henry Holliday / Michael - Knight of the Veil

He’d been using the Doc for to long, some of the people he rode with mostly the Earps were beginning to suspect something was up. Virgil had mentioned how little he’d changed over the years, and then Wyatt’s woman had mention how he still looked so young. So for the past few months he’d taken to biting his inner lip and ‘coughing up blood’. The mortal’s instantly assumed consumption, which had been his plan.

He’d ‘die’ soon and then crawl from his grave, or maybe ride off into the sunset and then hide from the humans, go back east, or go to the far east and live in Cathay or Nippon for a while. He hadn’t een to either for ccenturies, so anyone he had known then was dead now.

And then Morgan – Sheriff - barged into the saloon and told him Virgil was confronting the ‘Cowboy’s, what a fucking name. Dumb ass gang couldn’t even pronounce the word vaquero properly, but then the humans had warped the word Shire-Reeve to be Sheriff, so it was what it was.

“Why is he dong this, ‘John’ had asked.

“”Virgil’s done with them the folk disreputing the Law. And the Law say, ain’t no guns ‘lowed in town ‘cepting by Lawfolk.”

Fifty years. Just fifty years. That’s all John had figured the humans had before they devolved into grunts and hand gestures. A hundred at the most. “And I am to assume the Clanton and McLaury’s have chosen to ignore this Law, again?”

“Yesser, Doc, They have. ‘N Virgil says Claiborne don rustled some cattle the other day as well.”

Looking at the other men at the table he slid his chips forwards. “Call he said, already knowing who had what, and which one of them was planning on slapping leather.

As cards flipped over he slid hi revolver up to the table edge. “Fair and fun, on one needs to die.” He reminded everyone, staring at the one with a hard look.

After swapping chips back to cash he floded his leather wallet up and returned it to he vest thenn grabbed his jacket and left with Morgan.

He heard the hand hitting leather across the room, spun and fired. After the human hit the floor he looked at the bartender. “Money in his wallet is yours. For the cleanup and the funeral He has enough to cover it and then some. Just go cheap.”

***

Kalan was a bit irritated. These dumb fucks were letting the local sheriff run roughshod over them. Telling them what to do? This was the west. And he had rights to carry his weapon if he wanted. The second amendment said so.

They were a gang of man, a group to do as they willed. And it didn’t take long for him and some whiskey to get the ‘Cowboy’s’ riled up enough to challenge that damned LAWMAN Virgil Earp.

It wasn’t until they were in town did Kalan feel the itch on his neck and the cold line on his spine. Angel Born. FUCK where had he come from?

The cold chill of Celestial presence settled in the base of his neck. To late to back out now, and he was done with these damned Humans and their Laws challenging his right to freedom!

He’d found his current host a decade back playing in a yard. A quick conversation, a deal was struck, and poor billy became a host. That had been damned close, he’d almost lost the conection to earth. Banishment back to hell had been his alternative. Now if he was a Shedim he’s just need to touch one, no deal required.

He’d walked away from the corpse of the old woman laying in the streets with his new body. He’d agreed to the bargian, and kept his word ‘Wanna see a dead body?” Grnted it had been his last host’s body. And she was dead.

She’d grabbed William’ hand and wrapped his fingers around the knife, forcing him to plunge the dagger into her heart. Killing her and giving him William’s corrupt soul. Murder. Such a devious sin.

Stepping around the corner he saw the Angelborn in the alley. FUCK! What the fuck was he… Bullets started firing and Billy/Kalan ran like a bitch. Him! Why was he here? Moving to cover he waited for them to exit the alley before he fired, emptying his weapon in their direction, but his aim was off, the host was fighting him. Hard.

He couldn’t aim, couldn’t run. Billy.. why.. oh fuck the little shit human wanted redemption!?!?!

Running hard and fast Kalaln stole a horse and fled. He’d taken a hit to the leg and stomach, but he’d survive. But the wounds burned unnaturally hot. That bastard had blessed his bullets?!

***
Sitting on the edge of the bed, his chest and stomach wrapped up by the local tooth puller and sawbones, ‘Doc’ sighed and looked at the other men. “Time for me to retire.” He told the men in the room. “I know you need me, but I’d like to not die face downin the dirty street.”

“I’d Rather die in my sleep, in bed. Dreaming of Heaven.” Later that night he’d left, thankfully no one had followed him.

20th year of the Reign of Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus
Mikha'el
Standing guard at the foot of the Cross The Roman soldier stared blankly ahead. His thoughts his own as he watched the crowd. The scowl on his face kept people back, but he wasn’t mad at them, he didn’t want to be here, guarding HIM. Why was he being punished?

At five he’d been taken into slavery for the Roman legions. Before he was ten he’d started training as a soldier. The brainwashing was good, but not for him. He’d maintained his mind and loyalties to YHWH, avoiding all but the required subservience to the false ones. Even then he managed to take extra duties to avoid prayers to false gods.

Twenty years he’d serves, at 21 years he was done, freed from service and a citizen of the Empire. Less than six months togo.Six months later n it would have been another soldier here on this day. He didn’t even have to be here today but he’d shifted duties with another weeks ago so he could go pray to his gods, and Mikha'el wouldn’t be required to attend.

“I know your name,” he heard from behind him. Turning to look he saw HIM, the light from the Sun blinding his as he looked up.

“Mikha'el,” He said. “It is time, It must be done.”

Thrusting his spear upwards he pierced the side of He Who Had Come! The ground shook as if a hudred elephants were stomping as one, the sky turned to night and the men and women wailed.

Looking upon HIS face he realized he was gone. An empty form was there now.

He was there when the stone rolled back, the two luminous beings watching him as it moed. Neither touhed it but he knew they were doing it. Magic, their minds, the will of god. It mattered not, the ropes tore themselves in twain and HE stepped forth.

The light was beyond measure, and he couldn’t see for several days after, “Please Lord,” he Mikha'el said, expecting and awaiting Judgment.

“Not yet,” HE had said. “You’ll go home soon, but not today. Your duty I give, to fight evil and slay the fallen where you find them. Until the end of your days.”

And so he had done. If the Order counted his kills the way pilots in WW II had, they’d have given up. Many had been weak, so many had been weak. Some harder and more skilled tha others. Some had even had foul magics, powers gifted from the dark one to advance their dark cause.

But he’d survived, fighting on. Moving as needed to avoid accusations of dark magic and Youthful appearance. Not that he looked young. He’d stopped aging at around Twenty-five. Technically he’d stopped aging the Day Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist and had come into HIS power.

1888
East End, White Chapel District, London, England

Nine dead.

The paper were calling him Jack the Ripper, or the Ripper. Didn’t matter reall, he wasn't even jack. He was Billy Claiborne.

After leaving Arizona he’d hit the east coast and then London. He’d settled down for a little bit before he’d gotten the itch again. Billy was really into it, shooting people and such was a turn on for him.

After they’d arrived here he’d fucked ever whore he could convince that American’s were better. To bad Kalan was taking names and addresses.

And lately Kalan had been going through the whores in the same order as Billy, jut a year after him. To the day. Even the ‘double homicide’ Billy had been horny that night.

Now the city was in fear, the cops had their heads up their asses, and Kalan had already booked passage to France.

The door on the apartment blow open under the pressure of a celestial boot, the man following through with a sureness of motion as Kalen/Billy fell backwards, the tip of the blade missing his face by a measurement one day called a millimeter. But for this time it was called the breathe of a butterfly’s wings. Scrabbling across the floor he evaded the sword, barely, several times he was so lucky and took some light cuts. FUCK!

Kicking a chair he knocked into the man’s legs long enough for Billy/Kalan to stand and access the situation. Who was this fucking fuck?!

“You’re easy to follow,” The man said, his sword barely moving.

“EARP?!” Billy shouted.

“True Enough, Billy Claiborne. True enough.”

“Shit!” Billy said as he ran for a window and dived through it, not even looking to see if it was safe first. Sword or brick, either killed the same. And he’d rather take a brick. That sword was permanent.

Hitting the ground bad Kalan/Billy limped as fast as he could, getting to the crowded area’s as fast as he could and avoiding death. Earp was just another name that son of a bitch had gone by. And the asshole didn’t have the decency to die!