Chronicles Of Heaven And Hell: Life of a Rebel
Prologue: The Bloody Full Moon
I've lived for thousands of years, and during those years I have seen and been many things. Young, its a term we Demons rarely use, but that's what I was then, young. I was also foolish, a thing that always seems to go hand in hand with youth, and lived through a long adventure. That's what this tale is about, its one that I've only told in parts. Young Master Lucas would never sit still long enough for me to even quote a few lines and he's the only one I'd tell.
Now I'm to tell you. I'll start by explaining a few things. I had been living in a sea side town for a few months. After the Rebellion's fall that's all I could do, run and hide for the angels were worse hounds then I was when they hunted us down one by one. I'm not even sure how I had lasted that long… But I digress; I'll start the night before I met Phelicles.
It was a night fit for demons and wolves, as they'd say, with the full moon high in the sky and dyed in bright red casting eerie shadows upon the earth...
Nothing but crickets sounded in the dead of night around the fishing village in the gnarled forest beyond. Most of the animals with safely a sleep in their dens, the others though knew this was not a night to come out.
From the forest eyes the color of hot iron peered with their own eerie glow as the reflected the moon. They watched the very last of the lights being extinguished outside of the inn, hunger deeply set. Its silver fur rippled as it sprinted forth from its place of hiding as subtle as a blade. It crept up beside a hut of thatching and stone to listen to the sound of the occupants. There were four, all breathing softly in a deep slumber. The lithe figure moved to the ajar door a slipped in.
Immediately it saw its first target. A young boy lay on a mat on the floor, his dark curly was springy upon his head and his skin blended him into the tanned leather beneath him. But the creature had no trouble seeing him in the dark of night.
It towered over him at nearly five feet. A creature with wolf-like features, but the proportions were wrong. Too short a muzzle and too long of legs, visibly a creature not of the human world. Its teeth bared and jaws opened slightly to let out hot breath. The boy stirred, but did not wake, not even when the creature snapped his neck and ripped through his throat. No the boy felt nothing, but his blood flowed into the creatures mouth nonetheless. Sweet and metallic, a flavor so addicting that night that as the last tendrils ran dry it found that its thirst had not been quenched. It licked its blood drenched muzzle for traces, but still it craved more. It seemed as if one would not be enough on this night…
As the clouds above the village turned pale grey then to bright oranges and pinks the village awoke to not the sound of the rooster but the screams of a single survivor within a house where her parent's pale forms lay in blood soaked sheets. Half the village was found similarly, with rivulets of blood streaming out their doors. Men, women, and children killed mercilessly in their sleep each with their necks torn open.
The village spent days mourning the dead and cleaning the mess. So preoccupied were they that they failed to notice the oddity of the stranger that walked in only a few days later that, had anyone cared to notice, smelled of blood...