DarkBlood Part 1

DARKBLOOD

PART 1
The Beginning


Chapter 1
Falling
St Austell, Cornwall-14th June 2010

As usual, the sun was high in the crisp blue sky, and the clouds were as sparse as angels in hell. The road on which the Dean family lived was a quiet one, with only nine or so houses situated on their tiny cul-de-sac. However, this day was an exception. The pattern on coloured flags marked the house which on this day was the most important for everyone in any sort of relation with the Deans. This day was the 12th birthday of Jonothan Dean.
         The house was a very ordinary detached house. Orange walls, white window pains and a usual sized front door, decorated with the most intricate lions mouth knocker; the only usual thing that was apparent when observing the house. Much like the house, the Dean family were an ordinary three piece family: a father who was in accounting, a mother in public relations and a son who was enrolled at the secondary school that was situated nearest them, giving easy access to and from school, without the help of his parents.
         The garden was crammed with stampedes of youngsters, consisting of relatives of Jonothan. The children were carved a race course to weave in and around by the array of smartly dress adults, cloaked in top prices suits, good shoes, high heels and pencil skirts.
         
         Jonothan did not join. He felt more contempt sitting in his room, sharing his stories of sorrow and constant boredom with the Chinese fighting fish that stayed captured in a tank, obviously too large for just one. There it waited, lonesome, with its matt black finish. It did, yet, seem contempt swimming in the same routine it had done for the last five years: the rock, the front, the back, the bottom and finally to the rock once again; with only the food to upset this path. The five years it had lasted were unexplained, but no one chose to question it as it kept a clearly disturbed child pleased for a long, unimaginable time.
         
         A cry of plead came from downstairs.
“Jonothan! Are you coming down to say hello?”
He picked himself up off the bed very slowly, swaying his hair out of his eyes in the process, whilst giving a loud grunt signalling his acceptance. The grunt seemed unusual for his age, having sounded more like that of a teenager. Nether the less, his mother acknowledged it as a ‘yes’.
Every step he took as he slowly edged his body down the winding stairs resulted in a magnitude of a bang, closely followed by the creaking of the floor boards as his foot was lifted from them. A mask of gloom and disappointment covered his pure white face, only covered by the freckles he had sported since his birth.
Opening the kitchen door, he was greeted by a mass of presents, all wrapped to perfection, and relatives shoving them at him. His disappointment seemed to expand, as every gesture given was demolished by a resounding sigh that was all the more common as he had aged.
The marble floor of the kitchen was cold, strange for a day of this heat. Most people at the party remained outside, due to that being where most of the conversation and enjoyment was situated. Jonothan did not enjoy the outside. However, he was forced by his mother as she rummaged him through the swarm of business men and women to allow him to be introduced to people he had already met around ten year prior. Besides his age, he still remembered these people, recognizing the way in which they always used the same phrase, “look at how much he’s changed!”
After this, he quickly sat him self in a corner, his feet perched on the edge of the chair and his hands firmly lay on top on his bent knees. He waited there, hoping to stay until the ordeal was over. Yet, this was not the case. Four children, all around his age ran up to him, after being quite obviously told to do so by observing parents.
“You playin’?”
Jonothan looked at his mother, who was stood conversing with a group of young men. She didn’t return his glance. He felt he had no option but to accept the request. After a sharp nod confirmed this to the four boys, he lifted him self off the chair and lowered his legs to touch the ground. As they ran off, through the rusty wooden gate at the bottom of the garden, Jonothan followed behind them slowly, towards the river just down the hill from the house.
The woods splitting the path were darker than usual on this day. Due to the position of the sun and the trees, it appeared that most of the wood was covered in shadow, with only specs of light seeping through the trees like water in a fine sieve. Cheers of joy and happiness from the other four playing down by the rushing river flooded the silence of the forest, with only Jonothan’s footsteps being louder. No birds, crickets, or any other means of sound were to be heard within the blanket of trees. Having never been there before, he had no idea if this was the norm. Most of his life, he had been confined to his room.

He had moved into the house with his father around six years earlier, after the separation of his parents; his mother, keeping the older house, insisted that Tom, Jonothan’s father be the one to move out. His father was a tall man; black hair, jade eyes and a casual sense of dress. He was not outstandingly attractive, more average if any thing. However, he possessed a friendly and calm natured personality which was enjoyed by most who knew him.
To stop argument, Tom agreed with no fuss, on the terms however that he got custody of the child. They had moved from Cambridge to St Austell to escape the rush of modern life, believing it would be more relaxed in the West Country. After two long years of his mother visiting only on school holidays and the occasional weekend, his mother finally broke. Her loneliness overpowered her and she began to regret the separation of which she insisted upon. It was not long before Tom accepted Rachael’s apology and mistake, leaving only an uphill road to them once again being reunited as a whole family.
The remarriage took place shortly after Rachael moved down to St Austell her self. However, the ordeal had left Jonothan feeling alone.
Due to the loneliness of his father during the separation, Tom would go out every night drinking, except on nights when Rachael visited, leaving Jonothan to look after himself: feed and read to himself, and put himself to bed, most of which was done in his room. This was why he was most comfortable in his room, and why he hardly ever left it, besides walking to and from school.
After the reunification of the family, things did not improve too much. Due to the high responsibility of the jobs they both owned, Jonothan hardly got any, if not, no attention from his parents, leaving him scarred and torn mentally. He remained quiet simply because he had no one to talk to and because no one would talk back. This problem was only intensified at school, where he was bullied intensively for having ragged clothes and a small rucksack that had not changed since he obtained it at the age of 9.
He was a small child for his age, black hair like his father, but much longer, leaving a swaying fringe that covered his eyesight, almost blinding him at times. His eyes were more of a hazel, much like his mothers, and his skinny physique was also similar to that of his mothers, only slightly more masculine. His voice, unlike most children at his age was very deep, yet this was not usually witnessed as his speech was very sparse.
His simple, minimalist room remained his favourite and most relaxed location for the majority of his childhood. It had a small single bed, draped in white bedding, cream walls that seemed to have a shimmer of grey when struck by the correct lighting, and had only one chair, a small black TV, and the fish tank. He enjoyed his room. It was simple. But mostly, it gave him some escapism from the real world.

The wood was unknown to Jonothan, though. It scared him a little. Stepping through the final bushes, he stumbled across the river in which the children were playing. They were jumping off a tall rock and splashing violently into the glass like water below. Bellowing and hand gestures were signalling him to imitate them. At first he was reluctant to join, he had never enjoyed the water. The feeling of it engulfing his body, and swallowing his mouth petrified him. But after five minutes of the children’s pleas and taunts, and after carefully calculating all possible dangers, something at which he had got very good at over the years, he suddenly ran towards them, as if the spirit of a young child had possessed his mind for a split second.
He clambered him self up the rocks, grasping them loosely in a rush to reach the climax, where he would take the plunge. Looking down, he could see the other three boys who had previously jumped, circling the point of impact. And looking up, the glare of another boy, James, was pinned on him, offering his hand to help him up.
As he stood at the edge, a sense of vertigo fell upon him, and swept his thoughts back into fear. But it was too late. He could not turn back now. His hesitation sparked impatience in the other boys. Stealthily, Ben (Jonothan’ younger cousin), who had climbed up in the time Jonothan was standing on the edge, slowly moved towards him, attempting to keep himself unheard. He stretched out one hand, until the fingers cover the most surface area possible, reached out his arm, and with one swift movement, pummelled it into Jonothan’s spine, jolting him forward.
As he fell, his foot lodged its self into a crack in the rock, ragging his ankle as if it were a rope in a game of tug-of-war between gravity and the rock. A sound much like a plastic cup being crumpled, struck the ears of the boys, except Jonothan who was still falling into the river, his ankle flailing behind.
The river was shallow in most areas; only in the correct areas of the water were points that were deep enough to dive in. Due to miscalculation, he missed these vital areas. His head was the first to hit to rocks that lay, concealed beneath the blanket of the waters surface. With a thud of gigantic proportions, his head struck the ground, and around him surrounded blackness and pain, with his only thought being the last sight he saw of the other four children running back up the hill from whence they came. 

Chapter 2
Awakening
Truro Hospital, Cornwall-21st June 2010

“How’s he doing?”
“Looking better, much better, his vitals are much more stable then yesterday.”
“There is one thing that seemed usual to us however”
“Unusual?!”
“It’s nothing to be worried about, were pretty sure it’s nothing serious.”
“Only ‘pretty sure’? Your doctors, aren’t you supposed to know these things for sure?”
“Well, Mr Dean, it’s highly rare, so rare in fact the condition has never been filed. For all we know, this could be the first sighting of it-”
“-What’s wrong Doctor?”
“It’s nothing serious-”
“-Just tell us.”
“We’ll, your child’s blood is much, much darker than that of a usual human. We can’t explain it.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders in apology and slowly turned to vacate the room where Jonothan was laid, in a vegetable state, wrapped in the plastic like hospital bed sheets, shadowed by his mother and father.
A week had passed since the incident. The transportation of his blood stained body was done by his mother’s car, after she was informed of what had happened by the other four boys who were jumping. The back seat was drowned in crimson blood, which soaked viscously into the fabric, staining it in all shades of hellish colours. His father’s hands which held his head upright and attempted to stop the blood gushing from his skull finished dripping in his sons blood, leaving a sense of despair with suddenly hit the two parents as soon as they witness there motionless son laying peacefully beneath the waters brim.
Towering over there son, the two parents held each other in embrace, waiting for the eyelids of there cold, white child to ease open. Some time passed, frequent trips to the near by vending machine were made, often by Tom due to Rachael’s inability to move in her current state of mind; depressed and anxious.
The window behind them was a large one, with only the view of the two feet wide corridor behind it, decorated in a blue and sparse wall, which were not that appealing to anyone. It was reinforced by a diamond mesh built into the glass. Everyday, doctors, nurses and patients would stumble past; their heads down, attempting to restrain them selves from looking, believing that in doing so, it would only make Rachael’s situation worse. Now and again, they would be greeted by grandparents and other family members, who only stayed for a maximum of an hour as none could handle the pain in which overcame them as they entered the dark, silent room (only with the sound of the heart monitor breaking the silence, if only for a spilt second).

On this day however, someone other than the usual spectators arrived. A man, chiselled on his face, and scarred as if mauled by an artistic lion, opened the door after thanking the young nurse who has guided him there. Toms head turned to greet him; Rachael’s stuck, glaring at Jonothan. Not knowing the man, the only question his mind could ask was who he was. The man undid every button of his long jacket slowly before answering, leaving Tom more than impatient. After reaching the bottom button, he raised his head, shining his eyesight directly into Tom’s and, in a slight east European accent, began to respond.
“My name, Mr Dean, is Mr Grey”
Finishing his short sentence, he whipped a leather wallet out of his left trouser pocket and flung it open, revealing a badge with the initials ‘D.E.A.N.S’. In shock, Tom asked what it stood for. No immediate answer arose.
“In time, you will come to understand the meaning, Mr Dean.
“But now is not that time”
“I came here to warn you of something that will happen, there is no doubting that. However, I do need to tell you to fear one person in your life”
Tom’s face looked back, baffled and confused.
“Your son”
The confusion in his face, suddenly turn to anger and hatred for the man facing him. Rachael turned her body, arms folded in a very defensive manner, as if she was cold; hugging herself. Her eyes, fuelled by anger she had for the words which had just been exchanged, showed an obvious want for the man’s departure. Grey could sense this. He has endured it before. This type of news, he knew, was never taken lightly. He knew its angered people, yet he still continued. He got some pleasure from people’s anger.
“I shall take my leave”
He calmly spun his body towards the door and walked through it, in a very upright posture, grasping a briefcase he had held since before he entered the room, possibly before he left his car, which was situated outside the small window on the other side of the curtain, showing the streets of Truro.

As soon as Grey was out of the door, and down the corridor, a miracle happened, as if he had orchestrated it to do so. Slowly, but by all means surely, Jonothan’s eyelids slid open, engulfing light and images of the room around him, including the glee face of his mother, as his father peered over her shoulder, smiling intently.
Jonothan placed his palms, flat on the bed, and fondled the plastic sheets he was laying on. His back slowly bent into an upright position, expressing to Tom and Rachael that he was healing, fast. They called in the doctor as soon as they had took in the sight of their Childs awakening, and suddenly, an elderly man, with a white beard, wrinkled face and crumpled stature strolled in, with two young nurses following.
Quickly whipping out his stethoscope from its holding place around his neck, the doctor placed the cold, silver disc on Jonothan’s chest, making grunts of apparent confirmation that Jonothan was, in fact, better.
“How are you feeling?”
Jonothan replied only with a slight smile, giving a glance of happiness towards his parents after he had informed the old man. The two nurses scurried endlessly around the equipment set up in the room, checking for abnormalities of any sort. They found none. He was completely fine. There were no signs of tiredness in his eyes.
As he lifted him self from the bed even more, he swung the sheets back, and leaped out of the bed. The doctor looked at him in complete shock. He questioned what he was witnessing. How could someone, who had just awoken from a coma, be this energetic? Something was wrong, but he dare not question it, as he believed it was immoral to contest Tom and Rachael’s happiness.

After the final check-ups were completed, Jonothan, along with his parents, left through the front entrance, wandering across the large grey car park, to where there car was located.
From a distance, Grey watched eagerly as Rachael helped Jonothan into the backseat, before letting her self into the front passenger seat, next to where Tom was sitting, ready to leave. His briefcase sat, perched on the leather of the backseat, as if the case itself was being driven, and Grey was its chauffeur.

Chapter 3
Pursuit
Truro, Cornwall-21st June 2010

As the Dean’s pulled out of the barrier, Grey was close behind, starting his car almost in sync with theirs. There was a gap of time however between the time it took Tom to proceed through the automated barrier and the time it took Grey to follow him. This, he used to his advantage, as it gave his a clean distance to avoid suspicion.
Grey, did know where they lived, He knew everything about them. If he chose, he could have decided to meet them at the house, but no. That wasn’t his way; that wasn’t his trademark. He preferred a good hunt. But these days, for Grey, hunts were hard to come by, so, as a substitute, he chose to pursuit. “A good, old fashioned car chase” was his idea of fun, but this mission required stealth more than furious chasing. This, he did not mind, preferring it to sitting and waiting outside the house were he knew they would arrive.
As they pulled out of the first round-about, the gap between them still remained promising. A gleaming, silver Porsche held the spacing in the middle, the driver, like Tom, oblivious to the following that was behind him. They drove on, further into the complexity of the built-up area that surrounded the roads. Trees passed them both as a vivid blur, only to be cast aside by the next one, not but a few meter down the smooth, newly paved road which lay before them as the never-tiring tyres of Grey’s Lamborghini and the wearing wheels of Tom’s deteriorating Audi strolled over continuously.

Grey was still following, never taking his eye off the number plate underneath the key hole. The number was surprising him. It read “WK10 DMN”. It was obvious this was a car from Truro from the ‘WK’, but what concerned him the most was the obviousness of the last 3 random letters. At first glance it wasn’t too clear, but after looking at it for a while, he started to fill in the missing gaps, much like text messaging when a vowel is missed, or sometimes, like this, two vowels were missing. He noticed that if two vowels were placed in between the three letters, it spelt ‘DEMON’. Again, this was not the most shocking discovery, as he had seen things like this before. It was the fact that, when the order in which the vowels come in the alphabet, A, E, I, O and U is examined, substituting the DMN letters in the letters and then missing another also gives DEMON. Unusually, this frightened him a little.
The reason for his fear was due to his master. He had been warned about coincidences. A phrase leaped from the back of his brain.
“Consciences are not a thing that should occur more than once”
He laughed to him self how absurd that sounded, mocking his teacher in his head. Yet, his mockery did nothing to settle him after his laughter had faded. The message still stuck on him, like a fly on a spider’s web. More than one coincidence was the devils work, and hell will be near when it is found.
He shook this off quickly, convincing himself that his theory was incorrect, muttering it under his breath time and time again until he understood his mission once again.

Another corner was turned, screeching ever so slightly as he angled the Audi round the right angled pavement. A car but one behind, the Lamborghini slide round, with not a slight sound to be heard, as it the car had been crafted by angelic mutes. And then another was turned almost immediately. Grey had no time to react. Slowed by the car in front, he took time to follow, only to realise he had lost his target. He questioned him self, asking a bundle of rhetorical questions. Had they seen him, or was this their usual route? He had no clue. Thinking he would have to go to the house and wait, he saw the car swift past, with Tom’s face glaring at his own.

Grey slammed his foot on the pedal, and jetted off into the road where he had just seen the Deans venture. As he pulled out of the small road to which Tom had lead him, an unsuspecting tanker smashed into the side of his newly washed car, though the door, crumpling it, and then though his ribs, crushing them, only to be followed by his skull and the rest of his vital organs, slamming them into the car in front, before toppling over and landing on four other pedestrians who were walking down the pavement next to the accident. The walls of the buildings around them were penetrated by the heavy fall of the tanker, resulting in a crash louder than the scream of a thousand children.
The leaking fuel of both the tank and the car ran down the startled street, passing thousands of onlookers. Suddenly, a spark was created from the ruined remains, instantly igniting the oil, and cremating any one close with a heavy blast of burning flames.

Jonothan placed his hands of the back of the seat and stared towards the scene, as Tom braked the car in shock. All three of them glared in silence.
“I think we should leave”, stated Rachael calmly, shaking to the bone with the horror. Tom nodded and continued forward, pressing his steadying foot on the accelerator. Jonothan sat himself back down on the backseat, laying his head horizontal on the fabric before curling his legs up on the adjacent seat. He looked up at his parents to make sure they weren’t watching him close his eyes, after which he slowly twitched his mouth into a conspicuous smile.

Chapter 4
Conflict
Austin, Texas-22nd June 2010

“Dead?!”
The older looking man, positioned behind the dark wooden desk, exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table. Heads of all the office workers behind the glass door to which the tall, blonde haired, middle-aged man had just entered pinned their eyes on the bellowing sound that had just escaped from the corners of the door marked ‘Chief’ in white lettering on the glass pane.
“Yes sir. It appears to be a car accident. It happened yesterday afternoon, around 2:30pm”
He lifted up his head, which had been swung down after the details of the time had been explained to him. A contemplating look crinkled up his face, lifting his left eyebrow, and looking at the tiled ceiling as if it held the answer. Then it came to him, wiping the confusion clear with a grin of self-satisfaction.
“A rather coincidental accident don’t you think, Sergeant?”
“How so? Sir.”
The Sergeant now took on this puzzled look which had before covered his superior’s face. He looked upon the Chief, waiting for an answer.
“Well, the agent we had following the kid we though would be the next target is dead. Rather strange, don’t you agree?”
He nodded in agreement.
“I must admit, that does sound rather conspicuous. I think we got our evidence, Chief.
         A nod was return, however, much slower and more defined than that of the Sergeant’s.
“That we have. Send in two task forces, one on either side of the building. We’re not letting this kid out alive, you understand that Sergeant?”
“Crystal Clear Sir”
Turning a swift one hundred and eighty degrees, the man opened the door and attempted to walk through.
         “One more thing.”
Holding the side of the door with his palm, the man looked at the chief, moving on his neck.
“Sir?”
         “Try not to inform the whole damn station about this organisation Agent Loring. I’ve already had one uninvolved agent ask me about Dark Bloods. This is supposed to be Top secret.”
         Polity, and not without a sense of sarcasm, Loring replied.
“Sorry Sir, I will try and be more confidential about the matter”
The Chief looked him straight in the eye of Loring, staring into his gaze.
“If you don’t mind me asking sir, who was it that wanted to know about the subject of Dark Bloods?”
“Oh, It was Cutler” he replied with a stern, husky voice.

Munich, Germany-22nd June 2010

The night was cold and bitter, much like the hearts of many who dwelled within the castle tower, which was erected directly opposite the fountain standing in the middle of the glistening stone courtyard as it bounced the rays of moonlight back towards it origin.
The castle itself was old, older than the stone which had made it; this fact remained hidden; a secret to anyone who knew of the place. Much like the courtyard, the stone of its walls reflected the blue tinted light which fell from the midnight sky. At the foot, a door of wood, garnished in a pattern of decayed bronze, stood tall, in a very intimidating fashion.
The gate surrounding the courtyard was also large and menacing, with two lion heads, painted a quaint golden colour peered onto the people which quicken their pace as they walked by.

As usual for this time, the road adjacent was empty. No cars or people were in sight. Until footsteps could be heard coming from down the road. A man, supported by another stumbled down the empty tarmac, singing German cheers at the top of their lungs and slapping aggressively on the others back. There heads stayed bowed, followed by their collapsing upper bodies, which were only kept up by their friends contradiction unsteadiness.
Staggering past the metal gates, they heard a sudden cry. A scream, muffled by the thick walls of the castle rushed into their heads, stopping them instantly; and at this time, as if in sync, the screams stopped too, only leaving the silent calling of the one or two birds which circle their heads.
One of them poked his head through two of the bars in the gate, attempting to hear something more, but nothing was heard. Nothing at all was making a sound. The birds which had somehow filled the quietness had stopped chattering. Even the howling of the wind which was once prominent had began to subside.
The other looked up at were the birds were before. Coupled with his drunkenness, the darkness blanked all hope for seeing up into the blanketed sky.
         
         Suddenly a swift sound, much like the waving a sword was heard by the man with his head in gate.
         “Hörten Sie das? (Did you hear that?)”
         There was no reply. With care, the man pulled his head away from the gap and turned it towards his friend in a slow motion. A gasp fell upon him as he fell backwards to the ground in shock. The man’s head had been torn off, leaving only the gushing neck and the rest of the torso to lean against the metal. The concrete that they were standing on was flooded with blood, reflection the blue glow of the moon.
         As he leant his head back against the pavement, something stopped his head from touching the earth. A claw like grip covered his face and neck and in another swift movement, lifted it from his body, silently.
         
The two winged beasts perched themselves onto the top very corners of the castle tower, holding the dripping heads of their prey in one hand, and the stone of the wall in the other, both in symmetry. They both had long, thin wings, equipped with spikes of every possible corner, each of them secreting what appeared to be blood. The wings themselves were a translucent black, and they stuck, connected to the shoulder blade. Their heads were the most unusual. They were human; looking no more than early twenties or even teens. Their eyes were hollow, only giving a faint outline of where the iris should be found. Their arms and legs were also human, the same for their torso. The hands though were the prominent in mutation, discarding the wings. Their palms were covered up by tattered woollen gloves, cut off at the finger tips. However, they were not fingers anymore. Claws, larger than the spikes on their wings, grew from the finger holes. They grew on every finger, and as for there bare feet, the same claws were found, tapping consecutively on the stone.

A small window, positioned directly in the centre of the two shone a small amount of dim light outwards into the glittering sky. The sill stretched about two feet away from the window, which had now been opened by the clawed grasp of one of them. Opening it even more, and making not the slightest sound (despite how obviously old and creaky it appeared), they entered, plummeting themselves into the circular room a far distance below, stopping on seconds from impact by use of their wings. As they perched there feat firmly upon the ground, they did not rise there heads simultaneously. They instead chose to remain bowed, not daring to lay their eyes upon their master who stood, proudly, in front, with his wings spread out behind him, higher by the steps leading to the alter.
“You’re late”
Together, “Our sincerest apologies, Sir”, they replied.
“Well, nit-picking aside, for what reason have you summoned me hear?”
It was at this point that the two raised their previously bowed heads.
“We have word of our next target; he is almost fully dark blooded. But unlike us, he has been arousing suspicion, there on to him. We fear they may find out that more than the single dark blood they found exists.”
“You do have a good point. It is best to keep the humans ‘in the dark’ about the matter”. A small solitude of sniggering followed, for only a brief second.
“Should we go get the boy?”
“What is his age?” questioned the master.
“He is twelve, Sir”
A wondrous hum echoed between the walls, silent as it was, it was still the loudest, most predominant sound in the room, and thus could not be ignored, especially by the hesitant beast who perched, waiting for an answer.
“What a coincidental age that is. Bring him to me, we will teach him the way; the path of a Dark Blood.”
“Make Haste!”

Chapter 5
Retrieval
St Austell, Cornwall-25th June 2010

As they pulled in the Volvo, Tom realised as he was looking up from the drive to the upstairs, that the window was open. To himself, he questioned this, attempting not to give an impression that he was pondering something, and therefore provoke Rachael into ask the usual “What’s wrong?”. It failed.
He replied with a simple short smile, with a gasp of air escaping out of it as he lowered his head between his shoulders.
“Nothing.” He replied, in a soft voice.

The garage door swung open with the touch of the button attached to his key, which was held to his right in the injection keyhole. The infra-red light on the end flashed vigorously as the door opening, which continued making a screeching sound loud enough to drown out an elephant. The neighbours had shunned that garage door ever since Tom had it installed. It had over time got gradually worse and worse, loudening the friction it made with its own mechanism like two adults arguing; loudly.
Pulling the car in, towards the wall covered in shelves of painting equipment and other aspects of DIY, the window slowly passed the bikes and other unused fads of which Jonothan had been into over the years. A sharp crank of the hand break signified their arrival.

There trip to the hospital for a check-up was longer than expected on this day. This was not, however the fault of the hospital, as which was usually the case in Tom’s eyes. It was, instead, Jonothan’s unusual amount of time which he spent in the bath room. He had been itching. The scratched had started just days after he got back from the hospital four days ago. It has got more severe though the time. He had not slept a wink. The back of his neck and collar bones were red and swollen; torn into the flesh in some parts. Jonothan tried to do it when his parents were not there (or at least were not looking), and, even though it was the middle of summer, kept a black shirt on at all times, in case of any water which could cause a lighter one to reveal his soreness. Rachael and Tom had not thought of this as odd. It was his persona to wear dark t-shirts, so they never questioned it.

The three of them stepped out of the car, pushing it softly until it clicked. Tom was the first to vacate the garage through the white wooden door which led into the house. Jonothan followed, with his mother checking something in the garage near the washer.
“It’s broken again Tom” called Rachael from the garage, the sound echoing exponentially in the acoustics of the empty garage.
She followed. “I’ll ring up the guy later”
She expected a reply from that to show her that he had heard, but instead he poked his head round the corner of the door, signalling her to be quiet. Jonothan stood, still at the bottom of the stairs. Tom’s eyes prowled round the garage, until they finally homed themselves on a golf club in the far corner. A quick point, first to the golf club and then to himself, told Rachael what he wished for her to do. She slowly shifted her body towards the corner, picked up the club, and stealthily walked back, handing Tom the club. After receiving the club, he began his search round the house.
The noise, much like that of a faint footstep, that he heard earlier, he thought, had come from upstairs, so he moved up the winding stairs slowly. To avoid the creaking, he balanced himself on the edge of each step. This worked extremely well, despite his doubts.

Suddenly, on the last step, a large, bellowing creak struck the air like a rocket launch. Immediately, another noise, this one more of a scuttering sound, replied to the creak. It came from the bedroom. Tom slowly edged his way across the landing to bedroom door, which at this time was slightly open. Placing the club head in the gap, he slowly pierced the door open, and swung it around, crashing it against the wall at the other side of the door. Raising his club, Tom stepped into the door. The bed, covered in golden sheeting, shone into him, reflecting off the light that had entered from the two windows, which flooded the room with light.
Tom’s eyes glanced, like a birds head, around the room. He could not see anything. Not even a noise was present anymore. A sense of fear and patience was overrun by curiosity and mystery. This forced him to move on into the room. He slowly lifted up the curtains that draped down the side of the bed. As his hand pulled away the fabric from the floor, a figure of some sort was revealed.

The clothes that had been slung under the bed previously tricked Tom’s sight into imagining this; that added with the sense of freight that was all too obvious in his eyes, as big as the pupils were. As he tuned towards the door, identical to that of the bedroom door, that led into the en-suite, which at the moment was situated behind him, he noticed a slight shadow shimmer and darken the small ounce of light that seeped out of the gap at the foot of the door. Opening it silently, he walked on. It was a large bathroom, considering the size of the house. There were enough places for someone to hide, somewhere. It was at this moment that Tom had wished he had spent more time playing hide and seek with Jonothan.

As he stepped in, shuffling one foot at a time, he noticed the shadow again. The room was dark. The windows were shut, and only the entrance he had come through let any light into the ever expanding bathroom. He moved in further, scouting the room for any signs of intruders. As he stepped closer to the middle, a gust blew his back gently, as if someone had a small hand fan. Shocked by this, he suddenly turned, hearing a slam as he was in motion. The door was shut. Nothing but darkness was visible. Startled, Tom swung for the door handle. Quickly, he was stopped. He felt someone grab his arm from behind. Something sharp dug into the side of his arm, drawing blood. He started to breath heavily.

The door in front swung open. A winged beast waited, grinning on the other side. Suddenly, he was launched forward, slamming his body into the wall at the far end of the room, lead by the top of his skull.

         Jonothan and Rachael, hearing the cataclysmic smash that Tom’s head made on the wall, came running up the stairs screaming.
         “Tom! What Happened?”
         Receiving no reply, he got more worried. As she sprinted up the steps, she heard a noise, much like the flapping of a bird’s wing, but much more deep and sinister. She ran down the corridor, until she was halted by the beast who had just vacated the bedroom. Jonothan took refuge behind his mother, cowering behind her shoulder. Rachael’s pupils flared. She grabbed the lamp which perched on a small marble table beside her, arming it like a sword, pointing one end towards the intruder. Another one slowly trudged out, its head down, before looking upon Rachael’s eyes. Her eyes shook in fear. She edged back in synchronisation with the beats footsteps forward.

         The beasts began to progress forward faster, backing her and Jonothan up against the wall behind her that she was oblivious to until she struck it with the rear of her heel. With no where to go, she waited, shivering, for the inevitable to happen. As she closed her eyes, she felt a clawed grip grasp her shirt. The beast lifted her using only one hand and threw her, inverted, towards to opposite end of the corridor, splattering the wall in blood. As she fell the floor after striking the wall, she noticed the sight of Tom lying helplessly on the bedroom floor, surrounded in a pool of his blood, which she strangely observed was darker than usual.
         Jonothan was cowering in the far corner, his arms covering him like a shield. His eyes remained shut. There he waited. But nothing happened. He hesitantly unclasped his eyelids to look upon the creatures, only opening his left eye to begin with. The beast’s hand was stretched out, as well as his arm, as if he was offering assistance for his standing. Confused and afraid, Jonothan took his time in accepting this, but he did however finally come to a decision.

         Gradually, he grasped the claw that was offered to him, and with a firm, but comforting hand grasped it in return until he stood on two legs once again, of which the bond was then released. In a dark voice, muffled and deep, the beast informed Jonothan.
         “I am Sil, I was once known as George Hilton. You are in great danger. You must come with us”
         Jonothan questioned the statement for a very short length of time considering his answer. He knew that something was wrong, and he believed that these beasts would tell him the answer. His love for his parents had faded with his short-lived grief for them. He had no morals left in him. Scratching vigorously, he followed them out of the front door, of which then he was grabbed under one arm of Tyork. Expanding their wings in a very systematic and robotic stuttering manner, the two took flight, and Jonothan held on as they flew into the bright sunlight that blessed the earth. A shadow of their figures flew into the distance, with nothing but the sun to reveal their location. Slowly, they disintegrated into the rays, back to their home - back to Munich.
         

Chapter 6
Discovery
St Austell, Cornwall-25th June 2010

         The cul-de-sac was empty. The disappearance of Jonothan and his new companions had left a sour taste in the atmosphere, like that of a petrol station or factory. It lingered in the air, peacefully, harassing the nostrils of anyone who came near it. This, however, remained no-one. Silence struck the street like the harsh sun which held above it. The sound was that of an eerie nature. Yet there was a slight breeze. Its whistling presence maintained the unnerving disposition of which the silence banished you to.
         In the background, behind the green trees glistening in the summer sun like diamonds on an elaborate necklace, a slight humming of traffic from the town ruffled the particles forming the air. The heat bounced of the blackness of the tarmac, leaving a mist of waves standing about an inch tall, and only visible from ground level.
         The light bled in through the window of the room. Tom lay, surrounded in a pool of blood which circled his body. Rachael looked on from the corridor, her eyes slowly fading, shuttering the light that was entering them. The door between them was open half way, just enough for her eyesight to recognise Toms blanked face. Slipping in and out of darkness, she attempted to move her limbs, as twisted and skewed as they were in order to reach over to him. It failed. She stuck, slowly counting the seconds she knew she had remaining of consciousness. 
         The hum of the traffic outside grew louder and louder, echoing in Rachael’s mind like a fly was trapped inside it. As it grew, she began to hear the faint outline of large wheels turning, becoming more apparent as the sound continued. The sound of crushing stones under heavy tyres soon conjoined with it, emphasising it.

         An eerie roar emptied into the desolate street, filling it with screeching tires the rolling thunder of the ground beneath. A large black van, with tinted windows and bars across both sides slid into the entrance of the street swiftly, screeching as the car brakes into a perfect ninety degree turn. The badge, consisting of a winged man with what appeared to be a spike through it, from the foot to the tip of the head, was planted on all four sides of the vehicle. The words “Demon Extermination and Neutralisation” were written above and below the symbol, in an arched fashion. This lettering however was hardly visible, being only around one centimetre tall, making it virtually impossibly to read on a moving vehicle.
         The black colossal stormed down the tarmac, again screeching when it reached the dead end which stood at the foot of the Dean’s drive. Rachael’s weariness was shadowed by horror and suspense. What was that noise? She questioned herself over and over, still attempting to erect herself without success.
         
         A thud rustled through the walls; repeating on what seemed to be an almost exact timer. Every sound filled Rachael with fear, like cup of scolding liquid being forced to the brim by squares of sugar. The thuds continued, each being cancelled out by the next, giving no time for her to breathe in between. Then, suddenly they stopped. A sigh escaped from Rachael’s mouth, pushing the air around into the floor to which her head was rested upon, along with her crippled body. Droplets of blood forming the pool around her shifted in a wave like motion away from the gasp, making a ripple.
         The thud returned, this time it was not only louder, but was followed by the sound of splintering wood and the rage of kicking and ripping of the door. Footsteps and deep voices circulated the house, bouncing into the landing where Rachael had been left.
         
         “Find him! Find the boy!” The voice resonated in her ear. Signals sprang in her mind. They mean Jonothan she thought to herself. “But why” she bellowed, covering her mouth quickly in an attempt to return the words that had just left her vocal chords.
         The footsteps stopped. Looking towards the staircase, Rachael slowly slid her hands down her frightened face, revealing an open orifice, draped over her face in shock, her eyes as wide as the ocean stuck in place, glistening with the tear which hung on the edge of her lid.
         They began up again, the footsteps getting louder, obviously getting nearer. The creaking of the staircase suddenly struck the silence, masked by the footsteps of which the creaking was a consequence. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer, Rachael waited, unable to move.

         ‘Hello?”. A deep questioning voice boomed.
         Rachael’s heart dropped in comfort. The voice was not recognisable, but the tone it transmitted to her was one that seemed to be justified with compassion.
         A black figure shifted round the corner steadily; something Rachael was all too familiar with at this time. But this time it was different. There was nothing abnormal about the shape. It was human, no question she thought to herself. From head to toe, the man was covered in black; boots, black trousers and top, excruciatingly padded, and a helmet, complete with a tinted visor. In his two palms, the man grasped what looked like some kind of weapon. Not a gun however, but more of a sword-crossbow hybrid, like something from a forgotten land. Usually this would baffle her, but in her mind, she understood the possible reasoning for having such a device.
         
         Rachael tried to speak back. Only a small moan escaped. The man, who was currently looking in the opposite direction, twisted hastily to view her upon hearing the sound. He sprinted the metre between them, and crouch towards her face, laying his hand in the blood beside her and lifted her head up with the other arm.
         “They took him” Rachael whispered.
Lifting up his visor, the man’s face filled with disappointment; his eyes fell to the left, and his mouth released a hiss that was just loud enough for Rachael to feel his emotion.

A battalion of identical soldiers ran from downstairs into the landing, some barging past to examine the bedroom behind them, in which, they found Tom, dead, laying on the stained carpet that squelched underfoot.
“He’s gone!” The sounded echoed through the eardrums of the rest of them as the man punched the blood filled floor, spraying it around the surrounding vicinity.
“They’ve taken him”, he followed, with a much calmer tone.
“We’re leaving. Take these two with us, we might need them.”

Three of the black figures lifted Rachael’s broken body, and carried it downstairs and out the front door into the truck.
As they placed her on the seat opposite them, she began to talk.
“Who are you?” She questioned, eyeing each of them individually.
“He just left; he just let them take him.”
The men did nothing, not even a glimmer of surprise. She didn’t notice; she was talking to herself.
“It’s how there are” The man replied.
“No emotions, not anymore.”
“We want to help you. I’m Sergeant Loring, this is my team.”