Page 15 of Virgil's Demons

For years, I had followed him, a silent shadow present at every death, at every exorcism. I watched as he sent demons screaming into the abyss, severing their hold on the world of the living with the cold precision of a man who had nothing left to lose. I was also there as he allowed the demons to take hold of the living, giving them to me so easily. I was also there as he let his fear take control. I suppose even soldiers of God have their limits, and his, were currently being tested.

The demon that circled his dreams had been coming for him for a long time, slowly wearing down his defenses, gnawing at his strength, causing this psychological turmoil. It was smart in its hatred for him. It wanted more than just to possess him, it wanted to destroy him, to break him down little by little, until there was nothing left but a shell of the man he once was. It was personal.

I knew its hunger, its rage. I knew it better than anyone.

Because I was one of them.

For centuries, I have existed, bound to this world not of my own will. I am not a demon per se, but something far older. Death. An Angel of Death, a title that had become a part of me over the centuries. You could call me an ancient spirit, a harbinger and reaper of souls. All in all, I was your guide at the end.

I am older than humanity, having seen civilizations rise and fall, and wars that shattered men into pieces. I was once beautiful, worshiped even. Men had loved me, desired me, but I had taken from them what they were too weak to hold on to—life. I hadn't been cruel, though. I never made them suffer. I gave them peace and took their pain away before I took their final breath. I had been merciful once before time wore me down into something colder, something detached, something apathetic.

Then God had punished me. Banished me into purgatory to guide those same souls I'd tortured back to hell. I wasn't allowednear heaven. No, my type of reaper could only travel through the darkness. My memories of my previous lives had slowly faded, and I had become this hollow thing that only existed when a human expired. They wouldn't remember me either.

Even after having tasted the souls of warriors, kings, and even the forgotten, none captivated me like this one mortal. Virgil Desdemone. He was a man who walked the fine line between light and darkness, a man whose soul bore the weight of sin and not just his own. He fascinated me, and I admired him for that. I loved him for it, though I would never speak those words aloud. Death does not love. It only takes all love away, leaving you in emptiness.

He was a man who walked that thin razor's edge between the godly and the damned. I found myself drawn to him; bound by something ungodly. I hadn’t feared anything in a long time, but this man…with this mortal I drew caution. Because he was a killer in his own right. He was like me, and that made him dangerous.

And also very desirable.

I saw the shift in his dreams, the moment the demon dug its claws into him, ripping him from the false safety of that woman's arms. That woman that wanted to take him away from me. She was slowly seeping into his heart and that burned something deep within me. Maybe what they called jealousy, or remnants of it and I didn't like it. He was mine.

His body tensed, his breath caught, and his eyes shot open as he gasped into the darkness of his room.

"Barythaya," he gasped and then I sensed him go very still.

I made my presence known tonight, allowing my energy to sweep around him, letting the veil between our worlds thin. He shifted in the bed, his brow furrowing, sensing me before he saw me.

"Who's there?" His voice was hoarse, edged with suspicion, and a trace of fear that sent a thrill through me.

He stiffened, his gaze locking onto the empty space where I hovered, his eyes flickered back and forth, trying to make sense of what he couldn't see. I could feel his fear, that delicious, subtle pulse of it, emanated from him so sweetly. If I licked the air I could probably taste it.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice was steady, although his erratic heartbeat sadly betrayed him.

I let out a soft, almost mournful sigh, softening my voice to a soft feminine, familiar sound. "Time has a way of erasing what once was, of turning those remembered into ashes." I moved closer, letting the shadows dance around me. "I am one of those forgotten, but you are not. I know you," I whispered, softening my voice, making it feminine, familiar. "I've been watching you for a long time."

Virgil sat up, his muscles tensing, eyes still scanning the room, his breath quickened. I could sense the edge of fear rising in him, though he would never admit it. A man like him didn't fear death. But that unknown? The shadows that lurked at the dark edges of his consciousness? Those unsettled him.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked again, his tone sharper, more demanding. I smiled. "I am what you fear, yet what you desire," I whispered, letting my form take shape enough for him to see the outline of my body—once beautiful, now cloaked in the ethereal fog of death. "You feel me, don't you? In every battle, every soul you've sent to the abyss of hell, I've been there."

"I...I don't understand. What do you want?"

I ignored his question as memories began to flow through me. "I once considered an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Men worshipped at my feet, desired me, offered their souls for a taste of my favor. But I wanted more than admiration. I wanted control, and power. I was tired of being oppressed and taken forgranted by so many. So, I took it. I seduced them, their bodies became mine, their desires blinded them to the blade I kept hidden.

"Each man I killed was with precision, my hands becoming as skilled with a knife as they were with soft caresses and teasing kisses. I watched the life drain from their eyes, felt their souls slip away, and it thrilled me. I reveled in it. But even the most beautiful things decay, and when my sins caught up to me, death claimed me as his bride, bindingmeto this eternal existence as a reaper of souls.

"Now, I am nothing more than a shadow, a collector of the damned, tasked with guiding souls to their final destination. But Virgil... you are different. I don't just want your soul, I want you. And I have waited too long to claim what should be mine.

I stepped closer to his bed, my form now clearer, a silhouette bathed in a dim, otherworldly glow. He stared at me, confusion and intrigue flashing in his eyes.

"I've watched you for years, Virgil," I said softly, my voice carrying a sadness I hadn't allowed myself to feel in centuries. "You and your kind, those soldiers of God, drenched in blood, caught between the light and the dark. But you… you're different."

His gaze hardened, his suspicion deepening. "What do you want from me?"

I smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Your soul is not what I seek tonight. Not yet."

I moved toward him, and though he tried to retreat, I felt the pull between us—the same pull that had drawn me to him for years. He couldn't deny it any more than I could. He had seen the darkness, lived in it, but there was a part of him still tethered to the light. A part of him that resisted the temptation.

"I am death," I whispered, standing so close now that I could feel the heat of his body, the tremor in his muscles as he tensed. "And I am everything you fear. But I am also what you desire."

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