Author’s note: I had originally planned to discontinue my stories, but since a few have asked me to do so, I decided to finish. Just explaining for those who read the last chapter and seen I had decided to stop.
Drakor looks around in a cold sweat, late autumn winds slather his face in warm aromas as he slings the heavy door backwards. Stepping out he scopes the area. An empty parking lot with washed yellow lines make parallel lines, deep jagged grooves twist across and wind across the concrete. A gnarled willow tree across the road and on the corner of a dead field stands proudly, perched atop a raven sits with coal feathers arched downwards. Turning the corner he sees her kneeling down in a field of weeds near a circular, broken pen of splintered logs. A few lost dandelions jut from the dying soil, she pricks them out with careful precision as to not damage them, bundling them into her small palm.
Anxiety releases its throbbing vice from his heart as he exhales. Without looking back, she asks, “You okay, Drakor?”
“Yes, but we need to get to the shelter, immediately.”
Standing up she brushes the dirt off her knees and turns around offering him a dandelion. She smiles as if offering him a heart felt possession. “Kayra,” he says, accepting the flower and placing into his front pocket, “we must leave. Now.”
Drooping the smile that was plastered on her face she lowers her arm. Eyes filled with worry look to him, wanting to ask questions but fearing the answers, she simply says, “Okay.”
A door creaks open as Kayra enters first. Following close behind down a set of concrete stairs, Drakor takes one last glance around to make sure they weren’t followed, and shuts the door bolting it. Kayra grabs a juice box from the fridge and heads over to a couch against a hard wall. Dangling posters hang loosely above her location as she plops down. The open area in front of her sits a television and a couple of faded wooden chairs. To the right are two doorways, one for a restroom and the other to a bedroom, Kayra’s. Drakor always slept on the couch, although it was stiff as bricks. She shifts around trying to get comfortable and waits to hear what he has to say.
Double checking the door, twice, he grabs a chair and slides it near her. Sitting down he leans forward with both elbows digging into his legs, massaging his temples with his rough fingers, he gives a vibe that something bad is happening, or about to.
“What’s wrong?” her pubescent, squeaky voice chirps.
“I’m trying to figure out how to word this, I don’t want to scare you.”
Scooting off the couch she crouches down and looks up underneath his covered face. In his face she could see fear, something she thought was impossible with him. “Just tell me, I need to know what we’re up against.”
Lifting his face to hers he tries to cover his fear, but it was already exposed. “I’ve never seen you scared…” she says.
“Kayra,” he whispers in a hoarse voice, “this isn’t just an ordinary demon. He’s gone by many names in life, but for as long as I’ve heard of him he’s been called Delkatov. He’s been in Hell longer than any other demon, or so it seems. The fire, the pain, the torture, it’s molded him into someone, something that made the others fear him. He would tend to go on blood frenzies, tearing apart anything that got near him. He was uncontrollable and unpredictable, so another sub level had to be created to contain him and only him. But he’s escaped, once again.”
Kayra sits back down on the couch. Her juice box pinched tightly in her hand, she doesn’t interrupt.
“In his presence only evil things occur. Death; plagues; the murder of children in masses. I’ve encountered him once, and barely lived to tell the tale.”
“You said he’s ‘escaped again’, what do you mean?”
He leans backwards in the chair, it creaks and groans. His boots scrape against the hard carpeted floor, he rubs his sweaty palms against his legs and begins to talk in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone would hear him.
“I don’t know how he escaped the first time, there’s different theories, but one I believe is the Grim Reaper opened the portal for him. For what in exchange I don’t know, but again, it’s a theory. No one truly knows, it doesn’t matter anyway. Me and my wife, when we had first started hunting demons, made it our goal to rid the world of evil. But nothing could have prepared us for him.”
“So, what’s gonna happen?” She takes a sip of her juice while sitting back onto the couch. A sick, uneasy feeling crept past her thoughts and began to swirl in her belly.
“I don’t know, honestly. I have a location of where to find more answers, a building near a ghost town called Mooncrest. I’m leaving tonight, I need to see if there’s anything there that can help.”
Kayra stands up and asks, “Wait, why are you talking like it’s something you have to do alone? I’m coming, right?”
Drakor stands up and heads to a large cabinet by the kitchen section. Pulling the doors open he exposes a variety of swords, knives, and rustic guns. He grips a gatling gun, heaving it out with a grunt louder than he meant to. Placing knives into leather slots of a satchel, he straps it around his waist and turns around. “Kayra, this could be dangerous. I would advise you stay here.” He had a tone in his voice that only a father would use upon his daughter, but she paid no mind. He was her partner, and nothing was going to stop her from helping.
“I’m coming. Where are we going?”
He sighs, “To the last known place he was seen, a place called Arbatian Mental Institution.”