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PostSubject: INTRO THING   Mon Jul 06, 2009 2:10 pm


Hello and Thank You for visiting The AC (or Joining), along with reading my story, Demonic Angel©! Below is the EXPLANATION, but seeing most shall skip this, feel free to do so yourselves and just read the story. Thanks Again!

This is a story of a man who was born to be everything yet nothing. He does odd jobs in different worlds, dimensions and times as he tries to figure out when this wild ride shall end. Of course, this is when he realizes that he can actually feel the crazy emotions we humans do and falls in love with a human. Follow along as he takes her to different places and starts to recognize himself for what he is. When things start to go downward, he must choose: immortality alone, or mortality with the one he loves.

As this story is not finished, it shall be separated into different parts as I continue writing this story. This does use different languages in it at random times, but I will do my best to translate. If I do not do so, please comment with such questions.

Last edited by AngelicDemonsCreed on Mon Jul 06, 2009 6:18 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: PROLOGUE   Mon Jul 06, 2009 2:30 pm

Demonic Angel©

Bathed in moonlight, he stands on the edge of a cliff, the wind tugging on his long, black hair and cloak. His eyes probe the horizon for a sign of day break, even though the moon was only just half-way through the sky, swarmed by constellations. With a sigh, he turned around, walking toward the line of trees behind him. Anyone else would be lost in the woods, yet he felt at home. It was as if the woods were calling him, telling him to stay here, to forget his contract in Rome, his duties in Italy and, later, Greece. But he couldnít, and he knew it. He wasnít ready to leave this yet.

He kept walking at a normal pace, undistinguishable from anyone else trained in the secret CIA facility in Virginia, USA. Nor was it distinguishable from those of MI6 in London, or the Quay Dí Orsay in Paris. His rigid back came from his work in the military, yet none of these occupations were his now. He thought back to the Army work he did in Germany. It was after a few months there that he went into the Navy to protect Pearl Harbor on the ship, Yellow Jacket, and later the Air Force, bombing Japan. He chuckled, thinking of all the things he still had to do.

Within minutes, the jet came into sight. He walked straight on, saying the code word to the pilot and sitting in the co-pilot seat. He donned the head set, barely looking at the pilot as he did the same. As they started off into the night, he dwelled on the plans he had for the ambassador of Mythical Arts, wondering just how many guards he would find. It really didnít concern him: it made no difference. No amount of guards would hinder him during this, or those of any other sanctions he had waiting for him. His thoughts were interrupted by the pilot as he asked for the coordinates. The man told them to him, knowing perfectly well that the pilot was alarmed by them, but ready to comply. Satisfied, the man fell to sleep.

The reason for the pilotís alarm was the fact that the coordinates were set for 100 miles off the coast of Venice, Italy in the middle of the Mediterranean. The pilot woke the man up within five minutes of their destination, and the man immediately told the pilot not to look back once he had jumped. Once the pilot nodded, pocketing $1,000 American, he went back and grabbed a parachute, pausing to fiddle with the straps. He opened the door to the jet, then, giving the pilot a thumb up, he jumped. The pilot, true to his word, didnít look back, and never saw the man again.

The man landed on a secluded part of the beach, dumping the parachute immediately. Looking at his watch, he nodded slightly. He had three hours to survey the ambassador and his security staff before night fell. Not seeming to care about the glances at his black cloak or the heat, he set off toward his target.

After surveying the area, he laughed silently to himself. Either the ambassador had a death wish, or he was extremely cocky. Either way, it seemed that he had little to no guards at all. It wasnít that the ambassador would have missed the rumor about the ambassador's assassin being the best worl wide: he had made sure it spread just for the fun of it. This man was obviously mocking him, and he didnít like it.

He started walking up to the gate of the ambassadorís mansion as soon as night fell. Jumping over the feeble defenses, he stiffened. He cursed, realizing his mistake too late. The whiff of dog came to him on the wild wind, and he knew that they smelled him as well. From the shadows came what humans would call gigantic dogs, though he knew exactly what they were. Werewolves. Seeing him, they started to growl. He counted ten, wondering how the ambassador could afford that many. He shrugged of his cloak, shivering slightly. As the werewolves launched at him, he crouched over in the pain he was use to. The wolves were on top of him.

The ambassador heard the chorus of growls and barks from below in the yard. He sipped his sour mash, his fingers trembling. In his head, he was praying to God that the assassin would die to his guards. Itís impossible to escape death when faced by ten werewolves, he reassured himself. But then his mind wandered to the rumors. He had heard that in Ireland, a famous priest had been murdered at the hands of the man below. They said that the only one harmed was the priest, and that the guards hadnít even known it had happened until they had tried to wake him up that evening to find his ashes. None of them had smelled a fire, and there were no windows or airshafts in the priestís room, the only entrance being the door. The fire popped, making him jump in his overpriced leather chair. His shot glass fell to the wooden floor below, shattering.

ďHello, ambassador.Ē The ambassador leaped up and spun, to succeed only in falling to the floor. The assassin walked toward him, smiling. ďThat wasnít very nice you know. They almost nicked me in the arm. I must say though, it is very kind of you to provide me with your funeral pyre. I appreciate it very much.Ē

ďIíll give you money!Ē the ambassador started crawling backwards, bashing his head into the fireplace mantle with his panic. ďLots and lots of money! And protection! You liked those werewolves out there? Iíll get you twenty of them! And guards out of the wazoo!Ē

The assassin tskd at him in disdain, shaking his head as he advanced. ďIím Ďfraid you arenít the only one to offer me fortune and fame, and you wonít be the last. I canít give up my sanction; you know that as well as I do.Ē He knelt down in front of the ambassador. Frowning, he stroked the ambassadorís face, bringing forth a slight shriek. ďThere there, donít you fret my pet. Here, how Ďbout I tell you a secret that the rest of your vampire buddies donít know.Ē Bringing his lips to the ambassadorís ear, he whispered, ďIím a werewolf too.Ē Then he reached into his cloak, putting the rose he withdrew into the manís shirt pocket. Grabbing the ambassadorís neck with the vampirean strength with which he was born, he thrust the man into the flames.

Tyng shot up, immediately tense after his dream. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he fell back onto the covers, rubbing his eyes with a hand. Sunlight flooded through the window, resting on the edge of the bed. He knew this was the time when everyone was asleep, as he should be, but he just couldnít sleep. And seeing as sleep equaled flashbacks, he didnít really feel like it. It was only after a good day or something when he actually had sound sleep, and that hadnít happened for years. How old am I, anyway? Dwelling on that, he got up and went over to the drawer. For him, it actually was a bit hard to tell. Giving the thought up for the moment, he went through the shirts, settling on a black tee. He then grabbed a pair of jeans and his cloak and walked out the door. Seeing no one, he disappeared.

At his computer lab, he started typing. He wasnít exactly focusing on what he was doing, knowing that was bad yet not caring. Thoughts of his six-year old aunt came to mind as he opened the file he let her create. His mom was in Japan most likely. He wondered if his mom had seen her sister yet. She was pretty busy.

Then he spotted a compressed file. He froze, wondering what to do. That file had never been there, he knew it. Someone had put it there recently. What he didnít know was who had put it there. It could have been his aunt, but then again it could be his mom. The problem was that even though only three people could have put it there, it was pretty hard to see any of them. They could be anywhere.

Setting his virus system up to attack and quarantine any and all malicious files without pause, he clicked on the file. A word file was at the top, amongst other files. Opening that first, he breathed a light sigh of relief mixed with annoyance as he realized it was from his brother.

Okaasan sent me with these files. Said you were doing some research and you might like them. No idea whatís in them, but they shouldnít do anything bad. Enjoy your solitude, Mopey.


Ignoring the remark about his habits at the end of the note, he set to changing the password on his computer and returning his security system back to normal. Then he went through the files, copying certain bits and putting keywords through his personal maps system. Yes, it may seem ďreclusive and nerdyĒ to have made an entire database for his research, but it was necessary for his work to proceed. In the middle of that, he remembered what he was wondering about earlier and went to the calendar. Ah, Iíll be 534 tomorrow, he thought. He wondered if his mother would know, which was unlikely since his real age didnít correspond with his actual birth date, so she just attempted celebrating it then, if she could find him that is. Okaasan must think Iím 21 now.

Then he was interrupted by a message sent to him by his Master Computer Program, or MCP for short. He had made sure to set it up so that he could access it at anytime and shut it down no matter what, seeing as it controlled everything. Just in case, he had copied everything to his miniature flash drive that automatically uploaded and saved changes made on the computer, blocking out the MCP. He had made it, using 40th century technology. Being 9,000 gigabits, it was the biggest flash drive ever, not to exist even in the 40th century. His computer had a 1,000 bit RAM, 99,000 gb hard drive, and the quickest processor speed the worlds would ever see. If you didnít understand any of that, itís okay. Not many do. Letís just say that it is the most advanced gaming computer ever and leave it at that.

Sighing in annoyance as he was interrupted again from his main work, he went to the message board specially designed to take messages from the MCP alone to see what was wrong. It better not be an update alert, he thought. I hate when it interrupts me just for updates. Opening up the tab marked urgent, he read quickly. Smirking, he went to check what the weather would be like in the US. California, here I come.

Saving what he had done and removing his flash drive, he shut down the computer and warped back. He walked over to the window and squeezed out into the cold winter air, holding onto the window within. Then he let go, and whipping off his cloak, changed into his real form and flew off.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Throw Them Right Back And Ask For Oranges
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