Eric Danhoff's Blog

Paavo Harker used to dream of fire. 

His mind no longer offered what he considered beautiful, living paintings. The pain that wracked his body would help cradle him to blessful delirium. Watercolor portraits of all consuming rivers of flame would erupt from the cracks of blank city concrete. Descending warriors with damaged wings fell from the clouds to collide with the ground and spill out brilliant colors. He would watch those colors churn and whirl, turn to clay and form the mountains of Earth. Neon colored angels would tell him the stories of creation as they kissed his lips, caressed his wounds and drowned him in the purple and black oceans of subconscious.  He would awaken again to the pain and the blood but the dreams sustained him. When the world ended, he no longer had to dream to see the fire and the angels.

The cascades of sharp pain that greeted him every morning were distant. The aches were pushed deep down and replaced with something heavier. He couldn’t open his eyes. Beyond the dark was an invisible wall. Paavo could feel the blood behind his skin. He took time to rediscover his arms and legs and found all his limbs were still attached. The black wall pressed down and pinned him flat. Something sour poured into his mouth when he cried out. The taste of dust and dirt hit his tongue. He turned his head as far as he could to his sides to empty his mouth. Little points of light cut through the unfamiliar darkness. His eyes followed the points of light like stars in a night sky. He felt warmth. Behind the weight of the dirt, was sunlight. 

What was in the darkness had not yet crushed him. Paavo took deep, measured breaths and worked one arm free and then a hand. Above the soil, he could hear thudding sounds and screams. After one hand was free, he slowly inched and worked free another hand. There was something else pouring from above, also attempting to press down on his body. Paavo could taste sand in his mouth as well. He turned to his sides to keep from being flattened. Paavo wormed for small pockets of air. The little points of light above him changed and grew in size behind the descent of dirt. Once both hands were free, he could dig. His hands moved on instinct. Hunger pangs hit his stomach like bullets. Sweat had soaked his body. Something began to itch and burn across his chest. 

Paavo continued to push the soil and sand. He used those pockets of air to breathe and pull himself upright. The dirt that kept his legs down began to buckle as he slipped one leg free, then another. The points of sunlight above created dull shadows. He could see nothing but miles of wasteland at first. As he looked up, his vision of the world was twisted. There were colonies of dirt that stretched beneath the horizon of yellow sea. Paavo touched his face with his hands. His tongue lapped across his teeth. He pushed against the endless earth. He pulled himself up and embraced the dirt that had nearly devoured him. The dimmed lights above coalesced into a beacon that called to him. Paavo grabbed handfuls of dirt until he found pieces solid enough to hold his weight. Soon after, he found places in the dark to hold his feet. The soil no longer pushed down but instead, it had held him. It made space for him to climb. Silently, he praised the earth for letting him go.

Whoever had attempted to bury him, did not dig deep enough.

The thudding sound had stopped but the screaming did not. Paavo was soon greeted by the sun. He closed his eyes to keep them from drying out. There was new pain that introduced itself as he pulled free of the soil and out from his grave. He took small glimpses of his surroundings. His hands were bloodied. The black blazer, pants and dress shirt that covered him were stained with streaks and pools of red. His black hair was stained with sweat, blood and sand. Red lines ran down and stained his brown boots. He heard a weak whimper behind him. The thin man in black, sickly and pale, turned and saw a young boy, shaking and holding a shovel.

“Did you bury me?” asked Paavo.

“Not all the way,” said the boy.

His hair was shaved down to nothing. A metal ring stuck out from his lower lip. 

“Thank you,” Paavo said, unaffected.

In the distance, a striking sky of azure that bled out shapes of silver sat behind the sun. Between the gusts of wind, he heard screams. A gang of men took turns smashing their faces together. They pushed and ripped at each other. They moved between fighting each other and trying to lift something he could not make out. The men were covered in blood of their own, maybe his. Their pants were shades of stained brown, ripped and tattered. Their shirts and boots were decorated with red streaks and holes. Their jackets were spiked and covered in patches of faded graffiti.

“What’s your name, kid?” asked Paavo.

“Joshua,” the boy sighed.

The name was familiar. There were flashes of words exchanged with a woman. She had the kid’s dark hair and auburn skin. She served him tea in the kitchen of a small white house and showed him a photograph. He remembered her tears. She showed him the burned houses and all the graves that were dug in town because of “them”. He made a promise to her.

“I was supposed to bring you back home,” said Paavo.

“I know,” was all the boy said.

Paavo saw what young Joshua was wearing, a cleaner uniform then the others. The boy had the same style vest. The gang continued to scream and spit in each other’s faces. They were ravenous. Paavo’s eyes finally settled on the object they fought over. It was a sword. The thing was massive. The men were trying to lift the sword. Each one of them failed. Paavo looked back to see a stain of blood on the shovel in Joshua’s hands.

“Did you hit me with the shovel?” Paavo asked.

“No, I swear,” he pleaded.

“It’s okay,” said Paavo.

Further from the scene, a long patch of gray highway cut across a tapestry of sand, grass and valleys of red and orange stone. Two vehicles sat off to the side of the road. Both were large jeeps with shattered glass. One was missing its tires. Paavo knew which one must have been his.

“Where are you from, Joshua?”

“Osaki,” he said.

The name of the city triggered more images no longer buried by the pain. Paavo saw highway signs and mile markers. He remembered the fire in a bottle that hit the side of his jeep. The crash threw him from his seat. He saw the colors of the sky and then felt his face breaking glass. Paavo looked back at the gang. There were four of them. Two of them were shaved bald with cuts and scars that decorated their skin. The others had shades of pink and blue staining their hair. Paavo felt for the gun that was supposed to be in his holster. The space was empty. The word “Bastards” was sprayed in dripping white paint across each of their backs. Joshua’s vest did not have the same badge.

“Do you have my gun?” asked Paavo.

The boy fumbled in his own jean pockets until he found a safe grip on the Desert Eagle.

“Here,” whimpered Joshua.

Paavo took his weapon back. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

The clip was still there, but was missing its bullets. He quietly holstered the gun and turned back to the boy.

“Initiation?” he asked.

“Yeah. They grabbed me in the middle of the night. I swear I haven’t hurt anyone.”

The mother said the Bastards took young kids out to the hills and made them dig holes. The kids either came home terrified or they ended up joining the cause. There were whispers that the bodies they threw down into the earth were all twisted up, the skin of their victims shades of green and gray.

“They told me to just bury the bodies.” 

Paavo looked around across the desert. He wondered how many bodies were put down in the dirt like his own.

“Bandits?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. 

“They run the desert. Where we live, they’re the law. They’re murderers,” he said.

Pieces of his memory returned. There were brief flashes of faces in a darkened bar, driving on roads, chasing the sun down. The images came and went from what felt like dreams. Paavo looked out towards the highway and saw the edges of the town behind the mountains. He remembered walking past bombed out buildings and streets stained with blood. Paavo recalled the faces of people in the bar when he first arrived and how they salivated over the sword. He took care to hide it from everyone until he could no longer.

“How many holes have you dug so far, kid?”

“Just a few like yours,” said Joshua.

How many days had it been since he sat in the white kitchen and promised to bring him back? 

“I never wanted to join, okay? They would’ve done worse to me or my mom if I didn’t,” Joshua pleaded.

Paavo waved his hand. The boy kept his mouth shut. Paavo felt behind his shirt. He searched his skin until it felt like his own. He was searching for something. He was searching for that itching feeling on his chest. 

The screams stopped and the Bastards turned their attention back to the two at the top of the hill. The blue haired Bastard held out a machete towards them both. 

“You’re supposed to be dead!” he screamed.

Paavo found what he was looking for. The hole in his chest was wide enough for him to stick his hand inside. There was something inside. Paavo felt his heart and its weak pulse. There it was, he thought; the source of that familiar pain. The memories of cold mornings in the city feeling, cursing his heart chilled him. The heart was a machine, and it still continued on. His hand was stained with blood when he pulled it back. Joshua was frozen in place.

“You know it’s time to go home, right?” asked Paavo, as he wiped the blood on his shirt.

The men slowly walked towards him and the boy. 

“Yeah,” Joshua said. He gripped the shovel, unsure of what to do.

“Do they have my bullets?” he asked.

“No. He does,” said Joshua.

“He?” asked Paavo.

All the sound in his ears was gone. Something heavy hit the back of his head. His body crumbled. His face smashed into the sand. Joshua tensed and took a step back. A new voice echoed in the haze.

“You’re a hard one to keep down,” it said.

A combat boot struck Paavo in the cheek that drove his head back into the sand.

“Vale, I’m sorry,” Joshua whimpered.

“It’s alright, kid,” said the voice.

Paavo wiped the blood from his mouth and felt the traces of sand on his face. He looked up to see Vale. He was another sunkissed, orange desert freak like the Bastards slowly closing in. Black sunglasses covered his eyes. His jacket was blackened and frayed. Branches of gray ink danced and spiraled down his shoulders and arms. Smooth gray hair jutted out from the side of his scarred head. Gold plated teeth stabbed out from his smile.

“We’re a brotherhood of understanding and forgiveness,” said Vale.

A gunshot cut the silence. One of the Bastards fired at Paavo and barely missed. Vale looked up and returned fire at his own people. His bullet did not.

“Fuck are you doing, Scab?!” he screamed.

The blue haired Bastard fell over to the sand.

“We need him alive!”

Vale’s men looked down. They left their partner to get up on his own. Paavo noticed that his vest had stopped the bullet. The Bastards had armor.

“We need him to tell us how it works,” Vale said. 

The leader of the Bastards squatted down and pulled a blade of his own.

“What’s that?” asked Paavo.

“The sword,” said Vale.

“We’ve been watching you for a while now, little man. I’ve seen you carry that thing like it’s nothing. My boys are much bigger than you. We’ve been here for hours and they can’t lift it. So, how does it work?”

Paavo looked past the gang to the sword of stone. 

“You want it?” he asked.

Vale’s fist cracked the other side of Paavo’s face.

“It’s already ours. Show us how to carry it, or we carve you up,” he said.

Paavo smirked.

“Can you help me up?” 

Vale nodded.

“That’s a good boy,” he smiled.

The leader looked out to the desert and then signaled to his crew. 

“Boys, can you help our new friend please?”

The Bastards sauntered over and pulled Paavo to his feet. They pushed him towards the sword of stone. Vale stood next to Joshua. He wrapped his arm around the kid’s neck and pulled him close. Paavo looked back at Joshua. He was shaking. The kid was terrified. 

“Don’t worry about this young man. He’s in good hands,” shouted Vale.

Paavo met eyes with the kid. A hand grabbed his arm. 

“Thought you could outmaneuver us, eh?” asked the blue haired one. Paavo tried to remember what the leader called him. Scab?

“Can’t touch us. Can’t touch Vale. We’re on a mission. You don’t know what’s out there. There’s monsters in the sand.” 

Paavo felt the edge of a knife in his back as he walked towards the massive weapon. 

“How do you use that big shit anyway? What are you, like, 150 pounds?” asked Scab.

He looked back to see the blue haired one was further away, his gun pointed right at him.

“Pick it up, yeah?” shouted another one.

Paavo did not answer. The sword was seven feet in length and three feet in width. The blade’s texture was akin to dormant magma; with almost decorative waves of dead ash and melted rock. Dark minerals formed the handle, with cold, jagged lines carved into the stone, rough to the touch.  He found a familiar space in the stone for his fingers to grip. Paavo began to move the weapon from its place in the ground. It felt weightless to him.

The men behind him were in shock. One of them called out to Vale to take a closer look. Paavo pulled the sword from the sand and swung it hard in a circle. Half of the crew were knocked down in an instant. The blue haired Bastard howled and opened fire. Paavo turned the weapon to its side to deflect the bullets. He took another swing that felled the shooter and dropped the sword on the three Bastards still trying to get to their feet. Scab’s gun hit the sand and its handle stuck out. The weight of the weapon pushed the Bastards back down to the hot sand. Paavo held his breath and threw a right cross that stunned Scab. The gun was in Paavo’s hand. He met eyes with their leader, who held his knife to Joshua’s neck.

“Mister! Please!” the kid screamed.

The men pinned down struggled to slide out from under the massive stone weapon. It was too heavy for them.

“Well played, friend!” said Vale.

Paavo stared through him. 

“Good to know you can fight a bit.”

The thin man in black aimed the revolver at the Bastard’s forehead.

“So, tell me. How does it work?” Vale continued to bark.

Paavo looked down to the sword. 

“I don’t know,” he said.

Vale laughed.

“You don’t? You just swung that thing like it was nothing,” he said.

Paavo looked at the weapon and then at his hand.

“It’s in my blood.”

“You’re lying,” Vale said.

“We’ve seen everything out here, things you can’t even imagine. Don’t play with us. What is it? Some kind of magic?”

Paavo said nothing.

“Listen. You’re not going to like how this ends,” said Vale.

The leader of the Bastards pointed his knife at Paavo. His other hand squeezed Joshua’s throat tighter.

“Take the sword off my boys or we bury two bodies out here tonight. Maybe we bury the kid’s family, too.”

The mention of family drove Joshua into a frenzy. Vale kept his grip on the boy. The edge of the knife against his throat stopped him from resisting.

“Maybe I take your sword and that woman of yours for myself.”

Paavo lowered the gun. Woman? 

Those images returned but changed, as if the viewfinder had expanded; the walks through town staring back at those uneasy faces, the rides facing the sun’s descent. He didn’t come to Osaki alone. He could feel her hand in his.

Vale cut a line along the side of Joshua’s neck that made him recoil in terror and snapped Paavo back into reality.

“You can’t just walk into our home and make it yours. We run this place. We run this desert. We run the Reverse. You aren’t saving a goddamn thing.”

Paavo saw something stirring in the soil and sand between them. The vision of the woman was further buried back into the dark. His heart stopped. Something new had taken hold of him. There was a new fear. Paavo dropped the revolver. The Bastards pinned down had seen it too. Paavo heard the faint warnings of gutting his body and bleeding him dry. He paid no mind. None of them could see what was climbing from the hole that opened beside them. Something was digging its way up from a place much deeper than his grave. 

Claws cut through the ground like meat. Joshua and Vale followed Paavo as he circled the gang and the opening in the earth. The Bastards finally saw the creature that emerged. Their screams had changed from rage to fear. The monster was an indigo serpent. It held the face of a snake with yellowed eyes and needles for fangs. Its massive limbs were decorated with scales like embedded stones that collected at the top of its head like a crown. The creature’s hands and feet were pointed claws, bloodied from the climb to the surface. It let out a scream that cut through the wind. The sound chilled all of them. The Bastards hollered for someone to open fire. Vale was happy to oblige. 

The bullets cut the creature’s skin and blasted through its neon hide. Blood began to flow from its wounds like rivers. Tears ran down Joshua’s face as he looked back to the man running past the monster. Paavo reached for the sword and pulled it to his side as the creature rose back up. He grabbed at the gigantic hilt as if he was feeling for something. The Bastards were now free and joined in attacking with their leader. They opened fire together as the serpent had leapt into the air. The bullets that were lodged inside its skin had been pushed out by new blood and muscle. Its wounds had healed in seconds. The claws of the creature found a target. The blue haired Bastard crumpled under its weight. Its eyes found a spot of soft flesh and its fangs bit down. Its tongue tasted blood as its tail swung and leveled the others before they could react. The screams from Scab were sudden and sharp. The other Bastards scrambled to pull the creature from their fallen friend. Vale had left Joshua to join them. They cut and cut at the limbs with their blades. They shot bullets into its head point blank with their guns. The serpent continued to drink. They could not free Scab’s body from its unbreakable grip.

The sword of stone smashed open. Great fires exploded from the blade. The coating of black ash and molten rock were gone. Like a shell, fires cut through the cracks until the pressure became too much and its covering blasted off, sending shards in all directions. The creature’s flesh cut open, seared by pieces of shrapnel and the unknown substance that covered it. Vale’ eyes grew wide at the sight. The Bastards screamed out in fear. Joshua dropped to his knees.

A burning flame was exposed. Flares uprooted from the blade and spread out around its holder. Each flame moved as if it were alive, slithering back and forth across the blade. The sword was a body of fire, its limbs growing in length and width. Paavo gripped the hilt of the weapon. Feeling the weight, it became easier to lift as the fire burned greater. Power rushed through his body. He took deep breaths, inhaling the burning air. The pain in his heart went numb as the flame seared his chest and made him whole again. 

Paavo Harker no longer dreamt of fire. He was the fire. 

He placed the sword blade down into the sand. The flame poured from the edge like lava and became a river. Joshua called out to him. A strong wind cut through the air that silenced his voice. Paavo gripped the handle and felt the blade react. The fire pulsed and contracted, as if it were breathing. It adhered to his command. Paavo heard another voice, hidden behind the wind. It was too faint to make out but a feeling lingered. He felt the pangs of a deep hunger. The living flame moved with inhuman speed and encircled the creature. With another grip, the heat intensified and the creature relented. Scab screamed once he was free from its claws, in shock his skin was somehow unburned. The Bastards dropped their weapons and helped pull him back as the creature writhed in pain. 

“Please,” the voice returned. 

Paavo heard it now. He looked to the others around him, to see their mouths were still. 

“It burns.”

Paavo’s eyes returned to the creature as it spun in the sand to try and put out the fire.

“The pain,” it said.

The creature was speaking to him, Paavo realized. The flame continued to pulse. The screams from the creature turned to a piercing shriek. He remembered something from the black pool of his memory. The words were a simple phrase; a classification he had forgotten until then. 

“A Lesser Demon,” Paavo said.

The voice in his head continued to plead with him in his language.

“Help me,” said the Lesser Demon.

The voice grew softer. 

“Feed me,”

The pain behind its words hit him in the chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Paavo whispered.

The creature’s face turned to Paavo as the fire turned its brilliant neon skin into a blackened hide. The Bastards hollered in excitement. They raised their arms in victory. Paavo watched the creature’s eyes go soft. The screams had ceased as the fire claimed it. The desert was silent except for the crackling of meat and skin in the flame.

Paavo looked at Joshua. Tears streamed down the kid’s face. Paavo loosened his grip on the weapon and the fire died down. The corpse of the Lesser Demon was ash. Joshua screamed again. Vale fired a shot at Paavo. A column of flame took shape. The bullet never made it past the massive hand. The weapon acted on its own to protect its owner.

“In your blood, eh?” Vale called out.

The Bastards stepped over the remains of the Lesser Demon towards Paavo.

“Suppose we’ll be taking some of that blood too, along with the sword.”

Paavo gripped the handle of the blade. The living flame shifted and grew a deeper red. The Bastards stood still as they now felt a heat that was absent. 

“It listens to me,” Paavo murmured.

“It hurts who I want it to,” he said.

Scab reached out his hand and pulled it back once he felt the flame. 

“You a hunter?” Vale called out.

Every Bastard who had guns aimed them at the man in black.

“Something like that,” said Paavo.

The flame pulsed and became a line that divided the Bastards from Paavo and Joshua.

“You know about the demons?” Paavo asked.

Vale nodded.

“I told you. We grew up out here. We see them. We survive them,” he said.

Joshua stood behind Paavo and the sword of fire. Vale walked up to the dividing line. He touched the fire and licked his fingers once he felt the heat.

“You trapped it down there, didn’t you?” asked Paavo.

Vale walked alongside the barrier of fire.

“We did. The only way to stop them was starvation,” he said before turning back to the sword.

“That is, until now,” said Vale. 

“You aren’t terrorizing the town. You’re trying to protect them,” Paavo realized.

“The kids you take from Osaki? Stolen?” he asked.

“Volunteers. At least, once they see the monsters, they all take the vow to join us and keep the pact.”

Paavo cut a glance at Joshua. He stood shivering, still terrified. 

“We’re all servants of the desert,” said Vale.

“How many of you Bastards are there?” asked Paavo.

“Not a lot of us. You see how strong these things are. You see how fast they heal. Everything living needs to eat, though,” said Vale.

The leader of the Bastards turned his head to the sand. His face changed to something broken.

“If the town saw what was really outside those walls, there would never be peace. A lot of brothers have given their lives to the Reverse.” 

Vale’s eyes seem to trace a line in the sand. 

“You think you can protect them with what I have?” asked Paavo.

“I know I can. You coming here was a gift. What made you come down here anyway?” Vale pressed his hand against the fire.

Paavo said nothing. He couldn’t remember.

“Can your sword stop a bullet when you sleep?” Vale asked. 

Paavo did not respond. The heat from the fire grew more intense. 

“Okay, hero,” said Vale. 

He pointed his knife at Joshua.

“Can you walk the boy back to the city? It’s about twenty miles from here.”

Paavo stayed silent as the fire continued to burn atop the sand.

“Don’t talk much do you?”

Paavo twisted the handle of the weapon and Vale felt the pulsing flame surround his feet. He watched it coil like a serpent and rest in a perfect circle.

“I thought you were a brotherhood of understanding, and forgiveness,” said Paavo.

Vale laughed and snapped his fingers. The Bastards joined him as they put their guns away.

“How about this, then?” We’ll take your boy home back to mama since you saved mine,” Vale offered.

Paavo looked to Joshua, who turned to see the remains of the demon and the ruined vehicle before agreeing.

“Say thank you, Scabby,” said Vale.

Scab sneered and wiped something wet from his nose.

“Much appreciated,” he spat.

Paavo lessened his grip on the sword. Vale waited for the circle of fire to wane before he stepped over it. He walked to the Bastards’ jeep. Inside was a pile of guns, grenades and a blue cooler that carried its own scars and burns. Vale opened the wounded cooler and pulled out a bottle of water. 

“I can see now why they’re scared of you,” said Vale.

He walked back to the fire and tossed it. Paavo caught it with his empty hand.

“Who?” asked Paavo.

Vale smiled and light reflected off those gold teeth.

“The people in town,” he said.

Will they come for him? For the sword?

Paavo did not let go of the weapon. The thirst for water cut a hole in his throat.

“You take the boy home. You leave the family alone. If not, you will be seeing me again,” said Paavo.

Scab called Joshua over. He caught eyes with Paavo and mouthed the words “thank you”.

Vale waited for the Bastards to start the jeep, then walked to Paavo. He took his knife and pointed it to Paavo’s hand.

“The sword’s still mine. Be seeing you,” said Vale.

Paavo finally smiled. A strong wind blew past them both, pushing sand in their eyes and ears.

“Bullets?” asked Paavo.

Vale raised an eyebrow.

“What bullets?” he asked.

Paavo opened his jacket to show him the empty Desert Eagle.

“Oh yeah. Those bullets,” Vale laughed.

He searched his jean pockets for a clip and tossed it to Paavo’s feet. As he turned back towards the jeep, Paavo called to him.

“If you can carry it, you’re welcome to take it,” he said. 

Vale thought about trying it, but remembered his men struggling for air beneath the massive weapon and let it go. He saluted Paavo with the tip of his knife. Within seconds, the jeep blew past him and hit the highway. Paavo waited for them to be out of sight to exhale. He took his hand off the sword. The living flame split into twin rivers, one receded into the blade and the other found a home in Paavo’s chest. The fire slithered across his clothes and skin like it mimicked the serpent it had just slain. The flame coiled and nestled into the hole in his chest. The pain that greeted him every morning was smothered away; buried in fresh, cauterized skin.

Paavo took a sip of the bottled water. He felt something churn inside him and he emptied his stomach onto the sand. The liquid was a mixture of red and pink that swirled and puddled near his boots. A dizzy spell shook him and Paavo fell to the sand. His weapon crashed to the ground next to him with a heavy thud. He drank more water and covered his eyes from the sun. The silver clouds had parted. The heat from above poured onto the desert and the roads that stretched beyond. Paavo took another sip of water and got to his feet. His legs shivered. Paavo bent down to pick up his clip. The bullets were still there. Paavo pulled the massive sword onto his shoulders and began the walk on the highway back to Osaki.

The mile markers were solemn reminders of how far he had to go. Paavo draped the sword across his shoulders and stayed on the shoulder of the road in case the Bastards returned. The sound of his boots hitting the pavement became a rhythm. How was he able to carry the sword? Paavo searched the dark of his mind for an explanation. It was given to him. He could see the room, somewhere in the distance where the road met the sky. The room was near the highest point of a skyscraper. He was brought there as a guest. Paavo was presented the sword by men and women in hooded gowns adorned with gold. 

He stopped to breathe and take small sips of water. The wind smacked him across the face and brought no relief. Paavo walked with the pain and took small draws from the bottle until it was empty. The brilliant colors of sky had disappeared from his sight. Without clouds to block the light, the desert was now a glowing white. The glow had brought its own pain in extreme heat. Perhaps it was karma for revealing the flame to the Bastards back there. 

What was it those men and women said to him? He began to feel a thousand images and words, memories of a life so removed from the desert, all happening at once. Paavo spoke the words to himself, like telling a story. He felt his thoughts solidify like colors on a blank canvas. 

Hundreds of years ago, a weapon was carved from the stone of the mountain, the heaviest rock. Some say it was tempered in the fires of hell. As such, it was the only way to scar the flesh of the demons. It was called the Nameless. There were no identifiable markings on the blade or handle. People from all walks of life had come far and wide to put their hands on it. It was said that no one could lift it from its stone sanctuary. No one could lift it until it was given to him. He was told he was special. The ones draped in gold spent years trying to find him and others like him. Paavo was told his father was a fallen angel who came to Earth and made a son with a human woman. This bloodline of divine right was kept secret. Their secret was protected until the day that those rejected from heaven would flood the world. There was a name they gave to those born of angel and human. 

Nephilim. 

He didn’t know what it meant.

They told him the archangel Michael wielded the same sword. The Nameless would guide those who remained after the flood to paradise.

“The flame of God,” someone said that night.

Paavo remembered a promise to keep it hidden. How long had it been since he had seen a demon? The designation of the serpent even, Lesser Demon, implied there were greater ones. He stopped under a sign that said something was fifteen miles away. The old name had been painted over with black and red splashes. The shadow cast by the sign was a brief reprieve from the white hot sun. The words stared back at him;

“Hole, two miles. Osaki, fifteen miles,” it warned.

The hole was one of many gateways; the bleeding edge of the Underworld that slowly crept into the human world once those holes had opened. Beyond the gates, were the mirror image of the desert, a twisted reflection of the human world; the Reverse.

He took a deep breath, dropped the bottle and continued his walk back to the city.  The heat pushed down on him with every step. Sweat had pooled on his arms, legs, chest and neck. Paavo counted the miles with each marker passed. There were no cars coming or going. The only sound besides his breath and boots was the wind. The weight of the weapon on his back kept him steady as he fell back into the images he lost to the Lesser Demon. Paavo kept one eye open to focus on the road ahead and he stepped back into the dark to catch a glimpse of her.

The knock on the door shook the woman awake from sleep. The sun had just begun to press its dark red fingers through the black clouds on the horizon. She looked through her kitchen window to the sky before heading to the front door. Dirty glasses in the sink reflected her nervous walk over tiles yellowed with age. Her eyes caught the clock in the living room as she approached the front door. He didn’t come home last night, like he said he would. There was a second knock. She already had a speech prepared, a punishment to give out for his disobedience. The purple curtains that covered every window were stained with smoke.  Her bare feet hobbled over the wood floors, making anxious creaks. She slowly unlocked the door and opened it. The thin man was there, dressed in a white suit, neatly creased. The crimson sun began to tear a hole in the darkness in the distance.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said.

The woman looked him up and down.

“Who are you?” she took a step back to ask.

“Just a traveler,” he said.

“Sometimes, a messenger.”

“Can I help you?” she asked.

A strong blast of wind threw sand in both their faces. The man closed his eyes and let nature run its course. The wind continued to push them. The woman kept her hands on the door to try and stop a mess from getting inside. His suit was covered with stains of sand. Once the wind died down, she opened the door to try and not be too rude. The sounds of wind and sand rattled the other houses that surrounded them. Weathered white picket fences shook with each gust of air. The woman looked around to the covered windows in those neighboring houses. She still didn’t let him inside. The woman paused to look at the thin man. Blonde hair shaped by old razors covered the top of his head. His skin was a pale white. A white blazer was draped over his broad shoulders. A black dress shirt and pants were tailored to fit his form. A white line ran across his neck. She understood what it meant. 

“Priest?”

The man nodded his head.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“New in town?”

He spoke softly, respectfully.

“I am. The men guarding the front gates were gracious enough to let me in.”

The woman nodded and said nothing.

“I must say, those gentlemen were very hard to convince. They don’t like visitors from out of town, do they?” he asked.

The woman scoffed.

“They don’t like anyone, period,” she said.

His suit was hit again with another shot of sand and wind. 

“Do you need to come inside? The winds are bad right now.”

The man bowed his head.

“If I could, please,” he said.

She welcomed him inside. She made him wait at the front door while she took a broom from the closet to push the sand back outside onto the porch.

The priest took a step back to give her room.

“Skylines here are beautiful,” he said.

“Oh, please. It looks like the damn end of the world out there,” she spat.

The woman froze for a moment and then caught herself.

“I’m sorry. Please come in.”

The priest followed her through the living room into the kitchen. The walls had started to lose their white shimmer years ago. His eyes moved around the corners of the house. The old plaid couch was covered in plastic. The dining table was shoved into the corner of the room with a bible placed in its center. Plates and glasses kept scraps of food and marks of lips. There was a smell of trash that hit his nose. The kitchen pathway held several open bags of garbage yet to be thrown out. The woman went through her drawers until she found two clean glasses.

“Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Water is fine, ma’am,” he said.

“Willa,” she said. 

She shook her head and got to work pouring water from a bucket into each glass. She placed them down at opposite sides of the table and took a seat.

“Forgive me. The water from the wells have some sand in them too.” 

The woman held her glass to the light of the kitchen and frowned as she studied the grains at the bottom of her glass. The priest took the glass and swallowed half the water inside.

“Then I suppose this will be my breakfast as well,” he said.

“It’s storms like this. We can’t keep it from getting in.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes?” he asked.

The woman stared at him for a moment, unsure what he meant.

“As hard as we try to keep things clean, there’s always a bit of dirt. A clean house until you open the door for a stranger and here comes a gust of wind, a pile of sand. There’s some darkness that sneaks in. We have to do our best to brush it to the side and make due with what we have.” 

“That’s quite the priestly thing to say,” said Willa.

“If you are thinking I’m here to sell you something, you can relax,” he said.

The woman took a small sip from her glass and put it down on the table.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

The priest finished his glass of water and sand and placed it down next to hers.

“I’m here to establish my church.”

He reached into his blazer pocket and produced a black card. She couldn’t make out the cursive writing on the front side as he flipped it and placed it down on the table next to her glass. On the back of the card was a drawing of a white cross.

“I think we need a little more than a church around here, father,” she said.

“Besides, we already have one on the east end of town. Didn’t you see it coming in?”

“I did, but it’s clear there’s no one in there taking care of it.”

The priest folded his hands on the table.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“A couple of years,” she said with a small gulp of sand.

“I want to tell you, like I will tell everyone here in this town that my church is not like many others.”

The woman snickered.

“Oh? How so?” she asked.

“Many churches ask for money and mine does not,” he said. The woman perked up. 

“They ask for donations to strengthen themselves in exchange for giving those who need to practice their faith a space to do so. My church already has all the money it needs,” said the priest.

“So, what are you looking for?” she asked.

The man took a breath and sat up.

“Good, honest people,” he continued.

“It’s funny you mentioned the end of the world earlier. It’s been about five years since the world did end in a way, am I right?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The rapture,” he said plainly. She took a long breath.

“So, you are one of those priests,” she muttered.

The man smiled.

“One of those?” he pressed.

Willa said nothing.

“Tell me, who are these? Who am I?” he asked.

The woman leaned forward.

“You think that God willed those things out there. You think that it was by design that all those people died.”

“All across our world, holes opened up with no warning,” he interrupted.

“I know what happened,” she shot back. 

“What emerged were monstrous creatures. Some called them demons. In many places, the police were overpowered. The local, state governments were confused. Even with all the strength of our armed forces, we could not handle this flood. Our government, who swore to protect us, could not stop this overwhelming presence of evil.” 

Willa looked down at her feet.

“In some ways, I’m glad it happened,” he said.

She looked at him in disgust.

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“Humans were united on that day for the first time in a long time. Do you know why?” he asked. 

She said nothing in return.

“We were united by fear. The people who ran this world were forced to reckon with something unexplainable. They were forced to deal with something that couldn’t be bought. Us little people didn’t have the option to spectate, to worry about ourselves. Everyone ran. Everyone together moved with the same, singular purpose. Everyone hid in fear. Am I wrong?”

Willa took a drink.

“No, you’re not.”

“I saw the bible on your dining room table. I already know you’re a believer. I imagine no one else in these townhouses are willing to come to church, or come sit and pray with you. I also think that this house is not yours. Perhaps everyone in these townhouses happened to find them and you all planted your flag on the front door and never came back outside to greet your neighbors.”

The woman stared back at him with widened eyes.

“I know that ever since that day, your faith has been shaken. Everything you were taught to believe was proven false. I won’t say it was a lie. We just learned from a group of faithful who didn’t know, the same as so many others. Ever since that day, people have hidden under rocks and abandoned houses, afraid to have faith. You’re all afraid to step into that church because of those things. You won’t allow yourself to believe in God because you have seen the face of the Devil and God has been nothing but silent these past five years.”

“You don’t know a thing about me,” she said.

The priest leaned forward. The woman backed up and clenched her hands.

“My family is mostly gone now but was always deep in faith. My home, my school and my church were underground. I didn’t grow up like you,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, confused.

“I was raised in the darkness. I didn’t see the beauty of God’s blue sky until that same day five years ago. I guess I share something in common with those things. From the very beginning, I trained, I read, and all of us children dreamed.”

She looked back at him.

“The darkness cradled us. We were raised with the hope that when the time is right, the stones that kept us safe would open. The day I turned eighteen years old, the stones broke apart and we felt something new. What we felt, was heat. We felt the sun. We were free to walk on the soil. Soon after we saw the sky, we saw the holes and the devastation.”

“I don’t understand,” Willa said.

“You grew up underground?” she asked.

“It was a small convent, established in the mountains. A cave was discovered there many years before and people settled there.”

“Why?”

“They found what they believed to be the remains of an angel. My family and others made the cave their home. They shut themselves inside and waited.  Where I am from, we studied the Books of Enoch. Are you familiar?”

“No,” Willa said. Her face became stone.

“Enoch’s books were not considered part of the faith’s canon. He wrote of angels falling from heaven to earth to bore children with human women. They would teach them the secrets of Heaven, their knowledge of weapons and skills passed down through generations.”

The woman grimaced.

“He believed that the flood of Genesis was God’s decision to bring us to a state of chaos in order to remake our world. The flood reset our world and it was the ark that carried us through that ordeal and allowed us to start again clean. The books it was morally necessary to reset our world, to remove the remnants of sin from the land.”

“You think losing my husband was necessary?” she asked.

The priest was unmoved.

“I don’t know your husband.” 

“That’s right. You don’t. He was a good man.”

Willa got up and put the empty glasses into her sink. He waited for the sounds of scrubbing glasses to settle.

“Tell me about that day for you,” said the priest.

“I was at work. My husband was too. I made it home to get our son. My husband never did. There was so much screaming. I couldn’t hear anything else. The cars stopped in the roads because there were so many people running. They were running from those things. Some nights, I wake up still hearing the screams of the people and the screams of the monsters. When I close my eyes, I can picture my feet running over red streets.”

The priest looked out towards the crimson sky.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“We’ve been running ever since that day,” she said.

“We all have. In my travels, I’ve met many people like you,” he said.

“Like me?” she asked.

“I’ve heard every version of that same story. Good people in the middle of their normal lives, completely torn apart by an unexplained abomination. Our people became complacent. We were unprepared for such an attack. We scrambled and we failed to save so many of our brothers and sisters.”

The priest took a step towards her.

“You have seen the evidence of evil in this world, yes? I have seen the evidence of angels who once walked this land; bones that were scattered and when assembled displayed a figure over ten feet tall, their weapons even larger, sitting at their sides. You and I have seen evidence of a flood that has come to wash our world clean. You and your son, however, you survived. You found a way to swim in that flood. You made it here to this place. Ever since that day, we have lived in that same fear. Afraid to open our hands and our borders, so much so that you have a gang of thugs stalking this city like wild horses. The flood never stopped. Did it?”

Willa was silent. Her eyes stared miles beyond the dark sky and sand outside her window. Her hands let go of soap stained glasses.

“Do those creatures still walk these lands?” he asked.

“We hear stories all the time about those…’demons’. But we don’t go past the city limits. They keep us here. They say it’s for our protection but I know the truth. We’re trapped,” she said.

The priest stopped for a moment and then stood up. Willa turned from her kitchen window and looked outside to the darkness.

“Your son, is he here now with you?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“He’s out there,” she pointed to the dark.

“With them?”

She quickly turned back.

“You didn’t speak to them, did you?” 

The priest shook his head.

“How did you get past?”

The priest clasped his hands together.

“I have trained a long time to stay hidden, and to defend myself, when necessary,” he said.

“I think you need to leave,” she said.

“This doesn’t have to remain a trap. This can be a sanctuary.” 

“Is that what you’re asking for? Followers?” she huffed.

“I don’t need anyone to follow me. I need more people like me willing to follow him.”

The priest pointed his finger up. She knew he was pointing past the ceiling, through the shadows of the sky beyond them.

“I’ll speak with everyone, at least everyone willing to listen, like you. My story will not change. I don’t wish for money or endless loyalty. I’m here to build. I want people to trust each other again. I’m fearful for my people who remain after the flood. I believe that this rapture has not ended.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“We are meant to rebuild. The flood, these demons, are to be cleared away by those who remain, the ones remaking the world in His image,” said the priest.

He took a small step towards the woman.

“I’m fearful of false prophets,” he said.

“Like who?”

“Those who come in hopes of gaining control. There will be those who come here with the face of a hero, yet what they bring is misery and destruction.”

The woman bit her lip. 

“You know what I speak of. You’ve already seen some, I can tell. They will say they’re doing their best, or that they’re trying to protect you. You will look at all their effort and see people terrified and more divided. False prophets will look at all the wrong they have caused and will say it’s not their fault. They will blame circumstances, bad luck and everything or everyone around them when their own intentions bring pain to those undeserving.”

Willa no longer felt the fear of a stranger in her home.

“I’m here, asking for your trust. You know the false prophets already. I’m here to tell you there will be more.”

“Can you save my son?” she asked.

The priest stepped forward and took her hand.

“United. We can save anyone,” he said.

The priest bowed his head.

“Will you pray with me? He asked.

Willa wiped a tear from her eye and took his hands.

“What are you going to do? There’s so many of them. They have guns.”

He was not shaken.

“My congregation is waiting for my signal. Soon, so will we,” he whispered.

“Will you kill them? For us?” she pleaded.

His face was still.

“We will speak to them, the same as I have done here. We will speak to them the same as everyone else. No lives will be lost. Those who have drifted from God’s love will be returned.” 

“Thank you, Father. What’s your name?” she asked.

The priest simply smiled.

“…And the Lord sent his glorious ones, the archangel Gabriel…”

He took her hand and clasped it tight.

“…And he said to me, ‘Be brave, Enoch! Don’t be frightened…”

The room was a cold and white box. Glass separated her from the blinding lights above and below.  The girl kept her eyes closed and rubbed her right wrist. She had stopped counting the seconds she had been waiting. She wondered if they had been watching her the whole time. There were two doors, the one she entered and the one across from the metal table and two chairs. The one she had entered locked as soon as she closed it behind her. She didn’t think to try the other one. 

    Instructions came in a private message twenty fours after she submitted her application. The steps were clear; come to this address, provide the password to the woman outside, enter the room marked ‘talent scouting’ and wait for the man. She didn’t know what this man would look like. Once she got the message, she waited for the time given and made her way to the office. 

Behind the entrance, the woman held out a bag and asked for her clothes, her shoes, everything. The girl nodded and gave her what she asked. Once the bag was full, the woman thanked her and threw her a white shirt and pants to put on. The girl put her new clothes on and looked up to see the woman was gone. There were no windows inside the office. The walls were glass, with wired lights and walkways of concrete that led her down hallways marked with numbered, metal doors. 

The girl remembered the path back out to the street if things went wrong. She heard the tumblers of the other door move. The door opened and she had forgotten the path back outside. The man was dressed in a black suit, white shirt and tie. His black hair was combed into sharp edges and once he stepped to the table, smelled of cologne and product. The girl didn’t look up to make eye contact. The man carried something in his left hand. Once he stepped to the table, he took the briefcase and slammed it on the table. The girl flinched at the sound and continued to rub her wrist. 

He pulled out his chair and took a seat at the table with her.

“The instructions were clear,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” asked the girl.

The man moved the briefcase to the side. He clasped his hands together and dropped them on the table.

“No weapons allowed.” he said and motioned to her wrist.

“It was a gift,” she said.

“Take it out,” he sighed.

The girl stopped rubbing her wrist and placed her thumb just above the veins in her elbow. The man watched the skin of her forearm neatly unfold and saw the blade thrust outward. The edges left cuts on either side of her arm. Blood began to run down both sides of her arm like small rivers. The man opened the case and reached inside.

“Have you never used it before?”

The man threw a white towel to her to clean herself.

“Never had to,” she said.

He watched her soak up the blood from each side. He noticed that the rivers continued even after she tried to press down hard on each wound.

“Release the blade first,” he said, annoyed.

She looked at him finally and saw the blue shimmer in his eyes.

“Proper defensive augmentation is done by contract. Chop shop work like this will get you nothing but limb de-compatibility. If your arm is not set to self clean the weapon,  mercury poisoning. Drop the blade and then wrap your wounds.” he scoffed.

The girl relinquished the hidden weapon and then wrapped her arm. The knife made a sharp sound against the table.

“It was silly to bring this. You won’t need it anymore.” he said.

The girl pressed down again on the cuts across her arm.

“It’s true. It was a gift for my 18th birthday.”

The man produced another towel. He cleaned the blood from the knife with two quick swipes across the edges.

“Who got that for you?” he asked.

“I got it for myself,” she said.

The man placed the blade into the case along with the stained towel.

“Glad to see you didn’t have to use it. If you had, it probably would have killed you.”

The girl looked down and saw her  blood had dripped on the metal table. She tried to wipe them away with her hand.

“Does this void the contract?” she asked.

The man waved his hand and produced a stack of paper from the case.

“It does not. It’s normal to be afraid,” he said.

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid but stopped herself. The stack of papers was a contract, she knew that much. The man took a black ballpoint pen from the case and placed both in the center of the table.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” she asked.

The man shook his head.

“You won’t meet me again,” he said.

He opened the cover sheet of the contract. Her eyes caught the writing across the front. 

“Tell me your name,” he said.

“You don’t have to know mine, either,” she snapped.

The man cracked a slight smile. Her name shot across the page in stylized writing, along with the words, “Clock Candidate”, in crisp italics.

“Alyse Wu,” he began.

“Why did you ask me my name if you already knew it?”

The man cracked his knuckles and laid his hands flat on the table.

“Clock Candidates get nervous when they start reflecting. There have been times, when a candidate will sit through an interview, agree to the terms, sign the contract and then when it’s time to begin, they will disappear,” he said.

The girl was not moved.

“That won’t happen to me,” she said.

“A Clock Candidate agrees to give their body and their life willingly to another host.”

“I know the description. I read the contract,” she said.

The man leaned forward.

“You can walk out of here right now. There will be no consequences. If you sign this paper and then decide to vanish on us, you will be found. The contract you agree to, will still be fulfilled. This paper, if you sign, is binding in perpetuity.”

He held up the contract. It was a manuscript. The neat stack of carefully stapled sheets were decorated with cascades of small black letters.

“No way out?” she asked.

“Right now, there is.” 

The man put the contract back down and slid it across the table to her.

“I am going to ask you, Alyse Wu, because you deserve time to think about this…”

She waited.

“Why do you want to give up your life for someone else?”

have led me here

a prison of thought and of body

scratching these arms and legs covered

in invisible sickness

waiting for the wounds taking so long to heal

hoping i haven’t fallen too far

to feel forgiven

however brief my peace do not forget

i did this to myself

balancing weights

on my shoulder that bare the faces

of uncles and fathers like me

those who could barely handle their liquor

and those who couldn’t keep it

from handling them

ive been too trusting of my demons

thinking them badges of honor

heart tainted with fear, with ego

and me? 

untouched for many years

driving home with blurred eyes

migraines

and yet smarter than God

still hoping to slink away from these crimes

great disappointment repeats itself

in new ways

to humble this body

bring me to my knees before a court of one

a reflection

i have long thought too much of myself

the whispers of an unsettled mind

hauntings of truths i was unable to speak

listening back to recordings of slurred speech

blurred moments of night

scenes missing from the reel

laughing faces of strangers and friends

telling you

what you missed

the words of a wife

the questions from a child

waiting for the house to quiet

before diving into oceans

swimming in glasses

and tasting their fire

the archives of my true darkness

every page written before feels false

like shields, shattered on the floor

it hurts too much to wear these words

forgiveness of myself still out of reach

morning memories reintroduce the forgotten

it is mine to own

to carry forward

dream this peace into existence

put distance between those nights and now

every day is a choice made for good

not for rage, or bitterness

start counting the moments

free of the doubt

when the mind is clear

of the whispers and want

collect and wrap them

in resolve

replace every shadow with a light

until the dark is outnumbered

and the days

no longer hurt

winter.