<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><i>'Your lack of faith is the fallacy that will swallow you.'</i></span><br/><br/>The feeling of not belonging. In many ways that was the worst part of being what he was. Damien Ward was born as all humans are, but he was far more than just a mere mortal. His mother had been a beautiful photographer who made a living on capturing other people’s happiness on camera but always failed to grasp her own. The cheerful young woman had a smile that could light up a room, but there was sickness on the inside. Not the kind that one could get diagnosed and potentially treated. No. This was a different kind. It was the kind of sickness that clung to her being and slowly devoured everything it was that made her happy. It was the kind of sickness that uses oneself to break themselves down without even realizing that they are doing it. It was the kind of thing that consumed souls and damned people to horrible, wretched lives- and afterlives. It was evil, and it was Damien’s father who inflicted his mother with that dreadful plight.<br/><br/>Damien woke sitting up, eyes slamming open, mouth agape. He was screaming, but didn't notice it for a good few seconds when it was tapering off. His body was slick with sweat, the thin sheet pooled and clinging to the lower half of his body. He brought a hand up and combed it through his hair, effectively combing the thick tufts of black hair on his head back. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered quietly on an exhale. Already the dream was fading, but he knew it had been a bad one. The had all been bad lately. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and touched bare feet down on the wood floor that lined his room. His eyes were drawn to the old digital clock on his bedside table. It's vibrant red, rounded numbers said that it was 6:30 P.M.<br/><br/>He stood and walked to the lone window in his small apartment, his footfalls slapping off of the hard floor. Damien peered through a slit he’d made in the cream colored blinds by way of breaking off a small section in one corner. The sun was all but gone and if there was any light to be seen of it, the city itself drowned it out. New York City was where he called home, even though he was born very far from there. The allure of the big city had been what lured him in. The small town life just wasn’t for him and as soon as he was old enough, he left the orphanage. Thinking about that made forged memories of his mother flood his mind. He could see her standing before him, congratulating him on some big achievement. He could also see her encouraging him during a pee wee baseball game. He saw her a lot of ways, but all of these versions of his mother all had the safe face, the same smile and that was because he had based them all off of the same picture. Lori Ward had died during childbirth. His own mother's life was the first one that he had taken.<br/><br/>He snapped back to the apartment and let out an audible sigh. There were more after that, many more, most being accidental while others...justified. He stepped away from the window and walked over to the side of his bed where there were a pair of blue jeans bunched up on the floor. He stepped into them and pulled them up his legs, securing them at his hips. Damien was a tall man with a lean build. His eyes were a dark brown and the slight beard on his face matched the thick, pitch black hair that roamed his head. He spun slowly, looking at the floor and finally found what he needed. A shirt, one of the only clean ones that he had left. Laundry was never very high on his to do list, until he ran out of clothes that is. He pulled it over his head, the shirt clinging and outlining the muscle mass he had. Next he grabbed his jacket: an old, faded leather one that he'd acquired from somebody a little less fortunate than himself.<br/><br/>Damien left his apartment and stepped out into the night. He walked slowly, not really having a destination in mind. He supposed that he'd go wherever his feet too him. Though there was a feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, Damien had no idea the twists that particular night had in store for him.<br/><br/>------<br/><br/>He lurked in the shadows. A demon who took joy feeding on the fears of man; women too. The one he'd been stalking that night looked absolutely delectable. He'd nearly taken her earlier in the night whilst she was occupied with her friends, but opted against it. He was patient, though he had been explained as otherwise. He just loved the thrill of the chase, much like humans did when courting one another, but love wasn't the end game here. Not for him. He was interested in something a little more savory than the cunt tucked in between this young lady's legs. He would kill her and then feed on the bits he deemed worth consuming. His mouth was damn near watering when he caught he scent again.<br/><br/>He moved quietly and formless through the dark alley, trailing just behind her. Appearing only as a black mass of swirling mist, she turned to him and that was when he too form. The form of a man, yet his face and body were still pits of pitch black. He would smell her fear and it made his mouth water. His new form swayed and leaned, impossibly in all directions, a slight gurgling sound could be heard as he spoke. “Be afraid…” he said on a nasty guttural voice. He began to laugh and stumble his way towards her, his laughs taunting and perverse. Right before he was upon her, a flash of orange and red light lit up the alley and a small ball of fire crawled its way through the black demon's chest.<br/><br/>------<br/><br/>It hurt every time. His hand twitched and smoldered, a new tint of red coating it, the beginnings of blistering happening. It would pass though, it always did. His hand was open, but clenched, fingers stiff and pointing outward towards the falling demon. He was breathing heavy. That kind of thing always took a lot out of him. As the demon fell to the floor, he got a flash, no, a glimpse into something he probably wasn't supposed to see. Damien's breath hitched in his throats and he dropped to one knee, a slew of images and short clips flashing through his mind, all at the same time. It was nearly impossible to make out every one, but when they finally stopped, an overbearing sense of dread washed over him. It gave him chills, intense ones that took hold of his spine and would let go no matter how hard he tried to shake them.<br/><br/>Damien shook his head and came back to reality. The concern was still there for the unidentified female. “Miss, are you o-okay?” He slowly pushed himself back to his feet, the pain in his hand already starting to fade a bit. “Are you hurt?” He made his way towards her.