Author’s Note: These characters are ALL MINE! Sure they might resemble a few characteristics of a few Anime Characters, but with all due respect, they are 100% mine. Unless, of course, I say otherwise. Hmm...should I put a synopsis up here? Well, maybe a little. We meet the main characters. Go into a little background and...since this series is completed...a look into the daily life which gets a little cut-off since this series is so compact. Only 5 parts!!! YAY!!

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He stood watching the sun lower beyond the horizon of the sea. The sea-salty wind blew through his hair, tendrils of auburn hair falling over bare shoulders. He blinked away tears from his violet eyes, memories threatening to tear his mind apart. How many times had he stood on the banks of the ocean, wanting his existence to end, but finding just one more reason to live? How long had it been since his family was lost to the darkness and he the source of it all?

He turned his senses towards the city he was going to call home for the next few days. The scent of demons was strong there. Maybe the demon lord himself was there, rooting in the depths of Twilight City, festering and growing stronger, taking innocent lives to further his own power. Once upon a time he would have sacrificed everything for that power. Once he would have forsaken everything he was just to become stronger. But it brought him nothing but pain.

He donned the clothes he had worn the night his family’s blood had stained his hands. How long has it been now? Two hundred, three hundred thousand years? The world had changed dramatically from that time. People he had known were all turned to dust; the places he often frequented in his earlier years had all but been destroyed. No one knew him now, and that was just the way he liked it. But it was a long, lonely existence. How could he have survived until now?

He walked along the path towards the city, a boarded path that had once held promise of harbor carnivals and fishing spots. His jacket flapped noisily in the wind, giving way for his thundering footsteps. Even stepping softly, his metal-plated boots left an ominous ring as he passed. Gloved hands were shoved into deep pockets, stretching the material in his arms and back, revealing a blade that held the source of his demons.

He stepped a single foot onto solid concrete and all the energy of the demons floated towards him, like moths to a flame. He didn’t demand the power or command it to him, it was as natural as breathing. Like recognized like. The demons there would accept him, never knowing that the hunters would be the hunted...by one of their own.

Twilight City was ravaged, not solely by demons, but the people who had once been the great communicators and builders. Greed and power poisoned young minds, making them turn to technology to solve whatever problems humanity faced. And then technology evolved and became the greatest problem humankind ever created for itself. Battles between human and machines ensued, one fighting for survival, the other fighting for dominance.

For the better part of thee hundred years the machines and the humans fought, leaving nothing but a desolate battlefield, littered with the chips of computers and the limbs of humans. Even now they continued to fight, with humankind losing a one-sided battle. Machines could repair themselves, they could create more efficient copies of themselves. But humans could only mate and give birth so many times. The rate of production wasn’t on the side of the humans. Even children younger than seven had gone to war and died. It was left to the machines to decide what to do with the world that was already raped to the brink of destruction.

It saddened him to see the world in its current state of affairs. But he was a miniscule dot among a world full of machines, people, and demons. Could one man really make a difference? In days of old, one man could. He could inspire courage and strength to others. He could gather armies and fought for what he believed in. He could do what was needed to save a dying world. But in the new world, there was no ‘one’ man. He was already dead.

There was a human establishment just on the corner of a flickering lamppost. It was a place most frequented by humans who weren’t fighting a meaningless war. Inside there were men and woman, dressed as warmly as possible in a world sliding into the next Ice Age. Most were older patrons, whereas the younger ones were out fighting, surviving, or dead. He found an empty corner and sat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shifting from left to right, almost daring anyone to look his way. He couldn’t help himself. It was better to ward off others rather than give them the pretense of hope. If there was no hope for him, then there was no hope for them.

A young girl of about twenty sat at a nearby table, reading a large, thick book. There was a soft smile over her face as her eyes roamed over the words on the page. Her eyes were gold, a soft amber yellow that lightened or darkened, depending on the light. Her hair was cropped short, falling in layers over a softened face, and a pair of lips that were full and were currently being chewed on in a gesture of anxiety. She had gotten into an interesting part of the book. As if knowing someone was watching her, she lifted her head and searched cafe, turning her head slowly to and fro, until she locked with his eyes. There was a brief look of surprise on her face, but it turned into a shy, hesitant smile. She nodded at him then returned to her book, the smile fading slowly as she was reabsorbed into the story in front of her.

There was something about the way the girl looked at him that made him feel the another wave of guilt wash over him. How old was he and Phelan when they had first seen each other? Seventeen? Maybe eighteen? He married her ten years later, loving her with every fiber of his being and more, when she gave him three beautiful children. If he knew his happiness wouldn’t have lasted long, then he wouldn’t have married her. He wouldn’t have had the glorious dance of raising children. But he did marry her and he did raise his children with Phelan. And in one fell swoop, he had lost them all to weakness.

His weakness didn’t come from infidelity. No. He loved his wife more than his own well-being. He would have never betrayed her in that way. His weakness-more importantly, his vice, was money. The old world wasn’t as desolate as the new. People still had homes, still had hopes and dreams, but his family...they were at the bottom of the proverbial barrel. Nothing and no one could help them. Jobs were sparse due to the high number of machines put to work. His children were suffering from lack of food, lack of education. His wife...dear Phelan...she had sold her body to put scraps on the table. And he? Every night was a fight for survival. He had to steal, had to kill, had to hurt. And every time he came home, he had to see the thinning face of his wife, his children, and tell them that all he had was pocket change. Not even enough money to feed the mice that lived with them. So he did the only thing someone as desperate as him could do. He looked for the source of power. Power could bring him things. Power could give him money. With power, he and his family would be able to survive. But at what cost?

He couldn’t help himself as he looked at the woman again. This time, she had curled her legs to her chest and her eyes were filming with tears. Her bottom lip trembled as she turned the page and she all but let out a sob, denoting how moved she was by the turn of events in that fictional world. He smiled because he had never seen someone so emotional over a book before. It was endearing at most and he was so damned curious at what she was crying over.

The woman suddenly let out a shocked gasped. Most of the cafe conversations had stopped as well, turning to the woman and her three unwarranted guests. She sat, staring up at a man with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He wore leather straps over his shirtless chest, holding up a pair of pants that were a size too big. He leaned over the young woman, breathing alcohol into her face.

“I said that this was our seat, bitch.”

The woman stood her ground. “I was here long before you were. There are plenty of other-”

She didn’t see the other man wind his fist back. She didn’t feel the third hold her down. She sat numbly while blood seeped down her nose, over her mouth and down her neck. Tears slid down her cheeks and she looked up in time to see the blonde raise a leg. But that’s all he did. He was pulled from where he stood, his neck and leg broken, and was flung like a rag doll across the room. The man that held her had his arms broken in several places, as well as his spine, and lay lifeless on the floor. The man that had initially punched her lost his head. Literally. It rolled between the chair legs and under the table where a child had seen it and began screaming bloody murder. The child ran to his mother, crying inconsolably. The young woman gingerly picked up her book, ashamed that a fight had started because of her. She tried to leave, but a pair of hands rested on her shoulders and held her still.

“Your nose is broken.”

The woman shook her head, grabbing at napkins to stop the blood flow. “It’ll heal.”

She expected the conversation to end on that note, but she felt herself being pushed towards the back of the cafe. She was then, face to face with the man who had apparently come to her rescue. This time she had to look in full in the face just because his demeanor simply demanded it of her. He was handsome, with underlying hints of despair and hopelessness. His eyes were a deep violet, heightened by a slender nose and a set of full lips that were now in a severe frown. His hair was shoulder length and a brown so light it looked copper. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing nothing but black, heightening the mysteriousness of his presence. He beckoned to the ladies room.

“You’re not going to run out on me, are you?” He asked, voice deep and ominous.

The woman shook her head. “You’re the one that saved me. Why should I run?”

“I’ll wait for you out here. Go get cleaned up.”

She clutched the book to her chest and held it up to her face. “Could you hold my book, please?”

“Sure.” He took the book from her small hands and leaned on the wall. He stared out into the whispering crowd and, just to spite them, shifted so that his left hip was revealed along with his sword. It glowed dangerously red which had the patrons quieting instantly.

She came back out, five minutes later, face clean of blood and of injury. She tapped him softly on the arm and he turned, looking her over from head to toe.

“Um, thank you for helping me.” She held her hand out to shake hands. “Ah, my name is Veritas.”

“Fenrir.” He answered, taking her hand. He liked the way her hand fit in his, how small and warm it was. He lingered longer than usual and regretfully pulled away. “I’ll be seeing you, Veritas.”

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Fenrir.”

Fenrir frowned at the formality, but watched her leave. He followed soon afterwards, but went in the opposite direction. He barely went a block when he realized he was still holding her book. Curiosity killed the cat, but he didn’t heed the warning. He opened the book and flipped a few pages, reading words and phrases. It was an old book. A very old book. An artifact, even. Charlotte’s Web, a classic. He turned, but walked quickly instead of downright running. He turned the corner and saw Veritas patting her pockets and looking around on the floor. He cleared his throat and held up her book when she looked up. Relief was so large in her eyes, he swore she would have cried again.

“Thank you. I thought I lost it.” she said, holding the book to her chest like a girl would hold a teddy bear. “It’s been in my family for awhile and...I’d be in so much trouble if I lost it.”

“It was my fault.” Fenrir explained. “I guess I was so enthralled as to why you were crying over it.”

“Ah,” Veritas’ golden eyes widened. “You saw me cry?”

Fenrir grinned because her cheeks were red with embarrassment? “I have to admit, I’ve never seen anyone cry over a copy of Charlotte’s Web, so it was a bit endearing.”

Veritas’ eyes sparkled. “You’ve read it before? I mean, you’ve heard of it?”

“I can guarantee you,” said Fenrir. “That any book you’ve possibly read, so have I.”

The young woman turned over that bit of information. She stared him straight in the eye. “You’re older than you look aren’t you?”

“Veritas,” Fenrir said softly. “I’m not even human.”

That should have been enough for her to run away from him, run screaming into the night, but she stood before him as if he hadn’t even spoken. She was either very dense or very brave. Considering she wasn’t screaming like an idiot, he liked to think she was being brave.

“You’re not afraid of demons, are you?” He asked, softly.

Veritas shrugged, a gallant lifting and dropping of her shoulders. “I’ve lived in this city for most of my life. I’m used to demons.”

“But I’m no ordinary demon.”

Her eyes had gone clear of any emotion. Just a look of utter blankness. “I know.”

She broke eye contact first and turned to run, but his hand reached out and stopped her. He didn’t use force, didn’t shout or impose on her. He simply raised his hand to her, hoping she’d listen for a moment more.

“Yes?” She asked, back turned. From the corner of her eye, she saw his gloved hand, hovering above her shoulder. She was surprised he hadn’t gotten violent or sexually frustrated. Usually demons would have been trying to ram themselves between her legs or get her in some sort of compromising situation. But not him. He was definitely different.

Fenrir felt sheepish, but as a demon, he looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. He shifted the weight from one foot to another and sucked in a short breath. “Do you know anyplace where I could stay? Just for a few days?”

Veritas deliberated for a long time. She saw the hand drop and nearly panicked when he turned to leave, thinking she was ignoring him. She turned to call to him, but she realized he had grabbed a chair. Apparently he was more patient than she thought. He was sitting and waiting for an answer.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, then finally spoke. “My place is big enough for the both of us.”

* * *

Veritas opened the door to her apartment, reaching out to turn on a light. The room illuminated revealing nothing but walls of books, some of them stacked into tens while others were settled into bookcases lining the walls. What remained of floor space showed a beige carpet and litters of loose papers, some foot notes, others had scribbles of ideas and tiny drawings. She stepped carefully of what looked like a table. Several books lay under a glass rectangle and empty cans of soda made aluminum mountains.

“Sorry, it’s a mess in here.” Veritas said softly. “Just move a few of the books.”

Fenrir smiled as he found the couch behind a rather large pile of books and noticed the top book. Another classic, Robinson Crusoe. “Where did you get all of these books?”

“It’s been in my family for ages.” Veritas answered. She managed to clear a pathway along the way to the kitchen and to hallway that veered to the right. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. My room is on the right. The other room is empty, unless, of course, there are books in there you might have to clear out.”

“Are you a writer?” Fenrir asked, stacking books in a way so they wouldn’t collapse on anyone if they walked past. He turned and saw Veritas stacking more books in the kitchen.

“Of sorts.” She answered. “I’m really sorry about this. I’d put them in storage but...books aren’t highly regarded in this city. Most likely someone will only burn them to fuel a bonfire.”

“I don’t blame you for keeping them all.” Fenrir replied. “I loved books, too. That is. When I was...human.”

“You don’t read any more?” Veritas asked. She hadn’t realized, but she was much closer to him now that there was a bit more leg room.

“I’ve found nothing interesting to read for the past...” He couldn’t exactly remember the last time he had ever read a book. “Well, since the past.”

Veritas stepped over a pile of the Chronicles of Narnia books and glanced at Fenrir who stood at the doorway of the room that would be inhabited by him for the next few days. “You said any book that I read, you have read, too. I don’t know how long these books have been around or how long they’ve been in my family, but...”

“I’m over three hundred-thousand years old, Veritas.” Fenrir answered. “This world is in its eighth rebirth. I was born on the Earth’s second. That’s the time after the Ice Age. If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, then yes, these books are nearly as old as I am. And, I must say, in incredible condition.”

“How could you have lived this long?” She asked, leaning against an empty wall. “Did you have a family? Any friends?”

“Being an immortal is a lonely existence.” Fenrir answered. He wanted to drop the subject, but he owed her something for taking him in at such short notice. They didn’t even discuss pay. That was a safe topic. “So, how much for the room?”

Veritas shook her head. “You don’t have to pay. Just...”

“Just- what?” Fenrir persisted. “Tell me. I don’t think you can say anything that would shock me.”

“You know what happened earlier. I was being bullied and...” A slight blush crept up Veritas’ cheeks. “I need...a bodyguard.”

“But I’m only staying for a few days.” Fenrir reminded her. “Just standing around watching you will bring me room and board?”

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. She risked a glance in his direction. “If you...ever come back here, the offer would still stand. It’s not a lifetime commitment or anything I just...need someone to watch over me every so often. Okay?”

He hoped she didn’t see it in his eyes, but he hated the desperation in her voice, the hopelessness in her eyes. She sounded vulnerable, like a child. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility in his life, but for him it was trivial. For her...it meant that someone was actually watching over her. Probably a first in her whole life.

“Yeah. I’ll be your bodyguard.”

The terms were simple. Veritas went out every morning and stayed out until late afternoon. On certain days she’d go shopping, but everyday she went to the corner cafe to eat. Apparently she had an understanding with the owner and she got free meals. It was Fenrir’s job to make sure she wasn’t hassled and protect her from humans, demons, and machines. In turn, he slept and stayed in her apartment and could do whatever he wanted at night.

“So we’ve come to an understanding, right?” Veritas asked, impressed that in the time they had been negotiating, they had both been cleaning up the piles of books. Now that her apartment looked a little neater, she could walk freely without falling over.

“Right.” Fenrir replied.

His room was, surprisingly, not bombarded with books. It had the look of an office space with a single bed that she had used whenever she was working and was too tired to go back into her room. The space was roomy enough that he could even set aside the weapons he had hidden on his body. There was a single window overlooking Twilight City and a perfect glimpse of the ocean. He couldn’t argue with the view, he almost always fell asleep to the sound of the ocean. That, he considered, was a human trait he’d never be rid of.

“It’s not going to hinder your...business in this city, is it?”

“No.” Fenrir shook his head. “Most of my business will be done at night.”

“But then you won’t be getting any sleep.” She argued. “Maybe we should call it off?”

“No.” Again, Fenrir shook his head. “You forget. I’m a demon. We don’t need long hours of sleep. You’re reading most of the time so I can get a few minutes. But don’t worry. I’m a light sleeper and I’m pretty attuned to smelling danger when it comes my way. Or should I say your way?”

“I feel kind of bad.” Said Veritas. “I’m pulling you into this when I shouldn’t have to-”

“It’s fine.” Fenrir said. “I’m fine with it. I got involved with you when I killed those men. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She finally smiled and yawned, stretching as she groaned. “I’m going to sleep. Good night, Mr. Fenrir.”

“One more thing, Veritas.” Fenrir called. “Just call me Fenrir.”

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