Superstitions

An unexpected turn of events

It was a day like many others in the Kingdom of England. A day so lacking in uniqueness that exposition turned out to be mundane. And so, blue sky was filled with soft and fluffy white clouds, the birds were fighting for breadcrumbs, most probably exchanging vulgarities in the process. And such obscenity was regarded by the people of Manchester as a melodic chirping atop of that. Said people were not bothered by such double-bottomed issues and were hurrying off to their menial jobs, minding their own business. But such was the way of life — you don’t get to fill your stomach with empty musings.

The market was as overcrowded as ever, the traders were shouting loudly, trying to call some attention to their goods, clothes, food and jewellery. As if the merged, united voice of the visitors was not enough. Kids were playing on the streets, hitting each other lightly with wooden swords, an always popular game. There were others, but with a known carver no other entertainment was as tempting for young boys, People were just enjoying a wonderful day, a day like many others.

But unbeknownst to only those living under one exceptionally thick rock, there was also something unusual that day. Not so peaceful. An outright punishment was going to take place, a punishment for the most horrible crime of the time - heresy - was not to be taken lightly. And as people knew, the only proper way to deal with such criminals was fire. The highest act of hypocrisy, taken form of stinging flames. The death was painful, prolonged, yet...bloodless, the kill any faithful could afford without being judged in the afterlife. The stake had already been set, the act was going to take place on the main square, as usual. The relative novation, it was. After all, burning was not a common thing for killing heretics yet. Jews had been the main victims so far, scarce as they were under the English crown. 

In the middle of the square was standing a huge pile of wood, oiled, awaiting to be set ablaze. Many people seemed enthusiastic about the event. It could get boring living here, in the north, so for the denizens it was something to add some diversity to their lives. As one could guess, all that audience had little to do with actual faith. And one person in the crowd made such note with an all knowing smirk on his face.

It was very loud around him, and that was irritating to say the least. That is, until the local priest walked out. He was wearing white and red clothing, was about fifty years old, with chunks of greying hair on his head. Cardinal made loud sounds with his staff, hitting the stony ground. He started to speak with his loud booming voice. He seemed to have a lot of practice during the religious services.

"Faithful subjects of King Edward, first of his name. Today we are punishing a horrible criminal, or, rather, doing what we must. What has she done, you may ask. And I will answer that she hadn't done anything to us. But she had the audacity to spite the Lord, she now serves the Devil and complete his unspeakable, appalling tasks. She turned against the light and decided to stay in darkness. Lord teaches us forgiveness, but how can we forgive someone so vile and corrupt? Lord did punish Adam and Eve, so why can't we do the same with the heretic?" There were cheers of encouragement in the crowd, "Bring the prisoner!" The priest bellowed with an artistic notion of a showman.

The visitor gave a very languid applause. Was that guy a self-entitled prick to make such free interpretations. But that was funny, he wasn’t going to lie.

Immediately the guards emerged from the doors, playing along with this theatrical play. It could be considered ludicrous, if not for its outcome seen from a mile away. Between them was a young lass, nineteen years old from the seems. She was wearing dirty rags that, no doubt, once used to be a dress, now sullied in blood, sweat, tears and dirt. She obviously hadn’t eaten properly in a fairly long while, her thin frame was a vivid indication. The girl had short, raven black hair that was a ghastly mess, her pretty eyes with pale green pupils were all red from the tears shed during a brief time between the arrest and this very day. She was handcuffed with heavy iron chains, so hard to carry forth. So Samantha was constantly “helped out”, pushed from behind by the heavily armoured brutes. 

"Samantha,” the priest did not want to shame the House the poor noble girl belonged to, “You are accused of the heresy and witchcraft, do you have any last words before cleansing fire will punish thou for your evildoings?" He asked loudly, to make everything heard by the audience.

The girl didn’t respond at first, with the same pained expression she took a look around. What words were there to describe this perilous predicament? She doubted that she would be given enough time to express how her heart was still working with so many knives stuck in it. Samantha didn’t know what she should say in the face of death. The scythe bearing frame seemed to already touch the back of her neck in anticipation, it might as well listen to her. It had been an accident, Sam thought. She didn’t know how it all happened. 

Her own family wasn’t even in the crowd. In the back of her head the former baroness hoped that the consciousness had already grabbed their minds and hearts, made them hurt for how easily they abandoned her. Although, it was doubtful.

"Please, I haven't done anything," Samantha said in hoarse voice.

Was that all she could say? Probably. But yet again, no one would believe her. 

"Your lies won’t do anything, witch. Bring her to the stake!"

Guards did as they were told. They carried the girl to the stake and tied her to it. Tightly, they stung, that was simply a way for them to express what they felt. Wasn’t it enough for them? She didn't try to resist, what use that would be? And when the torch almost touched the wood, something unexpected happened. On the square, silent with anticipation, the air was pierced by a loud, yet slow clapping. With the guards distracted for a moment, the girl’s life was prolonged for a few moments. Sam was barely able to look up.

“A fine establishment you have here, good sir.”

The young voice belonged to a figure in a black cloak, the hood was hiding his face. The priest blinked, stunned by the young man’s interruption. Shaking his head, the priest was about to command to proceed, but then he heard a cough from the same person. The hand used to cover the cough was itself covered in white gloves. When the priest looked at him once again, obviously irritated, the man leaned on the crate so conveniently lying near one of the trading stands.

“Oh, pardon me my interruption, eure Heiligkeit,” the man smirked, “I was merely wondering if these hats come with the job. Care to clarify?”

The people stared at him. The priest glared at the man insulting him.

“One more word and you will join her,” the old man pointed at the stake.

“Where exactly?” The man tilted his head curiously. He slowly started approaching the priest. The guards gripped their weapons tightly.

Once the stranger came too close, their halberds crossed and blocked his path. He seemed most amused, if his twisted mouth was any indication.

“Either there is something I don’t know or you have money for these nice weapons,” the man mouthed in a half-laughing tone.

“Enough. Throw him in oubliette for a couple of days,” the priest said in annoyance and turned around to face his prisoner, “Be happy that I am merciful today, lad.”

“Alright, this got boring too soon,” the stranger sighed.

The man pulled off the hood, shocking every person around, made the guards gasp and the priest’s legs go wobbly. The stranger had pale skin and pure white hair that put snow to shame, waving in a way as if the air was blowing them, his eyes were blood red, glowing brightly, intensely. The person was dressed in dark clothes that were now shown from under the cloak. Only one word came to mind, whilst the audience was looking at him. The guards pointed their weapons at him, shaking like leaves. The guest’s deceitfully handsome face was split by a grin, his crystal white teeth were seen to the guards.

“They never learn, grandpa,” he sighed dramatically, looking up. “We have done it hundred times before with you humans," the demon said, putting a hand on his hip, before looking at the crowd that, for some reason, was still standing there. Probably the fear stopped their legs from moving.

The stark haired guest waved slightly. Nobody waved him back, still staring. The demon hunched his shoulders. Even being in charge didn't get rid of his nature.

"What?" He deadpanned. Silence.

"Cats had a feast on your tongues, hadn’t they? Believe it or not, I will ask one question and you’d better answer it and be off. Where. Am. I."

Everyone flinched from such a tone of his voice. It even had an echo.

"BEGONE, DEMON!" The priest shouted, pointing the cross at him. But the demon only looked at him unamused.

"Now you are just plain insulting me," he clapped sarcastically, shaking his head, "Look, I'd LOVE to go, really, however...there is one problem, though, what was it," he was stroking nonexistent beard, pretending to be in thought, "Ah, yeah! Do you see any way for me to get back, hm? A five edged star drawn with blood? You know, the usual procedures.”

Suddenly the guards, wearing identical yellow clothing over iron hauberk and pointed closed helmets, started to surround the being. But only completely clueless idiots didn't notice how they were shaking, their weapons as well. The guest gave a fanged smirk.

"What a hospitality. I still give you a chance to walk away. I can sense fear, so you know. Please, go ahead, Cerberus always needs new playthings.” 

A chair appeared from nowhere and he sat on it, cross-legged. Then a low whistle filled the air. In a blink of an eye the guest grabbed the arrow that was right on its way right into his face.

"Give me just a moment," the demon sighed and evaporated in a cloud of smoke. Then he reappeared, holding a little man in archer's clothes: light leather armour and round helmet.

"Tsk, tsk, it's not very nice. Shooting from the back like a rat, aren't we? You should say: I'm sorry.”

"I'm sorry!" He shouted, terrified.

"Don't worry, even though I'm in charge of Hell doesn't mean I'm heartless monster," people around started to faint, "Now, maybe you will answer me, where in the name of my dearest grandfather I am, hm?"

"K-kingdom of England, sir"

"Year?"

"1277," the man was ready to piss himself seeing that the demon obviously wasn't satisfied with this answer. And he thanked God when the man let him go, and the archer ran away, only dust could be seen. 

”Isn’t that peachy? I'm stuck with superstitious people with no means to get home. What a joyous day!" The man said sarcastically, "Now you all have a one question, right? Why now? Why here?” He made moaning voices. “Well, more like an accident really, Hell is impossible to navigate easily. Nonetheless,” he clasped his hands, “I’m not the Devil. I’m his son and rightful heir — Michael Asriel, the New Lucifer, the Parricide, etc, etc.”

“Wh-why are you telling us this?” The priest asked.

“So you know who killed you, of course.”

After several seconds of silence Michael burst laughing.

“Oh, that’s priceless, you should have seen your faces. Never mind. I’m merely updating you on the current way the things are. I am in charge now,” the demon snapped his fingers and a burning crown appeared on his head. The crown of black metal, engulfed in flames that did no harm to its wearer. Now people were more terrified, if it's even possible. The laughter made it even worse.

Then Michael’s eyes finally fell on the wooden stake. He saw a girl hanging there, tied tightly to it. The demon shook his head, and the smirk on his face promised nothing good. But the girl didn’t notice that. Michael tilted his head and began his approach.

"Now what's going on here, ladies and gents? Another innocent soul, being accused of heresy? My beloved humans, you are so breathtaking. In a sense that no one will ever breath after meeting the charming blokes such as you. And this comes from the Antichrist named after my angelic uncle, take notes.”

He stepped closer to her, his cloak was neatly flowing in the air as he suddenly took steps as if there were invisible platforms on his way. He could fly. She didn't look like she was afraid of him, the look of general apathy didn’t leave, but Michael knew better, he could smell the fear, after all. Michael smiled softly and whispered.

"I can get you out if you want," she blinked in shock, “Of course, I might as well cut a pentagram on your forehead to forever condemn you to living a life in exile just as well...but, hey, you will be able to live some more time. Name?"

"S-Samantha Montagu," the girl whispered coarsely and slowly.

"Hm, the name sure fits," he removed her hair from her eyes and saw her face better, "So, what do you say? Should I leave you here until my ol’ friend comes and slices your throat with his scythe?” His voice gained a dangerous note that made the guard retreat even further backwards. 

Sam thought about it, and hard. If she stayed, people would just burn her. If she went with him...Sam didn't know what this arrangement would eventually come to. It could be something even worse, thousands of years of constant suffering that would make her wish to die, or he might just let her go. It's hard to say what this guy  would do. Plus, since childhood she was told that you should never trust a demon’s temptations. No matter how attractive they looked. The latter part was her own idea.

"What will happen after that?"

Michael shrugged.

"Depends, I don't know what you are going to do. You might as well become a shameless courtesan so we could meet again after the death of your brittle body. I can't see the future like grandfather. It's all up to you, I suppose.”

Sam contemplated some more time. There would not be any way to turn back.

"I...I agree..."

With a smug grin he instantly put a hand on her shoulder without even waiting for her to finish. It hurt, Michael was strong.

"Take a deep breath, the first time is always like that.”

“Stop!”

Rolling his eyes, Michael turned around, looking right at the group of guards who had the guts to stand up to him. The demon sighed and softly stepped on the ground. Casually cracking his knuckles, he tilted his head once more.

“You really don’t want that. Remember, this lad before you murdered the Father of Sin himself. I am not bound, nor do I abide by the same rules he used to. One step further and you will abruptly depart to another world.”

They hadn’t faltered before, neither they were going to now. After all, what exactly could one lad do, even with such vile heritage? At seeing them lunge forward, Michael’s eyes gleamed as he smirked in excitement, before lazily swapping his hand. All five guards were tossed aside like pieces of garbage. Then he picked up the dropped spear and weighed it with his arm. Michael in a split second appeared next to one of the fallen guards, pinned him to the ground with his white boot, pointing the weapon at the guard’s face.

“I can ruin your face pretty damn easily. You mortals are unworthy to see the true extent of my power,” the spear was slowly leaving a cut, “I’ll just be on my way.”

Once again Michael approached the girl after dropping the spear next to the terrified guard. He put a hand on her shoulder without saying a word. Sam felt like her body briefly fell asleep, and then woke up a split second afterwards. They appeared in some abandoned alleyway. It was filled with the foul stench of trash and...vital products. The windows were shattered or had cracks on them. Sam immediately fell on the ground, gasping for air while Michael was looking around with curiosity.

"When I thought about safe place this isn't exactly was expecting. You alright?" He asked, looking at his new accomplice.

"Yes," she said, getting up, slowly, still coughing. “I’m...fine.”

"So, what are you going to do now, when you are wanted? Your parents maybe?" Her look turned cold. Looks like he hit the sore spot.

"My 'parents' were the ones who accused me!" Sam exclaimed. She flinched right after that, remembering that she just shouted at the Lord of Hell. But he only looked at her with a curious look.

"Do you want to talk about it? Can’t guarantee that I would listen, but it should help..." 

Sam looked at him in surprise.

Michael chuckled, "So..."

She shook her head, "No, I don't.”

Michael sighed.

"Where are you going to go, then?"

"Why are you so interested?" Sam asked, a bit annoyed.

"Well, I intend to stay here for a while. Plus, you are the only one who doesn't run away in fear screaming bloody murder," she raised an eyebrow at unfamiliar term, "Never mind, you milk-and-water girl."

Sam narrowed her eyes, "So you are going to stalk me?"

"No, no, no," Michael waved with his hands, "If you don't want, I will go away. I might. Probably. I'm just saying that...Wouldn’t you want to sacrifice a little lamb to save the world?”

“What?”

“Ah, it’s a metaphor. I’ll put it in a more simple way. I will be near, instead of going out there...and it might not end well for each party involved. Well, mostly for them. I’m not too keen on making a mess. And what better way to enlighten myself on the human way of living than travel along with the societal reject?”

Sam looked at him in confusion. He was using the terms she was unfamiliar with.

“No, thanks, I will be fine.”

Sam honestly contemplated this offer. She looked in his glowing red eyes. There wasn't any evil intent in them, or malicious gleam. Then again, what vile obscenity might hide within? It was too surreal. Was she...no, she couldn’t trust a demon. But something told her that her newest companion was not going to leave easily. Besides, what would she do? Sam was not going to come and beg for anything, yet she knew the extent of her abilities. She would die on her own, and Michael seemed strong enough to lead her to the safe place. The world left her no choice.

"Alright, you can come with me," Sam said, sighing. He grinned.

"Capital!" Michael threw his hands up and leaned back in the air.

"But...how are you going to follow me? You aren't exactly the most...discrete," she asked with raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I have a way," he said, still grinning. Immediately a bright flash followed. Sam watched in fascination how his hair became blond, and his eyes turned the brightest and coldest blue colour. His face features in general remained the same. The young man then looked down.

"I may need some new clothes," Michael said upon seeing that clothes had remained the same.

"How did you..." Sam asked still in shock.

"That's my more human appearance, helps to blend in. You stay here," he suddenly vanished from sight.

Michael went out of the alleyway. It had taken a lot of time to master some of his powers in the human disguise. Yes, he was generally slower, as his reflexes were bound by human limits, he was not so maneuverable, but it still could be useful. People at the square were talking, unsurprisingly, about him. He saw some trader that was selling clothes behind his stand

"Jackpot," Michael muttered. He snatched some clothes, then retreating back into the alleyway.

"This should be enough," he muttered.

"These are women clothes," Sam pointed out.

"Flames between!" Michael exclaimed. She supposed it was swearing, "Well, put this on, anyway, your rags will call too much uncalled attention."

Michael returned to the stand and stole some other things. He took for himself dark blue tunic with leather belt, black pants and and brown boots. She was wearing white and purple dress. Michael gave her a cloak with a hood and Sam was able to cover her head and thus hide her face.

"I’m yet to hear where you are going to lead me."

"To my grandmother."

The earl’s castle was truly the most beautiful thing of the city, albeit the prize for the first place would be the lack of disgusted looks upon gazing at it. The castle was placed on the hill, so the enemy would have a hard time assaulting it. There was a big courtyard in the centre with a beautiful garden, full of pretty flowers, birds and buzzing insects. The latter was probably less pleasant That was a place, where Earl Roderick preferred to spent his free time, enjoying bird's songs. He was a mid aged man, with green eyes, brown hair and beard.

It was during his rest, when Cardinal Cadagan was fast approaching him.

"Your Grace! Your Grace!" He was shouting.

"What's wrong, Cadagan?" Roderick asked the panting old man.

"Devil, Your Grace!"

The Earl raised an eyebrow. “Cadagan, what are you talking about? Another one of your crazed up tales like that nymph you saw on our hunt?”

"No, no, no. The whole city saw him! He appeared when we were preparing to punish...the witch,” Cadagan said slowly and carefully. Earl’s face darkened, but he did not interrupt. “He looked like a lad, but with hair whiter than snow. His eyes glowed crimson..."

"What happened?"

"He said that he defeated Satan, sire, but I didn't trust a single word said from his mouth. He called himself Michael Asriel. There were some titles he named. He set his eyes on the witch, and it looked like he has taken liking to her. They vanished! And we don’t know where they are.”

"What are you offering to do then?" Roderick asked.

"We need to find a way to defeat him. If what he is saying about defeating the Devil is true, then we must protect ourselves.”

"Then you will go and complete this task, Cadagan,” the ever doubtful earl said, “In the meantime we will try to find them if what you say is true. Where do you think they will go, if not back to his wretched place, of course?"

"Certainly not back to her home," the priest shook his head, "They may go to her fellow heretics. Might be a good way to hunt them all down.”

"Well, we will start searching, then...