Fredrick smiled as he twirled the wine glass with two fingers, shutting his eyes to his own murky reflection as he sipped on the red liquid. "A fine day," he began a moment later, placing his beverage down upon the dinner table, "would you not agree?"

"Most certainly," another man, accompanied by his spouse, nodded, grinning pleasantly. "It has been a long time indeed, since I could last reveal myself so openly."

All around, the soft murmur of chatter reverberated across the chamber. Fredrick's toothy beam only expanded, as he basked in the jovial atmosphere. He too had been getting rather exhausted with keeping his cravings in check. But here? At his own private gathering — not to mention in the company of his own kind — his carnal desires could be wrenched from their leashes at last.

"Please do engorge yourselves, my dears, on the fountain as much as you see fit."

Glass now empty, Fredrick swished the vial through the crimson streams, doing his best not to stain the sleeve of his suit. He could tell that many of the newcomers to their society were giving the suspiciously human-looking lumps at the bottom of the waters concerned looks, but he paid them no mind. They would learn, eventually. Perhaps, given enough time, they would even become accustomed to it.

Sebastian kept up his pleasant demeanor, a certain entranced twinkle highlighting his eyes, whenever he did glimpse upon the brilliant stream. "Lifeblood," he sighed, "there is no greater thing. Yet again, I find myself thanking you most dearly, Fredrick."

As Fredrick's guests went positively insane with whatever was the vampirical version of gold fever, he shut his eyelids softly, leaned against a marble pillar, and relaxed. Another successful party, was the only thought to cross his eased mind.

The proceeding crash made sure to do away with that momentary peace, however. Jolting awake, it would be safe to say that Fredrick was more flabbergasted than irked, as an upheaval of blood rendered his grey suit unwearable. Some dark shadow had just fell directly into the fountain, and by the creaking of an open window overhead, whoever it was most certainly didn't have an invitation.

"I don't suppose you ordered an extra serving of blood, did you, Fredrick?" Sandra, Sebastian's wife, spoke.

"No." Fredrick felt the muscles of his mouth bending downwards. "No I did not."

With enough force that every bone in his right arm and hand cracked, he pulled the robber out of the disturbed lifeforce, frowning most severely.

The burglar squirmed in his grip, and even behind their jet black mask, Fredrick saw the man's eyes dart all around in horror. "What — no, I-"

Fredrick pushed the invading presence back down into the fountain's vermillion depths. There was an obscured thumping sound, and no body surfaced again.

"Apologies everyone," Fredrick swept down his shirt and tie, moving towards his private chambers to redress himself, "I must have forgotten about the refill I ordered. Please continue as you were!"

Tristan shivered as the atoms that sustained his body reformed, the first flicker of light striking his eyes as his retinas materialised. Sitting on the cusp of a pool of swirling power, he stretched, before inspecting a neon set of numbers engraved into the centre of his palm.

Run 5645

Sighing, Tristan got his nude form up, sauntering forwards through the circular temple. He blinked a few more times as his vision stabalised, strolling into the only passageway out of the expanse.

How many more runs? He inwardly pondered, dust billowing through the air in vivid detail, as sunlight filtered through a pair of gradually widening doors. How many more runs until my soul is properly ruptured?

Such was the cost of these endless rebirths. His anchor dragging him back to this archaic jumble of crypts was the soul-bond he had formed with it. Whereas his flesh may wear-away a thousand times over, his essence would only wilt to ash ever-so slowly, serving as the kindling to his brief jolts of life. Nevertheless, no resource was infinite. There would come a day when the core of Tristan would be undone, when the very iotas that sustained every crevice of his being would be sacrificed for the now.

But presently, he didn't have the privilege of deliberating over his own fate.

Tristan had watched this world fall to the forces of chaos countless times over, and if his soul would be the price to stop the slaughter, to put an end to the mindless bloodshed, he would gladly pay it.

He stopped at the brink of a wide opening leading to the hellscape that spanned ahead, breathing in deeply. He took one step forwards, and a timer above began counting overhead.

The beginning was always a blur, but as the hoarse screams of beings not of this world split the skies in twain, muscle memory alone allowed him to skirt away from the toppling clusters of shrapnel. Tentacles struck out at Tristan through tears in space itself, and, as if rehearsing a centuries old dance, he passed by them all without so much as a scratch.

Earth was upheaved, with creatures of unspeakable descriptions cluttering out of the Deep Below, traversing across entire dimensions to eradicate anything and everything in their path. Barely a thought stirred within the nexus of Tristan's addled brain, as he sidestepped past the fiends — knocking aside a few in the sheer ferocity of his breakneck pace.

Twenty seconds hovered above him, a blur of sparkling colour in his upper peripherals.

Faster! Tristan inwardly screeched, chomping his teeth down as with each passing second, thousands more were stripped of their lives.

One swipe of some distant god's blade, and the skyscrapers in the distance were sent buckling to their knees, the force of the blow resounding through the air for hundreds of miles all around.

Further than last time, just get further than last time!

The same thought that always spurred him into action surfaced in Tristan's mind, and, despite any forced motivation, some motion off to the side, and he knew it was over.

A being older than the very planet they invaded struck a gigantic head out the ground, sending Tristan scrambling. Empty eyes, impossibly ancient, bore into him, vacant of anything remotely resembling remorse. As Tristan anguished at his own pitiful inability to save his own species — not to mention the Earth he loved most dearly — monstrous teeth relieved his skin of its contents.

A few fuzzy moments later, and Tristan found himself sitting adjacent to that mystical stream once more. Breathing heavy, brain aching at the futility of it all, his palm came into crystal sharpness.

5646

Felix sensed his attacker before he ever did see him.

It had been a quiet day at the parlour, but then again, the Winter months never were the greatest for business. Checking his watch, Felix exhaled with relief. Almost closing time, he mused to himself, wiping his apron down before moving towards the sink at a lethargic pace. The used scoops in his grip jangled as he rinsed them under running water, and Felix allowed his mind to wander as the drudgery of the task left his body occupied.

As always after a day of work — a long day of sustaining this mortal form — he was too tired for his thoughts to hold any real weight to them. They were simply fleeting impressions; fragments of memories; of that dark, cavernous exp-

Clutching his head, Felix heard the cutlery slip out of his hand and ricochet across the tiled floor. His mind ached, the visages of that vile place piercing into the most intimate crevices of his mind. Focusing on his breathing, Felix scrambled to the front of the building, turning the Open sign over to Closed as sloppily as an alcoholic.

And yet Felix was utterly sober. Sinking to his feet against the wall, it occurred to him that a drink might not be too shabby an idea. In a blaze of visceral pain, Felix felt his horns sprout out of his scalp as he focused on his breathing. His pale complexion made way for a wild vermillion, and in the dim light of a November afternoon, the amber glow of his lambent eyes was more pronounced than ever.

Equally as groggily, Felix stumbled back behind the counter, knocking over a recent delivery of sprinkles in the process. Suffice to say, bundled up upon the floor, he didn't bother to pick it up.

How much longer? Felix pondered, devilish strength beckoning at him. How much longer can I keep this up?

As much as he liked to ignore its existence completely, Felix could always sense it. The Underworld, his very birthplace, calling at him to return. Even now, that pool of insidious power was merely laying dormant as a constant presence. One slip of his will, and that dark might, all of that unfathomable power, at his very fingertips . . .

"No!" He blurted, slapping himself across the chin with enough force to kill a bull. "Not today. Not today . . ."

Once more, at the back of his mind, his senses prickled. How many times? I said no! Felix mentally huffed, only to realise it wasn't the wrath of his past that was latching onto his attention.

Demonic senses were damn near flawless, able to sense danger miles away. Even with the bulk of his strength locked away into that mental prison, he would be able to sense dark intentions even at his slowest.

Something was coming, it dawned on him. Something was coming to kill him.

Tapping into a mere trickle of his power — just enough to reenergise himself, Felix got to his feet, glancing all around him in a bout of paranoia.

Minutes crawled past, and in the meantime, Felix kept his eyes poised on the front door. A silhouette came passing over the blinds of his windows, and soon at its tail, a knock at the door.

Felix mustered up the deepest voice within him. Or, the deepest that wouldn't reveal him as a supernatural entity. "We're closed."

The figure at his doorstep did nothing for several seconds. Right as Felix's tension reached a crescendo, and he began to believe that they may just walk away, his senses screamed at him.

There was a flare of uncontained energy, and Felix had to duck as his storefront was reduced to crumbling rubble. Streaks of fire blazed across boulders of brick and wood, as entire tables were sent scattering. Tapping into supernatural instincts he hadn't been forced to use in decades, Felix grasped a shard of glass before it could pierce his flesh.

Out of the smoke, a cloaked figure sauntered casually forwards. Alarms were blaring someplace off in the distance, and Felix couldn't help but think, as the steel end of a rapier was directed his way, that he should have instated some himself. Oh well, some tiny, distracted part of him supposed, the explosion will probably direct the police anyway.

"I don't suppose you've come for ice cream?" Felix muttered, putting on a brave front.

The figure before him, draped in a white cloak and with a cross dangling across his neck, didn't even crack a smile. In fact, he waved his blade closer, stomping a leg impressively high onto the counter.

"Second-rank, by the smell of you," the hunter considered, "or no! We have a demon general on our hands, huh? Didn't know there were many of you left kicking from the escape."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sir." Felix ignored the sharp end threatening to rupture open his throat, "care for a vanilla?"

"Oh don't you start playing innocent, you vermin." The man spat. "Have you forgotten that you're unveiled?"

Taking one glance down at his crimson body, Felix wanted to slap himself. "Look, I don't want to fight. I've been hiding out here for the past thirty years, and have you ever heard of any increased crime-rate? Any unexplained deaths, or missing people?"

"I don't want your plea." The hunter spat. "I'm here to set things right. I don't care about any flimsy excuse you have. Your kind should be locked away in the lowest levels of hell, not mulling about amongst mortals."

"I've changed." Felix pleaded. "Please."

A trickle of blood oozed down his neck. The purple liquid dripped to the counter, amounting there. "Look at the filth that sustains you." The man pointed his other hand at the foul substance. "Look at it."

Such hatred seeped from the man's words. What could spawn such visceral spite?

And then, properly, for the very first time, Felix looked at the man facing him. Saw through his fickle exterior.

"Samuel." Felix croaked, memories surfacing of the day their squadron fought through the layers of hell in a bloody haze. "What are you doing?"

Samuel's false front dispersed into the wind, his crimson flesh and jaded eyes holding the same glint they did all those years ago, as the gates of hell were wrenched open.

"Damn it Felix," he murmured hoarsely, sword replaced by an elongated claw, "must your vision be so keen?"

"Why are you here? Are you trying to draw attention? I'm glad to see you my friend, but two demons together, its too-"

Samuel practically screeched. "What we did was wrong Felix! I've already sent the rest of us back to where we belong. Its just us now." He gazed down, a faraway look in his eyes. "Don't you ever feel guilty Felix? Are you not filled with regret — with shame? We're not like mortals . . . we don't belong here. The destruction the rest of our team have caused in the mortal realm sickens me. We're supposed to punish the evil Felix, not join them."

Felix thought carefully before he spoke. "I do more good here then I ever did down there."

His claw lowered slightly. "How?"

"I bring the people cheer through ice cream. It may sound silly . . . but I've found there's more value in rewarding the good, then chiding the evil."

Samuel donned a mortal appearance once more, though this time, he was no deliverer of heavenly justice. He sported the appearance of a regular, every-day man. "Really?"

Smiling, Felix let stark red expire to a human complexion. "Without a doubt."