"No matter what, once you all go your way, don’t turn back!"

  When Soren woke up suddenly, he found himself staring at a drywall ceiling filled with white lights. Soon after, the familiar reek of cigar smoke invaded his system, triggering a coughing fit.

  "So you're finally awake," said the voice that unmistakably belonged to Director Hunt.

  "What the— What just... Where am I?"

  "You're in the General Hospital. To be exact, you've just been released from the ICU and moved to observation."

  "General Hospital? But I don’t have insur—" he started to say while trying to sit up, only to be interrupted by a wave of pain. "Right... but what happened with the alligator thing?"

  "You mean the crocodile demon," the man corrected. "That’s the one you killed. As for the other one—the alligator—"

  "Other one?" Soren muttered aloud without meaning to.

  "Most people, like you, tend to confuse crocodiles and alligators. In the context of fears and demon manifestation, that usually results in a single demon representing both. However, this case was different—two distinct demons, operating as a pair. You took down one. The other was handled by the team under Subdirectress Nasaki."

  It took Soren a moment to process everything, his head still aching and his thoughts jumbled.

  "One person died..."

  "Our agents know the risks. So do you– whether or not you read that clause in your contract," said Director Hunt in his usual dry tone. "In any case, It was an unfortunate occurrence."

  Soren bit his lip. "Why are you here anyways?"

  The man stared at him with those same dark green eyes and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I wanted to make sure you'd survive. Now that I know, I can go."

  Before leaving, he pointed to a black rod leaning against the wall. "This was found next to you. Just wanted to make sure you knew it hadn’t been lost."

  And with that, Director Hunt exited the room full of empty hospital stretchers.

  I see... That bastard sent me to die.

  That’s what Soren believed. Going into a mission with no weapons and everything going wrong? That couldn’t have been a coincidence. Then there was the mysterious object recently presented, which he had no idea about and suspected to be part of some trickery.

  Outside in the corridor, Subdirectress Nasaki walked up to the Director.

  "Your reaction back then—the mistake with the demon's classification—was all part of your plan." she asserted without fear or being reprimanded.

  "Indeed. It was a test for both of you," Hunt replied without flinching.

  "I sent him out there not knowing a second demon was involved."

  "And you shouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t know there were two either."

  “Then?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow, staying behind.

  "It seems that misfortune follows the boy," he said as he slipped his hands into his coat pockets and walked away.

  Back in his hospital room, Soren clenched his fists.

  I lowered my guard just because he knew my uncle. I should’ve known better than to trust a lunatic who locked me up and nearly sliced me in half... Adam Hunt, that guy is a demon.

  A few days later, Soren was discharged. This time, he was able to enjoy the benefits and the ease of having legal healthcare.

  Right outside the hospital, he tossed the rod into a trash heap in a nearby alley and made his way back to the 76th Floor at the Commission’s headquarters. Without knocking, he stormed into Director Hunt’s office.

  "You set me up back then. You sent me there to die as some kind of twisted test!"

  Hunt looked up from his screen, unamused. "You are smart for figuring out , but is that all you came to say?"

  "Is that all?! I fucking quit! I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, especially not maniacs like you."

  "Yet you’re still here," he replied calmly.

  "You’re not even gonna bother denying it."

  "It's just like you said—I wanted to see what Sullivan had taught you."

  Soren laughed in a frenzy. "Uncle Sullivan only taught me how to shoot when I was a kid. Besides the stuff he left behind, everything I’ve done, I did by myself."

  He left the office, drawing the attention of several workers as he walked out.

  A few moments later, Subdirectress Nasaki stepped into the tiny and dark room, arms crossed.

  "So, you’re just going to let him walk away?"

  Director Hunt lit another cigarette, leaned back, and said nothing.

  Down at the lobby, Soren rushed angrily towards the receptionist. "Where’s my fucking—" he raised his voice before shortly getting interrupted.

  "Underground parking. Have a nice day, Mr. O’Connors."

  Still fuming, he went to retrieve his car. Once again, the damage had been completely repaired.

  That won’t do for a sorry!

  He threw the keys in, started the engine, and sped off. After driving aimlessly through the city, he ended up at the pier by Barcelona’s beach. Even with the sun setting behind the mountains, plenty of people were still out enjoying the sea view.

  What now? I’m stuck in a country where I can’t even speak the language...

  Trying to get out with Hunt’s documents is asking for another trip to a Siberian prison. And those assholes didn’t pay anything upfront—I’ve got no money.

  Still tired and under emotional strain, he returned to the apartment he had rented. The machine gun left by his uncle was in the back of the van but still in pieces, damaged by the alligator demon’s bite. He carried it inside and left it on the kitchen counter. Then he stashed a pistol in one of the drawers, just for the sake of feeling safe.

  What would Uncle Sullivan say if he saw all his gear like this?

  As night fell and the apartment grew darker, Soren dozed off on the wooden floor– still feeling the pain from rolling over the pavement; until a strange noise near the window woke him up.

  Something had broken in.

  Soren reached for the pistol at his belt and aimed at the surrounding shadows.

  "One more step and I’ll fucking kill you."

  Then he flipped the apartment lights on.

  "You?! What are you doing here? Are you following me?"

  "That’s exactly what I came to discuss," said the demon as he pointed to the translucent chain linking his neck to Soren’s arm.

  "It’s been days, and the contract is still active..." Soren thought out loud, casting reproach from the other part.

  "What the hell did you do?"

  "Me? You’re the demon, aren’t you supposed to know more about this stuff?!"

  The demon hopped onto the kitchen island and sat, thinking.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "The terms were simple: I follow you, and I get to eat you once you're dead."

  Those last words echoed in both their heads.

  Don’t tell me.

  Soren burst into maniac laughter, waving his pistol like it weighed nothing. "I never clarified what I meant by 'follow' me!"

  "That’s not how it is supposed to work for you!"

  Demonic contracts were usually airtight but never exempt from grey areas. In those cases, hell always gave leverage to the demons in order to reinterpret the conditions however they saw fit.

  Yet, why am I not being favored right now?! Am I losing my connection with hell?

  "Don’t tell me you’re stuck with me forever! Hahahaha!"

  Enraged, Argos lunged forward, only to be slammed into the floor by the chains that binded him to the boy.

  "...This has to be the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen." Soren insisted as he wiped the tears from his grinning face.

  "Human, let me go and I’ll give you whatever you want!" the dog said in usual demon fashion.

  "I doubt anything could beat this, amigo." Still, Soren’s thoughts wandered. “But what does it really mean for you to follow me? Follow me wherever I go? Or perhaps follow what I say?"

  Argos bit hard, desperation overtaking him. "You’ll regret this, human!"

  "Sit."

  He tried to resist, but the contract forced him to sit on the wooden floor. Then there was silence, pure and utter silence.

  Now this is awkward... and definitely a first.

  Soren soon circled around the demon like it was prey on the sea. "What am I supposed to do with you now?"

  "What exactly do you mean?" it muttered in resignation, still sitting.

  “The Commission must’ve noticed by now that one of their prisoners went missing... Think they’ll start hunting both of us?” Soren asked. “Also, weren’t you supposed to go back to your cell that day?”

  “The contract only said they'd let me return. It never meant I’d go back willingly,” Argos replied with a shrug. “I expected them to drag me there by force. But circumstances turned in my favor.”

  “Well, not anymore,” Soren joked.

  Even so, the demon was beginning to notice there might be some unexpected perks to breaking loose from the Commission.

  "Also, why do you have to look like a corpse? You’ll draw unwanted attention if you are to follow me from now on."

  "Free me then" the demon muttered, only to get ignored once more. “...Fine. There might be something I can do about that issue.”

  His frail, skeletal frame began to twitch. Soon, violent spasms overtook him. Muscle stretched over bone, then flesh, then brown fur. Within seconds, he’d reshaped himself into a hulking beast with crimson eyes—one that could stand on two feet like a person.

  “That’s... convenient.”

  “Our kind can often change shape at will,” the demon explained. “It’s just not something strategic considering how our strength depends, in part, on how humans perceive us.”

  “Alright. My only other concern is about the stuff I should feed you with, ‘tracer’”

  The demon growled under his breath, clearly containing his irritation.

  “Sorry,” Soren added, not sounding sorry at all. “Guess this whole situation ended up lighting my mood after all.”

  “I’m not some ‘Tracer’, human. I am Argos—the dog demon! Embodiment of mankind’s fear of canines!” he announced with pride, gesturing at himself dramatically.

  Soren stared at him for a second. “Right. Because people are terrified of dogs.” Then he added, “Also, stop calling me ‘human’ every two seconds. My name's Soren O’Connors.”

  The demon flinched slightly. His eyes narrowed. “O’Connors... as in the O’Connors?”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Soren sighed. “It’s like the whole world is supposed to know the one thing I don’t! And what do you know about him anyways?”

  “There isn’t a demon in hell who doesn’t know that name. Sullivan O’Connors wasn’t just a man—he became a legend. Even If half the rumors about him were to be true, he would still be the greatest enemy our kind has ever had.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “They say Sullivan O’Connors defeated the demon of War—the one ranked fourth on the Black Obelisk. Although, at this point that is more of a statement.”

  Soren had once learned about the mentioned object. A monument in the depths of hell harboring one hundred names: the greatest fears of mankind etched in stone, each tied to a demon.

  So War is number four... and my uncle beat him?

  “When did that happen?”

  “I’ve lived for millennia, hence the flow of time has always been a problem for me. I only know for sure that it was a recent event,” Argos replied.

  “And what else do they say about my uncle?”

  “After achieving such a feat, no major demon dared to set foot on this plane again... not until the demon of Oblivion did. Regardless, most demons believe O’Connors defeated him too—the right hand of the strongest evil in hell.”

  That aligned too closely with what Director Hunt brought up previously. His theory pointed to the fact that Oblivion had something to do with Sullivan’s disappearance, as well as Soren’s memory loss.

  Despite the demon’s explanation, those were still only fragments from the truth– nothing very much distant to what he already knew.

  After all this time, I still know nothing for sure.

  Eventually, Soren grew tired of holding his weapons. He set them down on the kitchen counter before stepping out for a night walk.

  “What do you plan to do?” the demon asked as he reached for the door.

  “There are things I still need to process... and others I need to put in motion. Try not to destroy my house while I’m gone,” Soren replied, shutting the door behind him.

  “As if there were anything worth destroying in here,” Argos grumbled, glancing around the empty apartment.

  A part of Soren still refused to accept that the man who raised him had once stood face-to-face with calamities like the Demon of Oblivion—or even more abstract terrors like War itself. But deep down, he knew there was so much he didn’t know about his uncle.

  Sullivan had never spoken about his own childhood, or about Soren’s father, let alone his mother. All Soren knew was that they’d died around the time he was born.

  “Knowing about them would only burden you,” he remembered Sullivan saying, lying under a tractor, grease on his hands. “The only thing you need to know is that they entrusted you to me before they were gone.”

  Soren wandered the streets of the European city, eventually spotting a group of drunk men outside a nightclub.

  Perfect.

  He approached casually, then pulled a pistol on them. “Give me your phone or I’ll kill you.”

  The men, too inebriated and confused to understand his English, raised their hands instinctively before trying to bolt. One of them tripped immediately, and Soren closed in fast, swiping the phone and unlocking with the guys finger before he could react.

  With the stolen phone in hand, he made his way to a nearby plaza and connected to the public Wi-Fi. His goal was clear: access a dark web domain related to illegal demon activity.

  It had been Marty—the gun dealer—who’d introduced him to the site. There, jobs, tips, trades, and demon-related requests were posted regularly. Most of Soren’s clients in recent months had come from there.

  Even though demon-related dealings were banned worldwide, Europe fell under the Commission’s control. That meant the site was almost certainly under surveillance, thus Soren only had one shot to get what he needed before Hunt’s people stepped in.

  “I offer demon hunting and consulting services in Barcelona, Spain,” he typed into the forum and hit post. Then, without hesitation, he smashed the phone against the ground and walked away.

  He knew what it looked like. A bait post. A trap. No one in their right mind would operate openly in the Commission’s backyard. But there was always someone out there—someone reckless or desperate enough to take the risk.

  I’ll just check again in a couple of days, he shrugged.

  In the meantime, Soren took the opportunity to clean and maintain the gear stored in the back of his van.

  “I’m so bored! And hungry!” Argos groaned from inside the apartment.

  “Hungry? You don’t even need to eat, unless you’re craving some dog food.”

  “But you do." he replied ignoring the joke. "How can you stand going without food?”

  “You get used to it when money runs low.”

  “Tch...”

  Out of all the humans I could’ve ended up with... it had to be a broke idiot.

  “I know you’re thinking I’m a broke idiot,” Soren said, wiping down his pistol, “but I’m already working on getting some cash.”

  “If you’re planning to sell your organs, that’s a breach of our contract.”

  So intense with that topic...

  “I’m not selling my organs, and I also don’t plan on dying,” Soren shot back. “I’m just gonna do the one thing I know best.”

  “And what’s that?” Argos asked with a sarcastic lilt.

  “Killing demons, of course.”

  Maybe death would’ve been a better fate...

  “Don’t make that face, dog demon. Sounds like you’ve helped humans hunt your own kind before. You were a traitor long before we met.”

  “First of all, we’ve only known each other for a single day. Second, loyalty between demons is a joke. We only look out for ourselves. I have no problem stepping over other wretched demons to get what I want.”

  “Keep that mindset then. If things go how I want, we’ll get a job in a day or so. I’m counting on a fair amount of fighting—and some killing. So I expect you to cooperate,” Soren said with a mocking grin.

  Once he was ready, Soren went out again and repeated his earlier routine: steal a phone, access the site. This time, someone had replied to his post. The client wanted to meet in person to discuss the job.

  It could be a trap from the Commission… But I’ll take my chances.

  He destroyed the phone and made his way to the designated location. After a quick trip by public transit, he climbed the narrow, sloped streets and paid to enter the park. At the viewpoint, with the city sprawling beneath him, he spotted an old man staring out toward the horizon.

  “So... you’re the one looking for help?” Soren asked after a couple of minutes of staying at the place.

  “You... I don’t know what you mean,” an old man replied, a little too quickly.

  “Come on. Sunglasses and a cap? That’s a disguise, and it doesn’t even suit someone your age.”

  “And you’re far too young to be mixed up in this kind of business... This was a mistake,” the man muttered, turning to leave.

  However, Soren grabbed his arm, lifting the edge of his jacket just enough to reveal his twin pistols.

  “Almost everyone who’s hired me have said the same thing. And I ended up being exactly what they needed.”

  Cornered, the man returned to the railing with a sigh. Then he handed Soren a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.

  “This meeting was just to make sure. Be there after dinnertime.”

  He left promptly, not looking back.

  Soren stayed at the viewpoint for a while longer, watching darkness arise from the sea. The city's lights were beginning to glow, ushering in the night.