Aside from the chaotic screams of excitement in the distance and sirens wailing amidst the rain drops, it was a relatively quiet Saturday. Stagnant and humid, the kind of late summer evening when the swelter begins to cool after repeated heavy storms. Downtown Kansas City was still alight with the ever forward progression of industry and entertainment, casting the skyline in the distance in bright whites and yellows against the haziness of the 2 AM stillness.  Even from several miles away, man’s folly was a giant on the horizon. Many miles and counties away the rain was even thicker.

The rain sizzled on the pavement, keeping time with the uneven footsteps of the man in black as he crept along the historic pathways. Ivory cane in hand, he slowly traversed the wet sidewalk, his typically neat hair was mussed from the moisture, leaving his dusty blonde curls falling over his silver irises, his undercut stubble was prickly against his damp skin.

He walked with a limp, like that of an old man who still clung to youth, and it betrayed his young twenty five years. He kept his ears trained on the solemn screams in the distance. Not ones of excitement, but ones tossed in the cacophony of sounds like a hidden message. Altogether inhuman and full of remorse. His eyes were fixated on the reflection of the streetlights in the dancing rain.

Clad entirely in black, his rolled sleeves drooped around his tattooed arms. His boots were soaked thoroughly from the length of his trip. The priest collar around his neck was turning gray from the excess moisture. Blood dripped from his pale, chapped lips. A silver rosary, worn and well-used, bounced over his chest as he moved. His steely gaze narrowed.

He stopped on the edge of the street, the glow of the twinkling lights bathed the man in black in soft, yellow light. The tips of his boots crept over the lip of the walkway. He stood like a sentinel before the old church, gripping his cane so tightly the blood began to drain from his fingertips, blanching his already pale skin near-instantly. He sighed, inhaled rain water as it mixed with the coppery taste of blood that drained into his open mouth. The church loomed in the darkness, old trees crowded around its entryway like an omen, begging wandering eyes to keep their distance. His sister would already be inside, tearing away at the brick walls in the basement with sledgehammer and raw anger.

The priest steadied himself for the upcoming battle, rubbed his throat gingerly where the searing symbol of his fate burned in proximity to the holy cross before him. His eyes never wavered from his target, while his reflection in the rippling water showcased the form of the demon he carried inside. The one he was unaware even existed. Insidious eyes glared at the priest with a victorious, dark glee.  

“Your time is running low, Belmont.”