A thick coat of snow covered the landscape as far as the eyes could see, while countless snowflakes poured from the sky. The only places spared from the onslaught were the roads and sidewalks, which were in constant use, both maintained by steadfast individuals. Southside Haven Memorial Gardens fared no better, utterly unrecognizable to the lush greenery spring brought. The trees carried no leaves, their branches spread like gnarled fingers. Underfoot harbored a carpet of snow occasionally broken by sprouting headstones and historic statues.

Not a minute past the time set for their meeting, Jalen stood by his mother’s headstone, clad in a thick coat for appearance’s sake. Though his standard vessel was only human, one of the gifts he granted his body prevented him from succumbing to diseases. As an added effect, the cold didn’t affect him much.

A glance at his watch told him that he had been standing there for over two hours. Despite that, the demon was yet to show.

He frowned.

Eventually, a blue streak emerged in the sky and touched down on the headstone that bore his name.

“Bloody bollocks!” Prillon barked, rubbing his hands together frantically. “This cold ain’t good for my old, brittle bones.”

His only acknowledgment of Prillon came from a stern look directed at the demon.

“So, how long have you been standing here like a statue, eh?”

“Some time,” he said.

“Figures.” Prillon chuckled. “You seem pretty eager to deliver some divine retribution from that look you are giving me. Though I don’t fault you, considering the ringer that bitch put you through. I’ve got some good news, but what I gathered is mostly shitty. I’ll let you call dibs.”

“Start with the good.”

“Of course.” The smile drained from Prillon’s face, the demon’s expression now matching his. “She is in this city, or at least she was.”

His eyes burned with his golden life force at the sound of that revelation.

“Her spawn, humans turned demonic vessels, are locked in a territory war with Belial’s forces. Though I warn ya, I only caught a glimpse of one such skirmish. I couldn’t pinpoint where they both holed up, her spawn or the demons. Getting close wasn’t an option. I can’t have my guts spilling over this nonsense. That’s the bad news, by the way.”

His gaze fell to the snow where his boots were buried. How could so much be happening in the city like Prillon alluded to, yet it all went right under his nose? The only answer he could manage was HAVEN and possibly that woman with the floating artifact who was gunning for him. If memory served him right, she was the leader of the Knights of Arixxer, who were collaborating with HAVEN. As he cupped his chin, he pondered the severe gaps in his information-gathering ability. So much had to change.

“Though there is hope for you yet, new god.” Prillon’s smirk returned. “On a random excursion sampling what this city had to offer, I came across a potential lead in the form of an infernal scent. So I followed a ragtag group of bikers back to their lair. I couldn’t discern who exactly it was, but I’m certain there was a fuckin’ demon amongst their ranks.”

“Where?”

“Something, something street.” Prillon sighed. “I can’t grasp the mortals and their shitty naming schemes. But I can lead you there if you are up for it.”

Before the demon, he transformed, growing in height as his muscles bulged, and his skin took on a coarse, rocky texture, mountains of immense power raging within. “Lead the way, Prillon. It is time I had a talk with this demon.”

“With pleasure.” Prillon flapped his bat-like wings, slicing into the air, and sailing over the trees into the harsh, gloomy sky.

He wasn’t far behind, following the demon wherever he went. Though Prillon was considerably slower than him, the demon wasted no time leading him to the location, which turned out to be in a desolate industrial section of Southside Haven.

The landscape spotted abandoned factories and warehouses, their deteriorated state a testament to the hard times the district had fallen on. Below them lay a similarly defunct establishment. However, his superior senses detected a flurry of activity under the roof of the imposing building fashioned with brick and steel girders. Rusted spike fences, spotting ‘Grimshaw Only - Trespassers Will Be Eliminated’ signs, and coiled barbed wire surrounded the building’s perimeter. Many sleek and highly customized low-riding motorcycles were parked on either side of the building.

He did not need further confirmation from Prillon to know this was the place, so he descended.

At the entrance, there was a commotion. The security guard, a heavily imposing black man with many scars, held another man by the collar, who was much smaller with greasy hair.

“What did you say, squirt?” the black man growled, grinding his teeth.

“Come on, Dredge,” the other man pleaded. “Just let me in. I’ll behave. I promise.”

“And I said no! Are your ears for decoration? Perhaps I should snip them off since you sure as hell ain’t making use of them.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Jalen landed on the snow-covered walkway, then ascended the stone steps into the porch where the entrance lay and the men argued.

“Step aside,” he said.

Both men paused their heated exchange and looked up at him. The smaller one gasped in fear before being pushed away by the black man.

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Dredge directed his scowl at him.

“Someone you don’t want to mess with,” he said. “Now, will you move, or do I have to do it myself?”

“I’ve fucked up plenty of men as big as you are. You think because you won the superhuman lottery, becoming all tall and imposing, that everyone will cower in fear?” Dredge poked his chest with a sturdy forefinger. “Newsflash, nigga. There is always a bigger fish in the pond. Now fuck off. You aren’t welcome.”

“Somehow, I doubt that to be true.” A faint smirk spread across his lips. “But you have piqued my interest. Give it your best shot. Let’s find out who the shark is and who the fledgling mackerel really is.”

He spread his arms wide, inviting the man in. Dredge took the bait, like the mackerel he was, rearing his hand back and launching a sweeping right hook that clipped Jalen’s jaw.

He stood there completely unfazed, while Dredge collapsed onto the floor, nursing a broken hand and screaming.

“Pathetic,” Jalen said, grabbing Dredge by the neck and lifting the large man into the air. “After all that tough talk, I expected more fight.”

Now, Dredge stared at him with a mix of surprise and horror clear in his widened eyes.

Jalen walked past the other man, who stood rooted to the spot in fear, and slammed his broad shoulder into the heavy steel front door. The door caved in from the overwhelming force, ripping chunks of the brick wall as it fell inward. Then he tossed the struggling and kicking Dredge into the wide room. The large man sailed through the air and crashed onto a crowded table. With a loud crackle of broken glass and a chaotic clatter of dishes, the table collapsed under Dredge.

All the men at the affected booth, as well as everyone else in the rowdy establishment, paused and turned to the door, a mix of emotions falling on Jalen from confusion to anger. By the time they looked, he had already changed back into his human form to fit through the doorway, with only his glowing eyes as a tell of his immense power.

The room was an enormous open area with a tall ceiling and a bar situated to the right, while being surrounded by smaller private rooms. The pungent odor of stale beer mixed with sweat hung thick in the air, the walls adorned with twisted metal sculptures, vulgar graffiti, faded banners, and the Grimshaw insignia—a snarling wolf.

Men of all shapes and sizes filled the floor, wearing black and red biker jackets emblazoned with the wolf insignia and the letters ‘GG’ on their backs, while scantily dressed women added more flavor to an otherwise brutish scene.

With the undivided attention of the entire clubhouse, Jalen calmly removed his coat and hung it on a rack. He then turned to address the crowd. “I’m looking for the demon who hides amongst your ranks.”

A man sitting by the affected booth, with a dirty blonde mullet and seemingly hundreds of Grimshaw tattoos, squinted his eyes and rose. “And who the fuck are you, boy, barging into our humble haven and making outlandish demands?”

Several other men, wearing equally angry expressions, pushed their chairs away and stood up.

He smiled, turning to the heavily tattooed man. “My apologies. I will reimburse any damage I caused. Point me to the demon and I’ll be out of your way. There is no need for this to escalate.”

The man pulled out a pistol buried in his pants and leveled the weapon at him. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before pulling our door down and disturbing my meal.”

He raised his eyebrow, marveling at the utter stupidity the men were displaying. Here he was, having busted down a heavily reinforced steel door and thrown a grown over twenty feet, and they still had the gall to act all high and mighty. Was it the fear of not appearing weak amongst their fellow gangsters that spurred them to act irrationally? Or perhaps just plain ego? Either way, it wouldn’t matter in the end.

Other men followed the first man’s lead and drew their guns. He chuckled in response, unbothered by the piping-hot tension in the air.

“Why don’t you empty ‘em pockets, boy?” the man said. “Then drop to your knees while you at it and beg for your life.”

He replied with one word. “No.”

This angered the man, his skin reddening and veins popping. By now, the other men had shuffled past the tables and surrounded him.

“Last chance, boy. Drop to your knees if you don’t want to meet whatever God you worship. Because I swear in the name of God, I will send you off filled to the brim with lead.”

He stood still, letting his sweeping gaze fall on each man who wished to bring him harm. “Two things. One, I worship no one. Two, consider your next actions because there will be reperc—”

His statement never concluded, interrupted by the crack of gunfire and the impact of a bullet tearing through his chest. Right before he tumbled and collided with the ground, the other men squeezed their triggers, causing a continuous crackle of gunfire and momentary flashes from their gun muzzles. Once they had their fill, his body perforated with countless bullet holes which leaked an ever-increasing pool of blood, the men spat on him and walked away.

All around the clubhouse, those who remained seated sparked into laughter, mocking the overconfident fool who met his end in the most unceremonious manner.

The tattooed man with the mullet pointed to the bartender. “Hey, Ricky! Get someone to clean this mess.”

All the while, his body slowly reconstructed itself. The bullets squeezed out as his muscles regenerated and his heart replenished the lost blood with his life force.

“Fine. Now It’s my turn.” He planted his hands on the pool of blood and pushed himself up, his eyes blaring alive.

One of the retreating men who shot him heard those words and turned back in time to see him transform into Erebus.

“The fuck?”

That man became his first target, cleaved in half from the waist by his cosmic beams. Continuing, he swept his beams across the room, blowing up heads, severing limbs, decapitating bodies, and causing mass horror to spread like wildfire.

“Run!”

“Fuck! Get outta my way.”

They scurried away like ants as he cut them down by the droves. The work of his cosmic beams bathed their walls in blood and viscera, the floor and tables in an even worse state.

During the unfolding wave of devastation, he spared the tattooed man who first shot him, reveling in the man’s paralyzing fear. At last, Jalen had gotten the appropriate reaction to his power.

“Stop it!” A large man rushed out of a side room, waving his hands. “You win, dickhead. Stop it! You have your demon. Jesus fuck!”

His beams finally retracted.