As the bird darted toward them, Jalen prepared himself if an attack was imminent. His episode at Walmart already conditioned him to ambushing foes. Instead, the colorful bird banked around them when it reached, chirping wildly.

“Is a screw loose somewhere?” Prillon waved his hands in Jalen’s face. “What are you staring into space for?”

“So you truly cannot see it?” He inquired. “Interesting.”

“See what?”

The bird, giving up on verbal communication, snatched his hand and pulled with all its might. He had let it get that close out of curiosity for what it was, but watching the bird desperately pull, as weak as it was against all odds, his interest spiked.

“It is a bird, Prillon,” he said. “A vibrant one at that. I will follow it to see what it wants to show me.”

When he followed in the direction the bird wanted, it eagerly raced ahead, vanishing from sight. If not for his heightened perception, he might have lost it. Nevertheless, he too, darted forward, leaving Prillon in the dust. He worried not, however, as the imp always seemed to find him.

Seconds of wind-biting flying later, he found the bird circling above a house in a typical suburban neighborhood. Unlike the heaviest areas in the city plagued by spawn and demonic forces, down below was eerily silent, with no soul in sight. However, he knew better. A quick sniff of the air clinging to the house below notified him of the presence of blood and the stink of a demon.

He landed on the front porch and walked straight into the wall, not bothering to open the door as his god form stood eight feet tall and would not fit. The front wall, door included, collapsed inward to allow him through. His perception ignored the noisy clatters of pieces of wood hitting the floor and scoured the entire house for any points of interest. There was one—a weakened lifeform.

He moved through the dark living room, past a television that displayed the latest updates about the ongoing demonic invasion in Hermosville, and stopped at the doorway leading into the kitchen. The stench of blood struck his nose again. When he looked up, he spotted sigils written in blood on the ceiling encircling the kitchen, a telltale sign that the tsuchigumo had ambushed someone there. Naturally, he knew that was not a fact, considering the myriad of demons who likely dabbled in this type of sorcery. But his gut feeling told him otherwise.

As he gnashed his teeth, his cosmic beams tore through the sigils, dispelling whatever spell the demon cast. Only then did he step into the kitchen and be greeted by a headless corpse lying on the kitchen island. Pools of dried blood stained the wooden floor of the kitchen. Ahead, a hole had been punched in the wall beside the fridge, large enough to let the Tsuchigumo, whose warmth and rotting breath he still perceived, through. The bird flew into the kitchen and dove at the child lying in the corner. Although he could not understand its melodic calls, he could sense that it was grieving for the child.

He stared through the hole into the night, contemplating whether to chase after the demon. In months, this was his best chance. His only chance. Then he realized that the scent trail had disappeared beyond the grassy area. Jigoku Kumo had disappeared again.

Instead, he gently pulled the small child into his arms. Although her heartbeat was faint and her skin ghastly pale, the girl would survive. Yet, the bird cried in sorrowful songs.

“Quiet down,” he said. “She is alive. She will live.”

Thankfully, the bird understood him.

He retraced his path back to the living room, exited the house, and floated into the sky to provide a vantage point from which to spot the tsuchigumo if she lingered by. Whichever way his eyes turned, he came up empty.

“Found you at last.” Prillon appeared, gasping for breath.

“And just in time.” He pointed down at the house. “Search through that house. I’m certain the tsuchigumo was there only thirty minutes ago. I’m sure you can spot any details I may have missed.”

“Of course. Prillon, the royal messenger, at your bloody service.” Then, as he descended toward the house, Prillon muttered. “The lengths I go for you, Lady Azazel. To be reduced to a fucking tool used on filthy mortals, can you imagine?”

The neighborhood below, for the most part, escaped the swarm of spawn. Whether that was by design, so that the Jigoku Kumo could hunt in peace, only the tsuchigumo would know. That left him with more questions. Most importantly, what did the tsuchigumo want from the child in his arms?

As if hearing his unspoken question, the girl slowly blinked awake and set her unsteady and stark blue eyes on him.

“Mind telling me what the demon wanted from you?” he asked.

The girl’s eyes opened wide, then she broke down into tears and buried her face in her hands.

“Mommy,” she mumbled over and over.

He let her grieve, thinking that perhaps he had jumped the gun. The headless man in her kitchen could have been the tsuchigumo’s target, and this child was only an unfortunate witness. However, he failed to see why Jigoku Kumo would let her live. After all, the tsuchigumo was brutally thorough in eliminating everyone at the monastery.

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The bird, singing a soothing song, landed on the girl and embraced her. The melodic tunes were sorely out of place in the city tonight.

Prillon returned. “It’s just as you said. The spider bitch was there alright. Good thinking to destroy her blood magic before going in. If not, I’d be forced to pull your arse out of her trap.”

“Is it really powerful enough to imprison me if I fell for it?” he asked.

“Who knows?” Prillon’s small shoulders rose and fell. “But things would’ve gone to hell in a handbasket if you were to resort to breaking out of one of her traps. I’ve seen demons as powerful as archdevils get their asses handed to them by a pack of those bloody tsuchigumo. They’re a goddamn nightmare to deal with.”

The girl’s sobbing finally subsided. “T-thank you for saving me… sir.”

“I didn’t save you,” he said. “You were lying down, unconscious and exposed. What is your name?”

“August.”

“That’s a beautiful name. So tell me, what happened at your house?”

She stuttered, wiping the tears from her eyes, then slowly recounted the events that happened to her, from the people she met on the train who warned her of dangers coming to the spider monster that took everything from her. Then her recollection spurred another bout of crying. The loss of her mother rang true to his heart. In turn, he confirmed the state of the city to her.

“It’s okay now,” he said. “You are safe. I can take you to a place where the demon will never find you.”

“Where?” Her barely audible voice quaked. “You said they have invaded the city.”

“Don’t worry about that. Know that a third of the city is safely waiting there.”

She rubbed her reddened eyes. “Okay. But first I’d like to check if my father’s safe. Please, sir.”

“Call me Jalen. And lead the way.”

Struggling because of her unfamiliarity with the city from an aerial view, she directed him towards Oldtown. The blare of loud sirens, the roar of endless gunfire, and the clouds of smoke rising from burning buildings did little to help her navigate toward her father’s home. Regardless, they reached a three-story building, typical of the district, with its Victorian features and steeply pitched roof.

“This is it.” She confirmed.

He landed by the front door and commanded her to stay behind him before pulling down the wall to enter. With the bird perched on her shoulder, August crept up after him as his senses scanned the building. Right away, he grasped that things had taken a negative turn in the house. However, he would let her see for herself.

In the living room, there were signs of struggling—an overturned sofa, and shards of broken glass littering the floor. August disregarded his warning about staying behind and rushed upstairs, her heartbeat spiking. To follow her through the narrow house and not destroy everything in his wake, he returned to his human form. He already gathered that the dangers had passed, so it was safe.

In the kitchen, beyond the dining room, he found August at the end of a trail of blood. She was weeping on her knees beside the corpse of a man.

“No! Daddy.” She hugged her father’s rigid hand. “Pleas… please… come back. I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Her words tapered off into incoherent sounds mixed in with her sobbing. He gazed at the mortal wound in the man’s chest, wondering if there was a corner in the city that went untouched by demonic influence. So much senseless destruction over a power struggle. As she wailed, he cupped his jaw, thinking of a way to catch the demon. But as always, nothing concrete came to mind. His best shot might be to wait until Belial shows up and Jigoku Kumo reveals herself to clash with the archdevil.

Some time later, August plodded over to him with heavy feet, after retrieving a framed photograph of her father and herself, her face swollen and red from all the weeping. “I’m ready to leave now.”

He nodded, and a swirling mass formed beside him. “Step through the portal and it will lead you to safety.”

She directed an apprehensive glance at the portal, then back at him, before walking toward it, only to stop just before venturing in.

“It’s safe,” he assured her.

She ran her hand through the portal. “I know. And I trust you. It’s just…” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ve changed my mind.” Before he could come up with a response, she turned around, determination and rage replacing the sorrow in her eyes. “Let me help you kill the monster.”

“Help me? You’re a child.”

“True. But that didn’t stop the monster from trying to kill me.” She left the portal behind and came closer to him. “Or from killing Lily and Harry. You told me you wanted to kill the spider monster. But you never told me why. Did she kill someone close to you?”

Intrigued by the nerve and gall of the girl, he decided to play on. “You could say that. She killed everyone who helped me when I returned. A sisterhood of nuns.”

“Then you must understand the pain I’m feeling. I can’t run away when the monster that killed my parents roams free. I am done leaving things for others to handle when I can do it myself. Let me help you.”

“How? With your little fairy bird? How do you plan to be of use?”

“Zephyr is not my only imaginary friend left. Mr. Mangles, please come out.”

Behind August, a towering black skeletal form in a torn cloak materialized. His head was the skull of an elk, black and sinister. Half of his six arms carried broad cutlasses while the other half held rusting revolvers.

“I’m the Saint of Graves, the Dark Specter,” Mr. Mangles proclaimed. “Pleased to be at your service, hehe.”

He locked gazes with the twin red glowing dots that served as Mr. Mangle’s eyes, then looked down at August.

“The monster was very desperate to steal my ability to create imaginary friends,” she said. “I can be of many uses to you, even if I am weak.”

“There is a high chance you’ll die,” he warned. “I will not be hindered by worrying about your safety.”

Her lips quivered before steadying. “As long as the monster dies, too. Then so be it.”

“Fine.” The portal fizzled out. “Whatever happens from here on out, you have my respect. We will discuss downstairs. Prillon, show yourself. We have a plan to hash out.”

As he walked by the girl and her menacing imaginary friend, an unsuspecting glass cup resting among many on the counter morphed into the blue-skinned imp. Downstairs, he reclined in a comfy antique chair and waited. Prillon was the first to appear, sailing over and landing on the armrest of his chair. Soon after, August came, with Zephyr resting on her shoulder and Mr. Mangles nowhere to be seen. Either way, it mattered not to what lay ahead.