There was so much blood covering that girl that one could mistake her blonde hair for some mean shade of red. He decided not to say that out loud.

“Astrid,” he tested the sound of her name in his voice. It wasn't so bad. "Correct?".

She was sitting on the small sofa in the living room, on top of a pile of old towels and clothes that he had hastily gathered so she wouldn't destroy the furniture's upholstery.

Her cheekbones were sunken; the bones of her collarbone, bulging. Below her eyes, deep dark circles were almost purple. Her eyebrows, the same shade of blonde, were furrowed in what looked like their usual frown. The rest of her body was an enigma: well-formed muscles, but a thin ribcage and signs of malnutrition wherever he looked. Her clothes were simple, yet clean (except for the blood, but this looked fresh enough to be a recent addition, so Max guessed that, before it had come around, the clothes had been clean). Bitten nails and skinny knees.

The girl looked like the undead, and he had experience in the matter.

“Yes,” her voice was the most interesting part. Raspy and reserved, Max heard the background all too well, a growl she could barely hold back.

As if she was saying: how dare he call me by name?

Max leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. While he preferred to be the friendlier of the pair, he wasn't entirely averse to a little professional intimidation if necessary. And that girl looked one step away from jumping over the coffee table and ripping his throat out with her teeth.

“I'm asking because you didn't bring any documents,” he clarified, but in a tone that made it clear that he was the one deciding the rules here. "I can't even confirm that's your name, can I?"

Astrid screwed up her face. When she did it, she highlighted the scar on her right side.

It appeared to be a burn scar, although there was something odd about it that prevented Maxwell from being entirely sure. From the bottom of the eye to the side of the mouth, diagonally, a line of twisted skin had formed, standing out, raised as if it had been left to heal on its own, and that had been the best thing it'd managed to do. From that line, expanded a long patch of skin eternally reddish, albeit in slightly different tones, depending on its proximity to the eye or mouth, all the way until it disappeared under the hair on the side of her face.

It definitely wasn't recent. Which meant that all that blood was somehow completely unrelated to the horrible scar. What a joyous thing.

"I don't have any documents," she said finally.

"Immigrant?".

It wasn't altogether uncommon for people, especially young people like her, to make the long journey from some other City-States to Westone, no doubt lulled by the fantasy of a righteous metropolis where crime associated with demonic apparitions was next to nil.

Most ended up begging on some dirty street, which was probably where Astrid would end up if Max so decided.

"No. I grew up in Barren."

"Barren is out of town."

"But BMC has an operations station there. They have a working train that takes us straight here," she shrugged. "Most of us consider ourselves from Westone. There's not much in Barren to inspire a sense of patriotism."

Max blinked. That had been the longest sentence Astrid had said since she'd set foot in the office. The more she spoke, the more her voice grew weak, and thin, like a thread of fabric stretched too far.

"Blackrock Mining Company?" He repeated. "Did you work there?"

The girl took a second to respond. One second too long. "Someone I knew did."

"Right," Max refused to let her take over the conversation. He leaned over to the coffee table and helped himself to a hot cup of black tea. "May I pour you one?".

He saw the moment the girl's throat worked as she swallowed hard. "No".

Too hurt to drink tea? Maxwell pondered, taking a sip. "We're a pretty small department, Astrid. Only two members, really. So, you understand, I need to be very careful who I consider...--".

"I know".

"Pardon me?".

"That's why I came to you," she said. "I don't care about big offices," there was a spark of hatred just barely hidden in her voice. "I saw your last job listing. The only department that ventured into the Ranges."

That is classified information. "Is that so?".

"You captured a Class A demon, all by yourself. With only two people," her gaze landed somewhere on Maxwell's neck. "It would be a suicide mission for anyone else."

Maxwell set his cup down on the china plate, letting the clink of utensils calm his nerves for a second. "Astrid," he called. "What do you know about Red?"

"What everyone knows. That she was employed under special conditions in the Department of Supernatural Resources, and that you are the only one allowed to go on missions with her".

Maxwell tried to find some hint of a lie in her tone, but either the girl was a genius in the arts of deception, or she was being completely sincere. He didn't know which was the worst of the alternatives.

"Do you have any experience with dispatching or capturing demons?"

"Just the occasional D-Class that popped into Barren from time to time. But I'm pretty good with an axe if that matters."

Maxwell didn't answer. It was hard to think with the girl's gaze fixed on him, but he had to make an effort. Since his dealing with Death, his life had become one impossible decision after another. This was nothing new.

Astrid, to her credit, didn't seem the least bit impatient. Max took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, and...--

"Yes sir?" He responded immediately, holding the communicator to his ear. "Okay. I'll be there in a moment."

He jumped to his feet, grabbing his coat in one movement and tucking his fountain pen into his inside pocket, already marching toward the door.

"What about me?" Astrid reminded him.

Max opened the office door, letting the twilight sunbathe the interior of the room. "You said you know how to use an axe, didn't you? We'll get you one on the way."

Astrid jumped to her feet, giving the office one last look as if she were saying goodbye. Was it possible that she accepted the idea of dying in her first job so promptly?

"What about your partner?"

Emergency sirens began to blare in the background, accompanied by the desperate screams of civilians running for the nearest shelter.

"She's none of your business yet."

----------------------------------------

Max parked the service car at the edge of the square. The place had been evacuated according to procedure and was being patrolled by the Joint Forces: young men and women, the tinkle of the silver chain mail they wore beneath the standard uniform accompanying them with every step as they covered the perimeter, wielding their very modern blasters of the new generation.

He had barely gotten out of the car when he heard the furious footsteps of someone approaching, snorting, and the hoarse, familiar voice:

"You fucking brat!" Tyron pointed a callused finger at him, exhaling smoke from his trusty cigar a little too close for Max's liking. "Who called you here? This operation is mine".

Max held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, Jones sent me here. Complain to him."

Tyron turned purple, as he always did when someone mentioned the name of his political rival (and higher up in the department hierarchy).

"Fuck Jones, and fuck you too. The damage you did to the Ranges last month wasn't enough? The cleanup crew is still trying to find all the bits of meat wedged between the rocks, you know?"

"I believe that's what they are hired for, yes."

Tyron slammed his fist down on the hood of the car. "They're hired to clean up crime scenes! Not to babysit a bunch of kids who think they know what they're doing. Every mission you guys get sent on ends up costing us a fortune...!" he squeezed Max's shoulder in a disgruntled gesture.

Max placed a hand over his. The heat shock seemed to remind him who he was talking to, as his cigar shook pathetically from where it dangled in his gruff mouth.

"You can complain to Jones then, Detective."

Tyron tried to pull away in a dignified manner. Since he couldn't reach Max, he turned his gaze to the girl: "And who is this beggar? Another sacrifice for your little friend?"

A part of Max wanted to let Tyron believe that.

"This is Astrid. Astrid, this is Detective Tyron, in charge of South Central Westone, and my former mentor."

Tyron pursed his mouth.

"Hm," was all she said, not taking her eyes off the square.

Max leaned against the car. "So, Detective? How long ago exactly did the sensors pick up the appearance of demonic activity?"

Although annoyed, Tyron grumbled: "At the same time that Jones called you, probably. It's an orange type wave, so it shouldn't be a big deal. I don't know why that many people for a Class C".

Maxwell turned to Astrid. "Probably because the city's plumbing intersects under this plaza area. Any inordinate damage here and it could ruin all the city's sanitation for a few days, which would be... well, not pleasant."

Tyron chuckled. "If Jones doesn't want things blowing up for no reason, why call you?"

Astrid also ignored him. "Orange type wave? Is that a sonic type?".

Hmm, she's not completely detached from reality, then. "No, not necessarily. Demon sensor waves are divided into colors. You'll have time to learn that later if I hire you. For today, I want you to watch the other rangers and see how the work is done".

Astrid nodded. As the Joint Forces operators continued their relentless round and Tyron smoked cigar after cigar beside them, Maxwell watched the perimeter. A cluster of Dark Tendrils had stretched along the outer wall of an apartment building, but that seemed to be the only hint of a demonic apparition. The Source wasn't there, at least not where he could see it...

Night fell on them.

Astrid tightened her grip on the hilt of her weapon. They hadn't had time to stop by the main warehouse, so instead of an ax itself, Astrid was holding a hatchet from his collection. It wasn't common for field agents to use close-range weapons like this one, because of the risk of exposure to demonic genetic material, but the girl seemed to have become enchanted by the weapon, and Maxwell thought it would be best to let her use a one with which feel comfortable handling.

"Sir!" One of the assistants caught Tyron's attention. "The sensor has stopped firing!"

Max heard Tyron chewing on the end of his cigar. "What?".

"Uh... It's not picking up any energy waves anymore, sir...".

Tyron shot a glance at Max, but the boy's gaze was riveted on the outer wall of the apartment. Astrid followed his gaze with her own.

"What do we do? Undo the perimeter?" the same assistant asked again.

"Come with me," Maxwell whispered to Astrid. "And don't make any noise."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Are you crazy?!" Tyron yelled. "What kind of agent thinks of undoing the...!"

While Tyron berated his assistants, Maxwell guided Astrid around the perimeter. The agents had taken all the usual measures: they had cordoned off the building in a circle of salt and iron, and two of them were standing guard around it, flamethrowers at the ready.

"Why not burn it all already?" Astrid asked, quietly.

"The Forensics Lab always needs samples of Dark Tendrils... If we can isolate the demon and get the tendrils out without destroying the second one, that's better. Then it's just a matter of severing their link and sticking the tendrils in some nitrogen".

Astrid muttered, "Wow. Like an umbilical cord."

Maxwell thought that she hadn't meant for him to hear her, but he couldn't help but smile: "Yes, like an umbilical cord."

"Wow".

"Sorry, sir, but I can't let you go any further than that," one of the agents holding a flamethrower informed him.

"No problem, I just want to look it over," Maxwell said, pulling the notebook out of his inside coat pocket. "Astrid".

"Yes?".

Max unsheathed his longsword and placed it in Astrid's hands. "Hold this for me, I need both of my hands right now. But when I scream, give it back to me."

"Right".

Dark Tendrils, as a rule, were pretty grotesque things. The only apparent sign of demonic life on the surface, they were usually seen as a death rattle, spreading over anything they touched like creepers from hell. Max had seen a fair amount of them in his life, but these...

An awful shiver ran down his spine, and Max felt that horrid sensation like his teeth were scraping against his gums. He barely had time to shout:

"Astrid! Behind me!"

Before that horrible thing moved beneath the surface of the tendril, like a sleeping worm awakening. The agents aimed their flamethrowers, hands on the triggers, but:

"No! It's too late...!".

The thing erupted. A torrent of sticky droplets of demonic flesh covered in black blood flew everywhere. Max huddled in on himself, lifting the cloak to cover himself and Astrid as the disgusting remains of the demon stuck to the fabric and sizzled, like meat on a boiling griddle.

Desperation took over the surroundings. Max lowered his arm to see the two agents, covered in chunks of flesh, sticking to their skin, burning and digging holes right down to the bone... One of them still had the strength to pull the trigger, a trail of yellow flames encompassing the wall of the building as his last gesture of defiance.

In vain. As his lifeless body fell to the floor soaked in his colleague's blood, from the flames, a skeletal form, skin white as ivory, red at the edges of the bones, emerged.

"That's not a C-Class!" Max growled.

The demon opened its maw in a guttural scream, causing the air to tremble around them, and from the bowels of what encased it, a limb shot forward, at a speed so absurd it seemed impossible to the untrained eye.

"Astrid!" Max opened his hand back and felt the familiar guard of his longsword against his palm.

A howl of pain erupted from the creature then, but it took Max a moment to figure out why. The demon struggled like a crying child, the bones in its body creaking in all directions, trying to get rid of...

On the wall of a nearby building, the demon's arm was embedded in the concrete, pierced by a small red hatchet that was now turning dark with its blood.

Wasting no time, Max cut off the demon's arm. The limb fell to the ground like a living being, squirming and throwing droplets of infernal blood over them. Max kept himself and Astrid protected as the Joint Forces fired their blasters, bullets of compressed salt exploding into the demon's body.

"That's not enough!" Max warned. "That's a Class B!".

Max grabbed his sword, readying himself. If he could just hit the spot between the jawbone and collarbone with the blade--

"Don't even think about it, Maxwell!" Tyron's voice bellowed behind him. "If you go near that thing, you die!"

An eardrum-shattering shot rang out above their heads, and Tyron came striding toward them, revolver in hand. The first bullet punched a hole in the demon's chest, causing dark blood to spurt.

"Did you bring a Special Weapon for a routine mission?" Max heard his hoarse voice.

"Shut up and start thinking!" Tyron ordered. "How do we kill this thing, Maxwell? This is no ordinary fucking demon."

From the inside pocket of his coat, Max produced a pair of gloves and handed them to Astrid: "Go get your hatchet. Don't let its blood touch you," and to Tyron: "I think it's stuck with that thing." ".

"Stuck?".

"I think it's taking the nutrients out of those tendrils."

"Then what? Do I shoot the whole wall?"

Maxwell followed the mark with his eyes. It disappeared under the cement blocks of the sidewalk. He felt his heart freeze in his chest.

"Shit".

"What do you mean, "shit", you fuck?! Do you know what to do or not?".

The creature began to detach itself from the wall. Tyron planted another bullet in its neck, which seemed to halt its' movements for a moment. But Tyron was going to run out of ammo at some point.

"It's connected to something down there."

He saw Tyron's arms shaking. "In the pipeline...?".

A bestial scream tore from the creature's throat, and even under the light of the streetlamps, jagged shadows loomed over them.

"Flyers!" He warned. "Hide!"

The Joint Forces soldiers tried to. Maxwell hauled Astrid by the shoulders under a bus stop, keeping his sword on guard in front of them as half a dozen Class D demons flew overhead on their white leather wings, tongues clicking the air.

One of the soldiers was captured by the throat. Maxwell saw his windpipe being ripped out by two pairs of twisted fangs. Another tried to hit an approaching Flyer with her blaster and succeeded. The creature fell to the ground, dissolving into a pool of putrid, acidic flesh, which splattered on another soldier and immediately began to eat his leg, where it managed to get through the mail.

"Don't you have one of those?" Astrid asked, too calmly.

"Not here. But don't worry," he told her. "Flyers are prey. When the big one gets loose, he'll probably devour them himself."

"And then there's only the big one left?".

"... Yes, and then there's only the big one left".

One of the Flyers came towards them. Maxwell didn't flinch. The beast seemed to recognize his resolve, but it was starving and too dumb to understand the concept of retreating.

The Flyer gained altitude, then dove, a precise strike, its open mouth spitting acid. Max pushed Astrid back a little further, and...

The blade entered the Flyer's mouth, slicing through it in one slash. Maxwell felt its fangs close around his coat-covered wrist, and then he yanked the weapon down, slicing through the demon in a single sharp line, the corpse falling to the ground like a boneless animal.

He felt Astrid pulling him back by his coat lapel.

"Ah...!".

The second Flyer collided with the wall behind them, and in the second it took it to come to its' senses, Astrid was on him, driving the hatchet into the crook of its neck. Once.

And then one more, and one more...

"Astrid!" Maxwell pulled her back. "Stop! The blood will spray on...".

Astrid glared at him wildly. The dark blood plastered to her face began to seep into the scar, which turned a hideous red for a second before fading back to its usual hue.

A yell from another Flyer caught her attention. Astrid threw the hatchet at it, and it slammed into a skeletal leg. And in the next moment, she was on its heels, pulling the weapon out in superhuman fashion, and slamming it in again.

She is Marked.

Maxwell shook his head. He had bigger problems to worry about. He joined the open battle with a displeased snarl.

All that savage violence went against his style. Max liked to do things efficiently and discreetly.

Barbarians, every one of them, he thought, as he chopped off a Flyer's head with one blow.

He couldn't say exactly how long it went on for - it could have been minutes or hours, amid that violence, with the "big one", as Astrid had aptly dubbed it, yelling by the wall, as Max hacked and killed demons that flew towards him, taking care not to get hit with their remains.

His muscles weighed like lead. He was well trained with the longsword, but it had been made for scattering crowds of demons, not trying to land precise blows on little things like that, and the task of wielding it made his whole body throb with pain.

Astrid was still leaping among the demons and survivors, a blur of blood-dyed blond hair and fast swings, but Max could see the weariness slowing her down, too.

In the background, he heard the sound of the cement and brick blocks that made up the building getting broken, and a victorious scream informed him that the creature that watched them was ready to enter the game.

Maxwell took a deep breath. He prepared the sword guard. He focused. He could do this. He had to do this.

As the big demon wriggled out of the gooey remains of his its and tried to get to its feet like a newborn puppy, the last of the Flyers came towards Max, who kept his ground, ready for it.

A shadow passed over Max's head. The creature's shape was suddenly pulled back as if being sucked into a tornado. And then the demon was on the ground, thrashing like a rat in a trap against the scuffed boot pressed against its chest that kept it trapped beneath it.

The girl crouched down until she was practically with one knee on the asphalt, and one on the demon's chest. Her black hair covered her face.

The demon's dark blood began to flow from his mouth, out of his eyes, out of his ears, straight up, defying any law of nature, physics, any law that wasn't unique to her, and the sounds he made... Max nearly felt sorry for the thing. It was like watching someone being hanged in a public square.

Finally, she lifted her torso and tossed her hair back. It was as if seeing the colors of an oil painting taking shape on canvas. The blur of shadows that was her face fell into place, giving way to the face that was so familiar to him except for when she was feeding.

Two completely dark orbs stared at him for a second, and then she blinked, the bottomless pools gave way to two eyes with black irises, glowing excitedly. The open smile, with a few sharp upper teeth, and a characteristic redness to her face.

"Honestly, what would you do without me, Max?"

Their voices couldn't be more different. Where Astrid's was husky and restrained, hers was joyous, like someone who had never known sadness in her life.

"Hi, Red," Max greeted. "You arrived just in time."

The ground began to shake under their feet. The Flyer's dead carcass crumbled beneath Red's boot with an almost comical poof.

"In time for what?"

Max pointed his sword at the demon who had finally gotten to its feet. "Well, there's this one," and then he pointed to the ground beneath them. "And his big brother, who must be waking up now."

Red laughed openly. "That's just your luck, huh?"

And she kept laughing as the asphalt cracked and a roar from the depths beckoned them closer.