"Owww..." My eyes opened, I was facing the early morning summer sky, and there was the familiar scent of piss and sweat, the alleyway was empty, and when I leaned my head forward, I saw the black pit of a similarly familiar barrel pointed at my head. "Easy there buddy, hold it." The guy was homeless, and he had a shake to him and his voice which suggested a meth problem.

Sure enough, as I looked away from the barrel of the gun towards the guy who was pointing it at me. Behind him, over his shoulder, was the pitch black form of an addiction demon. His fangs a set of needles, his maw embedded into the neck of the homeless guy like some kind of drug-fueled vampire.

"Hey man, easy, lower the gun, you and I both know you don't need a felony on your record. Especially being as there are some police not even a block and a half away."

The man looked at me, looked down at the shotgun, looked back at me. "I could sell this." he muttered. "A sawn-off shotgun? A trench gun no less? You try to sell that off, even to a King, and you can get into massive trouble, you don't want to try that."

"Come on man, I can't keep going without something, I already checked your wallet, plastic doesn't do me any good."

There was a reason I always carried only my card, this situation exactly was it.

"Listen, you put the gun down, take a step back, and I can help you out. We walk down the street a ways, I get to an ATM and I can slide you some cash, unload the shotty if you like."

The look in his eyes, the hunger for his next hit, the idea of fast and easy cash over the slow and sketchy cash he would have got from selling Chekov on the black market was enough to get him to lower the gun. He racked out the last shells, and passed me the empty gun, showing me that he had my spares in his hand.

I got up off the floor, dusted myself off, gently took the shotgun from his hands, and proceeded to slam the stock of the gun directly into the face of the addiction demon over his shoulder.

The homeless dude panicked, and jumped back, he probably thought I was trying to hit him and missed, but he started to really freak out when he saw the Demon I had just slapped off of him.

I grabbed the gun by the barrel, and started slamming the demon with the stock. It let out a screech that sounded like creaking metal and a lit up crack bulb had a child with the sound of broken glass, and it started to skitter down the alley like a spider, climbing one of the walls and getting out of sight.

The homeless dude was screaming. I moved towards him, he was frozen, just screaming. I slapped him in the face and he looked at me, pained, panicked, but quiet now.

"Listen, I still intend to give you that cash. And I'm sure right now you are freaking the fuck out. But I need you to listen close to me alright?"

The man swallowed, nodded.

"What's your name man?"

"B-Boris." He stammered.

"Hey Boris, my name's Rodney, listen, I used to be in your shoes, don't look it from the Matrix gear I know, but I need you to listen. There are a bunch of guys that live near the southwest side of the city, they live under a bridge. its a homeless community. Go there and try to find a guy named David. Tell him the Drug Puncher sent you, he will know what I mean. They can help you get off the street."

"Wh-What the fuck was that?"

"Not gonna believe me, but that was a Demon, your demon." "Bullshit." "What did I tell ya? Now are you going to follow me to the ATM or not? Pass me my shells back."

"N-no way, im keepin these." "Fair enough, nobody's gonna buy them though. They are full of rock salt."

"S-salt? Wh-why?" "Demons hate salt, they can't stand the stuff. Sugar either, something about its purity and color bothers them." "Y-your r-real about this ar-ent you?" "Serious as the grave." "Y-you crazy." "Yep, get that a lot."

We walked and talked, I put the shotgun away before we walked out of the alley. We got a couple weird looks but I ignored them.

"What got you hitting rocks bud?"

His stammer faded a bit by now. "Ffuck I dunno. Been so long, I can't r-remember when I started. The first hit was awesome th-though."

"What got you on the street?" "L-lost the house. B-bank took it, spent t-too much." "How do you feel now?" L-like shit. T-tired as hell, haven't had a hit in weeks." "And the little voice in the back of your head begging for more?" "G-gone? I still want more, b-but the part that hates myself is quiet, l-like I feel like I could try quitting a-gain."

"Good."

I reached the ATM, passed the guy a 20 I probably couldn't afford to loose, and told him "Get a hit or no, I won't stop you. But you are free right now, you can drop it, and I just told you who can help." And I walked away

It was around that moment where the Blessing started to wear off. And my head started to slam against the inside of my skull. Clearly my angelic help wasn't willing or able to expend much more than to give me a little speed and healing boost, I might not have had a concussion anymore, but I had a migraine from hell.

Speaking of hell, I started carefully walking down the city streets, carefully dodging personal demons as I went. Adultery, Drinking, Wrath, all the greats were there, as well as quite a few minor demons. I wasn't about to pick a fight with one of the major sins, they tended to be a lot stronger, and causing a demon to become visible even for a second in a busy city street would probably turn a few heads.

Addiction demons are easy, it might be a major problem, but they were cowardly and animalistic, they rely on primal desire, and don't have nearly as much human traits as, say, a demon of lust. While they were created to tempt, I'm not totally sure Addiction demons are much more than wild dogs when it comes to the hierarchy of hell. Whacking one over the head doesn't get rid of desire, nor withdrawal, but it does get rid of the emotional sense of worthlessness and the idea you are too far gone to stop.

That guy would probably spend the 20 on a rock, get high, feel a sense of guilt and disgust in himself that the demon kept suppressed under a sense of worthlessness and despair, and try to turn away from it. That, or he would just keep on going, I tried to keep myself optimistic.

I haven't saved many people, Addiction comes back easily, you never really quit, and a demon I have beaten the shit out of can show up again any time. But it gives them a chance to try. I have seen some addicts fight them off on their own, without me having to get into a physical altercation, but I have seen just as many fail at the first hurdle.

Addiction demons were about the only one that I was not at all willing to communicate with, let alone summon, well, those and demons of the... what term do people use now? "Struggle Snuggle?" Jesus Christ.

I was pulled from my memories of beating up addiction and getting beat up by the addicts when I saw a phone booth and remembered that business card. I also remembered how tired I was. Night was my time to work, and the sun brings me nothing but exhaustion. I moved to the phone booth, opened it up, prayed that the copper wires inside the phone hadn't been stolen and picked up the receiver. It worked.

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Patted myself down for a quarter... Fuck. Looked around the area for something, and I heard a voice behind me say "Need some change bud?"

I turned around to see a fellow dressed in a yellow jacket with a black tie. I assumed by the crown pinned to his chest and the color of his skin that he was probably a King, a rather high ranking member at that. But the other symbol he wore on the opposite lapel had a familiar pattern to it I just couldn't place. Certainly wasn't a gang sign I recognized.

"Thanks." I took the quarter from the guy, and turned back towards the phone booth.

"Beware the Wotanites." the man said, the voice being right behind me, the breath on the back of my neck. My hairs went on end as he spoke. "They seek to awaken something older than hell." I spun around, and the strange man in King colors was gone. "The fuck was that?" I muttered, storing it away for later, and made the call.

The ride home was made in silence, my new Jamaican friend clearly recognized I was not a morning person, let alone a day person, and let me brood in my shadows.

I thought long and hard about what I was going to do when I got back home, and decided I might just need to check the library, and get some info on this Odin guy and some info on what his followers were up to, but first things first, I needed a whiskey, and I needed sleep. The bed calls to me, maybe Lass would be back by then...

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The font changes here, this is from Lascivious's Perspective

I have decided that it's high time to start writing some of this shit down, if for no other reason than to show the demons down here with me what my life actually is like, so they can see how much better it is to have their name out there.

In hell, you are either one of those Sins that have a lot of souls handy, Lust or Pride, one of the big ones, or you are one of the minor sins, one of the sins that aren't ever going to be the main reason why someone falls. When all you are is the scaffolding holding up another demon, you don't get much share in the soul.

Me? I am a demon of Flirtation, fraternization of the more sexual kind, but never quite reaching the bedroom. I am the Mentos commercial before the main event, like if a Mentos commercial ever ran on a porn website. Refreshing, a handy tool for getting what you want, but then once you have it, there isn't much point for my services anymore. I'm not really romance either, that's more of an angel thing. The more I try to explain it the worse my position seems doesn't it?

In short, I'm a paper pusher. Most of my work in hell is just signing paperwork that gives me a little slice of the pie, just enough to keep myself kicking, and reading text messages to decide if they are horny enough to be sinful. My name is Xitexikti, that's my true name mind, don't throw it around too much, or do, I could use the entertainment. Most folks just call me Lascivious, Rodney calls me Lass, you don't get to call me that unless your pretty.

Sometimes when he is feeling cute, he calls me Lassie, if you call me that, you get to find out what your muscles feel like without any skin over them. I might be a low-ranking denizen of hell, but I still have more power in my blood than you have in your whole body, and contrary to what Rodney seems to think about me, I am not a good demon, there aren't any of those... Mostly.

When Rodney sent me out of his place after this guy, I immediately set to work, heading right for him. Being a demon of Flirtation, I am able to sense whenever a human casts a hungry eye on another, I can put my hand on a shoulder, give them the persuasive shove in the right direction, get things started.

I try to avoid doing so to the nerds or the ugly, they have a tendency to blow it, and they also tend to be too damn decent a person for their own good, turning that lust to romance instead of the one-night-stand you want to get. you need to nudge the dipshits, the assholes, the downright monsters.

I had my feelers out for such downright monsters around our target, my hooves clopping against the ground as I walked, tapping out the tune to an old jazz song as I moved, slipping between the demons on the shoulders of other folks, most of whom gave me a disparaging glare and a scoff as they looked away. They knew I was summoned, but fuck them, I am fabulous.

I already knew the target, I know most of you, every flirtatious gesture, every desire, every want. I know your face by your name, pet names especially.

As I trotted down the street, heading in the general direction of the target, I felt an unpleasant sensation at the base of my tail, as I felt something most demons get excited about. Murder, cold and pure, the smell of blood and the wash of rage.

I Bamfed in that direction, vanishing in a wash of sulfur and brimstone only to reappear at the location. A handy trick we Demons have, hard to do when you are stressed but I wasn't in a fight, so teleporting was easy.

Several other demons were already here, a Murder demon, taking the face of some old Creepypasta murderer, clearly ready to make another serial killer, a couple other demons eager to claim the soul from the dead girl to get ahead, a demon of Lore, another of Phobia...

I saw four men standing in front of the door of a red brick building, having an argument. I listened closely to their words, one of them was my target, his voice thick with a heavy Russian accent, the others around him lacking the accent, maybe second, third generation Russian migrants, except one.

One of them scared me, I couldn't tell you why, he stood away from the door and behind the three men, in a three piece suit while the others wore the standard (and tacky I might add) tracksuits.

The man behind them was attractive, well dressed, a sharp angular face, piercing blue eyes and long blond hair, on his neck, an image of an old Viking stave rune, one I hadn't seen in centuries, an Aegishjalmr, and I felt power flowing out of it, like a bubble of fear and awe protecting the man. Power like that was old, and rare to see nowadays. His eyes were cold, like a predators.

"Baby please, just open the door, we just want to talk." Our target was trying to get into the building, Petrov his name was, Rodney only gave me a first name, he's too smart to give me his full name.

The sense of murder was flowing off of the blonde guy, filling the air with its pitch black scent, like licorice and motor oil.

"No, your scaring me Petrov, I haven't seen you in weeks, and now you come with two armed men? Go away before I call the police!"

"Just call off your dog babe, we aren't gonna hurt you, just call him off, and we go." The man seemed pained, there must have been love there, or at least the spark of it.

I was very close to this group of individuals, watching their faces, paying close attention to them, as I heard the sound of a cellphone being used in the other room, when her phone rang.

My hearing is remarkably good when I want it to be, and I listened in on her conversation, blanching when I heard Rodney's voice "Hey there... Stella?" "Stacy." she replied, a quaver to her voice.

She took the opportunity to try to cancel the job. Once I heard the phone hang up, I froze as I realized the hot and scary blonde was staring directly at me. He could see me, the scary fucker could SEE me. "Too Late." He said, his voice was deep, resonant, at odds with his angular features and somehow fitting, a thin accent I couldn't place was there, seemed Scandinavian.

"Bring it down." He said.

The woman on the other side panicked, apparently she had heard those words as well, I heard her start sprinting up the stairs, taking the risk I poked my head through the door. The poor woman had left her phone on the coffee table.

"Boss, please, she's my girl." "She shouldn't have meddled, bring it down." One of the thugs put a shotgun to the door, I braced for the noise, but heard none. I stared down at the shotgun and saw no suppressor, not even a break, nothing to reduce the sound, but I saw another rune glowing starkly against the gunmetal grey. These people were working with ancient shit, old magic, I haven't seen power like this since the blood sacrifices of old, and judging by the sheer Cain levels of Murder pouring off the scary blonde I was about to see one, when he suddenly threw a hand out, grabbing me by the face with his fucking hand, and said "Leave."

I felt myself go woozy for a second, and then the sudden sensation of falling.

When I caught the whiff of Sulfur and burnt gunpowder, I knew my situation.

Aw hell, I was back in hell. Rodney's gonna kill me.