New York is overrated. And I'm not just saying that because I'm British. I just don't see why anyone would choose to live here. There're far too many people, crime is rampant, and arrogance and rudeness dominates the streets. But by far the worst offender is the smell. You know, I take it back. I can see rats and other vermin choosing to come to this godless place, to feed off the rear-end of human kind. So why am laying here on my back, forced to watch the moon crawl through the sky amidst the glow of the city? Because it's my job. You can only shirk it for so long, especially if it's of the eternal variety. I brought my watch in front of my face. The minute hand was stuck on the number five, languishing in the limbo between that minute and the next. Eleven-thirty. That was the time she had said. Yet it seemed every second brought me no closer to that time. I could actually feel parts of myself expiring with the moments that went, so I decided to crawl towards the edge of the rooftop to check, just in case they decided to come early.

In front of me was what the locals call an 'alley', but what the rest of the sane world would call a 'landfill'. It was a long, poorly-paved ratway, with more holes than a New York restaurant front, nestled between the two monolothic housing apartments. The moonlight did not reach here, neither did the halogen glow of the streetlamps at either end. Darkness thrived here, and its denizens were clearly active, up to no good in the absence of light. It was then that they were suddenly bathed in it. Headlamps of a bulky black car shone upon their illicit doings, as it travelled up the alley from one end. They scattered bolting for the other exit. They never reached there. Another bulkier, blacker car steamrolled over them from the other end and it made its way to the middle. My watch indicated the time. Eleven thirty. From a jeep stepped out a wiry looking man, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose, his back twisted in penance. He clutched a brief case to his chest so tightly his knuckles went as white as his face. He pushed his silver hair out of his eyes and shuffled in front of his jeep. This man is what we'd call an 'Angel'. They're recognised by their silver hair and penchant for wearing white, though not everyone who has these things is an angel, as I'd found out once to my dismay. Their most recognisable trait are their wings, but these can be easily hidden. This man was not what I was waiting for. The man who stepped out of the other jeep was. Silver hair, check. White suit, check. The face of the man who whould secure my peace?

'Double check,' I whispered. I pulled my sword from it's sheath, hanging by my waist. To unlock its power, all I had to do was breath on it, and the effect was instant. It instantly darkened, inked a deep black, and the handle and hilt transformed into a jagged and rough version of itself. I couldn't help but smile seeing it. The blade was the one part this job I actually liked. Time to get on with it. But how to make the entrance... I thought for a few seconds, then decided to go for my gut instinct, and jumped. The wimp never saw me coming. I'm not even sure he knew that it was my sword that smashed through his skull. The briefcase he held so tightly skidded across the floor to the other Angel's feet, followed closely by a silver stream of holy blood.

'A Shade? How unexpected,' he spoke. His voice sifted throught the air, soft and melodious. If I had still been human, maybe I would have felt something. 'Has the hit finally gone out on me?'

I met his eyes. Golden, which meant he had the rank of Archangel.

'Shut up, Isaac. Lay down and die for me.' To this he laughed, a clear pleasant tone.

'The time for strength has passed, son. You should have gone for me instead of the weakling at your feet. Now I know you can't handle me.' I pulled my sword out of it's new sheath and aimed at Isaac, flicking silver droplets in his direction.

'I wanted you to see what I would do to you, that's all,' I replied. 'Now, let's go!'

'I don't tussle with weaklings. If you had attacked me instead, I would have done you the honour of killing you at least.' Isaac stooped to pick up the briefcase at his feet. He looked at it in his hands for a few moments, then turned back to me. 'Well, you did save me some money, I suppose. For that, I'll let you fight these guys.' He clicked his fingers and the doors of both cars flung open. Men in white suits flung out, more angels. From seemingly nowhere, they produced silver tommy guns and aimed them at me. Isaac turned and entered the car he came in. The engine roared as it backed out over it's red carpet. I watched as the car flung itself out of sight, and then I was staring down the barrel of a tommy gun.

'Sorry kid. This ain't nothing personal,' glowered the angel. I stared him dead in the eyes. Standard silver, not worth my time.

'Why are you talking to me?' I growled at him. His half-step back gave me all the time I needed to cleave him in two. Angel's blood is holy, they say. This alley was about to become a church.

I remember thinking how distant the sky was that night. The sliver that peeked through amongst the tenement blocks seemed like such a void, it felt limitless, how deep the darkness actually went. A deep shadow was cast...what occluded the light and created you, I wonder? Well, that was probably me. Angel's Blood gives off a faint glow, and all together like this, it was possible to view the alley in all its infested glory. They bled well, for footsoldiers. But speaking of infested... I flicked blood into a a suspicious shadow in the corner, and all at once, a flurry of movement. Like a black cape fluttering in the wind, a figure appeared, dancing above the silver ground, before gracelessly floating onto a dumpster.

'That was very uncalled for,' the thing spoke. It's voice was clear, though a little raspy. A small mask appeared from beneath the black and peeked over the side of the dumpster. 'Can never get used to this stuff...'

'Quit whining,' I said, as I sheathed my sword. It returned to normal as it entered the sheath. 'Why are you bothering me, Balul?'

Balul looked up, staring at me through those small dark circles in his mask, at least I think anyway. 'Bothering? We're friends...'

'Hah! The only reason I haven't killed you yet, demon, is because I can't bring myself to destroy that mask. It's too...adorable.' Balul turned away. It brought me immense pleasure to torment Balul, because, simply put, I hated him. It's nothing personal. Demons and Angels, and their stupid war, cost me my soul. But actually, I did hate Balul. He doesn't fight, isn't strong, and is a coward. He's not fit to call himself a demon. I don't know what he did when he was a human, but I can assure you, it was something astoundingly small and stupid.

Stolen novel; please report.

'You got carried away again...you wasted too much time. Isaac escaped!' Balul began to complain again.

'Yeah, that's what you think. You can't begin to fathom the intricacies of my plan and...hang on? What do you care about it? Why are you here?' Balul shifted nervously, looking around for an escape, though the blood surrounding him made him think twice. He didn't answer but I knew already. 'Tarkub sent you, didn't he?' Balul gave a slight nod.

'He wanted to know if you'd actually kill Isaac. N-not that he doubts your abilites, but just to make sure the job is done.'

'I told you before, I'm not his puppet! He can watch all he wants, but only as a reminder that I'm coming for him as well!' I yelled. I noticed Balul flinch when I said this but I didn't do anything. I'd beaten him enough in the past; the fun in it had all but vanished. I sighed and began walking away.

‘Don’t be like that… you’ve got quite the reputation in the Underworld is all. Not many people have the guts to go after an Archangel!’ I didn’t reply. My focus had been drawn away by the four silhouettes that appeared at the end of the alley. They did nothing but stand there, clearly waiting for my approach. They’d finally caught up with me.

‘Damn…!’ I whispered to myself. For all his pathetic being, Balul was right. I had let Isaac escape. The past months of painstakingly tracking him down had just gone up in smoke and I’d have to start from scratch again. If they would let me of course. I drew my blade and, as a mirror returns your every move, they did the same. I held my ground as they strode toward me.

‘Number 72! Long time no see!’ one of them called out. A woman, Number 63. She breathed on her sword, which changed form as mine had done. Hers, however, molded itself into a flamberge, complete with orange hilt and a flame pattern. The others did the same, their weapons transforming into different, and deadlier, versions of themselves. Another one shouted out, a man this time,

‘72! How’s my favourite loose cannon!’ This was Number 58. I gritted my teeth as I eyed his blade, a nasty looking greatsword on his back.

’Stay right there!’ I shouted, transforming my own weapon. I held it out in front of me with a flourish, to which they stopped dead. I had not left on good terms with this lot and their current friendly demeanour...annoyed me. But seeing the flash of fear on their faces was great. They clealry still remembered the scars I gave them.

‘Told you he wouldn’t go quietly. Let’s just jump him and be done,’ said Number 87. He twisted a mace around in his hands a couple times, limbering up. Droplets of water began dripping from the end, as he breathed on it.

'Were it so easy...' said the last one of my assailants, Number 44. She held a staff.

They had been sent from the Shade Organisation. A crack squad of hunters, probably specially handpicked to bring a Shade of my calibre back in. At this point, I should probably mention, I'm what some would call a fugitive.

The Shade Organisation are, simply put, supernatural 'policemen'. Yes, that's right, we are 'The Man'. It's our job to travel the world, protecting humankind from monsters, ghoulies and generally, things that go bump in the night. Highly skilled, highly trained, just one Shade is enough to send fear into the dark. We walk the line between darkness and light. Sometimes that gets fuzzy. There's also not that many of us. Only 99 of us to date, pulled from every corner of human history till present. "Hang on! 99 seems like an oddly specific number," I hear you say. Yes, yes, I know, but that's a whole 'nother can of worms. For now, be content with the idea that there's a strict entrance criteria.

I had some... professional disagreement with how things were run at the Organisation. It ended with me cutting my way through the offices during the morning coffee break and knocking the donut to the ground. I knew I'd have to contend with the Shades sooner or later. But this soon was too soon! Whatever...nothing ever came easy for me anyway...

I dashed suddenly towards the four, sweeping my blade up in the air, before bringing my black blade arcing down at 87. It was a clear swing, 87 was mine, had 44 not thrust her staff suddenly into the ground. At once, I was thrown backwards with force, bouncing off the ground. I scrambled to regain my footing. I looked up, just in time to see that 63 and 87 had rushed forwards, attempting to flank me. Water flowed freely from his mace, and fire burned the night as they streaked down the alley. It was all I could do the duck, foiling their attempted decapitation. A hissing sound filled the air as water met fire, scalding water burning me. Their attacks were relentless, each block sending superheated water and steam into my eyes and face. 87 found his mark, slipping past my guard and striking my stomach. The attack was slow, but felt as if a river torrent had smashed into me. 63 did not let me off lightly, her flamberge roaring as new flames engulfed the blade, driving me and my weakening parries into the ground. They were no pushovers like those Angel goons I had slaughtered earlier. But neither was I!

'You're too slow, 87!' I yelled, summoning my strength. I redirected 63's blow and slammed my own sword into 87's mace. It didn't matter that he blocked my hit. My overwhelming strength picked him off his feet and smashed him into the wall. From the word go, 87 had been a step behind 63. My initial attack had shook him, and he'd never recovered. I used that momentary gap in between the timing of their blows, and broke their combo attack. Gaining momentum, I swung around and met 63's flamberge, striking it down then running her through with my blade. She fell at my feet. There was only Number 58 remaining. Number 44, despite blocking my attack, had been thrown clear. I gave a wrought smile as I approached 58. He calmly placed a hand on the sword on his back.

'Something funny, 72?' he called out, cautiously keeping his distance. I sneered,

'Your cowardice! You're the biggest one here, yet the furthest away!' I kept walking towards him with intent. 58 gestured towards my sword.

'That's a nasty piece of work. Strikes fear to my very soul. I suppose that was the intent?'

'Actually, it makes you see rainbows and candy. But if you're afraid, that's on you man.' 58 chuckled.

'Heh.' He then lifted his hand and beckoned me closer. Oh the audacity! The nerve! If he wanted to act big, then he could do so with a big hole in his chest! The ground cracked beneath me as I leapt towards him, thinking of nothing but his murder. 58 pulled his hand down, but instead of his sword, in his hand was a chain! The was a grating sound as something was forcibly and violently dragged along the ground behind him, flying up and crashing into the ground between me and 58. I slammed my heels into the ground to stop.

'Is that...' My eyes widened as I comprehended what I was looking at.

'Oh yeah,' boasted 58. 'The Iron Maiden!'

The Iron Maiden! Prison Vessel of the Wretched! If they trapped me in there, there was no way I was leaving! But...

'Was this your plan? Get the four of ya, and manhandle me into a locker! Good going guys! How laughable!' 58 shook his finger however, which again, annoyed me.

'Not four...' He smiled widely, staring me dead in the eyes. '5!' At once, I heard the shuffle of someone behind me. How did they get so close without me noticing? I span around, swinging wildly, but was met with a kick to my solar plexus. I flew through the air straight into the now open maw of the Iron Maiden. 5! Number 5 had really come along! How could I have been so stupid? I had sprung their trap so perfectly, that I didn't even have time to react properly. Her face was the last thing I saw before the doors of the prison plunged me into darkness.