Each second that passed unveiled a new agony. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and stop, falling over dead; Cyrus was thrown back from the force coming off the carnage. For an immeasurable moment he was overcome by a familiar darkness and could feel as it seeped through his skin and past his bones and down into every fiber of his being.

It wasn't a real explosion, not a physical one at least, but for all intents and purposes a bomb might as well have gone off. He had felt the power given off by a hundred human souls but wasn't prepared for this. Cyrus wasn't even touching the demon, but he felt the thousands of fragments of souls the latter had once been made of infiltrating his body. With each one came the image of a new death, more suffering and destruction and darkness.

In his next conscious moments, he became aware he was lying flat on his back on the damp pavement. The reapers were gone, the only evidence of their earlier presence being the blackish stains of blood staining the pavement. The body had vanished.

Ashes to ashes...

Ears ringing, head spinning, Cyrus slowly propped himself up on his elbows and hesitated there until the street he was on stopped tilting in his vision. From there he struggled to his knees, then to his feet, steadying himself against a nearby wall.

Above him, the first hints of a new day were peeking their red-orange-pink fingers over the horizon. The sun was starting to rise; it was strange to think the previous day had started out so mundane.

Strange to think how quickly everything fell apart.

A splitting pain pulsed in Cyrus's temples; when he moved, his vision wavered and everything he saw was painted dripping, bleeding red. He tried to pull himself together long enough to make it to Tuesday's home, knowing he could only keep the horrors now inhabiting his body at bay for so long.

When Cyrus reached the right part of Brooklyn, two figures waited for him on Tuesday's doorstep.

Tuesday was sitting, hugging her knees and shoulders shaking violently under the thick blanket draped over them. Several feet away, holding a cigarette in one hand and clutching his stomach with the other, was Raziel. Cyrus looked closer, only to see blood slicking the demon's hands and spreading out in a small circle of his shirt.

"That was her way of thanking me for saving her hide," Raziel muttered, taking a long drag and closing his eyes. He let his head fall back in theatrical exasperation. "Waste a couple reapers and this is what I get. Oh, don't piss yourself, I'll be fine," he said sarcastically.

Cyrus turned to Tuesday, who wouldn't meet his eyes. She shrugged, saying quietly, "Can't be too careful," as Raziel continued to complain, "--used a bloody paring knife!"

Raziel seemed to really take notice of him then, cocking his head and pinning Cyrus with a stony gaze. His eyes trailed up and down Cyrus's form and he gave a nearly imperceptible shiver.

"So it's done," Raziel said lowly, no question in his tone. He let out a heavy sigh and pushed off from the wall he was leaning up against. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure...but if I see you again in this lifetime it'll be too soon."

"And just where are you going?" Cyrus managed to say, though each word fell heavy as an anvil from his mouth.

Raziel half-turned back in his direction. "Hmm?"

"New York City's greatest menace is in splatters along Second Avenue. You planning to fill his throne?"

Raziel flashed him a brilliant-white smile, winked, and continued walking. Cyrus watched until he disappeared around the corner, stomach churning, before glancing back to Tuesday.

"So it's over?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes," Cyrus lied. "What happened here?"

Tuesday played with the ends of the blanket, still shivering. Biting her lip with so much force it was a surprise it didn't tear open, she said, "Those...people...killed my mother. When I heard the screams I tried to get out from my bedroom window but they kicked down my door before I could." She fidgeted with her hands, staring at the ground. Her teeth chattering, she continued, "Then your uh, friend, just appeared out of nowhere and--" She shrugged, voice dropping to a whisper. "They didn't last long."

Cyrus half-fell, half-lowered himself down beside her, clenching his hands in fists so she wouldn't see them shake. He would do anything to break the tension; more frustration was the last thing he needed. "So...you stabbed a demon with a paring knife?"

She blinked at him, paling, before the expression of shock froze in place. Tuesday laughed. "Yeah, I guess I did." Glancing over at him, she shook one arm free from the blanket and wrapped it around Cyrus. "What about you?"

Cyrus just shook his head. He was done burdening her with the gory details of his life. All good things had to come to an end.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"What now?" she said softly.

Cyrus breathed out, his chest hurting with the motion. "Call the police," he responded, rising. He had his own phone call to make. He started to leave when Tuesday spoke up again.

"When will I see you again?"

Trying to mask the goodbye in his eyes, Cyrus gave a small smile and shrugged before going on his way. There were still a handful of phone booths scattered throughout the city; he found one, feeding it coins he'd found off the sidewalk, and dialed three numbers. When the operator answered on the second ring, Cyrus told them where to find the houseful of captives back in Nassau County, Long Island. Before the person on the other line could ask for his name he hung up the phone and headed for yet another destination: Manhattan Beach.

Someone fell into step beside him as he walked; Cyrus could feel Raziel's distinct presence over the thousands of twisted souls feuding inside of himself. He did not bother to look up.

"You knew what it would do to me," Cyrus said, voice devoid of emotion. Every part of him had begun to ache, invisible fire stoking in his veins. Clashing with the heat, a cold sweat slicked Cyrus's forehead.

"There was no changing your mind," Raziel responded, a sad resignation hanging in his own voice. "You're too human to handle the power a demon's death releases, but had you known that, would you have done any differently?"

Even as several centuries worth of agony, courtesy of the twisted remains of souls that had made Acheron up, ate away at Cyrus, he couldn't really say no.

He would rather die human than live as a monster another second more.

With the fresh supply of darkness surging in him, this feeling only amplified. Cyrus was crushed under the weight of it and he couldn't hold it back much longer; he couldn't face what crawled below the surface of his skin.

"You had a good run, kid," Raziel sighed. "...did you tell the girl?"

Cyrus shook his head, staring straight ahead. The beach was in view now, but he wasn't sure his trembling legs would take him that far.

"I'm not sure this will help her case much. Spend enough time chasing monsters and you become one yourself." Raziel paused before musing, "But you never know. The scales are tipping, the balance thrown off...and maybe that's just what this world needs after all."

Cyrus didn't care about his philosophy. He didn't have much left to care about at all. He'd paid one debt--though whatever happened to Second Advent when the police found them was out of his hands--but it wasn't enough. It didn't absolve him of all his sins.

A thought came to mind then, bringing a humorless smile to Cyrus's face: for weeks Tuesday had been trying to rid the world of bad men when the worst one of all was right in front of her. The weight of this truth had never crushed him quite this hard.

Raziel's hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him for one second. He gave him a long, hard look before nodding. "You found your way, Cyrus. Not everyone can say that." Glancing out at the water and shuddering, he gave Cyrus these final parting words: "Good luck."

Then Cyrus was alone again.

That was alright. He was used to it.

Not bothering to strip off his clothes this time, Cyrus stumbled his way down the beach and into the water. With the shock his system was already under, the iciness of the sea made no noticeable impact upon his body. He let the waves drag him under, not fighting the current.

There came the voices, the sound of a thousand bells ringing under the water, and again his mother's rose above the others to whisper in his ear: It's time to rest now, love.

Content to obey, Cyrus let his body sink into the nothingness below him; fate had other plans, though.

He was tugged from the water and a sick sense of deja vu hit Cyrus as he and Tuesday fell back into the sand, drenched and shaking. In gasping breaths, Tuesday demanded, "Did you--really think--I was going to let you die?"

For a moment, he choked on the water that had entered his lungs, sputtering. The salt lingered in his mouth, making him gag. "How did you even know?" Cyrus mumbled, staring out at the water, still hearing the voices calling to him, begging for him to return.

She fell silent, though he could still hear her teeth chattering violently and the wheezing of her breath. Then Tuesday finally said, "I've been having these dreams about you," and Cyrus felt his entire body tense up.

"For a long time," she added sheepishly. "I never knew what they meant until now. I just kept seeing you drown, and somehow I knew where I'd find you."

Cyrus spared her a glance, though his vision was going in and out of focus and it hurt to keep his eyes open. She was staring at him with wide eyes.

"It probably sounds crazy," Tuesday whispered.

Crazy held no meaning any longer. Cyrus shut his eyes. "You don't know what's happening to me, what I'm going to become."

"You don't either," Tuesday retorted, unaware of what he was really referring to, though it did give him pause. What if he didn't? The darkness that had found a home in his sinew, marrow, down into every furthest reach, was too much to bear. Cyrus felt like he was being poisoned by it, and Raziel hadn't seemed much more hopeful. What would happen when the dam burst?

"We can learn to be human again."

And maybe Tuesday was right. She was one to talk, considering she was the one with a soul--or two. Cyrus didn't have that same redemption...but it was a time of firsts. He no longer had a psychotic demon to answer to; there was no telling the avenues that had opened for him, if he could only keep the negative energy bubbling underneath his surface in check.

The frenzy of it was clouding him, filling him with visions of blood and destruction. His fingers twitched, remembering the feeling of them wrapping around a blade; his hands ached, recalling how they'd chased the lives from countless bodies.

He wasn't very sure he could keep the monster at bay, not now.

But maybe he could choose what kind of monster he was.

Salt from the sea and his own tears alike on his tongue, Cyrus wept. He wept for the priest and the addict and the mugger; he wept for his parents; he wept for every soul that had come after. Some tears even spilled for the fallen demon; after all, Acheron had been the only thing Cyrus knew for the majority of his life. A part of him wished things had ended differently—but Tuesday's presence by his side steadied Cyrus.

Raziel and Acheron weren't the only demons out there, and Cyrus had a feeling if he lived long enough more would come for him.

He would be ready. The world wasn't perfect, it wasn't pretty and it had the stellar ability to tear good people to shreds—but Cyrus didn't see humanity in the same light as he once had. They were resilient, and complex, and hell, some of them were simply good.

Maybe they could rebuild the world in their own way. The human way.

Quietly, Tuesday asked, "Are you okay?"

Cyrus just shook his head, watching the surf pull back from shore only to return, always returning, battering at the sand. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring or if he'd even live to see it, but it was time he put his faith in something bigger than himself.

It was time.