Sarain rose from her bed; another bad dream had disturbed her sleep. Most nights were un-restful, memories of gruesome sights she had seen over the years haunted her as if still real. She paced throughout her small dwelling; not quite a home, her job wouldn’t let her settle to make one. The rooms were dark from the lack of windows. It was still day, but Sarain found it easier to fortify her quarters if there were minimal possible entries. There were no personal effects or decorations hung about - just the necessities, and few at that. No mirrors or reflective surfaces; this was a must for her, because to the average person they may be harmless, but to Sarain they showed much more than a mere replica of its surroundings. They showed the same horrific images that she tried to escape from in her dreams, only clearer.
Sarain made herself a simple meal, nothing fancy but adequate. Soon she would have to work. This was all a part of her daily tradition; many procedures, though some came unexpected, all left Sarain’s life feeling motionless. She had become robotic over the years. No friends, no family, and few acquaintances, but she didn’t long for more, all she wanted was to destroy them all - every last monster that waited in the darkness.
Sarain was born a hunter, trained since childhood; she was raised learning of demons and their weaknesses, sunlight being the obvious. These creatures were damned into darkness; while not all demons can be killed by sunlight, they all do have an aversion to it. Another weakness is to holy emblems; the ankh works best of all. Resembling a cross, it is an ancient Egyptian symbol for life. It holds the most power compared with all the other emblems since it is the most recognized and feared symbol amongst demons. Holy emblems wouldn’t kill a demon, but would repel them on sight, and to the weaker of their kind it would burn. Sarain kept an old tarnished ankh, passed down from her ancestors, always around her neck.
She quickly dressed, all in black; this made it easier to hide in the shadows and keep from being seen. She grabbed her freshly sharpened machete and strapped it to her side, then donned a trench coat to hide it. It was warm out, but Sarain knew that she would attract a lot more attention being seen with a machete than she would being overdressed. She needed to blend in, for if a demon she were tracking were to catch on too soon, it could put innocent bystanders at risk and her own life in jeopardy.
She opened the door and stepped out over a line of ash; part of a ritual she had performed to seal a barrier around her dwelling, this was a holy tradition taught by her clan that kept out demons, it allowed nothing evil to cross.
Sarain walked out into the fresh air, it was nearing dusk and the creatures would be out soon. She had enough time to get away from her quarters and into prime hunting grounds, usually the slums of the city. She would have to stay away from her place till dawn so that she couldn’t be followed back.
Every night she hunted, trying to clean the streets of its vilest filth, but everyday more demons seemed to crop up. Her work felt never-ending; she just hoped that she was making some sort of a difference.
Every now and then she heard a little rumor on the street about herself, more like an urban legend about a huntsman who executed evil doers. But being that there were rarely ever witnesses to her actions, the story didn’t get around much, and her description had become widely altered, usually to that of a man who was seven feet tall and skillfully swift like a ninja. Sarain only stood at five feet and six inches, and while she was stealthy and quick, she did not fly about like a ninja. She wasn’t sure where the male aspect came into the story; she figured that the tellers of the story must have thought that it would appear more plausible and accepting to be saved by a mysterious man than a strong woman.
Though one thing that the people usually did get right was the unusual violet eyes of their rescuer; an obvious shade of purple made her stand out from others. Most mistook it for color enhancing contacts, but Sarain’s abnormal eye color was all natural. In her youth her clan had taken this as a sign of her being a savior to her people. Now she hid her eyes from the public, trying to not draw unwanted attention, she avoided eye contact. Those who did notice would either give her a double glance or a drunken comment like, “Whoa, cool contacts!” Sarain did not find this amusing, mostly since she was normally on a hunt and didn't want her presence announced. Not much could be done to conceal her eyes; contacts would be too much of a hassle and sunglasses would be a hindrance. Avoiding people and stares worked best.
Sarain didn’t have to worry about any of that tonight. The streets were strangely clear, leaving her to walk freely; her hand always near her weapon. A quick draw of her blade was essential to her work; it made the difference of life and death for her and anyone she may be saving. Beheading would kill most demons, and a swift piercing of the heart would destroy nearly all half-demons.
These half-demons were internationally known as vil sangs or “Vile Blood.” Both humans and demons view vil sangs as tainted blood creatures. More commonly known as vampires to society, vil sangs were formally humans who became infected by demonic blood from either a demon or another vil sang. However, against the popular beliefs, vil sangs are unable to turn into bats and do not sleep in coffins. The demonic blood does make them stronger and forever youthful, but vil sangs are weaker to sunlight than regular demons, and can be killed by it. They feed on human blood to sustain their own from the virus within, keeping them strong and energized. A vil sang that goes without blood would grow crazed and sickly, and although it wouldn’t kill them to go bloodless, they would become more sensitive to light to the point that even artificial light could hurt them. Vil sangs look like regular people except when they’re enraged; that’s when their fangs descend and their eyes glow. The demon blood in them brings out the natural dark side in mankind, and over time can cause them to become more evil. Vil sangs made directly from demons usually take on more demonic features than just the glowing eyes and fangs. They are also stronger than a common vil sang; but most demons don’t like to infect humans, since they despise vil sangs and would rather just make the kill.
It was dark now, no signs of a demon, and only a few people out. The lack of people could explain the lack of demons. While demons don’t like crowds, they do like to pick off easy targets, such as people walking alone. Demons like to hunt humans for sport, and would often make trophies from their remains. They also would at times feed on humans, viewing any creature or animal as just meat.
Sarain didn’t know if she should be glad or disappointed by the absence of demons. She felt that if she wasn’t killing them, then that meant they were killing someone somewhere else. She knew she couldn’t force them to come out, but she needed to feel as though she had a purpose, that her life had meaning.
A drunken couple walked out of a bar swaying toward her. Sarain moved away and lowered her eyes. The lady giggled, as if the man had told her a joke, as they passed her. Sarain went unnoticed.
She walked on down a darkened alley way. The only street light was broken; it had been for some time. The city didn’t care about its slums and ghettos. She had come upon plenty of demons killing people, and often never heard anything about it in the news. The city didn’t care, most cities she had lived in didn’t care.
Shadows lurked all around. That’s where they lived. Sarain watched for a moment, but didn’t want to look too observant. Nothing, no movement. She kept on walking.
Hours went by making it very late in the evening. Not much longer before her patrol would be over. Inactive nights were rare, but were her goal, if she could lower the demon activity, then she would move to a new city, and start over again. This is what she did, how she lived.
Sarain turned onto another street, this one also dark. She thought she saw something scurry in the distance, but was unsure. A few steps more were followed by what sounded like a hiss. However, she couldn’t be sure. But when she heard a yelp, she stepped up her pace. Someone was yelling in the distance; an attack was being made. The night wouldn’t be inactive after all.
Upon closer investigation, Sarain discovered a boy struggling to get away from a coarse-looking demon. Its skin was like cracked desert ground, its eyes glowed green, and it swatted at the boy with fiercely long talons. The boy screamed; he had wedged himself in a small gap between buildings, one that the beast was too large to enter. Too preoccupied with the boy, the demon didn’t see Sarain approaching behind it. She unsheathed her machete and began to raise it in the air. But when the boy saw her, he yelled out, “help”, causing the creature to turn around to see who had arrived.
Sarain quickly ducked as the beast swung its large claw at her. It lunged toward her, knocking her against a wall. She held on to her knife, and forcefully shoved the monster back. While it was big, she nevertheless found the strength to fight it off. The creature swatted at her again, and missed once more. She sprung forward, and slashed her machete through the air, slicing off the demon’s head. It fell limply to the ground with not even a twitch. It was dead.
Sarain wiped off her blade, and then put it back in its sheath. She gazed over at the boy, who cowered in his crawlspace. “You can come out now,” she said, backing away from the boy’s position.
He squeezed through, and stepped forward. He brushed himself off and stared down at the remains, and said, “What was that?”
“A demon,” Sarain answered.
The boy’s face went pale as he responded, “Seriously?” then paused and said, “How did you do that?”
“Training,” she simply replied.
The boy glanced down again at the remains and said, “Are you just going to leave it there? What if someone finds it?”
“The daylight will take care of it.” After a moment of silence, she asked, “Why are you out so late?”
“I’m old enough,” the boy answered.
“What are you, like nine?” she asked.
“No, I’m eleven,” he said sounding offended then shot back with, “What are you doing here?”
“Apparently saving you. Besides I’m twenty and able to take care of myself,” she replied, and then repeated, “So, why are you out so late?”
“I was looking for my brother, Nate,” he finally answered.
“Well you should wait for him at home,” she firmly said.
“He’s been gone for three days,” the boy added.
Sarain sighed, it didn’t look good, but she replied with, “Well then you should call the police.”
“The police don’t care; they just think he’s a runaway. Besides, my brother is nineteen, he doesn’t hit their list of importance,” he responded.
“You should go home and let your parents handle it,” Sarain said, not looking at the kid.
“I don’t have parents, it’s just me and my brother, there’s no one else at home,” he pleaded.
Sarain gazed over at the boy, and sighed again; she knew now that she would have to watch over him.