Once it had been the greatest of all the cities in known existence. When he was growing up, it was the only place that he knew. Housed inside its glass roof for what he hoped was forever, outside of the damage that the war outside would do. It was a cathedral and he was one of its citizens. A Christian worshipping the word of God. Then something happened. Then glass spires smashed and shards of glass rained down on the citizenship.

Those that were caught in this falling glass were scarred. Their face cut through the falling glass. Some were unfortunate and died under the tonnes of glass that fell on them, bleeding out on the ground without medical help. The day of falling glass was one that they would never forget because it was also the day that the Demons fought back and broke from their imprisonment.

When one looked at a Demon, all they saw was Mankind. The same humanoid form that they all shared but they were different. Undeniably different. Because they had started this war against them. When they spoke out against the Sovereign-Pope, ruler of all Mankind and the Christian Church, they became their enemy. A religious war fought by the Sovereign-Pope's Royal Guardsmen and Guardswomen. The bravest men that he knew.

Even they were not strong enough to hold back the Demonic hoard that broke through the massive cathedral door using the power of their mind. Leading them from the front was the hooded Demon. Still he did not know its name. Sometimes he wondered if he wanted to know its name. But the hooded Demon came and he stormed through the city. In the first day of the fighting, hundreds of citizens died. The rest fled, either escaping the city before they were locked inside or hiding in the ruined buildings.

He was not lucky enough to escape and was trapped in the city, hunted by the Demons every day of his life. They were scouring them from their land. Their morale was gone. The Royal Guardsmen and Guardswomen had failed them and they were left to die.

The Archbishop was executed personally by the hooded Demon and his body rotted, hung from the walls of his palace as an example. Then the hooded Demon left as easily as he had come and disappeared.

In the shadow of the Demons, Mankind saw their city rebuilt in their hands. Their image. A city made from junk of a forgotten war. They lived in their shadow, trying to survive. It was their game. Making it hard for Mankind to survive this. It seemed like it was their primary goal. The wipe Mankind from the history of the Earth.

But he was still here.

There was food across the street, two Demons eating Mankind's food. From his position looking down at them, he could see a fruit basket, two large sized baguettes and two cups of coffee. His mouth watered thinking about the foods. Rarely did he ever have the chance to even look at such foods. Licking his lips he planned.

Taking the entire basket would be too difficult to accomplish. Surely he could pick it up but he doubted he could run economically with it. The baguettes seemed like a better option. Easy to pick up, easy to run with. Two cups of coffee… interesting…

All of these were made by slave labour. The fruits were picked by chained and captured Humans. The fires of the ovens were lit by overworked Humans. The coffee beans were picked by starved Humans. They were beat, punished and sometimes died of exhaustion. This was the revolution however.

He took a couple of steps backwards and checked his attire. The black cloak once belonged to an old law enforcement that still existed. It was his disguise. The hood was drawn up over his face casting black shadows over it. His hands were mucky and dirty after scrabbling through ruins, muddy pits and clambering over walls without washing for months. His stench might be enough to alert them to his presence.

Three steps back. His old trainers squeaked loudly with each step. Another three backwards and his thighs touched lightly against the rusty fire escape that he had escalated to this point. Three large, fast paced steps later and he was flying through the air. Nobody noticed him until he landed among them, they were too shocked to react to the sudden intrusion.

He pushed through them forcefully, as if he were wading. Grabbed the baguettes he dropped to the floor, a reactive stance. The shock would have worn by now and it was then that the Demons would demonstrate their supernatural powers. Some did not move. Their facial reaction signalled that their powers were beginning to take effect. The forceful push sent the table with the coffee and fruit flying upwards, smashing a window and injuring the two Demons sitting at the table. Remnants of the power flicked at his cloak and ruffled his clothes.

Cover. It was the single most important thing. As long as there was something between him and his enemy he could avoid death. Ducking into an alleyway he saw fragments of the wall explode outwards, showering him with the debris. He hid his face with his arms while keeping the baguettes close to his body. Keeping his cargo safe was the second most important thing.

This was what would keep him and his friends alive. That was their job. There were others like him who ran outside of their community. Who did not hide but fought. Fought against the Demons. Fought against their prejudice. Fought to survive. There was no name for them.

Cursing and swearing was banned by the benevolent Sovereign-Pope of Mankind however, in the circumstances, it appeared appropriate. Two black clad warriors barred his way. They drew their swords. "Back, Human," one of them called angrily, raising it for a chop aimed at his neck. They both wore porcelain masks to appear anonymous and without distraction.

He ran to appear inside the Demon's swing and drew his knife, skewering one baguette on the other's sword. The knife plunged through the Demon's leg and he staggered away. The other, he kicked between its legs and it doubled over. Grabbed its head, he kneed it, the porcelain mask that it wore shattered on impact. Kicking the other's already injured leg it fell to the floor clutching its wound as more blood dampened his trousers.

He was running again. A gust of supernatural energy took him off of his feet, flying through the air. It was difficult to regain balance with gravity changing with every given moment but he landed on one knee and one foot and slid. His trouser's knee ripped open and cut, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Stumbling back to his feet he ran onwards, the adrenaline rushing through his body allowing him to ignore the wound.

With both Demons incapacitated, the one conscious one looked at the other and sighed heavily. On their invasion of the cathedral Mankind was forced to be their servants although, unsurprisingly, very few complied.