Author's Note:

I will start again here. I have edited now some parts of this story. And I hope anyone who has the time to read this first chapter might enjoy it. If ever, I hope you could also leave a review for my improvement. tnx! :)

Good day everybody! And read on...

And thus begins the a tale Of Love and Demons...

First…BEGINNING

Another normal day at school. Boring—succumbing to the words of the professor up front. Nothing earlier could make the day so important. Drifting…slowly drifting to sleep…

It seems too dull—too lifeless—he's beginning to worry. His hair at his nape…why is it beginning to stand? There's something wrong—something evil.

From the obsidian wall—yes—something is hiding there. Why is there a black wall behind him? A shadowed vortex—a vacuum pulling him closer to his unease. Something…is trying to come out.

Enough imagining! It's real!

A bloody clawed hand grabbed at his chin, his reflexes have failed him. A flash of white fire. He had just slammed to the classroom's wall and crashed through. He's falling… All his classmates are panicking. What in blazes—?! He's falling too fast; he'll surely die at this rate. Are his bones beginning to feel the pressure?

Just some feet away—that bloodied thing followed him down. Death is certain. Wait! The Rune—yes! Only chance. Death or rebirth—choose both!

"Crimson God! You will come with me…"

I awake half-startled. Another recurring dream. It didn't seem to be a nightmare to me—but why am I sweating? A week having this dream yet I still don't get it. I asked my friends in class—they have no idea either.

So why do I keep having this dream?

It's so disturbing, but it's only a dream…that's what I'd always tell myself. I shouldn't be thinking about such things these days. I have to stay focused—this is my most important time of my life. It's our semester break, and I'm leaving home today. Yes! Thursday! What a great day. I can't think of any other opportunity…get a job, find an apartment, and live a life my way. Hah! Couldn't have planned it any better. Yup, got to get up and do my goodbyes.

His name was Hiroshi Laetes. A Journalism Major student on his second year in college. He really couldn't brag about much—since not much could be said about his facial features. He had always never been given a second glance; always treated as the typical student. His family saw him as a lout, his friends knew him as a drunk—yet he was still the shy, brooding nineteen year old who never gets his way on anything except his failure.

He then long since wished to chronicle his life in a thick leather-bound book of secrets. A book strapped on with blackest of strings. A book filled no less than the truth or no greater than such. It was a book that recorded the very transformation of his entire being.

This was his Diary.

It's a Journal!

I got up at probably eight thirty in the morning—I was still too drowsy to tell the exact time. My mom was pissed at me since I was my lazy self that morning, and my other younger siblings (three of them actually) cared less about what I was doing. They were too busy being self-absorbed in their own "subtleties of life."

After an hour (I think), I was done with all my packing and I was ready to go. But my mom unexpectedly stopped by my room and stopped me from going any further. I didn't know why she was there, since she rarely enters my room unless she wanted to yell at me again, but she had her normal face on—a frown.

"You'll have to wait for your dad," she said with a tone she usually used whenever she got disappointed at me ever so often, "he has something important to tell you."

Damn. I wanted to sleep over at my friend's house but I guess that wouldn't happen anymore. I'll probably leave this house at night—when my dad's drunk and wasted—and I could sneak easily out of the house.

That didn't happen though…

My dad got home at nine thirty in the evening. Just as he reached the porch of our house, he called out for me. I was half-asleep at that time, but with the sound of his voice—I already knew that he had been drinking before he came. Needed some extra strength when he's going to talk to me? I think not…

Hours passed as I began to yield to my own addiction to liquor—like father like son as they'd always say. We didn't talk about anything important while we drank our awareness away. I was also surprised that he wasn't going down for the count—he seemed to be stronger than usual. I just don't know. It must have been really important that he didn't want me to simply leave. And at that time, I was still oh, so foolish.

Finally, after more hours of drinking, my father began his sermon. But I was a little too tipsy up in the head that I couldn't understand much of what he was trying to say.

"My son," he said, "what do you know about your grandpa?"

I simply shrugged. I had a feeling this would be quite long since he started with such an intro, so I didn't bother to argue with him this time.

"I guess he was quite a guy; since he reared such a son as the father I am looking at right now." You can take my words in two ways, but I wanted to laugh my statement. I restrained myself after realization.

At first he scowled at me with fiery eyes matched by reddish cheeks, but then he simply nodded. And that was weird. That was never like him.

"You're grandpa was a good man—an honest man. And he had a rare talent which he passed on to me." His eyes flared with strange excitement. It was a memory I now mistrust.

"And now I must pass it on to you."

I was lost (or maybe too drunk)—I had no idea what he was talking about. What rare talent? What's this passing on from father to son? And what does he mean about an honest man? When did my grandpa become honest? I had always heard dad reminiscing about his father as a scoundrel. He was the greatest miscreant of his lifetime—God rest his soul. Now what in the world was he muttering about again? I told myself.

"How shall I put this," my father continued.

"Our family has a very special gift. A rare talent as I have stated. A power that has been imparted to our ancestors centuries ago. A duty we held since—"

"Okay dad, let's just cut to the chase here." I blurted out impatiently. I think I was too intoxicated, I couldn't hear his words right. I simply wanted to get this over with and have my good night's sleep since I wouldn't understand anything that would come out of his mouth. I needed rest—not a lecture.

I thought I heard my dad screaming his wits out and bashing me with the beer bottle he held, but I was wrong. He just grumbled at me. Grumbled! I couldn't have believed it myself that night.

Dad simply cleared his throat and then said, "Well then, in short we are guardians. We have been tasked to eliminate the earth of evil spirits that keep entering our realm. That is our family's true purpose. That is all."

Oh yes, that was all…

"What?!

"What the heck are you talking about?! Evil spirits?! Guardians?! Dad, are you drunk?!" but of course he was…

That's when I really felt the beer bottle meeting my skull. It almost took the senses out of me. How could I have said that? I was the one who was really drunk. I was just hearing his words differently. But why? This never happened to me before?

As I writhed in agony at his feet, my dad just kept talking, "All I tell you now is true, boy. All this smoking and drinking? It has always been my bane, my vice, my death-dealer. But for what purpose?"

He pulled me back to my seat as I rubbed the pain away, "…smoking and drinking. I know their hazards—these things kill me by the minute. But I still do them. And you know why?"

You'd tell me anyway…

"I'll tell you why… Because they ward off these evil things! That's why! Do you understand how hard my life is now, boy? Burning my liver and killing my lungs just for the safety of my family?! All of these just for the sake of my wife, my daughters, my sons…"

I cocked an eyebrow, wasn't liquor and smoke evils of life? Shouldn't it be inviting them in instead of driving them off?! But he really did seem sincere with all his nonsense. Of course, I had always doubted it…then.

Yeah right…I'm sure you're enjoying every drop of that beer right now…

"What did you say?!"

"N-nothing, dad… Continue…please…"

"And so, I'm passing you the torch…as I am your father, I bestow you the…"

I don't get it, why was I hearing this? Was this my imagination kicking in, or was this really true? Was my dad really speaking rubbish? Hell! And my headache just made it these delusions much worse.

I suddenly had the strength to stand up—stop my evil father from enforcing his malevolent will upon me. Oh goodness, what was I saying?!

"No! I don't want the torch! Give it to Emrys!" (My elder brother…)

Though I screamed to the top of my lungs, he didn't stop from talking—wasn't startled at all…

"It is already done my son. The ritual of passage has already been said." My father's drunken demeanor and sinister smile drove a shivering spike at my back. I couldn't stop from shuddering; a sarcastic façade masked the deeper evil of my father's face. It was too frightening—this wasn't real!

"Why me? Why didn't you choose Emrys? He's four years older than me—why not him?" It was my final attempt. I didn't know why I was beginning to believe what I was hearing. I guess it was the vertigo, the drunkenness. Still, I felt I had to escape.

"I wanted it to be you…My father hated me so much that he wanted to torment me." It didn't sound like my father at all. The words—the voice—it was all too different. A voice inside my head screamed. This isn't real.

"And rightly so…!"

I heard his final words stalk me as I sprinted out of the house. I couldn't believe such things could happen when I'd try to leave our home. An evil father, a demonic past, a task of unholy scales…do I truly know myself? Did I really believe such drivel?

I was running, but where to? To that apartment I planned to rent. Of course.

Is this a dream? I hoped to God I was dreaming. Everything was too intense. Too fast—everything seemed wrong in my perception. Wrong. It was killing me…

I could still hear the echo of my father's last words.

"Need not worry my son, your guides will find you. They will teach you what you will need." What did he mean by that? Guides? Need? Demonic guides!? Demonic needs!?

I awake on my bed room floor. I must have fallen off from my bed. It was a relief to be another dream. Now that's what I call a nightmare. Just to be sure, I checked the date. I thought I wasn't breathing as I stepped closer to the electronic calendar in my room. I almost fainted. It was still Thursday. Just a dream of course. Thank goodness…

But it was a bit disconcerting as I scanned my room one last time. And vertigo leaped into me once again, as if it were a sudden hangover. My clothes and belongings were already packed. I was wishing that day that everything was just a coincidence—what am I saying? Coincidence! That's all to it. Why was I troubling myself?

I left the house by nine thirty in the morning; I was rushing out. The only thing mom said to me was: "Good luck." What did she mean? Good luck in your mission…you're going to die anyway?

Bloody hell. Paranoia had already crept into me. I needed to relax.

I was restless while I boarded a train. My only thanks were that the apartment was quite far from our house. Whew! No more disturbances. I've made myself too worked up about stupid things already. I've got a new home—a new life—what else can make my day bad?

Demons.

Something seemed to gnaw at the back my neck; my unease didn't want to disappear. Everything whirled in my eyesight. The Whole world turned crazy every since. And I tell you. Crazy.

Finally, after half an hour in the train, I reach my apartment. A new life…with demons…?

I strain to laugh.

Do you ask what else is going to happen? Only fate can tell now…