Thieving. Killing. It was the only tenants that Mankind upheld. When the Demons were imprisoned under Mankind's rule, it was the same story. To survive they had to thieve from each other. To survive they had to kill each other. They were a close community but only because each one understood these tenants. Perhaps this was why Mankind still stayed together, so close.

It was somewhat different for Mankind was not trapped with their own kind, they were trapped with the Demons in a city. The Demons beat them back but they kept rising up. Fighting back and trying to reclaim their city. There was no point in denying it. This city once belonged to Mankind.


It was only natural that they would try to reclaim it from the Demons.

Of course, that was the name that was given to them. They were not spawned from the depths of Hell as the Sovereign-Pope would tell his populous. The Demons did not have supernatural powers but natural powers grown as an extension of their bodies but more importantly their minds. The Ancient Greeks called it psychokinesis hence they took the name as their own. The Psychokinetic. Moving matter with the power of the mind.

They were not simply it either. They had genders. They had thoughts and feelings. They were not emotionless and hence every man that they struck down had a profound effect on them. They felt hurt. They did not want to punish their fellow man but it was necessary to regain control

As such, they enlisted the help of the former monarch's law enforcement. A nameless law enforcement without identities or names. To the public, all they saw were the white porcelain masks but even these masks gained infamy. Among them one mask was better known than others.

It had a pointed chin and a square jaw. A large crack ran like a scar from the mask's left eye lids to its left cheek. Under its nose was a bushy moustache. There were two stumps where demonic horns once resided but were ripped off by sheer brute force. He had worn them to warn Mankind that if a Demon is what they would be branded, then a Demon is what they would see.

But somebody had ended that curse.

His name was Tine. A Psychokinetic. The director of the law enforcement. It was his job to make sure that their laws were upheld and that Mankind was subdued and enslaved. That was their punishment. Tine knew that it was just.

His fingers needed something to fiddle with and his nails picked at the crack in the porcelain mask. Flecks of it fell like snow through the alleyway, falling on nothing. It was quiet from the rooftop, crouched over and looking over his city. It was not actually his city. After him there was the monarchy but even Tine rarely saw their faces.

Unlike most of his acquaintances, Tine chose to look smart during the day. He wore a black suit with two triangular tails. His cloak was small, reaching to the bottom of his shoulder blades. On top of his head, he wore a top hat.

Something scurried, a small shape, like a rat. From atop of the large building everything seemed like a rat in the city. Even his fellow Psychokinetic. Most of them had changed. People that had once been lithe and agile had grown fat in their own splendour. Tine knew not to fall into the same trap. This victory was only temporary. It was temporary while they held Mankind back.

It was temporary until the Sovereign-Pope's Royal Guardsmen and Guardswomen returned…

That was his constant fear, that their peace was short lived.

That was why he remained fit. That was why he upheld the Psychokinetic's law.

Dropping from the building he landed on a balcony on all four limbs like a cat. Turned he placed one foot on the balcony's banister and sped onto a rooftop adjacent, following the shape below.

Nobody ran. Running made you guilty.

Dropping again, his fingers scraped against the rooftop ledge and he landed with his feet on the wall. Letting go he fell a couple of feet and grabbed the window ledge. His prey was gained distance. Another drop and he was on the lowest level. The turn he made was instant upon contact.

"Stop," he shouted.

The rat scurried faster.

Tine did not move. Instead he concentrated. Concentrated on the wall, following the movements of the running man. The wall in front of the running man exploded outwards. Red bricks, red dust and shards of concrete burst from their solid position making the running man stop and cower, hiding his face from the torrent. From his cloak, Tine pulled an ancient weapon.

The ancient weapons were the greatest rediscovery of the present day. Nothing was invented anymore, it was all only rediscovered from the ruins of a lost civilisation. When they were rediscovered they were experimented with. People died in the experimentation as the ancient weapons were tweaked to become the greatest handheld weapon in modern history. Every ancient weapon was inscribed with verses from Christianity's Bible. Then there were wars. Wars over who should control the ancient weapons. Their destructive force demonstrated. Thousands died. Then, by the order of a former Sovereign-Pope, they were locked away to safeguard Mankind against their usage. It was only when they started to wage war against the Psychokinetic that the Sovereign-Pope's Royal Guard were granted permission to wield these deadly weapons again.

Tine's one was scavenged. Tine disliked using the ancient weapons. They were cumbersome and inaccurate. Or he was still incompetent in using them. Tine was still unable to decide.

This particular design was a six-shooter. It had six chambers and six shots. It was light and rarely used. When Tine pulled the trigger the recoil was so great he barely kept his grip on it. Perhaps that was why he was so inaccurate.

A plume of sparks shot from the wall but nothing more.

The man continued running but Tine fired another shot, this time directing the bullet using his psychokinesis. It curved at an impossible angle and the bullet embedded itself in the man's leg making him stagger forwards although he did not fall.

Following the man, Tine found two baguettes fallen on the floor and droplets of blood. Ahead of him, the man continued to stagger forwards. His breathing was heavy. Tine wondered if the man even knew if Tine was behind him. Tine raised the ancient weapons again and lined up the sight. Pulling the trigger again, the bullet tore through the man's shoulder and he spun, landing heavily on the ground, yelping.

Once it might have been Tine that was hunted by Mankind. Not anymore.