Sharif shifted his weight to his right leg on top of the church steeple. He felt the cold steel of his blade pressing against his white robes. All around him was complete tranquility; the breeze was as much a part of him as his killing hand. The ring finger on his left hand had been removed as part of a Hashbumin initiation during the middle ages, and his ritualistic dagger was still attached to his left arm, ready to burst out of the hole left from his ring finger with only the slightest twitch. However, what had once been a weapon to deliver its’ victims to the hands of god was now used to protect those very victims from the dark lord himself.

He felt a disturbance in the trees and knew something had gone askew. Out of his periphiral vision he could see what he had feared would be there; a shamanistic imp. These agents of satan were of the lowest caste; only used in missions where there was a low threshold for error and mishap. He knew that the target he had been sent to protect was the same that this lowly demon had been sent to posess.

The one he had been sent to protect was not a very high level persona, but rather a small infant. This infant had come down with a sickness, and made an easy target for demonic possesion. He had seen the child before, but only while he had been sent to protect another person in this small village from demonic possesion. The satanic influence over this village had been growing exponentially in the past century; the old town crier had even resorted to animalistic sacrifice of multiple residents of the village. That incident had become somewhat of a legend inside the town, and was the reason why a death angel such as Sharif was bumigned to this town.

Sharif sighed at the sad attempt by the dark lord to wreak havoc to this village. The last few weeks had been littered with attacks like this one, and all had failed miserably. He expected that the dark lord would attempt a more daring attack if he was willing to expose himself at all. Sharif flicked his wrist, and his blade extended from inside of his cloak. The imp began his descent from the trees, creating only a whisper worth of noise. The reason imps would be used was for stealth. Sadly for this imp, Sharif was the most skilled Death Angel that He had in his kingdom. Sharif extended his wings and dove towards the imp. His left hand sprung forward like the tail of a scorpion, and made contact with bile flesh. The imp let out a cry of terror, and stumbled a few steps before falling to its final resting place, only a few feet from the tree it had started in. Sharif’s hidden blade retracted back into his cloak, cleansing itself of the demon’s blood in the process.

“Lok Tar!” Shouted a voice from behind Sharif. For the last century, a behemoth of a trap had been set in motion. He had been the target all along.

A tyrant of a demon was towering over him. If the villagers had the ability to see this demon or any of the others surrounding him, they would have died on sight. Humans were oblivious to the etheral world around them; they could only see the first three dimensions. All spiritual activity existed on a higher plane.

“You die now!” The tall demon shouted at him. The spit that flew out of the demon’s mouth when he spoke burned Sharif’s leathery skin. Although he had angelic white color to him, Sharif had skin comparible to kevlar. The only thing that could do real damage to him was demonic entities. Apparently, spit from a demon qualified in this area. Sharif leapt back as a demon smashed a club into the spot he was standing only moments ago. After a quick once-over of the area, Sharif counted around twenty demons in all. The odds were against him. He smiled to himself, realizing this was the first time in hundreds of years that he has had the pleasure of being challenged.

Sharif leapt into the air and pulled his bow from his back. As he hovered in the air with help from his wings, he pulled the string of his bow back. An arrow of magnificient light bloomed into existence between his fingers, ready to be fired at the closest attacker. The demons responded to this light by squinting and snarling at him, angry that something so beautiful was allowed to be alive. Sharif felt his muscles tense as he prepared for battle. He let loose the first arrow, and it found its target square in the eyes of the tall demon that had so eagerly fortold his death only moments ago. A heavy thud accompanied by the screams of the demons trapped under the hefty giant’s corpse resonated through the village, and the remaining demons readied themselves for battle, no doubt afraid for their lives.

Sharif allowed himself to fall to the ground softly as he drew his sword from its sheath. The sword resonated a cherubic tone as it glided through its protective casing. A stout imp ran towards Sharif and raised his clawed hands, reaveling a poison tipped blade in each. Another demon leapt onto his back and held Sharif’s neck. Two identical looking imps jumped at him and grabbed his arms and legs. The tips of the poisoned blades barely scratched his skin before he broke loose from his captors and pulled his sword out of its sheath.

A shiver went down his spine and Sharif felt his right arm go numb. His sword clattered to the ground, ripping apart the small layer of leaves that had fallen into the church’s courtyard. He had only a small amount of time before the rest of his body went numb. If he was to get himself to safety where he could cleanse his wounds, Sharif had to finish the battle quickly.

A scream of terror was emitted from the imp directly in front of him as an arrow punctured its head. The imp crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The remaining four imps looked around, trying to spot the source of the attack. Sharif looked up and saw a shrouded figure behind the church bell for a moment as it turned around and vanished. Four more arrows came from different areas and silenced the last imps. The hooded figures came down and circled Sharif. He could tell from their robes that they were also angels of some sort. However, they did not seem to have the standard issue wings given to death angels. Their wings were buzzard like; these Death Angels were of the highest order, sent only when the Dark Lord himself was about to make an appearance.

And appear he did. A three headed dog appeared and snarled at the Death Angels. This very dog was the reason the Cerberus myth had been created. The villagers in the area screamed and ran. This beast was able to be seen by humans. The dog stood at over twenty feet tall, and each head was accompanied by horns and red demonic eyes. The problem was not the dog, however, but the figure standing on top of it. On the middle head, a black robed figure with a crown of fire on his head was standing, hands in prayer position. A deep, resonating laugh filled the village. The laugh of the devil.

“Hello, my fellow Death dealers! I am glad I have such a happy welcoming commitee!” spoke Satan. He lifted his hands, producing fire in each of them. As he rose his head and tore off the hood, the head of a young man was what stared at them with malice. They were staring at death.