The Devil Killer

My first run in with him was on July 17th, 2013. He was sighted in the area, and I was sent after him. I managed to find him, walking alone down a street at night. He had long hair, touching his shoulders, and he carried what remained of a black nylon vest in his right hand. In his left, he carried a sheathed wakizashi. The sheath itself had a strip of cloth wrapped around it, about halfway down. I was walking behind him, and could plainly see the handle of a handgun poking out of his waistband.
I crept along behind him, trying to stay silent. I got a closer look at his vest. It was pretty torn up, and covered in not-quite-washed-off blood, and some black substance. I could also see that there were some nasty scars on the arm holding it.
Before I could react, I got a face-full of vest, and a sharp pain hit my knee. That knee buckled, and as it did, something hit me right in the face and drove me to the ground on my back. I angrily drew the sawed-off shotgun from its holster at my side and ripped the tattered vest from my face. I aimed the gun at where I assumed his face was. I wasn't far off. He stood right over me, a scowl on his face and his own gun in hand, pointed down at me. He glanced at my weapon.
“Isn't it illegal to have 'em that short?” he asked.
“Isn't it illegal to have 'em concealed?” I counter.
“Touch'e,” he replied.
He moved fast and almost kicked my in the face. I dodged it and swung the barrel of my gun at the back of his knewss. He went with it, managing to trap my weapon between his calf and hamstring, and with a sharp twist, he disarmed me. He dropped his wakizashi and took my gun in his now-free left hand.
“I've got your gun!” he said.
I quickly drew the baseball bat that I had sheathed across my back and charged at him.
“So shove it up your ass!” I shouted at him.
He parried my attack with my own gun before vanishing abruptly. I heard his voice from behind me a few seconds later.
“As far as I know,” he said, “the only incarnation of me who's into that kind of thing is dead now.”
I turned to see him standing further down the street from me.
“You Wolves are so annoying,” he uttered. “Alright, Puppy Dog, you might wanna duck.”
He tossed y gun a ridiculous length into the air, and then, with a small spray of blood, strings burst forth from beneath his fingertips. They wrapped around my gun in midair, and he turned sharply, swinging it through the air straight at me. I ducked, and it sailed over me and crashed into the ground, shattering into pieces.
“Aw, man!” I moaned. “Nick's gonna be pissed...”
“Sorry, was that valuable?” My opponent asked.
Without any kind of warning, his strings entangled my arms and legs, and with a yank, he pulled me toward him. As I flew through the air in his general direction, he raised a foot, which connected right with every man's least favorite place to get hit. His strings released me, and I slumped to the ground, in crippling pain.
“Down, boy,” He said, turning on a heal and sheathing his gun.
He was about ten feet away when I pulled myself back to my feet and shouted “We're not done!”
He stopped, and turned back.
“Fine,” he said. “But I'm done playing fair.”
His words were like ice. I could feel the hatred coming off of hi. Then, and I'm still not quite sure how it happened, his discarded wakizashi reappeared in his left hand. He drew it from its sheath, and it burst into flame.
“Good,” I hissed, drawing a clip-point dagger from my belt in my off-hand, and retrieving my bat for my main hand. “So am I.”
We charged at each other. I dodged beneath the arch of his attack, and the flames from his sword singed my hair and scalded my neck. In exchange, I slashed his right shin. He let out a cry of fury, and swung his sword again. I dodged and buried the blade of my knife into his quadricep of the same leg. Then Petals happened.
Yes. Petals. They just appeared, in an nonexistent vortex of wind around him. Several of them grazed my skin, as if they were razor-blades, and I backed off, pulling my knife out as I went. He swung his sword, and the petals, every last one of them flew toward my. I managed to get to one side of them and charged at him again. He swung his sword, and I blocked with my dagger.
As a side-note; Blocking a weapon that's on fire with a short melee weapon such as a dagger? Not bright. The heat from the blade hit my hand, turning it red. He drew his sword arm back and swung again, forcing me to block again. Blisters began welling up on my hand. I cried out in pain and swung my bat, hitting his left knee. I heard a crunching sound, and he collapsed, screaming.
But then he wasn't him anymore. Shadows covered him, and I could feel it. The presence of my master, emanating from him. A new form rose. A man, with short cropped brown hair and a red hoody, stood to face me. He held in his hand a large machete, and his face was concealed behind a simple white mask.
I was given no warning at all when he rushed me. His speed was incredible. It was all I could do to guard against his strikes.  He was close. Close enough for me to see the eyes beneath his mask. Eyes the color of coagulated blood, a sick black that tried to suck me in. I averted my gaze and focused on the fight. I anaged to throw his balance off and caught him in the jaw with my bat. He spun for a second before falling to his hands and knees. I got a kick in, right in his Solar Plexus.
The shadows melted away, and I was again looking at my target. I kicked him in the shoulder, flipping him onto his back. He glared up at me for a second before my bat came crashing down into his face. And just like that, he was unconscious.
I could have killed him, but that wasn't my job. My orders were to send him a message. My dagger was still hot fro the flames of his sword. I knelt down and tore off part of his shirt, and with my knife, I branded him with the symbol. OUR symbol. The symbol of my master. A pair of triangles, overlapping in the shape of two hourglasses.
It was then that Matt arrived.
Matt Onre. My mentor, and the Angel's tongue. It's pronounce own-ree, by the way.
“You've down well,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I got to my feet, ignoring the pain I was in, and faced him, trying to look as stoic as I could..
Onre was a tall man, just shy of seven feet. He was dressed in a long black duster, and across he back was a ludicrously long rifle. I knew for a fact that he carried a couple attachable bayonets, with him, so he could use it as an improvised spear if the need arose.
We were joined a few seconds later be Nick. Nicalai Wells. The Angel's pendulum. He looked around us, and saw my shattered gun. He sighed, and picked up the pieces. They were engulfed in a spheres of golden light, and when it faded, the gun was whole again. He came over and passed it back to me, taking my knife and bat as he did.
“Why do I have to keep fixing the shit you guys break?” He asked.
The same gold light shined, and the heat damage my knife suffered from was restored, and my bat became un-dented. That's Nick's power. He can heal things. Just not living things.
“Take better care of your things,” he said to me, handing them back to me.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Will he remember?” Onre asked, standing over my opponent.
“I'm pretty sure I gave hi amnesia,” I said.
“Better be sure,” Onre said.
With the next words he spoke, his voice deepened, and the air quivered. Onre's words have power, and they can rarely be defied.
“You will not remember this when you awake.”
The command was simple, and Onre rose afterwards.
Apostles. My goal was to become one. They had power that I hoped to gain some day. But I could only dream.
Nick picked up the discarded vest, and with ore gold light, it, too, was made perfect again.
“Nice vest,” he said, slipping it on. “Think I'll keep it.”
And on that night, I was able to add nylon to the list of shit Nicalai Wells is able to restore.
“We should go,” Onre said. “The local preacher with be here soon. We don't want to be seen.”
We left.
My orders for that night were simple. Find Daniel Ferris, and send him a message.
Do not defy the Archangel.

But he did. He did the unthinkable.

It was in December that the meeting was called. Timberwolves from all other the world were pulled to the Sanctum. I was in Missouri at the time, and I suddenly found myself floating in a void. It felt... good. That's the only adjective that applies. While I was there, I could feel nothing but pleasure. And then it ended...
I found myself standing on the floor of an absurdly large cathedral, amongst the other Timberwolves. All of them. Every Timberwolf in the world had been brought here through Bliss, and the church was more than big enough for all of us.
Atop a podium stood the Apostles. Twelve of the. I immediately knew something was off from that number. There's supposed to be thirteen.
Matt Onre stepped forward a spoke a couple words, adding his power to them.
“Hear us.”
You see, it doesn't matter how far away you are. If Matt Onre tells you to hear someone, you're damn well going to hear them. That's the kind of power his words have.
Another of the Apostles stepped forward. It was their leader, Adon. The highest of the Apostles. He spoke to us all.
“I'm afraid I have terrible news,” he said. “The Devil Killer Daniel Xavier Ferris has killed our master. The Archangel is dead.”
And then everyone began flipping their respective shit. The entire place erupted into chaos. It took Onre shouting “SILENCE!” to get everyone to shut up.
“This is a great tragedy,” Adon said sadly. “And this crime cannot go unpunished.”
Adon turned to Matt Onre and nodded. Onre stepped forward again and spoke to all of us, and as he did, I heard a bitterness in his voice which was uncommon of him. He was always calm and collected, but he now spoke with absolute hatred.
“If any of you come face to face with the Devil Killer, end. His. Life!”
And then everyone in the room erupted into bloodthirsty cheers.
Adon began speaking again.
“There is more that needs to be said,” he said. “One of the Apostles has been slain.”
Everyone fell silent.
“Maria Silver is no longer with us,” Adon continued. “We have lost our Halo.”
And with that, I found myself back in Missouri. Meeting over. I just stood in one place for a while, letting that all sink in. As I did, two of the Apostles appeared beside me. Matt Onre, and a woman known as Lasciel. She was carrying a long, hooked sword.
“Um... hey,” I said.
“So you're Matthews little pet, huh?” Lasciel asked. “You're smaller than I was expecting.”
“Lasciel, please,” Onre sighed.
He gestured to her, and she handed the sword over to him.
“This sword belonged to Maria,” he said.
“It's a Khopeta-something!” Lasciel said, grinning.
“A Khopesh,” Onre corrected.
He handed it to me.
“Why are you giving me this?” I asked.
“You've defeated the Devil Killer once,” Onre said. “Adon believes you can do it again.”
“And now you have something pointy to ram through his heart!” Lasciel proclaimed happily. Yeah,that's the kind of person she is.
“So, you're trusting me with this job?” I asked.
“Yes,” Onre said.
“Don't screw up!” Lasciel said.
“U... okay,” I said.
“Good luck,” Onre said, turning to leave.
Lasciel leaned over and patted me on the head while saying “Go get 'im, puppy dog!” before she left as well.
“Why do people keep calling me that?” I asked myself. Then I started searching.

It took almost a whole year to track him down. I'll give him one thing; he is a very evasive individual. He managed to stay under the radar for ages, and kept slipping away from us every time we got on his trail. It was completely by chance that I encountered him two weeks ago.
I found him walking along the road in Nevada. He had changed a bit. He'd gotten a plaid coat to replace the vest he had lost, and his hair had grown even longer, and was pulled into a ponytail, beneath a round hat. I drew my sword and began creeping toward him. I was a few feet away when his wakizashi appeared in his hand, and he turned quickly, slashing at me. I parried his attack, and we met each others eyes. He attacked. He slashed his sword aggressively, forcing me onto the defensive. I pushed back, gaining the upper hand for a few seconds, but it didn't last. He managed to throw e off balance with a powerful swing, and then he kicked me in the sternum, knocking me over.
He stood over me, and a smile began spreading over his face.
“I know you,” he said.
I was baffled. He had just done something no one else had done before; He had defied an order fro Matt Onre. He had remember what he was told to forget.
He placed a hand over his heart, in the same spot I had branded him.
“You left your mark on me, Puppy Dog” he said.
I raised y left hand, where my burns scars were still present, concealed beneath a glove.
“And you left yours,” I said.
His sword burst into flames. He prepared to slash at me, but I was ready. I got up quickly and caught his sword in my left hand.
Something I should mention; The gloves I've been wearing since that day last year are made from bullet proof and fire proof fabric.  I learned from experience how to deal with flaming wakizashis.
I caught his sword, gripping it tight, and slashed at him with my own sword. He lifted his left hand, curled into a fist, and stopped my sword.
By punching it.
I glanced at his hand, and saw that he had, at some point, slipped on a set of brass knuckles.
“Bad dog!” he said, grinning.
He swung his fist at me. I tried to dodge, but he was faster than I gave him credit for.

I awoke several hours later in a daze. There was a sticky note on my forehead reading “Up yours, Puppy Dog!”
Dick...
Matt Onre was standing over me.
“I guess you found him?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said., “And he remembered. He remembered that night.”
“I see...,” Onre said. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah,” I said, getting up. “Do you know where he went?”
“No,” Onre said. “But I doubt he's gotten far.”
“Then I'd better get looking,” I said. I started walking.
“If youi give me a few minutes, I can get in touch with some of the local Wolves,” he said.
“No,” I said. “Daniel Ferris beat me once. And that's one time too many. He's mine!”
Onre considered me for a moment.
“You plan to deal with him on your own, then?” he asked.
“I don't need help,” I said. “I can take him.”
Onre kept his eyes on me for a moment before reaching into his coat.
“It's dangerous to go in alone,” he said, drawing out a long bayonet. “Take this.”
He tossed it over to e, and I examined it. It had been specifically crafted to fit my shotgun.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Good hunting,” he said, before vanishing into Bliss.

Puppy Dog. That's what Daniel called me. I guess I'll keep that title. I think it'll be ironic when this Puppy drags Daniel into hell.

Alright, Daniel. The hunt is on.