I lean against the fence surrounding the old church, checking my watch idly. It’s already 11 PM. I’m finding it a little difficult to keep my eyes open, but I need to keep an eye on my angles regardless and hold on ‘till midnight. I’ve noticed there’s a curious fog building up, making the fenced area of the church look like zombies were about to pop out of it like from an old-school zombie movie. It feels almost ominous, in an honestly incredibly cliché manner. I flick up my secondary ears, and try to keep an ear up even as I’m barely keeping my mind out of its own fog.

I hear footsteps from my left. One figure, humanoid, but it definitely didn’t originate from within the church. Suddenly, I feel the tempo change, the footsteps accelerate, like a piano drumming up tension for dramatic effect. I draw my sword and let it rest at my left side, looking in the direction of the footsteps. Some hoodlum, with a hoodie, a mask, and shades on, walking in my direction, and he has some sort of stick in his hand. Suddenly, he up and charges at me, his feet pounding the stone brick road down, steps echoing as he runs through the mist.

In turn, I settle my other hand over my sword, shifting my feet to a rifled stance, left foot forward and with my sword still down; I’m inviting a downward stroke, which I figured he’s going to go for anyway, now that I see he’s just running up with a normal baseball bat and not a more sophisticated bludgeon.

He went for the downward stroke, predictably, probably going for my head as I bring my sword up at an angle sending his bat sailing through air towards stone, letting my grip go slightly loose as I rotate left, stealing the momentum from his strike and adding my own on top as I slash open his neck, triggering a spray of blood. In short, a perfect hanging parry used to devastating effect.

He stumbles, crashing into the ground and clutching with only one hand at his neck, gurgling before going quiet, indeed doing so much more quickly unlike the last time I had done this—

Look again, I told myself, and the blood was solid black… and the flow seemed to slow itself as some of the blood formed an articulated tendril ending in a spike-like point. Truth be told, there was something vaguely bone-chilling about witnessing it, though I suppose my sleep fatigue kept me from fully reacting to it. Then he started to get back up, slowly, and almost wordlessly, as if he were merely a vehicle for another, more malicious entity. I watched the tendril waver and whip around slightly, before fully priming in my direction. The hoodlum holds the bat low and starts advancing again— his motor skills don’t seem particularly impaired, but he isn’t exactly running, yet.

I notice the tendril whipping towards my right and I move my edge to cut it down, but as it turns out I read too early and it moves to my left at the last second, stabbing into my shoulder. Suddenly my nerves feel all wrong around that area, like they don’t want to move, but I’m not in a place to ponder it as the eldritch thug steps forward with his bat for another swing. I beat it aside with the strong of my sword, point forward, noting how even that small effort makes my shoulder shake, and even though I should have had him dead on point, I miss the following thrust as I step in. Given the circumstances, if he grabs me I’ll probably end up dead, so I rotate my katana around and slam the endcap into his skull, making sure to emphasize my right hand leading the movement instead of my left.

With a small crack he stumbles back, but instead of screaming or flailing, he just stops there before raising his bat again, the tendril no less lively. Speaking of which, I remember that I’m dealing with an opponent with two weapons, and clearly I can’t just be fast enough with one to keep myself covered. Just as I did before in one of my duels (god, don’t remind me of that one-), I draw my wakizashi in my left hand and ready, points forward.

I can’t count on my own speed charging whatever the hell that tendril thing is supposed to be, so I wait. Predictably, he swings overhead with his bat—I cross my swords and pin it, stepping left to pre-empt the tendril launching roughly where my neck was, and swiftly disengaging my katana to slice across it, at which point it let out a low hiss and the figure squealed, as if it was actually hurt, before trying to press into close range from within the bind.

He had both hands on his bat, but I position the guard of the sword right against his bat for better leverage as I shift right, pulling back with my katana at a slightly awkward angle before plunging it into his ribcage. He’s skewered, and lets out another ungodly scream before dropping his bat and standing, awkwardly like a statue, before slowly starting to fall over. I tear out the katana in turn and watch him drop as black, tar-like blood seeps out of him and I fumble to see my wakizashi back into its scabbard. I’m forced to use my main hand to help, awkwardly gripping my main sword at the same time.

The mingled pain and nervous disruption coming from my shoulder was astonishing- more than I’d expect from merely being stabbed. I barely get my wakizashi into its scabbard as I flick the blood off my katana before fumbling clumsier than usual for my blood-rag. Normally it’d take just a second, but I’m left there fumbling for what feels like a half a minute awkwardly before finally getting my hand in the pocket and my fingers around the damn thing. I wipe the rest of the blood off and slowly, but surely, see my katana back into its scabbard.

A few minutes pass, as I walked over, feeling the stone pound beneath my feet, and leaned against the fence of the church as I process just what I was feeling in my shoulder. My whole arm felt somewhat stiff, like it had been in an awkward position for far too long—what kind of toxin was this? I stopped to think, and honestly, I should just be glad it’s not outright turning me into whatever the hell batboy became before our encounter. It also reminds me of what I had encountered earlier in the day, of the other one that tried his luck far too much.

Then, the gates suddenly open, and the hooded figure from before steps forward, his eyes glazed over before he sees the slightly mangled body on the floor, and looks over to me, leaning against the fence with a stab in my shoulder. I could finally catch something aside from indifference on his face; he’s most certainly paying attention now.

“My, my, well… who killed that poor young man?” The man tilted his head as if genuinely curious, but I had a feeling he already had the right guess.

Regardless, something just slipped into my now slightly weathered mind, and I went with it, even though it was stupid. “Batman rolled up with a sword and just stabbed the dude a bunch… no, it was me, I just happened to clean my sword afterwards.” I almost absently pull the rag back out, a tarry black stain upon it. That might be more difficult to wash out than normal…

I awkwardly stuff the rag back into my pocket, as he finally opens the gate. “Come in, come in,” he ushers, waving me in. “I’m sure you will be able to find a home with us.” I huff softly, pushing off the fence and walking inside, my feet feeling like lead and my left arm feeling like it got sat on for half an hour. He closes the gate with a subdued clang and makes sure to lock it behind me, as I shamble over towards the door. I hear his feet on the stone as he walks over and opens the door for me. What a gentleman.

Inside, there is a man in a suit with black hair, and another, older man—no older than 50, I could imagine— in a robe with a katana resting next to him instead of in his belt. His beard tells of his age as much as his face. They’re both sitting in chairs on the same side of the room, and the robed man is the one that stands up first.

“Charles, who is this?”

“A swordsman that has sought us out. She killed one of the Possessed right outside our door.” Possessed? Is he just that in character, or is there an actual demonic incursion that cropped up when I wasn’t looking?

“Really, a recruit with proven battle experience already? This one will be… quite interesting.” I take a moment to size up the room; it doesn’t seem too exciting, mostly free, open space around the back with some chairs at the sides. I see a mat folded up in the corner, but aside from that the area is clearly opened for what I can only assume is physical activity.

The old man seems to catch eye of my swords, and some look of understanding seems to come over him. “I see… What school did you come from?” I think briefly about the school I was once part of, and decide to commit to forgetting it altogether, just like the rest of my past.

“The name of that school is not important, nor do I wish to remember it.” I sighed, probably sounding more arrogant than I meant to. Regardless, I didn’t consider it particularly prestigious or unique, so it likely wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway.

“I take it you’re running from something, then?” A silent pang. How the man got such a good guess in from barely any information at all, I was unsure—I don’t believe I was giving anything away regarding the reason why I disregarded my old school’s name as unimportant. I just hoped that he wouldn’t be able to see through my entire history so easily.

“I suppose you could put it that way, but I would’ve phrased it as running towards a future to leave the past behind, and hopefully find better people here than I did before… Which, I suppose, is more or less the same thing, isn’t it?”

The old man remained plain-faced through all of this, but then smiled slightly. “The semantics, though often discarded, are more important than most realize. If you’re willing to pledge yourself to the cause, you may find refuge with us. You can just stay here until you’ve recovered… then we’ll talk.”

The robed man who had let me in guides me along as we walk upon wooden boards, towards the back, and towards one of the side rooms, merely pointing at one door in particular, a somewhat weathered but still obviously clean door. I simply nod, and then step through. What I find is a bed, a nightstand, and a window with a curtain draped over it. Clearly, this was either for simple living or temporary stays. Now that I finally have an opening, I let my bag off my shoulders, much to my relative relief, and take my shoes off, but decide to keep my socks on, just in case. It’s a difficult decision, but I also let my jacket off, though I keep it directly on the nightstand. I then pull my swords out of my belt, setting the katana on the floor by the bed, and pulling a tanto from the bags, keeping both it and my wakizashi much closer as I stare at the ceiling, thinking about what’s happened today.

I was hoping I’d find better people here than in my hometown, a better life, but so far it feels like things are almost worse here. The most I could do was hope that it was a statistical anomaly, but I’m not sure if I honestly believe myself. As I let the thought pass, I finally get around to sleeping for the night. Not that it brought me much peace, being in an unusual place for the first time, hoping that I didn’t just get suckered into being the latest sacrifice of a death cult.