"You've got to be kidding me! This many demons? What, you'd think they were starting a zoo."
Fallon looks at me pointedly, his dark eyes flaring brightly. "These are ancient demons we're talking about here."
"Alright, then, a museum. Imagine how fun a field trip that could be for some poor, unknowing kids, right?"
We're crouched on a six-storeys-high building, watching closely as demons march around in groups, wreaking havoc. The streets are wrecked, crumbling, and buildings are on fire, dead bodies lying around in bloodied heaps and piles of mangled remains. Almost apocalyptic. The demons all have different coloured skin, and no two demons look even remotely similar. Some look like huge birds, putting it bluntly, and others look like huge, messily-sewn voodoo dolls, each patch-like section of their distorted bodies different colours. They all look washed-out, scruffy, covered in blood. Awesome.
My twin samurai swords are sheathed on my back, crossed over, and my guns are crossed over in my hands as I practise aiming. I haven't used guns in a while. I sigh, readying myself, and then light a cigarette, holding my guns loosely in one hand as I take a drag on my cigarette. I stand up slowly, swinging my arms slightly as I turn around to face Fallon.
"Oh no, don't you even think about it. You've done enough fighting-"
"A little fight every now and then never hurt anyone, right?" Yes it does...
Fallon shakes his head, black hair shaking out around his head. "Oh, no you don't, you've done enough of this crap lately-"
I rest my cigarette between my lips and hold my guns loosely in both hands as I push myself backwards, slipping away fearlessly from the roof's edge, and spin in mid-air as I fall towards the ground. I twist quickly, landing on my feet, and most of the demons detect me quickly. I move quickly, like a real demon might and not just a cross-breed, my footing abrupt and practised, it seems. I shoot at the two demons at either side of me, my arms spread wide, and their heads practically explode, blood and brains and flesh flying everywhere. Blood splatters my face - or the side of my face not covered by my floppy silver hair falling into my eyes - and then cross my guns over, shooting rapidly as I move, bullets spraying out of the gun quicker than any normal M1911 handgun should ever let me. What's even better is that I don't waste a single bullet; every shot I take is on target, a successful hit, striking perfectly on either the chest or head of the demons. I use an upturned bin to push myself up into the air, and as I aim downwards and shoot several demons cleanly on the head I ready myself to thump my feet against a wall directly in front of me. I back flip, twisting around in the air as I land on my feet in the middle of a large ring of demons, quickly closing in. I spray bullets, spinning my guns around in my hands for a split second and then sliding them into the holsters on my belt, gathering demonic energy in my hands. It crackles red in my hands, a ball of glowing, fiery electricity, and see a rusting car lacking doors and wheels. Demons are on the other side of the crumbling, rusting mass, moving quickly yet slightly sluggishly for demons, and I take the opportunity to push out the electric force. It bursts out of my palms, hitting the car with a death-defying thud, and the force of the collision sends the car rolling on it's side, spraying sparks as it rolls and skids across the crumbled ground. Black blood sloshes and sprays violently as the demons collide with the car, and their deaths are a parade of screams of terror.
I feel my skin growing colder, red energy crackling like burning embers, mere millimetres from my palms, and I grin. I feel fangs lengthening in place of my incisors; devil-mode, or demon-aspect, as Fallon calls it. I call it devil trigger, because anger propels and triggers it. I'm never completely human, I just act it, but it's moments like this when my inner demon unfurls itself from the depths of my twisted, so-called humanity.
I see a blur come from above, a spray of silver bullets firing out just shy of my head as they hit the demons around me. Fallon flits through the groupings of demons, shooting as he continues almost completely undetected. I move quickly, following him, and as I leap into the air I gather more energy in my hands, pushing it back behind me as I propel myself forward. The energy is more like fire than anything, burning my skin, almost, as it burns in my hands.
This is everyday routine to me, and fighting is like second nature. I grew up fighting, I was born a fighter and a hunter, and at only 27 I'm nearly as mastered as the devil himself. Right enough, my father would never admit that I'm almost as strong as he is, but that's demons for you. They're all stubborn-ass, proud sons of-
I hear a loud, piercing shriek, like a battle cry, and pull my swords out of their sheaths, just as I hit the ground. I swing them around as demons approach me.
"Thought you didn't like fighting?" I say to Fallon as he passes, pale skin glowing, eyes like darkened marble, and he slices the head messily from a blue-and-grey skinned demon.
"I decided my vampire skills would come in handy; you looked like you could use a hand."
"I was managing fine by myself, Fallon. You should've stayed on the rooftop and kept watch." I grunt stubbornly as I bring my swords down on two demons at once. Blood sprays, but I don't mind, really. I'm used to it. It's what I do every day.
Fallon and I see the last few demons at the same time, and I grin, pushing my samurai swords slowly into their sheaths, taking out my guns again. I cross them slowly, still grinning as I aim Widow and Reaper.
"Come on, guys, it's time to get to work!" I aim Widow - my gun for long-distance shots - at the demons, and wait for my vampire companion to reach the purple-skinned wolf-like creatures. Their bodies are furry and purple, their heads shaped like large, furry badminton rackets and their red eyes like baseballs, or a fly's eyes, putting it in a more descriptive sense. I shoot quickly, hitting all three demons on the head expertly and without effort, and Fallon growls. He's clearly audible, even across the fifty metres between us.
"Dammit! That was clearly deliberate!" He shouts, and I chuckle darkly.
"Oh, paint over it. Come on, we'd better..."
I trail off as I see a tall, pale-skinned male with pale silver hair and green eyes behind an upturned skip, guns identical to my own in his hands. I recognise the guns instantly.
Luce and Ombra...? Hell, those are my brother's guns... The male shoots, and a silver bullet slides cleanly through my chest, just shy of my heart. I drop to my knees, falling forward onto my face, my guns on the ground, and slip slowly into an unconsciousness like no other, filled with disbelief and confusion.
Because that silver-haired, green-eyed, demonic figure is the same guy that kept me in psycho-analysis treatment when I was fifteen, murdered millions of innocent humans in Europe and then took the side of the devil after trying to kill his own brother dozens of times in their childhood.
That sick, demonic, corrupted figure is my twisted and corrupted brother Dmitri, the first-born twin son of the devil, and the alleged successor of Satan himself...
. Crazy kid 
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