Demon's Reign

The "Knights," an organization originally formed at the dawn of mankind—a brotherhood with only one goal: to exterminate all demons.

Once the demons were sealed, the Knights deteriorated rapidly. There was no need for them to exist in a world without their adversary. As such, they became a small underground organization, a brotherhood of scrawny old men—those who still knew the truth about the world and its true nature. However, by 2012, all of that changed. These old men became the most knowledgeable, influential people, allowing humanity to survive a cataclysm the likes of which no one could have predicted.

In the year 2062, the Knights are heralded as humanity's last hope—those who stand against the demonic threat. An organization that functions akin to the police and the military within the confines of Lower Babel, whose goal is to deal with all issues concerning demons and contractors. The Knights wield enormous influence over the government. In fact, in more ways than one, they are "the government."

Compound 15 of the Knights was located a mile away from the space elevator—­a military encampment composed of a variety of buildings: an armory, where weapons, armor, and ammunition were stored; the barracks, where some of the on-duty military personnel lived; the medical and research department, a large building where advanced combat gear was designed and maintained (as well as where the medical facilities were located); and the management office, where all the public documentation was processed.

X walked into the Knights' facility, passing various checkpoints without letting them slow him down—casually waving at those he found familiar, though none waved back. He strolled into the research department, touching the plain white walls with his hand, feeling their texture as he continued onward.

"There you are!" a woman suddenly shouted from the hallway.

"There I am!" X responded with the same enthusiasm.

"Get your ass over here," the woman said, moving into one of the workshops lining the corridor.

X sighed and followed her through the doorway. There she stood: a short girl with an angry expression and a scar above her left eyebrow. She had a cherry-colored bob cut, wore military boots, cargo pants, and a tank top. She stood confidently, accompanied by her assistant.

"Been a while, Rebeca," X said with his usual smirk. He looked around, briefly scanning the lab. "You moved," he remarked with a wide smile, awkwardly scratching his head.

"I had to because of a certain someone," Rebeca frowned; her right eyebrow began to spaz out.

"Who's the new kid?" X asked, pointing a finger at the man standing next to Rebeca.

He appeared rather timid, was tall and well-kept, and had long black hair carefully tied into a stern bun. He wore boots, cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a lab coat with three differently colored pens sticking out of his front pocket.

"He's my new assistant," Rebeca remarked, closing her eyes. "Go on and introduce yourself," she ordered.

"Nice to meet you, my name is John Alstein," the man said, approaching X and extending his hand for a handshake.

"What's with the lab coat?" X responded in a mocking tone, ignoring John's outstretched hand.

"Those are the rules," Rebeca said, briefly squinting.

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"Where's yours?" X giggled slightly.

"Eat shit!" Rebeca replied, opening her eyes as wide as possible in an open sign of aggression.

"That's more like it!" X smiled. "I really missed you, Bec."

Rebeca sighed. "Alright, enough chit-chat," she said, walking toward her workstation. "I've got something special ready for you." She smiled slightly.

"Yeah… Bec… Before that," X raised his bullet-ridden, broken mechanical arm into the air, flapping it around to demonstrate its ragged state.

"WHAAAAAAT!" Rebeca shouted. She became enraged—her face turned red, her small body convulsed and shook as she began grasping for the nearest wrenches at her workstation and throwing them at X in quick succession.

"Here we go again…" X sighed, tilting his head to avoid the flying objects.

"Miss Rebeca, please stop!" John called out, wearing a worried expression.

Suddenly, a wrench came flying, aimed directly at John's face. Before Rebeca noticed, John effortlessly and gracefully flicked it out of the air with his finger.

"'Miss'? There is no 'miss'; it's just an angry mutated ape," X remarked while grabbing John by the shoulder. "By the way, how did you do that just now? Bec's wrenches fly at super-fast speeds—there's no way for a normal person to flick them out of the way like that."

"Oh, he's a contractor!" Rebeca replied, slipping out of her frenzy.

"Are you now? You up for a tussle?" X asked with a great deal of enthusiasm.

John stared at X, visibly confused, unable to understand what he was trying to say.

"Don't worry about it too much, Johnny boy. That guy right there is a grade 'A' certified psychopath. The moment he learns someone's a contractor, he can't help but offer them a spar and then beat the daylights out of them. It's just how he is," Rebeca explained.

"So whadaya say?" X asked, looking at John.

"I would have to refuse. You would find my combat ability lacking. I am a non-combatant, after all," John replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Enough bullshit. Get undressed and lie down in the chair," Rebeca said, pointing him toward a service chair that resembled one you'd find in a dentist's office.

"You're no fun," X mumbled as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a glowing blue circular object poking out from his chest.

X took off his coat and shirt, dropping them messily on the ground, and got into the service chair designed to maintain cyborgs. John carefully attached large, clunky metallic sensors to his ankles, wrists, and neck. He connected a cable to the device on X's chest and detached his damaged robotic arm.

"I prefer when the lady does this part," X whispered.

"Shut it," Rebeca shouted from her desk on the other side of the workshop.

"Wow, I didn't know you could hear that. You must have really good ears!" X laughed.

Rebeca grabbed the damaged prosthetic and placed it on her workstation to examine the damage.

"Bullet holes," she whispered, caressing the metal with the tips of her fingers. "Did you get shot up recently?" she wondered.

"I was up against non-contractors, so blocking bullets with the arm was my only option," X explained.

"That's why we have standard-issue energy shields," Rebeca remarked. "This is some extensive damage. It's gonna take me a while to fix," she said, continuing to examine the arm.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time," X laughed again.

"You can let him out," Rebeca said to John. "Your vitals seem okay, but your demonic energy's a mess. You'd best avoid using magic for some time if you can help it," she continued, telling X about his condition.

"Thanks! Will do, doc," X said, getting up from the chair.

"One last thing—John made you a special-grade weapon," Rebeca said, averting her gaze as her expression became nervous.

"Oh, I don't remember asking Mr. Lab Coat to make me a special-grade weapon. Silly me, that must be because I just met Mr. Lab Coat ten minutes ago," X remarked aggressively.

"It's an excellent weapon. Just try it out." Rebeca tossed X a small circular contraption.

"Fine," X replied, placing the object in his pocket.

X stared intensely at the door with a blank expression. He frowned, his eyebrows twisted in obvious dissatisfaction. In a flash, seemingly out of nowhere, he approached the door and kicked it, knocking it out of the frame and sending it tumbling into the empty hall.

"I'm out," X retorted as he walked away.

"Aw shit." Rebeca covered her face with the palm of her right hand. "What about your clothes?" she asked.

"Dry cleaning. I'll pick them up tomorrow at eight," X shouted from the hallway.

"What an asshole," Rebeca sighed.