A Night Out (Training)

Samael ‘Smith’ lounged upon his couch, watching the evening news with a slight sneer on his face. The TV was last year’s model, but decent. A 55” inch affair, plasma, good refresh rate. There was more to it but Samael wasn’t really the technology type. He wasn’t really much one for ostentatious uses of money either, but he’d liberated it from a sinner and it had just been convenient that his previous one had died the week earlier. He came into possession of many of his things that way, actually. The sinner’s did not deserve them. Not that Samael believed he did, but many of them were necessities, or perhaps just treats. And he was a church unto himself. Should they note tithe to the church? Because of this, Samael did not have a typical day job. His job was cleaning up the city. Getting rid of the filth and refuse. It was a job that would never be complete, and Samael knew this. But he did just his small part, a part that seemed to grow a little more each year as he perfected his powers.

He snatched the remote from the small battered coffee table in front of him and turned the TV off. He didn’t want to sit inside too long tonight, not when there were so many wicked out there, turning his city filthy. He looked around his apartment – it was medium sized with a bedroom and a study, though this part of town was not one of the best places in New York, not even close. Most would say it was downright dangerous, but then again most people weren’t…. quite like Samael. He could have afforded a much nicer place, with much nicer things, thanks to everything he got some his targets, but that wasn’t really becoming someone like him.

Samael strode over to his closet and disrobed, opening up the double closet doors and revealing his one concession to money – a nice wardrobe. Perhaps it was his vanity speaking out, a sin all on its own, but he overlooked it. He liked to look good while he worked. He justified it as wanting to look the part, he wasn’t some hobo mugging people in alley ways. He was God’s hand, put here to do His will. God’s Hand should look good. He nodded to himself as he stood there, naked, surveying his closet.

Slowly, he began to dress. He knew the club he would hit tonight. Pants first, a pair of ratty jeans with a few holes in the knee and various places. Nothing underneath them. A black t-shirt was pulled on and tucked into them, then a large studded belt was added to the mix, though it was kept loose enough that it hung there obviously only for decoration. A black Rosary around his neck. A quick trip to the bathroom and his hair was complete, with even a hint of fuller lashes that always made his eyes get comments and contrasted nicely with the scruff on his face. He hated the stuff, but tonight was about blending in. Well, not so much blending in but rather he was intent on fitting in – he wanted attention, just not to overly stick out nor be overly remembered.

Eventually satisfied that everything was just right, he carefully put everything back into its proper place and turned off the lights in his apartment. Opening the door he gaze out into the somewhat dark hallway – half of the light s were always burned out and the super only replaced them once the place became pitch black. Not that Samael really minded the dark, what he minded was the sound of people tripping and cursing. Wicked little soul s they were indeed, though not all of them.

As he made his way down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, he pushed open the double glass doors as well as the security gate beyond and stepped onto the sidewalk, starting to walk uptown. There weren’t many cabs here and he didn’t feel like driving, so he would have to walk for a while first and then probably hop a cab. He wished he could fly like all of these mutants or other crazy shit he saw on TV. Maybe he could learn some day to use his abilities for something similar if he tried hard enough. That might be dangerous though, flinging himself around like that. He would hate to toss himself up far enough into the air to break some bones if he didn’t manage to land properly. But if he ever did manage it… it would solve so many problems.

He wandered through the cold night air and glanced up, seeing a hint of stars just barely visible behind the bright lights of the city, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. A perfect New York evening to be sure. Samael took it to be a good omen. Small bits of grass grew between some of the pieces of sidewalk, bits of green under the streetlights that struggled to grow in a city of concrete. Samael wasn’t really the type to be put off by living in such places though, he was a creature of the city. A creature of men and he belonged where the people were. He couldn’t care less about trees and nature.

As soon as he got onto a main road, it was easy to flag down a cab. It was an older slightly run down cab, but he didn’t care. The flashy ones stayed downtown where they could pick up higher end clientele. The cabby, a scruffy looking middle eastern guy in a turban, looked at him in the rearview mirror, “Where to?”


“Downtown, to UC87 on Ludlow. You know it?” Samael asked, staring back at the man in the mirror.

The cabbie nodded and answered simply, “Yes.” And just like that they were off.

Samael relaxed into the scuffed up seat. It didn’t appear too dirty though, which was nice. Dirty was lazy, lazy was sloth. Sloth, of course, was sin. Dirty nasty sin.

His fingers picked at a stray thread on his pantleg as he pondered his upcoming evening, wondering what he might find at the club. A drug dealer to punish? A whore? Maybe a murderer. Yes, that would be fine indeed. Somebody he could punish and send his soul to hell where it belonged. Murderers were the worst, followed closely by rapists. The rest of them, they could repent, if they tried hard enough. If only they really tried, so many of them chose not to. Sometimes Samael gave them chances, always one chance, to go, confess, and then repent. The confess part was easy because he left them no choice, no choice at all. But sometimes they were stupid, and days later they ended up in the same place as before. Doing the same stupid things. These sinners couldn’t be saved, and even though sometimes they would get second chances, often they would not.

Why were the wicked always so dumb? Well, not all of t hem were dumb. No, there were a few that stood out, a few that managed to escape his clutches. Samael grimaced in his seat, glancing out the window as he reflected on them as his hands gripped the rosary in his jacket pocket hard enough to create indentations in the skin. But one day he would catch them. His powers continued to grow, his full potential unknown, and when he got strong enough… the wicked would pay.

Then, the drive was pulling the cab to the side of the road and Samael blinked, having lost track of the time.

“That’ll be $25.83 mister,” the driver said and Samael just stared back at him.

“For that quick a drive? Tell me the real price,” Samael said, glancing towards the meter which appeared more than a little rundown and wasn’t even displaying a figure at the moment.

“It is the real price!” the man insisted in his thick accent. The man even managed to look offended.

“No,” Samael said, his voice darkening somewhat, “Tell me the real price.” His voice was lower, and it rang with an unseen and truly even unheard power, reverberating in the driver’s head.

“The real price is $14 dollars and 12 cents,” the cabbie said, almost in a daze. The cabbie recovered quickly like it was all perfectly natural and waited for payment.

Samael just sneered slightly and pulled a ten and a five out of his pocket, tossing them at the man, “You’re lucky you get anything at all. Get your f ucking meter fixed.” The last part held another unspoken command, and Samael knew the guy would. A minor sin. A correctable one. If it wasn’t… he’d take further action again soon that was for sure. The man was probably a heathen anyways, Muslim or Hindu. Disgusting.

But Samael caught himself, shaking his head slightly as he left the vehicle. Even those who worshipped the wrong God could be saved. They often didn’t truly choose to do so, but ended up doing so because they lived in a place where they had to, they simply hadn’t been opened to the real Light. Many of them never would, but perhaps even Samael’s God would accept them, if when their souls passed on they had no sin in their hearts. For all t hat he was a Wrathful God, he was also a forgiving one.

Samael glanced around. He was downtown now, or at least fairly close to the lower east side, not too far from Chinatown. The cl ub he was heading for was just across the street and Samael strode confidently towards it. There was already a long lineup, but he walked right past it and up to the doormen which he had seen many times. As he approached, the bigger doorman held up a hand.

“The boss says you ain’t allowed in no more,” the man said. The man next to him nodded his agreement.

This caught Samael a little off guard, since he hadn’t actually met this club owner. Why would he be barred. He’d been here a few times before, and taken care of some sinners, but always in a… proper way, with no witnesses and no trouble for the club. What was going on here?

Samael glared at them both for a moment, and then smiled, “No, boys, don’t you remember? He said it was all a misunderstanding and you can let me in.”

Both men just nodded. “Right, we can let you in,” the big one said.

“Now, tell me where can I find your boss?” Samael asked, his voice light. It sounded like a question, but it was a command the two could not disobey.

“He usually sits in the back right, opposite the DJ booth,” the smaller one said.

Samael just nodded, clapping both of them on their respective shoulders and heading on inside. The two doormen who had just been hoodwinked smiled at him like an old friend and turned to the next people in line. Samael could just hear them talking “You think you can get in here looking like that?” as he stepped into the loud goth club.

He looked around, squinting slightly. The place was somehow both dark and more than a little overly bright, all at the same time – as was rather typical in settings like this. Darkness punctuated by strobe lights, sometimes black lights. People dancing, lots of black and chrome and some red and some white here and there. People looking like vampires, people looking like 80s rock stars, people looking like catholic priests. You name it and it could be found at a place like this. That went for types of people as well as types of substances. The very thought of it made Samael snear. Drugs were for the weakest of the wicked.

Samael took his time stalking his target, slowly pressing through the mass of bodies on his way towards the part of the room that the doormen had indicated. He could see a corner booth there, occupied by four individuals. The room was dark and somewhat smokey. No smoking was allowed in new York clubs, yet some of them allowed it anyways it seemed and never got caught, or they paid their fines and more than made up the revenue through increased prices and clientele. After all, what is a goth without their loathsome disgusting cigarettes?

Eventually he made his way up to the table and all four men turned to stare at him. The one closest to the edge, a thin looking man with shoulder length stringy black hair and dressed in something that looked like some kind of laughable priestly dress, sneered at Samael, “Bugger off. This is a private table.”

Samael just ignored him and stared at the table, “Which one of you is known as Mr. Small?”

The man on the end who had spoken before stood up, trying to look intimidating but Samael just found it laughable. “I said to bugger off!”

But another man at the table, a handsome looking man who seemed slightly out of place with his strong jaw, broad shoulders, muscles, bit of scruff and simple black tshirt with matching jeans, spoke up, “Settle down. This should be good.” The man looked to Samael, “I’m Mr. Small.” The guy stared at him good and hard, “And I am surprised to see you here. I might need to new bouncers.”

Samael raised an eyebrow, having taken the man for muscle rather than Mr. Small. He then glanced briefly towards the other three, “Get out of here and give me some alone time with your boss.” All three men didn’t even hesitate, they just got up and left and Samael slid into the vacate spot across from Mr. Small.

“We have a lot to talk about it seems,” Samael said.

“Indeed we do,” the man responded in his low voice, staring across at Samael a little oddly, “My boss said you weren’t welcome here any longer, and I told my guys to keep you out. And yet here you are.”

Samael nodded slightly, “You’ll find it isn’t that easy to keep me out of places I want to go. Did your boss tell you why? Or were you too scared to ask? I can’t picture a big boy like you taking orders like that too easy.”

The guy smirked, “Watch it or I’ll show you just how big I am. Everybody takes orders from my boss, and it wasn’t too smart of you coming back here.”

“Not everybody,” was the response from Samael, “I only take my orders from one.” A brief glance towards the heavens and he looked back at the man. “Why did your boss tell you why I’m no longer allowed here?”

The man just smiled thinly, “I think I’ve been plenty patient with you, and it is time for you to leave.”

Samael shook his head, “No, I don’t think so. Now – tell me why I he said such things.” There was power behind those words.

The boss man bit his lips and opened his mouth to talk, then stopped, then started, then stopped again, then started again… then after a brief pause he shook his head, “I can’t talk about that.” The voice was almost harsh.

Samael was somewhat surprised by the lack of an answer. This guy didn’t seem… particularly strong willed. Why hadn’t it worked? Was he protected by something? There were other ways…

His eyes narrowed and he stared across the table, “Take us somewhere we can have a nice chat where nobody else can hear or see us. There’s a place like that here, ri ght?” This time the command stuck and the man nodded, “Sure. Why don’t we go somewhere nice and quiet where we can chat?”

Samael smirked and nodded, “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

The other man slid out of the booth and moved towards the back of the club and Samael followed. As they approached a small door that was black and almost hidden into the wall, the man nodded to the guard who moved out of the way and let them in. Behind it was a longish hallway with several doors off it and the man led them down towards the very end of it, opening a sturdy looking door and revealing a well appointed office.

As Samael passed through the doorway, he noted that the doorway and door itself were both a little on the thick side, and the room seemed to be secluded, possibly soundproof. Good. It would serve his purpose well.

The man closed the door behind him and then moved to take a seat behind the desk. The man never made it that far, though. Instead, he was f lung back first into the wall, spread eagled and held there. The man gasped and started to cry out, but with a slight gesture from Samael the man’s mouth cl icked shut with an audible sound of teeth closing.

“Nono, my little sinner. You will not cry out for help, do you understand?” Samael said.

The man just nodded, “Yes. I will not cry out for help.” Then his eyes went really wide as he fought against the compulsion. He was a strong one. “Why… why are you doing this? How are you doing this? Why can’t I… I should call for help. But.. no. I shouldn’t. Why is this so confusing!?”

Samael chuckled, sometimes being a telepath was ever so useful. Telekinetic too. The man tried to pull himself away from the wall, but with the amount of pressure coming on him it felt like he was trying to lift a small car. “Tsk tsk,” Samael said, “You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve told me what I wanted to know.”

“Now,” he said, coming over and taking a seat on the desk. As he sat down, he pulled his rosary from his pocket, idly feeling the beads as he stared at the man, “Tell me who your boss is, and why he wants me out of his club.”

The man just glared at him, “What are you? A mutant? Get out of my office!”

Samael just smirked, “No, I’m no mutant. But I am… different. Got a problem with that?”

The man sneered, “I knew there had to be something wrong with you. You were too perfect, in here once a week, people fawning over you, and you taking them home. What were you doing to them, mutie?”

Samael almost snarled, “I said I’m not a mutant! And y ou’re a moron. I never took them home. I… punished them. They were wicked, and they needed to be taught a lesson.”

The man went kind of wide eyed, “You… what?”

“I taught them a lesson,” Samael replied, “Some of them needed their souls released. Others simply needed to repent. Others still needed to go to the police to serve their sentence. All of them were sinners, and I am their judge. I am your judge.”

The man struggled again to get free, one hand managing to pull itself away from the wall before the force once again slammed it back down. Samael just stared at him a few long moments. “You will confess your sins,” he stated simply.

“Wh-… what?”

“Confess your sins,” Samael repeated, wit h more force behind it.

The man stared blankly for a few moments, “I sometimes steal tips. I accept sexual favors in exchange for raises or drugs. I like to fuck boys and girls who are barely legal – and I don’t always check their age. I launder money. I-.. I..”

A mental slap caused the man’s head to turn to the side, cheek turning red. “Tell me the worst of them. What are your worst sins? Tell me.”

The man hung his head, “I don’t know… I… The worst one is knowing what he does. But I don’t stop it because the pay is good, and because I’m too scared. Please. Stop! I don’t know why I’m telling you all t his.”

“That’s better,” Samael said, walking towards the man. The rosary in his hands suddenly lifted itself and flew out, striking the man across the face, causing just a slight scratch but also some rather red marks to show. The man cried out and Samael held up a finger to his lips, “Sshhhh shhh shhh quiet now. No more sounds over a nice talking voice, alright?”

Samael reached out to the trapped man and ripped his shirt open, pushing it down from the man’s shoulders to fully reveal the guy’s chest. “Mymy, you do take care of yourself,” he said, “Is Vanity another sin of yours?” Then Samael took a step back, “Now I’m going to ask you once more. Tell me who told you to bar me from this club.” Samael had to know the answer. He had to find out who it was that did this. Did they know what he was? Who he was? What he did? He must find out! He put everything he had into the telepathic command to force the man to do it.

The man seemed confused about what Samael was doing, and more than a little scared for all that he was a big strong man. “I… He’ll kill me if I tell you! I can’t!”

Samael stared at the man quietly with his dark eyes for a good long while. Why was it all his commands worked on this man, but for some reason this man would not answer it. Was it because there was something stopping him? Was it his fear? Or… was it another telepath?

Samael had other ways of making people talk, however. He stared at the man’s bare chest and defined muscles and then scowled. The rosary lifted itself into the air again and last out towards the man, this time across his chest several times. Several shallow wounds opened up, bleeding s lowly as the man cried out – though he cried out softly as was still commanded to be quiet. The rosary flew a gain, the sharp corners of the cross drawing a line of blood from between the man’s pecs down his abs, and then in a criss cross paterrn again.

“Tell me!” Samael said, “Tell me who is controlling you!”

The man struggled against the Telekinesis holding him in place, “I can’t! I’m… I’m trying! I can’t!” The man was almost blubbering now. Samael stopped for a moment, the rosary idly hanging in mid-air.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Samael asked.

“I… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s going on. His name… is… Argh I can’t!” The man cried out in pain again and his head hung down, breathing fast and starting to sweat, “Please… please don’t kill me. He’ll kill me too. I don’t want to die!”

Samael almost sneered. Pathetic sinners always wanted to repent and beg when confronted with actually going to hell. But this man had information he needed. Information he had to have. How did he get it? It was times like this Samael that Samael wished he had honed his telepathic powers into further abilities. He growled half to himself and moved towards the man, putting a splayed hand against the side of his face, “TELL ME!”

The man struggled some more, eyes tearing up s lightly, “I can’t! I just can’t. It won’t let me!”

Samael wanted to know the answer so bad. He felt his power building building building building until finally in one giant yet silent roar it all rushed out of him and into the man’s head. Suddenly, everything was open to h im. Th e man didn’t have to say a thing, Samael could see it all! There were the man’s frantic thoughts – the fear flowing through him, the excitement at having a handsome younger man tie him up (Samael sneered at that one), but…. Ahh yes, there it was. Right there. Samael could see it, like a bit of lint on a collar. A name. Samael metaphorically picked it up and dusted it off and examined it.

“Montgomery Harrison?” Samael asked, then it came to him, “Ahh.. there’s the rest of it.” Then Samael barked a laugh, “He goes by The Masked Shadow? Are you serious? How stereotypical. Does he wear all black too?” Then again, who was he kidding, he was in the middle of a goth club.

The man started to blubber and freak out, “No! Yes! I mean! I didn’t tell you! How! What!” Then t he words just kind of trailed off into gibberish that made no sense at all.

Samael kind of stared at the guy with a raised eyebrow as he took a step back, and the dude just kept kind of blubbering, like he was broken inside. That was unusual, Samael thought. Perhaps a byproduct of him bypassing whatever blocks had been in place? Well this certainly complicated things. Maybe he could fix it, but first he needed more info. Samael focused his eyes on the man and delved into his mind once more with his new power, sifting through memories with ease now, picking up on su rface thoughts. Now he knew exactly where to find this Masked Shadow, and that yes indeed the man appeared to be a telepath, weak but specialized so Samael would have to be careful for sure.

But now what to do with this man? Samael continued sifting through memories. The guy wasn’t really so bad, more of a product of his environment. Sins that could be forgiven for the most part, if he repented. Sam could help with that for sure. But he was… broken. Samael ‘felt’ the guy’s memories, his personality, and he took hold of it mentally. He pushed on it, pulled on it, yanked it here, molded it there and eventually he found himself building almost something new. The man, Rick Samael fo und his name was, was fundamentally changed, just reading the surface thoughts and Samael knew he had succeeded.

He gently let the man down from the wall, and Rick winced slightly since he was still hurt, but he gazed at Samael longingly, “I’m so sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done.” Then Rick kneeled, “Forgive me? Please? I will do better, I promise!”

Samael put a hand on the man’s head, almost stroking his hair. Then he handed him the rosary he had used to cause the damage early, “Say Hail Mary’s for one hour, and then fix your cl ub, and your employees. Do it right, atone for your sins. I will be back soon to check your progress, and I do not wish to be disappointed, do you understand?”

The man nodded rapidly, leaning forward and hugging Samael’s legs like they were his last hope, “I promise!” the man said, “I promise, I’ll swear over a new leaf! I’ll do better.”

Samael rolled his eyes. Overly enthusiastic. Maybe he hadn’t quite adjusted things right, the power was still new and obviously a little bit… odd. He’d have to work on it. He disentangled himself from Rick and stepped away, “I’ll be watching.” And he then turned and exited the office, a new rosary wound aro und his hand as he quietly hummed to himself and made his way out of the bar, through the crowds of patrons and onto the street.

Samael had a new target now, and he needed to find out what this other man knew of him. It wasn’t that he had been barred from a bar, it was that someone might know what he was. And he had to find out what they wanted, why they did it, and exactly what they knew, for his own protection. He had a mission, and he couldn’t allow anyone to interfere.

Why were the wicked always so dumb? Well, not all of t hem were dumb. No, there were a few that stood out, a few that managed to escape his clutches. Samael grimaced in his seat, glancing out the window as he reflected on them as his hands gripped the rosary in his jacket pocket hard enough to create indentations in the skin. But one day he would catch them. His powers continued to grow, his full potential unknown, and when he got strong enough… the wicked would pay.

Then, the drive was pulling the cab to the side of the road and Samael blinked, having lost track of the time.

“That’ll be $25.83 mister,” the driver said and Samael just stared back at him.

“For that quick a drive? Tell me the real price,” Samael said, glancing towards the meter which appeared more than a little rundown and wasn’t even displaying a figure at the moment.

“It is the real price!” the man insisted in his thick accent. The man even managed to look offended.

“No,” Samael said, his voice darkening somewhat, “Tell me the real price.” His voice was lower, and it rang with an unseen and truly even unheard power, reverberating in the driver’s head.

“The real price is $14 dollars and 12 cents,” the cabbie said, almost in a daze. The cabbie recovered quickly like it was all perfectly natural and waited for payment.

Samael just sneered slightly and pulled a ten and a five out of his pocket, tossing them at the man, “You’re lucky you get anything at all. Get your f ucking meter fixed.” The last part held another unspoken command, and Samael knew the guy would. A minor sin. A correctable one. If it wasn’t… he’d take further action again soon that was for sure. The man was probably a heathen anyways, Muslim or Hindu. Disgusting.

But Samael caught himself, shaking his head slightly as he left the vehicle. Even those who worshipped the wrong God could be saved. They often didn’t truly choose to do so, but ended up doing so because they lived in a place where they had to, they simply hadn’t been opened to the real Light. Many of them never would, but perhaps even Samael’s God would accept them, if when their souls passed on they had no sin in their hearts. For all t hat he was a Wrathful God, he was also a forgiving one.

Samael glanced around. He was downtown now, or at least fairly close to the lower east side, not too far from Chinatown. The cl ub he was heading for was just across the street and Samael strode confidently towards it. There was already a long lineup, but he walked right past it and up to the doormen which he had seen many times. As he approached, the bigger doorman held up a hand.

“The boss says you ain’t allowed in no more,” the man said. The man next to him nodded his agreement.

This caught Samael a little off guard, since he hadn’t actually met this club owner. Why would he be barred. He’d been here a few times before, and taken care of some sinners, but alway in a… proper way, with no witnesses and no trouble for the club. What was going on here?

Samael glared at them both for a moment, and then smiled, “No, boys, don’t you remember? He said it was all a misunderstanding and you can let me in.”

Both men just nodded. “Right, we can let you in,” the big one said.

“Now, tell me where can I find your boss?” Samael asked, his voice light. It so unded like a question, but it was a command the two could not disobey.

“He usually sits in the back right, opposite the DJ booth,” the smaller one said.

Samael just nodded, clapping both of them on their respective sh oulders and heading on inside. The two doormen who had just been hoodwinked smiled at him like an old friend and turned to the next people in line. Samael could just hear them talking “You think you can get in here looking like that?” as he stepped into the loud goth club.

He looked around, squinting slightly. The place was somehow both dark and more than a little overly bright, all at the same time – as was rather typical in settings like this. Darkness punctuated by strobe lights, sometimes black lights. People dancing, lots of black and chrome and some red and some white here and there. People looking like vampires, people looking like 80s rock stars, people looking like catholic priests. You name it and it could be found at a place like this. That went for types of people as well as types of substances. The very thought of it made Samael snear. Drugs were for the weakest of the wicked.

Samael took his time stalking his target, slowly pressing through the mass of bodies on his way towards the part of the room that the doormen had indicated. He could see a corner booth there, occupied by four individuals. The room was dark and somewhat smokey. No smoking was allowed in new York clubs, yet some of them allowed it anyways it seemed and never got caught, or they paid their fines and more than made up the revenue through increased prices and clientele. After all, what is a goth without their loathsome disgusting cigarettes?

Eventually he made his way up to the table and all four men turned to stare at him. The one closest to the edge, a thin looking man with shoulder length stringy black hair and dressed in something that looked like some kind of laughable priestly dress, sneered at Samael, “Bugger off. This is a private table.”

Samael just ignored him and stared at the table, “Which one of you is known as Mr. Small?”

The man on the end who had spoken before stood up, trying to look intimidating but Samael just found it laughable. “I said to bugger off!”

But another man at the table, a handsome looking man who seemed slightly out of place with his strong jaw, broad shoulders, muscles, bit of scruff and simple black tshirt with matching jeans, spoke up, “Settle down. This should be good.” The man looked to Samael, “I’m Mr. Small.” The guy stared at him good and hard, “And I am surprised to see you here. I might need to new bouncers.”

Samael raised an eyebrow, having taken the man for muscle rather than Mr. Small. He then glanced briefly towards the other three, “Get out of here and give me some alone time with your boss.” All three men didn’t even hesitate, they just got up and left and Samael slid into the vacate spot across from Mr. Small.

“We have a lot to talk about it seems,” Samael said.

“Indeed we do,” the man responded in his low voice, staring across at Samael a little oddly, “My boss said you weren’t welcome here any longer, and I told my guys to keep you out. And yet here you are.”

Samael nodded slightly, “You’ll find it isn’t that easy to keep me out of places I want to go. Did your boss tell you why? Or were you too scared to ask? I can’t picture a big boy like you taking orders like that too easy.”

The guy smirked, “Watch it or I’ll show you just how big I am. Everybody takes orders from my boss, and it wasn’t too smart of you coming back here.”

“Not everybody,” was the response from Samael, “I only take my orders from one.” A brief glance towards the heavens and he looked back at the man. “Why did your boss tell you why I’m no longer allowed here?”

The man just smiled thinly, “I think I’ve been plenty patient with you, and it is time for you to leave.”

Samael shook his head, “No, I don’t think so. Now – tell me why I he said such things.” There was power behind those words.

The boss man bit his lips and opened his mouth to talk, then stopped, then started, then stopped again, then started again… then after a brief pause he shook his head, “I can’t talk about that.” The voice was almost harsh.

Samael was somewhat surprised by the lack of an answer. This guy didn’t seem… particularly strong willed. Why hadn’t it worked? Was he protected by something? There were other ways…

His eyes narrowed and he stared across the table, “Take us somewhere we can have a nice chat where nobody else can hear or see us. There’s a place like that here, ri ght?” This time the command stuck and the man nodded, “Sure. Why don’t we go somewhere nice and quiet where we can chat?”

Samael smirked and nodded, “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

The other man slid out of the booth and moved towards the back of the club and Samael followed. As they approached a small door that was black and almost hidden into the wall, the man nodded to the guard who moved out of the way and let them in. Behind it was a longish hallway with several doors off it and the man led them down towards the very end of it, opening a sturdy looking door and revealing a well appointed office.

As Samael passed through the doorway, he noted that the doorway and door itself were both a little on the thick side, and the room seemed to be secluded, possibly soundproof. Good. It would serve his purpose well.

The man closed the door behind him and then moved to take a seat behind the desk. The man never made it that far, though. Instead, he was f lung back first into the wall, spread eagled and held there. The man gasped and started to cry out, but with a slight gesture from Samael the man’s mouth cl icked shut with an audible sound of teeth closing.

“Nono, my little sinner. Y ou will not cry out for help, do you understand?” Samael said.

The man just nodded, “Yes. I will not cry out for help.” Then his eyes went really wide as he fought against the compulsion. He was a strong one. “Why… why are you doing this? How are you doing this? Why can’t I… I should call for help. But.. no. I shouldn’t. Why is this so confusing!?”

Samael chuckled, sometimes being a telepath was ever so useful. Telekinetic too. The man tried to pull himself away from the wall, but with the amount of pressure coming on him it felt like he was trying to lift a small car. “Tsk tsk,” Samael said, “You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve told me what I wanted to know.”

“Now,” he said, coming over and taking a seat on the desk. As he sat down, he pulled his rosary from his pocket, idly feeling the beads as he stared at the man, “Tell me who your boss is, and why he wants me out of his club.”

The man just glared at him, “What are you? A mutant? Get out of my office!”

Samael just smirked, “No, I’m no mutant. But I am… different. Got a problem with that?”

The man sneered, “I knew there had to be something wrong with you. You were too perfect, in here once a week, people fawning over you, and you taking them home. What were you doing to them, mutie?”

Samael almost snarled, “I said I’m not a mutant! And y ou’re a moron. I never took them home. I… punished them. They were wicked, and they needed to be taught a lesson.”

The man went kind of wide eyed, “You… what?”

“I taught them a lesson,” Samael replied, “Some of them needed their souls released. Others simply needed to repent. Others still needed to go to the police to serve their sentence. All of them were sinners, and I am their judge. I am your judge.”

The man struggled again to get free, one hand managing to pull itself away from the wall before the force once again slammed it back down. Samael just stared at him a few long moments. “You will confess your sins,” he stated simply.

“Wh-… what?”

“Confess your sins,” Samael repeated, wit h more force behind it.

The man stared blankly for a few moments, “I sometimes steal tips. I accept sexual favors in exchange for raises or drugs. I like to fuck boys and girls who are barely legal – and I don’t always check their age. I launder money. I-.. I..”

A mental slap caused the man’s head to turn to the side, cheek turning red. “Tell me the worst of them. What are your worst sins? Tell me.”

The man hung his head, “I don’t know… I… The worst one is knowing what he does. But I don’t stop it because the pay is good, and because I’m too scared. Please. Stop! I don’t know why I’m telling you all t his.”

“That’s better,” Samael said, walking towards the man. The rosary in his hands suddenly lifted itself and flew out, striking the man across the face, causing just a slight scratch but also some rather red marks to show. The man cried out and Samael held up a finger to his lips, “Sshhhh shhh shhh quiet now. No more sounds over a nice talking voice, alright?”

Samael reached out to the trapped man and ripped his shirt open, pushing it down from the man’s shoulders to fully reveal the guy’s chest. “Mymy, you do take care of yourself,” he said, “Is Vanity another sin of yours?” Then Samael took a step back, “Now I’m going to ask you once more. Tell me who told you to bar me from this club.” Samael had to know the answer. He had to find out who it was that did this. Did they know what he was? Who he was? What he did? He must find out! He put everything he had into the telepathic command to force the man to do it.

The man seemed confused about what Samael was doing, and more than a little scared for all that he was a big strong man. “I… He’ll kill me if I tell you! I can’t!”

Samael stared at the man quietly with his dark eyes for a good long while. Why was it all his commands worked on this man, but for some reason this man would not answer it. Was it because there was something stopping him? Was it his fear? Or… was it another telepath?

Samael had other ways of making people talk, however. He stared at the man’s bare chest and defined muscles and then scowled. The rosary lifted itself into the air again and last out towards the man, this time across his chest several times. Several shallow wounds opened up, bleeding s lowly as the man cried out – though he cried out softly as was still commanded to be quiet. The rosary flew a gain, the sharp corners of the cross drawing a line of blood from between the man’s pecs down his abs, and then in a criss cross paterrn again.

“Tell me!” Samael said, “Tell me who is controlling you!”

The man struggled against the Telekinesis holding him in place, “I can’t! I’m… I’m trying! I can’t!” The man was almost blubbering now. Samael stopped for a moment, the rosary idly hanging in mid-air.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Samael asked.

“I… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s going on. His name… is… Argh I can’t!” The man cried out in pain again and his head hung down, breathing fast and starting to sweat, “Please… please don’t kill me. He’ll kill me too. I don’t want to die!”

Samael almost sneered. Pathetic sinners always wanted to repent and beg when confronted with actually going to hell. But this man had information he needed. Information he had to have. How did he get it? It was times like this Samael that Samael wished he had honed his telepathic powers into further abilities. He growled half to himself and moved towards the man, putting a splayed hand against the side of his face, “TELL ME!”

The man struggled some more, eyes tearing up s lightly, “I can’t! I just can’t. It won’t let me!”

Samael wanted to know the answer so bad. He felt his power building building building building until finally in one giant yet silent roar it all rushed out of him and into the man’s head. Suddenly, everything was open to h im. Th e man didn’t have to say a thing, Samael could see it all! There were the man’s frantic thoughts – the fear flowing through him, the excitement at having a handsome younger man tie him up (Samael sneered at that one), but…. Ahh yes, there it was. Right there. Samael could see it, like a bit of lint on a collar. A name. Samael metaphorically picked it up and dusted it off and examined it.

“Montgomery Harrison?” Samael asked, then it came to him, “Ahh.. there’s the rest of it.” Then Samael barked a laugh, “He goes by The Masked Shadow? Are you serious? How stereotypical. Does he wear all black too?” Then again, who was he kidding, he was in the middle of a goth club.

The man started to blubber and freak out, “No! Yes! I mean! I didn’t tell you! How! What!” Then t he words just kind of trailed off into gibberish that made no sense at all.

Samael kind of stared at the guy with a raised eyebrow as he took a step back, and the dude just kept kind of blubbering, like he was broken inside. That was unusual, Samael thought. Perhaps a byproduct of him bypassing whatever blocks had been in place? Well this certainly complicated things. Maybe he could fix it, but first he needed more info. Samael focused his eyes on the man and delved into his mind once more with his new power, sifting through memories with ease now, picking up on su rface thoughts. Now he knew exactly where to find this Masked Shadow, and that yes indeed the man appeared to be a telepath, weak but specialized so Samael would have to be careful for sure.

But now what to do with this man? Samael continued sifting through memories. The guy wasn’t really so bad, more of a product of his environment. Sins that could be forgiven for the most part, if he repented. Sam could help with that for sure. But he was… broken. Samael ‘felt’ the guy’s memories, his personality, and he took hold of it mentally. He pushed on it, pulled on it, yanked it here, molded it there and eventually he found himself building almost something new. The man, Rick Samael fo und his name was, was fundamentally changed, just reading the surface thoughts and Samael knew he had succeeded.

He gently let the man down from the wall, and Rick winced slightly since he was still hurt, but he gazed at Samael longingly, “I’m so sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done.” Then Rick kneeled, “Forgive me? Please? I will do better, I promise!”

Samael put a hand on the man’s head, almost stroking his hair. Then he handed him the rosary he had used to cause the damage early, “Say Hail Mary’s for one hour, and then fix your cl ub, and your employees. Do it right, atone for your sins. I will be back soon to check your progress, and I do not wish to be disappointed, do you understand?”

The man nodded rapidly, leaning forward and hugging Samael’s legs like they were his last hope, “I promise!” the man said, “I promise, I’ll swear over a new leaf! I’ll do better.”

Samael rolled his eyes. Overly enthusiastic. Maybe he hadn’t quite adjusted things right, the power was still new and obviously a little bit… odd. He’d have to work on it. He disentangled himself from Rick and stepped away, “I’ll be watching.” And he then turned and exited the office, a new rosary wound aro und his hand as he quietly hummed to himself and made his way out of the bar, through the crowds of patrons and onto the street.

Samael had a new target now, and he needed to find out what this other man knew of him. It wasn’t that he had been barred from a bar, it was that someone might know what he was. And he had to find out what they wanted, why they did it, and exactly what they knew, for his own protection. He had a mission, and he couldn’t allow anyone to interfere.

- 8137 words! More to come. 7700 of which = 11 new C abilities

Samael left the club and took a right, taking him away from the downtown core. His footsteps had a harsh sound to them, the sound of someone irritated. He could have just taken another cab home, but he wanted time to think and reflect. It was chilly and the sense of the holidays still was amongst the streets – lights and wreaths up outside of businesses and on the bushes and trees that adorned the lanes. Sometimes you could even catch a hint of holiday songs. What was wrong with these people? Christmas was long over and it was a terrible holiday anyways that had strayed so far from its proper Christian roots.

He walked slowly down the sidewalk, contemplating who this Masked Shadow was. Not only contemplating who he was but contemplating how stupid a name the ‘Masked Shadow’ was. Seriously? Masked Shadow? Did this guy think he was a super villain from some lame comic book or something? He wondered if the guy laughed maniacally every time he said something he thought was evil, all while wringing his hands together over and over and over again like some kind of idiot. Probably did.

Samael paused outside of the window of a club and peered inside curiously, eyes narrowed. Gluttonous sinners abounded inside. But really none of them were… really all that bad. At least they were enjoying themselves. He looked closer. Nope, no raping or murdering going on. Sins were forgivable, and Samael hoped all of these folks would be in church on Sunday to ask for it, the same way he did his own. Sometimes more potent prayers were in order, but not tonight. Definitely not tonight.

Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, Samael glanced behind himself briefly but saw nothing. He frowned slightly and continued on down the street vaguely in the direction of his apartment and taking his time to enjoy the cool night and reflect on things. However, as he walked, the sense of being watched happened twice more. His frowned deepened and but he maintained his steady pace. Eventually he saw a large cathedral up ahead, an old old old catholic church – well as old as anything was here in America. It had been in New York for a very, very long time. Samael turned into it, going up the heavy stone steps and to the door, which he gently pushed open.

Inside it was deathly quiet. There were a few candles burning, and a few indirect lights that kept the place well lit but far from bright. Samael glanced over the pews and saw no one else there at the time so he continued on forward to the front pew, where he knelt down and moved into a praying position. He closed his eyes and opened his senses as far as they would go.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by Thy Name,” he began quietly, his low voice though audible as he waited to see if he was followed, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” He felt the familiar peace flow through him, he always had – at least since he broke away from his mother’s crazed teachings when he was younger. He found his own way to God and ever since he did he felt a special connection, one he imagined was the same shared by the faithful Priests – not the sick ones – and the real ones. The Faithful. The ones who spread God’s word and wisdom and sometimes had to fight the fight with exorcisms (oh yes, they were real).

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he said, “and forgive us our tresprasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” He said the last bit just a little louder. There was… something odd prickling at the back of his mind, like… no not like he was being watched. It was like an awareness of the things around him. He could almost feel the pew in front of him, and the one in front of it. And he felt it when the door by the altar opened silently, and he felt it when the figure stepped through, not even making a whisper.

Slowly, Samael stood up, continuing his prayer in a more firm voice, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” And as he concluded the prayer he looked up, eyes going right to…. Well.. right to where he thought the figure would be. He could feel the guy there, still walking, but he couldn’t see him. Invisibility of some sort? Something else? What was it? Samael stared hard but still he couldn’t see anything. As he stared at the spot, the sensation of movement stopped as well, but he could still.. feel… an outline of a man. “Who goes there?” he called out, but only silence met his call. Samael looked around and saw a short candle near the altar. With barely a thought the candle flew towards where he felt the person and upended itself, flinging liquid wax. The wax seemed to splatter across a figure, a figure that faded into view a moment later.

The figure that seemed to simply fade into existence was dressed entirely in a dark grey that would blend in well with shadows, and had a small scarf covering everything of his face except for his eyes. The man was tall and leanly built. “It seems as if you are more clever than I was led to believe,” the man said, “How is it you saw me?”

Samael just smirked, almost slyly and walked towards the man, “Hail Mary, full of grace, our lord is w ith thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He began to circle the man as he talked and stuff.

The man just shook his head, “They said this would be easy, I guess they were right.” He slowly drew a long curved knife, “I hope you’ve made peace with your god.”

Samael continued, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.” As he continued talking, the man rushed at him with the knife, moving amazingly fast. But Samael was ready for him and as the man lunged, he was also thrown back and lifted into the air. “You dare bring your petty violence into the house of God?” The man hung there, suspended, though he recovered quickly and drew a pistol just as fast as he’d drawn the knife.

Samael was ready for that though, and the magazine dropped out of it, floating in mid air beside him. The magazine started to spit out the bullets one by one, each one falling to the floor with a little ring a ting ting ting ting tang lang wang type sound and stuff.

The man struggled in mid air, but he had nothing else left to do. He pulled a small throwing knife and hurled it at Samael who didn’t even have to consciously deflect it, it just flew off into a corner of the church.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Samael said, “You’ve made quite the mistake. Now won’t you tell me who sent you?”

“I don’t know!” The man cried out, still twisting in the air and trying to escape, “I don’t work like that. Everything is anonymous, all the way down to the wire transfers.”

Samael shook his head, “So a professional assassin? For me…? Am I in a movie?” He gave a small laugh, “Pathetic.”

The man seemed to be getting more and more nervous, “Put me down!” And he put on quite a show as he tried to free himself from the invisible force. Meanwhile Samael stared at him and delved deep into his mind, frowning at what he saw. Indeed the man was a professional killer – a low class one that usually preyed on normal people, but he’d killed many in his time.

Samael shook his head, “You have a lot of sins to atone for.” With that, the man was thrown into the wall and held there. Piece of the pew broke free and sped towards him, impaling his hands and feet like a crucifixion. “The police will find you here soon,” he said, “You will confess your killings to them. You will never mention me,” Samael said, shoving the thoughts into the man’s head as the guy hung there, bleeding.

Samael stared up at him. “Amen,” he said and turned to walk out. A few blocks later he used one of the few remaining public pay phones to call the police and let them know the guy was there.

Samael shook his head and continued walking towards him, a little bounce in his steps as he did so and he even started humming, and then eventually sang softly under his breath. “The first Noel the angel did say Was to certain poor shepards in fields as they lay: In fields where they lay a keeping their sheep On a cold winter's night that was so deep. Noel Noel Noel Noel Born is the King of Israel. They looked up and saw a star Shining in the east beyond them far: And to the earth it gave great light And so it continued both day and night. Noel Noel Noel Noel
Born is the King of Israel. And by the light of that same star Three wise men came from the country far; To seek for a King was their intent, And to follow the star wherever it went.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel. This star drew nigh to the north-west;
O'er Bethlehem it took it's rest, And there it did both stop and stay, Right over the place where Jesus lay. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel. Then entered in those wise men three, Fell reverently upon their knee, And offered there in his presence Their gold and myrrh and frankincense. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the kind of Israel. Then let us all with one accord Sing praises to our heavenly Lord, That hath made heaven and earth of nought, And with his blood mankind has bought. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel, Born is the King of Israel.”

It always made him feel better to sing the truly religious holiday songs. Christmas had become far to secular for his tastes. The spirit of Christ went with the spirit of giving, but it had turned into the spirit of consumerism or just making each other feel good for no reason.

He pulled his jacket a little tighter around him and frowned, still not having many leads to go on and now wondering whether or not he should really head back to his apartment or not. Was he being followed? He glanced around surreptitiously and didn’t think he was, and he reached out with his powers and couldn’t really see anyone. He decided to chance it and continued his walk home. The ground was almost crunchy under his feet with the cold frost that was starting to form as the night got later, and the walk took him into the wee hours of the morning. By the time he made it to his block his breath was causing large cl ouds of steam to rise from his mouth every time he exhaled and he was looking forward to getting inside and into his warm bed more than a little bit.

Still though, he wanted to be cautious. Samael walked slowly down the block, choosing to go past the entrance to his apartments. Then he continued walking another block down and hung a left. Halfway down that block he stopped and knelt to tie his shoes – and take a look behind him – and noticed nothing. He was feeling pretty confident he wasn’t followed, but he still ended up walking an extra four blocks to be sure before heading back to his place and slipping inside. He made his way up the creaky stairs that was only half lit and then to his apartment door.

He put a hand against it and there was the soft sound of several locks coming undone as he undid the 5 deadbolts, door bar, and chain that kept it shut. The door was actually reinforced, along with the windows in the place, and they were all always locked from the inside – locked via telepathy when he left. There was also tape applied that would break if they were opened other ways. It was a rather ingenious system, at least he thought so. It wouldn’t keep out people who were really determined, but it was also difficult for anyone to get in without him at least knowing they had gotten in.

Everything checked out tonight, though, so he slipped in the door and it automatically closed and locked behind him with just a stray thought. Moving to the couch, he flopped down and propped his feet up. The TV then popped itself on and started flipping through the channels – now, Samael had no way of interfacing with machines, but pressing buttons was quite easy!

He flipped through the channels, pausing briefly on the news. The news about his attacker was already there and the reporters were going on about how some man had been crucified in a church, a subject who when the paramedics arrived immediately began confessing sins that he had murdered many men, a professional killer. The police tried to keep things quiet, but the media had already heard and were running wild with it. How did the man get up there? Who crucified him? Why was he confessing? Would the church ever be the same? So many stupid questions. Samael laughed and flipped the channel to something else.

An old episode of Buffy the Vampire slayer came on and it was just getting started. Samael had seen it before and it was one of his favorite episodes, though he’d never – ever – admit that to anybody. It started out immediately with all of the singing and yammering, and Samael might have even hummed along slightly. He chuckled slightly and wondered darkly if any such demons actually existed, ones that could turn an entire town into such a state where the only way to communicate was by song- and apparently by dance as well, at least it seemed to be included sometimes. Xander and Arya’s song was amusing, and seemed to fit many relationships well – not that Samael was particularly an expert there. In fact, he’d never actually had a relationship (or relations) of any sort. It wasn’t really befitting a man of God and while he had never taken a vow on it, he still felt it was the right thing to do. The episode continued with more relationship troubles, crazy dancing demons, fear of bunnies, and annoying little sisters – Samael wished he had a little sister of brother, but then again he was happy no one ever had to go through the torment of being raised by his mother again. In the end, it all came down to a dance off which Buffy wins of course – though not until bringing up a very interesting point about her resurrection. Even Buffy believed in Heaven, because she had been there, and her friends had ripped her back to Earth. On one hand, she h ad the ability to continue doing good, which was great, but on the other hand she had made the ultimate sacrifice and was now forced to do it all over again – and Samael couldn’t even imagine what leaving heaven must have felt like.

An old episode of Buffy the Vampire slayer came on and it was just getting started. Samael had seen it before and it was one of his favorite episodes, though he’d never – ever – admit that to anybody. It started out immediately with all of the singing and yammering, and Samael might have even hummed along slightly. He chuckled slightly and wondered darkly if any such demons actually existed, ones that could turn an entire town into such a state where the only way to communicate was by song- and apparently by dance as well, at least it seemed to be included sometimes. Xander and Arya’s song was amusing, and seemed to fit many relationships well – not that Samael was particularly an expert there. In fact, he’d never actually had a relationship (or relations) of any sort. It wasn’t really befitting a man of God and while he had never taken a vow on it, he still felt it was the right thing to do. The episode continued with more relationship troubles, crazy dancing demons, fear of bunnies, and annoying little sisters – Samael wished he had a little sister of brother, but then again he was happy no one ever had to go through the torment of being raised by his mother again. In the end, it all came down to a dance off which Buffy wins of course – though not until bringing up a very interesting point about her resurrection. Even Buffy believed in Heaven, because she had been there, and her friends had ripped her back to Earth. On one hand, she had the ability to continue doing good, which was great, but on the other hand she had made the ultimate sacrifice and was now forced to do it all over again. Samael couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like after having tasted God’s warm, tender caress.

He sighed as the show ended and realized that dawn would be approaching soon. He had become such a night owl since he had started his crusades. The night was the place of the wicked and the sinners, and so he made the night his own so he could seek them out on their own territory and deal with them appropriately. He didn’t truly mind it. It let him see some beautiful sights – which reminded him.

Moving over to the window, all 4 locks and the bar on it came undone and it opened just as Samael got to it. The wind blew in and he drew his jacket tighter around him as he ducked out the window onto the fire escape. He glanced around and then with almost a sort of jump, he flew up the 15 feet to the roof. It was still chilly, and the first pink and orange slivers of the rising sun were just starting to show themselves. Samael always liked to think of it as the light chasing away the darkness after he had done the same during the evening, he and the sun both doing God’s work.

He moved to sit on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the side as the sun made its creeping arrival. It was still out of sight but the sky grew ever more pink. Samael took a deep breath, feeling relaxation fill him along with the chilly night air. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a light fog of air leaving his nostrils like he was some sort of dragon. For a moment, Samael pondered if any dragons actually existed. After all, anything was possible now. Dragons? Unicorns? Why not? He was a half demon. He’d seen magic, mutants, accidents, crazed beings from other worlds… Why not a dragon?

Hell, Samael was fairly sure there were people who could probably turn into dragons. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see? He smiled to himself and felt him self relax more as the very tiniest portion of the sun became visible on the horizon. He closed his eyes and just felt the sun starting to warm what little skin he had exposed, turning his attention inward and just… feeling. That’s when he, well, felt it. He instinctively knew that behind him… was a pigeon. It was walking along, looking for food. He could feel it almost like he was staring at it but this was different. As he concentrated he received so much information that it was almost painful. He could feel everything around him. The wall, the rocks, the latter and fire escape, the windows below, the railing, his shoelaces. Everything. It was like he was lightly touching everything at once. It was amazing and almost terrifying the amount of information he was receiving, almost impossible to deal with. But after a few long moments, everything seemed to settle down just a bit, enough that he could concentrate more easily. It was… amazing to say the least, and would be immensely useful. Gazing forward, he attempted to grab the pigeon that was ten feet behind him with his Telekinesis – it was easy and the pigeon squawked twice and then Samael let it go. This would be… immensely useful. Beyond useful. He could watch his own back now, which had always been one of his weak points. He stood up, lifting himself fluidly to his feet and balanced on the edge of the building with some help from his telekinesis. He felt triumphant. Finally, his powers were starting to grow. He had wondered if they ever would, as they had been mostly the same for so long. But that was twice in one evening that they had broken through their previous barriers. It was amazing! He gave a whoop of delight and jumped off the edge of th building, landing on the fire escape and then slipping into his apartment.

Samael was pretty sure there were people who could probably turn into dragons. That would definitely be a sight to behold. He smiled to himself and felt himself relax more as the very tiniest portion of the sun became visible on the horizon. He closed his eyes and just felt the sun starting to warm what little skin he had exposed, turning his attention inward and just… feeling. That’s when he, felt it. He instinctively knew, somehow, that behind him was a pigeon. Yes, a pigeon. It was walking along, looking for food. He could feel it almost like he was staring at it but this was different. As he concentrated he received so much information that it was almost painful. He could feel everything around him. The wall, the rocks, the latter and fire escape, the windows below, the railing, his shoelaces. Everything. It was like he was lightly touching everything at once. It was amazing and almost terrifying the amount of information he was receiving, almost impossible to deal with. But after a few long moments, everything seemed to settle down just a bit, enough that he could concentrate more easily. It was… amazing to say the least, and would be immensely useful. Gazing forward, he attempted to grab the pigeon that was ten feet behind him with his Telekinesis – it was easy and the pigeon squawked twice and then Samael let it go. This would be… immensely useful. Beyond useful. He could watch his own back now, which had always been one of his weak points. He stood up, lifting himself fluidly to his feet and balanced on the edge of the building with some help from his telekinesis. He felt triumphant. Finally, his powers were starting to grow. He had wondered if they ever would, as they had been mostly the same for so long. But that was twice in one evening that they had broken through their previous barriers. It was amazing! He gave a whoop of delight and jumped off the edge of the building, landing on the fire escape and then slipping into his apartment.

Once inside, he – again – made sure everything was secure, doublechecking things as he always did. Then one by one he turned the lights and television off and stripped down to nothing before slipping into his bed just as the sun finished rising.

Closing his eyes, Samael quietly said his prayers.

“Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see; O Thou who changest not, abide with me. Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word; But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord, Familiar, condescending, patient, free. Come not to sojourn, but abide with me. Come not in terrors, as the King of kings, But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings, Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea, Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me. Thou on my head in early youth didst smile; And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee, On to the close, O Lord, abide with me. I need Thy presence every passing hour. What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.


It wasn’t truly a prayer and in fact was a wrong written a century and a half before, but Samael was someone who went half with feelings, and half with procedure, and his prayers followed the same – at times he prayed freely from his heart, and at other times he said the proper prayers as had been done for millennia.

“And now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, Thy angels watch me through the night, And keep me safe 'til morning Light” he intoned quietly eyes closed. “Teach me to always say what's true. Be willing in each task I do. Help me to be good each day, and lead me in thy holy way,” he continued with the prayer, feeling his faith grow stronger and his eyes opened, staring blankly in front of him. “I pray whatever wrongs I've done, You will forgive me every one. Be near me when I wake again, and Bless all of those I love. Amen,” he concluded with a slight sigh.

Samael closed his eyes as he finished, indeed praying he would be forgiven for the things he did in the Lord’s name and forgiven for the evil blood within him. Forgiven for his lack of love for his departed mother. Heaven would be his salvation some day, and Samael looked forward to his arrival there. When sleep finally claimed him, he went peacefully with it to a night free of nightmares, free of dreams.

-

Samael awoke in the middle of the afternoon, eyes slowly opening from his position on his back, covers still almost perfectly in place. He rarely was the type to toss and turn during the night – at least wh en there were no nightmares. He slipped out of bed and strode naked into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before turning to the bedroom where he made his bed with perfect tight little corners.

Going through his ‘morning’ routine, he reflected on the things he had learned last night. Not just about his new powers but also about the man who had barred him from the cl ub. He had an idea of where to find this man now but still had no clues about why he was banned. He assumed there was some sort of rivalry. Maybe the man had figured out what Samael was and didn’t want anyone else like him in his club? That would explain the blocks put in place on the club manager’s mind at least, though he wasn’t sure why the man hadn’t confronted him directly. After all, surely the man would know that a couple guards wouldn’t keep Samael out and in fact would raise his suspicion and interest. So why do it at all?

- 4705 words pending a couple copy/paste errors I gotta fix