• The wind blew mercilessly against the hallowed steeples of Notre Dame, as the rain laughed in the face of the mortals who dared to defy its endless power. A lone figure stood silently on the edge of a turret, so silent and still that the only proof he wasn’t a gargoyle was the wind tugging at his long grey cloak and travel-worn hat. The man chuckled to himself softly, it’s 1850 already, and it’s hard to believe I’ve roamed this same world for nearly three hundred years. As the man stood there contemplating his next move, the fiend he sought made his presence clear with a shattering screech as he leaped at the figure. The man just smiled as he unsheathed his long black sword. His prey was cornered, the battle was on.

    It was the darkness of early morning in the sleepy town of Paris, but an eerie mist made it hard to tell. Rain dashed against the windows, the droplets playing a dark but beautiful melody. A man who appeared no older then twenty-five rolled out of bed. He had fair skin, a thin but muscular body, jet-black hair and the most peculiar feature of all, eyes a shade of teal, with a hint of silver glimmering in their deep recess. The man stretched, yawned, then proceeded to make himself a delightful breakfast of eggs and buttered bread. This was the man’s typical life, a facade that almost made him feel like a normal human being. His name was Dante, and he was a hunter. Once an angel in the service of God, he was cursed with the gift of eternal life on Earth after his betrayal of his master, Dante was a renegade, trying to make the best of a bleak existence in a world that was always changing and had forgetten the ways of old. He flipped open the daily newspaper, the usual headlines were there, so and so was arrested, work continued on the newly planned Eiffel Tower. One event in particular caught his eye, however. The Angers Bridge had collapsed, killing over 200 of France’s soldiers. The reports had claimed it was rusty supports, but Dante could tell something was off about this collapse. Not able to put his finger on it, he simply put it out of his mind as a mere coincidence thinking, if I followed every little detail that looked fishy in the last 300 years I would be all over the place. Instead, he grabbed his cloak and hat and headed into the bustling town, expecting to see the same sight he did every morning, a sleepy street off the main roads, with the fast paced part of the city several streets away.

    The instant the door opened, Dante knew something was wrong. The sky was filled with ash, and the sharp taste of smoke was in the air. Where there had been the house of a local priest hours before now held an unearthly fire. As he started toward the building he heard an ear-piercing scream and saw the culprit of the fire rising from the ashes and embers. It was no arsonist, or madmen, it was a creature from the depths of Hell. Its shape was that of a man, but instead of skin, the creature had black scales that glistened like ebony in the flames. In its hands it held the priest as his last breath flowed out, the once kind eyes as dead as the ashes around him. The fiend, its work done, dropped the body and vanished into an alley, heading for the church Notre Dame. Dante rushed into his house and retrieved his most valuable possession, a blackened sword crafted by the angels with metal from the depths of Hell. This he strapped onto his waist as he flew out the door into the pouring rain, thinking. This could be my chance, perhaps if I destroy this fiend; I will finally be able to rest.

    As Dante walked into the church, he saw the fleeing shadow dash up the staircase. He didn’t bother yelling for the fiend to stop, as he knew it would get him nowhere. He dashed across the room and up the stairs until he reached the roof, following the sulfurous scent of the fiend. The rain battered against the roof, as Dante stepped out onto it. As he glanced at the drenched city below, he felt the presence. The fiend was right behind him, its deadly claws milliseconds away from piercing the hunter’s throat. Dante just smiled as he drew his blade and jumped effortlessly over the swipe of the fiend. It came at him again, screeching an unearthly battle cry rife with hatred. In a single fleeting moment, Dante brought his sword up and through his foe, its sharpened blade slicing through the flesh and scales, into its blackened soul. The fiend collapsed into ashes, wailing a cry of anguish and resentment.

    Dante sheathed his sword and stood, watching the serene town below him, a satisfied look on his face. He looked to the clouds, waiting for a response from the God who’d abandoned him. As he watched, the rain turned to snow, falling softly on the silent city. Looking down on the flakes dancing in the wind, flying towards their fate on earth, he understood. He wasn’t left for an eternity on the world as a punishment, but as his destiny. He sat on the edge of a turret, as the sun exploded over the horizon, coating the world in shades of pink and red. He looked into the dawn, and slowly whispered into the wind, “Thank you.”