"Long ago, before the beginning of history, there was a group of deities who ruled and directed the world. They had a collective father, who had created everything. They lived in peace among each other, calmly controlling the universe and its inhabitants. Of the deities that ruled, one of them was the youngest and envied power that they could not obtain. They gluttonously collected power, trying to abuse their will and strength. In their lust for control, they wrathfully killed their father, the creator of reality, committing the first act of murder, before severing the connection of the divine realm with the mortal realm, greedily wanting control of a reality that they had no part in creating. But, in their pride, they also found sloth. The power that they had used to commit these actions was not theirs either, and by committing these grave sins, they found themselves reduced to a spirit, merely roaming the world. Their actions had grave consequences, as, without the maintenance of the deities, the mortal realm fell into conflict, with creatures known as demons, conglomerations of disconnected angels, mortals, and all creatures of the world, spawned. The demons caused havoc in the universe, with an immortal war occurring, until the mortals found great strength.
Not of divinity nor of sin, they had found their own power, Mana. The capability to emulate the functions of gods, the function of creation. With this new light, they were able to banish the demons from their world and establish a new balance with them as the maintainers. Ever since then, so long ago, the mortals of the universe have lived in this new world, and they have been the sole caretakers of it. However, that balance is of their creation, and the mortal heart is not black and white. At any point, the balance could break forever...
"Ugh, stop yapping about the damn story and give us the cash!"
A group of young men, who were dressed in leather jackets and had a very over-the-top, violent appearance, stood in front of an old man with a long, winding beard, who had just finished telling the story that was spoken. They were in a store owned by the old man. The store had many handmade clothes in it, woven with magic in-between the threads.
"Isn't it only right if I get a bit of your time if you get a bit of my cash?"
The young man in the center, who seemed like the leader, yelled, "No, we're here for a protection fee! The boss wants the cash, not some old man's fantasy!"
The old man said, sighing, "Alright, you brats."
The old man would take some cash out of the counter in front of him and would politely give it to the young man. The young man took it and flipped through it, making sure that there was enough of it.
The old man turns away. "Make sure to tell your boss that, even if the old resident of this shack needed it, I don't need no protection." The young men began to walk out before the leader said, "Why should I?"
The old man smirked, "I just feel safe on my own."
One of the men said, "Crazed geezer. He'll get what's coming to him." As the young men came to the door of the apartment, the young man felt a gust of wind blow past him. He turned around to see a needle, mere centimeters from his face.
The old man said, "Oops, guess I dropped it."
The leader of the group said, "Y-You crazed coot! We'll be back later!"
The young men ran out of the house, while the old man laughed at the situation. As the young men ran out, a slightly less young man in a dark purple trench coat, with a similarly colored cabbie hat on, walked in. The man looked down the street at the group running away and facepalmed.
"You know, if you keep on scaring off people, this place won't do much good."
The old man walked to a desk near the counter and began working. "I'm just an old man, rambling on, not your issue, most certainly."
The man in the trench coat said, "Mhm, an old man trying to control his fate. By the way, why were you talking about that with them?"
The old man turned to the man, still continuing with his work, "That old tale? Meaningless, though, speaking of old tales—"
The man in the trench coat cut off the old man. "Can we just get to the part where we're being serious?"
The old man's face became colder. "I told them just to prepare myself. It was quite a shock for me, so it helps a bit to say it out loud, even if framed as a story, and a far abridged version at that. I mean, we all thought there was some kind of divine force above, but all of that... not even the ancient books going back to the very beginning of this country's, or even this continent's, history cover it."
The old man went back and opened a door behind the counter. "I assume you would like some privacy?"
The man in the trench coat moved forward. "Sounds great. Let's get started."
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"You what?!" Samuel yelled.
He hadn't been disappointed like this since... yesterday, but this was still disappointing. They were in the "Executive Suite" of a motel that he'd bought out and used as a base. It wasn't luxury, but it worked for what it needed to work for. It had his finest men in there, for safety, plus a desk with a chair that could be described as "not too shabby." Plus, far cheaper than a real base. Samuel led a fairly strong criminal organization. Ranging from hits to protection gigs, they had most things covered. Until recently...
"Yeah, that old man gave us the creeps... Maybe we shouldn't mess with him anymore..." whispered John, the leader of the small racketeering party that Samuel sent out to the surrounding neighborhoods to collect cash. He was young and not proven to any degree, but those kinds of people were cheap. Samuel liked cheap. What he didn't like was unnecessary criticism.
Samuel put his hand on John's shoulder, grabbing so hard it felt like knives in John's skin. "Let me make this clear, boy. You're gonna go back there tomorrow and cause some ruckus, you understand me? I don't pay for disappointments, nor do I pay for you to sit around."
As Samuel was grilling John, the door suddenly slammed open.
A new voice came from the door that said, "Not a particularly secretive place, with you being barely past the entrance to this... place."
What could only be hopefully described as a man walked into the room. Flanked by two heavily armed men, there was one in the center, with a helmet on, strongly resembling a crow's head. He had on a black lab coat that had been extended to the man's knees, with a purple hue around the edges of it. Under it was what seemed to be some kind of bulletproof vest, and he wore black khaki pants, no doubt with some sort of defensive spell or material woven into them. He had dark purple gloves on and seemingly had a black undershirt on, extending to the edge of his gloves. You couldn't see any of his skin directly, but some say that his skin is unnaturally dark, with an obsidian-like texture.
Samuel quickly lifted his hand from John, walking backwards with his hands up, "O-oh, hey, Doc!"
The Doctor quickly interrupted, "Refer to me as Doctor, or as The Doctor; either is fine."
Samuel said, "Y-yeah, Doctor! Why are you here?
The Doctor walked forward, "Just doing a bit of housekeeping, of course. I thought it might be nice to catch up!"
Samuel sighed, "Of course, yeah! So, what's been h-happening with you?"
The doctor leaned on the wall, with the two armed men beside him going to the front corners of the room, Samuel's men moving to the back in response. "I actually got a facility of mine raided. Of course, nothing particularly sensitive was stolen, because it was defended and disposed of, right?"
The Doctor got up and walked to Samuel. "Of course, that's not what happened. Nothing was disposed of, and the guards were captured, plus the angel, though I dare not call it that, was charred to a crisp. Would you know anything about it?"
Samuel muttered out, "O-of cour—"
The Doctor lunged at Samuel, slamming him to the wall. "Of course you would know about it! You're the loser who defended the place! How hard can it be to burn a building down!"
Samuel grasped at the Doctor's arm to no avail. "P-please, t-they were too fast..."
The Doctor spoke in a mocking voice, "Mhm, speed! Yeah, I'm so sorry for you! I actually feel so bad that I'll give you a deal!"
Samuel said, "R-really? What is it? What are the terms and conditions?"
The Doctor raised Samuel up, slamming his other arm through his chest.
"These are my terms and conditions."
The Doctor's arm started to pulse and reform, as if it was moving itself. Samuel's skin began to deform, becoming bent in inhuman ways, before, all at once, he seemed to explode, his body being so completely destroyed, all that was left was blood, bone dust, and barely visible chunks of organs."
One of Samuel's guards began to fire at The Doctor, but in a second, The Doctor's arm extended to grab the guard by the hand before throwing him through the wall that he formerly pinned Samuel to, breaking it open to a nearby room. The room housed a man eating his burger, who, at the sight of this, immediately ran out.
The Doctor turned back, his voice filled with rage, "Any other objections?"
Everyone in the room froze.
The Doctor said in a much happier tone, "Good! Now, any of you who worked under him, I have an opportunity for you! You can run outside and never return! Or, if you stay, I will assume that you want to be a test subject, and you know what that means!"
Everybody in the room was still frozen.
The Doctor continued, "Alright! Three, two, one!"
"Get going."