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Prologue

The sound of many men and women’s voices echo’s down the hall as they perform their daily chants and prayers. They come to this monastery to do this many live there; and are monks, others are just believers in what the monastery here offers, then there are some who just want some piece and quiet for a change of pace from their fast paced, hate filled city lives, if you really feel you can call that a life. There is one room however neither a monk nor a city dweller, nor even a believer always occupies.
It is a beautiful room; the ceilings are adorned with paintings and murals depicting savagery, hate and demonism. They are however striking in their own particularly morbid way. The room is scented of incense belonging to the temple and faintly of burning cigarette. On the walls the same depictions rest. The total scene seems to be a sort of end of the world. It is obvious the man who lives here is not a normal man if anything he is just a monster living in a man’s skin. Or at the very least he is a very disturbed individual. He lies there asleep dreaming the same dreams over and over again…

Chapter one:

Zaon lays there sleeping quietly, how he could we may never know if you could see into his dreams the same dreams he has every night you would probably cry out and run away in fright or disgust. Although he is a good man he is troubled by terrors in the night… or day whichever he decides to sleep during… He rolls over and wakes up his body cold. It is night outside but you can’t tell from this particular room the windows are blotted out by very dark stained glass depicting horrible scenes of decapitations and demons running rampant torturing people man and women alike, with out any form of mercy, or civility.
Zaon looks around first as he always does to determine if anyone or anything is there waiting for him to move. He then sits up out of the covers revealing his scarred chest and back, as well as the scars on his arms. Many looked like they might have threatened his life at one point or another others look like they were just deep enough to leave the scar. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and sits up for a minute felling his legs again waiting for them to be ready to take the pressure of his body putting all its weigh though not that much onto them at once.
He jumps up out of the bed and onto the floor with ease befitting his stature and build. He stands up strait all 5 feet 11 inches of him stretching. His muscles tense from the previous day’s activities, he stretches them out slowly by raising his arms high over his head and pushing back as hard as he can on his own power. The bones in his back and neck crack loudly as do his shoulders and knuckles. He stops and slouches putting his arms down by his sides and slouching his karate gi’s bottoms touching the floor.
He reaches next to his bed for his cigarettes and lighter he quickly finds them and lights one quickly and puts it to his lips the ember glowing brighter as he inhales lightly at first then deeply letting the smoke fill his lungs slowly. He looks around the room and an odd sort of smile appears on his face. He exhales also slowly enjoying the nicotine entering his system.
He looks at one particular part of the mural a two men standing in the middle of everything one good and dressed in black one evil and dressed in blood red. The evil man has a sword drawn and other hand holding the good mans head down while the hand that is clasping his sword remains high in the air ready to slice down severing the good mans head. The good man however has his own sword drawn and another sheathed at his side, as well as 3 handguns also strapped to his sides and back. The good man has his sword dragging against the ground by the looks of it and is creating sparks while the good mans other hand is holding a gun strait up and is pointing it at the evil mans chest where his heart would be.
Zaon stands up strait again taking another long drag off his cigarette and flicking the ashes into a golden chalice he uses as an ashtray. He looks into it and notices he needs to clean it out it was getting very full if ashes and the dead filters of old cigarettes. He looks at the golden embossed door and begins to step towards it, slowly at first the stones cold beneath his feet, but the air is warm and scented by the door into the monastery.
As he steps out the scent of incense hits his nose strongly, the monks have just passed by his room. The chanting continues from down the hall echoing soothingly. He makes his way to the monastery’s head monk’s rectory to give him his payment for living there they do not ask for it but he gives it to them for reasons unknown to them. He passes through many long hallways all ornate and burning incense along the walls from golden sconces hanging from the ceilings and walls releasing their pleasant scents throughout the building.
He reaches the entry to the rectory and knocks on the door waiting for an answer, if there is none he will leave the gold under the door. He knows he will know what it’s for how many people pay in gold these days anyways.
“Come in my friend” Eric the head monk says’s thru the closed doors.
Zaon opens the door and sees Eric sitting there with his head down looking over what appear to be very old if not ancient texts. They are dusty and are all sprawled across the table at which Eric sits enthralled. “I have come with your payment Eric and to ask if there are any leads on the next ‘project’.” Zaon say’s quietly tossing a small bag of gold onto the table next to some of the books.
“I have come up with the next ‘project’ if that’s what you want to call it… its in Tibet there’s a monastery there that houses the latest artifact a piece of Kalva’s tooth but it does have a demon guardian unlike the last two you’ve gone after. Keep your money you’ll need it to equip yourself for this one. And be careful demon hunter Zaon.” Eric said leafing through the book some more. Occasionally making notes on an old yellow piece of parchment.
Zaon turns around slowly taking the map Eric subliminally motioned to while writing his notes. He walks out of the room quietly as he came in shutting the large wooden door silently. Lowering the handle without as much as a noise to disturb the passing monks and their chant, he bows to them and starts back towards his room by the soft flickering glow of the candles being held in racks by the dozens along the walls. He passes through the same long corridors he used to get to the rectory. The corridors are stone and not very well light and no one except maybe one or two passing monks have ever used them. With the exception of them and Zaon the corridors are always empty, so they never provide them with any light source. Over the years of living here however he has adapted to the lack of light here he can almost see every area in gory detail. His eyes have developed a sort of night vision. Anyways he reaches his room without disruption or even a sign of humanity. He enters his room without sound as is usual for him, as you may have noticed by this point.
As he enters his room he grabs a new pair of black karate gi pants and a black shirt, just plain black no pockets, no insignias just black. He throws them over his bare shoulder and walks into the bathroom to take a shower before getting ready for work tomorrow. He thinks about it again and tosses the shirt aside back into the basket for use tomorrow.
He turns the knob to hot and waits for it to warm up abit before he steps in. the water splashes off his skin and begins to drizzle down over his muscles soon mixing with the common white suds of soap. He meticulously cleans himself and stands there for a second looking at the drain, letting his muscles unwind under the repeated beating of the water and the pleasant heat coming from it.
He gets out around fifteen minutes or so after he finishes washing himself. He takes a towel from the rack and wipes up grabbing a cigarette as soon as his face and hair is dry enough to smoke. He puts the tip near a candle and lights the cigarette taking a long drag and letting the smoke leisurely exit his mouth in a long cloud. The ember on the tip glows bright against the darkness of his room as the paper burns up a little slowly consuming some of the length of the cig. Turning the white part of the paper brown and amber with the resonance from the smoke flowing over it.
He leans back against the wall smoking the cigarette slowly flicking the ashes into the chalice and thinking about what to do to prepare this evening. He decides on his bare hand fighting skills, he stretches again and starts toward the courtyard confidently but eagerly. When he reaches the courtyard the warm night air blows lightly against his face his gray eyes wide open absorbing all the details of his surroundings.
The courtyard is large and the soft, green grass is evenly cut almost professionally cut. The earth is warm beneath his bare feet, the moon is shining brightly and full, the stars are bright and showing all their glory tonight. Zaon stands in the middle of the courtyard and takes his ready stance hanging his head low and putting his arms out in front of him tensing his muscles whilst making fists with both hands.
In a sudden movement he uppercuts and starts his training for the evening. Directly following the uppercut he kneels to the ground and spins low, his foot extended tripping an imaginary opponent. With a fluid movement and a quick snap he kicks up with frightening precision. If there really were an opponent there Zaon would have just hurt him badly with those three moves alone.
Zaon flips back landing in a low ready stance one leg extended in front of him the other in a crouched position with all his weight on the ball of his back foot, his left hand open and drawn back ready to smash an opponents head his right hand in a fist held up in front of his face. From there he springs forward thrusting his hand forth with extreme accuracy and force. The air itself seems to move out of the way of his blows as he continues for the next hour or so. Every strike leaves a trail of distortion behind it that lingers for only a short second then goes back to normal.
When he finishes for the evening sweaty and tense he sits in the very middle again and gazes upward admiring the stars and falling into a deep meditative trance. As he reaches the sanctum of inner peace the air around seems to cool considerably, the darkness seems to get a little darker, a little more foreboding with each passing second.
Around a half an hour after he began to bring himself to down into his trance he becomes almost completely oblivious to the world around him, yet he is just conscious enough to detect anyone sneaking up on him in the silence of the night. Zaon meditates on many things his favorite lately being the walls in the room he stays in. he sees the mural or prophecy and cant help but wonder only this particular time everyone in the picture starts moving and becoming real in front of his eyes: Everything from the humans running, and dying brutally, to the demons with their twisted grins of delight. There was only one real difference a great dark red serpent rising out of the bloody ocean twisting and wrapping itself around itself in a giant spiral of oncoming doom. Its one long, deep, deep blue fin trailing all the way down its back until it diminishes to nothing near its tail where it is replaced by a long steel colored section that could be used as a giant sword or at least something extremely similar to one.
Screams of agony, and demonic laughter fill the air. The scent of blood clings to everything around him, bodies…well what’s left of them litter the ground most of them are unidentifiable to anyone. Zaon is standing in the middle looking up at the great serpent, which has its attention also on him. Suddenly Zaon feels the weight of his weapons on his body, he feels a little safer now that he knows he has his weapons back.
Zaon stares at the serpent not talking not blinking not moving his hand slowly drawing his sword and holding it at his side his other slowly pulling out his gun from behind his back. His face cold without any emotion or feeling. A man dressed in red comes up behind him unknown to Zaon a violent sneer on his sharp, evil face. He kicks Zaon in the back of the knee’s knocking him to the ground kneeling.
He grabs Zaon by the back of his head and raises his blade high into the air, ready to decapitate him. Zaon points his gun strait up at the mans chest and starts to drag his sword forward creating sparks following the blade as it shines in the dim light of the area.
Everything stops and the picture is back to its normal unmoving self even though it is a vision everything seems normal. The serpent’s picture starts to move again and looks directly at Zaon. Its mouth opens showing rows of razor sharp, grotesquely stained by blood teeth, and two fangs like that of a vampire in the front. An evil voice emanates from the creature’s mouth saying “I am Tiamat, mother of blood and fury fear me now for I am the ultimate and through me you shall all perish by my fangs and my forces.”
Zaon looks at the image unmoving contemplating what has just been said when another voice comes from within his own head saying “when the mother doth rise and the darkness doth fall, the angels shall fall from the skies and sickly demon tones shall be embraced by the wind, the night shall fall and a lone shadow will shine through.”
Zaon wakes from his meditation nearly two hours after he began but to him it feels as though only seconds have passed. He stands up swiftly and nimbly slightly troubled by the vision this is the first of this type he has ever had. He wanders back to his room through the darkened hallways avoiding a few spiderwebs and broken beams as was customary for him.
He finally gets back into his room and the image of the giant dragon had moved its eyes now facing into the room exactly as it had moved in the meditative state. zaon shakes his head violently a moment and looks again determining that he is not going any crazier. he lays back down on his bed weary from the days toils already tomorrow wouls be a long day. That night he dreams the same dreams he always does unbothered and wakes in the morning.
The sun breaks on the horizon a few hours later unbeknownst to zaon, His troubled dreamingn uninterupted no sun ever gets into his room. He wakes his sleep restfull enough to have him ready for this day. Today he started towards Tibet to start his mission, collecting peices of kalva was always a task in and of itself let alone getting past the normaly well defnded temples and dealing with the demons that held them.
He sits after about a half an hour of thought unmoving under the scarce blankets. reaching to the side of his bed and takes out the package of cigarettes and taking the lighter from the side. He flicks the wheel of the lighter the flame catching the tip of the cigarette from paper to red ash in a split second.
the ember turns brighter as he takes one long drag of the fresh cigarette exhaling the cloud of smoke making the dim strands of light clearly visable. He moves his head to one side cracking a few of the upper vertibet. he lets out a short sigh this would surely be a very long day he figures frought with trees and that would probably be about it. Today would be a day of travel, he would have to travel light and fast if he were to get there before anouther artificier did. There were alot of people out for the peices of Kalva. Humans as a race are greedy and always lusting after power and there was quite the amount of power in the peices of Kalva as he once was the mightiest demon lord to have walked the earth.
He sits up and starts towards the bathroom door his cigarette sitting in his mouth loosly as he turns the shower onto hot and steps back finishing his cigarette and tossing it into teh ashtray perfectly although his site is still bleary. He steps into the shower the scalding water running over his lean muscular body his hair thoroughly drenched. he closes his eyes the water washing away the nights rest.
After he finishes showering and making himself clean he walks out into the hallways clad in his black plate armor covering his shins, calves, and torso the dark black cape flowing behind him in a small breeze. His gauntlets encompas his entire forearm ending in tips where his fingertips are blades coming over his top knuckles about three inches out all black. Anouther set over the second knuckles only about an inch out for this set. He looks every inch a nobel warrior down to his cold calculated gray eyes aleart and observent.

if you want more then write to me: The Notorious,And hidiously evil Kevin