Before you ask about all the Hellfire and the fact that I live in have a home in Hell, yes, I am a demon. Well, half demon. My mother was a human, a noble woman born and raised in Sparta, of Ancient Greece. Her name was Eevee. My father was the second child of Lucifer. He was known as the Yellow-eyed demon, but his real name was Azazel.
A year before my birth, Azazel possessed a man from Sparta. Later, he got Eevee pregnant with me. I was born with the same pale yellow eyes my father had, and power beyond belief. Eevee named me Kítrina-Mâtia. Yellow eyes. The people thought I was a child of one of the gods. I asked Eevee if that was true. She said it wasn’t.
However, this wasn’t the only thing that kept me apart from everyone else. I had a Hellhound that only I could see. I would play with him and talk to him, but no one else noticed him until he growled in anger. I wondered why I was the only one who could see him, until he explained it to me. I named him Cheberus, after the three headed guardian of the underworld.
Cheberus had rough, black fur and blue flaming paws. He was a large hound, standing coming up to my hip. He was always that way. He grew with me. Cheberus told me that we were linked, that he was my soul in animal form, and thats how he could communicate with me, and how he always knew where to find me. And I believed him. I could always sense when he was near, even when I couldn’t see him.
Despite technically being a bastard, I was the only child, so I was raised as a noble because of my mother. I lived in a beautiful marble home, with servants who obeyed me unquestionably. I was proud of my heritage, but I sometimes wanted to be like the other girls. When I was little, Eevee got married to a man named Abderus. Abderus was a soldier, and through him, I got to meet the royal family.
The king sensed something in me, and asked me to train as a warrior. I would be the first woman to actually learn how to fight in battle, and if he liked it, I would actually become one with the ranks. I agreed, eager to fight.
I started training when I was 10. The younger boys would stare at me. I wasn’t sure if they were laughing at me, or if they were staring in wonder, sensing the same thing the king did. I quickly learned the art of the sword, and the spear. I also mastered archery. I spent four years training with the best of the men, and when I was 14, I took the final test, just like all the boys do.
I went into the wild. They told me to return in three days, no sooner, no later. If I didn’t return, I would be assumed dead. The mountainous winds were treacherous, and I thought I would freeze to death. And I should have died.
The first night, I was attacked by a wolf that was too fast for me. The wolf’s speed took me by surprise and it pinned me to the snowy ground and ripped at my chest. My heart was pulled out of me, and I don’t remember anything after that. When I woke up, I had fully healed. My heart was beating in my chest, and there were no wounds. Somehow I knew that exactly three days had passed when I returned down the mountain to Sparta, and they cheered at my return. I had slept up in the mountain for three days straight and somehow was still alive.
I continued training with the boys who had also passed their final test, but I didn’t stay in the barracks with them. In Sparta, we respected our females, and none of them felt right forcing me to stay with all of the men and have no fellow women around me. I think they also got scared of me every month. I remained with my mother and Abderus in our home.
The king invited me to go to battles with him, and I always agreed, getting an inhuman thrill every time I fought. Every time I went to war, the soldiers against us would hesitate to fight me, possibly because I was female, and none of them had ever fought a girl before. After I killed a few of their men, they wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill me. They never could. As word of me spread throughout Greece, people just started becoming scared of me, the girl who couldn’t be killed. The general of the Spartan army.

When I was around thirteen, I was playing with some of the other kids when Cheberus started barking towards some of the trees. I ditched the game and ran after my Hellhound. Leaning against one of the trees sleeping was a man. Next to him lay a beautiful sword. The man was sleeping so soundly, I didn’t think he would mind if I tried it out.
I picked up the strange blade made of metal I had never seen before, and it was incredibly light, but perfectly balanced in my hand. I swung it around, doing moves I had been drilled in for so long. But they seemed to flow better. This new blade had a mystical quality about it.
“It’s a beautiful blade, isn’t it?” a voice behind me said. I spun around to see that the man had woken up. He held his hand out. “If I may have my sword back.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It is fine. No harm was done,” he said, strapping the sheath around his waist.
“If I may ask, sir,” I asked. “What is that sword made of? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“I actually have no idea. You would have to ask the man who forged it,” the man replied.
“Who forged it?”
“His name is Hephaestus, I believe. I’ve only met him a few times.” The man thought for a moment. “Yes, he is Hephaestus.”
“You’re lying,”I scoffed. “The god of forges and smiths did not make that sword. There’s no possible way.”
The man looked around. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He has something of a temper.” He looked closely at me. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Why would I believe you,” I said.
“Do you not believe in the gods? That would be interesting coming from you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I crossed my arms across my chest defensively.
“Nothing, nothing,” the man said, shaking my question off. “Just the ramblings of a fool who believes in the great gods above us.”
“Okay,” I said. “Say Hephaestus is real, and he did make that sword. Why did he, and why did he give it to you? According to the stories, he only makes weapons for the gods.”
“This one is different,” the man said. “This one he made for only the most worthy of warriors in the human world. Only one person would be able to wield it. To all others, it will not budge. It is one of the most stubborn weapons you can meet. It’s called,” he paused for dramatic effect. “Zimbamaru.”
“Zimbamaru? Is that name supposed to have any significant meaning?” I asked, silently laughing at the old fool.
“No young lady. The name has no meaning. It just sounded good to him, I would guess.”
“Well, clearly the story isn’t true, because both of us could carry this Zimbamaru. I’ll leave you alone now. Sorry again for intruding.” I turned to leave and started walking away. I only took a few steps when the man called from behind me.
“I’ll tell you what, Kítrina-Mâtia.” His voice had turned strangely serious. “Come back here in three days, and I’ll show you how true these stories really are.”
“Wait,” I said. “How did you know my name?” I turned back around, but the man was already gone. I looked around, but didn’t see anyone in the woods. I ran out of the woods as fast as I could, Cheberus right on my heels. When we got back to the village, my friends were looking for me.
“Kítrina-Mâtia,” one of them said. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere,” I replied quickly. “Just thought I heard something.”
“Well, it is getting dark. We should all go home now.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “We should.”
Three days later, I thought about ignoring the man and going about my life as if nothing happened, but what he said wouldn’t stop bugging me. I returned to the woods and relied on Cheberus to find where we were the last time. When I arrived, the man was sleeping against the tree again. I shook my head and kicked his foot to wake him up.
“What, no. I didn’t get drunk again. I can-” he sputtered as he was jerked awake. He looked up at me. “Oh. You actually came. I was expecting you to ignore me.”
“I was going to, but I decided it would be quite amusing to see you make a fool of yourself again.”
“Really.” The man unsheathed Zimbamaru and threw it at my feet. “Pick it up.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up the sword. I shrugged and asked, “Was that supposed to prove something?”
“How much fighting experience do you have,” he asked, unsheathing another sword.
“I know a lot. I have been training with the future of the army.”
“Then prove it.”
The man ran at me and swung his sword at my head. I somehow managed to bring Zimbamaru up to block, but that didn’t stop him. The man kept up a relentless attack, and I was forced to take the defencive. After a while, I realized that I was starting to get ahead of the man and that I could predict his movements. It seemed to me that someone was whispering in my ear and telling me what move to make next.
As I sped up, I was able to get a few attacks in. After a while of fighting, I noticed an opening in the man’s stance and moved in to attack. He didn’t have time to block, and I struck him in the side. He started to bleed.
The first thing I noticed was that Zimbamaru had absolutely no blood on the blade, and that there was no dents in the fine metal where the two swords had clashed. As the man wrapped his wound in bandages, I stared at the sword in wonder.
“That sword was not made by any ordinary person, wouldn’t you agree,” the man asked.
“No it wasn’t,” I agreed in awe. “But that still doesn’t prove your story.”
“Doesn’t it?” The man pushed away from the tree and sheathed his sword. There was no blood seeping through his bandages. I couldn’t help but stare.
The man took Zimbamaru from my hands. “You need to learn to open your mind, Kítrina-Mâtia. The world is full of strange and unusual things that no one can explain. You should know this more than anyone. You are an impossibility yourself. The stories are true. All of them are. It’s time you see.”
He returned Zimbamaru to his sheath and strapped it to his waist. “Go home, Kítrina-Mâtia. Your family is waiting for you.”
As I watched, the man’s form shimmered and vanished. I walked back home, confused by the events of the day. When I returned to my large, marble home, it was already getting dark. The servants ushered me to my room and prepared me for bed. Until I fell asleep, I could not stop thinking about the strange man in the woods.
I was awoken by a rustling sound by my window. I lit a candle and held it up to see. At the foot of my bed was a letter. I opened it up and read it.
I know that you are questioning your beliefs now, but I will repeat what I told you in the woods. Every story you hear is true. The world is full of mysterious things. Hephaestus really did forge this sword for the most worthy warrior of the human world. I am able to carry the sword because Hephaestus chose me to bring it to that warrior. I am not of the human world, but you are. You could wield Zimbamaru with ease, and without thinking about it, you tapped into his true power. You, Kítrina-Mâtia, are the most worthy warrior. So I leave Zimbamaru here with you. Treat him well. -Kratos
I looked at the chair by the window, and lying across it was Zimbamaru, the gold in the sheath glistening in the candle light. I climbed out of bed and ran to my window, where I saw Kratos turn back, smile, wave, then vanish.

I guess I first really knew something was wrong with me when I was 14 and had my heart ripped out by a wolf, but I woke up three days later. That didn’t happen to most people, but I sort of put that fact in the back of my mind. The strangest thing, however, was when I turned 17. The day I turned 17, at the stroke of midnight, searing pain shot through my body, waking  me up. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Every part of my body felt like it was on fire. I cried out mentally, and Cheberus heard, but he couldn’t help me. He was in the same pain I was.
Healers came to find out what was wrong with me, but they were baffled. My body wasn’t working, it seemed. Everything was shut down except for my mind. I remember everything about that day. I wanted to cry out, but my voice didn’t work, and my mouth wouldn’t move. They said I was going to die. Eevee wept by my bedside and Abderus stood by her side, showing no emotion. I wanted to talk to them, tell them everything would be okay, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay there in my bed. 
The next day, I was fine. It was like the previous day never happened. Except, I felt different. More powerful, like there was another side to me that had just woken up. And I didn’t have to eat or sleep. I would, after a battle or something, and it would make me feel stronger, but I didn’t need to. It was a luxury after that. I didn’t understand it, so I ignored it for several years. After those several years, I started thinking about it again. There I was, in my mid twenties, still looking like a 17 year old girl. I didn’t age as everyone around me did.
Years passed, and there I was, still 17 years old, and all of my friends were growing up, getting married and having children while I was left behind. People talk about immortality being a gift, to live forever a blessing, but it’s not. It’s more like a curse. I saw people die around me everyday, but I didn’t. I would get fatally wounded, or some lucky man would “kill” me in battle, but the next day I would be fine. My body healed itself at miraculous rates, and I never got sick. When disease spread through Sparta, I would be the only one not to catch it.
Being immortal wasn’t so bad at first. I could fight more, and defend my home. I was also stronger, and could get more stuff done. But then my friends started dying, leaving me behind. Times changed in the world, and I stayed the same. I grew to hate being immortal very quickly. I refused to get close to anyone, not wanting my heart to shatter whenever they died, just like everyone will. Everyone but me.

Upon giving up caring, I started noticing new strange things. People being attacked by animals, but in conditions too impossible for just an animal attack. I started investigating these attacks, and discovered monsters were behind them. I guess my immortality and experiences with gods of power did open my mind.
There were humans that turned into wolves every full moon and fed on human hearts, people who could shed their skin and change what they looked like. There were blood sucking humans, people coming back to life. Demons that could smoke in and out of bodies. There were cave dwellers that supposedly granted wishes. There were creatures that feed on human brains, creatures that enjoyed “long pig”. People who carried souls to the other side when they died. There were creatures that fed off of a persons life force, creatures that compelled people to destroy themselves. There were tons of creatures that I learned to kill.
All of the creatures I hunted were powerful, and plenty tried to kill me. Most laughed when I tried to kill them with Zimbamaru, and they were always surprised when they took their last breath, my sword protruding from their chests or slicing off their heads. I continued to hunt ever since then. I figured, “why not? I’m not going to die.”
When Greece was taken over by Persia, I continued to hunt upon escaping slavery. When Persia was taken over by Rome, I still hunted. When Catholicism entered Rome and I moved to the middle east, I still hunted. I went to Europe and continued to hunt. I even hunted when people started migrating to the Colonies in the New World. I gave up a few times and went on killing sprees, but something always put me back on the right track.
I even started changing my name every hundred or so years, just so questions wouldn’t be raised to often. I forgot most of them after I changed it, but hey. That was long ago.
I met other hunters. We’d share informations and be on our way. They all died though. They would be killed some vicious way, killed by one of the things they were hunting and leave the rest of us to clean it up. Every once in awhile, one would get lucky enough and die of old age after they retired. That was rare though. You never really stop hunting once you start. I even started telling the other hunters that you either die young, or live long enough to see yourself become something you hunt. Most didn’t believe me, but some took that to heart.
People started naming the creatures too. Names like Buruburu, Djinns, Rakshasa, and Shtriga were given to them. There were easier names too, like vampires, shapeshifters, reapers, and changelings. Other hunters found ways to kill them, creating weapons or spells that were needed to kill the various creatures. No weapon was the same though. It seemed very inefficient to me. All I ever needed was my sword.

So, everyone has heard the story of Jesus of Nazareth, though not everyone believes it. Well, while I was not mentioned at all in the bible, or any holy book, I was there. I knew this man, and I owe him my sanity.
I had gone to Jerusalem, weeks before Jesus was betrayed by his follower, Judas, and ran into him on the street. Jesus and his twelve disciples noticed something off about me, like some people do. The people who were more in tune with the supernatural world. The disciples were ready to draw swords on me when Jesus sent them forward, leaving us alone together. “You’re different,” he told me.
“Yeah, I figured that out when I realized that I can’t die,” I snapped back. I was losing myself at the time. I had seen so much death, lost so many people close to me. Believe it or not, it doesn’t get any easier. It just hurts, a lot. After a few centuries, I got sick of all the death. I started hating everyone and everything that could die. I hated that I was different and had no idea what was wrong with me. All the strange looks I got for being so different made me want to kill something.
“You don’t know what makes you special,” Jesus questioned, surprising me. No one had called me special since the night my mother died. They just called me an abomination. The man himself said it as if he was surprised as well.
“And I suppose you do?” True, I wasn’t being really respectful to the man, but at the time, I didn’t care.
“I do know. I can see your true face.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “My true face? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Kítrina-Mâtia,” he said, calling me by my original name. I hadn’t gone by that name in decades. “You’re a demon.”
I’m sure what he said was important. I heard the words, but didn’t register the meaning. “A demon?” Those things I hunted? The ones that possessed people and did evil things? No, I couldn’t be one those. I was so focused on that simple five letter word that I almost didn’t hear what he said next.
“Well, half demon. You’re father was a demon, one of the most powerful ones.”
“How can I be a demon? I’m not like those, those, those things,” I exclaimed.
“Have you ever noticed that you can’t cross salt, that you burn whenever you touch iron, or that there’s some places you can’t go, no matter how hard you try, that everything that hurts or affects a demon also affects you? Kítrina-Mâtia,” he said calmly. “You have a Hellhound next to you right now, just waiting for your orders. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”
To be honest, I had, I just didn’t want to believe it. But I still knew, deep inside, that it was true. “I don’t want to be,” I said silently, bowing my head.
Jesus reached over and touched my shoulder. “I can help you. You may be a demon, but you are also human, a child of my father.”
I looked up at him. “What can you do?”
“I’ll make you something. It will keep your demon side in check. You’ll still have your powers, but it won’t let you use them for evil. Otherwise, you’re powers will do nothing but grow until they consume your entire being.”
And Jesus kept his word. He performed one of his miracles, taking salt and making a hollowed out crystal. Then he blessed some water, filling the crystal half way with the holy liquid. Then, a few days later, he returned with it, filled the rest of the way with blood, blood that he said belonged to an archangel. It was sealed, so that nothing could spill out.
He gave the crystal to me. It burned at the touch, and I nearly dropped it. Almost as fast as the pain began, it went away. “Keep that on your person at all times,” he told me. “Whenever your demon side acts up, it will burn you, much like it just did.”
I tied the crystal to one of the crimson straps that was always around my arms, a reminder of who I was. I tied the strap around my neck, letting the crystal hang right at the base of my neck. I called it a Demon Lock, because it locked away the demon inside of me. I know, very original, right?
I thanked him, deciding I liked the guy. He was the first person to call me special in a long time. Weeks later, he was betrayed and crucified, shattering my heart all over again.
After I discovered that I was a demon, I went back to being human. Something about Jesus changed me. But decades passed, and I went back to hating everything again. Then something would happen, that reminded me of who and what I was, and I regained control over myself. This became a pattern. I had two states of mind.” Why do I have to be a demon, why can’t you be one too?” or “Yes, I’m a demon, but I’m also human, so suck it up and deal with it.”
I hated the demon inside of me. Everyday, for so many days after that, I asked myself, “why,” but I never had an answer for myself. I just knew that I was a demon, but I was also human, and I couldn’t change that.

Many centuries later, during the American Revolution, I happened to be in the colonies. I didn’t really care who won or lost the war. I was just there. I saw the riots every day. I was amazed how into it the Patriots seemed. I actually hadn’t seen people so into their freedom since Sparta, so I guess in a way, I was rooting for them.
I was in the Connecticut colony when I was attacked by yet another werewolf. They always seemed to be attracted to the scent of my deadly blood. I was left for dead on the street, but of course I wasn’t. I just looked that way. When I woke up, I was in a bed covered in silk sheets and wrapped in bandages. In a chair beside the bed was a boy who couldn’t have been older than 18. He was sleeping, leaning back against his chair, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. His sandy brown hair was hanging loosely around his face, waving slightly at the ends, making it obvious that it was normally tied back.
I pulled a cloth bandage from around my head, knowing whatever wounds I might have had were gone. I could feel another one underneath my nightgown, and I ripped that off as well. I figured my dress was torn to shreds, and was surprised to find one across the foot of the bed I was in. I pulled it on, ignoring the corset that came with it. I was thankful to find my Demon Lock was still around my neck.
I had just opened the door to leave when the boy woke up and saw me. He stood up quickly. “Are you okay,” he asked. “You were hurt pretty bad out there.”
“I’m fine,” I told him, not turning around. All I wanted to do at the time was leave. I had made a rule not to get close to anyone, and staying longer might challenge that rule.
“Ok,” he said. “I’m Erik, by the way. Erik Fenton.”
That’s when my rule broke. He told me his name, and now he was a part of my life. I turned to face him, meeting his deep, green eyes. “Elizabeth,” I said, saying the name I was going by.
Erik raised his eyebrows at me, but didn’t question it. “Are you leaving?” he asked, “because you were hurt pretty bad, and you need time to recover.”
“I told you, I’m fine. The wounds weren’t that deep.”
Just then, a woman opened the door and came in. “Oh good, you’re awake. You need to eat.” She ushered in an older woman who wore a maids outfit and carried a silver tray with food on it. The smell of it was luring, and I did feel slightly weak. Food would help with that.
“Erik, go get washed up. I wish to talk to this young lady,” the woman told Erik, who replied with a quiet, “yes mother,” and hurried out of the room with the maid. The woman turned to me and said, “now, I’m Matilda. What’s your name?”
“Elizabeth,” I said swiftly. I had met Matilda’s kind before, and I didn’t really like them that much. They always seemed to expect so much out of people and look down at others at the same time.
“So, sweetheart, you were quite injured. What happened?”
I stared at her stubbornly, not saying anything. I wasn’t going to tell this lady my story. She didn’t deserve to hear it. She didn’t deserve to know about what was really out there.
“Well, then,” she said, getting ready to leave. “I’m afraid it’s a dangerous world out there, especially for a girl like you. You should stay here, just to be safe. At least until we find your family.” Her words said one thing, but her tone said another. She wouldn’t let me leave until she knew everything.
But I just nodded, and said, “Thank you.”
I got to know the family pretty well. Matilda was a loyalist, true to the king of England. Her husband was a neutralist, like me. Erik was “undecided” to his parents, but I could see he was a patriot. He was actually pretty amazing once I got to know him. He was calm and down to earth. He knew what he wanted, and never let anything distract him. The scary part was, he made me human again. Just being near him, I didn’t even need my Demon Lock. I still kept in on me just in case, but still, it made me wonder.
I stayed with the Fentons for a year before Erik found out what I was. He caught me completing a hunt and burning the body with hellfire. After my encounter with Jesus, I learned quite quickly how to use most of my powers with the help of some other demons who knew my father. I explained everything to him, expecting him to run away screaming like most humans end up doing. Insead, he listened to the entire story, and when I finished, he  just said, “fascinating.”
We started getting close after that. He even started to court me, despite knowing I was more than 10 times as old as him. I could tell Matilda hated me, but I didn’t care. I grew to love Erik, as much as it pains me to admit. Two years later, after living with the Fentons for three years, I left in the middle of the night. I couldn’t stay any longer and put Erik in any more danger. It broke my heart to do so, but it was something I had to do. Something I always ended up having to do.
Some time later, I discovered that Erik had joined the American army and fought in the war. He died at the age of 37 from an unknown illness.

So, I did end up finding out the truth of my heritage. My father was a demon named Azazel, and his father was none other than Lucifer himself, making me the granddaughter of the devil. I got some perks. I was considered a nobel again, seeing as I was descended from the creator of Hell. I also had an aunt named Lilith, who was the adopted daughter of Lucifer.
According to some Hebrew stories, Lilith was Adam’s original wife before Eve, but when she demanded to be Adam’s equal, she was banished from the garden. The serpent found her and took her in giving her the power she desired. She then spent her time possessing young girls and “giving them the idea that they are men's equals.” Such a sexist belief. She does have power, and since the archangel Michael keeps getting into fights with Lucifer, Lilith is technically in charge of Hell as the queen while Lucifer chills in the cage Michael locked him in.
After Lilith, since she had no children seeing as she only possesses children, Azazel would take the throne as her younger brother, but that’s only if someone kills Lilith. She has an advantage because no hunter wants to kill a little girl, no matter how scary and messed up she seems. I predict that Azazel will die first because he possesses full grown men and threatens people all day long, so a lot of hunters tend to go after him.
Since I’m Azazel’s only child by birth, I get to take the throne if it comes to that. I’m not sure how I felt about that idea. In Sparta, Abderus and the king both tried to marry me off to the prince so that I would end up becoming queen of Sparta eventually. The prince ended up dying in battle before that happened, so I remained single for most of my existence, which was quite a long one. I wasn’t fond of the idea of queen then either. I loved leading, thus being a general, but I wasn’t very into the whole politics that court brought. Hell isn’t actually that different.
My favorite part being descended from Lucifer was that, even cast from Heaven, he was still an angel. What does that have to do with me? Well, even though I’m a demon, I’m descended from an angel granting me with some pretty awesome angelic powers. I have wings for one. Beautiful black wings that shine like a ravens. They’re pretty awesome. I didn’t realize I had them until I started talking to my grandfather. I had subconsciously been hiding them in what is apparently known as a glimmer. It I take the glimmer down, my wings are visible to anyone, unlike normal angelic wings that you can only see the shadow of lest your eyes melt out of your head. Not very pleasant sounding.
I also have other angelic powers such as time travel, complete and utter destruction of something or someone, control over the elements and weather, warping reality, appearing in peoples dreams, and reading peoples souls. These added to my demonic powers of teleportation, traveling through dimensions, controlling hellhounds, granting wishes through deals, bringing people back to life, controlling some minds and control of hellfire. My possession powers are weak, however, because I have my own physical body. The physical body makes more more powerful than most demons because I’m not waiting my energy mucking around as black smoke, but it also means that I can only possess people from a limited distance, and when I do so, I have no control over my own body. All of these powers I have complete control over.
Most demons are weak to angelic magic and weapons, but not me. I don’t know why, but as a half demon, I have no weakness to angels and their blades. Many have tried to kill me that way, but nothing happens. It’s quite amusing actually.

One day, I got a call from a hunter I helped out occasionally. John and his brother Mike knew I was a demon and that I had been around forever.
“Hey, Hazel. We need your help with something.”
“What are you hunting?”
“We’re not hunting anything.”
I sighed into the phone. “Then what do you want?”
“We need someone to take care of an angel for us.”
“And you’re calling me? Seriously, dude. I’m a demon,” I told him.
“Yeah. I know. We called Kendall first, but she was in 18th century Rome with Luke, so she can’t help us. You were our last choice. But she doesn’t know anything about earth, she looks like she’s 18, and she said she’s not going back to heaven. Please Hazel.”
Kendall was another hunter who had managed to get a demon do give her the power to timetravel and then escaped the 10 year contract. Luke was her boyfriend.
I sighed again. “Fine. Meet me at the crossroads that’s a few miles south of the library. But if she tries to kill me, I’m going to blame you.”
“Thanks, Hazel. And her name’s Ariel,” he said before hanging up.
I sighed again and got into my truck. I started driving in the direction of the crossroads. If I drove by the highways, I would get to the crossroads in two days, so I took a shortcut. It took more energy to drive through Hell, but I could do it. I would get there only a few minutes after the brothers and the angel.
The sun was setting as I arrived. I got out of the truck, and they were all waiting there, facing the other way. “She should be here,” John said, fidgeting.
“Waiting around for little old me,” I asked, trying to sound like a sassy b****.
The girl turned around quickly, a small smile painted on her face. She had long, strawberry blond hair, but not as long as mine. Her eyes were a stormy blue. The smile faded quickly when she saw me. I knew she could tell I was a demon. She vanished, reappearing behind me. I only had time to turn around before she raised her hand to my forehead and John knocked her down.
I smirked as the angel pushed herself up. “Is that how all you angels say hello?”
She smirked back. “Actually, that’s how we say goodbye. Or get lost,” she said, matching my tone.
I raised my eyebrows, pretending to be scared. I looked at John and Mike, and Mike nodded slightly. “You? You’re the one’s that going to help me?” the angel asked, sounding more than a little surprised.
I sighed, turning back to her. “Do I really need to go over this again? Alright, yes I am a demon. I’m the daughter of Azazel and I am several thousand years old, but I am biologically 17. I’m not evil though. I’m a hunter. My real name is Kítrina-Mâtia, but you can call me Hazel.” I gave a little b**** face at the end of the sentence.
“Kítrina-Mâtia? As in Yellow Eyes?” she asked, standing up.
I smirked at her. She examined me for a while before asking, “Where shall we go?”
Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t argue about going with me. “A happy little hide away in the Rockies. We’ll demon and angel proof it special, enough to keep ‘em away, but not to keep us out,” I told her. She nodded and went to go talk to the brothers, probably to thank them or something. I returned to my truck and waited for her. She used her angelic  powers to land in the passenger seat. I raised my eyebrows at her as I started the engine. “You know you can just walk, right?” She shrugged, and I drove to my home in the Rockies.
She fell asleep on the drive, waking up as I pulled into the long gravel drive. I decided to take her into town for some new clothes, because honestly, the white blouse and long, black skirt was not working for her. She flew, and when she landed beside me, I smacked her on the back of her head, calling her an over glorified pidgeon. I took her to a local clothing store, and handed her a credit card.
“Who’s Felicia Sampson?” she asked.
“That’s a credit card,” I told her. “And for now, you’re Felicia.”
“No, I’m Ariel,” she said, sounding genuinely confused.
I threw my hands up in frustration and walked away. “Stupid f*ing angels,” I muttered. “Go buy some clothes,” I called back to her. I went into the store across the street. It was an ice cream shop, I was seriously in the mood for something cold and sugary. I got a double scoop of chocolate and vanilla and walked around, looking at all the shops and places. I ended up in a coffee shop, buying a chocolate chai latte. Ariel walked up to me, wearing new clothes. She had on a black tank top and bright red shorts. At least it was better than the black and white drab she had on earlier.
One thing kept bugging me though. Her hair. She caught me eyeing it and asked, “what?”
“Your hair,” I said, pointing. I took her to a hairdresser and told the stylist there to do something about it. Just make it look pretty. I handed Ariel a magazine to read and told her I would take our bags home. I paid on my way out and drove back to the cottage.

In a strange turn of events, about 200 years after Erik’s death, I was returning home after a hunt , still owning the house in Connecticut that he left me in his will, only to think I saw him on the side of the road. Despite my goal to forget about him, it drove me crazy. I started seeing him everywhere. He was even the same 21 year old that I left behind in the 18th century. Eventually, I decided to find out what was going on. I had theories that he was a spirit haunting me or that he was some new form of crocatta. Perhaps he was a shape shifter. I didn’t know, so I went for answers. I tracked him down to a motel near my house. When I met him there, well, let’s just say it was a sort of awkward reunion.
It was Erik. The same Erik I met so long ago. He seemed almost as surprised to see me there as I was to see him. Though he was the same person, he seemed to have acclimated to the times as smoothly as I had. He had cut his hair so that it was short and spiked a little in the front in the more modern style. He managed to find some jeans and a button up shirt that actually looked good on him.
"What the Hell," I said, confused by the fact that it was indeed Erik.
"Hi Elizabeth," he said, calling me by the name he knew me as. His slight accent from the colonies remained despite the change in time.
"It's Hazel now," I said slightly distracted. "How are you here? You died." My sword arm hang by my side.
"Only the same way you did."
I stared at him in confusion.
Erik sighed. "Your grandfather." He started to tell me his story.
"Your grandfather came to visit me one day soon after you left and told me that I would die. It was kind of morbid, because I didn't know it was him at the time. He was just this tall man wearing a suit and who had sandy hair. He showed up out of nowhere and just started talking to me.
"He then told me that he could save my life and keep me alive if I did what he told me to. I didn’t trust him at first because of what I learned with you. But he only said said that I needed to wait until his say so and then go find and stay with his granddaughter.
"I didn't know who he was talking about, but he just said that I knew her. That her name was Kítrina-Mâtia. And I knew who he was, and without thinking, I just accepted his offer. I didn't know that the devil could care for someone that much."
"He was cast out from Heaven because he wanted to love his family. That hasn't changed." I sat down on the bed next to him.
It was silent between us for a few moments before Erik spoke again.
"The day you left," he said slowly. "I was going to propose to you." He stood up and walked over to the dresser across the small room. He pulled out a little box and handed it to be. “It belonged to my grandmother. Don’t know why, but it seemed to fit you.”
The ring inside the box was very simple. It was a silver band with a single, small diamond on the top. I closed the box again and set it on the bed next to me. “Erik, you know why I can’t. People around me die. I didn’t want that to happen to you. That’s the problem with being immortal in a world full of mortals.”
“Yeah,” Erik said sitting on the opposite bed. “I figured that out a while ago. God, how did you live for two thousand years like this. Two hundred was Hell for me.”
I laughed a little. “You never get used to it.” I put my sword away and started to fiddle with the ring box. “So my grandfather came to visit you and told you to fake your death so he could make you immortal so you could stay with me?”
“Basically. He said that it killed him to see you alone all the time. Speaking of, you never told me that you were the granddaughter of the devil himself. I just knew you were a demon.”
“Well, that’s not exactly something you just tell someone. ‘Hey, come meet my family. This is my father, a complete and utter psychopath. This is my aunt, Adam’s original wife. And this is my grandfather Lucifer. Meet the royal family of Hell.’”
Erik laughed a little. “Sounds like you haven’t changed.”
“Change becomes insignificant when you’re as old as I am. And I guess you’ll figure that out now that you’re immortal. Okay, let me figure this out. Did he just make you immoral or did he give you any special powers?”
“Just immortality and healing.”
“So you’re basically just as useless as you used to me,” I joked.
“Hey, I was never useless. Just incredibly clueless.”
And that’s how Erik and I got back together. We never married. I was very insistent on that, but I did keep his grandma’s ring. He was right about one thing: it did suit me. I spare you all the wonderful details, but we did end up having two kids. Yes, despite being older than 2000, I still am able to have kids. It’s a b**** every 60 years though, but I’ll save you those details as well. The kids were twins, a boy and a girl. We named our son Jack and our daughter Amelia. The thing about partially demonic twins is that, in the womb, one of them will absorb all the demonic power leaving the other one completely human. It tends to be the older one who does this. No one knows why, but there aren’t enough cases to figure out why. Jack was older, so he ended up with all the demonic power. The only demonicness Amelia got was that she cannot be possessed and she can cause some freak accidents when she gets overly emotional.

Erik and I continued hunting and going on adventures. Sometimes it was just the two of us. Other times we brought Jack and Amelia with us. Jack learned pretty fast how to control his powers. Amelia was never jealous that she never got any, at least as far as I was aware.
They lived as normally as they could being the children of the Queen of Hell.
Yes, you did read that right. I did say Queen of Hell. It basically played out like this. Lucifer kept fighting Michael, two different hunters managed to kill Lilith and Azazel. I have no idea how, but they did. I didn’t want to be queen, so I faked my death and put someone else on the throne of Hell. This was about when the angels decided that it was the best time to attack Hell and destroy it. The conflict sent the few demons that knew that I was actually still alive to seek me out and beg for my help. I agreed to help, and upon my arrival on the battlefield, Erik and the kids safely hidden in my warded hideaway in the Rockies with Ariel, the demons freaked because I was still alive. The angels freaked because I was still alive. It was a great, big, freakfest.
I fought in the war like the good general I was, and the demons won. Well, technically, I got the angels to form a sort of temporary truce, but Hell stopped Heaven from reaching their goals, so I would call that a victory. The demons refused to let me go back to my old life, so I became the Queen of Hell. It wasn’t that bad, really. Just very boring. I remained in that position until the end of the universe.
When time came for the universe to end, Jack and Amelia had lived long, thousand year lives. They didn't remain immortal like the angels, the demons, Erik, and me. Soon, even the humans and other creatures were gone, the universe unable to sustain their life. Those who remained asked themselves: will we remain as cosmic entities, cast alone into an endless void, or will we become like stars and scatter?