[ WP ] A child needed a protector . The demon needed redemption .

The cold air was rushing through the subway. The few commuters this last in the evening pulled the sodden collars of their coats tighter about them, clutching whatever they held just a little bit closer. It was a common reaction to his presence, one Dantalian had seen time and time again. 
 
 He had little interest in the common folk. The small book in his right hand would tell him all he needed to know. Who were the whores and the thieves, or the loved and the selfless. Time had turned his mind into a tuned fork, capable of working out for itself where people would lie in his pages, but in so doing it had left his disconnected from those very same people. 
 
 A homeless man bustled passed, hands outstretched, his name written in the folds between the leaves of the book. He had done bad, but acknowledged his sins. Dantalian gave him a few strips of whatever society deemed money nowadays, the paper green and filled with buildings and men he had seen when they were still young. 
 
 The trains arriving and departing took most of the remaining commuters. Soon the wind was the only sound and Dantalian took his book and turned the pages. When he had first been condemned to this life his old master had said to him that upon turning the first page, the first second of eternity would have passed. Today's page held all the names and he felt every sin. Even as he watched, more names were scratched into the paper. 
 
 The wife lying to her husband ran along the fold. The father beating upon his child crawling towards the centre of the page. Occasionally, a single name was etched, an inch from the edge. Murders and acts so foul Dantalian had no longer been able to hold his position in the underworld. 
 
 The ink was blood red and burnt at the paper as it began to scrawl across the surface. 
 
 Dantalian dropped the book and stepped back. The wind caught it, fanning the heat until embers sparked, and he snatched it from the ground. Three names. They were written along the very edge of the paper. They were still being written... 
 
 He shoved the book into the pocket of his coat. They were near. He could feel the evil. Evil was always drawn to evil and he let his feet find their way. 
 
 The snow caught in the wind, taking the light and turning it to a dirty orange in the glow from the streetlights. The loud engines of the modern cars rushed past but no-one paid him any mind. He cut from the pavement into the abyss of the park. The trees caught the snow but did nothing against the wind and it bit fiercely. 
 
 `` Slain tonight.'' 
 
 The brutish hell-tongue felt alien against Dantalian's ears after so long. He could make out the silhouette of one of the demons as he followed the path. Dantalian's arms pumped at his side now as he walked faster. The book still burnt, soon the names would be complete. 
 
 The smell reached him. Not the coppery taste of blood the mortals gave off when their skin was broken. This was the bitter taste of brimstone. 
 
 Dantalian broke through the darkness into a small intersection. A single lamp illuminated the scene. 
 
 The first demon lay upon the ground. His head lay several feet away. The heat from the book should have diminished with the completion of one name, but the flames only grew hotter. Dantalian looked from the decapitated demon to the two remaining names. Another demon stood, boneblades already extended from his forearms. It was spoiling for a fight, chest heaving as it prepared for a lunge. 
 
 It jumped and Dantalian saw the object of its fury. 
 
 She was a child. More mortal than monster. Her red coat was stained with the foul blood of the demon as she ducked the boneblades and fought back. Only her own blades marked her as anything other than a precious human girl. 
 
 The demon swore in a dozen tongues. His strikes became more frantic. He plunged a blade down with enough force to crack the surface of the path but she had already moved, a beautiful pirouette that put her in the perfect position to drive a blade between the ribs of his chest. 
 
 The demon shook, but did n't get up. She withdrew her blade slowly. The two stood, eye to eye, and the night was silent. He opened his mouth to curse her and she took his head like she had his brother. 
 
 Dantalian stepped into the light and she turned to face him. Her anger burnt as hotly as the last name in the book. 
 
 `` I know your name,'' he said. 
 
 She stiffened. To call her out now would be unwise, but she understood the power he possessed over her. To know a demons name was to know its powers, and its weaknesses. 
 
 `` I know where you come from.'' He looked behind her and felt more names, names that would fill the pages of his book for many days to come, begin to burn. `` I know where you must go,'' he said.
