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a joke or something. This isn’t really happening.”
                  “Of course it is.”
                  “What happened?” Timothy asked, “Really. What happened?” What could explain this?
                  “Cipher was attacked by one of Despada’s followers. Cipher, from what I’ve been able to learn, killed his opponent, but then got dunked in a font of holy water by some kid who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Dunk a demon in holy water and what do you think is going to happen?”
                  “Demons aren’t real. And even if they were, they wouldn’t be in churches.”
                  “Ordinarily no. Churches are boring, though I suspect Cipher didn’t know what building he fled into. More likely he got ambushed, wounded, and needed some cover. Little did he know he’d run into the college kid who’d toss him in a holy bath.”
                  “This can’t be real.” It sounded lame to Timothy. Too many memories said it was true.
    Hands behind his back, Cordinox strolled over to Timothy. “What do you see?” he asked, holding out his hand again. He flipped it over. Timothy didn’t say anything, guessing this was a trick, or maybe he was just sick of not knowing what happened. “It’s a hand right? Well, how about now?” A blink of energy and the skin solidified into black scales, the fingers tipped with points of sharpened bone.
                  “What are you?” Timothy asked, pushing his sight up to Cordinox’s face.
                  “A demon,” Cordinox said.
                  “How is that possible?”
                  “We’ve always been around. Ever since the beginning of time we’ve appeared, growing out of broken souls. Sometimes taking human bodies, sometimes creating new ones—custom models if you will.”
                  “Demons,” Timothy repeated. “Shouldn’t you be from hell then?”
                  “Hell?” Cordinox asked with a smirk, “Not as far as we know.”
                  “And holy water kills you?”
                  “Anything blessed with a love for others will hurt us. You see Nicholas Santos, we are creatures of self-love. Not evil, just very egocentric. Don’t confuse the two.” He glanced at the ceiling like he had to pick exactly what he’d say next, “That’s something which really irritates me. See, you hear people talk about demons and evil and they think that if you’re selfish, you must be terrible. Evil, they think, is selfish. But we’re not evil, not in the sense people think. Sure, we don’t say we’re good, and we don’t work to help others—unless it’s in our best interest. But look at the average human, and there you go. People do charities, usually because it makes them feel good. People take care of families because they love them. A mother is happy when she takes care of her child. That child makes her happy. Each one gets something out of that relationship. None of those motivations are beyond us. We’re just more honest.”
                  “And you work together?”
                  “It’s in all of our best interests,” Cordinox explained. “There’s protection in numbers. Go it alone, and you’ll get yourself killed. Thousands of bands across the planet. Hundreds of demon lords spread out across the continents. Trust me, you don’t want to be alone.”
                  “And you are?”
                  “I lead this little band.”
                  “This is real,” Timothy said, not sure if he made a statement or a question.
                  “Very much so.”
                  “How do I fit into this?”
                  “You killed a demon. That wasn’t supposed to happen. As far as I know, it’s never happened