McDune was staring off into the distance, wondering such thoughts as a gentle breeze skimmed the hairs on his face. Holding a little girls hand with cold fingers. The girls' warm hand he clasped on to, with worry as they overlooked a scene of dead bodies on a grassy hilltop.

It was a clear sky that day. Not a cloud in sight and the warm rays of the sun hit his face reminding him of summer. It was like this sick world that they had lived in showed them the most peaceful and blissful scene they could ever hope to witness. However, it wasn't, the hilltop was littered with snowdrops and all painted red on the battlefield. Humans and demons slaughtered each other, the humans mainly being at fault. Who was it that convinced humans that demons were devils? That all they thought and did was evil? McDune understood this better than anyone as he was once a human. 

 "Papa, I don't like this smell, can we go home?" 

"Orla… This… What you see here is our world. Do you understand?"

He felt her hand tighten. McDune a slightly short man with 21 years to his age and slight facial hair, his hair blended in with the snowdrops and wore a brown poncho-like cloak with two pointed studs the same length as his head. All he loved in this world was Orla. His adopted daughter. He relied on her and protected her, more so than his own self. 

 She was six, although young she was wise for her age minus the nïeveity of a child, which was expected from any child. Her hair was almost white. Mainly reflecting the sun's light, her hair at the roots started as hazel, blond than white and the pattern ended as hazel at the tips of her long hair. Her eyes red, she was a banshee and a scorched and had scars of horns under her hairline. She wore a pink woollen poncho with a thick collar around her neck. Her skin was pale and had rosy red cheeks with freckles the most adorable little girl anyone could imagine.

"No papa, I don't understand please I don't like seeing, sniff I… I"

"Do you like our world? Where men get slaughtered, children get robbed and women- do you like it!!!"

McDune never lifted his voice at Orla for something she had done. One time she was playing with an ember at the end of a stick and pocked McDune in the eye with it while he was resting. He almost went blind.

"N… No… sniff. Papa"

"Yes, Orla?"

As McDune answered, he transformed into his demonic form. He was a Jinn with wings that covered the span of fifty men lined up together. He had tusks like an orc and horns of a bison.

Fingernails were black as obsidian and sharp just as so and to make him look more like a freak he had the tail of a rattlesnake. To make it all the worse he towered in hight. Three men tall and was considered huge even among the 'Iftreet', 'Shayateen' and the other Jinns. Not that he has ever seen a fellow Jinn. He never changed to this form, but the world knew who he was. 'McDune The Terrible' He hated his name but could only remember his last name and not his first.

"When will you come back?" Orla whined to him.

"I don't know, but I won't be gone for long, come, I'll take you to Justina. You'll stay there until I come back, are you okay with that?"

He lifted her from the wrist like a doll and held her close his chest, wiping the tears from her face as he smiled.

"Yay! 'Miss Tina'! She makes the best oat milk."

She quickly forgot that they were in the middle of a field of armoured corpses.

"Hahaha, she does?"

"Yep. Hehe." He extended his wings, and with brute strength, he launched in the air toppling over a few bodies under him from the gust of wind he let off. 

 A year before the dream. 

 A cold dark evening struck when the sun had set on a typical wet day of November in Ireland.

McDune was cycling home after a long day touring around the city. Finding a job was difficult. Even for someone young and healthy, it was hard to find an employer insisting on hiring. He worked as a bicycle courier; this job wasn't half bad. Making money while cycling around the city was fun and addicting at times, but it didn't make him the money he needed. He was Living With his Afghani mother as a single child, and Irish father, which he was away at a trip to England for the weekend. He wasn't a rich by all means but had enough to take care of himself and not financially strain the family as for his father he was unemployed.

He never really did anything and relied on the dole for income, which annoyed McDune as he felt his family was almost useless to society. As he was fighting an uphill on the way home, his stomach growled and remember he hadn't eaten anything since lunch and stopped by a store to buy sandwiches and a protein bar. As he stopped, he locked his shiny black and white road bike to a stop sign on the corner of a storefront. As he made his way, he saw a couple of shady looking individuals disputing over something quietly but ignored their presence as any person would do. He didn't wish to involve himself in something that could lead to trouble.

McDune walked in, and an Indian shop keeper greeted him with a bright warm smile as he was dealing with a customer. McDune felt slightly insecure about his overwhelmingly giant cuboid bag on his back. He was afraid he might knock something over which rarely happened. Scanning through the selection of sandwiches, tuna and mayo caught his eye at the fridge as well as a bottle of orange juice. He didn't wish to blow his money on such luxuries, had water left over from the bottle he used for work cycling. The protein bars were next to the till and spotted a new flavour of protein bar that piqued his interest. They were all the same price anyway so the limited edition one couldn't hurt. Or what about the original he thought, people always say how good they are, and he never buys food from outside. He always eats his mothers cooking or takes some out for lunch. Today, however, he'd forgotten and was disappointed in himself.

 McDunn made his way out of the store excited for the meal he was going to have and looked forward to the vanilla ice cream flavoured protein bar he went for. He usually sat on a curb or a bench to eat his food as people stared, but he didn't mind as he was used to it. Walking out the store, one of the men bumped into his left and McDune heard an abrupt bang to his left. He didn't realise what had happened as he looked to his left to see one of the individuals with a Glock drawn towards the man who'd bumped into him. Smoke poured out of the gun and looked at the man to see if blood was seeping out of him. Only a burnt hole tattered through his shirt had gone through, and the man looked at McDune in shock.

"You idot! What the FUCK!!" the young man launched passed the man with the gun with more gunfire following him as he ran for his life.

The two men disappeared at a moment’s notice while the wails and screams of the pedestrians let out. McDune collapsed to the ground like a sack of flour and realised to the left of his chest a hole was severed right through the other end. The bullet made its way entirely through his torso and felt drowsy as he began to bleed out intensely. A strange light appeared in the far distance and the night began to turn into a late afternoon daytime. It was a strange sense of sleepfulness and wakefulness. He thought he would die, but from what his mother had told him, the angel of death did not show up.