Deamon had just gotten off work and had slipped out the back exit of the club he performs in. The moonlight is gleaming in the dark sky. A figure appears.

It was obvious to Deamon that the figure before him was holding a knife. Deamon froze. He was quite adept at self defense but he was always very cautious of large men in small spaces. He couldn’t beat most men at a battle of strength but since when was a fight ever about pure strength. 

The figure moved toward him and he darted quickly into the crowded street. The figure follows. 

No one noticed the pursuit or no one cared to get involved. Usually that is why Deamon liked the city, but tonight he found it annoying. 

He ransacked his mind to think of someone, anyone he had recently wronged but there was no one. They were dead and it wouldn’t have been traceable to him. Deamon entered the city square, the only place the guard would assist if he was still being pursued. He desperately searched the surrounding shadows. 

The man was gone. 

Deamon sighs with relief thinking that maybe he has been mistaken and it has been a simple bandit looking for a bit of coin. He left his guard back down as he walked a little too close to another alley. He was grabbed and pulled into the darkness. He was held in a vice-like grip. He knew he was in trouble. It was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He reached to try grabbing his assailant anywhere with exposed skin, but there was none he could reach. He tried forming the signs for hellfire, but the man grabbed his wrists, pinning him to the wall. He tried screaming to attract the guards. 

The man struck him hard, his head hitting the stone wall behind him, and the world went black. The man picked him up easily, Deamon not seeming to weigh anything as he was carried into the darkness.