Prologue

''' THIS SERIES IS A STRICT 13 AND ABOVE. THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN GRAPHIC VIOLENCE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. '''

 [Feburary 18th, 1169.] 

 [65 Miles outside of Cyprus.] 

The group of Archangels trudged solemly through the Scorched battlefield. The corpses of Fallen Sarcens and Templars littered the area. The pain of war stung their hearts, as the Deaths of any Human or Animal would. The stench was horrible and caused all of them to cringe.

"God, please let this trek be worth it." Felix grunted, wafting the smell from his nose. Elizabeth smacked him over the head in response. "Don't speak that way about our lord. Whoever knighted you as a Archangel must've had very poor eyesight. For they couldn't see the Bad qualities of you." She hissed.

Clearly not expecting a 'Reason you suck' speech, Felix quieted himself. Wolf, the lead Archangel, held up a hand to his group. "Hold." He said.

The others leaned to see what was in-front of them, what they saw shocked them. The ground was cracking, pouring out heat that could only come from Hell itself.

The sickening crunches grew as a hole formed, fire spewed from it. A man lept out, only 18 years old by the looks of it. He landed mere inches from them, evil seemed to pulsate from him. Wolf stepped forward. "Identify yourself." He ordered. The man grinned, his teeth seemed to sharpen into needles.

"Havik..." He spoke, his voice ragged and dark. "Your...Worst Nightmare." With no hint at all, he brought out a sword and lunged at the group. He swung at Wolf, who dodged and drew his own sword. Steel clashed and both were sent back from the shock-wave. Felix pulled out his bow and began shooting arrows at the Assailant. Only one managed to strike him, which he promptly yanked out.

The wound burned, the inside was like a hot burning coals in a furnace. The fire from it cauterized the wound and closed it.

Elizabeth and Gabriel followed up with a flurry of sword strikes, They didn't even hit him before getting a boot to the chin and a punch to the face respectively. Wolf took this distraction and engaged the demon. He dodged and weaved, he parried blow after blow and got a couple hits in. He finished up with flip-kick to his chin. Havik sprawled out as he flew and landed with a thud. He spat out burning hot blood.

Felix laughed. "Ya ain't so tough when Blue gets angry, ya bother." He held up a hand to his superior. "I'll finish him, sir." He seemed to sway with every step, gloating all the way to Havik's side. He raised his blade for the final strike.

Only for a fist to land squarely in his nose.

Recoiling in pain, Felix looked up to watch as Havik rose to his feet. His black hair turned into fleshly dreadlocks. His head elongated, his eyes went a dark red and burrowed into his head, cracks formed at the edges. His teeth turned to needles and his jaw seemed to unhinge to accommodate them. His pale skin went black and almost scaly. His torso, arms, and legs expanded at certain spots and were a darker shade of black as if it was armor.

Felix blinked. "Well..Thats, a bit unsettling." He said carefully. As if on cue, two jet-black, barbed blades shot out from the black armor on Havik's forearms. He let out a screech so loud, Felix was sure it could shatter glass.

The now Nightmare Havik charged forward and slashed at Felix's Legs, disabling them. Blood flowed as he fell to his knees. Havik drove his blades down into the Archangel's shoulders. Felix screamed in Agony, only to be silenced when a barbed blade was rammed into his jugular. Havik yanked the blade out and grasped his head, snapping his neck.

The body fell and blood pooled. Elizabeth screamed Felix's name futilely, Gabriel and Wolf charged Havik with Vengeance in their minds. They swung their swords, which clashed with black, barbed blades.

 [Two Decades Later] 

Ulysses Savrem, Better known as The Grim Reaper, sat at his camp. The campfire roared and cackled as the sounds of a distant storm kicked up. Lightning flashed.

"1...2...3....4....5" He muttered. "A mile away, great." He sniffed, standing up and opening his pack. He began pulling out a tarp when footsteps alerted him to a presence.

He grabbed a supposed walking stick, a scythe blade shot out from the top. He whirled around and pressed it against a young man's throat.

"Dead, Dying, Thief, or Traveler?" He questioned. The blonde figure raised an eyebrow. "Archangel." He said back.