So, maybe it really is for the best.

Maybe I was wrong all along, and he was set on the right path.
The cozy little bar was empty of any living souls except for the man sitting at the counter, and the
bartender behind it. There was no answer to the mans statement, but still he kept going, apparently
more in a monolog of self-reflection than actually trying to make conversation.
Even the scriptures have been useless. Nothing more than a dying old mans words of deliverance.
He looked down at the tall glass in his hand. It was empty, emanating the intense fresh scent of
wormwood. Prepare me another one, please.
I dont mean to imply anything, friend, but maybe youve had enough? The grey-haired barman
answered in perfect English as he came closer, applying a more prudent tone than he usually did.
Absinthe is really potent stuff, wouldnt want you passing out on my counter.
You neednt worry, good man. For what good it is worth, my constitution does not allow me to
become truly inebriated, despite how much alcohol I might consume. The barman stared with one
eyebrow raised for a few seconds, with no answer coming to mind. You may go ahead and pour me
another glass, if you please.
If you say so.
The home-made liquor seeped slowly from a bottle labeled Absenta in beautiful handwritten
calligraphy, until the glass was about a third full. Then the absinthe spoon, a single sugar cube laying
on it, was placed over the glass, and icy water was slowly dripped onto it until the sugar completely
dissolved. The Classic French Absinthe Ritual.
The first sip clearly brought a special pleasure to the short-haired mans face.
Tell me something, my friend. He spoke as the barman was about to turn his back, to continue his
rite of polishing the numerous bottles lined against the wall behind the counter. Dont you find it
strange that a name which has meanings ranging from shining one, or the morning star, to bringer of
dawn, would be associated with so much negativity?
The pensive-looking barman appeared to consider the question before answering. I suppose that
could be seen as strange. But Im not really sure I know what youre referring to.
I think you do. Maybe you just havent accepted it yet.
Maybe. The bartender looked unsure if he should actually be interested in the conversation or not.
Lucifer, the Fallen Angel. The first of the Demon kind. The man stated plainly. I can tell you one
thing: I was definitely surprised when he decided to alter his name.
I think Im even more unclear on what you mean now.
A chuckle preceded the mans next words. You see, Lucifer was the first born of Gods Angelic
Children. To angels, their names are deeply tied to their essence, to whom they are. For an angel to
want to change his name well, it would essentially mean he desired to change, at his core, who or
what he was.
The bartender motioned with his head for the man to go on. He folded the old cleaning rag in half,
twice, and let it rest neatly on the counter.
So why would the original angel, the first and foremost Son of God, want to change his name?
Well, at first it seemed slightly obvious as he yearned to move away from Gods plan, to follow his own
will. Mostly everyone regarded him as a traitor, an overly proud being intoxicated with the idea of
power, reaching farther than anyone should, beyond what nothing but Gods grasp should reach.
There was a strange and somehow unnatural glint to the mans dark brown eyes, and it did not go
unnoticed by the bartender, who nevertheless kept his attention on what he was hearing.
But you see, hundreds and then thousands of years to ponder on these events, and watching history
unfold itself as it has you eventually come to question mostly everything.

The man remained seated in the same unrelaxed and seemingly tense position, but still he spoke with
a soothing even if question-inducing tone of voice.
Did he somehow know what his name would eventually be synonym of, in the future to come? Did
he foresee as far as that, and still remained faithful to his ideals? Suffer the weight of the entirety of
Humanitys evils upon his shoulders, just to fight for what he believed in?
The bartender had his hands together, fingers intertwined, on which he rested his chin as he leaned
forward on the counter. A few years ago, I wouldve dismissed all of your words as those of a drunken
costumer. Nowadays, Im faced with the thought of who, or what you might be, to speak of these
things, he admitted, without changing his stance whatsoever.
Who I might be The man recited the words as if he were musing over an enigma. An angel, a
demon, a man, a leader, a traitor, a warrior, a coward, a victor a disgrace. The last word had
significant weight, taking its toll as it was spoken. There is so much that I could have been, that I have
been, and that I may come to be. But what of what I could never have been, and of what I may never
be? And is any of it of any consequence, if you acknowledge the fact that I have glimpsed into the future
on various occasions over the centuries, and never once been able to prevent any, no matter how small,
part of it from coming to fruition?
The brooding man behind the counter gave no hint of wanting to speak his mind, nor any sign of
being emotionally affected by what he was hearing. Instead he reached for the front pocket in his dark
green vest, from which he produced a pack of cigarettes. He brought one to his lips before offering the
other one, and he lit a match. The sparking birth of the small flame highlighted in strangely gleaming
colors both mens guises. They stared unblinkingly at each other while taking their first drags on the
cigarettes. Soon the smoke had spread all around them, beneath the warm light of the low ceiling lamps.
Id been convinced, for as long as I can remember, the dark-haired man continued, after another
sip from the deep scented beverage, that the scriptures had been Gods venture in correcting something
He should not have done. That Hed divined the consequences that were to come of Kohryus
banishment, how it would come to affect the Human world, and eventually the whole of existence, and
exposed it so that Man could heed his Word and, in doing so, alter the course of things to come.
The man drew a long puff and slowly exhaled the smoke in a continuous plume. Yet, despite what
He wrote, mostly everything I believe He would have wanted to avoid, still came to be. Is it such an
impossibility to change destiny that even God was unable to do so?
The man behind the counter took his time before replying. So, you believe God would want our
present world to be a different one. This was not a question, or an accusation, more of an out loud
thought. What exactly makes you so sure he actually ever cared? These words were spoken like a
challenge of sorts.
The reply came in the form of a question. Are you a religious man?
The barman chuckled. You could say Im a believer, yes.
Well then, if the scriptures do not represent an actual foretelling of future events, the costumer
returned the defying tone of voice, his eyes not straying for a second from the bartenders, and if they
did not serve the purpose of excursing Man from the path of ruin, what exactly would you deem them
to be?
Maybe nothing more than a tool to guide the minds of those whiling to be guided, he answered
briskly. Maybe an experiment to entertain a bored old man? His tone had changed, from one of
sharpness, to one hinted by mockery. Or maybe the greatest joke of all time.
So you would say that God meant for Man to be ready and willing to persecute and exterminate the
Demons, when the time came. The two joking hypotheses seemed to have passed by the man, without
registering in his mind.

What I would say, friend, is that you wont get any insightful answers to those questions from me.
The bartender put out his cigarette on the ashtray before stepping back.
Im just a bartender, he stated plainly, raising his hands in an apologetic shrug. Sorry. He turned
around and picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels, which he proceeded to slowly rub the dust off of, with
the rag between his hands.
The man sitting calmly at the counter sipped twice, unhurriedly, from his tall glass. When he placed
it down, he spoke without waiting for the bartender to turn towards him. A few years ago, I would
have dismissed the thought of insisting, and would just have walked out that door. He toyed with the
barmans previous words. Nowadays, I feel I should remind you of the direness of our situation.
Our situation? The grey-haired man questioned, without interrupting his polishing.
Indeed. Not one single entity on Earth should hope to remain apart from this war. Much less
someone who can have an actual hand in helping to stop it.
.The bartender didnt turn around. Im afraid youve got me confused with someone else. He spoke
as if to his bottles, his head lowered. As much as I would love for the war to end, you cant seriously
be implying I could somehow affect its outcome.
And if I was? If I could give you the chance to fight, one last time, for what you believe in, for what
you love, for what you wish to protect. If I could give you a path to revenge for whom youve lost, the
seated man ushered these words very slowly, allowing them the weight he knew they would have on
the bartenders conscience, would you take it?
The barman turned around with a pleasant, quiescent smile of resignation written over his face. Im
sorry, but I dont think Im the man youre looking for. Im no fighter, Im just an old bartender, and
with nothing else to protect besides this little bar.
And what of your wife, Aodh?
At the sound of his name, the bartenders smile slowly, but steadily disappeared, until his face had
turned dead serious. The man at the counter continued, untouched.
What of your little girls?
The atmosphere quickly became cutthroat as both men stared, unflinching, at each other.
What will you do, when hiding is not enough to keep them safe any longer?
Whoever you are, I am sorry to tell you that I cannot let you leave here with your life. The
bartender announced, his unchanged stance now almost unperceivably rigid, every last one of his
muscles, hidden beneath his unmoved skin, ready to react at any moments notice. The illusion
dissipated from his eyes first, giving place to his void-filled dark gaze.
I did not come here to-
The black-haired mans speech was cut short. For a few moments none of the two men moved a
muscle. A single droplet of the honey-colored draft plunged from a beer tap and the sound it made
splashing into the metallic grid resounded throughout the bar. Both men looked at each other with silent
realization, and little more than a second before the sound of orderly and perfectly synchronized
footsteps invaded the space, the bartender had returned to his bottles.
The man at the counter raised the absinth glass to his lips and drank the remainder of the thick
whitened liquid in a single draught. He was deeply aware of each and every sound and movement in
the room: the six incessantly beating hearts, two his own, and the bartenders standing out, with a
slightly increased rhythm; the four pairs of greaves steadily striking the old wooden floor in a muffled
pu-pump; the air swaying around the four angelic soldiers proudly bore wings, the rustling of their
countless snow-white feathers, the consistent in-and-out of their breaths and the metallic clinging of
their armor pieces as they headed towards him.

The soldier standing at the front, clearly the squad captain, formally greeted the bartender with a
slight bow, and waited for him to turn around before voicing the reason for their presence.
Welcome, officers. Aodh spoke in cheerful English, approaching the counter. Something I can
help you with?
The captain nodded respectfully. There have been reports of an extremely dangerous demon having
passed through this area and of his involvement in the crimes that ocurred in this town. We are
conducting an initial search regarding the whereabouts of said vile creature.
The short-haired man remained seated at the counter, while cautiously, and attentively, eyeing the
four soldiers. The captain wore a long golden sword strapped behind his back and spoke mechanically
with no movement of his body; the other three behind him stood at attention, with short swords sheathed
at their waists.
What we require of you is information, the captain declared. Have you seen or heard anything
that might help us locate our target?
Bartender, the sitting man called out, and immediately every stare in the room focused on him.
Id like another one, please.
The angelic captain cocked his head in curiosity as he looked at the man. You should not interrupt
anothers speech, human.
Just a moment, please, Aodh excused himself and reached for the absinth bottle.
Sorry to interrupt, captain, but I was feeling rather thirsty. The man spoke calmly, as the bartender
served him his absinth, raw. In any case, I am certain our good friend here knows nothing of what
youre asking.
You will speak on your turn, when you are allowed to do so, and not before, the captain warned,
with a stern voice, before looking back at the other man, silently awaiting an answer to his earlier
enquiry.
But the seated man again spoke up. I must insist it is a waste of your time-
Silence!
The captain slapped his hand hard on the counter. The loud noise cut through the rooms silent
ambience like a knife through butter. The absinth glass was overturned, spilling the rich green liquid all
over the sleek and polished wooden counter.
I must remind you, the angels white gaze remained all the while locked on the barman, that
harboring a demon, just as well as withholding any kind of information that could lead to the arrest of
one, is punishable by death.
Maintaining perfect composure, he withdrew his hand just in time to avoid the thin stream of absinth
slowly moving down the counter.
You would do well to consider this before your next words, human.

To be continued...