I can count the amount of times I had been startled enough to stammer and turn pale throughout the seventeen years of my existence. One; I was nine; my father handed me a black dagger, pointed to my mentor, and calmly said “Kill him.” It took a brand to my back before I was able to do what he wanted me to. Two; I was fifteen, and woke up to a demon I trusted holding a knife to my throat. I killed him and never told my father that my assassination had been attempted again. And three; at seventeen, I had just finished fighting my Modern Literature Professor who turned out to be Beelzebub; the demon of gluttony, and Elijah Wolf stood as a barrier from my escape, curiously asking me where the Professor was.
“He erm… he left. Left early…”
He’s on his way to the Underworld. He’s probably reach
