Greykin Valley

| 72 | Demon Name

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

| Jackson |

A voice murmured to Jackson.

"Salvator..." it drawled, sounding like a snake. "You're...the one."

Jackson didn't know where he was, and he couldn't find whoever was speaking. There was darkness in every direction, and he felt almost as if he was floating around...maybe he was sinking in an ocean, but as the voice called to him, a horrible sense of unease grasped him.

"Salvator..." it called again, closer this time.

He looked around, searching for them.

The darkness suddenly shifted.

As the pitch black twisted around and lit up with purple and red, Jackson was tugged down so fast that he didn't have a chance to try and find something to hang onto. It pulled him down, further and further and further—

He hit the floor with a grunt, and as he scrambled to his feet, the world formed around him; dark shadows spewed down from above like ink dripping in water and morphed into four black walls, old oak furniture, and closed, draping curtains. The gloomy place smelled damp and dusty, and several loud bells rang in the distance. Church bells?

"Salvator," the voice said once more, but this time, it was much clearer...and right behind him.

Jackson swung around and set his eyes on the man standing behind an altar, upon which lay candles, animal skulls, dried herbs, and bottles of glowing liquids. The man's vestments were purple and harrowingly familiar, as was the silver rosary around his neck. Deep violet eyes glowed behind his silver mask, which, along with his hood, shrouded his entire face. And the stench of wolfsbane grew stronger the longer Jackson stood there staring at him.

This man was of the Holy Grail; he looked just like the ones Jackson saw in his memory of the night his father died.

Fear struck him so hard that he stifled a breath and stumbled as he backed off. He tried to work out where and when he was, but this didn't feel like a memory. He couldn't smell the air when he remembered things, and he couldn't freely walk around, either—he couldn't back off...which he kept doing when the man raised a hand and lit another black candle with a wave of his palm.

"I've been searching for you for a long time," the masked man said as he crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his long sleeves.

Jackson's heart raced in his chest. His instincts were telling him that he needed to get as far away from this place as possible, but when he looked around, there wasn't a single door in sight, and that made him panic.

"There's no way out this time," the man taunted him. "No one to protect you, no mercenary to hide you."

He was talking about his parents and Eric, wasn't he? Jackson scowled at the masked man, and when his back hit the wall and he realized that he couldn't back off anymore, his panic was accompanied by desperation. Was he going to have to fight?

The man started creeping out from behind the altar. "You belong to us—to me," he claimed, reaching his hand towards Jackson as he approached him. "No one will stop us this time, not now that we know where you are—"

"Who the hell are you?!" Jackson blurted, unsure whether he should act upon his fear or his desperation.

With a snide laugh, the man stopped ten feet in front of him and extended a bony finger, pointing at Jackson. "You know."