A Devil's Pact (Celestial #1.1, Complete)

Battle in the Alleyway

We had almost reached the end of the alleyway when they emerged. Three of them, all big and burly men well beyond the average age of those out tonight, rounded the corner of the alleyway. Even in my drunken state I could tell they were trouble. I applied some pressure to Stacy's hand, just enough to stop her joyous charge forward. I gestured with my head to the men, who had begun to walk towards us, laughing loudly and obnoxiously whilst swigging from a can of beer between them.

Thankfully Stacy was also in a semi sensible state of mind as she stopped jogging and allowed me to pull her to my side, putting myself between her and the men. We continued to walk towards the exit, I wasn't hopeful but I wasn't going to at least try and keep this night going. Stacy had promised me a lot after all, and she seemed more than willing and capable to deliver.

I knew it was too much to ask for.

"Excuse me mate," called one of them as they got within a few meters of us. The alleyway wasn't wide enough for us to pass each other without going into single file and they had yet to move, so our path was blocked. "You got any cigarettes on you?" he finished.

"No, sorry," I answered truthfully. I may be a damaged alcoholic at the age of seventeen, but I can honestly say smoking had never held the slightest interest for me, and the one time I had tried it had left a horrible taste in my mouth that had taken two bottles of tequila and a particularly skilled blonde to remove.

The answer didn't seem to satisfy the man or his friends, just like I knew it wouldn't. I had spent too much time on the street to know when a person genuinely just wanted a cigarette. This wasn't one of those times.

"C'mon mate," he said, stepping closer with his gang. Their patchy grey stubble and greasy hair, a common feature among the three of them, became visible under the slither of moonlight that was leaking into the alley. The one on the far right even seemed to have an eye patch on, making him look a bit like a fat pirate. "Just the one fag."

(a/n I just want to point out "Fag" is a British colloquialism for cigarette. No other meaning is intended.)

"Look I haven't got any fags." I reiterated. I knew it wouldn't do much good.

Then he turned his attention to the girl behind me, who had made herself as small as possible against my body. It seemed her dominating nature didn't extended pass the realm of sex, which was fine by me. Rash words would likely end up with someone hurt in situations like this.

"What about the little lady? You must have a pack in the jacket of yours," leered the man as he smirked at us, showing an obvious gap in his teeth where two or three had rotted out over the years. I knew Stacy wasn't going to answer, I could already feel her shaking against me.

"That's my jacket, so I can tell you there's nothin' in there," I replied firmly. I had handed my bottle of tequila to Stacy as we spoke, in the hopes she would use it wisely if things turned ugly, which was seemingly ever more likely. It was time for fight or flight. Flight was the priority, especially with Stacy scared as she was. I had to get her away, I might not have been what you'd term a gentlemen, but I can't stand too see the innocent hurt. Not again.

Never again.

I took a step forward to see if they would let us pass. Instead I felt a large, meaty hand slap against my chest with an audible thud.

"What about money? For the fags, y'know," asked the same man, the only one who had spoken so far. I wrapped my own wrist around his and applied pressure. Not enough to free myself, but enough to let him know I wasn't an easy or scared target. In the corner of my eye I noticed the other two men take up positions to better surround us. I saw one reach out to tug my jacket off of Stacy and well... that was that.

My right hand threw the mans hand off my chest, by which time I was already spinning to face the man who had dared lay a hand on the girl currently wearing my jacket. In a blur I smashed my left knuckle across his face, which whipped around fiercely as my momentum carried me forward. I threw a wild elbow into the face of the second man which would surely have knocked out any teeth he had remaining.

I felt a sharp pain in my back before I could turn to face the original attacker. It was if my muscle was on fire. There was a warm sensation, far different to the burn of my tequila, working its way down my back. Somewhere in the distance I heard Stacy scream. I soon realised why.

I had been stabbed.

The blood was slowly pouring out the wound just below my right shoulder, but I was too high on adrenaline to care. It would be sorted soon anyways. Even as I spun to face the man who had stabbed me I could feel the flames licking at the wound.

"Can I borrow this? Tah." I asked as I tore the tequila bottle from Stacy's frozen grip. I brought the heavy glass bottle down on the first mans head with a satisfying crash as it shattered on the knife wielders skull. My victory was short lived however as I was tackled by a great weight from behind.

I crashed to the floor, the grit and dirt of the gravel path crunched numbingly into my skin as blood ran from my nose. The attacker was somewhat clever in that he aimed his next blow not at my head, but where I had been stabbed.

Unfortunately for him it had already healed. The flames had cleaned away the wound and replaced it with a fresh layer of skin. My injuries always healed like this, ever since that... day... I had had this power. It was a blessing, but also a curse.

I managed to wriggle out of the stunned mans grasp and aimed a kick at his head. Another blow, this time from a foot, crashed into my face. I could already feel the blood pooling above my lips as the crack of my nose breaking entered my ears. More and more blows rained down on me from the two men still standing, and I was powerless to stop them. I had hoped Stacy would run, but she was still there, frozen in shock. One of the men had picked up a large shard of glass from my bottle and drove it just centimetres from my heart. My body healed fast, but a fatal injury was still fatal, I had very nearly learnt that the hard way.

The other man had picked up his friends knife and was about to bring in plunging into my stomach when I heard Stacy cry out. She had moved from her spot, frozen against the wall and clawed at the man's face, leaving angry red lines down the side of his aged skin with her well manicured nails.

Oh you stupid girl. You stupid, brave girl. Why didn't you run Stacy?

He spun and buried the knife deep in her gut. "Fuckin' bitch!" he screamed as he twisted the blade, before removing it with a sickening squelch as blood poured from the gapping whole. It was an injury I would have struggled to survive, and Stacy was nothing like me. With a sick smile the man turned to me.

He was blasted from his feet by a streak of red and black light, which threw him a good distance down the alleyway. Before his shocked friend could react, a second bolt of light smashed into him, throwing him into a nearby wall with a delightful crack as he slid down the brickwork.

I looked up to see to see what seemed like a tear in the very air itself, and out from the swirling red and black mist inside stepped the silhouette of a woman, flanked by two other vague figure, seemingly one male and one female.