STORY:- Awaken Divine Hunter by Preciousbouy 



STORY:- Awaken Divine Hunter by Preciousbouy 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for the use in anqy review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author

“A man plans his course, but

The Lord determines his steps…”

– Proverbs 16:9


October 4th, 2011.

Cambridge, Ohio.

Michael sat alone at the bar with a double whiskey, though he wasn’t drinking

so much as staring into it trying to establish what it was that had brought him on

this journey from Columbus.

Yesterday’s newspaper article had read that four teenagers over the space of

seven days had thrown themselves from their dorm windows at State Park

University. Although the authorities were treating it as some sort of suicide

pact, Michael suspected otherwise. People don’t just throw themselves from

buildings for the sake of it and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t about to

ignore it.

Michael Warden is an investigator.

Not your usual, ordinary type of investigator−like the ones who track down

criminals or follow people suspected of having affairs and such−but an

investigator of the paranormal kind. Some might say a Demon Hunter; a Ghost

Buster. If only it was as simple as that.

He read the page that he’d printed out from the Daily Tribune’s website

again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he folded it up and placed

it back into his worn, black, double breasted coat pocket. He knocked back his

whiskey and made his way out of the bar. It was early evening in Baltimore,

MD, and a slight mist had started to settle in. Michael still had a little over three

hours’ drive ahead of him to get to where his reservation was: a small place

called The Sunshine Motel a couple of miles outside of Garrett Co. He’d

planned on having an early night so he could make a start on his new

investigation early the next morning, but he’d made an unscheduled stop for

some food on the way.

He crossed the rush hour traffic and headed towards his car. The dusty,

beige, 96 Chevy Cavalier (which had seen much better days) was parked up on

the other side of the street. He reached for his keys and was about to unlock the

driver’s side door when he heard a female voice cry for help behind him. He

looked back to see a young woman struggling to hold on to her purse as one of

three hooded youths attempted to prize it from her hands.

“Hey!” Michael shouted over the noise of the traffic, loud enough for the

youths to notice him as he immediately ran back to help. Two of the hoods ran

off, leaving one−who had succeeded in his goal−fumbling with the woman’s

purse. He looked up at Michael, dropped it in a panic onto the sidewalk, and ran

like hell.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked as he passed the young woman her purse

from the floor. She nodded, clearly shaken by her ordeal, but instead of staying

with her and waiting while the cops were called, he decided to do something

about it himself. After he’d visually checked her over, he turned and ran after

her attackers.

The group of youths made a right turn down a dimly lit alleyway between

two tall office blocks. Michael followed them. A few faint street lights

highlighted a row of dumpsters down one side; the heavy stench of their rotting

contents filling the air. They reached the end of the alley, and faced with

nothing but a high fence which split the dark space in two, they began to get

visibly agitated.

“You might as well give it up boys,” Michael shouted to them after he

realized they were trapped. One of them began to climb up the fence and easily

managed to pull himself to the top. Then he jumped down the other side. “Come

on!” He gestured for his buddies but they were bigger and heavier than he was and were having some trouble executing the climb with the same ease as their


Michael caught up to them and grabbed hold of one of the boys−now half

way up the fence−by his waist and pulled him down to the floor. “Get off me!”

The boy shouted as Michael grappled with him before managing to pin him to

the ground. Too busy batting the youth’s hands away as he tried desperately to

lay one on him, Michael hadn’t noticed that the other boy−the largest of the

group−had jumped back down from the fence. Suddenly a thick arm wrapped

around Michael’s neck, dragging him to his feet and holding him back long

enough for the other boy to jump up, grazed and bloodied. As he did, he pulled

a blade from his inside pocket and held it out in front of him pointing the

dangerous end right at Michael.

Michael managed to break free from the large boy’s surprisingly strong grip

after elbowing him right in his diaphragm. He paused for a second and looked at

the knife: nothing special, just your everyday Smith and Wesson pocket knife

with a three inch blade, but Michael started to back away. There was no point

getting into something he wouldn’t be able to explain to the authorities,

especially as he still had a long journey ahead of him. The boy had obviously

seen it as a weakness and lunged straight for him, causing Michael to jump back

out of his reach until his back hit a wall, which stopped him from going any

further. “Son of a. . . ”

The youth never stopped and at the last minute he lost his footing. Falling

forward, his knife plunged straight into Michael’s stomach, causing him to gasp.

His eyes widened with surprise.

The boy looked down at what he’d done and his face instantly paled.

Michael saw a moment of panic as he stared straight into the boy’s deep indigo

eyes. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old if he was that. After

a moment, the boy let go of the knife to leave it sticking out from Michael’s flesh. He stood frozen to the spot, his mouth working like a goldfish with no

sound escaping.

“Come on dude, let’s go!” the boy’s friend urged as he grabbed him by the

arm. “We gotta split before anyone sees us. Leave him, come on!” That was

enough to snap the boy into action and they both ran back down the alley to the

street, leaving Michael standing there looking at the knife as blood soaked

through his gray T-shirt spreading outwards from the wound. There was no

pain, though. In fact, he’d hardly felt a thing which hadn’t surprised him too


Now all alone in the alley, with nothing but the sound of dripping water

from a leaky gutter nearby and the distant traffic noise, Michael placed his hand

around the black handle, held his breath and pulled the blade out slowly. It felt

strange, not like he’d expected at all. It was almost numb with a slight scratchy,

pulling sensation as the cold steel exited his flesh. He dropped it to the floor and

lifted his T-shirt to assess the damage. There was now a deep slit right under his

ribs on the left-hand side, but he felt okay. There was no panic because he knew

he’d be perfectly fine.

Under different circumstances, though, he knew that right about now he

would be dropping to the ground and waiting to die from such a lethal wound.

He’d already lost a lot of blood and was pretty sure that the knife had punctured

his kidney.

That wasn’t about to happen to him though. You see. . . Michael was no

longer human. The body he walked in wasn’t his. Neither was the name he now

used. Both used to belong to someone else−a young man. Someone who’d been

down on his luck, who’d had no family to care about him, and his misfortunes

had led him to choose a dark path. Fortunately for Michael, who now inhabited

it after discovering he could borrow a body. Which he had many times. This

one, however, was more of a permanent thing. After discovering that using

someone’s body could ultimately lead to their deaths, Michael had managed to 

find someone close to death, who wouldn’t need theirs anymore. So, that man

was the reason he was standing in the alleyway at that moment instead of being

hauled off in a body bag.

He assessed the damage to his shirt. “poo!” he said, poking his finger

through the tear. “This was my last decent goddamn T-shirt.”



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