90

Hunter, Don't Shoot My Friend

Chapter 90: A Vagabond Has the Answer

"Holy mother of God, what kind of abomination gave birth to that thing? Not even my dog's mother birthed such a creature. How did this happen? Is this what demons look like?"

Ethan moved away, avoiding any more silly jokes about the werewolf. He scanned the area to ensure no one else was around but then heard footsteps behind him.

At that moment, footsteps echoed from the end of the alley, alarming Anton to the point where he pointed his weapon in that direction.

Stiles, who had been taking pictures with the dark entity they had just killed, turned to see where Anton was aiming and did the same, but with his rocket launcher.

"Whoever's playing mysterious in the dark, we’re not messing around, and all it takes is one pull of this trigger for this baby on my shoulder to turn you into mush. You hearing me?"

Ethan didn't need to say anything; Stiles seemed to be enjoying this, so he let him handle whoever—or whatever—was lurking in the darkness.

"God forgive me if it’s just a cute little kitten, but I think you’re actually another two-faced bastard like the one we just crushed."

"Wait." Ethan didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble that could harm others.

Everything in due time; they needed to be sure that whatever was hiding in the dark was truly an enemy.

"Heh, heh, heh!" A silhouette slowly emerged from the darkness—a clown carrying a sack on his back.

But Stiles, who hated mysteries, pulled a flashlight from his pocket and lit up the entire alley.

What they saw left them stunned. The silhouette was drenched in blood, and worst of all, it had a grotesque, murderous smile.

"You son of a bitch!" Ethan took a step forward, and two shadows appeared on either side of him, each holding a sword. Without wasting time, they swiftly moved towards the blood-soaked clown.

The speed of his shadows was impressive; the bloodied killer clown didn’t even have a chance to react before being impaled by two swords.

Crack! Crack!

"Argh!"

The murderous clown didn’t speak; it didn’t even seem to feel pain.

Ethan pulled out a wooden stake and handed it to Stiles, then said, "Stiles, drive this through its heart."

"Me? No way, I’d rather stay far away from that thing," Stiles said, grinning at the daunting task.

"Come on, this is your mission—the first demon you send back to the underworld," Ethan said, watching as the demon desperately tried to free itself.

Stiles took the stake, approached the blood-soaked clown, and without hesitation, gathered his courage and drove the stake into the demon, which roared in a strange way.

"I touched its blood—it's not poisonous, right?" Stiles showed his blood-covered finger to Ethan, who pushed it aside.

Soon, they watched as the clown turned to ashes—it was all too simple.

As Stiles watched the clown disintegrate, Ethan put on his leather gloves and turned away while his shadows vanished once again.

"That easy?"

"Sometimes, it is."

"What was that thing, a spirit?"

Ethan shook his head and said, "It’s a demon or maybe a ghost; who knows? What’s important is that we killed it. Report the containment status and wait for the cleanup crew."

Ethan glanced at the clown that had disintegrated. "Did we just get haunted? Damn, I haven’t been baptized."

"Don’t worry, you won’t die from having a ghost on your back."

"Damn it, cover me in salt, Professor! Don’t leave me!"