Chapter 1: The Starless Night

Cold. The night was cold. Neon. Above, there was a fractured set of rainbows and puddled streets of a hometown simply called, "Hometown." I know. Creative, right? Each raindrop was a snowflake. All year round was a raindrop of snowflakes. It was still. It was quiet. However, there came a humorous man singing a song.

Outskirts of the town stood a bar. A bar for travelers who would like to find sanctuary amidst the cold void outside.

"MYYYYYYY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!"

"Hohoholy shit, your voice is terrible!!!" laughed one man. "Fuck. You should make a bad cover series!"

The man who just sang karaoke simply flips him off and walks to the bar, rather awkwardly, tiptoeing and muttering nonsense.

"Hey. Uhm.. Hi.." He sat down in front of the bartender, gruff and old as he is while his much younger and attractive wives kissed the back of his ears. "I'd like some uh... milk."

"You came to a bar for some milk?" asked the bartender.

"Alcohol isn't very good for me," said the man. "Just gimme as many alcohol shots as possible. Capiche? Okay..."

"Hey... are you... an Immigrant? Terroristic?"

"No. Heh. Back in my day those words were kinda 'Yeach'..."

"Really? What terms did you use?"

"Y'know. Terms. Just terms that are quite sensitive."

"Sounds like a pansy generation."

"Cheers to that, sir." The man sat hunched on a cracked barstool. His trenchcoat, with stitches all over due to being battered over the years acted like a cape hanging down to the floor. He smelled like rust, old leather, clinging to him like a bittersweet tang. He also strangely had silver hair and silvery eyes. He seems to be wearing a gray jacket underneath the trench coat. He covers his face, which is exposed yet seemingly scarred. There was also a slight silhouette of a star on his chest, though, gone.

"Refill?" the bartender asked, as he clung to his wives, seeing he is NOT from around here. He was silent after the first shot of milk.

"Yeah." Replied the man. "Gimme your best shot of milk."

"Why milk?"

"Good for the bones."

Suddenly, the bar door creaked open and the man instinctively straightened. The boy who opened the door immediately sensed danger.

"Excuse me… sir?" asked the boy.

The voice was small, tentative, and somewhat brash and blunt. The man turned to the boy, his fingers brushing against the rough wooden handle of his weapon, a couple of eskrima sticks that look rather old and worn out. He saw a boy, no older than ten, with wide curious eyes and a mop of messy hair shrouding upon his head. He clutched his notebook to his chest like a shield, as his fingers cut and bleed from its tattered edges, making him flinch.

The boy smiles. "You're him!"

The man releases his weapon. He still felt tense. His eyes don't leave his drink.

"That.. IS you, right? We don't want another Catfish situation here."

"What do you want?"

The boy glanced around the bar as though the walls might have listening holes of their own. Though, the bar was completely empty.

"Why the fuck are you checking for people? The bartender is the only one here," Beatle squinted his eyes.

He leaned closer, and his voice fell to a whisper. "Beatle... St... King..."

The man said nothing. Beatle said nothing. He remained defiant. But the name remained... familiar to him.

"Come again?" asked Beatle.

"That's your name. It's me, Mr. Abbot. Billy. From the W-...Wisdoms...?" His voice went shaky upon saying his dynasty's name.

"I have no name," said Beatle.

Billy growls. "Yes, you do. Silver hair. Silver eyes. You're the rightful King of the Philippines... before... Aurora..."

"Beatle St. King is a myth. A story you tell your kids during bedtime. Go home."

Billy's eyes widened. "You remember, don't you? Just... recently... Did... somebody hit you in the head with a shovel, recently?"

He lets out a sigh. "Goddamn it, Sabbath."

"Huh?"

Beatle stands up, turns around, and walks away, beginning to hum Apt. by Bruno Mars.

"My brother. He said you'll be here!"

"Your brother's safe with your family. Go home."

"They're dead. All of 'em. The Zodiacs... They..."

Beatle slowly turns around and grabs Billy's shoulder, looking stern.

"They killed... your family...?" Beatle's jaw tightened. "We had an agreement."

"They don't care..." Billy broke down in tears.

Beatle squints his eyes. "Come." He walks away and Billy becomes confused. Almost dropping to fright upon hearing his chilling words. "Come where?"

"In the bartender's ass. WITH ME, DUMBASS!!! No offense, Jimmy."

Jimmy smiles. "None taken, Abbot!"

Billy wipes his tears and follows him.

Beatle's boot leaves a heavy imprint in the snow.

The Zodiacs laugh. They looks pale, breathing in special gas from inhalers, turning their hair silver as well while they maliciously tear apart their bodies and fornicate with their heads.

Beatle speaks while he lovingly covered the boy's eyes.

Billy whimpers. "Mr. Beatle. What's happening?"

"Nothing important," Beatle spoke with a stern and cold response.

One man with a lion mask, another with a man, lion, ox, and eagle skins for heads.

"You people are stupid," said Beatle. "Like total fucking dumbasses."

"What makes you say-...? 'Ey! It's the Abbot! Whatcha doin' out here? Shouldn't ya be out there, prayin' or some shit? HAHAHAHA!!! We uh... found these cool ass inhalers! Sent to us STRAIGHT from the Philippines."

"Great."

"Hm? Why would that be great?"

"You're Superhuman. Now, I get to kill you."

The men look at each other and proceed to laugh at Beatle, laughing so hard as if they are manic and maddened by the drug.

"BOYS!!! KILL HIM!!!"

Beatle tries pulling out the eskrima sticks from the holsters on his back and prepares for battle, but it gets stuck with rust. The ice from his sweaty hands freeze over his sticks, making his skin stuck to the eskrima sticks. "FUCK!!!"

Relying on his legs, he ax kicks the ox Superhuman and tears him in half.

The other three look at each other in fear.

Beatle proceeds to spin around and kick them one by one as they all charge toward him. They gang up on him, beginning to beat him with quick jabs and kicks but Beatle masterfully blocks their attacks. He blocks a punch with the heel of his boot, pulls out the boot by unzipping it open and revealing his bare feet and blinds one man and pulls out his eyeball with his toenail.

Beatle puts his boot back on, masterfully zips it up with a quick brush from his other foot and proceeds to jump around and move just like a monkey. Beatle proceeds to high kick the lion one decapitating him and crush the eagle's spine.

The one with the mask of Billy's father's face, however, annoyed Beatle the most.

"Thou shalt not kill your fellow men," said Billy.

"What do you call what you've been doing, FUCKER!?!?" asked the last man.

"You are NOT a man. You huffed up that gas. Turns you permanently Superhuman. That is the blood of the Angels in the form of a serum. Turned you fuckers into Nephilim. Big bad juju mamas with blue blood."

Finally, Beatle manages to pull his sticks out and proceeds to spin his eskrima sticks.

The man charges.

"So, you have chosen death." Beatle stabs him in the face, killing him as blue blood and gray matter painted the snow behind him.

Beatle pulls the stick out of his face.

Billy sobs, watching the uneasy horror that transpired in his wake.

Beatle scolds him and hugs him. "I told you to not open your eyes," he said lovingly.

"They... They... They... What were they doing...? To my brothers... my Mommy and Daddy?!?!"

"They're gone now. They became a Superhuman being called a Nephilim. The blood of the fallen angels have awakened something in them... Something disgusting."

"What are Angels!?!?"

"They're from my religion... Many years ago... It's gone now... Doesn't matter. Let's get outta here..." said Beatle, as he and the boy walked away.