The song remains the same

He could smell the stench of alcohol in the air and frowned at the sight of a drunk guy passing out on the street. The thought of all the sins taking place inside the bars was unappealing, so he decided to stay out. He turned down a corner to search through the alleyways, using his invisibility to avoid drawing attention to himself. After wandering the streets of Southside for weeks, he knew evil took place here almost every night. He could only hope that his presence would help – most angels were too afraid to step foot here and for good reason, but he’d also heard that law enforcement avoided the area which he deemed unacceptable. He’d already been acquainted with a few enemies this week but a few wasn’t satisfactory. He’d stop all of them if he could. If only God allowed it, he'd kill them as well - first then the world would become a better place.
 
As he reached a more secluded place and turned around the corner of an abandoned brick building, he noticed a person consuming a soul from a man. It seemed that he’d come at the right time. He quickly approached and flung the bad guy across the alley, so he’d hit the brick wall, allowing the unconscious victim to fall to the ground. He revealed himself facing the guy, standing between him and his victim. “That wasn’t nice,” he said calmly, his voice deep. He stared at him for a few moments, wondering what kind of creature he was, before he looked back at the victim. The soul wasn’t taken completely but it was never a guarantee for survival. “Tell me… What did he do to you?” he asked, turning his gaze to the guy again. The hatred towards him was just under the surface, restrained and under control. Michael was prepared for about anything. Creatures like him were unpredictable, but one thing was certain. He wasn’t going to let him go easily. That wouldn’t be fair.

This had really just been another pretty normal evening for Sakchai. He'd finished a deal with a pretty loyal customer just a few hours ago, and had then gone on the prowl for some poor sap whose soul he could eat. Not because he was incredibly hungry, mind you, but because he preferred his abilities to stay on the top of their game, and for that to be true, he had to be pretty much as full as he could be most of the time. So he guessed this would more likely be categorized as a snack rather than an entire meal?

Either way, he'd found a young guy, who was probably around the same age that Sakchai himself looked to be... As in, one in his late teens. He had simply, out of the blue, as soon as they were alone and had just rounded a corner, dashed up to the guy, pushed him up against the wall and gone straight in for what he needed... Eating this guy's soul, right there on the open street. Nobody ever seemed to care about this kind of stuff in this part of town, anyway.

But today seemed to be a different case than the norm... As he heard someone approaching, but at first didn't think much of it, as most people here would just hurry along, or be up for some more chaotic 'fun' afterwards, neither of which he minded. But this time was different, as the steps got closer and he was suddenly pulled away from his meal... Or victim. Whatever you'd call the poor sap. Luckily enough, it didn't hurt too much hitting the wall, he was used to worse - but the smell he got from the man that had intervened, immediately made the anger rise up in him... That smell was very much unmistakable. A bloody angel had just interrupted his meal. Of fucking course.

This made sure that, as Sakchai's intensely blue eyes looked at the guy who had interrupted him, they slowly bled into pure black, his innate hatred for angels, stemming from him being part soul demon, showing with those eyes. Anybody who knew about demons, would be able to tell that he was part soul demon, just by looking at those eyes. "I didn't ask for your opinion," he said, calmly despite the boiling anger inside of him. He'd always been good at keeping his calm for as long as needed. Though talking with angels always made it sound slightly strained, too. "You say that as if he needs to have done something for this to happen. He was here, I needed a snack. Why is that such a big problem?" And really, Sakchai never saw this as a problem - if you didn't want to wind up as a snack for some darker creature, you shouldn't walk around alone in Southside - it was as simple as that, really.

// Outfit + normale sorte jeans og sneakers.

A smirk formed on his lips at his comment. “Of course, you didn’t… but you need to know that your actions have consequences,” he said and shrugged his shoulders before walking a few steps closer to him. It disgusted him that he didn’t feel the slightest remorse at the suffering of the guy he’d been feeding on. He looked into his black demon eyes and felt the hatred grow inside of him. “You demons are the problem. You will kill and eat souls and create chaos till… well until someone stops you,” he said, tilting his head slightly. His moral compass condemned him to have done more evil than good. Ultimately that was all he needed to know about him. He then grabbed him by the shoulders, and bashed his head into the bricks behind him, before throwing him through a wooden door into the abandoned building. Would he see this is a problem? According to Michael he was in his right to punish him. He walked inside the door and looked around at the dilapidated surroundings, the broken glass by the windows and the torn wallpaper. “What’s your business in Southside?” he asked, turning his gaze back at him, trying to figure out whether he lived here, what plans he had or if he worked for someone.

"Is that so... The real problem is you angels always acting like the moral police for everybody instead of letting people go about their ways," he growled. Of course, yes, Sakchai's moral compass was... Pretty much as dark as it could probably come. If he'd ever done any good for someone else, it was because it had benefited himself in the end. He never did good for anybody else's sake, only if it helped himself.

And then, suddenly, the angel had bashed him against the wall, and through the wooden door. He fell onto the ground, and stumbled a bit, before he got up, now bleeding from a gash near his brow. A regular demon probably wouldn't already have been bleeding, but... Sakchai wasn't as robust as a normal demon. You could harm him as easily as a witch or a regular human... So, he coughed a bit, as he got up, but then decided to try to even the odds a bit... As he let his form change to that of his demon form, which was vastly different from a normal soul demon's form. He got the height, though - growing from his 160 cm to around 195 cm - but that was about where the similarities stopped. A normal soul demon had red skin and wings, whereas Sakchai's skin turned purple, and he got an extra set of arms instead.

"And what makes you think I'll tell a filthy do-gooder like you?" he then growled, his voice deeper and more raspy in this form as well, before he muttered something under his breath, and his magic - which was blue - lit up around his wounds, causing them to instantly heal again. If one had experience with magic, it was also pretty easy to tell that his magic was as dark as himself - he'd killed his first mate a long time ago, to attain additional power, just as he had recently turned to blood magic, as well... Which, in turn, only helped to keep him dark, as it inevitably twisted it's practitioners.

Speaking of which, he quickly, in turn, brought up each of is thumbs to cut them on the fangs he had in his demon form, before he clapped all four of his hands together and began murmuring under his breath, his hands lighting up with his magic, before he separated his hands again, and now held a bright ball of magic in each hand. "If you know what's best for yourself, you'd better leave... Before you really piss me off."

// Dæmonformen. Selvfølgelig stadig i samme outfit - alt hans tøj har besværgelser på sig så det ændrer med hans forme.

He scoffed at his remark. “And let monsters like you burn the earth to the ground? Not on my watch,” he said, pressing him harder into the wall. It was natural for demons to hate angels and their morals but he feared what the world would look like without them.  
A mischievous smile formed on his lips as he started transforming into his demon-form. However, his expression turned deliberate when he discovered that he wasn’t a normal demon. He possessed some sort of magic. One of the only things that could weaken Michael. Now, this had turned out to be a lot more interesting. Perhaps he was an enemy that would give him a bit of competition, a fair fight. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed, tilting his head slightly as he watched the hybrid heal himself and summon more magic in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied with a dark look in his eyes, opening both of his hands, shining bright and golden. “There’s no ending me,” he said calmly before he manifested a defensive wall that would shield his attacks. He then turned invisible behind the wall, making it impossible for the half-demon to get an aim on him. He pulled out his blade and slashed his arms with the blade, making it feel as if his wound was infused with holy water. “Do you even know who I am?” he asked, revealing himself again, now standing behind him.

Sakchai simply smirked - this angel was by far not the first one to call him a monster. He'd been called that all throughout his life. The children in school and on the playground, his first few girl- and boyfriends, his first mate right before he killed her... Oh, such lovely memories! It'd only made him all the more eager to fuck up their lives, in more than one way.

Sakchai rolled his eyes slightly when it seemed the angel only yearned even more for the fight, after having seen his magic. He'd snarled when he could oh so clearly feel the holy energy that the defensive wall consisted of, and did throw a barrage of the magic energy balls against it - the magic dark and unholy due to his nature, and to it being blood magic on top of that. It didn't really go through, but he did see a slight crack in it - proof that his magic had indeed gotten more powerful after he'd turned to blood magic. He probably wouldn't have made even the slightest crack, before.

He stopped dead in his tracks when the angel disappeared, though, and closed his eyes, concentrating on his sense of smell instead, seeing as he had inherited the demon senses, and they were overall pretty darn strong. But then he felt the sting of blades at his arms - and a burning like he had just been hit with holy water, making a loud hiss escape his lips as he promptly turned around and jumped back, just a few metres. His eyes quickly darted to the gashes on his arms - he couldn't see the injury he'd normally have from holy water, though, so he guessed it was 'just' the holy energy making it feel like it. But dammit, it hurt like bloody hell!

"No, I don't. And why should I care?" he growled, making his magic in two of his hands form into some sort of makeshift sword, comprised entirely of magic... While he with one of his other hands reached inside his top, pulling out a potion that he quickly downed. The effect were soon apparent, as it sped up his healing to that of a regular demon, and not just a witch's healing... At least, for a little while. It wouldn't last forever... But hopefully long enough for this fight to be over. Whether it'd wind up with the fight actually being resolved, or whether he'd eventually have to flee, well, he'd just have to see about that. For now, he used the preternatural speed he had from his demon side, to quickly, deftly, slash out after the angel with those magic blades of his - he felt one of them connect, and smirked, knowing the angel probably wouldn't like the feeling of that unholy, dark magic.

Michael noticed how his dark magic was powerful enough to weaken the shield, knowing that he’d be able to break it if he kept at it. It also meant that he didn’t seem to be too affected by the light. He watched as the hybrid jumped back and hissed at the pain from the wounds, flipping the blade in his hand to ready it for another attack. It didn’t surprise him that the half-demon didn’t care, but if he did, he’d know that it wasn’t in his nature to flee. He also knew most angels probably would run if they were aware of the powers the hybrid possessed, but Michael wasn’t like most angels. “Because I’ll make your life a hell lot worse if you don’t stop the pointless killing,” he replied as he slowly stepped towards him.

He demon acted quickly, attacking him with his magic blades. Michael groaned at the pain in the side of his body, feeling the dark magic weakening him and delaying his healing slightly. "You're going to regret that," he said menacingly as he looked at the half-demon. Then loud thunders were heard outside the building along with the sound of pouring rain, before a lightning strike destroyed the roof and hit the hybrid in the chest. He watched as the electricity affected his body, knowing how badly that must’ve burned. He walked over to him before grabbing him by the collar to make him look at him. “Now is the time to beg for mercy,” he said, as he strengthened his grip around the blade. Something told him that he, like most demons, wouldn’t do such a thing, in which case he’d only make things more difficult for himself.

Sakchai huffed and rolled his eyes. "So what, you want me to starve to death instead? Yeah, as if that's ever going to happen..." he snarled. He needed souls to survive, so how the fuck was he ever supposed to avoid killing? Besides, he liked killing. He liked seeing the fear and panic when people realized just how helpless they were when he had chosen them as his next target.

The smile on his lips after the magic connected, however, was shortlived. He heard the loud thundering and only just managed to utter a few words of magic to get a magic shield in place when the lightning hit. It still got through his shield, but he did take off about half of the damage with that magic shield, which was definitely a good thing with the searing pain he felt lancing through him as his muscles locked up with the strong electrical current burning through him.

He scowled up at the angel when he lifted him up by his collar. Begging for mercy? Him? Really? "And what the fuck am I supposed to beg for mercy for, huh? Isn't it pointless to ask for mercy for something I'll inevitably have to do again? Please... Go fuck yourself," he growled, his eyes changing from the demon eyes to the yellow cat eyes... Right as he let one of his hands light up with his dark magic again, grabbing hold of the angel's hand and hoping the pain was enough to lessen the grip just enough for him to get free, as he got into his ocelot form. If it hadn't been enough, he'd then put his claws into the hand, too, to get free - and as soon as he succeeded in getting free, he'd be hastily scaling the walls to get up on the first floor of the by now pretty broken building.

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of souls in hell for you to do whatever you want with,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He couldn’t care less about him starving on earth. He didn’t think he belonged here to begin with. He watched him as he managed to manifest a magic shield before the lightning hit, decreasing its damage.

He looked into his eyes as he did as expected, not begging for mercy. He didn’t believe it mattered, but it did to Michael. If he showed feelings of remorse, he'd be more likely to let him go. He smirked at his request to go fuck himself. In that case, he didn't give him much of a choice. He couldn't let him get away with the ruthless killing. Michael was too distracted by his change of eyes to see the dark magic forming in his hand, not doing anything to prevent him for grabbing his hand with it. He tried to resist but when he pushed the claws into his skin, the pain was overwhelming, making him let go of his collar. He then swung the blade at him, aiming for his heart but he moved quickly, so it cut his arm instead. He watched as the ocelot ran up the wall, honestly surprised by all the powers he possessed. He looked at the broken ceiling where he’d crawled up, listening for his movements to see if he tried to escape the building. He couldn’t hear him run further away, so he walked up the stairs to the first floor, looking around for the trybrid. “You can’t hide from me,” he said, walking into a long hallway. He stopped at the first wooden door, only to kick it down, shattering it on the floor. He looked around the room, not seeing the cat anywhere. “I just want to talk,” he lied as he walked further into the room. He looked at the broken materials on the floor, creating a new weapon with his ability. A revolver, carrying a special bullet with the intention of giving the trybrid a disease, should he get an aim at him.

"So you say... I've never been to Hell, nor do I want to," not that he wasn't sure he'd do just fine down there, but really, he liked his current life way too much to want to go down there just yet. Remorse for his actions was not even an option for him, either - he was fully incapable of feeling remorse or guilt at all. He'd never felt it even once in his life. At least not for what his actions did to others - sometimes he did regret his actions, but then it was because they'd backfired on himself. He never regretted any outcome that hurt others than himself. Not even how much the decision to leave his foster parents had hurt them. They still tried to contact him, even after all these years...

But at least his plan worked, and, in his ocelot form, he quickly climbed upstairs, the claws, rather long and deadly sharp for a cat of this size, easily embedding themselves in the wood to give him enough leverage to climb without any problems. Good thing the type of cat was used to jungles, which meant that climbing and balancing skills were almost unmatched, even dodging the blade had been easy enough, as agile as he was in this body. It did swipe one foreleg, but he ignored it while climbing, knowing it would heal fast due to the potion he'd chugged just before.

He was hiding in part of the wall - the walls were hollow, and there had been a hole just large enough for him to get his head through, so it wasn't a big problem getting the rest of his smaller, lithe body through, too. Good thing cats were such incredibly flexible beings. In there, effectively hidden from the angel's eyes, he made another spell, this time, instead of words, he used runes that he quietly scratched into the small 'floor' he stood on, inside the wall. Immediately after scratching that in, he moved on the silent cat paws to another part of the wall, just in case the angel would blast the wall where he'd been scratching. The spell? A telepathy spell. So the angel would hear his voice directly inside his head, and it wouldn't give away his position. *You're incredibly persistent, aren't you? Don't you know that hurting me would also hurt one of your fellow angels? My dear, innocent, naïve foster mom would be so incredibly worried about me...* and he'd think that was incredibly annoying, but he didn't need Michael to know that.