Stolas Urusa hated social events.  However, he could put his dislike aside for the sake of his friends.  It was Rori's birthday, and he wasn't going to miss it because of his personal preferences.  So he set off at dawn on the long trek to the village where Rori lived.  He had to admit, he did enjoy the company of the kid, who appreciated the serenity of nature and therefore chose to live in a cottage up in the mountain on which his village had been built.  They'd shared tea and enjoyed the beautiful view together more times than Stolas could count.  Therefore he considered Rori someone important enough to visit and would be attending his party.

Twenty-three.  How was Rori twenty-three already?  Stolas had met him when he was passing through the town one night seven years ago.  Rori was sixteen, living alone already, and had offered him a place to spend the night.  Stolas had hesitantly accepted, and from then on, they were friends.  Of course, others had joined the group over time, some before Stolas had, and so he'd been forced into the friend group in a matter of time.  And though he didn't say it out loud, he had to admit that he liked it.

"Hey, welcome!" Rori greeted as he stood in the doorway, giving a friendly wave. 

"Happy birthday," Stolas told him as he approached.

"Thanks!  Everyone else is inside already, so make yourself comfortable."

Indeed, everyone else was already inside.  First, there was Dana, Rori's childhood best friend who worked down at the tea shop in the village.  She smiled at Stolas when she saw him.

"How's it going, big guy?" she asked teasingly.

"I told you not to call me that," he responded.  It had been years since he'd said that and actually meant it. 

Dana knew that, too.  Her smile widened, and she beckoned for him to come have a seat on the floor with her and the others.

Speaking of the others, he found himself sitting next to a young man in a pink, blue, and purple kimono with a black vest of sorts layered on top.  His dark, fluffy hair fell in his face as he turned his head to look at Stolas.

"Hi, Stolas," he said.

"Hello, Azrael," Stolas replied.

Azrael had always been one of the most introverted people he'd ever met.  It had taken him two years to actually have a decent conversation with the young poet, and another year to learn that Azrael was a poet.  Thankfully, they were now so used to each other that Azrael felt comfortable immediately jumping into conversation with him.

"How was the trip?" Azrael inquired.

"It was fine, I enjoy long walks," Stolas answered.

"That's a bit more than a long walk," a cyan-and-brown-haired girl on his other side remarked.

Stolas had accepted a long time ago that Sophie had the prettiest kimono he'd ever seen.  The shades of cyan, the beautifully embroidered kitsunes in shades of pink, purple, and yellow, the white accents... and she'd sewn it herself.  No wonder her family's kimono business was thriving right now; she had a creative eye unlike any Stolas had ever met.  He could stitch a wound just fine, but stitching fabric was the fastest way he could humiliate himself.

"So, how's everything been lately?" Dana questioned.

Stolas sighed. "Busy."

"You can't get more specific than that," a voice commented sarcastically.

Stolas glanced up to see that he'd missed someone- a young boy sitting by the wall.  He had long, black hair and a kimono with striped sleeves, his appearance accessorized by a few hair clips, necklaces, and a pair of clay demon horns painted red.  

"I see your sense of style has remained unchanged," Stolas said, nodding to the kid's outfit.

"I mean, it's been so long that it's just become a part of me now.  And besides, I don't see why I can't look like Flauros and still be Finch."

For as long as Stolas had known Finch, he had been using a demonic persona called Flauros to drive people away, to keep them from getting too close to hurt him.  He'd still ended up hurt enough to believe he really was a demon.  But last time Stolas had visited, it seemed Finch had finally let down his walls and allowed himself to let people help.  He'd been living with Rori ever since he ran away from home almost a year ago now, his family never once trying to look for him.  It was better that way, though.  Finch seemed happier and healthier to Stolas, which was a huge relief.

"I mean, it's not Flauros anymore if it's just who you want to be," Dana reassured the young boy, who gave her a friendly smile in return.

"Man, I should really write more poems surrounding themes of identity," Azrael mumbled. "Would you help me with that, Finch?"

Finch cocked his head to the side. "I mean, I've never really written poetry before.  But... sure."

It was nice, being here with these five people.  He liked them.  As he waited for Rori to get back, a sudden realization dawned on him.

"I forgot to get Rori a gift," Stolas muttered under his breath.

Sophie caught his words and grabbed his sleeve. "Then go get one quickly!  If you're so fast, hurry down the mountain and get something!"

"Oh, did you forget?" Dana asked, picking up on the implication of Sophie's words. "I mean, we can share the one I got-"

"No, Dana, it's fine.  I owe it to Rori to get him a present myself," Stolas interrupted, getting to his feet. "I'll be back soon.  Just tell Rori I needed to go get something, or some other excuse."

"Just don't be gone for too long!  And remember, he likes useful stuff!" Azrael offered as he slipped out of the room.

Stolas hurried out of the cottage and down the mountain as fast as he could.  With gravity carrying him, he managed to find himself at its base within about fifteen minutes.  There, he realized he had a problem on his hands.  What was he going to get Rori?  As Azrael had said earlier, Rori liked things that he could use on his explorations.  However, Stolas recalled that he never quite had enough room to carry all his equipment.  A basket or box of sorts, then?  He walked briskly through the village streets, his amber eyes focused on locating any shop that seemed like it could have what he needed.  

It was a larger village than he'd anticipated; he only ever cut through the edge of it on his travels.  That unfortunately meant it took him much longer to locate the basket shop than he thought it would take.  By the time he'd paid and was waiting for the shop owner to finish adjusting the straps on the basket for Rori, Stolas could see the sun slowly setting over the west end of the village.  Damn it.  He thanked the basket maker once more before slinging it over a shoulder and hastily walking through the village.  When he made it to the edge and knew he didn't run the risk of trampling any small children, he broke into a sprint, quickly adjusting his breathing as he scaled the mountain.  At this point in his life, he'd mastered shallow breathing for mountainous terrain with thinner air, so not once did he end up having to stop to catch his breath.  

But something else made him stop first.

Stolas was in the home stretch when he stopped dead in his tracks.  Why had his feet planted themselves in place like that?  Why was he stopping?  And then he felt it.  The off-putting sensation he hadn't felt for months.  Here?  How come?  He realized in a heartbeat exactly why.  As soon as he did, his legs sprang into action again, and he bolted.  He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as his feet carried him to the front of Rori's cottage.  

The door was open.

A feeling of dread washed over him.  He'd shut the door behind him- he was certain of that.  And it was dark inside.

"Hello?" Stolas called cautiously, moving to the doorway.  As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, all he saw was red.

Red everywhere.  On the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling.  He saw Azrael first, his throat torn open just a couple feet in front of him.  Right next to him was Sophie, her beautifully-crafted kimono painted crimson and torn on the back, exposing slashed flesh.  Dana was slumped against the wall nearby, blood oozing from a gruesome wound in her head, her glasses broken on the floor next to her.  And Rori.  Stolas's heart sank as he bent down to brush the brunette's untamed hair out of his face.  Rori's chest was carved open, the worst birthday gift to ever be received.  He was dead.  They all were.  Stolas could tell without even checking their pulses.

He could've been here.  He could've protected them.  But no, he'd forgotten to buy Rori a birthday gift, and now it didn't matter anymore.  Stolas had failed his duty as a friend.  As he hung his head in defeat, trying to figure out how to continue on now, he heard it.  The loud beating in his ears finally cleared up enough for him to hear the ugly crying.  He looked up, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on the figure in the corner.

Finch.  His legs were hugged to his heaving chest, his head buried in his arms.  He was alive.  Stolas took a step towards him.  And then stopped.  Something else wasn't right.  Finch had been spared.  But why?  As if hearing his thoughts, the distraught teen looked up at him, the tears never ceasing.  Stolas's heart stopped.

The first thing he noticed was the unusual brightness of Finch's red eyes.  Then, the unusual sharpness of his teeth, more similar to a wolf's than a human's.  On top of that, his ears now had a strange point at the tips, and his fingers ended in sharp black nails as they normally did, except this time, they didn't seem painted or filed.  They looked more like claws, and so did his toenails.  Stolas's eyes drifted up to Finch's head, where a pair of small red horns poked out from beneath his long, dark hair.  That part was normal, until Stolas's attention was caught by the headband with the red clay demon horns on the floor, the band snapped in half.  Meaning...

So that was why he had been spared.  In an act of pure cruelty, the boy who never wanted to be associated with demons again... 

Stolas's fingers brushed against the sheath hidden beneath of the jacket over his kimono.  He'd never wanted his friends to have to know what he was and what he did, but now... now they deserved to.  There was only one way this could end.  There was only one solution to the sight before him.  With a deep breath, he drew his sword once again.  The Nichirin blade, a dark orange in color, glinted in the light of the setting sun.  He extended it, the blade just centimeters from Finch's neck.  With a flick of his wrist, his head would go rolling.  

He closed his eyes.  He had to do this.  Finch would understand that what he'd become wasn't something that was allowed to live.  They had a strong bloodlust, an appetite for human flesh, the instinct to attack and consume, the-

Stolas's eyes snapped open.  Finch was still crying, his chest heaving from exhaustion.  His eyes bore into Stolas with a desperation, a plead for Stolas to finish him off.  No bloodthirsty glint or bared teeth.  He wasn't attacking.

...Stolas couldn't do it.

He lowered his sword, staring for a moment before sheathing it once more and bending down next to Finch.  The kid wasn't attacking, nor did he have blood on him, meaning he hadn't consumed any human flesh or blood.  He had done nothing worthy of Stolas putting his blade through his neck just yet.

"Finch, what happened?" he asked quietly.

Finch opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out were loud gasps for breath.  Stolas waited patiently for a few minutes as Finch tried to collect his thoughts, then finally managed to get a few words out. "...don't... remember... T-there was... a lot of blood... b-but I... I didn't do it!  W-what happened to me, Stolas?"

It damn near broke Stolas's heart hearing that.  So he reached out, his hands gentle as he pulled Finch into a hug, rubbing his back gently. "It'll be okay, I promise.  I'll explain everything I know, but you need to calm down first."

Finch trembled in the hug, burying his face in Stolas's shoulder as another sob escaped his throat.  It took some time, but he eventually calmed down enough for Stolas to explain.

"I was hoping my two lives would never need to cross," Stolas began slowly, "But I suppose sometimes the world works in mysterious ways."

He gave Finch a moment to prepare himself before he continued. "Our world contains a species called demons.  Not quite the ones you used to talk about, but demons.  They are once-human creatures that live off of human flesh and burn in daylight.  The only two ways to defeat them are using sunlight, as I just implied, and..."

Stolas unsheathed his sword slightly so Finch could see the dark orange blade. 

"...swords?" Finch guessed weakly.

"Not quite.  More specifically decapitation by a Nichirin weapon, which only demon slayers possess." Stolas stared at his sword before fully sheathing it once again. "I am a demon slayer, and have been since the age of fifteen.  Our goal is to protect the human race and wipe out demons."

"So... am I...?" Finch looked about ready to cry again as he stared down at his sharpened nails.

Stolas exhaled deeply. "...yes.  Yes you are.  But since you don't seem to have consumed human blood or flesh, nor do you seem like you're after it... I don't see any reason to end your life.  After all, this was clearly an intentional act of cruelty from a high-ranked demon."

"...so what do we do now?"

Stolas paused.  What did they do now?  This had never happened to him in his ten years of being a demon slayer.  What was the next step?

"...what if we tried to find out how to reverse it?" Stolas suggested. "If the only thing that's changed about you is how you look and your ability to withstand sunlight, then it should arguably be easier to undo under the right circumstances."

"You'd... do that all for me?" Finch swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Yes," Stolas decided in that moment, "Yes, I would."

"But first," he added, motioning to the scene around them. "We must properly bury our friends.  It's the least we can do."

He gently lifted up Rori and Sophie's bodies, carrying them outside and gently setting them down.  He turned to see Finch struggling to drag Azrael out the door.  So maybe Finch's newfound demon blood didn't come with extra strength like he'd thought it would.  Stolas quickly approached and took Azrael from Finch, turning to go back inside and get Dana. "Start burying them."

The process took a few hours, and once they were done, the two stood staring at the stone-rimmed graves they'd made for their friends.

"I... I c-can't believe it..." Finch whispered, his small body shaking.

Stolas touched his shoulder gently. "I know.  Me neither.  But we must get going now; it's not safe to be outside for too long at night.  That's when the demons are able to come out."

"But aren't you a demon slayer?" the teen reminded him.

Stolas hesitated, then said slowly, "...yes.  However, I now also need to ensure your safety, and fighting puts you at risk, too."

"Where are we going, then?"

Right.  Stolas stared at the four graves in front of them for a long moment.  He needed to come up with a game plan.  How was he meant to figure out how to turn Finch back into a human?  Where was he meant to start?  He'd been trained to kill demons, not help them.  

He paused, then removed the large hiking basket from his back and opened it. "We're going to someone who may have a better understanding of this than I do.  But first, can you fit in this basket?"

***

(2702 words)

Yeah chapters are a bit longer than what I normally write depending on what's going on.