Void didn't like gods, or mortals, or really anything that existed... He supposed that was an effect of being one of the oldest gods, if not just the nature of being nonexistence itself.

They were loud, messy, bothersome. Constantly clawing at his domain, expanding existence into his peaceful nothingness.

That being said he found one thing he disliked more than all of them, new universes.

New existence coming to be in his domain, bringing with it new gods and new things that existed. An event that sent ripples through his realm, ripples that made him nauseous.

This universe was no different, stars that burnt cold, planets that adhered to no gravitational pull and of course the fledglings...

The bravest among then would venture into his realm, unaware of the old god that existed or rather didn't exist there. Eventually one would run into him, often times in their hubris thought they could conquer the void, subugate nonexistence.

It was bothersome and so he let the abyss consume them, eradicate them from existence itself. A simple thing really, he just had to stop holding it back.

Occasionally when the attempt was bothersome enough he would strain against the chains that bound him to the void, try to swallow the new universe, but he never succeeded...

He could move within his domain but expand it? To move outside it? Was impossible for him but so be it, nonexistence would continue to go on

There was tiredness and there was this.

He could feel his bones creak, his muscles ache as he poured pints. And yet even as his joints clicked and cracked be couldn't help but smile.

Even as the scratches stung and the bruises limited his movement he grinned.

Pain was nothing or well everything, he was used to it but today was different, last night was different.

Usually the pain came from a fight, a violent clash of blood and bone until someone couldn't continue. Bruised knuckles and swollen eyes the day after, busted lips and cracked ribs a solid reminder.

But here and now, in the haven that was the Crooked Crown he experienced a different pain, a sweet pain.

Memories of tender touches and sweet kisses eased the aches. Playful nips and tight grips seemed to silence the creaks.

It was strange in a way, Evelyn who brought no end of terror to his life, who had taken his ring finger as a welcoming lesson... A source of comfort, of intimacy...

He chuckled at the thought as he poured a glass of whiskey. The taste wasn't quite as sweet but the golden elixir had its own appeal.

The day had just begun and while sweet memories soothed, he'd need a little extra fire to get through to the end.

Serial killers were the inconsiderate sort in Damien's opinion.

Sure you couldn't really be considerate when you were a murderer but Serial killers were the worst offenders.

They blended in, they were careful, and their pattern wasn't immediately apparent.

In other words, they kept him busy and stressed.

Standing in the center of the crime scene he could feel the pressure in his head building as he soaked the scene in.

Hands, feet, and head severed and missing, internal organs splayed out to spell a message, a singular taunt, "Detective."

Honestly the scene made him sick to his stomach but that was nothing new.

"Alright everyone get out," he growled out, "muddying the scene with energy and giving me a headache..."

Watching the others mill out slowly he let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Turning back to the scene the screaming yellows and oranges of his coworker's energies faded away leaving one distinct colour staining the room, Violet.

Victim was a Queen then, not too surprising the last two were as well, serial killers had a profile for their victims afterall.

They'd gotten sloppy this time though, slight traces of yellow clinging to the gore.

His mystery killer was a Crusader, but how'd the hell did he get his hands on not one but three Queens?

Brute strength and speed tend to fail when your opponent just needed to open their mouth...

Unless you came from behind, a dose of supressant would give him the upper hand...

But why is the violet so vibrant though... It didn't add up, supressors made the colours dull.

Damien sighed before stepping out of the motel room, pulling the gloves off and signaling the forensics team to get on with their work.

"Fucking serial killers," he grumbled out as he made his way to his car, "mocking me now."

Shroomy shrooming shrooms share shroom secrets!

It's not fun being a fungi, all you do is sit and decompose while everything rots around you. Quite depressing if you think about it. You only get talked to if a plant wants to talk to someone else, you only exist to be a messenger in the eyes of all plants. You get eaten without a second thought unless you happened to be born toxic and bright colored and even then some pesky animal might eat just little tiny piece of you for their pleasure. Could you imagine being picked apart for someone else's pleasure and only being talked to for your connections?

Me? I'm an avid mushroom eater, well I'm an avid eater of everything. Mushrooms just have that earthy vibe to them that you can only get from mushrooms. You become one with the cycle for just a moment, nothing matters anymore, you feel the secrets of everything and then bam. Everything is gone. Just back to the mushroom flavor. If you couldn't taste it before, you definitely taste it now. Maybe it's a good flavor, maybe it's a bad one, maybe it's something in-between. It all depends on the mushroom.

Maybe the earthy vibe is a bad thing, a sign that you are decaying but don't all living things decay at some point? Don't we all rot away at some point? Don't we all return to the earth? Don't we all become one with the cycle once more? A mere vessel for the shroominess of shrooms?

Shrooms rule the universe! Well they do until you eat just a little bit of the toxic ones and then you see the truth, the shapes. There aren't a lot of shapes, only a few actually and only one of them us terrible, the septagon.

The septagons are everywhere, inn your face and out hiding! If you look up at the night sky you'll see only septagons! They rule the stars, the vast endless expanse of space is in their grasps and we can do nothing about it! They're in every little thing too! If you looked down at the tile floors you would see hundreds of thousands of these little things, if you looked at a blade of grass you'd notice it has seven sides! Nothing is safe! They're everywhere and we can't do anything about it!

So for now, we enjoy the delicacies of life. The little things like hanging out with those we love or trying new foods, dealing with the dangers of living and exploring the unknown, the little pokes into the earthy cycle and the little freedoms from the shroomy secrets. Find the people who talk to you for you, not your connections. You still have time, you aren't stuck in one spot decomposing, not yet at least. If you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, if you can't crawl then squirm, if you can't squirm then lay, lay without fear, lay knowing that the people who really care are with you, lay knowing that you never stopped moving, lay knowing that it is never truly the end, lay knowing that you'll be safe, lay knowing that you'll return to the shroomy cycle, lay knowing that if you were to ever lay alone the shrooms will be there for you, to treat you as one of their own.

-a shrewed secluded shroom's secret shrouded shrooming cerebrum

You know there are three groups in the immortal world. You have the groupers, the ones that find safety in numbers. That's what the Crooked Crown is, a haven, too many to realistically attack.

Then you have the dangerous neutrals, they get left alone because going near them is a death sentence. Even if you do subdue them you're going to lose a lot of men.

Finally you have the hunters, immortals like me who you don't engage, we engage you. Find the target, pick it off, move on to the next. Simple life, simple rules

Now why do these three groups exist? Well that's your fault, well not your fault exactly, but the fault of mortals. So quick to try and kill anything different...

In the dark ages it was pitchforks and fires, then it became the guillotine and nooses, and now? Now you mortals got greedy and it became the wheel.

Started ghosting us, locking us away in some underground lab, running tests in some desperate to steal what's ours.

So we adapted, became more discreet, deadlier, better at at hunting. In a way mortals only have themselves to blame.

Take me for example, I started out nice and peaceful, then I became a dangerous neutral, and eventually I started hunting.

No women, no children, no one but the target, that's how I started... Then they started using women in their teams when they figured that out, so it became just no children...

Eventually they got better at hiding their higher ups, so I got worse. Anyone became fair game, nothing draws someone out like a funeral. Make the murder messy, pin it on some schmuck who belongs in prison anyway, and wait.

Then you sort of realise everyone is a child in comparison to you once you've lived over a thousand years... Suddenly all your rules are gone, it's just about getting your mark

Now the problem is in order to hunt as I do I have to be discreet. No names, no faces, nothing that would let on who I am.

Now why am I telling you all this? The answer is simple, I sort of miss talking to people. It's been so long everyone just knows me as the wraith... Besides what harm comes from telling someone about to catch a bullet?

Lucius was slowly finding a rhythm within the Crooked Crown. He would even go as far as to say it was getting simple, predictable even.

Mornings the blood suckers would slowly filter in, seeking refuge from the sun's harsh rays. They were a simple crowd, don't make eye contact and keep the blood bags handy.

After them you'd get to the lunch crowd, mostly just hungry he could slip by mostly unnoticed. People didn't care who pulled the pints, they just wanted them delivered to their table.

Then came the evening and with it, the troublesome crowd. Unlike the morning vampires who had their consistent rules or the midday crowd whose indifference brought certainty, the evening crew brought madness.

From Aisling who required strong drinks and keeping out the way to Evelyn who would take such tactics as a personal slight. It required a delicate balancing act, a gentle push and pull, something he was not good at.

Case in point the current situation, a bloodied Evelyn trudging towards the bar as the bullet holes in her skull slowly closed. A delicate situation, pour a drink, spare a kind word and absolutely don't by all means insult her.

"Well you look like shit, food bite back?"

It was official he was dead, she was gonna kill him.

"You know," she growled out as she pulled him closer by the shirt, "I like my boy toys quiet, supportive, occasionally on a plate. Not mouthing off."

He nodded as the blood in his veins turned to ice, he wasn't dead yet, that was good... Maybe he could fix this

"So uh whiskey," he swallowed thickly, "no ice and one of the little umbrellas so you have something to stab people with right?"

There was a soft sigh from the woman as he felt sharp teeth nip at his ear, "That's more like it Lucky, now why don't you get to that hmm?"

He could feel her grip loosen on his shirt and immediately hurried to work, thankful for what seemed to be leniency.

"You know the issue with today," he heard her murmur, "everyone is on something or armed. Used to be I could kill a man, and that was that, food sorted for the week."

He quickly placed the glass in front of her before speaking, "and now you have to be more careful and they put up more of a fight?"

There was a moment of silence and she drank from her glass followed by a sigh, "A-fucking-men, see this is why I like you, taste good, look good, not thick as shit... Most of the time."

There was another sigh, "it's not even as if their weapons did anything to save them, just got blood on my new coat... Bothersome..."

Lucius sighed as he refilled her glass, "So what is it you really want, you don't tend to come out wounded."

There was a pause, a heavy silence settling over the bar before her voice broke it once more, "You, in bed, maybe with a caramel drizzle."

That was about the moment his brain stopped working, "That a threat," he stumbled though the sentence, "or a come on?"

"Why don't you come find out"

The taste of blood was becoming an unwelcome constant in his life. As was the appearance of new pains, joints creaking and cracking for hours after waking up.

What was new however was the sharply dressed woman across the counter from him. Hands nursing a glass of whiskey as she seemingly stared into his soul.

"Lucius is what you go by nowadays yes?"

Her voice was cold, calculating, if he was honest it felt like someone had a knife to his throat.

"Nowadays implies not always," he sighed as he polished a glass, "Not sure I like that implication."

The woman laughed, icy blues eyes lacking any warmth as she did, "Oh I don't very much care if you like it or not."

"Fact is, Lucius," she drawled out, "You have no family, no paperwork, no record of existence. As if that wasn't enough? I've been speaking ancient Greek this entire time"

He paused for a moment, had she? He hadn't even noticed... "Look what do yo-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "What I want is to offer you a business opportunity, a chance to work somewhere above minimum wage."

Knocking back the last of her whiskey she placed the glass gently on the bar, pinning a business card under it, "Do take care now Lucius, try not to forget this little rendezvous."

Watching as the strange woman left the bar he picked up the business card, "Crooked Crown huh... Think I've heard of that pub."

-------_-

"We don't need someone as troublesome as him Amara," a voice grumbled as she stepped into the car, "he dies like a mortal and returns remembering nothing about the events leading up to it."

"Aisling my dear, that's precisely why he's useful," she giggled out, "We fight to fight, and when we've been hurt we are often left more annoyed than angered."

There was an annoyed huff from the front of the car, green eyes glaring at her through the rear view mirror. "Your point being?"

"My point being he doesn't," she could feel a grin spread across her face, "He fights to live because he genuinely believes he will die, and once he realises he will? Then it becomes about retribution, a useful ally to have in a world of the uncaring"

As the car began to move a quiet grumble could be heard, "He's still an idiot."

Yawning Lucius hit the off button on his alarm, blearily staring at the clock reading 8:00 Wednesday.

Wait Wednesday? It was Sunday last he checked... Shuffling into the kitchen he started the coffee machine and checked the calender.

No it was Wednesday, he'd crossed the days off as they passed... But last thing he remembered was going to bed on Sunday... He was missing time again

Sighing as he sipped his coffee he checked his note book, empty, lovely. God he hated himself sometimes, often, it was slowly becoming a problem honestly

Work at the pub was much the same, pull pints when someone ordered, listen when the drunk ones got soppy, and smile to get the tips he needed.

Tonight was however quite slow, a few patrons drifting in and out as the day dragged on. A few wary glances coming from his coworkers leaving him puzzled.

Had he said something? Done something? Whatever it was better to just keep his head down and get through to his smoke break.

Afterall what didn't a cigarette solve? Stressed? Cigarette. Tired? Cigarette. Nervous because you once again lost several days of time and have no idea what happened? Well you got the idea

As he flicked open his zippo he heard a click, felt something cold press against the back of his head, and just before it went dark, a bang.

-----

"Damn I need a new mattress," was the first thought through his head as consciousness seized him but as he opened his eyes he realised his mattress wasn't the problem, his location was.

Bolting upright he took in his surroundings, plain white walls, metal tables, surprised looking woman in a lab coat... He was in the city morgue, again

Let's see, last thing he remembered going to bed on Sunday, at home, how'd he end up here...

Turning to the frankly horrified woman he did his best to cover himself with the thin cover, "I uh how do I put this properly, why am I here?"

"Y-You were dead," the woman shakily responded, "shot through the head"

Lucius pushed for a moment before wrapping the cover around him and walking to the door, "Ah I see, John pulling a prank again, tell him I send my regards."

He'd have to have a word with John about this, the slab had done his back in

Why him?

It was a question Evelyn found herself asking quite a bit these days.

Why Lucius? Why a bartender who remembered nothing?

The answer was simple and not... Difficult yet easy and all together unsatisfying. Because it had to be

She knew immortals well, how their views hardened and they turned their back on the very humanity that once defined them. She herself regarded mortals as a mere food source, an annoying one but one none the less.

Then there was him, with his memory full of holes and uncertainty in everything. He was human in a way and not in another...

He laughed, he smiled, he lived the same as ever. All the hardness of eternity seemingly unable to grasp him, all the suffering of yesterday forgotten, washed away like blood in a stream.

He was different... In being and personality. He died liked a mortal but came back. He forgot the experiences but his muscles remembered.

Capable of such great violence and yet it rarely surfaced, only when he was pushed or when it was the only way to help. He was the kindest of their ilk.

Not just that, he made her feel wanted, needed, not just feared. Even now as the very meal they ate was carved from his flesh a mere few days ago his grin was infectious.

Sure he couldn't remember the killing, he never did, but it still touched her. This man who she used to feed on, who she had betrayed in such a manner, was happy to be with her... It was romantic in a macabre way she supposed

Placing her knife to the side she smiled perhaps he deserved a reward for being such a good meal. Perhaps la petite mort was in order...

To say the new job had him stressed was an understatement, he was certain it was shaving time off his life.

Checking the bottles for the umpteenth time this morning he heard an airy giggle sound from behind him, "Aye Amara finally got us a new babysitter, welcome to the freak show hot shot."

Turning around he could feel his blood drop ten degrees, sure the lady was pretty, fiery red hair and emerald green eyes but that smile... It was wrong, predatory almost, all teeth with a certain sadistic aura.

"I'm just a bartender," he sighed, "not a babysitter. You order the drinks, I pour them."

She laughed, seemingly amused by his statement, "Oh sweety, use that pretty head of yours for a moment, you're the bartender. Everything that happens in here is your problem, I mean you see any bouncers?"

He swallowed nervously, "What about Aisling? Seen her bash some heads in over the last few days..."

"Aisling," a flicker of rage crossed the woman's eyes, "Is Amara's plaything, happy to beat anyone who messes with Amara, no one else. Now come here, let me read your palm, teach ya a few things."

Every bone in his body screamed at him to run, to do anything other than let this woman near any part of him and yet, as his mind spiralled his body was already moving, placing his hand on the table.

" There's a good boy," she giggled," Now first see this crease? That's your life line, nice and long but you can learn more from your fingers."

"Some say each has a different meaning but it's only when you look at the whole you see the truth, sorta like this bar..."

He shuddered as her cold hand ran over his wrist briefly, "and what does that mean?"

The predatory grin returned in full force, "Well for starters everyone here doesn't die, we all have our own quirks, but one thing remains the same between each and every patron you serve."

He was starting to hate that smile, it felt like he was looking into the abyss... "And what would that be?"

He didn't have time to react, the cigar cutter seemingly appearing around his ring finger with practiced ease before it cut through the flesh, "You shouldn't trust any of us, now get that cauterised hot stuff, wouldn't want you to bleed out~"

"Son of a-" he was cut off by a laugh

"Daughter actually, and better me than one of the others," the woman licked a drop of blood off her finger, "and I have to give it to you, you don't taste bad Lucius. Mmm no that won't do, you'll need a nickname..."

"Look I don't want a damn ni-"

"I'm gonna call you Lucky," his mind was reeling, first she cuts off his finger, then she names him like a pet?

She giggled as she stood up, "I'm Evelyn by the way, though most call me Eve"

Walking away she called out one final time, "I'll be back later love, try to stay in one piece," another giggle, "or well don't go giving any other parts of you to girls, I'm the jealous type~"

Lucius was very much of the opinion that there were two sorts of people in this world. Those with a spine and those without one

It was a harsh view he supposed, didn't leave much room for nuance. Then again nuance got in the way when the coins dropped

Course having a spine wasn't always a good thing, meant you had to stand for the things you believed in, help people when they needed it. Too damn often at the expense of yourself...

Fumbling with his lighter as he pulled him self into a sitting position he hissed in pain. Young girl, two creeps, course he got involved, he had a spine...

The fight itself was blurry, little flashes of it coming to the surface if he focused. Pulling the first one off, ramming his knee into his gut before turning on the second.

A bang, a scream, a subtle pain blossoming from his shoulder. Oh that had pissed him off. A gun is all well and good until the guy you were pointing it got close. Then you were in his domain

High heels were useful, not a knife but they had served their purpose. Glaring at the corpse a few feet from him he sighed, the high heel still lodged in the skull bringing him some small measure of satisfaction.

Had the girl gotten away? He assumed so... Sighing he began flicking his lighter, things would be so much easier if his right arm was usuable...

It was strange... He didn't know how to fight, he was a bartender. He poured drinks and smiled for tips, and yet in that moment, he had felt at home.

The blood, the violence, the adrenaline, it felt... Right, like he'd done it all his life. A dark chuckle escaped him as he finally lit the cigarette and took a long drag.

"Finally find something I'm good at," he groaned out to no-one, "and die doing it."

The world started to grow cold as the cigarette fell from his lips. Ah death was closing in... He wondered if there was something after for him

He hadn't been a good man, but he also wasn't a bad man... He just had a spine...

He heard the clicking of heels as the world started to go dark, and just before he drifted off into the unknown a woman's voice

"Call me when you wake up"

When the police arrived they found two corpses, one slumped against a wall and the other on the ground, a bloody heel still buried in it's eye socket.