Capturing The Angel of Death

To the vast majority, the concept and understanding of death was not very welcoming. To them, death was the end of life, the power to destroy life and the end and destruction of all hope and happiness. To those who had given up on life, it was like the first rain of the year; A kind shower that ended the heat and suffering of their miserable life. But to the Quinn Family, death was none of these. Their understanding of death was a whole new definition, and wasn't something that the ordinary man would easily come to terms with.

To them death meant transcending to a whole new world, they didn't fear death like the rest did, rather they accepted it and sometimes called onto the Angel of death to heed to them. To the Quinn Family, transcending to a higher being was the purpose of living and this had driven the family into different acts that the society strictly abhorred. Everything concerning the Quinn's was termed evil to the extent that they word evil had been replaced by Quinn in their town.

The Quinn's were infamous for their occultic activities and the incessant human sacrifices they made to their god, Azrael. They worshipped death and everything related to it. Their beliefs were extreme that they had made it a habit to offer the first male son of every family to this their god and in exchange, death was supposed to welcome them to the afterlife with more care. To them they had conquered damnation after death and have sealed their new level of existence after death. All the Quinn's worshipped this ideal, but only one man refused to fall for the blind belief of his people. Marcelo Quinn.

Marcelo had been born as a twin to Antonio Quinn, and the only reason he was still alive was because he happened to be born only six minutes after his brother. As a kid, he had grown up with his Mother and Gracia Quinn and his African American father Immanuel Tunde. He was a bastard, born out of wedlock only so that the accursed tradition of the Quinn could continue. His parents never really followed in the footsteps of the other's, and had trained him to hate and despise the tradition of his own people.

Marcelo was twenty eight now, a fully fledged man with a fat salary. He worked as an expert in demonology and exorcism, the two most rampant topics in the world he existed in. Not only have the Quinn Family influenced their town, their stupid tradition and belief have given rise to numerous occultic activities and hellish groups spawning up and down the entire city. They were once again living in the dark era.

Marcelo had dedicated his entire childhood and adulthood to putting a stop to his family's madness and this was the sole purpose of his work. He wasn't ashamed of being a Quinn, he only despised the fact that he was seen as evil incarnate no matter how many good deeds he rendered to the community and all this was simply because of his ancestors obsession with death and Azrael.

As an exorcist, he didn't work under the church. The church in his world couldn't be trusted any longer. The Quinn's had control over everything in the town, and this included the church too. He had started his own little group. Anti-Quinn. Even though the name of his group directly opposed even he himself, he never considered changing his name. The Anti-Quinns existed for a reason and that was to clear the evil that the Quinn family had brought upon their town, and there was no better leader more suited for the job than someone who had the blood running in his veins.

Marcelo pulled off his shirt and tossed it carelessly on his bed revealing the set of markings and wordings that had been elaborately and skillfully engraved on his skin. Most of the symbols of were those of the church and the wordings were latin. His entire back was covered with these markings and words, but only one word stood out the most.

"Vita," which translated to life in English. While the Quinn's wasted their lives on death, he had dedicated his to saving lives, and that meant countering the beliefs of the Quinn. He was the perfect counter for anything Quinn related, and he didn't keep that fact hidden.

He walked out of the bedroom and headed towards the kitchen for a quick afternoon meal. He lived alone in his two rooms apartment, and his life wasn't that much different from that of the ordinary man. The only thing that distinguished him from the rest was his involvement with demons. Apart from his work, he lived his life freely. The only problem he had with his life was the daily and unending threats he got from his own family, and despite all these death threats and promises, he never wavered for a single second in carrying out his duties, and this was only because of one reason.

The Quinn's had a rule that forbade the killing of any family member above the age of seven. They believed that once a child had crossed this age, he had the potential to transcend. This rule had been saving since he began the Anti-Quinns movement, but he knew it won't be long before they eventually go against this rule. He was prepared for them anytime they decided to make any moves. After all, he had dedicated his entire being to stopping them.

He sunk his teeth into the juicy and crunchy apple he held and savoured the taste of the rejuvenating fruit. He had skipped breakfast and this was his first meal of the day. He had been woken up by incessant ringing of his phone and had received an exorcism work the instant he picked up. He was the leader of this little group, but his assistant Rebecca never gave him the leisure that a leader was supposed to have.

He grunted bitterly after another bite. He had just returned from his first exorcism, and had just remembered another contract he made with a local farmer.

"Can't a man get some rest?" He grunted before heading towards his room. He was tempted to phone Rebecca or Oliver and have them perform the exorcism, but he had promised the man to do so himself, and he couldn't afford to break his own promise. He threw his shirt over his body and made for the door. It was already few minutes past the scheduled time and being tardy wasn't an attribute he was proud of.

He arrived twenty five minutes after leaving his residence. He had phoned his personal apprentice on the way here and sooner or later, the boy would be here. For now, he was going to have a look around the farm and search around for any trace of evil spirits.

"Marcelo Quinn!" A weak feeble voice called out from a distant barn. This was the man he was supposed to work for. Pedro Sand, owner of Tempest Farm.