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Detective Clive Yorke hated his job. As head of London's controversial newest task force, he was also having to deal with press releases on top of police investigations. That wasn't to say he wasn't good at his job, he was. He just hated it. And at that moment he couldn't have hated it more. London had stopped dead. With a serial killer holding an innocent woman hostage underneath one of the London bridges, the Thames embankment had become a stage confrontation between the police and the killer. Clive had quardened off the embankment, but there was nothing he could do about the crowds of people on the street watching this unfold. A police helicopter circled overhead, lights danced up and down the water on the river, as police sirens crisscrossed one another. Clive stood amidst the gathering of police officers, as he looked across the gravel embankment and glimpsed his entrapped serial killer. The individual moved nervously amongst the shadows cast over by the bridge, as one bare arm wrapped around his entrapped hostage. The other hand trembled and twitched, a butcher's knife clasped between his white-knuckled hand. The killer's name was Joseph Nuke. He was a school teacher, he was a charity organiser in his spare time and had even signed up for the 2012 Olympic Torch Relay. He was possessed. Possessed by a demonic spirit that had driven him to kill three students and then go on the run. It was for this reason Clive and his team had been called in. The preternatural bureau of investigation handled all cases involving ghouls, demons and things that go bump in the night. This was the main reason Clive hated his job; he hated anything supernatural. He was a devote Christian, and things like ghosts and spectres went against his very straight-laced teachings. He sighed as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his trench pocket and spark up. It was going to be a long night of paperwork after all this was taken care of. He watched as the tip of his cigarette flared orange, before he inhaled and savoured the sweet tobacco goodness that soaked through his body. A rich cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth, as he rounded on one of the uniformed officers. "Is he on his way?" he asked. Officer Ramirez nodded up at the taller man, his dark skin and patients eyes flushed with colour as the squad car lights passed over them. "ETA, two minutes. He said something about walking the dog. He said you'd understand what that meant?" Detective Yorke smiled. He did understand. He peeled away from the crowd, his six foot two frame slender but broad, as he passed between the squad cars and reached the barricade. He could hear murmurs behind him, talk about this newcomer Yorke had called in. Loose cannon. Trouble. A freak of nature. All nicknames Yorke had heard before, but he ignored it all. Nine out of ten cops hated working with an expert who didn't own a police badge. Clive stood alone at the barricade. Twenty solid feet seperated him and the killer. A second barricade had been set up twenty feet on the other side of Nuke. His routes of escape were blocked unless he had discovered he could fly or could swim like a fish. In the past humans had done miraculous things because of possession, but usually their skills boiled down to what they could and couldn't do as a human. Nuke had not been the best swimmer, therefore, even though possessed, he'd still be next to useless in the water. The woman was alive, you could tell as she struggled and breathed heavily with panic. The poor woman had been walking home after some socialite gathering, when a crazed lunatic had crashed his car into a lamppost and fled the scene, snatching her up as he went and dragging her to the embankment, knife in hand. Clive hoped she could be saved, but the possessed were unpredictable at the best of times and damn near impossible to read at the worst. Nuke stood almost as tall as Yorke at six foot square. His body was painfully thin, his bare chest rose and face with panicked breaths, his face thin and gaunt, hidden as his slender form seemed to jerk and twitch violently. How he hadn't taken an eye out of the woman's head already was anyone's guess. His dark hair fell loose around his face, slick with sweat, he bared yellowed teeth in a grin, as froth formed at the corners of his mouth like some rabid animal with rabies. His pale brown eyes rolled, spooked and panicked. Clive never called out, never spoke to Nuke. Negotiation was impossible. It was best to leave this to the professionals. God willing, this particular professional could do something. Yorke ran his fingers through his greying brown hair and sighed. The winter chill swept across the Thames' glacial surface as the detective adjusted his tie and took a second, deep suck on his cigarette. His shirt, white and pressed, buttoned up tight, trousers tailored to fit his long leg as well as being smoothed without a crease, his shoes polished and fastened, all of which was covered by the neck-to-mid-calf trench that he'd donned that night. That was him all over, professional, even though he hated his career. A commotion could be heard behind Nuke, behind the second police barricade. Clive grinned, his aged face wrinkled as he called Ramirez to hand him a radio. His preternatural professional was here. Nice timing, he thought. He watched with grey eyes and adjusted the frequencies on the radio Ramirez had handed him.

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Several police blocked Dwight's path as he tried to move between the barricade. He couldn't blame them. They were doing their jobs. Preventing Nuke from leaving, and making sure none of the public got too close. Standing at five-foot-nine and in his mid-twenties, Cain Dwight looked more like he should be in some neighbourhood street gang, instead of the preternatural bureau's go-to-guy for anything spooky. Cain was slender, lithe even, his skin as pale as pale could be, and his hair as white as snow. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, like the depths of the sea. He sported a thick, black tribal pattern, tattooed into the flesh of his right shoulder and upper arm as well as a silver loop threaded through his left ear lobe. Regardless of the cold winter, Dwight had come dressed in an oversized black vest, a pair of denim jeans that were belted at the waist, and black hiking boots, done in leather. His breath clouded as he spoke. "Detective Clive Yorke called me in. I'm Cain Dwight, let me through." The initial cop who'd blocked him growled back, "Shouldn't you be out robbing some poor ol' lady, kid? This is an ongoing hostage situation." "I know. Detective Yorke called me in," Dwight repeated. "Yeah, right. Go home, kid!" As if on cue, the officer's radio crackled to life. Yorke's voice growled over the soundwaves. "Benson, stop fucking around and let Dwight through!" The cop named Benson looked apprehensive, but stepped aside. Dwight nodded to him out of respect for the badge he wore, as stepped forward. Gravel crunched underfoot as he bypassed the squad cars and watched as their blues-and-twos danced over his body. Dwight soon reached the barricade's end. His breath clouded as he exhaled. He could feel it, feel the spiritual presence of another. He looked up and saw it. No normal human would have been able to see it. Latched onto Joseph Nuke's back was a tall, slender creature, covered in sleak, black scales, with a serpentine neck, its long-limbed claws grappled against Nuke. Its long neck turned to me, as its human-looking, feral face bared bloodied fangs and grinned at me as if it recognised what I was. Its lower body melted into the lower spine of Nuke's body. Cain sighed. "Ready, boy?" he murmured. A deep, low growl rumbled beside him.

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Officer Hank Ramirez skidded in the gravel, as he rushed to stand beside Detective Yorke's taller, broader frame. He stared as the officers at the other barricade allowed a youth through. Yorke grinned as the twenty-something glared at Nuke's back. "He sees him," he murmured under his breath. "Sir, I've only been on the job for a few weeks now. I got transferred to London. What? What is that kid doing?" Ramirez stammered. Yorke smiled. "When this task force was conceived, it was done because a member of England's Royal Family was possessed and damn near killed our Sovereign. That was about six months ago. You remember the assassination attempt on Liz, right?" Ramirez nodded. "Since then the world has grown accustomed to the ideas of monsters existing." "Sir?" "Things that go bump in the night are real, Ramirez, believe it or not, but not all of us are blessed with being capable of seeing these strange phenomenon. Corporeal monsers we see; werewolves, vampires, zombies, all fine. But spooks, ghosts, the demonic are invisible to the naked eye. That is why we need to work alongside men like Cain Dwight," Yorke explained. "Cain Dwight?" Ramirez repeated. "He is the first known demon walker to work alongside normal humans." "Demon walker? What does that mean, sir?" "Quite simple, he walks alongside demons. He is the culmination of humans and demons working alongside one another," Yorke explained, "His aura, his being brings forth a control over certain demonic beings, and the demon that works with Dwight is one of the most powerful." "What does that mean sir? There's another demonic spirit here?" Yorke touched a finger to his lips. "Just watch."

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Cain walked across the gravel embankment until Nuke whirled around and faced him with the woman still in front of him. She whimpered as he violently turned. He held the blade to her throat as he grinned at me viciously. "What do you want?" he shrieked at me. "Mr Nuke, my name is Cain Dwight. I'm here to help," Cain replied. "H-Help? I don't need help!" "I wasn't talking about you." "Fuck you!" Nuke snarled back at me. "Mr Nuke, you've been possessed, a demonic spirit is currently inhabiting your body and making you do these things, it made you kill those students of yours." Cain took a second to look up and see the black, scaled creature tighten its grip and lean down to whisper sweet nightmares and thoughts into Nuke's obediant ear. "T-There's nothing wrong with m-me! Those b-bitches deserved it!" Nuke snapped. "Mr Nuke, I am not here to negociate with you. I'm not here to mediate either. I'm here to make sure you and your demonic friend there never ever hurt anyone ever again. Weak hearts and minds attract leeches like the one riding your back, I just wanted to introduce myself before I end this." "W-What do you mean?" "You'll see." Cain smiled and then suddenly closed the distance between Nuke and himself. His speed was inhuman, impossible even. His hand wrapped around Nuke's wrist as it held the blade to the woman's throat. Nuke struggled, but it was like pulling at your hand encased in cement. Cain's other hand shot up and gripped Nuke by the forearm that was around the woman's neck. He hadn't broken a sweat. He'd prevent Nuke from stabbing or strangling her. Cain looked her in the eye then and smiled warmly. She was young, no older than he was and just as pale at that moment. Her hair was a crimson wave that spilled down around her. Kissable red lips quivered as her wide, green eyes focused on Cain. She wore a black dinner gown over her lithe form. Her small breasts rose and fell as she quickened her breathing. "What's your name?" Cain asked. "Sophia." "Sophia? That's a beautiful name." That earned Cain a smile. "Alright, Sophia, I need you to do me a favour? As soon as this gentleman lets you go, run to the officer behind you in the trench coat with the cigarette in his mouth. His name's Clive Yorke. He'll protect you. Okay?" She nodded slowly, cautiously. "Good girl," Cain grinned back. Cain then looked up, not at Nuke, but at the dark, maddened face of the spiritual leech latched onto his back. "W-What are you?" the spirit hissed. "I'm a demon walker. The worst kind you'll ever meet," Cain spat back. "Demon w-walker, then that meanssss your no more human than me?" "I'm all the more human for protecting them though." I grinned and yelled, "Serb!" A great crash erupted in the middle of the Thames. Water cascaded all around, while a great beast revealed itself and launched across the water and hit the gravel hard. The beast was about the size of a horse and resembled a rottweiler. Its fur was jet black, its eyes a piercing crimson, fangs pearly-white, and claws blackened, sharp. A thick steel collar hung around its throat, while remnants of steel shackles fastened at his ankles. Its ears were long and pointed, a long, thick tail that was tipped with a burning, black flame, cracked like a whip. It launched forward, crouched behind Nuke and wrapped its fangs around the spirit that was holding to Nuke for dear life. It tore the spirit from Nuke like wet paper and carried it to the bridge's support wall. It slammed the creature hard, pinning it with its claws as it loomed over the demonic ghost and growled. Nuke started to collapse as unconsciousness swam over him. Sophia ducked from underneath him and took off toward Yorke. Cain lowered Nuke to the gravel and touched a finger to his neck, his pulse was sluggish but there. He'd live. He was just exhausted. Nuke's possessor hissed and spat at his canine jailor. "I'd be cautious around Serb, he hates demonic spirits and thinks they are delicious too," Cain warned as he stood and approached the great, guardian beast. "What? What is he?" "His full name is Serberus XIII; the great, guardian beast of Hells Gate." "Cerberus?" "No, not the three-headed demon hound, but a descendant, Serberus, a beast that has been in the Dwight family for generations." "Why? Why do the help the humansss?" "Because I am human." "Are you? No normal human could do what you do? What makesss you believe your all that human to begin with?" he hissed back at Cain. "I know who you are." "W-What?" "A demonic serial killer spirit that inhabits London? Your Jack the Ripper." "Ssso what?" Jack hissed back. "I'm not just here to help stop the demons, Jack. I'm also their Jury, Judge and the Executioner," Cain grinned. Jack looked frightened as he started struggling against the long, black claws. Cain continued, "Jack the Ripper, I find you guilty of demonic possession and the brutal killings of three innocent human beings, and the attempted homicide and justified kidnap of a fourth victim. Judgement; death." "N-No! No!" "Serberus!" Cain snarled. The great canine opened its jaws and sank its teeth into the Ripper. Black blood spilled as the beast devoured it one piece at a time. Blood spilled across the gravel embankment as Cain murmured, "Mission accomplished."