A Guide to Surviving Against Monsters

"I died when I was twelve."

That got their attention.

They wouldn't want to miss this story now.

I was the exact opposite, hiding my shaking hands under the table. My stomach churned, memories making my head spin.

"But you're a grown twenty year-old woman," Miles pointed out. "And that was when you were in the Academy. How could you have died..?"

"My parents were killed the year before," I muttered coldly. "And monster activity was the highest it had been in a while. The Academy was afraid that a demon may pop up while they were unprepared."

"But that's what the special task squads were for..." Luca protested. I shot him a look.

"Those squads didn't have the best success rate, frankly. They needed a weapon to control."

I fiddled with my fingers under the table, feeling a heavy pressure on my chest.

"Turns out, a newly-orphaned huntress in-training with plenty of potential seemed like a good test subject," I continued weakly. My voice cracked, disgust washing over me at my own weakness.

You lived through this already. Suck it up and talk about it. It can't be any worse, right?

A tear threatened to fall from my eye, but I forced it back.

Why am I being so ridiculous?

"Emmy..?"

I pushed past the lump in my throat.

"Angels... They're... They're the perfect thing to destroy a demon. I'm not going into the specifics, but the people who changed me, realm specialists and scientists, found a way to bribe an angel. Sort of. An angel needs a sinner's soul for most things--"

"--how do you know all this?" Luca interrupted. He looked shocked, and a bit horrified.

So even he has a limit to what he can take.

I buried the urge to smirk, instead sighing.

"Because. I'm alive because of an angel."

"...That's why you knew the answer to Michaelson's question," Weston murmured softly. "Why you didn't finish your answer. You know more than most people."

Than anyone.

But I'll keep that to myself.

"Essentially, they wanted to use my soul to get the angel on their side. However, it took one look at my miserable life and spared me, in the name of love for all of the Celestial King's children," I grumbled, scoffing. "Honestly... if it had killed me, it would've been easier..."

This time, I couldn't keep my voice steady. It shook as I remembered the pain. The pain that came with a child's screams, and the feeling of my body being torn apart.

I didn't noticed I was crying until Weston handed me a tissue. I rolled my eyes at myself, dabbing away the tears.

Tipping my head back, I shut my eyes, telling them the story as I relived it behind closed eyelids.

I was so small at the time, and my hair was longer. I was innocent, yet sullied by the loss of my parents. Lost. Hurt.

The perfect tormented soul.

But It didn't want me to die. It saw my potential, my kindness... The childlike kindness I promised myself to hold onto.

In hindsight, that kindness died then and there.

It refused to hurt me. The angel loved me, even if It had never met me.

So, the people who knew me, who were using me, took it a step further. Because they did not love me.

I felt it before I realized what was going on. My brother was not in the room to witness the real experiment, nor did I tell him my fate.

I was just a child.

A dead child.

They used their medical tools to scar my skin. They tore me apart with their big machines, letting me bleed out. My hair was ripped from my scalp, my skin peeled off my bones. One of them was tasked with breaking every bone in my body. Another ripped the nails from my toes and fingers. A third muffled my screams, but had the 'kindness' to dab away my tears.

Just not the kindness to save me, or to at least give me an anesthetic.

It took under ten minutes for my body to give out, but I was still aware. I saw them saw my legs and arms off my body, leaving my head intact. They still detached it from my torso, however.

I was in pieces.

I was dead.

All in the presence of the angel that wanted to spare me.

This is the part I did not see. A dead girl didn't observe, didn't know what happened next.

But they were so eager to tell me what happened afterward, when I miraculously woke back up with my body in one piece.

They told me the story in an excited rush, but I still understood.

The angel, with tears streaking Its cheeks, was unable to hurt any living being. Instead, Its love broke through, allowing It to save me. I was put back together by a divine soul entering the pieces of my human body and sewing me up. It did so carefully, erasing the scars from my skin until I laid there with tufts of hair and an awkward sleeping position.

My soul was not as easy to fix.

To bring the real pieces of me, not just my body, back into their normal state, the angel had to leave part of Its divine soul with me.

However, destroyed by guilt and grief, the angel gave me too much. It changed me in an irreversible way.

I woke up as a living human girl once again, traumatized.

But then I realized I wasn't just a human girl.

I was partially an angel, with all the divine gifts of one. Except I didn't have the wings, beauty, immortality or divine restrictions that an angel did.

Which meant I had their power, but not the limits that kept them from abusing them.

It meant I was, after all, a beautiful, useful weapon.

Not a human girl. Not an angel-girl.

A weapon, once again. Even after death.

But, my story does not end there.

Because, three years later, the angel returned. Three years is long for us, but insignificant for an angel. It was almost like It came back the next day.

Why did It come back?

Because by giving me Its soul to return my life to my body, some of Its power was lost.

And the angel wanted that power back. It was ordered to get Its power back by the King.

It needed a sinner's soul to fix Itself. I was the perfect candidate once again, but those bastards refused to let their precious weapon go.

However, there was a child with experiences almost identical to mine. One whose soul was even more corrupted because of a mistake made years prior.

My brother. Roman Foxit.

They used him. They gave his soul to the angel, who was fulfilled after taking my brother's life.

I haven't seen that angel since.

After that, I was truly alone. I was different. I had lost more than I thought possible.

There was just one more thing to top it all off.

Before any more of my kind could be created, or the news could be spread, everyone working on the project died in a 'mysterious' fire. It was an accident, they say.

An accident that wiped the entire thing out of everyone's memories.

Except for mine.

They didn't want to make more like me. The risk was too great, they said. However, it didn't matter. The procedure died with them.

Only it didn't. Because this hunter-angel still exists.

And part of me...

Tears flowed freely down my face.

"...Part of me wishes that fire took me, too."

Finally, my story was told.

My hardships were known, at least partially.

There was more to it than that. I knew that very well. I knew that I left parts out, that there was still questions to be answered.

But I didn't want to answer them.

I wanted to forget it all.

I didn't want Roman to be dead, or to be a divine child.

If only I could get the things that I wanted for once.

Embarrassment flooded my systems as I noticed the tears on my face. I rushed to wipe them away, unable to look at my friends in the eye.

I could still see their expressions, however.

Miles looked like he was about to vomit. His entire body was slack, his jaw hanging open. Tears hung in his eyes, which were unfocused. I wondered if he was imagining it as if he was me.

Weston was the opposite. He looked alert and livid. His hand, balled into a fist, rested on the table. I could see the veins in his neck pop, his anger masking his horror.

Poor gentle, sweet Mateo was in tears. He couldn't hide his pure mortification, and he stared at me like I was either a monster or a god-sent woman. I couldn't tell.

It was hard to look at Wendy.

She stared at me, her face blank, yet her eyes told it all. Years of friendship turned into pure sympathy. I wanted to apologize for never telling her, but I knew what her answer would've been.

I should've known, is what she would say. I should've picked up on it. Protected you.

My heart smiled. You couldn't have.

Still, her tears brought my own running even faster. That stare we shared was all we needed -- I knew her trust in me was renewed.

It still hurt to look at Theo.

He couldn't meet my eyes, his face pale. His expression gave zero clues, his features schooled into pure stillness.

Did he hate me? Did I disgust him now?

I was, after all, living my second life. I had died once. Cut apart like meat for sale.

He wouldn't be the only person that hated me for that.

Despite the lack of scars, I still stared at myself in the mirror like I could see them. Ugly, grotesque lines that marred my skin. Marked me as a weapon, as an experiment.

I hated myself for it too.

I nearly lost myself in that thought, but someone managed to pull me from it.

Luca, who knew what it was like to lose someone, didn't flinch away from me. He didn't look pale.

Instead, he looked sad. I was frozen as he reached for my hand, squeezing it like he was a lifeline and I was a drowning swimmer.

It calmed me, surprisingly.

It gave me the courage to look them in the eye.

"Emmalyn..."

"Wendy..?"

She got up, running across the table. Luca kept his hand tight around mine, even as she grabbed me, wrapping her arms around my much tinier frame. My old friend cried into my shoulder, shaking like a leaf.

"Why did you do that alone? God, you... You were just a kid! How did you survive it, Emmy?! I... I should've--"

"You couldn't have," I cut in, my voice soft. It was also hoarse, crackling. "I don't hold it against you, Wendy..."

This is who I am now.

Emmy died at the age of twelve.

I was saved, to become a saviour.

Even if it means I don't know myself.

The next couple hours were a blur. The horrified silence began to drift away as the hunters realized exactly what had happened, keeping their questions to themselves. Wendy eventually sat back down, and we forced ourselves to move on. They processed the information, our pathetic excuse for a conversation turning to our plans for the new graduates.

But even if the conversation sucked, I felt relieved.

I lived through the story. I told someone.

I told six someones.

I managed to smile by the end of brunch.

And that was enough.

Though, I guess the hand that didn't leave mine was a bit helpful.