Giriko

Things were pretty quiet in the church today. Giriko sat on the front stoop, a small forest of bottles around him, some empty and some full, and a half-full one between his knees. The air was comfortable, today, not too warm or cold, and the sky was blue and cloudless. Possibly a hot day to come, but for now the real heat hadn't yet hit.

Giriko had no idea that his life was about to go sideways.

Giriko didn't quite know how he'd gone from being worried Henry's head had been cut off, to standing outside the church where he now lived, waiting for Henry's brother to come over and get his ass handed to him.

But he was here, his sharp teeth bared in an eager grin, dust swirling around his boots. The church behind him looked derelict and sad, alone in the middle of endless Death Valley desert and scrub. The only interesting feature besides the church itself was a misshapen stone statue. The golem was completely motionless for now, awaiting its master's command.

Giriko might be cocky, and he might like a good fight, but he had no intention of getting impaled by Travis' light saber. He'd use the golem if he needed to, just as he had against Henry. Travis was probably pretty good, but Giriko had 800 years of experience on him, and was a demon weapon. He was confident.

Baba Yaga's Castle was in ruins. Explosions had ripped through the spider's legs, eight explosions, eight piles of rubble. The main body of the spider was ripped open by the force of the explosions, but otherwise it was largely intact.

Everyone who could still move had run, vanishing into the jungle. Most of Arachne's followers hadn't been able to run. Mosquito was dead. Arachne was dead, and her soul missing. Mifune's body had vanished, but a splash of blood showed where he had fallen before the front doors. Giriko didn't know the details of what had gone down, but there had been no tiny body of the little witch anywhere in the castle. Whatever had happened to Mifune, likely Angela's fate was tied to that. And he couldn't give less of a shit.

The Alchemist stepped out of the front doors, a golem clumping along behind him. He stepped over a body here and there. The golem simply crushed them into the dirt after he'd passed, its step uncaring and unheeding.

He tipped back his head, draining the last of a bottle of Jack. He threw it to one side, and the glass shattered on the flagstones nearby. Maybe he'd die now. Or maybe he'd take that Shibusen priest with him. He didn't give a fuck anymore. Eight hundred years he'd waited, and now he had nothing left to wait for.