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This chapter is showing the real side of the characters and gives us insight as to what Brian's home was. Enjoy.

Brian was dazed after the battle with Whitewing. His feet dragged on the ground, his arms felt like they weighed a ton. The old man took the sword from him and had Brian lean on his shoulder, putting an arm over the boy’s shoulder so he wouldn’t collapse.

He laid Brian down on the backseat of his old, broken down truck and turned the ignition.

“You’re gonna have a lotta work ahead of you, son.” The old man said as he sped out of the alley where he had parked and into the empty downtown streets.

“Hey. Where are we going?” Brian wasn’t awake long enough for the answer.






Brian once again woke up in a hypnotic haze, not knowing anything of the long, 35 hour ride to his new home. He looked around at his room. It was about the same size as his old room, but the walls were bare and uninviting. There was a single window in it to break the monotony, though it didn’t help much. It was just a drab room, not the place he wanted to be.

But once it occurred to Brian that he wasn’t where he lived, he started to panic. He saw his blade sitting on a table next to the door, picked it up, and unsheathed it.

As he walked out into the hall, he felt something charging him from behind, probably holding a sledgehammer as a weapon. Brian felt time slowing down around him again, saw the world turn black and white as he whipped around and kicked his assailant in the chest and swung his sword, cutting the hammer handle in half.

Time returned to its normal state as Brian stood poised for battle. “Where am I?” He asked.

“You’re just outside Dempton, Texas. And you’re all over the news being billed a fallen angel fighting one of God’s warriors. I tell ya, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“WHAT?! TEXAS?! I’m from California! Why am I here?” His sword dropped from his hands as he looked out a window and saw no other houses for as far as he could see.

Brian had grown up in suburban Los Angeles, never knowing about the wide open spaces that the world had to offer.

“So now I’m living in the middle of nowhere in Texas? Can life get any worse for me?” Brian sounded hopeless.

“You also have to train for saving the world from the clutches of Heaven,” the old man said smugly.

Now that was just too much to take. Brian’s jaw dropped, his knees hit the floor and his arms fell limp to the ground. “Are you serious? I have to save the world?”

“No, son. Not this second. You have to get ready for school. What day is it?” The man asked.

“What’s your damn name?” Brian countered.

“Larry Dagman. Now answer me.”

“November 18, 2003.”

“Wrong. It’s December 23, 2003,” Larry said flatly.

“And I’m enrolling in school? Are you insane? Isn’t my picture all over the news?”

“No. You’re dead, remember? There can’t be news on a dead person, Mark Dagman.”

“Is that my new name? And what other new things do you have in store for me?”

“Here’s your driver’s license and wallet. Now come with me. I have some rules for you to follow for living here with your newfound powers.”






Mark now sat on a large couch, his feet propped on the coffee table in front of him. He had forgotten all about saving the world and was just relaxing. “What’s the law old man?” Mark asked with a lax tone.

“Number one: I’m your grandfather. Your parents died in a car crash in Austin and you were sent to live with me. That’s the story.

“Number two: You train everyday for two hours. However I will make exceptions such as football games, and other activities.

“And my most important rule: You CANNOT become involved with anyone. You can have friends, but no women in your life. It’s too dangerous.”


“Trust me –a relationship will only complicate this worse.”

This was a relief –Mark had no luck with girls anyways. This was just one more reason for him NOT to try.

“So now what? Do I gotta get ready for school?” Mark’s tone was bored and slightly annoyed at having to go back to school so soon after he died and was brought back to life.

“What are you waitin’ for, son? Get dressed. School starts in an hour. Go! The car’s waiting for you in the garage.”

As Mark delved into his wardrobe, what he found was shocking: he was part of the southern cowboy stereotype –cowboy boots, tight jeans, button down shirts, and topped off with a Stetson. “Don’t tell me I actually have to WEAR this, Larry. These clothes are horrible!”

“Welcome to the South, Mark. You’re gonna wear that ‘til the day you die.”

“For some reason, that just doesn’t sound enticing.”






Dressed and ready to go, Mark stepped into the garage. His car was very nice, perfectly matching his outfit –a red Ford truck, circa 1955, three seats and looking hardly used.

As Mark stepped in, he realized that it had never been used. “Great. I get a brand new car that had never been driven that’s older than me. Just great.”

The door lifted and Mark opened the glove compartment, finding his daily schedule and directions to the school. First day of his new life, Mark thought. How wonderful.

I think sigs are dumb.

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