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Then, I saw him sitting alone at the end of the bar.He was unique in this urban setting of twenties and thirties. I guess he was about fifty. His face was heavily tanned like leather from the sun which emphasized his sky blue eyes. He wore a long sleeved western-style work shirt and a straw cowboy hat pitched back on his head. He was drinking a beer with his whole hand wrapped around the bottle's long-neck. His eyes watched lazily, seeing the crowd as if he were watching a herd of cattle from horse back.Suddenly, his blue eyes were piercing me and he smiled slowly, showing white teeth that sparkled against the dark face. He tipped his hat. I looked away but, subconsciously, worked my way to him. He stood when I approached and took off the hat, showing longish black hair streaked with gray. Of course, he was wearing boots and jeans. The jeans were skin tight and his legs were thick, heavily muscled, like the rest of him."Hi, Cowboy," I said gaily."Good evening, ma'am," he replied in a. He spread his four wings and flapped as hard as he could,lifting himself just enough to give a minor boost and lessening thebalance issue, if only slightly.The attack failed to connect; the Faust saw it coming and backed away,just out of the sword's reach. But in the same instant, the blade glowedpink and suddenly let out a burst not unlike Dante's own D.T. explosion.It didn't hurt the demon, but it DID force aside the shadows it cloakeditself in. With a frightened shriek, the Faust's true insectoid form wasrevealed. It spread its multiple legs and prepared to scurry away, butDante was not going to let this chance go. Ignoring his clumsy footwearand flapping his wings once more, Dante leapt forward and plunged theblade right between its eye sockets. A screech filled the catacombs asthe Faust writhed in its last moments before finally dissolving into apuddle of goop.Panting, Dante dropped to his knees and looked at the sword. Asmodeuscould attack through a Faust's cloak? ...hm, what.
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