Ex's and Oh's

Aurelio glanced out at the moor as he recalled the number. Eighty five spades was the amount of money that sat in his poncho's inner pocket. Not too long ago, it had been one hundred, but he had spent some on the bottle of Helltails in his other poncho pocket. It was a good whiskey, it put a comforting numbing warmth in his belly when he has taken a sip earlier, but wasn't good enough to make him forget what he had just done.

He'd left the Seeksman. Aurelio could feel guilt hiding amongst the alcohol in his bloodstream as he recalled it. He took his badge and burned it, as well as his house. He had hoped that it'd throw them off make, make them think that someone set fire to him home in the night and he burned to death inside, however, something in his chest made him think they knew he was alive. Leaving the Seeksman wasn't what it used to. In the past, if you left, you'd be looked down upon by the others of the group. Occasionally, they'd throw around words like 'traitor' or 'soft' but that was all. However, now? He could probably imagine them all gathering in a circle, thinking of the best way to kill who left, what to do with their skin, their head, their bones. Aurelio didn't even know if they knew that this was his form of leaving. It was completely possible he believed that he was alive, being held against his will and in need of saving. He couldn't exactly blame them for the possibility of them wanting his head, though. The angelic attacks within the past five years have gotten only worse. More innocent demons fell left and right, whether it was from direct damage, or angel dust. With others dying like that, those who had been specifically trained, no, bred for this role, to be able to challenge these abominations should've been. 

So then why did I leave? Why leave when I could have helped?

Aurelio took another swig of the Helltails before tucking it away safely in his pocket again, feeling a bit warmer but being careful not to get tipsy. He couldn't have helped. Every day he was out there on the field trying to deal with the attacks...the bodies. Back before these attacks were so frequent, when he'd see a body, he'd feel sympathy. That was once a demon, one of his own, dead. Their lives, ripped from them, and them ripped from their families. In a way, he'd mourn them, even though he'd never met them once in his life, and would probably never come to learn their names. But now, when the carcasses of demons were so frequent, laying everywhere, overtime he couldn't feel that sympathy. The corpses just felt as though they were...there. Like blades of grass, or rocks, or trees. Him attempting to help would have just staved off the inevitable. Him attempting to help would have just filled him and the others with the illusion that everything was going to be fine, that they could wake up in their beds and have breakfast and read the morning paper and everything was going to be just fine.

The demon sighed, beginning to set off into the moor. The grass was untamed, the tallest blades reaching up to his shoulders. A lonely elevator wasn't all too far from here. All he needed to do was somehow get to Mistow. Mistow, the city where everyone goes to die. Once you get there, it's like you died and became a new person. You had a new identity, a new life. Hell, you could get a new wife or husband, new family, new everything and ditch your old life behind. That is what Aurelio wished for. No one would miss him. No one would put up posters saying 'Have you seen this man? x amount of money to be brought alive and safely.' No one would cry, and pray and try to do rituals to make him return home. Once Aurelio died, he could be someone else. Santos, Blaise, or maybe Camber? The name sounded good to him.

"Eighty five spades, eh? Damn..." he muttered to himself. He wondered if it could last him long enough to get to Mistow. If he used to sparingly, maybe, but he doubted it. Aurelio could chug bottles of Helltails like no other, and he needed something to calm his nerves when things got tough. 

Aurelio stood on his tiptoes. He could see the lonely elevator from there. He took a deep breath, eyes locking onto it. He was going to start his new life, or die trying.