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For a cloudy day, it was understandably cold outside, and that meant that Bassett was going to wear more jackets than his usual one. He suited up, putting on a long shirt, a thin army jacket over that, a vest, and then a heavy wool jacket. He even tucked a scarf around his neck, burying his chin within it. For any other person, it was just a cloudy day. But for Bassett Ellery, it was freezing.

Regardless of his sensitivity to the cold, he had to take care of the garden.

After pulling his hair back into a short stubby pony-tail, Bassett pulled his hat onto his head, fixing it tightly over his horns. He might be in the safety of his master's garden, within high hedges and walls covered with winter bitten honeysuckle, but he wasn't going to risk anything if he could. He happy nonetheless, though. Gardening, for Bassett, was a way to collect himself together, to peacefully regard himself and set things straight in his mind after a few days of hard work. It was like meditation for him, and the smell of the dirt relaxed him in a way music and massages never could. So, picking up a tray of gardening tools, Bassett strolled from the mansion and into the garden, leaving his demon behind. Pey was less apt to slink out in cold weather, especially for something so trivial as a few hours out in the garden. So Pey stayed inside, posted by the window with his arms crossed over his pale chest, watching the head of his summoner bob out into the garden.

Once Bassett was in the garden, he settled himself down onto his knees in the dirt, not minding the dirt that smeared into his pants. The ground was moist, just a few minutes of rainfall away from being mud. It was good dirt. Bassett leaned down, his rump lifting into the air as he pressed his face to the ground and took in the good earth with a sniff. There was nothing like gardening, he was sure. So Bassett got started, sifting his hands through the dirt and pulling all the weeds from the sleeping plants of winter, a garden shovel in one hand and a handful of dirt in the other.

A soldier's hymn hummed from his lips.

This was a good day.

One moment, Bassett was sinking into a state of peace, his breathing calming, his heartbeat slowing...But in the next he was flat on his back, a weight upon his person. His heartbeat soared, beating to a furious rhythm, so loud that it drummed wildly in his ears. For a few moments, he couldn't hear anything, but his mind was racing. It was almost as if he HAD been shot by that rifle. Shell shock was rocking his body now, with instinctual panic making his legs stiffen and his arms flail. This forced him to take a few moments longer to realize just who it was on top of him. He felt her thighs straddled over his stomach and he looked up into her golden eyes with widened eyes of his own, a slight glow tinging the hollow of his gaze.

"Dessy?!" the soldier managed to choke, his hat askew atop his head, showing one of his ivory white horns. He reached up with his hands and placed them underneath his ears, holding her in place in his shaking gaze, "Dessy, where have you been? You just disappeared! I'm...I'm gardening! Wh-what was that? Was that a rifle?!" The soldier would've moved, but there was a precious person atop of him. "Dessy! I can't believe it's-"

Pey, inside the house, jumped when he heard the familiar kickback and blast of a rifle. His grin melted off his face. His summoner. His source of food. His Bassett. His Button. The Nameless demon's grin warped into a terrible frown and he threw himself through the window--...Damn, the window wouldn't break. Roaring, he rushed downstairs.

He had to get to his summoner!!

Bassett only had so much time to swallow the fact that his friend had returned, before he was forced into a state of suppressed fear. Footsteps...There were footsteps stepping ever closer, backing the beat of his heart. He choked back on a word as his hat was yanked back over his horns and head, "-gnk!". A word was whispered into his ears and he couldn't understand it. It sounded familiar...But he didn't know what it meant. Where did it come from? Ah...He knew now...The room. The mumbling creature! Could that have been Odessa? What were those words...A warning. With a struggle, Bassett quelled the glow from his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut until it dissipated.

Bassett didn't have time to think. Odessa rolled off the top of him and pushed herself to her feet, claiming that he wasn't Bassett Ellery. The demon gulped and looked to the sound of the footsteps and their source, a girl...Black hair and black eyes. The fact that she had black eyes was more startling to him than the gun in her hand. He remembered Sofiel speaking to him, warning him, giving him instructions if he were ever to see this individual.

Run.

But he couldn't run now...Could he? No. At the moment, now, he had to lie. Perhaps he had a chance of being spared?

"My name?" Bassett said, his words tripping all over themselves as he scrambled up onto his feet and took a couple steps back away from the Hunter. He pulled at the scarf around his neck. It felt like it was choking him. Name, name...Any name but his own! Bassett pulled up the first name that came to mind and blurted it out, "My name, miss, is Galvin Hiers, I'm the gardener here. Who are you? What the hell to you think you're doing?"

In the back of his mind, he heard Run, RUN, RUN!!

Bassett had to bite down hard on his own lip to prevent himself from making a sound of rage when Odessa's head was bashed in by the butt of the gun. He flinched, taking another step back and watching with horror was Odessa's body crumpled to the ground. He made the motion to jump forward and pick up Odessa into his arms, but even his good senses restrained him from doing that. She was trying already so hard to protect him, he couldn't blow her efforts wide open now...

But then Sybil stepped closer, with each smooth, calculated movement bringing her inches towards the trembling servant. As hard as Bassett tried, he couldn't smell the death that was staring him in the face, the way he had been able to do on the battlefield. He kept taking steps back, hoping to draw Sybil farther and farther away from Odessa. Poor girl, his mind screamed, now he understood why she had disappeared...This lady had ensnared her somehow...But his mind refused to think further. He was too busy staring down the dark barrel of the death-heralding weapon before him. His mind was too addled with thoughts of RUN! RUN! DEATH! HUNTER! RUN! for him to think clearly, to connect the dots.

She knew. His name was not Galvin Hiers, not the name of his master. Bassett struggled with his throat muscles, forcing himself not to gulp, betray his guiltiness.

"I..." He managed to croak, his eyes focusing on the hammer of the handgun, "I-!" Oh god, what was WRONG with him?! Bassett's soldier self screamed and struggled within him, stretching his insides in desperate attempts to break free. He could snatch this woman's gun right out of her hands, if only he would move! Bassett used to be Monstrosity, the terror of the battlefield. It was Bassett who would return unscathed, teeth and face stained red with darkening blood, it was he who could kill another bare-handed. What happened? Why could Bassett only be the weak, terrified servant and slave now?!

"BASSETT!"

A white and red blur exploded from behind the woman with only a stealthiness that a Nameless demon of his nature could use. Pey threw himself onto the woman, sending his knees into her back and forcing her arms upward. With the crack of his elbow, he brought it down upon the back of her skull.

"BASSETT, YOU RUN NOW!"

Pey shrieked with rage the moment his prey got away from him, wiggling free of his grasp. He gave a great shiver along the length of his body, droplets of blood spraying off him like he were a dog. He was about to launch himself for another raging attack against his summoner's assailant, but for the body that slammed into him. Pey spat a mass of brown locks and his own hair from his teeth, and growled. He didn't care whether or not Bassett was fond of this particular demon, Pey was going to rip her to SHREDS for keeping him away from his food source! Forget the kind deeds of the past, forger her turning him into a demon, taking away his delicious frail human smell and that oh so bitter and delicate human taste! FORGET all of that, Pey was blind with fury, himself a raging senseless monster of gnashing teeth and blood ******** YOU, GIRL!" Pey shrilled, "GET YOUR ******** HANDS OFF OF ME, I NEED TO GET TO BASSETT!"

He struggled underneath her, about to flop himself over on top of her, when she pressed her hands to him, sending up shocks of fire wherever her skin grazed him. Pey shrieked so loud that even Banshee would be impressed. He threw himself wildly, inhumanly contorting himself into every angle possible searching for a way to break free of her. He had to get OUT! OUT! His SKIN was BURNING! BURNING, BLISTERING FROM HER TOUCH!

"HHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!!"

The trembling servant could only watch as his demon came bursting from the hedge, throwing himself upon the Hunter with a reckless furry. He took those few moments to throw himself back, move several paces away from her, but the back of his legs connected with the stone bench of the garden. He paused, watching with the face of a child who was watching their friend get hit by a car. Pey, his demon, his sworn and contracted protector, was taken down by Odessa. Screams that pierced his ears erupted from his Nameless, sending another wave of noise, just static noise to his ears and rattling in his mind with the rest of the noises, the sounds that were growing ever louder. They were running into one another, doubling, strengthening, just a torrent of noise welling up in his mind.

If a sound were to be a trigger, then Sybil had definitely pulled it the moment she said b***h.

Bassett was a soldier, yes. A young soldier and a pretty one at that, something he tried to hide underneath layers of grime and dirt. It never seemed to work though. After all, that's how he earned his nickname "Button" among the fellows in his squadron. It was for his "cuteness" and his baby cheeks, his androgyny compared to the rest of the gruff men and fellow young soldiers around him. Bassett Ellery was as cute as a button. But it was also that title, that got Bassett into trouble. Times out on the battlefield were long, there were no breaks, no chances to enjoy themselves, no nearby towns...No women. Bigger men, gruff men who hardly knew Bassett "Button" Ellery, would pull him aside on their few meager breaks. Even some of those he thought his friends were blind with urges every so often and spoke with him, away the others. They would do things to him. They would say, "Come here, my little b***h," whispering it into his ear. It was then that, for more reasons than one, that Bassett turned into a monster. It was for his own defense. He turned cold and violent towards anyone who would look at him the wrong way, flinch at any touch and practically bite off anyone's head who strayed near him. He took out all his anger on the battlefield, marking tallies on the side of his gun with a knife of how many he had killed in certain, innumerable, and oddly specific ways. Bassett collected trophies even, for a short while. it was his hobby to cut off whatever fancied him that day and bring it back to throw in the first face who looked at him even the slightest way wrong. Blood was like water. It was cool in comparison to the sweat steaming up from his body after a battle. So he oftentimes drenched himself in it, not minding the smell. It was a gruesome way to play out one's part in the war, but it was successful, and more importantly, it kept him "safe".

But if ever a word were a trigger, as mentioned before, it was b***h.

At that moment, the moment the "ch" punched free from Sybil's mouth, Bassett's upper lip twitched. There was an inaudible snap somewhere within the servant. For a moment he was still, his gaze lowering beneath the brim of his newspaper boy's hat, and in the next, he was taking off his jacket.

Then he threw it at her, throwing it as if it were a grenade to the face. With speed unlike the "mortal" servant, he slithered forward underneath the jacket, throwing his head to the left. At the same time, he threw his right hand onto her gun and tucked his thumb underneath the hammer, preventing it from firing, and with the flick of his wrist, forced her hand into a twist and to the side so that it pointed upwards, his elbow and forearm bending and pushing with such strength reserved usually for army generals. Then, his left foot crossed behind, while the rest of his body moved into a spin underneath her arm and to her side, forcing her arm to uncomfortably bend inwards which sent her body falling forward. Now with her gun arm in his grip, he pinched it tight between his chest and arm, and used his free arm to rip the gun from Sybil's palm. All the meanwhile, his face remained deadpan and strangely serious, and he clenched the gun with his mouth, rendering his arm free once more. In a split second, he had his fingers on the inside of her hand, and with the lean of his shoulder and the twist of his arm, the soldier shoved her into the dirt, pinned her elbow towards her ear and leaned all his weight onto her arm and head as he slammed his knee onto her side, very nearly breaking her ribs.

This all happened within seconds of course, and the soldier had her pinned beneath him, his eyes tinged with a glow he couldn't hide, his anger was so great. But was that a glow? Or just the hazy light of the day? With his arm and one hand, he made sure her arm was still pinned to her face, keeping her pressed against the ground, and with the other, he pressed the barrel against the fontanel of her skull.

Finally, he spoke, his voice eerily calm, "You will get no answers out of me as long as I have the will to keep them from you," he stated coldly, "Call your demon off my Pey. Say one word other and I will send a bullet through your ear. It'll be nice and smooth, like a straw. I'll turn your head into a straw and I'll slurp up whatever rotting thing lies wiggling inside there. I'm sure it will be delicious."

Bassett was no longer the servant. He was the soldier. No...He wasn't even that. Bassett Ellery had become a monster.

Bassett let himself move with her as she wiggled out of his grip somehow and snaked up behind him, forcing him down onto the ground. There would be less hurt if he didn't try to struggle, so, with barely a sound, he was yanked and his cheeks were forced into the ground. The Hunter was now pinning him into the earth, a dagger hooked underneath his chin. Bassett's body grew tense, his arms giving a bit of a flex, to test his captivity underneath her, as she spoke. Her words dropped like sizzling drops of hot oil into his ears, a kind of long and painful history of instructed violence. Trophies, she listed off, sick achievements, comparisons and blunt examples of her worthiness in terms of competition between her kind and his. She mentioned Gabriel van Helsing, the verdict of their battle.

Bassett pulled his mouth into a Cheshire smile, and he spoke the truth, "You're trying to impress me? I don't even know who that is. They must not be too important." From his body, she lifted her weight and he remained on the ground as she pulled herself together. The moment another shot was squeezed off, Bassett finally pushed himself up from the ground. His eyes caught the flap of Odessa's hair as the bullet shot off a couple of her curls, and they widened in the moment it took for Odessa to flinch.

They also began to glow. Not a faint glow like before, but a bright white glow that enveloped the color of his eyes. His mouth stretched into an cannibalistic growl, wrinkles of anger spreading over his face. The monster lifted himself up, and in the moment that the two woman stared at each other, he hooked his leg around Sybil's neck and drove her again to the garden, effectively ruining a slumbering patch of strawberries. Baring his teeth in a way that would make Pey blush for want, Bassett descended upon her with a knee to the chest and pressed his nails into the hollow space beneath her chin and throat, nearly cutting into her skin and quite firmly choking off her air passage.

"Don't you dare..." he hissed, his eyes wide and crazy, "Don't you DARE. Hurt. Odessa. How could you even shoot at her, you sick sob-story play-thing. Don't you DARE call her a b***h. You think your history scares me? You think your long list of bloody achievements impresses me? What is it you're searching for? Pity? Approval? Fear? Respect? What is it you're hoping to gain from all this? You deserve nothing. You did it to yourself." The monster spat into her face, his face hardening and darkening with shadows cast from the intensity in his eyes. "Hurt her...Hurt anyone again, and I will make it my duty to suck the life from your eyes."

Bassett for those few moments he was poised over the other's body, fingers digging into the soft flesh and pulsing beat of muscle, could feel nothing other than the wiggle and writhe of the jugular arteries beneath his finger tips. He could feel the life force, ugly and wiggling, underneath the curl of his nails. He could squeeze it out right now. Kill it then and there, like squishing a worm til all the purple and blue guts pushed out in bloated ribbons. His eyes were bright, almost blindingly so, sitting atop raging wrinkles of skin from the demonic curl of his mouth. Were his teeth sharper? Or was that a trick of the light? Were they like Pey's insane Cheshire grin? No, it couldn't be. Or could it? Bassett's grin was seeming to crack with the intensity he smiled. All that was going through his mind was: Kill, squish, kill, KILL.

But then there were warm arms wrapped around his waist. He could feel that. Amid his sole feeling of the delicate life underneath his fingertips, there was the pressure and pull around his waist. Bassett looked down. A fleeting look of dumbness passed over his face as he stared at the skin coiled about him.

"Look Bassy--"

It was in that moment that he noticed the deadly blade pressed against the buttons of his shirt.

Reeled back into reality, Bassett slammed back into sanity the way a body would slap against water. The glow from his eyes diminished the way a candle blows out from a gust of wind, followed quickly by the transformation of his mad grin into a terrified gasp.

Death.

That was terrifying.

It was right underneath him, poised towards his innards, ready to spill them out upon the garden. Wasn't that what he was trying to run away from in the first place? That was the reason he made his contract with Pey, wasn't it? To be protected from death? Bassett changed back into his servant self with surprising speed. With a choke, he lurched back away from Sibyl, backing up against Odessa as soon as he released his grip around her neck, leaving purple marks where his fingers dug. He kicked his legs against Sibyl, struggling to move back away from her as much as possible, even if it meant very nearly crawling into Odessa's lap.

Pey was also there, lifting himself up from the ground after he recovered from the shock of the pain. Odessa's brief kiss had done the trick, expelling all forms of pain from his body where her touch burned, but he had laid there for some time in shock. He shook clarity back into his head and then scuttled to Bassett's side, protectively crouching before his soldier. He twisted himself in an inhuman way, his head ducking underneath his arm and twisting upwards so that he made a kind of protective barrier with his body.

With a hiss that sounded like all the demons in hell, Pey seethed, "Get away from him."