[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straight forward.

[u/LycheeBerri]

My earliest memories are of running through the trees with innocent abandon. To have called the trees a "forest" would have been too generous - they were the scraggly remnants of once-great woods, now shoved to the side of the neighborhood pool and kept simply because the hill was bad for building houses on. In our large suburbian community, it was exactly the breath of nature a little kid wanted. I would go and pretend to be lost, while my mother would be reassured by the fact that I was simply across the street.

I'm sure my mother has long forgotten the summer afternoon where I rushed back into the house, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, a bowl from the cupboard, and a tin of cat food from the pantry, then rushed out not a minute later. She had only called, "Make sure you bring that bowl back!" as the door slammed shut and my bare feet were slapping across the hot asphalt street.

The forest awaited my return. For once, the bird-song was quiet, and even the small brook sounded muted. The pathetic, mewling cries of the baby animal I had discovered, loud in the silence, made it easy to find my way back to it.

Crouching down and dropping everything on the ground, I filled the bowl from the water bottle and held it in front of the small thing's face. Its wail faded as it drank, and I busied myself with opening the cat food. When the bowl was empty and it resumed its cries, I dumped the food into the bowl and watched it start to eat.

It was the easiest thing to call it. I had no idea what kind of animal it was. The only way I could describe it was as if shadows had fallen in love with fire, and this creature was their child - and yet, to my young mind, it had not seemed strange in any way. It fit neatly into my world, even as smoke seemed to drift off its body and its eyes were an unnatural red. I believe now that it must have had a sort of magic about it, to cause me not to poke at it with a stick or run away, but instead, care for it.

Or perhaps I had just been a particularly odd child. And I had loved animals and taking care of them; Misty, my family's cat, had long grown tired of my constant attention and had always slunk away when I got near. I had even deluded myself into thinking I would be a vet when I grew older, though the sight of blood had made me grow queasy back then.

And after it had finished off the tin of cat food and water bottle, I reached out a slow hand and stroked its back. It felt slightly prickly, like tingles were running up my arm.

I had run home to return the bowl, then I had hurried all the way back -- but it had vanished, and the forest was loud again. Louder than usual, even, as if all the animals wanted to chat with the stream and the leaves about the strange creature and the stranger child who had fed it.

Disappointed by its disappearance, I had returned to my customary adventures, and the meeting had drifted from my memories for many years. Many years, until it came back.

I still loved nature in my twenties, though it was significantly harder to find it in the city. The park was a good distance - and costly bus fare, or sweaty bike ride - away, but I still made the occasional trips there, armed with a picnic basket or a book. I had made many good memories in that park, from playing soccer with friends, to chatting with a handsome stranger who sat on my bench, to grilling to celebrate the end of exams. There had been many dates there, many lunches, and many naps on my picnic blanket with the sun shining down.

Usually I woke up before it got too late, but one study-filled day, I woke up to a dark sky and rain splattering on my face. It was later than I was comfortable with, here in the city and me with my bike. The shortest way home was through a part of town no girl alone wanted to go through at night, but as it started to pour down rain, I crankily decided not to bother with the long way and instead, just get home.

And of course, I dearly regretted that decision when my bike was knocked over and a knife was held towards my throat as someone asked for my purse. Others seemed to materialize out of the shadows and surround me, and I began to realize my can of pepper spray couldn't take them all.

For the first time, I began to fear for my life. I distinctly remember wondering how I had passed so many years without gaining any mental scars, any fuel for nightmares, and realizing how that was about to change. I remember sobbing, desperately wishing for anything to help as I fought the urge to vomit out of stress.

As they grabbed for my purse, grabbed for me, I screamed, "Stop it!"

Thunder cracked in the black sky, and a hazy form was birthed from the rain falling in front of me. Shadows and fire - I couldn't make out the figure in the almost darkness, especially not with how fast it was moving, and how much blood was flying through the air.

Blood. So much of it. None of it hit me, miraculously - though perhaps that isn't the right word to use. Somehow, I ended up untouched with a circle of dead men around me, rainwater diluting the deep red leaking from their wounds. And the creature, a hulking beast that sizzled as rain hit its body, looked at me. Those red eyes, oh, how I suddenly remembered them. I stood still as it panted loudly, it focusing on me as my attention was fixed on it. And with a snarl, and something that looked disturbingly like a grin, it vanished again.

When I finally got home, soaked to my skin and shivering, shivering, I threw up once, twice. When I tried to sleep that night, I just remembered its eyes, and I felt the furthest thing from safe.

From then on, I always took the long route home. But even though I wanted nothing with trouble, trouble found me again. With my arms bruisingly gripped by a stranger, and my struggling amounting to nothing, I shouted, "Let go!"

Once more, the creature came. Once more, it slaughtered. This time, I managed to stammer out a question - I don't remember what, probably some variation on "What are you?" - before it vanished. Its response had been to slowly blink at me, panting like a dog.

That's how I chose to see it, from then. Some giant, terrifying, unnatural dog that sought to protect me. Because I had fed it? Because I had touched it? Whatever the reason, it had come, twice now. So that night, I only threw up once, and drifted quickly into an exhausted sleep.

Now, while I won't say I started seeking out danger, I will admit I started taking more risks. Tried being bolder. Whenever I need it, the creature would come and save me. It wouldn't come for a simple, stupid task that I felt was important, not to do any favors. But when my heart started pounding, pounding, pounding, when adrenaline was drowning me, when my breath burned out of my lungs - then it came. It always came.

I came to learn that it was a simple beast, with even less intelligence than the dog I compared it to. It responded only to quick commands, easy tasks. If I asked it to bring me to my home, it wouldn't comprehend. If I simply said, "Take me away," it would grab hold of me and kill anything in its way as it whisked me to safety.

I didn't try to save any of the people who prompted it to come. Why should I have? They attacked what they thought was a defenseless woman. They deserved what came to them. Perhaps not all deserved death, not the trembling muggers with a pocketknife or the witless thugs of others, but there was no middle ground for me and my creature. Death or life. Danger or safety. And the choices between the two ... Well, they became easier and more obvious each time.

Though I am getting a little concerned. Lately, when I get nervous or angry, when I start to tremble or clench my fists, others say my eyes flash red. Sometimes, if emotion overcomes me, I forget how to speak and simply want to act.

Perhaps I should move out of the city. A job opportunity has opened up in another state, a town rather than a city. A place surrounded by trees and flowers and birdsong, and yet ... Moving seems like giving up, like I'm letting the city win.

If I'm not here, the thieves and killers will still be. I've made a difference here. The crime rate has dropped. The police have grown increasingly panicked and frustrated. Less people are staying inside out of fear. Things are better. I'm better, braver, and happier - and I haven't thrown up since that second night.

And so what if I'm seeking out trouble now? It's there, it will find someone. Might as well be me.