First one I've written-

My Slayer Life (this was before I had even heard of Buffy The Vampire Slayer):

Prologue

I felt a rush of adrenalin as I ran, following the figure in front of me. Looking back meant certain death, which is a gur-reat thought. Not. Hearing the clicking of sharp nails on the pavement only quickened my pace, especially when I could listen to it coming closer and closer.
Ding! An imaginary lightbulb went off in my head. My idea might not work, if I didn’t get my aiming right. Still, it was worth a shot. I let the creature follow me for a little while, then, reaching around the back of my head, I grabbed my hair band and tugged on it. I positioned it around my fingers, pulled it tight, turned around quickly, and...
The sound of a sharp Ping! was followed by a snarl that could send shivers down any human’s spine (luckily I’m not human). Success! Take that, evil.
However, I knew that that manoeuvre could only buy me a few seconds’ time. I looked up at the waning moon, its gentle light calming me and making me...
... Making me feel like I could accomplish anything in the whole, wide world.
I closed my eyes and slowed to a stop, my heart pounding, my eyes slightly watering from the contacts. The creature halted as well, curious at why I stopped. I could hear its ragged breathing coming out of his mouth, which was probably thirsty for blood. The quiet tapping of its feet started up again. I reached into the pocket of my coat. I could sense the creature jumping from foot to foot (the tapping patterns helped too), calculated just how to take me down. It would be very thrilling for him, probably his first Sirian kill. Sirians were rare in arid areas.
With a hiss of anger, it pounced, aiming for my vulnerable back. Big mistake on his part, because next thing you know, it fell back in a puddle of blood, a kitchen knife impaled in the middle of his head. The knife was mine. I had swung it around in an arc of silver, dwelling on a few flashbacks of my life:

I was about five, playing tag with another tyke my age. We were stumbling around an old playground, when suddenly, I was it. I chased the girl around, and caught her very easily, due to me being very athletic, even when I was a short little child. She was not very happy about it, I could tell. She was pouting and said, “I have to go now. My mommy will miss me.” Then she turned and ran one direction, and I sprinted towards my mom, her ebony hair tied back.
Now, being the brat I was, I took out my annoyance on her. “She’s avoiding me,” I huffed. “She’s mad at me for being more specialler than her.”
Mom gave me her trademark half-smile, half-discreet-grimace which I later discovered that I had inherited from her. “Of course you’re special, Scales.”
“Yep,” I agreed, grinning. “Because I’m a-”
“Not here,” my mom said quickly, eyes darting suspiciously around the park. I did the same, glaring at the toddlers. You never know who or what’s out to get you.

When I was ten, my mom and I were staying in a beach house somewhere in Florida. We needed a laying-low period from being chased all the way from North Carolina.
I was watching the news on TV (which had really bad reception, but that wasn’t the point). They were announcing that a huge thunderstorm-tornado thing was just passing across the east coast. “I think that was because of us,” I frowned.
“How? A thunderstorm because of us? If anything, it’s because of them,” replied my mother. I knew what they were. My type hated them.
But, still. A path of destruction that coincidentally followed ours. Was it karma?

Settling in Kentucky was a little uncomfortable for me. Especially since we’d travelled north to get there, a great risk that could endanger our lives. And it was true. A day had barely pas-sed, and we were pursued by our enemies. Again. But this time, our enemy was on our side. Was that even normal? Hell no. Did I really care? Did I just want to run away from the divine people that were attacking us? Yeppers.
The sound of flapping wings reaches my ears. I panic. A scathing voice says, from high above me, “May you die and fade away, leaving us divines in peace and harmony.”
I snorted, trying to sound braver than I actually felt. “Divines? Yeah, right. And I’ll leave you in pieces, of course. Not so sure about the harmony part, though.”
With a cry of rage, he dive-bombed towards me, making various noises like a bird does.

I slowed my gait to a slight jog. A figure appeared in front of me and commented, “You’re late.” I grinned at the face of my mother.

Chapter 1

I guess I should tell you a little about me, but first I’d like to start with a quote:
East or West, home is best.
Now, I don't know who the hell said that, but that is incorrect. Wrong. Untrue.
Or at least to me, or any other Slayer. Maybe because we don't have a home. Not really.
This story starts with a world. A different world from the regular human world, yet both conflict with each other regularly. That world is Moorgia. A world of Nerrans, Hybrids, and Slayers. The world where everything and anything did, can, and probably will originate from. Moorgia is how the world came to be, how the worst things and the best things in life were born.
Sounds confusing?
I hope so, since this is a secret world, secluded from mortals (even though we have our own language and all). Let me explain.
There are two races of Moorgians- the Northern Moorgians, and the Southerners. The Nor-thern race is also known as Nerrans, the bad guys who use their magic for evil, killing, world domination, whatever. They are generally more powerful than Southern Moorgians (aka the Slayers), who are more peaceful and have less magic. An unfair match, right? Well, that's where us hybrids come in.
Due to the Slayers' limited magical powers, they turn to weapons and breeding large num-bers for defense and protection. At first they bred only within their race, i.e. Moorgian/Moor-gian to make more Slayers. Then, accidentally, one Moorgian bred with a human. I won't go into details (God knows what would happen if I did that), but it turned out that if you mix human genes and Moorgian genes, the child will still bear the magical powers. Neat, huh? The idea became very popular after that, with Moorgians mingling with humans, then casting a simple memory spell, called blanking, to make them forget when they're done with them (yep, it does sound like you guys are disposable items, but we do care for you. In a way. Think of it as not traumatizing you. Yeah. Not traumatising). Hybrids were born by the hundreds every day. However, few get to discover the real world. I was one of the luckier ones. The question is, why? Shouldn't the magic in them render them safe and healthy?
It turns out that sometimes, the human genes could not stand so much magic, so they get defected, and the baby dies as a result. In other scenarios, when the father is a Moorgian and the mother is pure human, the mother dies when giving birth, due to: you guessed it, magic. So that makes up the less than one percent of women dying during childbirth. That also results in the child dying. Yippee. Not.
And then there's the worst outcome of Hybrids. Its name- Area 51. You've probably heard of it as a U.S. Army Air Force Base or whatever. You've also probably heard of the theory that it's an experiment centre for aliens. Both are incorrect, though the latter might be more true. The use it to experiment on Hybrids, which they catch at the hospital, or, if the Hybrid is careless, in their later life. Then they do things to you. I’ve never personally experienced those things, but I’ve heard all the gruesome tales. But, you ask, why would the government want to try and dissect us? We’re not aliens. We’re just like regular humans, except for the whole Nerran slaying thing, right?
See, Hybrids, along with their human-like appearance, have many weird features associated with their Slayer parent. Wings, tails (yeah, you heard me correctly), weird eye and hair col-ours, stuff like that. Weird quirks and phobias as well.
And we have a hard time disguising those traits.
There are three classes of Hybrids: Fays, Undines, and Magi. Fays, to put it simply, are the fairies. They have little to squat magic, but know quite cool tricks, and are pretty handy with weapons. Undines are water creatures. They have their own type of aqua magic, but they pre-fer not to use it. Instead, they use their persuasive powers and beauty. Oh, and singing talents. Magi are the most powerful of the three. They practice sorcery and abide by the laws of nature more than the other two. All Hybrids also practice with the elements- earth, water, fire, and air.
Either way, powerful or not, Hybrids are all alone in this world. Constantly hiding from the authorities, slaying Nerrans, nobody to hold us and love us and tell us that every-thing will be okay...
Or so I thought.

Oh, how rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself.
You see, Hybrids don't really introduce themselves, what with being on the run and everything. And when they do, they usually give fake names. I'll give you my real name, however.
The name's Libra. Libra Baskett. And yes, I know that Libra is an astrological sign, but it's a name too, people. In fact, my name kind of matches me. Libra means scales. Scales means balance. And I'm a balance of Moorgian and human. Hahaha.
Okay, not the best joke ever.
I'm a Magus Slayer, a Sirian. What's a Sirian?, you might ask me. Well, let's start with a rainbow. The Irish people believed that a pot of gold was at the end of every rainbow, a-long with a guardian called a leprechaun. Sometimes it was luck that was at the end of the rainbow, but still, there was a little Irish man dressed in green who lived at the end of the rainbow.
Guess what? That's incorrect as well. Those leprechauns are actually Sirians. And for-tune isn't at the end. It's widely distributed throughout the multi-coloured band of light.
Oh, and that's another thing. I can bend and modify light. I can also change the colour of objects temporarily. It's an awesome power, but it sometimes gets on my nerves when I do it unconsiously.
Now to my appearance. I don’t look anything like an Irish, by the way. I'm relatively human-like, with straight black hair and a regular body. My height, contrary to the lepre-chaun/Sirian myths, is very tall for my age. No wings or tails as far as the eyes can see. The only thing strange is my eyes.
They're rainbow-coloured.
No, I'm not joking. From the top, it's orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. That's why I wear black contacts. Otherwise I’ll be labelled a ‘supernatural’ and get caught by the Area 51 people.
How old am I? Fifteen. That's a miracle, considering that I had dozens of Nerran attacks happening in my life.
Parent/Guardian? Just getting to that. I live- well, not live, considering that we don't have a permanent residence- with my Sirian mother, Belinda. Just Belinda. Moorgians don't have last names, apparently.
We live like hoboes. Exactly like hoboes. In fact, most hoboes you see are Slayers. Travelling across the country, sleeping out on the streets, not knowing what tomorrow holds for us and all that jazz.
Right now, we're living in Arizona, near the Grand Canyon. My mom got a job as a drink server person in a local bar. Not a very stellar job, actually.

Day 5 in Arizona

My knuckles tighten as yet another dude on happy juice tried to flirt with my mother. I had to wait outside; under-age people weren’t allowed. The very thought of that idea made anger run through my veins.
Here outside, crickets chirped. Chirp chirp. Like a tribal chant. Billowing clouds gathered over the moon, creating an all-around shadowy atmosphere. I pulled my jacket closer to my body, my teeth chattering, wishing that I could go inside the bar, kick out all the drunk doofuses that gave my mom their phone numbers, and sip hot chocolate while they gather (or at least, try to) themselves from the sidewalk and stagger home.
I kept my eyes on Mom, who was, to say the least, a very attractive lady. Even when she’s disguised as a mortal. When nobody else is around but us, she starts to glow. Literally. A sort of silvery aura, like those on clouds when it’s a clear day. When she’s working, she catches the eye of every guy in the room. I’m serious. The whole bar ogles her as she pushes her ebony hair out of her sharp eyes. One man once told her that she had “nice gams”. I guess that was a compliment, because she immediately kicked his shin with one quick, sneakered foot. Trust me, she may excel in the looks department, but when it comes to politeness and etiquette, she would fail. Badly. I would show you an example, once it came up.
Ah, speak of the devil. One of the merry men slapped her butt, flashing his crooked teeth at her. She immediately hit him back, slapping him across the head. I wanted to help, but I had to stay outside and watch as Mom beat the crap out of the guy. I would have felt sorry for him. Few humans had faced her wrath and survived to tell the tale. Countless immortals as well, i.e. Nerrans.

“Where are all the freaking Nerrans, Belinda?” I asked my mom. Yes, I call my mother by her first name. It's only because she refers to me as 'Scales'. Scales! Can you believe it? Other than that minor adjustment, she wins the Best Mother Award, hands-down. I mean, she cared for me, fed me, taught me the best way to break a Nerran’s skull with-out leaving blood everywhere. She was the only parental figure in my life. I never knew my father, who was a mortal man, according to Belinda.
She glared at me through her black contacts. She had the same Sirian eyes I had that needed to be covered.
“Jeez, Scales. It's like you actually want a Nerran attack.” Her voice sounded so matter-of-fact that I blushed.
“I just want some action is all,” I said sheepishly. She rolled her eyes and absentmindedly fingered the kitchen knife she had stolen from when she had a job as a waitress in a cozy bistro when we were residing in New Mexico.
Belinda's eyes swept quickly over the near vicinity, then she walked quickly over to the metal bins, beckoning with her hand for me to follow. While rifling through the pile of trash for edible garbage, I asked, “Will we run into more Slayers? Or even Hybrids?”
“Well, maybe. Oh, look. A perfectly good burger, just thrown away,” replied Belinda, holding up the round sandwich like it was a sacred ornament or something. That statement that she just said might seem normal to you, but I know Belinda better than you do. When she changes the subject abruptly, she's usually hiding something.

It's a vast concrete structure that is curved slightly, so one is straight, and the other side is curved like a pudding bowl. It's very nice, but I would have preferred it to be... I don’t know, not so gray. Co-lourful. Rainbowy. Maybe the builders of the dam were seeking revenge on my eyes. But that's just the Sirian side of me talking.
By day, we try to catch up on some sleep, under the merciless golden globe they call the sun. By night, we feed on the garbage scraps and sharpen our weapons, checking the area for lurking Nerrans. We used to get an attack every day. Now, Nerran encounters were very rare.

Day 11 in Arizona

“Nothing is wrong. Jeez, Scales, you are getting more and more paranoid every day since we moved here to Arizona. Is it the dam or something? ’Cause we discussed this last week. You cannot paint it. That’s a little thing called vandalism.”
After that little rant, the subject dropped. You see, in my mother’s little mind, I’m still the sweet little five-year-old girl still in pigtails, just learning the best way to chuck a knife throw the air- fast and hard. But it wasn’t over.
The next night, it got worse.

Day 12 in Arizona

“Oh, and after a few more days here, why don't we travel up north to Utah?” she said, chomping on a half-eaten hotdog. I inhaled sharply at the word 'north'. It was always a risk for Slayers to travel north (North meant Northern Moorgians, aka Nerrans). Belinda had always said to me when I was little, “Always travel South, Scales. You can only trust South.” And now, she wanted to go up, instead of down. This was defying everything that she had always told me, always advised me.
I told her that. I had no choice. She was going nuts because of the Arizona heat.
She just laughed loudly, albeit a nervous laugh. “Scales, it's good to have a change of direction once in a while.”
Good to have a change of direction. Those words rang in my head, loud and clear, along with You can only trust South. Was this the same person, I wondered. Obviously not.
“What's wrong with-” I paused, trying to remember what state was next to Arizona. “-Nevada?”
“Nothing,” she said brusquely. “It's just a little crowded.”
“Just a little crowded?” I echoed, shocked. “No, you have a reason behind this. And I need to know that reason, Belinda. NOW.”
Surprise was etched on her face. I first thought that she was amazed that I would be so brash, but then I noticed she was looking to the left of me. I turned around slowly, not daring to rotate any quicker than a snail's pace. Then we would be in big trouble. We would be found by those evil, sneering, soul-sucking, black-hearted...
“Wraiths,” breathed Belinda, her voice barely above a whisper.
Wraiths were Nerrans, the worst, even more deadly than their female counterparts, Wrath-esses. They were sadistic predators, playing with their prey before killing them. Wraiths had the ability to suck your soul out, torture you on the inside, possess you... they could do a mil-lion things and not feel sorry. Did I mention that they could suck souls? I think I did.
They looked just like humans, except with mottled, disfigured skin, and glowing red eyes, the kind that would glint in the sunlight. Although they never attacked during the day.
Guess that's why they're so pale, I thought, slowly reaching into my pocket and pulling out my own knife. I didn't make a sound, but somehow, the dozen Wraiths sensed us and pounced.
“Scales, you idiot!” yelled Belinda, while slicing and kicking at one demon. “Wraiths can sense metal in the air!”
“Woops,” I said, punching one Wraith in the gut, the effect jarring my wrist. I had for-gotten that.
“Use the light, Scales!” The light? What light?
Your powers, moron, a little voice inside my head said. Oh, right! I summoned up all my Sirian magic and snapped my finger. A blinding wall of white light appeared between the Nerrans and me. I heard a cacaphony of pained yells, and I smiled triumphantly.
Until I realised that one of them belonged to Belinda.
Still keeping up the light shield, I ran over to where my mother's screaming was com-ing from. Her hands were twisted behind her back by one Wraith, and she was staring into the crimson eyes of another. Her normally pretty face was contorted with pain and hatred.
“Oh, no,” I murmured. They had already started the soul-sucking process. She'd be dead in minutes if I didn't stop them.
“Hey! Let go of her!” I shouted at them, waving my knife at them. The one holding her smiled evilly. “Or what, Sirian? You'll turn my hair green?” He cackled at his own joke.
I said nothing, aiming my knife at his heart. I held its tip by forefinger and thumb, then chucked it forcefully. The blade sliced silently through the night air, and within seconds, the Wraith dropped dead, the sneer still frozen on his face. Thank God for my mother's knife-throwing lessons.
“Mom!” I yelped. The demon who I had killed had slid off her, but she was still stand-ing, hands by her side, a blank look on her face.
“Mom, don't look into his eyes!” I said. Her eyes unglazed and she shook her head slightly. The remaining Wraith (I guess the others fled) snarled at me, raised his hand, and shot a dark, crackling bolt of electricity in my direction. I attempted to duck, but it was too late. The dark magic had hit me already. I couldn't move from the ground where I had fallen. Even though I was fighting it, the magic bound me tightly. I silently cursed the Wraith. He. Is. Going. To. Pay!
Belinda, who had broken out of her trance completely, was fighting the demon now. Light vs. Darkness. Good vs. Evil. Southern vs. Northern. It was a quiet battle, with the only sounds being the crackle of magic being used, and grunts of exertion. They circled each other, both wearing grim expressions. Suddenly the Wraith spoke, his voice light and musical.
“It's no use fighting anymore, Sirian Belinda. North will win, as we always do.”
“Oh yeah? Well, what about that war, fifty years ago, when your -quote- secret weapon -unquote- got defeated by us Sirians? Would you call that winning, or would you call that branded sissies by, in your exact words, the 'human mood rings'?” Belinda's smile widened. If I could still move, I would have jumped up and said, “Go Mom!” Once more, I fought against my invisible binds.
“Don't you understand, you foolish woman?” the Wraith exclaimed, discharging more black energy.
“I understand that your cause is pretty much lost,” she retorted, countering his dark magic with some white light. That Nerran just got served! You should have seen his face!
Suddenly his hideous face broke out into a deadly smile. “The rainbow is fading, Sirian. Your kind shall die out soon. Darkness shall rule.” Belinda stared, suddenly taken aback with shock. That was enough for the Wraith to gather enough energy for him to blast my mother off her feet...
... And straight into the dam.
“Mom!” I yelled, and without thinking, I dived in after her.

Belinda
I was falling... and falling... and falling...
And... boom! I suddenly hit the water. But it wasn't water-like, you know. Flexible. Wavy. Foamy. More like concrete, as hard as what the dam itself was made of. Oh, it was pure agony. AGONY. My back felt like it was on fire, but it was sorta numbing around the edges. I shifted slightly and heard and felt more than one bone snap.
A shadowy figure was falling too, then, glittering sparks flying, halted to a stop and lightly fell just a few feet. Libra, my daughter. Yeah, I know I always call her Scales. But you gotta be tough on kids, especially Hybrid kids. It's pretty much a life lesson. Always act tough as nails. Anyway, she was a good kid, using magic to stop her from dying too. It was a brave thing to do, too, considering our... well, dislike of heights.
She had grown so much. We had grown so much. If only I could teach her more... tell her about the other half of the Hybrid world. I had only told her a few basic things about being a Slayer; the rest- the history of Nerran attacks and their elaborate plans, and all the illegitimate children, not to mention the possessed and the deceased, and Area 51- it would be all too much for a child like her. I said I was tough, but not that tough. Some things are best kept secret until later.
Dying. The word felt so alien, after living in an immortal colony for a hundred and fifty years of your life, then being on the run for the other twenty years, enountering many Nerran attacks on the way. And surviving. Until now.
And before you say, “No! You can't die! Don't think like that!” that my daughter will in-evitably say, I am dying. When I was falling, I saw, literally, my life flashing before my eyes.
Libra ran over to me, panic and anguish etched on her face. “Mom, are you okay?”
Any other mother would have probably said, “Fine, just peachy,” but not me. I have to be blunt with Libra. 'Sides, I had something important to tell her...
“Um, I'm kinda dying, Scales.”
“What?” She said, eyes widening and brimming with tears. “No! You can't die! Don't think like that!” Told ya.
“But I am, Scales. I need to tell you somethin' first, kid, though.” Libra came closer, kneeling over my broken body.
“Remember just moments ago, when you had confronted me about avoiding Nevada?” Libra nodded, though I knew that we both thought it was more than a few moments, that it seemed like months, even years ago.
”Well, there are three reasons why I didn't want us to go there.” I took a deep breath.
“One, that's where the Nerran headquarters are, up at Lake Tahoe.” Libra nodded again, and said, “Understandable.”
“Two, it's also where Area 51 is.” I inhaled sharply again. Gosh, this was hard.
“And three...” My time was coming soon. I could feel it. “Your father's over there. And guess what? I didn't blank him.”
“What?” gasped Libra, bewildered. “But- but that's practically illegal.”
“I know.” I struggled to draw in another breath. “I just couldn't do it. It seemed kinda cruel.” Ah, Timothy. Libra’s father. Out of all the goons in Nevada, he was the most obser-vant, the most... nice. He even helped me get out of a sticky situation, when I had driven into a fire hydrant, and water had squirted out of it. On top of all of that, I had forgotten my black contacts. The policeman definitely had anger issues as well. Good times, good times.
In the end, though, I had to leave him. I left a note saying I would never see him again, and left. I had to, to stop all the visions and nightmares of his fragile mortal bones being snapped by the Wraiths, his mind being poisoned by the stupid Nerrans. I couldn’t do that to him.
I looked up at my daughter, who had a disapproving look on her face. Talk about irony. The child scolding the parent. “Go to Nevada, but tread carefully. Always look behind you, and in front as well. Travel to Las Vegas Strip. Go to the MGM Villa Hispania Hotel and Casino and ask for a woman by the name of Marley.” I handed her 20 dollars. I wouldn't exactly miss it.
Libra nodded again, on the brink of tears. “I love you,” she mumbled.
“Love you too, Libra,” I said softly, and closed my eyes, waiting for death to take me, waiting to see the light.

Chapter 2

Libra
The first tears fell down my face as I watched my mother die. She called me by my name, I thought. For the first time in years. YEARS.
And she was dead. Dead. Gone. Passed away. I was truly alone.
I wanted to scream, to cry out to the world, “My life is over!” But nobody would ac-tually care, would they? They wouldn’t care that a freak of nature like me just spoke to her mother for the very last time.
Get a grip on yourself, girl, I told myself, closing my eyes. Remember the place that Be-linda told you to go to. Las Vegas. The Strip. MGM Villa Hispania.
I opened my eyes, my mood turning to determined. I would go to Las Vegas. For this Marley person. In the memory and name of my mother. I looked back at Belinda’s lifeless corpse one more time, whispered, “Goodbye, Belinda. My mentor, my partner in crime, my annoyance. And most importantly, my mom. May you slay Nerrans in the afterlife happily.
“You’ve watched over me and guided me my whole life. But now, you can rest. No need to guard me this time. I need to do this by myself.”
Sighing, my heart heavy, I looked up at the gray concrete wall, feeling slight nausea, and cursed myself, still feeling down. How was I meant to lift myself back up?

After I figured out that I could simply conjure up a rope of light and slide up it (yes, a rope of light. Go figure.), I was set on travelling to Nevada. But before that, I actually needed to know HOW to get to Nevada.
Yes, another Hybrid confession coming up. I never learned to read or write, or any math arithmetic or stuff like that. I never went to school. Belinda (I felt a little jolt in my stomach at the mention of her name) had always taken care of things like tips and mon-ey and directions as such. Now I had no other option but wait till morning came, then I could ask someone where flipping Nevada was.
So, while waiting, I changed my jeans and lime green T-shirt depicting Hollywood (and it's ironic, since I got it in New York. Haha.) to pitch black. You know, like funeral gar-ments. Very dark, I know, but it fitted the mood and situation, right?

Day 13 in Arizona

The sun rose, hues of orange and pink and purple following it, spreading through the previously ink-blue sky, like trickling paint. For the first time, I was glad the sun had come. That meant no danger from wraiths, at least. There were more types of Nerrans, like the mythical Imps and Goblins. Most were day-dwellers. Boo-hoo for me.
The last few hours passed through like a blur. It was, I don't know, about 9 o'clock, before the first batch of tourists came to watch the dam. I shyly approached a family of straw-heads and asked where Nevada was. They just looked at me strangely, and threw a dollar at me. I did the same to another group of adults. No such luck. Why was every-one avoiding me? Was it karma?
Finally I walked up to a pale guy in a turtle-neck. He smiled and whipped out a map, helpfully pointing at a route that led to a big grey chunk of land. “That's McCarran Airport,” he explained. “There, you can get a taxi or something.” I nodded and said thanks. He just flashed me a knowing look, which was weird. I just ran out of there as fast as I could, not looking back at Turtleneck Guy.
It was 25 miles from Hoover Dam to the airport. So I walked. Don't look so surprised. I couldn't take a bus or something; I didn't know how much it would cost to get to the hotel.

Day 1 in Nevada

When I got to the airport, I was out of breath. I had sprinted because I was attracting too much attention when I was walking alongside the road (though I think running gave me away even more). So I dropped to my knees, panting and holding a stitch in my side, when I saw the airport in front of me.
I had never been at any airport before, so I didn't know what was going on. I guessed though, that it was the drop-off-pick-up area, where friends and family greeted/said farewell each other when they got out from/walked into customs or whatever. It was summer vacation time, so there were mobs of people squealing, waving hello or good-bye, hugging and kissing, and some even CRYING. I mean, I didn't get the concept of that. They were just leaving for like, a few weeks or something, maybe even months. It wasn't like they were going to die or something, like my mother.
Anger suddenly coursed through me, but it wasn't directed at the crying humans. It was directed at the air spirits that I hate soooo much. I wouldn't put it past them to kill innocent people for revenge. Yes, air spirits. It may seem a little absurd to you, but Moorgians (especially Sirians) are very familiar with air spirits. More on that later.
I fingered my kitchen knife nervously, looking up at the various signs that hung per-pendicular to the doorways. Incomprehensible symbols stared back at me, curves and lines forming the alien figures they call letters.
Even though I couldn't read, I could still figure out where the taxis were. Belinda and I sometimes hopped in one for a quick getaway from Nerrans. I joined the long line of people waiting to get into one of those yellow cars. I patted my pocket, making sure my twenty-one dollars were still there.
As I finally came to the front of the line and climbed into the obliging cab, I kept thinking: What did some hotel have to do with Hybrids and Slayers? Who was Marley? And, back at the dam last night (I shuddered at the memory of it all), what did the Nerran mean about the rainbow fading? Is that a bad thing? Would it mean everything would be colourless or something?

I had always thought as taxicabs as art museums, except it had smells instead of paintings. Think about it. Cigarettes. Perfume. Various foods, some mouldy. Juice, wine and god-only-knows-what-else stains, each of different odours.
I had always thought that taxi drivers were part of my family, since Belinda and I had been with them so often. They were the grouchy, creepy great-aunts that nobody liked but every-body needed. You know the one.
But Las Vegas drivers were different, actually amicable. My taxi driver, a black man in his mid-30's, chatted with me, occasionally smiling while keeping his eyes on the road. I wondered briefly if Las Vegas was a miracle city full of great people. It certainly seemed generous enough, considering that they legalised gambling. And my father... when Belinda was alive, she used to daydream about my father, saying how kind and funny and smart she was. Now that I know that my father lived around Las Vegas, I thought, Surely this place was the city of gods?
I was right. Or at least, when I took a peek at the Strip, I knew I was right. It was early afternoon, and the sun gleamed down on the city. It was basically like the world formed into a couple of blocks. I saw the welcome sign to Las Vegas, blue and red and white. It looked like plain metal and plastic full-frontal, but as I passed it, I saw that it had electric tubing on it. I saw a magnificent castle and a gleaming obsidian pyramid, side by side. An Eiffel tower on one side of the street, the statue of Liberty on the other. A pirate ship, a saloon, a fountain. An Asian-style hotel. “It's beautiful,” I said simply, wishing my vocabulary was broader so that I could compliment the City of Second Chances further.
At the front of the cab came a chuckle. “Wait 'til you see it at night, little missy. Neon and spotlights as far as the eye can see. Monte Carlo ain't got nothing on Vegas.” At that com-ment, I decided that I liked this place. A lot.

We finally arrived at the Villa Hispania Hotel at the end of the Strip, where the driver gave me a discount. “You'll need every dollar you get, little missy, if you want to stay at one of the elite hotels,” he said. I said my thanks and walked up to the tan-coloured building.
The Villa Hispania wasn't made of metal or anything, like most of the buildings along the Strip. It just looked like a house, more wide than tall. Not like standard hotels. It had a sort of wall with arches under it, rows of gardens at the front, and tangled vines, flowers, and plants everywhere. A haze of green and tan. And, right behind the wall thingy, there was a vineyard. Yeah, you heard me. A freaking vineyard. The place seemed like it belonged to Italy. Or maybe France. One of the European countries, anyway.
“Can I help you?” said a voice behind me. I jumped and turned around, one hand in my pocket where my knife was. I removed my hand when I saw who it was.
It was Turtleneck Guy, his grey eyes staring at me intently. “No, you can't,” I said sharp-ly. I opened the hotel door. “See ya,” I said, the cool air of the lobby wafting over me. “In, like, never,” I finished in a whisper.
I examined the lobby, searching for possible Nerrans. Nothing suspicious. It was just a grand old lobby, with old guys in expensive-looking suits lounging on silk cushion sofas. The only young people there were the staff and a girl about my age, with curly blonde hair and sad brown eyes with dark circles underneath them. She could have been a supermodel or something, except for the masses of ugly scars on her arms. Was she a gang member?
I approached the front desk, tapping the silver bell hard. One of the staff greeted me, phone in one hand, pen in another. “Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”
“No freaking duh, numbskull. You’re the receptionist of the lobby. If you can’t help me, nobody can. ’Sides, if you don’t, I’ll kick your butt from here back to last week, then find a time machine, go back to last week, and continue kicking you until you get that annoying tone of voice out of your system.”
At least, that was what I wanted to say to her. Yeah, the statement above is kind of mean. No, I’d probably not regret it if I did say that, except if I got kicked out of the hotel for that. Hey, don’t blame me. I’m a generally nice person, except when I need to be mean.
Anyway, instead, I plastered a fake smile on my face and said politely, “Yes. Is there any people here with the name Marley?”
“As a last name or first?”
“First.”
She tapped on her computer for a moment. “There are dozens of people here under the first name Marley. Do you have a last name for Marley?”
“Um, no,” I replied. The blonde girl was gazing at me, as if contemplating what I was exactly.
“Then I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” the lady replied. I nodded, said thanks anyway, and started to leave, feeling disappointed.
Blondie raced up to me, earning disapproving looks from... well, everyone there except for me. “You wanna see Marley?”
I blinked, resisting the urge to recoil and run away. “What?”
She rolled her eyes and said in a slow voice, “Do. You. Want. To. See. Mar-”
“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” I interrupted. “And are we talking about the same Mar-ley?”
“Well, if you are what I think you are, then we’d better be.”
“What do you think I am then?” I asked, confused at where this was going.
“A Hybrid,” she replied brightly. “Just like me.”
I looked at her disbelievingly. She was a Hybrid too?
“Kid, if you’re a Hybrid, then prove it,” I said.
“Well, I ran into a Wraith yesterday. It was quite cute, actually, if you don’t look at his eyes. You better not, though, if you don’t want to be possessed. I exterminated it, of course. I used a common bread knife, but it was enough to leave quite a mess.” She paused. “Is that enough?”
I nodded. Boy, this kid was really experienced.
“I better take you to Marley. She’s a Sirian too, you know?” she said, dragging me towards the elevators.
“No, I did- wait, how did you know I was a Sirian?” I said, just as the elevator closed. The girl pressed a button for the 26th floor.
“I’m an expert on contacts,” she said. “I wear them myself. I’m Nina, by the way. Nina Merrick. Pixie-Hybrid on my mom’s side.”
“Libra. Libra Baskett,” I said, my heart throbbing at the word ‘mom’. And pixies? I never knew that they actually existed. My mom (there’s that word again, mom) had never mention-ed anything about Slayer types, other than the three classes and Sirians. Sure, she had implied that there were more types of Magi and Fays and Undines, but I never knew they were also mythical creatures. I knew wraiths and imps were legendary, so I wasn’t completely wool-covered.
She looked at me curiously, as if she could sense my sadness and confusion. But she didn’t say anything about it. Instead she said, “Isn’t that an astrological sign?”
I didn’t answer.
We stood in silence for a few moments, before the elevator halted to a stop at the 15th floor. A girl about one or two years older entered, looking unnerved. She had sleek auburn hair and strange violet eyes.
“You have to help me, Nina,” she said, chewing her bottom lip nervously.
Nina sighed, as if she had been through this before. “What did you do now, Giselle?”
Her eyes darted nervously, looking at me for a moment before turning her attention back to Nina. She mumbled something like, “Imihadipapil’sclothpink.” At any rate, it was incomprehensible, to me at least. Nina seemed to know what she was saying, because her face turned a very nasty shade of red. “You dyed Papillion’s clothes pink?” she said incredulously. She slammed her fist on the emergency stop button.
“Um, yeah. I just said that,” Giselle replied, the expression of fear on her face turning into pride. She looked at me again. “Who’s the newbie?” she asked, looking excited. “Is she another Afalen?”
“What’s an Afalen?” I said, at the same time that Nina said, “No, she isn’t. And let me get this straight. You dyed Papillion’s clothes pink.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think he would mind.”
“He isn’t gay, for god’s sake!”
Giselle seemed surprised. “Really? I’d say he was questionable.”
Nina screeched in anger. I was surprised at how quick the girl could turn from a sweet angel into an unholy... thing. I was also a little puzzled as well. There was only one ex-planation to Nina’s anger. “Is Papillion your father?” I asked the blonde half-pixie.
The two Hybrids looked at me, then burst out laughing.
“No, he isn’t,” Nina chuckled. “He’s our mentor. Though I would have expected you to think that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Sirians are slightly schizotypal,” she explained. “Comes with the territory. One of your quirks. The expected answer would be either a brother or boyfriend.”
Brother? Boyfriend? Why would I think like that? This wasn’t a soap opera or some-thing. “What does schizo- schizotypal mean?”
“Basically,” she said, “it just means you think differently, act socially awkward, have very delusional ideas...”
“So you’re saying that I’m retarded, anti-social, and crazy? Jeez, that’s hitting below the belt a bit for someone you just met.”
“She didn’t mean it that way,” Giselle said quickly. “You see, Sirians are a very... unique race-”
“I’m not crazy!” I shouted, which was very out-of-character for me.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean that Sirians are the only Slayer type to use the fifth element, unknown to most mortals.”
“Fifth element?” I repeated.
Nina sighed. “Apparently, it’s also unknown to you, Libra. The fifth and final element is the most powerful. It’s a mix of the four other elements. Most use it for its sole purpose, good. But some abuse it and use it for ulterior motives.”
“Yep,” agreed Giselle. “Including our en-” The rest of the sentence was cut out when Nina stuck her hand over the red-head’s mouth and hissed, “Later.”
“So...” I began. “What is this element’s name?”
“Aetherere,” Nina and Giselle said in unison. “That’s Moorgian for light.”
Huh. That made sense. Sort of. “But I still don’t understand how light is a mixture of all the other elements.”
“Fire is the warmth of the light. Water represents the flow and ease of the light. Earth is the life of the light. And air is the strength of the light.”
I felt my face form into a scowl. “But air is our enemy. How can it be the strength of the light?”
Nina tsked. “Typical Sirian behaviour. Air has very little to do with aetherere, so you don’t have to be so P.O.’ed.” She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Saldf se wor!” which translated as “Curse the realms!” I think it was meant to be a cuss.
Giselle pressed the stop button again, and the elevator lit up again and jolted to a start. She and Nina started talking again. I heard Giselle mention vaguely that she died only one-half (the left side, as I learned later) of Papillion’s clothes pink. But I didn’t pay attention.
You’re probably now wondering why Sirians were enemies with Slayer air users. Well, it all started a long time ago, after the rainbow formed and the southern part of Moorgia lived in relative peace (well, apart from the Nerran attacks). Then a Slayer race called the Slyphs, which were air spirits, realised something. They thought (emphasis on thought) that the Nerrans kept attacking the southern lands because of the Sirians’ potential powers. Since we control light, we also control the absence of light- darkness. And that’s very useful to the Nerrans, because they serve the dark side and practice black magic.
The Sylphs thought that the Sirians were going to switch sides and betray them, thus starting one of the biggest turning-points in Moorgian history- The Sylph/Sirian Feud. Belinda had told me the story a million times.
You would think that the Sylphs were the innocent ones here. But they were the bad guys. The Sylphs are the most vindictive Moorgians known. They were the ones who wanted to force all of the humans onto a small island. They were the ones wanted to sacrifice us Sirians to please Mother and Daughter Earth, our deities. They were the ones with the brutal behaviour ‘tude. They were the ones...
Well, I’m getting carried away. You get my point, anyway.
I let my mind wander to what Nina had said about me being schizo- whatever that was. Did I really have a disorder? I’ve never been to a doctor’s appointment, let alone a shrink’s, so I didn’t know. Belinda was all I needed in this world.
Nina said that all Sirians were schizotypal, or at least she implied it. So did that mean my mom had it too? Did she have delusional ideas as well? No, she couldn’t have. She had always lead me in the right direction. She had never wronged me. She had always done the right thing.
Except for not blanking my father...
The elevator slowed down to a stop, and the silver doors opened up to the 26th floor...
... to reveal utter chaos.

Chapter 4

I mean, seriously. The whole of the 26th floor was like a childcare centre. Kids as little as seven were running around, clothes and toys were lying on the floor, and almost all of the hotel room doors were wide open. A boy was chasing a yipping, jumpy little Chihuahua, yelling, “Pedro, come!”
Nina took in my expression and said, “Class 1 Slayers. Some of them even have the potential to slay Class 2 Nerrans as well.”
“What? Now Nerrans have classes too?” I exclaimed. I was surprised that they would ac-tually bother to group them. I’d just kill them, not be all like, “Hmmm, what should that Ner-ran be set as? Dangerous? Highly dangerous? Deadly enough to stab your back?”
“Yeah, you’ll learn it all in Slayer training tomorrow. It’s like normal school, with learning and gym classes, only you’ll look forward to it.”
“But first, you have to see Marley,” Giselle said. “She’s somewhere... here.”
“Do you have any idea where she is?” I asked, sceptical.
“Yes,” said another voice, “but first, little Giselle has to explain why one-half of my clothing is dyed pink and has the words ‘My Feminine Side’ written all over it.” The children stopped running around and looked at the two expectantly, as if this had happened before.
Giselle gulped, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. “What if I said it was Noah's idea?”
“Then I'll have to punish you both. Viens, petit coquin féminin, and bring your troublesome brother as well.” And with that, he did something that I never would have expected- he drag-ged Giselle out by the ear. I gaped openly. What was this, an asylum?
“I always thought that dragging people by their ears were illegal,” I said.
“Apparently, in France, it isn’t,” Nina explained. “Really, we all wish that Papillion’s Visa would expire, but then we wouldn’t have a wicked, gung ho instructor teaching us the ways of the Slayer life.” She said it as though it wasn’t a big deal, but I could tell that it was. Her face showed respect and admiration when she spoke of Papillion.
“Is he a Hybrid?” I asked.
She shook her head, blonde ringlets flying. “He’s a full-blood elf. Over two thousand years old.”
I let out a low whistle. “Wow. Golly, that’s old.” I looked around. The little Slayers-in-training had gone back to their own business, now that Papillion and Giselle had gone else-where. “Are there any other instructors?”
“You mean full-blood? Well, there was Carter, but we found out last month that he was on-ly a Class 4 Slayer. We can only take Class 5 Slayers as teachers for multiple classes. Now, he’s just a private instructor for more troublesome students, or those who Marley thinks are potentially powerful.” Her eyes widened. “Which reminds me,” she said. “We need to find Marley. Right now.”
“Well, where is she?”
“She’s either teaching a class, or praying. Friday’s always praying day for Marley.”
“But today’s Tuesday,” I pointed out.
She gasped, like this was news to her. “Then she’s at the tennis courts. Come on!”
And with that, she dragged me back towards the elevator.
We reached the 30th floor, silver doors opening. We wandered (well, I wandered. Nina ran) down the hallway, until we reached a glass door, showing...
Dun, dun, dun! Absolutely nothing!
Nina turned her gaze on me. “It may look like there’s nothing there, but trust me, there is.”
“How can I trust you?”
She was silent for a while, then said, “I’ll give you ten bucks if you break any limbs.”
I shrugged, yanking open the door. Hey, money is money.
The glare of the afternoon sun glinted off the glass, the heat making me sweat in seconds. I looked down at the set of stairs descending towards a concrete deck that looked like a minia-ture gym. Old, battered gym mats, two cabinets, one stocked full of butcher knives, daggers with complicated hilt designs, and even a mace, the other with large bags of salt, which I was a little confused about. There was also a rope-and-pulley system with spare harnesses and cardboard cut-outs hanging from the frayed nylon. I shivered with fear at the prospect of being so high up.
Nina led me to another set of steps, which led to another deck, this time with metal tables and plastic chairs, with a special cafeteria-type metal stand with week-old lettuce and the juice of tomatoes still lingering in the basins under the plastic protecting things. “Lemme guess,” I grinned, in spite of my situation (i.e. a lost little girl without any parents and just learning that I had only been told half the information of the Slayer life). “It’s a maze.” She just laughed and said, “Moving on.”

THERE.

THAT'S ALL I DID FOR THIS ONE.

Awesome!

^Ummm who are you?

^^ Yeah, who are you?

O.o INVADERS!