Hope's Light

Chapter 4

by Erisian

Book 6

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Four - Enemies

 

When appearing again in front of Krux and all his gun-toting troopers, I’d changed clothes. Gone was the casual jogger garb, replaced with biker’s gear of white leather: boots, chaps over jeans, gloves, and an armored jacket - one with enough pockets to wedge in all the currency I’d just recovered. My bike, of course, was stuck in a galaxy far, far, away - but I knew the pattern of this outfit well enough to replicate it.

Being an angel had certain advantages.

This time only Krux’s team reacted to snap weapons in my direction. The winged devil himself merely grunted and took aim instead with the glowing end of his cigar. “Nice threads. Find ‘em in the side-space?”

I shrugged then gestured around us. “You figured it out?”

He grinned rows of sharp teeth. “This ain’t just a pretty face. Knowing it’s there, I can sense the working - but I ain’t stupid enough to pick the lock.”

“Are you implying that I was?”

Flicking ash onto the mirrored floor, it was his turn to shrug. “You didn’t explode. So guess not. You find anything else you were looking for?”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t really trust the devil, but fate had brought us together again. The last time that happened it was thanks to him that I arrived where needed in order to prevent another chaos-infused disaster from taking place.

And here Krux was again.

With a sigh, I tugged free a glove and ran fingers through the red short spikiness of my current hairstyle. “This soul you were chasing, Pierre, that have anything to do with Sanctuary?” The motion caused some of the currency stashed around the new outfit to clink. Dangit, I should have thought of that and padded with handkerchiefs or something.

He chomped on the cigar and pretended not to have heard. “Thought you said you just got here.”

“I did.”

“Then how the fuck you know about that? The idiot say something?”

“Not directly.”

Smoke filled the air between us as he exhaled while considering. “How many souls are hiding in the side-space here?”

Crap. He really wasn’t stupid. “Not at liberty to say.”

He rolled bean-colored eyes. “You want to rescue them. Because of course you would.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s a waste of effort. They’re souls - so they’re weak.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. You gonna babysit ‘em for eternity?”

“Is Sanctuary real?”

“Some morons believe it.”

“You trying to find it so your people can wipe them out?”

He snorted. “A bunch of souls hiding under rocks hardly qualifies as a threat to the realm.”

“Yet you’re chasing Pierre.”

“Yeah. Because like I said, his boss may know what happened to my team. It’s known the boss is lurking near that area of the Pits. Shit goin’ on down there, he’d need to be aware of it - or he’d already be crushed too.”

“What if this leader of his took your guys down?”

“Not my team. C’mon, be serious. You ever met a soul that could go toe-to-toe with a demonic heavy hitter? Let alone a professional platoon of ‘em?”

I thought about Twitch with his superspeed, or even Barry and his electric-spelled axe. Barry got crushed by the demon mercenaries I eventually conquered, and Twitch - as skilled as he was - would get smeared by properly utilized area-effect wizardry. Against the really powerful, they’d get squashed. I didn’t like it, but being in denial would simply be foolish.

Replaying what Pierre had said, a different idea occurred. “And what if they’re somehow connected to my old crew?”

Beady narrow eyes met mine. “Then that’s intel I need.”

“What about Pierre’s partner? Kelly, right?”

“Useless. One of my guys took a risk and munched her already. Nothing of value; Pierre simply hired her for lookout. That’s it.”

The impulse to go through Krux’s team one by one and rip free all the souls floating within their demon stomachs flared hot across the back of the neck, but I had to force it down. Just like I’d done each and every day with my old mercs.

Being away for a few months hadn’t made that any easier. If anything, the opposite was true. I’d come to care for that wrecking crew, whereas Krux’s team simply lurked in the periphery of perception as nothing more than flashes of controlled evil.

Swallowing more than I wanted to, I instead asked, “How’d you know that they’d be at the hospital?”

He hesitated and tapped more ash off the cigar already reduced to a short nub, though the leathery fingers didn’t seem to care about coming into contact with parts glowing with heat. “Figured out what the boss is desperate to find. We let it leak that it could be found there.”

“And could it?”

“Nah. Those records never had everything. They got scrubbed by order of the Citadel almost immediately. Properly. I made sure of that.”

“Dare I guess what he was hoping those records would contain?”

“I gotta spell it out?”

I put the glove back on. “Yeah. Guess you do.”

“Fine. Pierre and that boss of his are desperate for proof that one Commander Jordan, this reaper then soldier from the ass-end of the Rock, was a Nephelim - one rumored to be the martyred Savior of the Citadel and the Rock itself. “ He glowered. “You’re the reason for their entire cult. And with real evidence they’ll recruit boatloads of more followers.”

Crud. I was afraid of that. “And who’s his boss?”

“Don’t fucking know. All I got is what folks call him: the Apostle.”

I frowned. Nadia had mentioned someone called the ‘Pilgrim’ but not an ‘Apostle’. “Huh, that title certainly doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Think any of your associates would take that moniker?”

“I led an army, Krux, not a religious movement. Otherwise my last supper wouldn’t have been such lousy hospital food entirely lacking any wine.”

“Ha.”

As implications of having a cult of damned souls formed in my honor sank further in, I moaned. “Great, just great. What other leads you got?”

“For finding the Apostle? Just the one hiding in those shirt pockets of yours next to all those coins clinking about.”

“Pierre’s soulstone? I thought you said he’d be poison to a demon.”

“Yeah. But you ain’t no demon.”

“Oh.”

The last remnants of the cigar dropped to the floor. Krux didn’t even bother to smother the embers with his foot. “So why don’t you swallow what’s left of that suicidal idiot, or do whatever it is you feathered jerks do to pull memories from ‘em. Things considered, I bet all you need do is reach inside and ask.”

Within the jacket’s pocket, the stone suddenly felt heavy. Unzipping - and careful not to spill out any hellish currency - I retrieved it, holding the orb loose upon a covered palm. No larger than a golf ball, all that was left of the man’s spirit pulsed coldly with tiny flares of barely visible bluish light.

Fingers folded into a fist and I braced for whatever would be found within.

 

Four portraits, towering images in perfect clarity, hung in a row within an otherwise empty space.

All of the same subject.

A toddler smiles in joy as adult male hands hold forth the precious stuffed puppy, the toy’s comfort so dreadfully missing mere moments prior.

A small boy lies in bed with wide eyes, staring at a dark room’s empty ceiling, after another no-story bedtime without the father who always did so much better at the voices.

A burgeoning teen with braces glares in sulking anger, despite birthday cake’s bright candles with friends and a mother’s attempt at cheer, as one more broken promise ruins another year’s desire.

A young man, long hair hiding an eye, stands emotionless over an occupied bed with rails. Across limbs bound inside plaster, plastic lines twist like thrown spaghetti reaching various liquid-filled bags and beeping monitors. The woman beside the youth spills tears freely, but the youth’s cheeks are dry under eyes empty and elsewhere.

A voice from behind startles yet was expected.

“My son. My greatest joy. My greatest regret.”

Perception turns, a man sits cross-legged and naked within the blankness, hair the color of burnt umber hanging to shoulders. His build is lean and scrawny, and he stares with somber guilt at the pictures arranged before him.

I find myself speaking. “Why is that, Pierre?”

“Because I was not there.” No anger, only deep sorrow - only deep pain. “Always the promises I’d intended to keep, always work calling me away. Thinking what mattered most was providing. Food, shelter, security. But look at him! Beautiful like his mother, and so wounded because I could not see the truths of time’s loss.”

“You love him. And I am sure you told him this. That’s more than many children receive.”

“Yet how good is being told you are loved if never do you feel its warmth, its touch? Is that not worse?”

The progression across the portraits lends silent testimony to the premise.

Inhaling, the man shakes his head. “I was a fool, and paid the price. I had to die and fall to Hell to understand. Not at first, no, not for hundreds of years - until the Apostle shared with me his treasure. Through him I glimpsed the truth.”

“The truth?”

“He was there, when the Darkness tried to shatter and swallow the Rock. He was there and knew horror as the Spark began to fail. When everyone’s soul twisted and frayed.”

Visions filled new portraits only within my thoughts: shattered ice, exploded stone, sword of fire and mace of steel - and a terror attempting to consume all.

“And,” Pierre continues, “he told how a brightness beyond all brightness reached out to touch them, granting strength to hold together, to resist the pull of absolute nothingness. A light, yes, but also love itself came for them! Through the Apostle’s devotion I too felt it, his faith and certainty touched something inside and I knew then as I know now - that this was a force no darkness, no sorrows, could ever conquer. And so I pledged to serve and spread the word of her Light.”

“So you joined with the Apostle.”

“How could I not? After centuries of despair, he spoke only of hope! That we had not been abandoned! Though he needed help, for he fled the Rock when the uprising faltered.”

“Uprising?”

“In that light the marks of ownership were wiped clean. Some souls resisted being reclaimed by demonic masters, but they could not hold out for long.”

A pause. “How were you able to help him?”

“Skills. My profession was in developing financial databases. Electronics function in the Devil’s personal realm, and while demons create nothing - we souls do. Which is how the Apostle first found me.”

“Oh?”

“The city is connected by networks of electricity and magic, currency and information is their domain. And I gained access. Carefully I spread word of what happened on the Rock to others, and through those systems the Apostle communicates to me - anonymously to keep himself safe. With my aid he shares with many the glory of the Light and the star she left behind. He preaches that the star is her sacred promise of return.”

“The star?”

Eagerly, he nods. “Yes, that which now sparkles across previously empty sky beyond the dome of the Rock. A symbol for us all!”

“And what would you wish for should she return?”

“More than anything, I would beg to be sent back!”

“Your life is done, Pierre Rene Blanc. Its course is run.”

“I know, I understand. I can never repair how terribly I wasted it. And my son will need to find his own way, though I fervently pray his forgiveness - his and my wife’s.” He slumps forward in lost sorrows yet inside a glow shimmers past layers of pain.“But I wish to start again! Let me love not at a distance, but present in full - give this wretched spirit a chance to get it right! Wipe away Pierre and let another grow in his place, one through which this foolish soul may finally shine!”

“You believe such possible?”

“I pray to the Light and Star, with all my heart and all I am, that it may be so!”

Resolution forms. “We shall see, brightening one. We shall see.”

 

Krux was staring expectantly. “So you gonna do it or what?”

I blinked as paintings shifted again to those of Lilith. “Already did.”

“Huh. Quick. Learn anything?”

Remaining silent for a moment’s thought, I finally answered. “Yes…and also no.”

“Cryptic much?”

“Hardly. For that you better have cake.” The weight of the soul in my hand felt lighter than before - and yet also a whole lot heavier. But that was something to struggle over later.

“Cake?”

I tucked it - Pierre - back into the pocket. “Nevermind. He doesn’t know who the Apostle is. Never directly met him, in fact.”

“Well shit.”

“Electronic communication only between the two, likely encrypted and obfuscated. Though you probably knew that already.” I gave the miniature devil a hard stare.

“We knew the net is how they’re coordinating, yeah. Was hoping to catch a bigger fish.”

“Sorry, minnows only today. So what now?”

Krux began to pace, bat-like wings twitching behind. “You get the minnow’s full name?”

“Pierre Blanc. Why?”

“Gimme a sec.” Activating the radio link, he ordered the operator on the other end (presumably Citadel HQ) to start a trace on the name, then cut the connection again. The encryption was thick and the radio did some serious frequency-hopping, but to properly focused attention it still easily unscrambled.

The air was thick with such transmissions too - both electronic and spellwork. I could probably spend hours picking through it all, but peeping further in on all the demonic porn being blasted about seriously did not appeal.

One horrid glimpse all by itself fell instantly into the category of ‘what has been seen cannot be unseen.’

Urk.

“Alright,” Krux said to himself as he looked around the not-as-empty-as-it-seemed and exquisitely painted blimp hanger. An obvious thought crossed his forehead, and he studied me again.

I caught the gist. “If you leave part of your team here, they’ll never come out. Just starve into stones. Unless you think you can break the Lilim’s spell to get across to them. Or more specifically, Lilith’s spell.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She did it herself?”

Making a show of scanning the area again, I shrugged. “It’s a blend. But she’ll know if it’s taken down. And probably knows that I slipped through.” Saying it, I felt the truth of it. If she minded, she’d have to show up to do something about it - in which case those inside could be saved directly.

Provided she even cared about them.

He made a decision and emitted a piercing whistle to his team - even though he could have just radioed them. “Load up! We’ve got another stop to make.” Before I could ask, he pointed a sharp finger. “And you’re coming.”

“I am?”

“Spend that fortune in your pockets properly, and you could learn something.”

“And therefore so could you.”

He grinned, and it wasn’t the sort that was kind. “Why waste my stupidly slim budget when I can mooch off yours? Think of it as a finders fee.”

“For finding what?”

“Answers. And maybe more.”

“Who’s the one being cryptic now? To be clear, I’m not buying you any cake.”

“I like pie. Preferably with meat in it. Let’s go.” He tilted his head towards the exit.

“Not until I know where we’re going.”

“A bar in neutral territory.”

“You do realize I was joking about the wine.”

“Ha, ha. Funny. Nah, it’s not booze we’re after. I worked Intelligence, remember? Trust me.”

“You’d be disappointed in me if I did.”

“Well ain’t that the fuckin’ truth. You coming anyway?”

“Yeah.”

We trooped back outside into the ridiculously oppressive heat, and as we strolled towards the waiting drop ship I had a thought.

“Hey, Krux?”

“Hmm?”

“You familiar with Sun Tzu?”

“Heard the name. Doubt he ended up here, but who the fuck knows. Why?”

“He had this line about keeping friends close and enemies closer. So which am I?”

He side-eyed me like I was an idiot. “You’re in Hell. Everyone’s an enemy.”

“Ah.”

He slipped past to board the ship first, but as he did he muttered under his breath. “Everyone. Especially yourself.”

I wasn’t sure he meant that for me to hear, but I didn’t ask nor did he clarify.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Another shuttle ride, and another mental instruction to Tsáyidiel to follow without being seen. Most entities would have gotten bored with such an assignment by now, but not Tsáyidiel. I had the impression my gryphon would gladly follow the order for the next thousand years without even a thought of complaint. He fulfilled his duty and Purpose as he saw it - nothing would interfere with the totality of focus towards its fulfillment.

Absolutely nothing.

There was something disturbing about that, particularly as there was a part of me which resonated strongly to the purity of resolution - causing the rest to worry about the dangers of fanaticism. Or just screwing up in general.

After all, I was only…well, crud. Nevermind.

Krux remained silent during our transit between yet more dark towers stretching towards the inferno above. He too was pensive, having pulled out another cigar and left it unlit to instead tap between fingers. As the craft landed on another side platform, he tucked the tube back into a vest pocket and pointed to two of his crew.

“Halphas! Urigtha! I’m taking our guest to Greepa’s. Halphas’ team stays with the ship; Urigtha, go stealth and roundabout to the bar. Post up nearby and be ready.”

A three-eyed and rather obviously female (despite the armored vest) demon popped a fresh power module into a blaster, a weapon longer yet skinnier than most of the others. “Expecting danger inside or out, sir?” She wasn’t muscle-bound like her comrades, and thin insect-like wings lined her back.

“Either. Both.”

“Roger that.”

From the landing pad we went inside to a maze of black-walled corridors and staircases, some of which opened to interior atrium areas where it was like being inside a huge shopping center with varied levels. Familiar crystal lanterns hung at intervals to spotlight storefronts and offices, with signs - written in sharply punctuated demonic script - indicating everything from financial outfits to butcher shops. There were even posted guides showing entire sections of the building as being reserved for manufacturing facilities. The layout was not conducive to quick travel - in fact the twists and turns were clearly designed to stall any attackers in regularly-spaced killing zones.

Even balconies overlooking open spaces where fliers could zip between levels had battle considerations. Such as the balcony railings being more like reinforced pillboxes, lining only two adjacent sides of the rectangle so each faced even sturdier slabs of that weird obsidian stone of which everything was made.

In other words, shooters from those two sides could open up fully on anything trying to fly past without fear of friendly fire from the opposite wall.

And yes, those dark stones were heavily scarred.

More interesting were the denizens. Demons in business suits shared walkways with devils looking like they’d just come out of some post-apocalyptic movie set. There was an odd mix of medieval and futuristic weaponry carried about, though whenever groups of obviously different social orders crossed paths there was an instinctual assessment of power levels between them - and the clearly weaker would move out of the way, bowing heads in respect as their ‘betters’ moved on. What was worn didn’t correlate with those outcomes, either.

The number of souls trapped within plus the strength of internal mana reserves however did.

Then, of course, there was Krux and myself.

Krux, in his military-style gear and Citadel emblems, moved through the crowds as if they all were beneath his station. Even those radiating far greater raw power moved politely out of his way - including the tower’s own security forces who were clearly identifiable by their own insignia of three inscribed circles with an upside-down ‘V’ slashed across them.

As for me, most ignored my presence completely. Except for a couple of particularly potent entities who, after bowing to Krux and letting us past, did double takes in my direction before going pale and hurriedly scurrying off on however many legs they used to walk. While I had wrapped myself with a concealment spell taken from a friend’s gifted dog tags, occasionally flares must have leaked through.

Oh well.

The whole aura of the place, other than the demonic stench which no amount of cleaning could remove, was of a rigid order barely containing potential violence lurking behind every eye and in every hand. The need for all the strict politeness had been etched across scars and missing limbs, and the security forces saluting and ushering Krux past each checkpoint clearly meant business. The whole structure was also wired with cameras, microphones, and magic detectors - all of which communicated either wirelessly or via hardpoints to centralized monitoring stations.

While under our feet, within the walkways and the walls, were the embedded souls holding everything in place - dim but there. Without their presence anchoring the realm’s existence, the structure would twist, warp, and eventually collapse. Taking a deeper look from behind recreated motorcycle goggles, the fabric of the realm’s stability was weaker than when I’d last been here, the edges of the rules holding it coherent had started to splinter and fray.

This had been the Archangel Samael’s realm and, as I’d learned during that last visit, he’d abandoned it. The core was empty and the rest had begun to unravel.

Which likely was what occupied Krux’s fears.

Eventually we arrived at this bar of his, a muscle-bound guy with horns and blue skin at the door stepping reluctantly aside due to Krux’s imperious glare. The height differential was ridiculous, I mean blue dude there could have simply lifted a leg and stomped the Citadel agent in one go - but with a scowl the semi-giant bowed and let us in.

All of which had me wondering just what one had to do to earn the twin silver swords pinned to Krux’s lapels.

Just like the outside with its darkly graffitied black wall, so was the bar itself. Dimly lit with leather booths set in round alcoves and a main length of bar with the requisite bottles lining shelves behind, it reeked of smoke, sweaty demons, and this weird hint of sour despair.

Though that may have just been the guy passed out in one of the booths, arms folded under a long coat while stretched sideways along the red-dyed hide of the bench, sandaled feet barely touching the floor. The face was hidden, mostly by a length of stringy beard with tiny bits of uneaten food stuck to it, but also by a beige fedora pulled down over eyes and nose. Loud snores gave testament to the effects of the numerous green and blue empty bottles scattered haphazardly across the table. What stood out though was that at first he felt like another of Hell’s lost souls, but a disturbing tingle across the skin forced a second look.

Which, even after a flare behind the goggles, broke into shimmers that revealed nothing.

I’d never had that happen before.

Krux, however, impatiently pointed to a booth in a corner - and then promptly took the side that gave him the most visibility of the room. Dangit, I’d wanted that spot. But fine, I took the opposite bench and continued evaluating the other occupants.

There were only two: the bartender, a proper devil of moderate height in silk vest with dress shirt sleeves rolled up and tied with a thin ribbon, and one customer at another booth across the room. That demon had twin spine-covered heads - one of which was busy chugging straight from a bottle - and kept twitching in the seat. He’d given Krux a nasty sneer as we’d gone by, but then had become distracted by my posterior’s passing.

Results of quick analysis: five souls, all former soldiers blazing with confusion and rage. And the leering jerk who’d swallowed them was having difficulty keeping them all in line - quite literally he may have bitten off more than he could safely chew.

Lovely.

The bartender stepped out, revealing a navy waist apron which had been hidden behind the bar. “General,” he said when approaching our table, and to my surprise he’d directed that to Krux. “It’s been awhile.”

“Greepa.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. I need to talk to him.”

“Ale, then?”

“Fuck it, sure.”

The guy in the well-tailored silk with two small spikes poking through hair otherwise pulled into a tight ponytail then looked at me. “Miss?” He frowned as his usual-suspects evaluations failed.

I threw Krux a smirk. “Wine. Asmodian if you have it.”

The bartender didn’t bat an eye. “Cash or stick?”

Krux pointed at me. “Cash. She’s paying.”

Mr. Waistcoat’s attention slid back to me expectantly.

“What?” I asked. “I have to pay up front?”

Pulling out another cigar, Krux grunted. “Show him your currency.”

“Fine.” Unzipping a pocket, I pulled out a handful of platinum coins. “Satisfied?”

Those staring eyes widened. “Denarii. Do you have anything of a…smaller denomination?”

I frowned. “Uhm. No?”

Krux leaned forward. “Well shit. You really are rich.”

“This isn’t that much.”

The devilish general laughed. “Going rates. With Beliel’s Rock cut off, and with the collapse of many of the exchanges - cash like that is king.”

“Oh.”

The bartender cleared his throat. “Perhaps miss would like to purchase a cred-stick.”

Hmm. Could be useful, I suppose. I looked to Krux. “How much should I get?” From the pocket I pulled out some gold centurians.

As he’d just lit the cigar, the devil choked on the smoke. “By Samael’s short-hairs, how much do you have?”

Even Greepa looked disturbed. “We could exchange perhaps two of those at most. Our usual rates.”

That refocused Krux. “Five percent?”

“Ten.”

“Six. And on the Citadel Exchange.” Krux flicked ash onto the floor.

“Eight and it will be.”

“Done. Give him the coins.”

I held out a pair of golden circles to Greepa. “Throw in a money belt with secure clasps. And also tell me one more thing.”

He eyed the currency. “We can come up with something. What information is it that are you after?”

“Who’s the drunk in the booth by the door?”

Taking hold of the coins, Greepa grinned a set of continual and well-polished canines. “Our bouncer.”

Hesitating, I then let the cash go. I wasn’t curious enough to cause a scene.

At least not yet.

The bartender placed the money carefully in a vest pocket. Then from an apron pouch he produced a small tablet, a device not much bigger than the ridiculously large smart phones some back at the Academy had proudly lugged around. Placing it in front of Krux, he first reached under the table to pull out a cable with a USB-like connector and plugged it in. Pushing a button on the tablet’s side a shimmering field of green expanded to swallow us in a bubble big enough for the entire alcove.

“Privacy screen is on the house. He’ll text you in a moment.” With that Greepa bowed, and then stepped backwards out of the field.

Krux caught that I was busy studying the spell. “Good enough?”

“Passable, provided the tablet doesn’t have an active mic.”

“Does it?”

“Nope. So who’s this ‘he’ that’s going to text?”

“Hacker. We don’t have a name, just suspicions.”

“For a former intelligence operative that’s rather nebulous.”

The devil blew more smoke. “Assets generally prefer to be.”

“He that good?”

“For what you can afford? Yeah. He better be.”

The device beeped and the screen flashed as text the same color as the privacy field appeared across the display.

“Query?”

Krux waved the cigar at it, though was careful not to drop any ash.

Taking the touchscreen device, careful not to pull too hard on the attached cable, I began to type across the matching monochrome keyboard that had appeared below the text.

“How do I find Sanctuary?”

A pause, and then response. “Unknown.”

Yeah, rather expected that. “What is it?”

“Long-standing myth; dates to after the Gate sealed the realms. Safe haven for souls, hidden somewhere in Hell.”

“The Apostle. He talks about it?”

“Affirmative.”

“How do I find him? Can you trace his communications with Pierre Blanc?”

“Too risky. Citadel monitoring.”

I glared at Krux, who simply grinned. Sheesh. “Can you get a message to the Apostle?”

“Refuse.”

“I can pay.”

“Refuse.”

Well, this was quickly proving useless. Unless…

I typed quickly. “The Apostle cannot be operating alone. How does he recruit? Only through the networks?”

Another pause. “Report from incoming orientations indicate souls of specific potential go missing.”

To Krux I asked, “Incoming orientations?”

Coffee-bean eyes narrowed as he considered. “New souls arriving to Dis. If they get across the Styx, they’re shoved into orientation groups.”

I blinked. “So Dis has its own reapers? Like what I used to do on the Rock?”

“Sort of.”

On the tablet I typed, “What specific potentials are disappearing?”

The response was interesting. “Information and Technology. Military. Covert Ops.”

“Huh.” I looked again at Krux. “Are there that many who arrive here which fall into those categories?”

He shrugged, causing leathery wings to bob over narrow shoulders. “This is Dis. Tech crap is rare, but applied violence? Common.”

I sat back in thought, idly catching the bartender walking over to the twitchy demon’s table and placing a pouch upon it which the demon greedily immediately snatched. Even with the privacy screen active I could feel the contents of the pouch: a soul pulsed within. One of great power, but also flickering with tremendous variability - and horrible inner pain.

Dammit.

Trying to ignore it, I picked up the tablet and typed again. “What about the Pilgrim? Who is-”

I was still typing when a fireball slammed over the far side of the bar, shattering a wide swath of bottles as well as a power panel.

Many things happened at once.

The tablet and privacy screen both went dark as all electricity failed, plunging the bar into fire-touched darkness. Krux dove under the table, a pistol already in hand. I flared with energy and began to reach out to the soul which the idiot two-headed demon had swallowed. Despite having two brains the dumb-shit still lacked enough willpower to handle the soul, causing unleashed fragments of all the power of the souls he’d stuffed into his belly to burst free. Flames like rainbows surrounded him, and as his flesh boiled he screamed and thrashed about, unable to control the fires he’d inadvertently summoned.

Lastly, the grungy drunk appeared behind the shrieking immolation.

With hurricane filling irises piercing past dirty bangs, the bouncer waved a tattooed palm in the demon’s direction, and a tempest flashed with a crack of ear-deafening thunder to send wind and blinding water to swallow the multi-hued flames and demon whole.

In the stunned aftermath, the demon’s captured souls dropped free to the floor like cannonballs suddenly loose upon a ship’s deck. From clouds roiling against the ceiling rain began to pelt us all, and my glowing gaze now illuminating the bar caught the wild-eyed wielder of the storm.

“Holy crud,” I heard myself say. “Nick!”

Shutting eyes both against the light and their own inner tempest, the still-inebriated bouncer staggered, sinking to a sitting position on the floor. Even as the Citadel crew burst past the entrance with weapons instantly pointed at all occupants not named Krux, the mage ran a marked hand through thick untamed hair and muttered but one phrase:

“I need a drink.”

 

End of Part One

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian