Varangian Files SH: Chapter 1: Dreams of Doomsday
Not much to add here. The first chapter of the story. Be forewarned that it does deal with dark themes, specifically serial killing.
Everything was blurry. Colours, sounds and lights, all mixing together with neither form nor function. And then in an instant, it crystallized, forming a clear image. A clear sound.
A knock on the door. She dropped what she was doing. Washing dishes? Reading the paper? She wasn't sure. It wasn't important.
She opened the door. Someone was there, waiting. He said something, something important.
She felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't meant to... To what? Be late. Late with the money. Things just hadn't worked out. She invited him inside. They could talk, figure things out. She tried to clean the table, make it presentable.
And then, another sound. A click. She turned around.
A gun. A flash. Pain. She laid there, bleeding out, confused.
He bent over, smiled, almost apologetically. “It's going to be one Hell of a party, babe,” he remarked. “And you're all invited. For we...”
Then it all shifted. Dimmed. It was dark. Cold. Late. She was hurrying home.
Steps. She looked over her shoulder. Thought she saw something, someone.
She bit her lip and sped up.
More steps. Rapid steps.
She ducked into the dark. A side-street? Maybe an alley? She couldn't tell. She waited with baited breath, backing up.
She bumped into something.
She spun. There was a flash of metal. Agony blossomed as it dug into her stomach, carving through her flesh. She fell, whimpering, gurgling, trying desperately to keep it all in.
She looked up at the shape, his figure hidden by the dark, the bloody knife glinting in the street-light. “The ritual of the knife still reveals all,” he said passionately. “And we shall all learn from it. For we...”
She was home. Safe. Warm. The lights were on. The TV was on. Her favourite show was on. Or was it the news? All was calm, comfortable even.
Suddenly, all was dark. A blackout. Tension gripped her. She didn't dare move.
And then there was a sound. A scream. Was it from the kitchen? The bathroom? Was it her partner? Her child? She didn't know, but she had to help.
She rushed through the dark, only to stumble.
She fell. Looking, she saw the outline of a body. Their body. She heard breathing. Hands closed around her throat.
“Mommy says it's lights out,” a deranged voice told her, as she struggled to breathe. “We'll all live in the dark now. For we...”
She was out walking. There were others. Friends. Her friends. The sun shone through green leaves. There was bird song.
A sound. An explosion. A burst of blood. Screams as one of her friends fell.
They ran. More shots. Bodies falling. Bullets ripped through her body, puncturing her. She fell, gasping as blood filled her lungs.
A man towered over her, fingers wrapped around his weapon. “The war never ends,” he sternly said. “We shall all fight forever. For we...”
She was seated. A cake or slice of pie on a plate in front of her. Tea next to it. And a dinner guest. Such a sweet man. So helpful.
He said something and she laughed. She took the cup and drank it.
Bitter taste. Too bitter. Her eyes widened. The warmth left her body. She gasped, quivered. A feverish heat seized her.
He took her hand as her vision dimmed. “There will be a new order,” he assured her. “One we will all be part of. For we...”
Darkness. Older than the stars. Five pairs of eyes opened, staring at her. Filled with sin and cruelty. And then more eyes. More. More. Thousands. Millions. And as one they intoned: “FOR WE ARE MANY!”
Nettie opened her eyes, her entire body gripped by sleep paralysis. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breathing was heavy and ragged. Slowly, with effort, she sat up in the bed and swung her legs over the side.
There she sat. She didn't know for how long, as she slowly willed her body to calm. With effort, she stood up and staggered over to the doorway, opening up to the balcony. The cooler air of the night washed over her sweat-soaked skin. The sounds of New Orleans' nightlife, of club-goers, musicians and cars, reached her ears, soothing her.
She heard the shuffling of covers behind her. “Trouble sleeping again?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “The visions... They are getting stronger.” She took a deep breath. “It's as Belal said. Even I'm picking up on it now.” She leaned against the doorway.
“The end of days I believe you mentioned,” he noted, as he too got out of bed, the teal light emitting from his eyes and mask faintly illuminating the room.
“Yes. The end of days, heralded by the coming of The Five.” She turned around. “I see them in my dreams. Claiming victims. Each one a sacrifice to... Something dark and twisted.” She crossed her arms, her brows furrowed as she contemplated her options. “We must recover the Prophecy. And then... If Belal was right, I need to cash in my favour.”
“Dahlia,” Michael replied. It had been quite a while since he had seen the adze. “If it's as bad as you say, she'll come in handy. I trust you already know how to contact her?”
“I'll send out some feelers. She has her own people. She'll pick up on it,” Nettie replied, as she closed the door again. “I did do my research on her, thanks to your help. I traced her and her kin to Africa. The Ewe dubbed them adze. Folklore describe them as powerful beings that thirst for blood. Capable of shapeshifting, possession, you name it.” She began pacing. “First mentions of her in the states trace back to the seventeenth century. A couple of repeating stories. Some rich guy buys a seemingly beautiful, handsome or otherwise valuable slave. Days later, the slave is gone and the owner is found dead without a drop of blood in them. The name Dahlia popped up a few times in connection with the underground railroad too.”
“So quite the liberator, huh,” Michael noted.
“Perhaps. I do not pretend to know her motives. No matter how charitable they may seem.” She took a deep breath. “Her kind is rare, powerful and predatory. And she's left quite the trail of bodies. According to Deacon, she's on the most wanted list for a number of American paranormal agencies. But all that being said, she's too valuable an asset to ignore.” She looked out the window. “And we'll need all the help we can get.”
...
Michael swept the cloth across the desk one last time, making it as clean as he could. He took a moment to witness his handiwork. Chairs were neatly stacked, tables were cleared and the jukebox had been unplugged. Grabbing the keys, he exited the Wild at Heart while gently spinning them around his finger.
Outside, the light of dawn was slowly turning into the blue of midday. The noises of the city were picking up, as people went about their daily lives. He turned to lock the doors, when a voice read aloud: “The Wild at Heart will be closed for a number of days due to personal circumstances.”
He paused, then glanced to the side. Dahlia in her human form stood by the window, looking at the poster taped to the inside. “Didn't see you there,” he remarked, as he locked the door with a click.
“Believe it or not, I can be quite subtle,” she noted with bemusement. “So, didn't take long for Nettie to call in that favour. I expected I'd have that hanging over my head for decades to come.” She crossed her arms. “And now you're shutting the bar down. Seems rather serious. Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain vague doomsday prophecy we got thrown at us, would it?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” He pocketed the key. “I'll explain as we go.”
“How much do you know?” she inquired.
“Less than I'd like. But Agnetta said she'd fill us in. Had some final information to dig up, I gather,” he explained, as he began heading down the street, Dahlia following him. “A couple of months ago, she started getting visions in her sleep.”
“So she's a seer too. A woman of many talents.”
“Indeed. And over time, they've worsened. She barely gets any rest these days.” He shook his head. “Usually wakes up in the midst of a panic attack. She says that she sees The Five, who are supposedly harbingers of the end of days.”
“And who are The Five?”
“A group of serial killers. She experiences their victims. And they are racking up quite the body count.”
“You'd think I would have heard of a band like that.”
Michael paused. It was a good point. “As I said, there's much I don't know.”
“Nettie likes keeping you in the dark, huh?”
“She gives me the information she thinks I need.”
“Is there a difference?”
“It's a matter of motivation.”
“Sounds to me like the real difference is that you don't care to know, Honey,” she remarked.
“You're right. I don't,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Agnetta runs this outfit. I'm just the muscle.”
Dahlia observed him for a moment, before returning her gaze to the street. “I trust you have a boat ready?”
“Yes. She'll be waiting for us at the church.”
...
It was high noon by the time they arrived, the warm sun illuminating the sky. As they approached the church, Michael noted: “You never mentioned how your search went.”
“You're right. I didn't,” she replied neutrally.
“Belal didn't...”
“Lie to me? No. It was exactly where he said it would be.”
Michael nodded and dropped the subject. It was quite clear to him that if he didn't, the adze would most likely drop him off something tall.
The church was its usual self. The guardian hounds laid among the graves, briefly raising their heads to check the newcomers.
Michael stepped up to the doors and opened them, the two of them stepping inside.
Mama Nettie stood by the altar, several papers spread out before her. At the sound, she turned, noting: “I see you've brought Dahlia. And here I thought I would have to send you in alone first.”
“I didn't have anything else going on,” the adze remarked, checking her nails. “Figured I'd check what would have you call me in so soon.”
“Did he fill you in on the basics?”
“That he did. Five serial killers who are the heralds of the apocalypse, or something like that.” Dahlia folded her arms. “You should know that I have people around the block. I'm pretty sure I'd have heard of a team of five serial killers running rampant.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you have heard of them,” Nettie noted. “But only recently has the police been putting together that they are a group.” She paused, before adding: “Besides, one of them is in England.”
“So four of them are stateside,” Michael remarked. “Why here?”
“That I do not know,” she frankly admitted. “Could be a coincidence, could have significant meaning.”
“Let me guess,” Dahlia began, leaning against one of the pews. “You want us to find out?”
“That and other things,” she confirmed, turning to the altar. “First, I need you to know who you're up against. I managed to get these files from one of my associates, one Thomas Deacon, who...”
A loud wooden crack echoed through the church.
“The Hell...?” Michael began, looking around, before spotting the source.
Dahlia had dug her fingers into the pew with enough force to split the wood. She stared at it, as if she was equally surprised, before carefully pulling her fingers from the furniture.
Nettie turned with an inquisitive look. “Familiar with him?”
“I mean... Maybe,” she said trying to sound casual, brushing splinters off her fingers. “Possibly. There's probably more than one Thomas Deacon out there after all.”
“He's wheelchair bound, a former member of the NYPD homicide department and currently works as a special occult consultant for a number of agencies, including the FBI, CSI, SCP and SPUCA,” she noted.
While Michael wasn't familiar with the language Dahlia used in response, he was pretty sure from the context and tone that she wasn't saying anything nice.
“So, you know him then,” Nettie remarked, gathering the files.
“We've... Met,” the adze admitted, the word dripping with loathing. “What is he to you?”
“A good friend whose been willing to give me a helping hand through the years,” the priestess replied. “Including now. Here, you better hold this, Michael. I don't trust our friend not to crumble them.”
“Let's see,” he muttered, looking it over. “Some police stuff. Can't imagine handing you this is entirely legal.”
“It is not,” she plainly admitted. “As a special consultant, he is afforded access to certain confidential information, which obviously isn't supposed to be handed out to some random voodoo priestess. But he understands how important my work is.”
“I've investigated the case on the Five as you've requested,” Michael real aloud. “And so far, I have been unable to find any signs of demonic activity.” He raised an eyebrow.
“His specialty,” Nettie explained. “He's a demon hunter. But he also deals with other supernatural beings.”
Dahlia snorted in annoyance.
Michael returned his attention to the documents. “While the five cases were initially thought to be unrelated, several commonalities have been found at each crime scene, to the point that even the department has excluded the possibility of it being a coincidence. Beyond symbols, the phrase 'For we are many' appear time and again.” He paused reading. “From the Bible, right? A demon banished from a man by Jesus if memory serves.”
“Mark Chapter 5,” Nettie confirmed.
“Let's see here, first file,” he commented, looking through the papers. “Doctor Viktor Karl Batrachian.”
“I have heard of him,” Dahlia noted. “He got arrested recently.”
“Says here he's an immigrant from Switzerland,” Michael continued. “Rich kid, went to Cambridge. Got his Ph.D thanks to his thesis on anti-social personality disorder. Now that's funny.” He scanned the pages. “Spent four years at the London Medical School. Expelled. Reason unknown, but I can't imagine it was anything pleasant. Immigrated to the states using falsified documents. Opened a medical practise under the name Dr. Arthur Falcus with fellow doctor Sean McRose. Sean then died under mysterious circumstances and Arthur vanished along with most of the clinic's money.”
“Don't need a detective to figure out what happened there,” Dahlia remarked.
“Resurfaces under a new identity as one Dr. Gunther Schaden,” Michael noted. “Dr. Harm. Guy's got a sick sense of humour. Became involved in a series of insurance frauds across Ohio. He'd become the doctor of wealthy widows, get into their will, then use medicine to kill them. Since he was their doctor, he signed off on their autopsy papers that claimed they had died of natural causes.”
“Stupid. Everyone was going to see through that sooner or later,” Dahlia remarked, shaking her head. “But then again, maybe if he'd read his own thesis he'd have realised he'd suck at long-term planning.”
“He was finally captured by state police, only to escape, killing two deputies and wounding a third in the process. How did the bastard pull that off?” Michael pondered. “Got put on the FBI's Most Wanted List.”
“Been there, done that,” Dahlia casually remarked.
“In 95, he sent a letter to the Dallas Morning News. Anonymously, of course, but his handwriting was later identified. Claimed that he would perform several blood sacrifices.”
“I believe that this marks the point he became one of The Five,” Nettie explained. “His killings stop being about personal gain, and instead becomes about something almost religious.”
“Might explain how he busted out,” Dahlia noted. “If he sold his soul, however much of one he had left, to something powerful.”
“Could be. Anyway, that's when the bodies started showing up. Left side of their chest branded with a unique symbol. Each killed with chemicals that caused severe damage in a variety of delightful ways. Organ ruptures, internal haemorrhaging, tissue liquidation. One guy had his head explode from internal pressure.” He frowned. “Wish Deacon hadn't sent the pictures. Twelve murders of this type over one and a half years. Finally caught and sentenced to the chair in 97.”
“Then why haven't they fried him already?” Dahlia asked annoyed.
“Well, he appealed the decision. Twice,” Michael noted. “That dragged things out.”
“Should just have ripped his head off and be done with it,” the adze opined.
“Your disagreements with the American justice system have been noted. He's currently on death row, making mint off paintings.”
“Making mint?” Dahlia echoed offended.
“Made several thousand dollars selling one of his paintings to the Golgotha art gallery in London.”
“What is wrong with people?”
“Charles Manson has groupies. Don't know what to tell you.” He perused the file again. “Here's his personal symbol. Looks like a stick figure lizard.”
The adze leaned over his shoulder. “That is actually kinda cute.”
“Probably less cute branded onto the chest of a guy with an exploded head. And here is a copy of the letter he sent. Let's see.” He held it up. “Dear sir. I have brought HIS Kingdom to Earth, and a bloody cleansing is nigh. Indeed, it is well overdue. I am the leader of the FIVE – the Watchers at the GATE OF SOULS.” Michael paused. “Neat handwriting, but the capitalization is all over the place. Watchers at the gate of souls, huh? Someone feels important. Then more rambling about his glorious army, blood sacrifices and so on, with a reference to the Biblical Apocalypse, an assurance that they are indeed many and then he signed it as The Lizard King.”
“Explains the stick figure,” Dahlia noted.
“So, if he's their leader, we're already one step in the right direction,” Michael noted. “We know where he is and he isn't going anywhere.”
“It's not that simple,” Nettie noted. “Checked where he's held?”
“Let's see. Well, shit,” he remarked. “Gardelle Country Penitentiary.”
“That was on the news recently. The prisoners broke out and took over,” Dahlia noted. “There's currently a police siege going on. Hostage negotiations and whatnot.”
“Okay, so we know where he is. It's just that where he is is inside a concrete fortress full of angry goons, surrounded by a ring of coppers who're not going to be happy to see us marching through,” Michael surmised. “Fantastic. And you have four more of these wunderkinder for me to deal with.” He opened up another bundle of papers. “Marco Roberto Cruz. Kidnapped and murdered ten people, mostly couples, in the Mojave and Death Valley area back in 96. Personal symbol looks like a lightning bolt, usually left near the victims in some manner. Known as the Repo Man.”
“Why?” Dahlia asked.
“That's apparently how he got access to his victims' homes. Claimed to be a repo man,” Michael noted. “And he apparently worked as an actual repo man for five years. And as both a DJ and an auto-mechanic. Incarcerated for seven years for armed robbery and aggravated assault. Implicated in some murders, but the charges never stuck. Too little evidence. Guy's been busy.” He scratched his head. “Apparently he's still at large. Next is Milton T. Pike. Former Green Beret. Electronic countermeasure expert. Vietnam veteran. Was discharged after severely wounding an officer due to a psychotic episode caused by PTSD. Then became a TV repairman.”
“So a real electronics guy,” Dahlia noted.
“Indicted in the shooting of his mother, Francine Pike in 79. Acquitted due to lack of evidence. Joined the American Knights of the Cross.”
“The who?” Dahlia asked confused.
“A survivalist militia group,” Nettie informed her.
“Oh, one of those groups. I see.”
“One year after joining, he split off to form his own group, the Knights of the American Heartland,” Michael continued. “Starting to think the guy has a fixation on knights. They were holed up in Florida. He got expelled by the group the next year.”
“By his own group? What did he do?” Dahlia asked.
“Killed eighteen of them with an RPG.”
The adze paused. “That'll do. I prefer the Flash myself.”
Michael glanced at her, before continuing: “Returned briefly to TV repair, while simultaneously subscribing to every electronics magazine and periodical at the time. Became a Forest Ranger in 86 under false identity as one Franklin P. Tyndall, with a speciality in alligator preservation. Then he got arrested for murdering a hiker.”
“The guy apparently just can't help himself,” the adze remarked.
“Escaped from custody, killing two deputies in the process. Vanished off the grid for four years. And then he really got into killing, murdering at least nine people from 95 to 96. He became known as the Video Nasty Killer.”
“What a name. And why was he called that?”
“Because he'd film himself hunting down and killing his victims, before sending it to the local authorities,” he explained.
“Asshole's got balls, gotta give him that,” the adze noted. “He's going to lose them once we find him, but he does have them.”
“FBI tried to catch him in October of 96, resulting in a pitched battle. Turns out, Milton had picked up a pack of people just as crazy and bloodthirsty as himself. Several people dead, more wounded. Milton and his posse escaped, despite the man himself getting shot several times. He is currently at large somewhere in Florida. Personal symbol is a pair of crossed spears, usually drawn on his iconic videotapes.” He opened a new file. “Name unknown. Has murdered twelve people in New York over a period of two years. Leaves behind a...” He paused. “A skull from a baby canary at every crime scene with a note rolled up in it. Agnetta, I swear, these guys are getting crazier with every file.”
“You will hear no disagreement from me,” she replied.
“And here's his insignia, which he left on those notes. Looks like a nail.”
“What kind of nail?” Dahlia inquired.
“The one that goes with a hammer. Psychological profile marks him as a recluse with a psychotic mother resentment. Possibly a former abuse victim. Highly organized in his killings. Some possible sightings and an artist's impression. Looks like a modern day Quasimodo.”
Dahlia leaned in. The sketch showed a hunched over, pale-skinned figure with squinting eyes and several missing teeth. “If that sketch is true, he probably suffers from back pains. Could possibly also be an albino, judging from his skin tone.”
“Prime suspect is one Avery Max, although with Max having vanished, it has not been confirmed that he's the killer. Indicted for assault in 97, then bailed by mother. Who was then subsequently murdered, at which point he vanished. Known as the Home Improvement Killer.”
“Oh, I gotta hear this one,” Dahlia noted dryly.
“Cuts the power to his target's house, then hunts them down with the aid of a pair of night-vision goggles. And also makes furniture out of people. Jesus. And again with the pictures.”
“Wow, a genuine human skin rug,” Dahlia commented, as she took a glance.
“And then we have the final one. Known as Jack 2,” the undead man read. “Preys on women around the London Underground. Four victims so far. Each had a name similar to one of the victims of Jack the Ripper and were killed close to were their namesake was. The guy apparently puts a lot of effort into being a rip-off.”
“I say we put the kibosh on this particular sequel,” Dahlia remarked.
“Indeed. Psychological profile indicates a person with strong misogynistic tendencies, who is socially and sexually inept.”
“Huh, maybe we won't need to do anything. Profiler already murdered him.”
“Post-mortem mutilation shows some signs of anatomical knowledge, due to precise removal of organs. Could be medical, could be working as a butcher. High likelihood that he returns to the scene of the crime. No prime suspect as of now. Personal symbol left at the scenes of the murders in chalk is... A dagger I think. Or a very badly drawn kite. Not much else. So, these five are connected?”
“Indeed. My visions have confirmed as much. The insignias they leave behind are not random either. I've seen them before,” Nettie explained. “But what you have learnt so far is only part of the story. If I merely wanted five human criminals dead, I wouldn't need either of you. Deacon's files only reveal what's happening here in Liveside.”
“But it's connected to Deadside,” Michael finished.
“Indeed. Now, I have something else to show the two of you.” She reached behind the altar. There was a click and with the sound of scouring stone, a large part of the floor slid aside, revealing a stairway into cavernous darkness.
“Wow, that is cool,” Dahlia remarked.
“I hope you understand the trust I place in you revealing this,” Nettie remarked as she began descending, followed by the other two.
“You ever been down here before, Mike?” the adze inquired.
“A few times. First was when Agnetta grafted the Mask of Shadows onto my ribs,” he replied.
The path lead to a cavern, illuminated by braziers which reflected in the still waters of a massive lake. Nettie lead them along the side to an alcove, which contained an altar, a few stone shelves full of bizarre objects and something covered in cloth, its surface inlaid with a thousand protective sigils. “Used to store this much further in,” she remarked. “Dragged it here while waiting for you two. It's an essential part of what is going on.” She turned to face the two. “What we're experiencing today is the echoes of a conflict that took place long ago, before civilization as we know it was even a twinkle in our ancestors' eyes. For the last few centuries this one has been my responsibility, but there were many keepers of it before even me.” And then she pulled the cloth away.
Immediately, a tense, uncomfortable atmosphere washed over Michael and Dahlia. The object in question looked like a sack of flesh, held in place by three wooden spikes running through it.
The adze looked simultaneous fascinated and repulsed. “What in the world is that?” she slowly asked.
“A govi,” Nettie replied.
“It feels... Wrong,” Michael noted.
“It is wrong. It's a container, holding something called a dark soul. In times long past, the most primordial of gods shattered... Something. Something foul, something utterly bereft of any concept of mercy, love or kindness. Something made from the purest malice, the coldest hate and the most undiluted spite. But it did not go away. Not fully. Its fragments, the dark souls, rained down upon our world. Eventually, they were tracked down and sealed inside the govi.” She turned to face them. “According to the prophecy, the Five seek to claim the dark souls to use their collective power to tear open the veil between life and death, leading an army of monsters for their master.”
“So you have one,” Michael noted. “And the rest?”
“Scattered. Some in Liveside. Most in Deadside. So, this is what I wanted your help with, Dahlia. I am calling upon the favor you owe me to help Michael and me stop the Five.”
Dahlia eyed the govi. “You know, I'm actually considering just doing this for free,” she admitted. “That thing shouldn't be. And I'd rather not find out what a deranged serial killer would do with that kind of power.”
“You may yet find out, unfortunately,” Nettie noted. “Michael, you and Dahlia must journey to Deadside to find the lair of your predecessor. The prophecy is stored there and will provide us with essential information. Jaunty knows the way.”
“Didn't know my predecessor had a lair,” he noted.
“You didn't need one. Better to let it lay fallow and avoid notice,” she remarked, handing him the teddie bear. “Return swiftly. We have much work to do.”
Dahlia sighed as Michael grabbed her hand. “Here we go again.” And then they were gone.
...
Dahlia opened her bleary eyes. Then she sat down on the grass and exhaled.
“Need a moment?” Michael inquired, as he took his sunglasses off.
“Yeah,” she remarked. “You sure it doesn't get better?”
“You get used to it if you do it enough. Don't know if that's exactly better.”
“Maybe. So, should I drop the disguise? I don't see much point in pretending to be human over here.”
“You'll probably scare Jaunty half to death,” he replied. “So be all means, go ahead.”
The adze smirked, before her body warped, bloated and hardened into her inhuman self, just as she had done months prior at the Stormstruck Cliffs. However, as she finished, Michael noticed something that was obviously different. A jagged crack ran along her torso, a scar in her exoskeleton that softly glowed with red light.
Dahlia noticed his stare. “A scar,” she remarked tersely.
“What happened?” the Shadow Man asked. He paused, feeling the sudden weight of her glare upon him.
“I got careless,” she finally stated and began walking off.
Michael followed, deciding that the wisest course of action would be to let the adze keep her secrets. After all, his mission wasn't to investigate his companion.
As the two of them journeyed through the hilly landscape, Dahlia inquired: “Can you drop in closer to Jaunty's gate? Or even at the gate?”
“I could,” Michael replied.
“Then why are we here?”
“Because Jaunty kindly asked me to. The dead usually arrive rather distraught and having a gun-toting revenant suddenly manifest on the scene can set them off,” he explained. “Plus, Jaunty sometimes has company over. Rather awkward to drop in while he's coiling up with someone. So I drop in out here. That way, he'll sense me coming.”
“I guess that...” She paused, then sniffed the air.
“What is it?”
“Blood. And lots of it.”
“Probably just another blood spring then.”
“Just another blood spring,” she echoed mockingly. “I'd give an arm to have a... Actually, I'm also hearing some noise.”
“So am I. Let's go,” Michael remarked.
The two crept over one of the hills towards the sound. Down below, they quickly spotted the source. One of the hills had a rift in it that was pouring blood into a pool, in which sat a group of huddled deadsiders. Surrounding them were several individuals. Most looked feral, their grey limbs lengthened and their sharpened teeth visible. They growled and stalked back and forth, keeping their prey surrounded.
“I remember seeing some of those last time we were here,” Dahlia quietly noted.
“We call them wailers,” Michael explained. “Some of the people who end up here, they just go feral. They become predators, feasting on other deadsiders.” He looked. “Though this pack seems to be corralled by that one.”
The one Michael referred to was another deadsider, wearing thick leather armour and wielding a rusty mace. She seemed to be counting the unfortunates her and her band had surrounded, before exclaiming: “Alright, seven. Excellent. You'll come along or I'll feed you to my pets here.”
“Where a-are you taking us?” one of the huddling deadsiders asked.
“Why do you care? You ain't got much choice,” she replied.
“Unless Jaunty's suddenly got an assistant,” Michael announced, as he stepped down the hill. “I doubt it's your job to take them anywhere.”
The woman whipped around. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I am the Shadow Man, Immortal Voodoo Warrior and...”
“You know what, I don't care. Kill him.”
The revenant sighed, as the wailers charged. He manifested his gun as the first leapt at him, blasting them in their face. They dissolved into red mist which harmlessly washed over him. He reared his fist back and punched the second one to jump at him, knocking their leap off course and sending them clattering across the grass, where they were easily finished off with a gut shot.
A third wailer got in close, swinging their clawed hand. Michael blocked it with his arm, shooting them with the other.
The woman growled in annoyance at her minions getting dispatched. Then there was a very loud thump behind her, accompanied by a pair of pained shrieks and wet crunches. She turned around, only to find that Dahlia had landed on top of her two remaining wailers. “W-who...?”
“I'd introduce my friend here, but I can't imagine you care about that either,” Michael dryly noted.
The deadsider looked from the Shadow Man to the adze, cursing as she raised her mace.
And then the ground under her exploded.
She yelped in surprise, a noise that was suddenly cut short as bands of emerald scales closed around her body.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Jaunty asked. “Another poacher in me backyard. Didn't you read the sign?”
“S-sign?” she managed to reply with much strain.
“Right, right, don't have a sign. Didn't think anybody would be so rude as to go hunt souls 'round here. Pretty stupid move, lassie,” he informed her. “So just remember, when you and your feckless goons pop back out, stay out of me bloody territory.” This was punctuated by a loud series of cracks as he tightened, crushing the woman so hard blood sprayed from her mouth, before he let her flop to the ground. He turned to the deadsiders staring from the pool. “So sorry 'bout that. We've had a wee bit of a pest problem lately. How are y'all doing?”
The deadsiders looked from the skull-headed snake to the giant sharp-toothed mosquito to the man with the glowing eyes. “What's going on?” one finally asked.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but yer all dead,” Jaunty explained. “This here is Deadside, the afterlife. And I'm the gatekeeper, here ta gave ya all a warm welcome. Which normally doesn't involve a bloody gang o' poachers trying to get ya.”
“Oh. I do remember my car getting pushed in front of that truck,” one the newcomers said.
“Yeah. And I... I remember getting crushed when a van slammed into the side of my car,” another said.
“Well, since y'all popped out of the same bloodpool, I figure y'all died from the same thing,” Jaunty mused. “Sounds like quite the nasty traffic accident. Well, once yer all good and ready, head for the Marrow Gate. It's that way,” he explained, pointed with his tail. “And we'll get ye all filled in on the basics of being dead. Now, if you'll 'scuse me.” He turned to the Shadow Man. “Mikey, good to have ya back. Been a while.”
“Sounds like things have been busy on both sides,” he noted.
“All too true.” Jaunty paused. “Anyway, Mikey boy, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a rather large mosquito following ya.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, that's Dahlia,” he explained.
“Ah. I see.”
“You don't seem surprised at all,” the adze remarked.
“Every morning I have to stare at a snake with a tophat in me mirror,” he replied. “I've learnt to roll with the punches.” He paused. “But I admit, when I saw you suddenly drop out o' the sky like an anvil and crush those poor duppies, my heart did skip a beat or two. Anyway, let's get to the gate. Got some info for ya and you've probably got places to be.”
...
As the trio approached the imposing Marrow Gates, Michael began the conversation by asking: “So, Jaunty, what was up with those assholes?”
“Well, you know how it normally is o'er here,” the serpent replied. “Slavers looking ta furnish some wanna be tyrant's household with slaves. Nasty business, looking for naïve newcomers ta bundle up.”
Dahlia snorted, her teeth baring slightly.
“But normally these guys wouldn't dare try to hunt in a gatekeeper's backyard,” Michael noted.
“Normally no. But things, well, they have changed lately. Somebody out there is pushing for bodies. Lots of them. 'Parently, they're offering some big incentives too. So, now these lil' blighters need as many souls as possible and that's making them reckless.”
“Enough so to try and get fresh souls straight from the source,” Michael mumbled.
“So, who's behind this?” Dahlia asked with a hint of menace to her tone.
“Ah, sorry lassie. Don't rightly know,” Jaunty replied. “But I'm looking into it. So, what can I do for the two of ya? Perhaps a glass of whiskey?”
“Agnetta sent me to acquire some items from my predecessor's lair,” Michael explained. “She said you'd know where it was.”
“Ah, that bad is it?”
“So you know something about it?” Dahlia inquired.
“Well, ta be honest, not much. Just that Nettie and Maxim Saint James, the previous Shadow Man, locked up some stuff there. Things she'd want kept secret until an emergency.”
“Well, according to her, apparently we're dealing with the potential end of the world,” Dahlia noted. “So, you know, a big emergency.”
“Sounds like me job's 'bout to become very busy,” Jaunty noted. “Alright, let me send ya both on yer way.” He turned towards the gate, loudly declaring: “Knock, knock”
With a loud creaking the gates opened allowing Michael and Dahlia to step into the dark tunnel.
“Wasn't the codeword Alakazam last time?” the adze asked.
“I think he changes it quite often,” the revenant replied.
“Why, because he's paranoid?”
“Because he thinks he's a comedian.”
The tunnel continued for a while, before letting the duo out in a cave. It was almost cylindrical, rising upwards. Brass braziers set in alcoves cast flickering lights across the stony surfaces, revealing a spiralling pathway upwards. And in the middle in front of them was an altar of stone, a sheet of paper and a stack of cards on it.
“Okay, cool,” Dahlia noted, looking around. “Not quite as grand as I imagined from the lair of the Shadow Man, but still, cool.”
Michael didn't respond as he looked around. He took a deep breath. “And behold, the echo of a generation lost. A hollowed out inheritance haunting the dark, finally brought to the light. New life breathed into old mysteries. And here we stand, to take upon ourselves this enigma, left behind by our predecessors. Like children, we stare in wonder at the relics of old and take up the mantle of our forebearer with reverence.”
“You just can't help yourself, can you?” the adze commented.
“Sorry.”
“No, no, it's fine. It's weird, but also kinda cute.”
Michael didn't respond as he approached the altar, picking up the papers. “If you're reading this, then I am forever gone and a heavy responsibility has fallen to you,” he read aloud. “I, Maxim Saint James, was chosen to be the Shadow Man and to safeguard Deadside from all threats. In the process of this, I have stumbled across a grim prophecy that foretells of the end of days.”
“Ah, here we go. The vaunted prophecy,” Dahlia remarked.
“It has become clear that my part in this is not to overcome it, but merely prepare my inheritor for this duty. And for that, know that I am sorry,” Michael continued to read. “As my strength wanes, I fear that my lair is not as safe as it once was. As such, I have scattered the voodoo artefacts across Deadside. The Shadow Man should have no issue tracking them down.”
“Really? Why wouldn't this be the safest place to store them?” Dahlia asked. “Seems like it's way riskier to spread them around like fucking breadcrumbs.”
“Because if that many voodoo items are gathered in one place, it's going to turn it into a beacon,” Michael noted. “Would make it pretty hard to keep the place hidden.”
“Hmm, point taken.”
The revenant continued to read. “Read and understand the prophecy in the cards and you may yet find a way out of the dark future they promise. I wish you well in your efforts.” He paused, as he put the paper down again.
“Did Nettie ever say what happened to him?” Dahlia inquired.
“No. I just know he wasn't the first to wear the Mask of Shadows,” Michael remarked, touching his chest. “Just like Agnetta wasn't the first priestess. It's a dangerous job.”
“Yeah, but what can kill someone who rules over death?”
“Ain't that the question.” He turned his attention to the cards and picked up the stack. The top one depicted a great, black mass, being torn asunder by several shining beings. He flipped it over and read from the backside. “In the beginning, there was a great nameless evil. And lo, the primordials rose up and smote it in battle. And the great nameless evil was laid low.”
“Great nameless evil,” Dahlia noted. “The thing Nettie mentioned. You know, if I hadn't been close to that damned govi myself, I'd have accused the card of laying it on a bit thick.”
“It does seem a bit ridiculous. But true none the less.” Michael flipped the card over to reveal the next one. It depicted several black stars raining down on the land. “But alas, fragments of the great nameless evil survived. And they rained down upon the world of mortals, tempting the innocent with their dread potential.”
“Dread potential is the right word,” the adze commented.
The next card revealed a hulking monstrosity seemingly made from dead flesh. “And he who was many gathered up the shards of evil. And he made from them a great army.” He paused. “He who was many. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?”
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
He revealed the next card. It showed three blue-skinned barely dressed women.
“Oh, that's my kind of card,” Dahlia commented with a grin.
“Noted.” Michael flipped it to read the backside. “But fortune smiled and the heroes of old bested he who is many and banished him to the dark. And the dark souls were taken from the monstrosities and divided between the world of the living and the world of the dead. And behold, the sisterhood of blood was entrusted to safeguard the dark souls forever more.”
“I'm noticing that there's more cards,” Dahlia commented. “So forever more didn't last that long, huh.”
The next card revealed a figure. He was sharply dressed and could have been mistaken for the quintessential noble gentlemen, if not for his inhuman eyes and the blood pouring from his mouth and down his suit. “And behold, in the age of the men of shadow, the one who is many should return to reclaim the shards of evil and rebirth his dark army.” Michael paused. “Men of shadow, huh.”
“I can see why they changed it to the Shadow Man. Rolls off the tongue better,” Dahlia remarked. “So, that's the guy we're up against?”
“Apparently.” Michael studied the figure. “Looks like he needs a bib.”
“Yeah. My diagnosis is that he has the mother of all gingivitis,” Dahlia added. “So, what next?”
The next card revealed a figure that looked much like Mama Nettie. “And lo, the oracle sensed the spreading darkness and flowing blood. And she called upon the man of shadows of the age.” The next card had two figures depicted, the oracle from the previous card and one that looked eerily similar to Michael. “And the man of shadow came to her. And she sent him as a hero of that age to fight the one who was many.”
“Right. So that's all what just happened.”
“Essentially.” He revealed the next card, which featured a green serpent. “And lo, the man of shadow took the serpent as an advisor and gained much wisdom from him.” He paused.
“We need to inform Jaunty he's supposed to dispense wisdom,” Dahlia snidely remarked.
“He'll probably be as surprised as we are,” Michael agreed, revealing the next card. It showed the man of shadow covered in purple lights. “And lo, the man of shadow took upon himself the power of the dark souls, gaining their strength.”
“I'm sorry, you what?” Dahlia asked. “Is that safe?”
“I doubt it.” He revealed the next card, depicting the man of shadow approaching a dark tower. In the air above hung five symbols, each one identical to one of the symbols of The Five. “So, that's where she's seen them before.” He flipped the card. “And lo, the man of shadow came upon the dark tower, which was the lair of the one who was many and his disciples.”
“So find their home base, kick in the front door. That I can do,” Dahlia noted.
Michael revealed the next card. It depicted the man of shadow lying the ground in obvious agony, the symbols of The Five hanging over him.
They both paused.
“I don't like this one,” Dahlia finally noted.
“Me neither.” Michael flipped it and read: “And behold, the man of shadow challenged the disciples of the five. But under the sun, he was powerless and they struck him down.”
“What, is sunlight your weakness?” Dahlia asked surprised. “Are you a vampire?”
“No. But it is true that my powers weaken during daytime,” Michael replied. “Well, daytime in Liveside. Over here, that's not a concern.”
“I suppose the answer isn't going to be as simple as wait until nighttime.”
“They're probably prepared for that.” He looked at the final card. It depicted the one that was many, sitting on a throne, the dark shards hovering around him. “And lo, he who was many took upon himself the power of the dark souls. And he ruled all that he saw.”
“So, doomed to lose,” Dahlia noted. “Lovely prophecy. But I can't help but notice something.”
“That you aren't mentioned at all,” Michael said. “So, that's Belal's game. He wanted to introduce a new element into the prophecy to change how it would play out.” He looked up at the spiraling path. “Hmm, I wonder...”
“Wonder what,” the adze inquired, as Michael began heading upwards.
“If my predecessor left anything.”
The two began ascending, the Shadow Man walking and the adze hovering in the air. Along the path was the occasional entrance into a room, many of them storerooms with shelves, but others seemed to have had more personal utility, like a kitchen and a bedroom.
And then they came to the top.
Looking inside, Michael saw what he on some level had expected from the beginning.
A govi stood isolated in the dark room, emitting its dread aura.
Dahlia looked at it with visible discomfort. “I know what you're thinking,” she said after a pause. “Are you sure that's a good idea? I know the prophecy said you'd take their power, but that's the same prophecy that said you'd fail.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “But these govi were supposed to seal them away forever. And yet somehow, the one who is many will get hold of them. It might just be the safest place to put them.”
“Inside you? Doesn't sound safe.”
“But it does mean they won't be able to get them all without dealing with us.”
“True. Still...” She sighed. “I just really don't like those things. They're wrong, Michael.”
“On that we agree.” He stepped into the room, examining it. “So, how would one go about opening it?”
“Does it have a lid? Or a seam?”
“No. That would probably be... Too...” He paused, then gently squeezed the govi with his hands. “It's flesh,” he said with dawning realization.
“And?”
He summoned the Shadow Gun and aimed it at the govi. “Flesh I can deal with.” He fired.
In an instant, the govi burnt away, the spikes falling to the ground as what lay within was revealed. Immediately, the uncomfortable atmosphere intensified a hundredfold.
Michael stood paralysed and Dahlia instinctually darted back into the middle of the tall chamber, as they beheld what had been hidden within.
A dark, churning mass hovered in the air, constantly uttering a series of inhuman noises ranging from demented whispers to blood-curdling wails. It snarled and growled, howled and raged, moaned and groaned, all while pulsating tendrils began extending in every direction, each twitching with primordial hunger and lust.
Michael stared at it, before taking a deep breath, willing himself to step towards it.
“Mike!” Dahlia called. “Mike, this seems like a bad idea! MICHAEL, STOP!”
He reached out and touched it.
Pain. Agony. Suffering. Cold as the heart of the void. Hot as the core of the sun. It flowed into him in a ceaseless stream. Emotions he did not think were possible to feel blossomed in his mind. Hatred, rage and malice beyond human comprehension settled into the core of his being. A desire to commit atrocities of unimaginable scope filled his heart, driven by a perverse glee that defied description. For a moment, he didn't just feel able to perform every horror known to man, but also driven to do so, just for the sake of the suffering it would cause.
And then it was over. He was lying on the floor, staring up at Dahlia.
“You okay?” she asked. “How do you feel?”
It took him a couple of times before he could manage to gasp out a wheezy: “Awful.”
“I can imagine. But you seem fine for now,” she remarked with relief. Then she grabbed and pulled him up with a snarl. “BUT YOU WON'T BE WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU! THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?”
Michael hung limply as the angry adze shook him. “Well,” he slowly admitted. “I wasn't. When I released it... I realised we couldn't put it back... And that it was... Too dangerous to leave here... So I... Just grabbed it...”
“Yeah. And do you know what happened next?” Dahlia angrily asked. “You hung in the air, writhing as that entire thing forced its way into your body. And then you fell unconscious. It's been three fucking hours, Mike!”
“Oh.”
“Don't you oh me you braindead zombie!” She exhaled. “I'd smack you, but I'm pretty sure that would just delay us even longer. So if you just get us back to Nettie now, I'll refrain from ripping your head off. Okay?”
Michael made a noise of confirmation, as he clutched the bear in his pocket.
And just like that, the cave was empty again.
...
Nettie looked up from her books, noting that she was no longer alone in the church.
Dahlia shakily put Michael down, before shrinking down into her human guise with a queasy expression.
“What happened?” the priestess asked, as she kneeled down to examine the revenant.
“The idiot absorbed one of those dark shards,” Dahlia remarked. “Did a number on him.”
“As I expected.”
“Expected? What, because of the prophecy?”
“I don't live my life according to divination,” she remarked, as she continued to examine Michael. “But I was aware that it foresaw that he would take on their power. And I could see why. Safer than leaving them around for the Five to find. The Mask of Shadows should allow him to tame the shards and draw upon their power without being influenced by them.”
“And if that doesn't work out that way?”
“Then we're doomed.”
“Delightful.”
“So, now that you've both read the prophesy, what are your thoughts?” she asked, as Michael sat up.
“Well, seems clear cut,” he noted, still a bit raspy. “I'm going to challenge the Five and their boss. But because I'll fight them during the day, I'll lose.”
“So why wouldn't we be able to kill them just because the sun is up?” Dahlia asked.
“Because I suspect that they have found a way to open the govi that does not require the powers of the Shadow Man,” Nettie explained. “And that in turn, each of the Five have been gifted with the power of a dark soul. With that, they'd be immune to conventional weapons and gain access to magic of the foulest sort. But the power of death could release the dark soul from their bodies, much like it can from the govi. However, in Liveside, the Shadow Man only has access to his full powers under the light of the moon.”
“So they'd avoid fighting him at any other time. Makes sense,” Dahlia agreed.
“I also noted that the two of us and Jaunty were mentioned in the prophecy,” Michael continued. “But no word of Dahlia. I figure that Belal wanted to throw off the prophecy by introducing someone else into it.”
“Yes. But there's more to it than that,” Nettie noted, eyeing Dahlia. “If it was just a question of changing the narrative, anyone would do. I think he chose her because he felt she had a way to specifically change the outcome.”
The adze stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”
“I've done my research. On a curious phenomena. Something the Ewe call Tohehe Ɣleti.”
“Punishing Moon,” Dahlia slowly translated.
“Correct. According to some stories, when the adze have been truly offended, it is marked by the appearance of an odd moon.” Nettie explained. “It will appear whether it be day nor night, bearing a different curse depending on its colour. And this phenomenon has also been observed here in the states. Connected to the death of a couple of prominent figures, usually non-human ones. But here's the part that stands out to me.” She crossed her arms. “The punishing moon seen in the US has only ever been red.”
Dahlia stood still, as if having a longer debate with herself. “Alright. I guess we're past deniability,” she noted. “Might as well fill in the gaps. Yes, we older adze can call upon these punishing moons, as they are called. Each one is a different color and is linked to a different one of us. Mine is indeed the red one.”
“As I suspected. And with it, we can turn day to night,” Nettie concluded. “At least, that's the theory I suspect Belal went with.”
“But it might not count as night in that sense,” Dahlia warned her.
“I know. So how about we run a quick test?”
“Don't you think the locals will be freaked out by the sudden appearance of a red moon in the middle of the day?”
“If I cared, I wouldn't have suggested we test out Belal's theory, now would I?”
The adze's mouth became a thin line. “Fine. Said I'd help out however I could, after all. Come on, let's go outside.”
Michael and Dahlia stepped out in front of the church, Nettie watching them from the doorway.
“Whenever you're ready,” the Shadow Man told his companion.
“Trust me, Honey, I'm not the one who needs to get ready,” she commented, raising her arms to the sky.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, slowly swirling, a splotch of red began spreading, eating away at the blue skies. It kept growing, faster and faster like an infection consuming flesh. And then it appeared. Fading into view, a crimson moon manifested, bathing the land below in a baleful light, painting the ground as crimson as those accursed skies.
At once, Michael felt the invigorating rush of power as the Mask of Shadows blazed to life. But at the same time, he also felt a deeply unsettling oppressive force, like a primal part of him was screaming at him to run for cover. He could hear the whimpers of the undead hounds, as they pressed themselves against the tombs, unwilling to expose themselves to the cursed red light. And then he felt something wet on his hands. He raised them, watching as blood began pushing out from his fingernails. He blinked, red tears sliding down his cheeks and the taste of iron filled his mouth as his gums began bleeding.
Dahlia lowered her arms. Up above, the red skies receded from the horizon, returning it to azure hues. The moon faded like mist before the morning light alongside the dreadful feeling it inspired. “Now, personally I'm strengthened by the light of my moon,” she remarked. “Everyone else, not so much.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, wiping his bloody mouth. “Not sure how much I'll be able to fight if I'm going to be falling apart like that.”
“See, that's what I was thinking. Of course, if you stay in the shade, you're a little safer,” she continued, eyeing Nettie.
The Voodoo priestess still looked uncomfortable at the experience. “Yes. Is there any other way Michael may gain protection from your magic?”
“He could sell his soul to me,” Dahlia bluntly replied. “Anyone thus bound to me will share my bond with my moon. But I suspect that train left the station long ago.”
“Only had the one,” the revenant muttered.
Nettie rubbed her chin. “There may still be other ways. I'll need to do research. For now, I suggest the two of you rest. We will need to investigate the Five and their master further tomorrow.”
“And what if we find more govi?” Michael asked.
“It may indeed be for the best that you lock them inside yourself,” she replied. “We cannot allow more of them to fall into their hands.”
“Not looking forward to that,” he admitted, as they entered the church. “Shit's worse than dying.”
“Well, maybe you will get used to that too,” Dahlia offered with a shrug.