《Enlil, the Immortal》


 Prologue: Tricked

    1876, Somewhere in the American Midwest


    It was done. Hanelly repeated that thought over and over to himself. Finally done. Done. Done... Done. It¡¯d seemed impossible to kill that son of a bitch, so¡­ Hanelly smiled and looked up at the trees. Wouldn¡¯t be any more killings now. Not ever. They''d made sure of that with a stick or three of dynamite and about two tons of rock. After what¡¯d been done to Father o''Connell, god rest his soul¡­ Hanelly had almost added more.


    Hanelly knew he was being followed. Buncha fools hadn''t even been quiet about it. He figured they''d picked up his trail somewhere in the forest and been after him since. Gotten close once or twice. Not the brightest men, but your cult types rarely were. Hanelly¡¯d given ¡®em the slip last night, but now he had to cross the plains. There¡¯d be no hiding out there, where any damn fool could see half to the horizon with one eye.


    The horse he''d brought wasn''t cut out for a race. Abigail was a fine girl, but she''d been bred for pullin''. Hanelly wondered if they¡¯d treat her well after they killed him. Even outlaws treated horses with care this far out, so she¡¯d be fine. He gave her a scritch behind the ears and settled in for the few hours he had left in this world. Then he busied himself rolling the two remaining shotgun shells round and round in his hand. "Pair of aces." he said with a chuckle. Abigail snorted at his joke and he scowled at her. She was right though. It wasn¡¯t enough to win at cards, it wouldn¡¯t be enough to keep him alive.


    He''d prayed when he first heard Jim''s voice callin out for him. Pray the crazy bastard had come out here by himself. Then he¡¯d heard Jeb, Jim¡¯s nasty little brother, and figured the trip itself had used all his luck. Between that and his lack of ammo, God seemed eager to talk. "Hopefully about lettin'' me in, hmm?" Abigail ignored him. She¡¯d done a lot of that since he¡¯d run out of carrots. The last of his tack was about gone, so he reached into the saddle hoping to find some jerky he¡¯d missed. No such luck. ¡°Welp, no point going out starved then huh, Abigail?¡±. He led her to a tree with some good shade and a view, and hopped off.


    Even though he¡¯d stopped moving, it was still near evening when they caught him. Near enough he''d started thinking the good lord had sent ¡®em another direction. Maybe had another use for him. Then Jim had come over with that asshole smile of his¡­ So, apparently not. Jim¡¯s boys fanned out around the tree - as if the resigned man with a shotgun on his lap and a hitched horse was going anywhere.


    "Evenin'' Jim." Hanelly said evenly, one hand on the grip and another adjusting his torn hat in a nod. The end of the barrel rested up on his knee, aimed right at the bandit-turned-cultist.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Sheriff..." Jim responded with all the fake warmth of a terrible actor. He ignored the gun trained on him as if it weren¡¯t there. "What a surprise! We been lookin'' for you since Minnesota.¡±


    "That right?" Hanelly raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Mary had probably talked, then. He¡¯d told that boy not to trust a whore to keep secrets. Not that it¡¯d mattered. It wouldn¡¯t have to him at that age either. Mary¡¯d been quite a looker.


    "Of course! We heard you an'' your deputies had come out this way, figured you might get lost. Might need a¡­ a way back to the light, yeah?" Jim''s metal front teeth gleamed in a wicked, satisfied smile at his own joke. "Ain''t that right, boys?" Silence from the others was the only response. Hanelly guessed they''d been out here longer than expected.


    Jim went into one of his pre-killin¡¯ sermons. Talkin¡¯ about the light an¡¯ the lord as if he had insight into such things. Hanelly¡¯d been still on purpose. At this point, Jim probably figured the gun was empty. Figured Hanelly would¡¯ve ran and fought if he had bullets. A stupid mistake. Hanelly squeezed the trigger and both barrels stopped Jim¡¯s final sermon with a loud, echoing bang.


    Blissful silence reigned for a few happy seconds until another shot rang out. Hanelly couldn¡¯t help the groan that escaped. It was all he could do to not let go of his gun. Jeb¡¯d shot him right in the fucking knee.


    ¡°Now now, that wasn¡¯t very neighborly.¡± Jeb said, calmer than you¡¯d think for a man who¡¯d just watched his brother¡¯s face get blown apart. Hanelly didn¡¯t respond. He was doing his best not to scream. Bone was visible somehow and it hurt like hell an¡¯ a half.


    ¡°Tell us where he is Sheriff and save us all an evening.¡±


    ¡°Over. My¡­ dead--¡± Hanelly choked the words out and was interrupted by Jeb opening fire once more. Six rounds later and the Sheriff of Santa Vista slumped hard against the oak, relaxing his grip on the gun. Jeb ran a hand through oily hair and glared at the other outlaws. The fires of hell itself shown from his eyes. ¡°Fan out. Find the rest. The sheriff came here with twenty-seven men. They¡¯re probably holed up somewhere.¡± None dissented, knowing what would happen if they did.


    The outlaws whirled their horses and left the clearing. As they did, a patch of light from the setting sun shone down on the sheriff¡¯s chest. A heartbeat later and Jeb left as well. Behind him, a slow smile spread across the dying man¡¯s face. Hanelly¡¯s last thoughts as his eyes closed were triumphant. He hadn¡¯t talked, he¡¯d taken care of Jim, and he¡¯d sent outlaws on a wild goose chase. They could spend their lives out here and never find ¡®im. Hanelly¡¯s deputies might¡¯ve had loose lips, but they¡¯d died for the cause to a man. They¡¯d done their jobs right. Evil¡¯d never walk these lands again.

 Chapter 1: Evil Walks

    2020, Somewhere in the Rocky Mountains


    The man woke in pure darkness. No light entered the cramped cave-in that was his prison. Not even the faintest glimmer. Opening his eyes meant nothing, so he didn''t bother. Silent and still, he began the morning routine. His routines, devised early on in his imprisonment, were all that kept him sane any more.


    He counted, first to a thousand - then twice more. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division¡­ simple arithmetic wasn''t very interesting, so he''d bumped the problems up a digit every year or so. To keep time, he tapped the stone with a finger. Once that was done, it was finally time to move around.


    The man stood up and began his martial exercises. He''d chosen Tai Chi to start this morning. An old favorite that limbered the body well. Eventually, he ran through all he could remember or practice alone and switched to a new discipline. Then another. And another. After a hundred, he stopped counting. Once he caught himself repeating a discipline - karate this time - he sat down to think.


    Now was the point of the day the man had grown to be wary of. Routine kept a mind sane. It also didn''t require much save that you follow it. Thinking required energy, and an alert mind. It was also when despair could settle in. Where thoughts of loneliness or, worse, food¡­ might settle in and consume him. He didn''t need food, but he missed it greatly all the same. If he wasn''t careful, he could lose himself in such thoughts as he had before. Instead, he hunkered down and reviewed his situation.


    He had tried digging first of course, nothing save hard stone had awaited him. Which rather ruined the excitement of finding dirt on day three. He''d tried breaking the rock, but even his hands were still flesh, blood, and bone. Bone that would never wear down rock, no matter how many times it healed. And he''d tried biting, out of desperation, more than anything. His reward had been a few slivers of¡­ something, coupled with a bloodied mouth and chipped teeth. Hardly effective as digging went.


    Then the earth blasted apart somewhere far below him. Again. The man grinned. Someone had been setting off explosions all over the mountain recently. Someone with one hell of a lot of TNT. Especially if the rumbles that followed were any indication of blast strength. The sounds were the most exciting thing he''d heard in many years. The only thing he''d heard, save for himself, since he''d come here.


    There were three different lines of thought to be had on the development, he decided. The first was practical, the second unlikely, and the third¡­ well, the third was hope and desperation. Plain and simple.


    The first was that the blasts could be construction of some sort. Maybe building a pass through the range or digging for minerals. Using bombs for construction wasn''t exactly a new concept... Might even be efficient given the amount of stone involved. Though it did make the man wonder just how long he''d been in here if civilization had grown so much a road was needed through the Rockies.


    The second idea was as obvious as it was unlikely, war. Frequent explosions on a battlefield were common. It would justify the amounts being used. Here in the mountains though, it was hard to imagine enough troops moving around to be worth the setup. Not to mention the risk of a landslide each time¡­ in the end, he just couldn''t see it.


    The third idea was that the blasts were a rescue operation of some kind. For him, specifically. The man grimaced at the idea, and not for the first time. It was precisely that line of thinking that could drive a man insane. He dare not hope for rescue. Hope could move mountains in songs, but in reality hope alone did spectacularly little.


    ¡­ Which made it all the more surprising when the floor gave out from beneath him and he fell for the first time in more than a century. Great heaps of earth and rocks fell with him, crushing into him from all sides. He was flung downward and out, propelled by boulders that struck him hard enough to pulverize a house. With idle detachment, the man realized he was part of an avalanche.


    After several minutes that passed by with far more bludgeoning than he felt was entirely necessary¡­ the man looked around. Then he blinked, then he laughed until he had to spit the falling dirt from his mouth. Light. There was light over there. Sweet sands of sunset, he could actually see something. It felt like there was light beaming down at him, even though it was only a trickle coming through several feet of rock¡­ The man cherished it as if it were precious water.


    Feeling excitement well up within him, the man began rapidly clawing, pushing, and scrambling toward the light. These were not the unyielding stones of his former cage - no, no. Not in the least! These merciful minerals actually moved when pushed. Not quickly, but several minutes later¡­ he was free. Nearly blinded in the sun and naked as a jaybird in the heat but¡­ free.


    The man sat down where he was, elbows propped up against the rocks he had just pushed aside, and covered his long-unused eyes with bloody hands. Tears fell down his face and he sobbed quietly for a time. Felt the sun on his body. Felt its warmth dry his tears. With closed eyes, he revelled in the heat, the sun, and the smells of a life no longer encased in stone.


    When he finally opened his eyes and looked up, the sky was just as beautiful as he remembered.


    ¡°Hey man, are you al-- Holy shit, Jake! JAKE! Get the boss, there¡¯s somebody over here!¡± A voice echoed through the mountainside. Young. Male. The man, seated at the base of a landslide, could understand the barely bearded boy running over to him. The accent wasn¡¯t one he recognized, though that was hardly surprising.


    ¡°Hey-- you alright? What happened to your clo-- Look, okay, don¡¯t move. The boss has a kit and we¡¯ve got a medic on site. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll --¡± The boy stopped short and froze as the man slowly looked over at him, finally taking his eyes off the sky. Unsurprising. The man¡¯s gaze often had that effect on people. It didn¡¯t hurt that, even weak as he was, he was still 6¡¯11 and - unless he missed his guess - still about 240 lbs.


    ¡°What happened?¡± The boy asked, finally. The man did not respond, choosing to jerk a thumb towards the rocks behind him in answer. As realization dawned on the boy¡¯s face, the man looked over his would-be rescuer. He was wearing some sort of brown uniform, complete with yellow vest and a yellow hat. Short stubble poked out at various spots on his face, his eyes were wide and naive. A kind boy, he guessed from the face, with little real world experience to sour him yet.


    ¡°Shit¡­ you¡¯re lucky to be alive, man. We told people to clear out-- didn¡¯t you hear the alarm? See the signs, maybe? How did you even get up there? How are you alive?¡± Again the man felt no need to respond, so he didn¡¯t. Instead, he chose to stand as others rushed up. ¡°Wh-woah, I think you should probably sit man, if you got hit in the he--¡± The boy stopped as an angry voice blustered up the hillside.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°WATSON! WATSON!! Where the hell did that boy get to now. WATSON! If I climbed this damned hill for nothing we¡¯re using your bones to dig tomorrow, boy!¡±


    ¡°Boss-- Boss! We¡¯re over here!¡± said Watson, turning to wave at the portly man with a stitched red cross on the bag slung over his shoulder. ¡®Boss¡¯ as he was called came jogging over at a decent pace for a man his size, followed far behind by what was presumably Jake.


    ¡°He¡¯s not talking, Boss, I think he hit his he--¡±


    ¡°Of course he hit his head, look at all these rocks! Now¡­¡± Boss dropped the bag from his shoulders, reached inside, and placed a clear container on a nearby rock. It was a standard department store-issue medkit on the outside, but had considerably more on the inside. As if someone had decided to stop buying more kits and just start shoving new supplies into the old kit. ¡°How many fingers am I holding up?¡±


    The examination, by both Boss and the medic who¡¯d come running up shortly after, was over almost before it began. The man had no injuries. None. Despite being covered in bloody dirt at the base of an avalanche. Boss and the medic shared a look, then went back to report the incident to the police and a search party was formed to find whatever poor soul or souls might have been caught as well. Watson took the man known as Enlil to what appeared to be a round train car made out of tin and left in the dirt. The boy called it the ¡®site operations trailer¡¯.


    Watson brought over a spare work outfit, complete with boots, from the storage. "These are kinda dirty and haven''t been washed in a while, but it''s better than nothing. Here. I''ll grab you some coffee, how do you like it?" "Black." Enlil responded, as he put on his first clothes in over a century. The gear was scratchy, dirt covered, and wet in the legs for some reason¡­ but clothes they were.


    ¡°Where¡­¡± he said, when Watson brought over the coffee, ¡°Am I?¡± He took an appreciative inhale of the aroma - in this moment, it smelled better than a woman ever had. Black, no sugar or milk, and made fresh from the best bulk coffee bags the company could buy at $1.24/dozen¡­ in other words, liquid heaven.


    "You''re smack in the middle of the new highway the governor commissioned through the Rockies. Supposed to have a number assigned, but it keeps changing. I''ve been callin'' it Rocky Road." Watson said it with a grin, clearly hoping for a response. Enlil didn''t catch the reference, but he twitched his mouth up into a semblance of a smile anyway. Couldn¡¯t hurt to encourage the lad bringing him coffee after all.


    ¡°So what brought you out he--¡± Bullets sprayed through the thin metal lining of the trailer, interrupting Watson. One struck him in the leg and he fell, screaming. Enlil upended the desk in front of him, covering the boy from the incoming fire. Looking around, there were a few metal cabinets. He added those to the pile in front of Watson, moving each as quickly as he could. Watson was crumpled over, holding his leg and moaning as Enlil moved. The gunfire stopped just as he was pushing over the final cabinet. He leaned down and pushed a finger to the boy¡¯s mouth to silence him. Then he stopped, closed his eyes, and listened.


    The voice of the medic could be heard faintly, as boots approached the trailer. ¡°Are you sure about this, sir? Watson was in there, he mi--¡±


    ¡°Quiet.¡± Said another man in a low, cold response. ¡°Watson¡¯s replaceable. Even if you¡¯re wrong, we¡¯ll say he died in the avalanche. There are many things that can survive rockfall without injury, few of them care for bullets. Now finish reloading and prepare to keep firing on my signal. I¡¯ll tell you when to stop.¡± Then, the man raised his voice. ¡°Whatever you are, I¡¯d prefer not to destroy my own property any more than I have to. You can either come out and be civil, or we¡¯ll riddle the trailer with bullets until my men return with the bombs. You have five seconds to come out slowly. Five--¡± the man began counting down.


    Watson¡¯s eyes went wide, fear and tears filling his eyes in equal measure. Enlil brought his finger to his own lips this time and made a calming gesture with his other hand. Then he strode over to the front door and opened it. Bullets ripped into him immediately, tearing dozens of holes into the overalls Watson just gave him.


    Enlil closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Pain was no stranger to him, though it had been a while since he¡¯d felt it. His body felt like it was on fire, nerve endings screaming. Enlil almost smiled as the firing stopped and his wounds closed rapidly. As he started walking down the steps towards the gunmen the two in the rear took an uncertain step back. Fear. He¡¯d missed being outside.


    The medic from before and the one Watson had called ¡®boss¡¯ watched in growing horror as bullets fell from Enlil¡¯s body down to the ground. In front of them was a slender man of middle age. Dressed in a dark suit and holding a black rifle of some sort he looked irritated, but not afraid. Arrogant, even. Red eyes flashed over the blue that had been there before. Only for a second, but Enlil caught it. Combine that with the faintest odor of sulfur¡­ Demon. Must be low-ranking or young to still be using a gun. Enlil walked towards him and stopped about ten paces away.


    ¡°Has the meaning of civility changed?¡± Enlil asked, without a hint of anger as he watched his right hand push a bullet out of the bone and seal itself. ¡°I could have sworn shooting your fellow man was considered rude.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re no man.¡± Spat the slender gentleman as he dropped the rifle and reached around to the rear of his suit to grasp the handle of something.¡°What are you? Undead? One of the walkers? We have a treaty in place with the Bone Council. Leave at once or die here.¡± The two behind him looked at their companion as if he¡¯d grown horns. ¡°U-undead?¡± sputtered the ironically nicknamed ¡®Boss¡¯. ¡°What the hell IS he?¡± asked the medic at the same time. Humans, then. And apparently unaware of who or what they were working for.


    Enlil dismissed them. Normals who had no awareness of their supernatural superiors weren¡¯t uncommon. Draeg had called it a short-sighted way to run things. Underlings who were properly prepared for the world lasted longer, he¡¯d said. ¡®Invest in power, gold, and people¡¯ was his draconic friend¡¯s favorite motto to parrot at him. Demons on the other hand tended to view humans in their employ as little more than fodder. It was¡­ distasteful.


    The demon took Enlil¡¯s musing silence as disrespect. With a whipping motion, he yanked a silver dagger from a sheath in the small of his back. The two behind him backed up further. ¡°Fine. Death it is then.¡± The demon launched himself forward in a slicing motion, no doubt counting on the prodigal strength of his race to cut his foe wide open.


    Instead, Enlil¡¯s hand erupted through the back of the man¡¯s throat. Black blood flew everywhere, sizzling the ground where it touched. The dagger dropped to the ground. ¡®Boss¡¯ and the medic - who had never given his name, now that Enlil thought about it - turned and ran. ¡°H-how¡­?¡± The demon was struggling, hands grasping vainly at Enlil¡¯s forearm. Not that it¡¯d do it any good, a hole through the neck meant he¡¯d be back in the Pit soon.


    Enlil lifted the head off its body as the demon shrieked. Then he stared into the flickering red eyes as they slowly faded. Once the light had gone out, he placed the head on the ground and grabbed the silver dagger. With a deft stroke, he impaled the skull up to the weapon¡¯s hilt and left it there. Enlil bit his thumb and, with some practical strokes, his work was done. Not his cleanest banishment, but it¡¯d serve. He headed back to the trailer. Behind him, boiling blood the color and consistency of pitch oozed from the decapitated body as it sunk into itself.


    Enlil entered the trailer and called out ¡°Watson, are you alright? How¡¯s your le--¡±. He stopped speaking when he looked behind the desk. Watson was gone. There was an open window on the trailer¡¯s rear wall. Well, shot open, but open. Blood marked the windowsill. Enlil sighed.


    There was a loud horn sound from the side of the trailer. Enlil left the trailer and saw a metal contraption of some sort with wheels. Watson was inside it. ¡°Get in!¡± Shouted the boy. ¡°I¡¯m getting the fuck out of here. $10/hour ain¡¯t worth this shit!¡± Enlil walked to the other side of the contraption, clasped the handle, and got in. ¡®Like a carriage, then?¡¯ The contraption jumped backwards, wheels flinging rock into the air. Surprised, Enlil¡¯s face slammed into the dashboard. ¡°Sorry! I-- get your seatbelt on. I¡¯m getting us the fuck out of here.¡±


    Enlil straightened up and braced himself properly as the contraption switched directions, turned, and shot forward onto hardened black earth. He looked at the strap holding Watson in, then located one near him. He pulled it, but saw nowhere to ti-- ah, it¡¯s an insert. He shoved the clip into the metal clasp and then looked behind as the construction site faded behind them. The world had changed quite a bit, it seemed. And yet, he glanced at his pitch-covered hand, at least some parts remained the same.

 Chapter 2: One Hell of a Monday

    Detective Kerrigan Saints rubbed the sides of her temples with her hands as her workstation booted up. The 52nd precinct was always loud. Phones going off, perps getting walked in or out of jail, and then there was the construction¡­ The mayor had decided to make renovations a part of his re-election campaign promises during a close race for office. Now, three years later, he was actually following through. So, Saints got to add the fun sounds of large machinery doing whatever-the-fuck during her morning routine. Sounds that were now doing wonders for the headache she¡¯d woken up with. Wonders armed with angry cymbals.


    Sergeant Jeffords dropped a folder on her desk just as she finished swallowing the headache meds she kept in her desk drawer. "Good job on that Browns¡¯ case. Pity it didn¡¯t keep you long, but a thief is a thief I guess¡­ Still need your paperwork finished up though."


    "First item of the day, Sergeant." She promised with false vigor, unable to look up without completely compromising her ¡®enthusiasm¡¯ for the pencil pushing ahead of her this morning. The Browns¡¯ case had been your standard ¡®My parents didn¡¯t give me everything so I stole all their shit¡¯ spoiled brat. The funny part of it, to her at least, had been when she discovered about five minutes in that he somehow hadn¡¯t realized his parents had installed a door camera since the last time he pulled the same trick. Hardest part of ¡®solving it¡¯ had been tracking him down.


    Criminals were dumb sometimes. Some of her colleagues, understandably, didn¡¯t mind. But she hadn¡¯t gone through years of training to catch the easy ones, even if they did make her job easy. The problem with criminals like the Browns¡¯ son was simple. Arresting him was pointless. She¡¯d bet every dollar in lockup right now that his parents were going to forgive him¡­ again. They¡¯d drop the charges sometime right before the actual trial, unless Saints missed her guess. Conveniently, no doubt, right after she¡¯d filed all this useless paperwork.


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve got something better for you to start with. The 53rd is overworked and they¡¯re requesting we send someone over to handle a murder up in the new pass. Right up where they¡¯re building that new highway.¡± Jeffords handed her a department notepad with the address jotted down.


    Saints¡¯ mouth twitched at the corners. ¡°The 53rd? Overworked? After those stoners passed the new drug laws?¡± She¡¯d watched the voting with amused interest, as had most of the non-hardliner cops on the force in Colorado City. Potheads hurt nobody, generally, so the only people who cared about locking them up these days were politicians and the old guard officers. The 53rd¡¯s captain happened to be one of them, even if all he nailed them on was an ounce over the legal carrying limit. ¡°Color me surprised.¡± She drawled as she took the notepad and peered at it. Jeffords snorted in response.


    ¡°Yeah, well¡­ It¡¯s still our duty to help, so take a car and get moving. Solve this for them quick and I¡¯ll put in a good word. Maybe get you off the captain¡¯s bad side.¡± Saints winced at that, but nodded. A good word from Sergeant Jeffords could help after the cluster of crap her last murder case had been. The drive over would probably help her headache, too. Seeing she got the message¡­ Jeffords left. She stood up as he did, grabbed her gear and gun, and walked out of the precinct. Minutes later Saints was speeding down the highway towards the mountains.


    A pale-faced patrolman was the first to greet her as she arrived. He looked¡­ sick. Like a man who had just tossed his lunch and wasn¡¯t entirely sure breakfast was far behind. The man even had some dribble still on his uniform, right on the nametag. ¡°You alright, man?¡± She asked cautiously as she stepped out and shut the door. The 53rd handled mostly small time thefts and petty drug dealers these days...  but they were still cops. Movies be damned, cops don¡¯t toss up food like that at murder scenes. Not after their first grisly one, anyway. Maybe this was his.


    ¡°Y-yeah. You the detective?¡± Saints nodded, looking him over. His shoes were covered in mud and yellow chunks. Cornflakes? ¡°Good¡­ Good. I¡¯m uh¡­ gonna go report in, then. I¡¯m not cut out for this wackjob cult-killer bullshit.¡± And with that, the patrolman - whose nametag had been covered by the dirt on his uniform - jumped in his car. Saints shook her head, more out of commiserating pity for the man than anything. She¡¯d have to speak with him, get a statement later, but she didn¡¯t stop him now. Everyone had been there before and if the crime scene ahead really was that bad, even his buddies wouldn¡¯t blame him. First time was always a free pass.


    As he rounded the bend, the evidence crew started to arrive. Time for her to get to business, then. Saints pulled her necklace badge out for display, greeted the crew, then headed up the hill with them. When they got to the top a few witnesses in brown uniforms were being interviewed by a slightly older cop whose lunch had apparently stayed down. She didn¡¯t recognize him either, but that was hardly surprising. She gave him a questioning look and he pointed his pen further up without interrupting the witness. Once she crested the hill¡­ no further directions were needed. And it became immediately obvious as to why greenhorn cop had been so eager to leave.


    The hillside was fucked. A bullet-ridden trailer rested on blown out wheels next to a gravel lot. Two white ¡®Redemption Road¡¯ company trucks sat beside it with the R&R symbol prominently displayed. The tires of both were shot out. Those weren¡¯t too out of the norm for a murder scene. What was however, was about 20 feet in front of the trailer. A smoking black mess of melted rock and mud lay there in the sun. In the center was an adult-sized mass of melted human flesh complete with protruding skeleton. A headless skeleton. The corpse¡¯s skull was about a foot away from the body, face down in the mud and impaled by thin, smoking metal. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Beyond that horror show, just a short way up the dirt road, an avalanche of rocks had crashed over most of the north side of base camp. Upended, smashed machinery could be seen poking out amongst the rubble.


    ¡°Mother of God.¡± Saints breathed, surveying the scene. As she did, a tall, corporate-looking man in a tan suit with the R&R company logo walked over, his expression a practiced neutral. She turned towards him as he got closer. ¡°Detective Saints. Colorado Springs PD. Are you the site foreman?¡± she asked, falling in to her interrogation tone as she did.


    ¡°No, he was¡­ caught in the rocks, we think.¡± The man replied gently, gesturing with one hand in the direction of the avalanche. ¡°We¡¯re not sure. Waiting on the rescue team to say for certain. They should be here any minute. Waiting on them before we reach out to family.¡±


    ¡°Volunteers or city?¡± she asked, pulling a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket.


    ¡°Neither, we have our own teams. They¡¯re trained for just this sort of thing.¡± The man peered at her badge for a moment, curiously. ¡°I hope that¡¯s alright, detective? The city said it would be at least a few hours before anyone could respond. Said they¡¯re busy responding to lost hikers at the incline.¡±


    Saints groaned internally. The captain wouldn¡¯t appreciate her authorizing a break in protocol, but if lives were on the line then there was no choice. ¡°That¡¯s fine, just tell them not to disturb the scene. This whole area, really.¡± She gestured with both hands at the space containing the trailer, the smoking black mess, and the parking lot. ¡°And if they see anything unusual while on the search, I want to be notified of it immediately.¡±


    ¡°Of course. One moment, detective.¡± He said, then lifted his wristwatch and tapped it a few times. ¡°We¡¯ve been authorized to proceed. Keep away from the trailer and report anything out of the ordinary to the on-site officer immediately.¡±


    ¡°Understood, coming in now.¡± came the voice on the other side of the call. As if on cue, a helicopter came into view in the distance, headed for where the avalanche had started. Saints was impressed. Apparently R&R took company safety more seriously than she¡¯d thought. Or someone higher up was aware of the pending PR disaster. Still, they were here. Gift horses and mouths and all that.


    Saints turned back to the man, hoping to get some clues out of him while she waited on evidence to work their magic. To their credit, the crew that¡¯d shown up right behind her was already busy setting up. Interviewing gave her something else to focus on besides the stench of death rising off the body, so that was nice. ¡°Alright. Let''s start with your name. Who are you and what do you know about what happened here?¡±


    "Leonard. Leonard Black." He replied curtly. "I''m Redemption Road''s project manager for this highway¡­ as well as other projects in the area"


    "Were you here when¡­ any of this happened, Mr. Black?" She asked, mentally noting how calm the man seemed despite the situation. Cool as a cucumber in front of a cooling, melted corpse. Didn¡¯t appear to be Mr. Black¡¯s first brush with death today, then.


    "No. I was called by our site supervisor when demolition reported the unforeseen, and unfortunate, effects of the blast." He responded smoothly. Saints raised an eyebrow and glanced at the rocks piled up down the mountain. Unforeseen and unfortunate indeed. Hell of an understatement. A political guy, then. Hoping to do damage control already, no doubt.


    "Uh...huh." she said, unimpressed by the distancing play Mr. Black was attempting. "And did your site guy have anything to say about the trailer, the spent rounds, or the corpse over there? Let me guess, unforeseen and unfortunate?"


    Mr. Black¡¯s lips pursed in distaste. His eyes narrowed slightly at the edges, but the annoyance was gone from his face almost as soon as it appeared. "I am told my people were attacked by some sort of raving lunatic armed to the teeth. According to my foreman, it is also possible he may have been responsible for the unfor¡ª regrettable incident caused by the blast. He fled the scene with his co-conspirator shortly afterward."


    That got her attention. "Fled the scene? When? In what?" she asked, wondering why nobody had mentioned this crucial bit of information earlier.


    Mr. Black pointed to a spot in the parking lot where rocks had been turned up into several small holes. ¡°They stole one of our trucks to escape. Slashed or shot the tires from the rest.¡±


    ¡°GPS?¡± she asked, her mind racing ahead to review vehicles she had seen on the way up. There had been several white trucks, but given the area, that hadn¡¯t exactly been suspicious. Had she passed right by the ones who¡¯d done this?


    ¡°Of course. Though without knowing which truck it was, I can¡¯t tell you where it is. We have about twenty in the area. The checkout logs that could tell you, however, are inside the trailer.¡± Mr. Black nodded his head towards the bullet-soaked portable building.


    Saints stared at the man in disbelief at that. Then she put her pen away and put a hand on her gun. ¡°Has anyone cleared the building?¡±


    ¡°The first responders did, yes.¡± Saints relaxed the grip on her gun, but her temper was still bubbling up. She started to jog towards the trailer. ¡°Wait here, I¡¯ll go get them. Then you and I¡¯ll see if we can¡¯t find that truck.¡± With that, she left the man behind, passing the smoking corpse as she went.


    The interior of the trailer was all bullets and brown, tasteless office furniture. Most of it upended in the middle of the room, angled towards the door. Long score marks trailed from one corner of the room to where a metal filing cabinet lay on its side, filled to the brim with paperwork. Strange, but not her immediate concern. Moving quickly, she found the checkout log near the upturned desk - right next to a bloody section of cheap carpeting. ¡°Why the hell didn¡¯t you start with this?¡± she muttered under her breath as she grabbed it. ¡°Fuckers could be halfway to hell by now.¡±

 Chapter 3: The Rule of Law

    ¡°Two coffees, if you please. And a triple stack for myself, all fixings on the side.¡± Enlil asked politely, sliding onto the bar stool and placing a twenty dollar bill the boy had given him on the counter.


    ¡°Of course, dear.¡± The waitress, Jenny, took the order with a warm smile. ¡°How about your son out there? If you¡¯re orderin¡¯ to go, he looks like he could use a bite.¡± She inclined her head towards where Watson sat in the truck, leaning on one arm draped over the open window. Enlil had wrapped the boy¡¯s leg up with some rags they¡¯d found in the back but¡­ that hadn¡¯t done much for the pain. There¡¯d been some ''painkillers'' in a compartment up front, but it clearly wasn¡¯t cut out for actual pain. He¡¯d refused alcohol too, claiming driving with a busted leg while drunk would get them both-- well, him, killed.


    Food would do the boy good. Help him replace some of what he¡¯d lost. ¡°He¡¯ll have the same.¡± Enlil responded. Jenny nodded and walked off. The only other lunchtime patrons of Denny¡¯s were two burly looking men dressed in jeans and flannel. They paid him little mind as he waited, choosing instead to whisper back and forth to one another.


    It didn''t help. Enlil''s hearing had always been supernaturally good. A century of silence had only made his ears more sensitive. Every sound felt amplified many times over. The gunfire from before had been painful, disorienting even. A lesser man would''ve fallen to his knees. As far as hearing these two however? They may as well have been shouting, but it wasn''t painful.


    "She woke up when we stopped." Whispered the smaller of the two.


    "Shut. Up. Ned." Responded the one whose face was marred with deep scars.


    "What if she screams, then? What do we say if someone asks?" Asked Ned, with strands of hysteria weaving into his voice.


    "She''s gagged. She''s wrapped. She¡¯s in the van. Walls are lined. Ain''t nobody listening. Now... Eat your damn eggs and if you open up again I''ll open you up. Got it?"  Pickup¡¯s in ten, then we¡¯re done.¡± Scarface whispered his not-so-subtle threats with what sounded like a napkin to his face.


    ¡°Bu--¡± Ned began, but was cut off by a gesture. With his back turned, Enlil couldn¡¯t see it, but he could imagine a few that might serve.


    Listening in was, well, had been a past time of his. It had helped him catch a lot of leads, not to mention improve his language skills wherever he traveled. It was always astounding the things people would just¡­ say. Right out in the open. Especially if they didn¡¯t think anyone was listening. This was doubly true when food was about, in his experience.


    Jenny returned with his food before he could get lost in reminiscing. It was presented in a thin plastic bag with boxes inside that smelled thick of hot pancakes and melted sugar. Might be a touch of honey, too. And was that¡­ butter?


    Enlil told her to keep the change, as Watson had suggested, then left. He didn¡¯t spare a glance for the other two. He¡¯d see them shortly. For now, he needed to ask the boy what a ¡®van¡¯ was and where he could find it.


    ¡°Here. Eat. It will give you something to focus on.¡± Enlil walked up to the driver¡¯s side and the bag to Watson. He hadn¡¯t cared much for the truck after the boy had slammed his head into it, but he¡¯d gotten over that. These ¡®vehicles¡¯ seemed to be everywhere. Which wasn¡¯t much of a surprise given they were faster than any horse he¡¯d ever ridden. Hadn¡¯t seen any of those either, come to think of it. A question for another time, he figured.


    ¡°Hmph?¡± Watson had his shirt bunched up in his mouth and was holding his leg. The boy was doing his best not to look as bad as he obviously felt. Looked like some of the adrenaline was wearing off. Watson looked at the bag, then gave Enlil a confused look. He didn¡¯t reach for the pancakes. ¡°Ibm finme.¡± he sputtered through the cotton. ¡°Need. Docthor.¡±


    ¡°I told you the shirt would help.¡± Enlil said nonchalantly as he opened up bag and started pinching off bits of pancake. It was all he could do not to weep in happiness at the taste. ¡°You said the doctor isn¡¯t far, right?¡± Watson nodded and sank back into the driver¡¯s seat some more.


    ¡°And you trust him?¡± Another nod. Satisfied, Enlil put the box on the top of the truck¡¯s ¡®bed¡¯ as the boy had called it. It would serve as a pancake counter just fine. Before he started in on them in earnest, he checked the boy again. Sweaty and pale, but otherwise fine. Enlil returned to his meal as he kept an eye on the diner.


    A few customers went in, they had arrived in more of the smaller vehicles the boy hadn¡¯t given him a specific word for yet. Seems every new shape of ¡®vehicle¡¯ had one. He was just polishing off his fourth pancake when the door opened again. Scarface and Ned, one slick and the other clearly scared, walked out towards a larger vehicle he didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°Watson?¡± He asked in a casual tone, pinching off his first piece of the fifth pancake as if it weren¡¯t the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Thank the sands for the syrup he¡¯d found after pancake #2. And the butter. ¡°Is a ¡®van¡¯ just another word for a large car?¡±


    There was silence for a moment, and he checked on the boy just in case. Still breathing, but asleep. Probably for the best. Enlil closed the lid on the pancake box, set it inside the ¡®bed¡¯ - still not believing it was called that - and headed towards the van after the two men.


    They didn''t notice him walking up, which didn''t surprise Enlil in the least. Neither had seemed overly bright earlier. Being silent, contrary to folklore, didn''t usually require a change in stance. Foot placement and control were more important. And timing. Footfalls land at the same time as your prey. Simple stuff. To an observer, he was just walking. To Ned and Scarface, he might as well be a ghost.


    Muffled screaming caught his ear from inside the van and sealed the mens'' fate. Saved him the trouble of verifying.


    Enlil caught up with Ned just as the man was climbing in the passenger side door. An arm from behind and around the neck cut off Ned''s vocal cords. A quick twist and a crack and the man crumpled to the ground facing the wrong direction. Enlil climbed into the van''s cramped front seat and closed it behind him as he did.


    Scarface was still processing what had just happened when Enlil turned to face him. To his credit, he recovered quickly and reversed direction to exit the vehicle before he could meet the same fate.


    "No." Said the man who had just killed his partner. That one word held a world of violence. Scarface stopped moving immediately. Not because he was scared, he was, but the manl had his right arm at a strange angle. His body refused to move any further, overwhelming his brain with pain signals and warnings.


    With a sickening crack the 200-something lb man cried out in pain as his weight and the tautness of his arm were used to break it at the elbow. Pained swearing and tears followed. Then Enlil pulled again and scarface was forced to follow his arm back into the car. A whimper that sounded vaguely like "please stop" was all he managed as his last words. A heartbeat later and the struggling stopped. The van''s other door was pulled shut.


    Inside, Enlil undid the ropes holding the bound girl. They were less knots it seemed than just an excess of rope wrapped round and round. Her eyes were wide and tearful as she watched him. She''d been in the back, rolled against the door and watching the front when he came in. Heavy bruising on her forehead told him she''d tried to bang the door open. A fighter, then. Good.


    When the ropes went slack she quickly pushed herself away from him. Enlil made no move to follow. Instead, he slid the knife he''d found on the dead man up front towards her. She grabbed at it immediately and pointed the sharp end towards him. Hard to blame her. He might do the same, though her grip was too loose for it to be effective. Poor circulation would do that.


    Rather than come closer, Enlil pantomimed cutting a gag similar to hers near his own face. Then, he waited. After a wary heartbeat or two, she put the knife between the rope and her face, blade out, and started sawing. They''d tied the knot end into her mouth then covered it with some sticky, silver fabric. He figured removing it herself would give her will to live some of its flame back. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    When the rope gag fell, she started coughing. Enlil remained still, sitting with his hands on his knees to keep a nonthreatening posture. He gave her a moment to recover, but no more. time was of the essence.


    She couldn''t be older than sixteen. Whatever clothes she''d been wearing had been torn several times and there was dried blood on her knees, legs, and arms. "Young lady." Enlil said quietly, causing her to freeze and the knife to flash back towards him. "Is the door behind you locked?"


    Panic welled up in her eyes once more, answering his question. Before it could take over, he interrupted her train of thought. "I believe the fastest way out is through the passenger door behind me." He pointed a thumb behind him and moved to behind the driver''s seat slowly. "Ignore the body, he is dead." He said simply, without remorse.


    The girl watched him with blue eyes twinged with desperation. Desperation only found in those on the cusp of escaping life or death situations. She was checking to see if he was lying, he realized. Enlil might have saved her, but life had taught her a harsh truth. That one act did not automatically make him her savior. So, she would attack him if she thought she had to. Very good.


    Enlil spoke to her calmly, like one must to any cornered animal. "I will not stop you. Contact the sheriff. Go home. But¡­ before you leave, I have an offer for you."


    The door to the truck slammed shut, waking Watson with a start. "Holy s-- Enlil! Oh... fuckfuckfuck... my leg. Wait, was I asleep?"


    "Yes." Enlil buckled his seatbelt as he''d been shown earlier. A simple trick. Click the strap into the strap box. If only chariots had had these. On his lap rested the final pancake. He''d smothered it in all of the remaining syrup and butter. It was drenched in glorious sugar and fats. Before he bit in, he glanced at the boy. Watson was staring at him and the boxes. "I think the pills are kicking in¡­ was one of those for me?"


    Enlil paused, unwilling to relinquish his prize.  "We should go. You need that doctor." He said simply, then began eating his sugar-mush with the tiny, spiked spoon it had come with.


    Watson''s eyes focused on the pancakes in confusion for a second, but then he nodded. "Yeah¡­ yeah. Doctor. Right. Son of a¡­ does it hurt this bad every time you g--"


    "Every time." Enlil answered, before the boy could finish. "Watch the... road, now. Closely. You showed me how to drive this, but I imagine it''s still a bit different from driving cattle."


    Watson''s weak laughter filled the truck as it peeled out of the parking lot. Behind them, a crowd had begun to form around a young girl with grimy clothes. Jenny led her into the diner, covered in her jacket. Some were gathering around the van. The girl did not look back, and soon, they were on the highway.


    Watson waited a good ten minutes later to speak up. When he did, his knuckles were gripping the wheel tightly enough to go white. "Traffickers?" He asked, in a quiet voice.


    "I do not recognize that word." Enlil responded, watching amused as other vehicles sped past his window.


    "Those men. Back there. I saw you in the rearvie-- in the mirror over here. You killed them." Watson stated simply. "Were they demons, too?"


    "No." Enlil said, turning to face the boy. "They were only human."


    "You said¡­ you killed demons." Watson glanced at his passenger as he said so.


    "I do. Among other things." Responded the man who had just slain two men in broad daylight discussing it as if it were the weather. The man now sitting in his car.


    "Other things?" Watson asked as he swerved to get back in his lane. The medicine was making it hard to focus on more than one thing, but this seemed important.


    "Yes. Supernatural things, mostly. Other times, people who break Laws." Enlil placed special emphasis on that last word, intoning it as if it meant something more.


    "And what¡­ law¡­ did they break?" Asked the boy who was losing blood and now confidence in his decision to bring this stranger back home with him.


    "Enslavement. Possibly others, but that was the only one I needed to hear." Enlil spoke calmly, gauging the boy''s reaction. Watson had asked him for the Reveal, had the existence of supernatural forces proven undeniably already, and was doing rather well with it so far. Since they had driven off the pass, they had been exchanging information whenever the boy could grit through his pain.


    Watson, for his part, remained silent after that.  He wasn''t dumb. He had seen the crowd gathering around the girl when they drove off. That girl was probably who Enlil was referring to. It also meant they had just fled a murder scene for the second time that day, in a stolen vehicle. A stolen vehicle he would bet money had been captured on video by someone with a camera at the diner.


    The boy rubbed his head with one hand, his headache increasing in response to his thoughts. Father Bryan would not like this. Not even a little. Hopefully, he wouldn''t turn them in when he found out. He''d say ''if'', but his experience with the man inclined him to believe he''d put the pieces together from the news alone. Better to be honest. Confession time¡­ here we come. Those were secret, right?


    Watson could see it now. Sitting in the confessional for the second time this week. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It''s been¡­ three days since my last confession. My new friend here killed some demons and a few pedos. We''re on the run and the cops probably think I''m involved. Mind if we stay with you?" Father Bryan had forgiven Watson for a lot, but¡­  he suspected this might be pushing it. Still, he only knew one church around here with a ward that would treat gunshot wounds with no questions asked. So, off to Saints Row it was.


    Saints Row was a lonely road near the airport where the city''s criminal dirt-poor lived. Each ''house'' was little more than a trailer without wheels. It had one church in the middle, two or three unreported shootings a week, and was avoided by anyone who didn''t absolutely have to be there. Patrol cars came by in pairs, if they came at all.


    Watson parked several houses away from the church, left the keys in the ignition, and rolled all the windows down. Windows down didn''t just mean you were far too trusting to live here. It meant the vehicle was up for grabs. First come first serve. Keys in the ignition meant the car was hot. Stolen. The truck still had half a tank though. So he figured it would be gone roughly the second they were far enough away that one of the tweakers thought they could jump in. Which was exactly what he wanted. He''d made sure to explain that to Enlil before they arrived, just in case ''stealing'' was a Law he would kill someone over.


    Our Heavenly Father Cathedral was the barest step up of a building from the rusted trailers on either side of it. It had four wooden walls made by an abundance of 2x4s with tarp for weatherproofing. An unwieldy makeshift steeple sat up top, made from wood and held together against the weather by prayer. In the rear yard was an additional structure, sturdier than the other, that had been built by Father Bryan when he took over. A normal person might call it a shed, which wouldn''t be far off.


    It was in this shed, with it''s out of place expensive solar paneling and portable generator, that the pastor lived. The equipment had been a gift from the Montesori crime family, and even the most desperate junkie wouldn''t dare touch it. Not after what had happened to One-Eye, the poor bastard.


    The shed also happened to be where Father Bryan tended to the injury-inclined of his flock. Ignoring the church up front, Watson limped his way through the trimmed weeds and raked rocks towards the shed with Enlil in tow. The later gave the makeshift church and its steeple a long, guarded look before stepping on the property.


    Watson rapped on the door twice, then once, then twice again. Inside, shuffling could be heard and then Father Bryan answered the door. He was a man of average height and an athletic build. Dressed in a simple set of scrubs, he bore the face of a good looking man deep into his twenties, with kind eyes. Those same eyes rapidly bounced from Watson to Enlil before settling on Watson''s injured and bloody leg.


    "Come in, Watson, and sit down." Beckoned the man, standing aside and pointing at a folding chair placed in the middle of a modest room. "What happened?" He asked, with the practiced tone of a doctor who knew a lie was forthcoming.


    "Shot." Watson hissed as he sunk into the chair. Enlil''s eyes focused on a corner of the room with nothing in it. Father Bryan left the door and began washing up at a portable sink. "You can come in too, just don''t get squeamish on me."


    Enlil shook his head. "I will wait outside. The bullet went clean through, I patched him up as best I could. He took some of these." He held up a bottle of the painkillers, then tossed them to the boy''s lap. "Thank you for your help¡­ doctor."


    Father Bryan nodded, then kicked the door shut and got to work. Groans of pain and hissing intakes of breath soon began coming from the shed. "This is going to hurt." Father Bryan said matter-of-factly, and he was right.


    Enlil stayed outside the shed for a moment. The air here was tinged with many smells, but it was still sweet. Crisp. He breathed in deeply several times, eyes closed as he did. Someone on the street was baking, and it smelled deliciously of meat. He had insured the boys safety as thanks for the aid offered. Now it was time to go.


    As he passed back through the yard, Enlil looked up at the steeple once more. There, an angel hovered gracefully in the air, watching him. The flaming sword of white light that marked its caste was held loose in its right hand. It made no move to attack, same as before, so he paid it no mind.


    The pastor had allowed his presence. He had offered neither help nor harm. He had not interfered. Still, the angel''s gaze followed him all the way back down the street.


    As he turned and walked back towards the city, Enlil considered the one occurrence today that had surprised him. Why did a pastor of such modest means and no obvious ambitions have not one, but two angels protecting him?

 Chapter 4: Falling Behind

    Detective Saints finished up her work at the site as quickly as she could manage. She''d called the station to put out the alert on the company truck and with any luck someone would spot it.


    Interviews with the rest of the workers had been straightforward. Two more bodies had been discovered, a volunteer medic in training and the site supervisor, both shot dead with a full auto weapon from close range. Their bodies had been discovered dumped into the ravine bordering the parking lot. Where they had died was a mystery, but Saints had a suspicion it might have been where the grisly corpse had been doused with acid.


    Miles Norwood, her premature balding evidence gatherer supreme (a title he had given himself), had been quick to identify that nobody should touch the smoking black liquid. Something that probably had not needed to be stated aloud.


    "Hey! We''re about done here." Miles called over to her as she finished up with her last witness. ''Witness''. She sighed mentally. Nobody had seen shit. Nobody alive except the killers, anyway. "Want to come meet us for lunch?"


    Saints thanked the man for his time, put away her pad, and walked over to the portly man. "No time. Killers took off in a company truck, probably still out there. Might get lucky." She replied. Evidence techs were a hardy sort, she''d found, even if they were the nerdy type otherwise. About as squeamish after working with the dead as vultures. Just made ''em hungry.


    "Suit yourself." Miles said with a smile. "Karen, Oliver? Let''s pack these puppies up and MOVE OUT!" He punctuated the command with a sharp knife hand in the direction of their vehicle. Karen and Oliver, used to the routine, finished packing everything up with just the barest of grins.


    Once the pair of new techs lifted their gear and started carrying it back, Miles turned his attention back to Saints. His expression serious, and his tone low as a whisper. "Best we can tell before the lab, this guy was beheaded. Then dumped in acid. A whole mess of it, all at once. Some kind of¡­ acidic pitch.. and for the grand finale they spiked this guy''s skull to the ground  with a knife, which melted too, by the way."


    Saints swallowed once, then nodded. That was¡­ quite a way to go. Miles gestured at the symbols in the smoking earth. "All that? Done after the fact. That trail?" The portly man pointed at some clumps of pitch that led back into the trailer. "Bet you anything whoever made it walked through our friend here''s personal space after the fact."


    Saints frowned. She hadn''t seen that when she''d ran in earlier. Too distracted by the possibility of catching them right away. "There''s a footprint around each glob, too. A big ass one." Miles continued, giving her a steady look. "Watch out for yourself, Saints. I''ll call you direct if we get anything else."


    With that, he patted her on the shoulder and went to rejoin his team while berating them good naturedly for leaving their commanding officer behind. Saints stayed where she was, thinking.


    Whoever had done this must have planned it. You don''t behead someone, douse them with acid, and impale their skull to the ground without some serious motive to do so. They''d also killed two witnesses, presumably for walking in on itithad they started the avalanche as a cover for the murder?


    Then there were the symbols drawn into the pitch. Those bothered her. She''d read about cult killings before at the academy. She just¡­ had never actually seen one. Pulling out her phone, she took careful pictures of them for later.


    When she was done, just staring at the images, her phone rang. "Saints." Sergeant Jeffords'' voice came through serious and quiet. "There''s been another murder. Two of them. I''m sending you the address. From what I''m hearing, sounds like your guy."


    "Already? Did they find the truck?" Saints asked, surprised. She turned and ran back to her car. "There was a white truck at the scene, but it left. I''ve got patrolmen sweeping the streets. I need you to get to the diner."


    "On it. Send me the info. Saints out." She hung up the phone and peeled out towards the road. A diner? What kind of lunatic meticulously plans and carries out a ritual killing then stops for food after? Only to kill again? Something must have gone wrong.


    Saints felt a shiver go down her back at the thought. Armed criminals who killed recklessly were one thing. But what if something hadn''t gone wrong? How far ahead had they planned?


    If Saints found where they''d went, she''d call for multiple cars for backup. She''d made the rookie mistake of going in like a hero once before and been shot through her upper arm for it. Never again. Bravado on the force got you killed. Heroes got nice graves, but no new cases.


    Saints checked her sidearm as she came down the pass, confirming it was still in its holster. The Sig Sauer P226 sat ready and waiting in its place. Its weight a welcome relief. She hadn''t fired it outside the range since her last big case had blown up in her face. Saints prayed this case wouldn''t end the same.


    Saints pulled into a heavily cordoned-off parking lot just as officers on scene were finishing up. Witnesses were being spoken to separately. Looks like Sergeant had gotten the word out.  Bolton, a red-faced patrolman with more years on the streets than the fire hydrants, was at her window almost immediately.


    ¡°Detective.¡± he said simply, opening the door for her. Old-school man, old-school respect. One of the few on the force who still had it for her. ¡°Bolton. What¡¯ve we got?¡± She asked as she stepped out. To the right was a cordoned-off van with a body facing the street and a face staring skyward next to an open passenger door. The corpse¡¯s back was a bloody mess.


    ¡°Two bodies. White males, 40s. Ned Sanders and Robert Parkins. FBI¡¯s field office is throwing a fit. Been building a case for months trying to catch their boss, supposedly some big human trafficker. They just called, didn¡¯t share much, they¡¯ll be here soon. Ned¡¯s the one eatin¡¯ dirt and smiling at birds.¡± Bolton read off his notes and pointed with his pen at the body on the ground as they walked over to the scene.


    ¡°Anything inside?¡± Saints asked, ducking under the line to get closer to the vehicle. A few feet away now, she could see smoke rising up slowly out of the man¡¯s back. She peered down at him and saw¡­ three symbols drawn into his skin. Black pitch bubbled up out of the body from under them.


    Bolton followed her under the line, though not near as gracefully. He stayed back a few feet and kept reading. ¡°Girl. Jessica Mullins. 15 years old, daughter of Martimer Mullins, that big preacher what heads the Modern Day Fellowship of Jesus you see on TV. Was locked up in the back.¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Saints stepped over the corpse and looked inside. Robert, she guessed, was slumped over the middle console. Limbs at odd angles and, like Ned, facing 180 degrees the wrong direction. His forehead, not the back, was sizzling up with black pitch. It smelled of seared flesh and melted metal, though she couldn¡¯t see where the later was coming from.


    Walking around, she noticed the rear doors were open. A glance inside the van showed torn ropes and duct tape in a small pile on the floor. Bloody circles could be seen on the interior of the rear doors. The door handles were missing. Broken metal that vaguely resembled handles had been tossed behind the seat.


    ¡°She escape and get help? Or did help come for her?¡± Saints asked as she came back over to Bolton and looked around. Parked in front of the diner was an ambulance with a girl being looked at by two paramedics. Jessica, no doubt.


    ¡°Help came for her. Diners and the waitress saw the whole thing. Big man walked in, ordered some¡­¡± Bolton flipped a page. ¡°Pancakes. And coffee. Then he walked out, waited by the truck a bit, and killed those two when they got back to the van. Twisted Ned¡¯s head like he was a doll, then climbed in and did the same to his buddy. Few minutes later, the girl walks out the back. Ran to the diner to call us.¡±


    ¡°And our perp?¡± Saints asked as she walked to the back. No damage on the exterior. No gunshots. She pulled out her phone, flipped to the recent images and compared it to the ones smoking through poor Ned. One of the symbols matched. She closed her phone. Different methods, but same group it would seem. Too early for copycats, even the news didn¡¯t have footage yet.


    ¡°Big man left shortly after the girl, messed with the body, took off. Middle eastern look, early thirties. Sketch artist¡¯ll have something more for ya after he speaks with the girl I¡¯m sure. Perp¡¯s damn near seven feet tall if the waitress is to be believed. Took off in what appears to be that redemption road truck you called in and had a uniform to match. Driver was a young white male in the same outfit. Possibly his son.¡± Bolton responded, flipping his notebook back shut and hooking a thumb in his pants. ¡°No word on the truck yet, but we¡¯re lookin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°He hurt her when he was in?¡± Saints asked, peering at the rope. It¡¯d been cut, not torn like she first assumed. No knife in the vehicle, maybe the girl had it. They¡¯d have to check the van for prints. She pulled her phone out again and texted Miles to get them over here. Lunch would be on the road today.


    ¡°Nope. According to her, he killed both of ¡®em and let her free. Then he just¡­ left.¡± Bolton seemed a little uncomfortable with that one. ¡°Didn¡¯t touch a hair on her, didn¡¯t ask any questions, and didn¡¯t say a damned thing.¡± Saints put her phone back on the clip and stared at him, her mind processing that last bit of information. ¡°So, we¡¯re after a vigilante then? How did he even know she was there?¡± she asked, mostly to herself.


    The heavyset man shifted his weight once or twice, then sighed. ¡°Can¡¯t say I know, Kerrigan. But there¡¯s something else I need to show you.¡± Saints raised her eyebrow at him. Not at the (10 hours/day) first name, they¡¯d known each other for years - Bolton came over for Thanksgiving more often than not. ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± she asked as he moved over to squat beside the dead Ned. The corpse¡¯s face was frozen in what looked like surprise.


    Bolton pulled his baton out and indicated she stand on the other side. She did so, wedging herself between the body and the van. He then flipped it and handed it to her grip-first. ¡°Lift him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bolton knew as well as she did that they shouldn¡¯t be moving the body yet. Evidence hadn¡¯t been here yet, and they¡¯d want pictures of-- Bolton saw the concern on her face and waved it away with a hand in irritation. ¡°Look under ¡®im. Maybe then you can tell me what the fuck is going on here.¡±


    ¡°After evidence gets here, I¡¯ll--¡± she started before being interrupted. ¡°You lift him, or I will. I already took pictures earlier, just¡­ hurry up¡± Bolton was getting frustrated even as he tried to calm himself down. ¡°Just look. Please, Kerrigan.¡± His eyes were sincere and imploring. Bolton wasn¡¯t the emotional type, so his behavior was unnerving her.


    Saints had lost a case like this. Getting interested before evidence had catalogued everything. She didn¡¯t know how, or when, but the defendant¡¯s lawyers had found out and beaten her carefully constructed case to death with it. And just like that, John ¡®The Seven Hills¡¯ Stammer had been free and clear to kill again. And he had, several more times. Saints wouldn¡¯t do it. She couldn¡¯t. And he should know her better.


    Bolton sighed and grabbed the dead man¡¯s shoulder. She was about to reprimand him, when she was what was beneath the body and her heart nearly stopped. Underneath Ned was a still-burning slagged section of road, gravel, and earth. It was a hole that bore directly into the ground at least ten feet down. And every. Last. Inch¡­ was smouldering. Red flames licked up and the heat made her stand to get away from it. The hole smelled of sulfur. Worse still, it was moving towards them. Closing up. She could see the dirt falling into place as if of its own mind. In minutes, she was sure, it would be gone.


    ¡°What the he-¡± she started before he let go and the man fell back over it. Bolton spread his hands and looked up at her, sweat on his brow as his body responded to the sudden heat. ¡°Yep.¡± He stood up and watched the concern rise on her face.


    ¡°How the he-¡± Saints began, before Bolton interrupted her. ¡°There was another one under the other guy. Smaller hole, melted right through beneath his head¡­¡± He pointed to where the man¡¯s head rested, and she leaned in. It was hard to tell, but there was a seared section of plastic just above where the victim¡¯s ear was. ¡°Went straight through the van, right into the ground. Same as this one, only that one is...¡± his voice quivered a bit, then he spat it out. ¡°That one is gone now. They were a lot deeper when I got here.¡± Bolton admitted, with a pain look. ¡°I¡­ needed someone else to see. Figured if you saw it too, meant I wasn¡¯t crazy.¡±


    Saints didn¡¯t respond at first. She looked from the body to Bolton, then took a few deep breaths. The logical part of her mind was trying to deconstruct the situation, find some sort of connection, figure out what sort of chemical you¡¯d need to melt into - and ignite - asphalt and then the rocks beneath it. She was sure there were some. But she doubted they smelled of sulfur.


    The illogical part of her mind was connecting the smell of sulfur and the fiery hole in the ground, with what her superstitious mother would. Demons. Hellfire. That sort of thing. She kicked that ridiculous part of her mind back into the corner it shared with santa claus. Miles would probably have this identified and figured out if not immediately, then after he¡¯d brought a sample of the soil back to his lab.


    For now, she had to calm Bolton down. ¡°You¡¯re not crazy. There was some melted ground up at the last scene, we think the perps have some nasty acid concoction they¡¯re throwing around to cover their tracks.¡± Saints told him, leaving out the matching symbols and possible cult affiliations dancing around in her brain so her superstitious friend here wouldn¡¯t latch onto them. If the press started talking about killers carving up bodies to summon demons, Sergeant Jeffords would have her badge on his desk by nightfall.


    Bolton, for his part, looked noticeably relieved. Then concerned. ¡°What the hell? Where¡¯d they get that?¡± he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. ¡°Not sure¡± she replied ¡°I¡¯m sure Miles will have it figured out soon enough. I¡¯m going to go check in with our girl here, if the feds or press show up, let me know, will ya?¡±


    The old patrolman nodded and started back towards his car to grab more cones. ¡°Can do. You want fries with that, too?¡± Saints snorted at him. Cheeky old ass. Then headed over to see if Jessica would be able to give her any leads. Lord knows she could use it.


    Saints now had four bodies drying in the sun, two vigilante killers with a hard-on for acid, twisting necks, and drawing what she could only guess was some sort of pagan bullshit...  aaand her case had just blown wide a federal investigation into human trafficking. All before lunch. Saints sighed internally and sent Miles another text. Have him bring her something to eat. Today just didn¡¯t want to quit.

 Chapter 5: The Company of Demons

    Mr. Renfield''s office overlooked the Colorado Springs area from the corporate suite level of the newly constructed high-rise office buildings in the new economic sector the mayor had designated. Some thirty floors above ground, the floor to ceiling glass walls offered an unchallenged view of both the surrounding city and nature growing in around it. This was not the occupant''s favorite quality however... That fell to the unchallenged privacy the room offered.


    One way glass prevented corporate spies or bored civilians from peeking it. Expensive floor paneling, crisscrossed sound dampening lined in several layers underneath the elevated posh carpet, meant not even a scream here would reach even the floor below. The office might as well be the dark side of the moon for all it would do to call for help within it. A fact both of its occupants well knew.


    The man known as Mr. Black knelt several feet in front of the office''s massive oak desk. The CEO of Redemption Road was seated on the other side, feet propped up and a small knife in his hands. Black had knelt silently for five minutes so far, yet he dared not move. Valuable as he may have made himself, the executive head of the company could still kill him for disrespect. President Renfeild answered to few this side of hell''s gates. None of which would care about an aide''s life.


    Six hundred and sixty six seconds after entering, Black spoke in a clear and respectful tone. "My lord, the incident report you requested is as follows: Three employees terminated as part of clean up procedure. The rescue team acquired two hikers who observed the incident without being seen by the police. They have been fed to Gregor. Another pair of hikers with minor injuries have been treated and rushed to the local hospital."


    All of this could have been an email, of course, but that wasn''t how company senior leadership operated. "The police?" Asked the dangerous man across the table in a slow voice.


    Black had been dreading that question, but he answered anyway. "An investigation has been opened up." He waited a heartbeat for any interruptions, then continued. "A detective arrived on the scene before cleanup could be completed. She is looking into the murders as we speak."


    That Black had allowed the police on site before he had arrived to do away with incriminating evidence could end up being a potentially fatal mistake. Whether he could have arrived despite being on an assignment elsewhere would not have mattered in the slightest. Failure was never tolerated. Luckily, he had an ace in the hole he quickly deployed before his fate was taken from him. "The captain of her precinct is on our payroll. Within a week the investigation will be crushed."


    The hot air on the other side of the table that had been gathering cooled slightly at that. Black could''ve sighed in relief, but that would''ve been a sign of weakness. Instead, he blinked down at the floor slowly. His eyes had started to dry as the room''s temperature had risen. He waited for the next question.


    "The media?" Asked the implacable voice after the temperature in the room returned to just above normal. A drawer opened and Black¡¯s enhanced hearing told him that the knife was being returned to its place. Welcome news for his continued existence.


    ¡°The incident is being framed as a gang dispute that spilled over to our worksite because of an undocumented immigrant. A Spring Tribunal reporter has been provided a tip that hard drugs were found on the body and the sordid details are being dismissed as hearsay by our editors. I¡¯ve sent a team to gather the evidence from the police as well, our captain should be pivotal there. By the end of next week, the public¡¯s gaze will be averted from us and possibly even sympathetic.¡± Black recited the highlights of his written report from memory. He knew that if a word of what he said diverted from the paper copy he¡¯d placed on the desk, he could be called back to clarify. Executive reports tended to be quite thorough...


    A finger tapped the intercom button on the desk. "Bring in the next one." Said the president''s rigid voice, in an almost bored tone. "You may leave." He added, dismissively. Black followed the exit protocols as quickly as he could, then left as the secretary dragged another man over to the office. The secretary, Brutus, was a staggeringly tall man chiseled like a statue. He was holding a pleading man of at least 200 lbs in one hand like a doll.


    Black collected himself and stepped aside politely for Brutus as the hulking giant passed. Not a second after the office door closed on the unfortunate sap, blood sprayed across the glass wall. Brutus returned to the desk and called for cleaners to ready themselves. Black was already at the elevator when the call finished. He did not spare the office even a glance. His mind was already far away, scheming.


    Black''s driver was waiting for him in front of the building. Black ignored the man and slid in quickly. Once comfortably inside he poured himself a glass from the car''s refrigerated stores. His nerves slipped away as the alcohol went down. Satisfied, he reached for one of the many phones inside a pouch behind the driver''s seat. The first call he placed to the captain of Detective Saint''s precinct. It was answered on the second ring.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Ten minutes later and Captain Rodney had his marching orders. All it cost was a reminder of their deal and a few thousand dollars added to his normal payment. Simple. Black had found a pittance paid for the price of a cop if offered the right way. To the right one, anyway. Some were disgustingly righteous.


    Satisfied, Black signalled the driver to head back to the work site. Then he reached back into the pouch and made a second call on a new phone. The editor on the other end of the line took even less time than the captain had. All that woman cared about was money and she didn''t particularly care why or how. He appreciated that. Kept things simple.


    The drive back to the mountain pass took about an hour. The third call Black made took only a minute, so the rest of the drive passed in silence. When he arrived, Tucker was waiting for him. The newly appointed supervisor seemed eager to see him. His report began the second Black stepped out.


    "Search ops are done, full report is in your email. We also found footage from one of the site cameras I think you should see. Right this way, sir." Reported the short man. Black nodded once and Tucker led him to a large tent that had been set up as night began to fall. Cables running into the tent powered some computers inside where company techs sat working. As the men entered, one of the technicians pulled up a video on a large swivel screen and - at a nod from Tucker - hit play.


    The scene that played was from a camera perched above and to the left of the entrance to the now-destroyed trailer. The technician, who Black didn''t recognize but that hardly mattered, had started the video as three gunmen sighted their weapons on the trailer.


    "My predecessor and the site medic, Hamilton.¡± Tucker supplied, with a nod towards where the two bodies had been dumped. ¡°The one in the back is Stephen, we are searching for him now.¡± The video continued and the men opened fire. The one in the lead began speaking. ¡°Unfortunately sir, this model was never designed to be outdoors and the speakers haven¡¯t worked for some time...¡± Tucker was hesitant, but Black did not respond. After all, the one responsible for the oversight was already dead.


    More words were exchanged and Tucker¡¯s predecessor whipped out a knife, then darted towards the trailer. Blood sprayed widely behind him as a man¡¯s arm seemed to grow from his neck. The man who had just slain Black¡¯s lieutenant stepped into view and, using the lieutenant¡¯s own knife, banished him from this plane before the demon could escape his mortal host. Black¡¯s eyes narrowed and his blood ran cold at what came next. The man was not satisfied with a simple banishment back to Hell it seemed. He stooped over and drew symbols in the fallen demon¡¯s blood, symbols no mortal ought to know without Heaven¡¯s help. Symbols that sent his lieutenant not back to hell, but to Heaven for judgement. That¡­ was not good.


    Tucker spoke up first. ¡°That¡¯s the end of the relevant bits. After this, he took off in the truck with another of our employees. Watson. We¡¯d just hired him, so he hadn¡¯t gone through training yet.¡± A moment of silence stretched between the two men as Tucker awaited his boss¡¯s response. Black¡¯s eyes were unfocused. He was either thinking¡­ or conversing with the demon within. Tucker gestured at the techs and they left without a word.


    In the space of a minute, his boss¡¯s form changed dramatically. Wisps of noxious steam began to rise from his skin. His face and skin darkened to a reddish black, with his facial features taking the sunken skin look characteristic of Hell¡¯s soldiers. Black¡¯s muscles bulged and went taut, showing plainly through the fabric of his specially designed suit at the upper arms, shoulders, and thighs. Two red horns protruded through the man¡¯s forehead, emerging from the skull and leaving a trail of blood to wind down the sides of two midnight-black eyes.


    ¡°Find him.¡± Said the demon known as Cauxis who walked this earth in Black¡¯s skin. No trace of the formerly put together man remained behind. His voice was now a low, gravelled thing filled with barely constrained anger and hate. Cauxis raised a hand and fire danced within the spaces between clawed fingers. The pupil-free eyes locked onto Tucker and the man¡¯s soul¡­ quivered. ¡°Find him¡­ that I may drink his life¡¯s blood from a chalice of his own skin and bones¡­¡±


    As quickly as he appeared, Cauxis was gone. Black stumbled and braced himself from the desk as if he had fallen. The red and black coloring fled beneath his skin and the horns retracted. Black coughed up and spat up grey ash onto the keyboard in front of him. Tucker waited without moving, knowing better than to try and offer aid.


    When he had regained himself, Black straightened and pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket. Then he wiped his mouth and dabbed the blood on his face before putting it away. His eyes, still returning to their normal color, settled on Tucker. ¡°You heard the order... Find and bring him to us. Alive...¡± Black stressed. ¡°If possible... Now go. And send that video to D.R. I would know who opposes us if possible.¡±


    Tucker voiced his affirmation and left, quickly. His cell phone already at his ear by the time he exited the tent. Black remained inside. Only when Tucker was some distance away did he allow himself to cough up the rest of the ash and blood inside his lungs from when Cauxis took control. After it was all out, he covered what was on the ground with dirt. Then Black reached into his suit and pulled out a phone smaller than the ones in his car. He couldn¡¯t trust Tucker to handle this, so it was time to call in other favors¡­

 Chapter 6: A Gift From Above

    As with all rundown residential areas in cities with more money than sense, a park had been built not far from the pastor''s church. Predictably for all except the misguided politician leading its creation, Leaf''s Crossing Park had quickly become a dealer''s hotspot. The playground designed to bring joy to the area now saw nearly as many passed out addicts each day as it did children. Thankfully, the groups weren¡¯t usually there at the same time.


    Enlil strolled casually through the park, taking in its sights. He spared not a glance at the men and women huddled in or under the colorful yet faded plastic slides he passed. Instead, he watched the shape of the trees in the wind and the sound of wildlife in this place. It was still here, he saw. Despite the bleak atmosphere, birds were not put off by the troubles of man. A few pigeons pecked through left out trash and squirrels ran through unattended overgrowth.


    When Enlil arrived at the tree covered hill in the park''s center, he was not alone. A pair of men slept in piles of blankets next to a large, shaggy black dog that raised its big head as he approached. Enlil nodded once towards it in acknowledgement and the beast sniffed at the air. He waited. A moment later, the dog laid its head back down on its large paws and snorted. A chuckle escaped the big man, but went unnoticed by the sleeping pair.


    Setting up the celestial summons took Enlil a relaxed five minutes. The dirt he had taken with him from the church''s consecrated grounds left his pockets to form a loose circle in front of him. With his right hand, he drew three smaller circles within the first, then a six-pointed star within the lower-right circle. At its center, he traced a few runes and spoke a word almost as old as he was. Power rumbled in the air and an emanation in the earth traveled rapidly away. The dog'' ears went up, but soon settled when nothing else happened. Enlil folded his arms, leaned against a tree, and waited.


    Enlil had been debating on which of the angels he knew to call upon ever since he slew his first demon in centuries. He knew the true Names of a number of the winged beings, but that didn''t mean he was on good terms with all of them. In his line of work, that was pretty much inevitable. Even the few he had worked well with in the past were unlikely to respond well to a direct calling. Angels were fun like that. Still, he knew one at least that had a soft spot for him. Thirty minutes later, she arrived.


    "Enlil-shi, still alive I see?" Asked a melodic voice that sounded like it could carry a choir on its own. Its owner was a tall, fair-faced blonde woman in simple clothes. Blue jeans and a simple white shirt that ended at her muscled upper arms. Faint white scars showed on her arms, a few more than he remembered. The woman had no shoes on, but then, angels never did.


    Enlil smiled warmly. She had used her old title for him, a term of respect. Some things at least remained the same in this world. Though he was curious at the lack of a sword at her side. The warrior he had known rarely went unarmed.


    "Briel, wonderful to see you again. Did your people get my offering?" He asked, though he knew the answer. A wounded demon sent heavensward? It would be intercepted, questioned, and sent back down to the Pit within an hour. If the angels were feeling merciful that day, anyway.


    "So you are the one who offered up that hellspawn?" Briel laughed in amusement, the sound as full of love and life as that of a newborn child.


    "I saw the mark, but it¡¯s been a long time since you sent us bounty. Almost as long as it has been since you were seen. We¡¯ve been waiting for someone to claim it. " The angel added a questioning tone to the end of her second statement, but moved past it quick as a breeze.


    Enlil shook his head slightly at her unasked question. It was too soon to speak of his imprisonment. The immortal still did not know who he owed for his little entombment, and it was always possible someone was listening. Business first. Talk later. "I am here for what is owed." he said formally.


    Briel nodded almost imperceptibly, then her appearance changed. White light shone from eyes and a shimmering golden light danced underneath her fair skin. Her hair changed from strands of blond to the tapestry of golden fire he remembered as part of her angelic form. With a voice of holy authority, she spoke the ritual words as she held her hands in prayer. Loosely translated from celestial, the words were: "By Heaven''s Mandate, we accept thine given bounty."


    Bright light shot from her clasped hands and suffused him. Immediately, Enlil felt the energy begin to renew his much depleted stores. An ache in his mind that had been there so long he had forgotten the constant pain of it began to eas away. The immortal could feel his lost strength finally begin to return¡­


    All too soon, it was over. Barely seconds had passed. The light faded from Briel''s hands and her form returned to normal. Enlil sighed internally. He knew the lower demon hadn''t been worth that much. Still, even a small drip of energy was better than the near nothing he had left.


    Briel was watching him, her blue eyes clearly worried, but she said nothing. His former student knew better than to ask personal questions. Enlil-shi simply wouldn''t answer. Instead, following his earlier lead, the angel treated this like a business meeting. "Are you interested in more work for Heaven today, Enlil-shi?" She asked in a practiced tone. As she did, she noticed the sleeping men off to the side for the first time. Pity leapt quickly onto her angelic face.


    "Yes. Are there any contracts of note open in the area?" He asked, following her gaze. He suspected the two men would wake up to a gift after he left. Briel always did have a soft heart.


    "Two. Only one worthy of you however. It¡¯s been open for a while. I can do double your standard fee if you¡¯re willing to take it. The other has little in the way of reward, but I would consider it a personal favor." She responded with a speck of fleeting anger towards the end there. Her eyes didn''t leave the homeless men. Their dog stirred and locked eyes with her. She smiled kindly at it, and the dog came over to greet her.


    Double? After so long without, a boon that large would be a godsend. No pun intended. Enlil already had an idea of what the contract would be, considering how his morning had started. Demons in the open meant angels would be afield as well.


    "I''ll take both." He said, after a moment of thought. It wouldn''t do to appear too eager, even if it was Briel, and even if he rather sorely needed the reward. The immortal also knew a fee that large probably came with stipulations he wouldn''t care much for. Angels were strict creatures after all.


    Briel nodded and began to bestow scritches upon the head of the four legged good boy. The angel recited the terms of the contract as she did. Enlil had been right. He didn''t care for the stipulations. They would be a hamper, but nothing he couldn¡¯t handle. Unconcerned with the subject matter being discussed above him, the dog''s tail wagged appreciatively under the angel¡¯s ministrations.


    When he had heard all he needed, Enlil asked about the favor. Briel told him the sex trade was starting to expand within the city and with it, a rising number of young girls going ''missing''. She happened to know where a pair were being held. Rescuing them was the favor. Quickly, if possible. As the angel had not directly observed any demonic influence, she could not save them herself.


    Angels were forbidden from interfering directly in the affairs of mankind. The sole exception was when acting to prevent or counter the influence of other supernatural entities, primarily those originating from hell. They could be powerful guides and guardians against such threats - but were often helpless against the mundane. Any other interference was blasphemous. An angel that acted in such a profane manner would Fall irrevocably from heaven.


    Fortunately, Enlil shared no such restrictions. Briel would break no rules asking for his help, though the angel was restricted in what she could offer in return. Walking the line between indirect and direct assistance was a delicate and dangerous dance when one considered the potential penalty... but it was not her first time doing so. It wouldn¡¯t be her last.


    What did make things easier here was her former master''s intense hatred for slavery. It was well known in supernatural circles that engaging in such matters could draw his ire if he were in the area and found out about it. The immortal¡¯s penchant for ''interfering'' in such matters was something of an open secret. And after what he''d done to the Ottoman Empire¡­  All the angel had to do was point him in the right direction.


    And point him she did, to a house just a few miles away. It could be distinguished by the specific arrangement of flowers in front of it. According to the Angel, the number of roses in the arrangement out front were used as a signal to inform other traffickers as to when a ¡®cargo¡¯ was waiting. Today, there were two. One for each girl. If the pattern held, by week''s end at the latest they would be gone and the roses removed. Briel wanted him to move that up a bit. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Have you heard from Draeg recently?" Enlil asked after they had worked out logistics for the slavers. He was anxious for news of his scaled best friend. The black dragon had been his staunchest ally for centuries.


    Briel blinked in surprise. "You haven''t? He was in America about a decade ago. Something about a feud between one of his brood and the fae court of autumn. I call him every now and again."


    Enlil''s jaw dropped. Actually dropped. He stared at his former pupil with equal parts incredulity and horror. Briel quickly corrected herself when she saw the look on his face. "On the phone, not directly! Heaven''s gates, Enlil-shi, I want to stay on Earth not leave it!"


    Watson had mentioned phones earlier. A little device you could use to talk to other people if you knew the code to reach them. They were basically greatly improved telegraphs, from what Enlil could tell. If they were as ubiquitous as the boy had said, and why wouldn¡¯t such a useful tool be after all, then it made sense Briel had meant using one instead of engaging in an act that would enrage an ancient dragon. Dragons were many things, but forgiving was rarely one of them.


    "Ah¡­ of course.¡± He paused, then shook his head. ¡°I have never used one, though it seems I may need to correct that soon.¡± Angels could detect direct lies as easily as a foul odor, but that alone was true enough. Besides, immortals were rarely up to speed on current events or gadgets. Most only checked in from their hobbies every other century or so. Briel no doubt assumed this was one of those periods for him.


    Briel laughed, the sound like the ringing of bells. "I can tell. Much has changed since you¡¯ve been gone. Mankind has come very far.¡± There was approval and a touch of pride in her voice. ¡°Here, how about this. When you''re done with everything, you can use my library card. Alright? Get you up to speed." She grinned over at him, though the moment was interrupted by the dog¡¯s tongue roughing the side of her face.


    Enlil grinned back. His former pupil had come far, it seemed. He was glad she had made her way even after he¡¯d struck out on his own again. Still, something was bothering him. ¡°Where is your sword, Briel?¡± he asked suddenly, a hint of joking rebuke in his voice. ¡°Have times changed such that angels forsake their weapons on the field?¡± The immortal ended the sentence with a raised eyebrow.


    Years before, this might have caught her off guard. Now, Briel just reached behind her and pulled out a silver-white pistol then put it back in its holster. ¡°I left the sword in the armory. I knew it was most likely you who had called so¡­¡± The angel shrugged, the expression more graceful than it was on any human. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d need it.¡±


    The implication was clear. As was the compliment. Enlil let the matter drop. There was work to do, after all. He would not let those girls suffer any longer. ¡°I will signal when the house is clear. Light keep you until we meet again, Briel.¡± The immortal then turned and left without another word.


    ¡°Light keep you as well.¡± Briel responded as she watched him leave. When he had cleared even the limits of her sight, she whispered to herself. "It is good to have you back, Enlil-shi."


    The angel deposited some food next to the still sleeping men. Neither noticed a thing. The pair had somehow slept through everything. Their lives must be hard right now. Briel leaned in to each and whispered positive prayers. That ought to get them through the next month or so. She gave the dog another minute of scritches, then with the sound of flapping wings, the angel was gone.


    The slaver''s house was in a normal-looking residential area. The drapes were closed in every window, but that was the same for most of the houses he passed on his way over. It wouldn''t do to linger, even if he had only passed three others on the several mile walk. Instead, the immortal man dressed in a construction outfit walked up to the side door as if it were home.


    Inside was another van like the one he had seen earlier today. There were a few metal bits of furniture with many drawers and tools strewn about. No people. Enlil grasped the door''s handle and discovered it was locked. What''s more, it was round, like the one on the pastor''s door had been. Strange, but no matter.


    Doors had remained more or less the same throughout history. Their locking mechanisms had changed, but the idea behind them had not. Connect door to something stronger. Enlil tapped a finger around the edges of the door, spaced every foot or so. Seconds later, he nodded to himself and slammed the door three times with a palm strike. Once in the upper left, once in the lower left, and once directly on the handle.


    The door bent inwards and splintered with each hit. Metal hinges ripped off the frame along with the lock. Enlil caught the door before it fell, stepped inside, and replaced the door in its original position. The entire sequence took merely seconds, but now movement could be heard inside the house. Footsteps were approaching. Good, he thought. That would save him some time.


    The first man opened the garage door with wires leading into his shirt from his head, loud music audible from the ears. He was clothed in just a white shirt and jeans with light blonde hair and fair skin. Couldn''t have been older than thirty. He was muttering along to a song when he stepped into the garage. Without pause to see the danger on his right, he headed for the vehicle, keys in hand. On his way, he tapped a button on the wall and the garage began to open with the loud whine of metal on metal..


    Enlil moved forward and tapped the button immediately. The large door stopped moving. "What the--" the man began as he reached to pull one of the wires out of his ears. His hand never made it. Before he could get a hand in the way, the immortal''s hand reached around to cup his target''s mouth and pinch the nose. Then his other hand gripped the man''s neck, reaching from the back to grip the sides of his target''s neck. In an instant, blood flow to the man''s brain ceased just as air flow was halted.


    Predictably, the blonde man struggled for a moment, but that was all. A carefully placed twisting jerk of the neck and blondie slumped to the ground. Enlil peered down and checked his work. Unconscious, but breathing again. He would wake as soon as his brain had enough blood to start up again.


    Unluckily for him, the garage was full of useful items for a would-be assailant. By the time he woke, blondie was bound and gagged with some cord and greasy rags Enlil had found. A decently sized metal wrench was also¡­ ''acquired''. One never knew when a good tool could come in handy.


    Another experimental push of the button closed the garage door. Enlil nodded to himself at the efficiency of the simple system and watched as the now-crying man struggled in futility against his bonds. The binding was a simple but nasty affair. The more you struggled, the more you cut off your own circulation. He considered saying as much, but decided learning on one''s own made for a better lesson. Then the immortal opened the door and entered stepped into the house quiet as a mouse.


    The first thing that struck him was the smell. Berries and¡­ pumpkin pie? Cookies? There was a faint smell of human effluence mixed in with the powerfully sweet scents. And behind it all, the faint scent of two other males. Which made sense as filthy laundry lay in piles strewn around him. Two large machines with circular openings were to his right. The interior of one was whirling and smelled heavily of lavender. He shook his head to clear the smells and strode past the soiled clothing. As he entered the next room, the immortal''s eyes narrowed in anger.


    The two girls he was here for were chained naked to a brick fireplace, heavy iron collars around their necks. As if they were unruly beasts and not real people. Dark bruises and long, thin red lines from sharp cuts covered their bodies. The locations and abundance of the wounds told him their torments were¡­ frequent. Torn furniture adorned the rest of the room, but the other two were not in it. The girls themselves were huddled together and facing the wall, no doubt trying not to draw more attention.


    Enlil took all of this information in at a glance and continued into the room. Large candles burned around the room, which explained the various scents. An open kitchen entrance was to his right, a rather fat man stood inside, his face partially obscured by a white plastic pantry door.


    "Forget something, Jason?" Asked the large man as he closed the door. He probably would have said something else, but the wrench had been driven directly into his mouth once the door closed. Teeth broke and blood began to flow. A cry began then died in his throat as Enlil followed his first strike by grabbing the back of the man''s head and forcing his arms together. The wrench broke through the fatty neck on the other side and a gurgling cry was heard as the large man fell. Both meaty hands were raised immediately in shaking horror and pain, then the desperate attempt to pull out the wrench began. And the garbled screams. Choking on one''s own blood will do that.


    Enlil left the dying man and re-entered the other room just in time to hear a door down the other hallway open. A bearded man of similar size to the last stepped into the hallway with a shotgun and pointed it at Enlil who ducked back into the kitchen as it went off.


    "You''re a ballsy sumbitch, I''ll give ya that." He shouted. "Gotcha on my cameras though." The man advanced down the hallway and kept the weapon pointed at the kitchen. As he neared, Enlil kicked his friend into the living room.  The shotgun went off again and grey matter painted the carpet. Frightened whimpers came from the corner of the room.


    "Shit!" The man swore, stumbling back to gain distance. He continued to backpedal down the hall and tripped, landing with a heavy thud. As fast as he could manage, he grabbed at shells in his pocket to reload the shotgun. He was not fast enough.


    A frying pan flew down the hall at his face. The fallen man moved to block it with the shotgun and succeeded, though the weapon nearly slipped his grasp. It was when he tried to move the shotgun back into place that he screamed. Blood flowed from his chest where a steak knife protruded from it. When he''d moved his firearm down, he''d forced the blade down and further in at a rough angle.


    Half a dozen knives soon flew down the way to join the first, some tinged with rust or leftover food. Enlil noted with a hint of detached irritation that his projectiles were even more poorly balanced than he¡¯d assumed. Despite his technique half of them bounced off the man instead of sinking in. The other half landed where he''d aimed, center mass.


    Movement of any sort became a horrifically painful task with blades in your abdomen, something the immortal knew well. Each twist and shuffle only worsened the internal damage. The best response would have been immediate medical attention and to remain still while leaving the objects where they were. His target chose instead to pull at the knives, screaming all the while. The shotgun fell forgotten to the side.


    Though the man would soon die from blood loss without attention, Enlil decided enough was enough. The trafficker tried to plead as Enlil strode towards him, even reached for his gun, but neither saved him. The immortal easily took the weapon from the dying man and grey matter painted the carpet once more.

 Chapter 7: Caught

    ¡°COPD, drop the weapon and put your hands in the air!¡± shouted a commanding female voice that Enlil did not recognize. The woman had entered through the door leading to the garage, as he had. She wore a black tactical uniform with ¡®COPD¡¯ emblazoned on the chest and was aiming a pistol at his chest. Her eyes were locked on him, and they held a cold fury.


    The two young girls, Cassandra and Belle, immediately raised their arms over their heads and hunkered down behind him. He hadn¡¯t been able to find them fitting clothes, unfortunately. Whatever they¡¯d had when they were taken was long gone. Understandably, they¡¯d refused garments from their former captors¡¯ dressers, so each had a small blanket he¡¯d found in a rear closet. Enlil dropped the knife in his left hand obligingly, then reached back with both and patted the girls¡¯ hair reassuringly.


    ¡°Fear not, little ones.¡± he said gently. ¡°The law has arrived.¡± He made no move towards the police woman, and she kept her distance. ¡°Smart¡± he thought, approvingly. In his experience law enforcement, and amateur gunmen in general, had a habit of closing in before their position was assured. Something that never made sense to him. What good was a ranged weapon if you got near enough for your opponent to close on you?


    ¡°Step away from the girls. Now!¡± shouted the harsh voice once more. Clearly not her first time issuing such commands. Unfazed, Enlil stood his ground.


    ¡°One moment, miss.¡± he said to the woman, using the same polite tone one might with an unruly child. Then he turned towards the girls, putting his back to her as he squatted down to their level.


    Detective Saints, her heartbeat in her ears, watched as the murder suspect she¡¯d tracked down turned towards a pair of defenseless girls. Her adrenaline surged and years of training took over. She would not fail again. Not like last time. She wouldn¡¯t -- couldn¡¯t. A split second later, two quick shots sounded off. At this distance, she couldn¡¯t miss. Not a target as big as this one.


    The bullets struck Enlil just above his heart. The pain was sudden and vibrant. Hp, as bad as the pain was, it was fleeting. The wound was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. Gunshots were easier to heal than other wounds he¡¯d received in the past.


    Enlil had known she might shoot him when he moved, of course. When she had failed to note his words or partial obedience, he had guessed her too high-strung to do more than arrest him outright. That would not do. There was business to be done first. Cassandra and Belle had a decision to make. One life and three souls awaited their choice.


    Behind him were three bodies arranged carefully on the floor. These bodies, along with the dark red, white, and grey splatters around the room, were probably why the female officer was so on edge. The men were lined up along the north-south magnetic axis, head (or what was left) pointing north and feet pointing south. Crimson sigils surrounded each. Only one was breathing, but he was unconscious and bound in yellow electrical cord. He would not be going anywhere. Not until Enlil heard one of two responses, anyway.


    Cassandra and Belle looked up at him, eyes full of fear and worry. Belle reached a hand towards him, but he shook his head slightly and she paused.


    "I am fine, little one. Make yo--" Enlil''s calm voice was interrupted by the officer rushing up behind him.


    ¡°Get back girls, I¡¯ll get him.¡± Detective Saints said as she tried to pull the man she¡¯d just shot twice away from them. He didn¡¯t move, not an inch. Her fierce expression became one of surprise. The man¡¯s arms were like wound steel. She leaned in with her legs and pulled to no avail. Even the extra leverage didn¡¯t help. The man who should be dead turned to look at her.


    ¡°A moment if you please.¡± said the dead man, in the same polite tone he¡¯d used earlier. There were no signs of pain or anger on his face, even though she could see where blood marked the entries of her previous shots. He scrutinized the badge around her neck as she froze.


    ¡°Detective¡­ Saints. My name is Enlil. Please. Give us a moment. I am the one who saved Cassandra and Belle.¡± Enlil continued. The two blankets with heads in front of him gave small nods and he pointed behind him. Saints¡¯ quick eyes noted there were no matching exit wounds to her previous shots, though the man was covered in blood.


    ¡°These three are the ones who held them. Their fates will be decided by the ones they imprisoned. If you would let go of my arm now¡­?¡± Enlil¡¯s polite tone and inflection made it a question, yet Saints had the distinct feeling that her response wouldn¡¯t change the outcome either way. Still, she let go of his arm and stepped back. Her sidearm returned to one hand. Saints didn¡¯t point it at him, but that didn¡¯t mean she was about to be dismissed.


    ¡°Their fates?¡± She looked over at the men on the ground. One was missing everything north of his neck. The other might as well be, given how torn apart his face was. The last was breathing, but barely. She looked back at the who called himself Enlil. Her brain was still processing that he was talking calmly despite two bullets that should¡¯ve made that at least slightly difficult. It¡¯s possible he had a protective vest on underneath, but¡­


    ¡°Two of them are dead, they already met their fate!¡± Saints said with incredulity. She grit her teeth and tried another tack. ¡°Unless you¡¯re part of some task force I don¡¯t know about, then you¡¯re under arrest until we figure out what happened here.¡± She undid the cuffs at her belt with one hand while keeping her pistol trained on him with the other.


    Enlil relaxed a bit, he¡¯d been hoping she wouldn¡¯t make him do something they would both regret. And if all she wanted was information... ¡°Oh, you could have said that earlier.¡± Enlil pointed at the two behind him dismissively. ¡°I killed those two and tied up the other. They appear to be part of a slave trade. I will leave their remains and any investigation to you once I¡¯m finished here.¡± He returned to the two in front of him as if the matter was finished.


    Saints was momentarily baffled. The man had just admitted to two counts of murder as if they were discussing the weather. Did he real-- ¡°Do you¡­ Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve just done?¡± she asked as she tossed the cuffs towards him, backed up, and put both hands on her weapon. ¡°Put those on, you¡¯re under arrest. You can¡¯t just vigilante around without consequences.¡±


    ¡°Detective, I--¡± Enlil began, but Saints was having none of it. Her response was deadly serious.


    ¡°Put them on, now. Or this time, I¡¯ll put the round in your head.¡± To illustrate her point, she adjusted her aim from his chest to between right his eyes. They were less than five feet apart. Even a child could make that shot.


    Enlil sighed. Then he did something neither the two girls nor Saints expected. He ignored the detective pointing a gun at his head completely. Instead, he turned towards Cassandra and Belle once more. ¡°Your answers, if you please.¡±


    The two looked from the detective to the man who had saved them. Then, at one another. Belle spoke up first. ¡°You mean it? You¡¯ll send them¡­ to hell?¡±


    Saint¡¯s felt a shiver go down her back. She¡¯d been chasing what the department believed to be a group of crazed cultists all over town. She¡¯d seen strange symbols, a flaming pit in the ground, and a crime scene this morning that was easily worse than any she¡¯d ever walked into. She¡¯d responded to an informant who claimed to see the truck and found one of them. He¡¯d led her back to what she thought was their base of operations. She hadn¡¯t expected¡­ this.


    ¡°Hey!¡± She shouted, feeling her control over the situation begin to slip. ¡°I mean it, I will shoot you agai--¡± this time, it was Enlil who interrupted - though he still wasn¡¯t speaking to her.


    ¡°Yes.¡± he said, with quiet finality. ¡°But the conditions I mentioned¡­¡±


    ¡°We accept.¡± Belle said with sudden, terrible eagerness. Cassandra¡¯s eyes widened, though a moment later she nodded as well. Her face mirrored Belle¡¯s determination, though it was softer. Belle¡¯s next words held a kind of hopeful venom.


    ¡°How do we do it?¡±


    Saints could feel her heart start to break for these girls. After everything they went through, their savior was now promising a revenge he could never deliver. She couldn¡¯t blame them for wanting it. Who could? But it was cruel of him to put them through this. These poor things had been through enough. She was about to shout again when Enlil surprised her for the second time in as many minutes.


    ¡°You, do not. You have chosen their fates. I will carry out the sentence.¡± Enlili said with a formality in his voice that had not been there before. Then he simply turned, picked up the knife, and started towards the bound man.


    Saints blinked. She couldn¡¯t believe what she was seeing.


    Deep down, a part she¡¯d been burying inside her entire career, was actually rooting for Enlil. These traffickers had been right in the middle of her city. Who knows how long they¡¯d been here and nobody had stopped them. She had no doubt these men were not the only members, but¡­ it was a start. And there¡¯d been no legal nonsense to dance around. No ridiculously drawn-out trial. Just justice applied, swift and sure.


    Detective Saints shook those thoughts away with considerable mental effort. It was hard to bury the part of her that agreed with vigilantism. As a cop, she knew that long-term... having vigilante justice just didn¡¯t work. Batman sounded great until every amped-up white knight in town was breaking the law to be him. Then it was just chaos.


    That¡¯s where the law came in. It might not be perfect, but until society found something that was¡­ it was the best they had. And the law was clear here. Regardless of what the bound blonde man had almost certainly done¡­ regardless of how reprehensible it might be¡­ regardless of how little she would object if he were to be killed¡­ He was still a citizen. And she wouldn¡¯t let him die under her watch, even if it meant shooting someone a part of her was still cheering along. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Besides. She¡¯d just warned him. Saints took aim, and fired at his leg. It wasn¡¯t the head as she¡¯d promised, but strong as he might be, a shot to the leg ought to convince him to stay down.


    At least, that¡¯s what she had hoped.


    The bullet tore through his leg and into the floor. Instead of faltering however, he kept moving. Saints couldn¡¯t allow that. She sighted and fired once more on the same leg. Blood splattered the other side of the floor near the sigils. Enlil stopped moving and looked over at her. His expression unreadable.


    ¡°That is enough, Detective Saints.¡± He warned. ¡°Put the gun down. If you interrupt what I¡¯m about to do we will all regret the result.¡± The woman facing him down made no such move, so he sighed. Then, his form blurred towards her and more shots rang out.


    Saints pulled the trigger as fast as she could. The man was probably high on something that let him ignore pain. That, or he was crazy. She¡¯d heard stories of insane men fighting off a dozen cops, ignoring all injuries except the final death. If this was one, she had no intention of letting herself be put down - she aimed her last shot at the enormous charging man¡¯s head and fired.


    Enlil saw the change in her eyes as he moved. The cop had great instincts, he had to give her that. The subtle shift in her aim towards his eyes was well-timed. Unlike the other shots to his torso, this one would have taken much longer to recover from. And her speed! It was to be commended. Clearly, she had fired it under pressure before.


    Unfortunately for the detective, Enlil had been around when the Chinese were first discovering that sudden flame could propel objects at rapid speed. He¡¯d been around when humanity had started putting metal balls at the base of long barrels to improve accuracy and range. And he¡¯d been around when the world finally learned to make them en-masse. In all those years, he¡¯d learned more about aiming a firearm than all save maybe three or four beings that walked the earth.


    While most would be loathe to admit it, dodging bullets was next to impossible with the limits of mortal flesh. A properly aimed shot would arrive at its destination. Physics was physics, after all. Only creatures of supernatural agility could manage to dodge firearms with any level of reliability. And even then¡­ No. As weak as he was now, Enlil could not hope to evade the detective¡¯s shot once she pulled the trigger.


    Fortunately for Enlil, he didn¡¯t have to.


    There¡¯s a brief window to move between when a shooter decides to pull the trigger and when their finger actually moves. It wasn¡¯t much, and an experienced marksman will follow their target if they move too far. But that solitary moment was enough for a slight movement if one was fast enough. If they watched death approach closely and didn¡¯t flinch. And if their opponent didn¡¯t see them moving¡­


    Enlil¡¯s hand reached out towards the detective, just enough to obscure his head. To keep up appearances, he twisted his mouth into a silent scream at his fate. To the detective, it looked like a last desperate attempt from a man about to die. They both knew the bullet would go straight through his hand, no matter how meaty it might be. She steeled her resolve and fired.


    The round went through Enlil¡¯s outstretched hand and pierced into the fridge. His hand closed around the end of the pistol and, with an almost careless ease, pulled it out of her grasp. Saints tried to hold on, but it was like trying to resist a falling boulder. It just went on its way. Her strength wasn¡¯t even added into the equation.


    Blood dripped to the floor from Enlil¡¯s chin where it flowed down from his missing ear. There was a burn mark along his chin where the shot had traveled. It had been close. Very close¡­


    Enlil flung the weapon across the room. It broke into the drywall and stuck there. Enlil looked down at the detective. Tall as she was, the large man was taller. She looked up at him in shock, as his wounds healed before her eyes. Then her eyes changed to defiance and she settled into a martial stance. Enlil recognized her posture instantly. Kokutsu-dachi, a defensive form from karate. It was used primarily to dodge or move into a counter against an attacking opponent. Clearly, she expected the fight to continue.


    For him though, the fight was over. ¡°Adjust your rear foot to the left a few degrees. It¡¯s off.¡± Enlil corrected in a reprimanding, though not disapproving, tone. Then he turned and walked back towards the blonde man. Without her weapon, she could no longer spill his blood on the ritual. Which was good, because he had no intention of visiting Hell. Not this time of year, at any rate. The threat handled, he felt reasonably certain he could finish what he had to do before she interrupted again.


    Enlil wasn¡¯t surprised when he heard her move, even when the sounds indicated she was coming towards him. He figured she was about to put herself between him and the bound one - whose name, he remembered absently, was Jason - to make some claim as to why the filth deserved to live. Maybe claim the scum deserved a fair trial. It was an irritatingly common claim in recent centuries. As if trials determined anything the accused had not already proved.


    Saints didn¡¯t do any of that. She didn¡¯t run in front of him, she didn¡¯t offer up excuses for his life, and she didn¡¯t beg. Instead, she punched him dead in the ribs with all her might.


    It was a good blow, and it looked to have taken him completely by surprise. Air escaped his mouth as the wind was knocked right out of his lungs. Her strike made him stagger back a step. Saints grinned darkly at the result. She hadn¡¯t been sure it would have any effect when she hit him - the man¡¯s side felt nearly as hard as the concrete blocks her master used to make her train with. An idle part of her mind noted the pain in her own arm. That same part scolded Saints for the rushed attack. Whatever sort of body armor this Enlil guy had on, it was incredibly hard.  If her form had been off, there was a good chance she¡¯d have broken her fingers.


    Before Saints could follow up, her vision was obscured almost completely. Dirt splashed across her face. She stumbled back, and reached for her eyes to wipe whatever it was away only to realize¡­ it was his boot. Turned sideways and with the heel an inch - if that - from where her face had been. As she moved back, so too did his leg, until he placed it on the ground. Saints hadn¡¯t even seen him move.


    Enlil stopped his counter kick just shy of contact. It was a close thing. He didn¡¯t want to harm an officer of the law if he could. He made a point of that, wherever he went. It had served him well throughout his long life. At the same time¡­ he hadn¡¯t expected her to hit him. It had been a long time since he¡¯d been surprised like that. Instinct had almost killed her.


    He looked at the woman, who looked like she was preparing to come at him again. She wasn¡¯t in a particular stance¡­ but he could feel the intent coming off her all the same. Her whole body was coiled up. It was time he stopped taking her for granted.


    ¡°Stop.¡± Enlil commanded, his tone authoritative for the first time since she¡¯d arrived. His other hand blurred and Saints tensed. The knife at his belt sprouted from the neck of the blonde man. A scream died in Jason¡¯s throat as he did, unable to escape the metal in his esophagus.


    ¡°The man was already dead.¡± He continued with grim finality. ¡°Cease any further interruptions and I will answer your questions once I¡¯m finished. Interrupt again¡­¡± Enlil¡¯s eyes glinted in the dark room. ¡°And you will wake when your comrades find you.¡±


    Saints didn¡¯t have a response to that. The man¡¯s wounds from her earlier shots were completely healed. His ear had returned and his hand was whole once more. She¡¯d hit him with everything she had - all of her momentum had been concentrated on it - and she¡¯d barely succeeded in not breaking her own hand. He¡¯d killed that man right in front of her despite her best efforts. Her mind raced, but until she had more information¡­ all she could do now was bide her time. After a moment under his gaze, she nodded slowly in agreement.


    Satisfied, Enlil dismissed her for the moment and turned back to his task. First, he scrutinized the blood runes. None of them appeared to be out of order or marred significantly. Second, he retrieved his knife from the throat of the newly dead slaver. It made a sucking noise and lifted the man¡¯s neck slightly as it slid out. Third¡­


    Enlil moved to stand center, evenly in front of the three. Dark words poured out from his mouth to form words not meant to be spoken outside of the Abyss. Crimson light shone up from below and outlined the three bodies in a perfect pentagram with interlocking lines underneath them. The carpeting began to char and blacken. Then it cracked and wisps of smoke escaped from between the cracks. An instant later and the floor itself began to fall away from the bodies, replaced by high flames that licked and charred the flesh suspended above them by the pentagram¡¯s interlocking lines.


    Both of the blanketed girls behind him screamed. Cassandra in fear, but Belle¡¯s sounded closer to excitement than horror. Saints swore aloud and her hands made the gesture of the cross. Enlil ignored them all. He finished his incantation and waited. He wouldn¡¯t have to wait long.


    In under a minute, a gaseous shape made of darkness rose up from the flames and coalesced into a demonic face floating above the body. When the darkness had formed a mouth and infernal red eyes, it began to speak. Saints was astonished to realize a moment later that the raspy apparition was speaking English.


    ¡°Enlil... The Provider. He Who Trades. It is rare to see you so often, old friend. What have you brought me now?¡±


    Enlil opened his mouth to respond, but Belle was faster. Her small voice rippled with anger and rose in volume as she went.


    ¡°Bitches! He¡¯s brought you gross, little... bitches! Drag them to hell, demon! Burn them, forever!¡±


    There was no remorse in her voice, not a shred of it. Enlil got the distinct feeling she was repeating an insult she¡¯d heard rather than one she¡¯d made up, but he said nothing. A raspy chuckle came from the demon¡¯s mouth as it regarded her with amusement plain even through indistinct features. Fire escaped from where its mouth ought to have been. Belle was standing when she finished, her small form shaking in fury.


    ¡°Hehehehh... We shall, little mortal. We shall. I assume¡­¡± The demon¡¯s gaze returned to Enlil. ¡°... your standard Deal, then?¡±


    Saints looked from Belle to the demon, then back to Enlil. The big man had not moved an inch when Belle spoke up. His face hadn¡¯t so much as twitched.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Enlil responded simply. ¡°Early delivery in exchange for immediate Judgement, plus my fee. The two behind me have sworn to bear witness eternal to the sins of those presented.¡±


    The demon¡¯s crimson eyes danced. ¡°Accepted.¡± It rasped with glee. The mens¡¯ bodies were immediately consumed in an updraft of red-hot flame. Saints and the other two covered their eyes with their arms. Enlil remained unmoving.


    Unearthly screams tore from the mens¡¯ bodies. Three silver-white shadows in the forms of the men they once were writhed in pain as their flesh disintegrated. Tendrils of more black gas reached up from below and bound each of them. Slowly, the tendrils dragged the tortured souls into the burning Abyss.


    When it was done, a large pit similar to the one Saints had seen under the car back at the diner was all that remained of where the men had been. The air smelled bitterly of sulphur and something else she couldn¡¯t identify. The demon remained inside the still-glowing pentagram however. Its eyes were still on the man she had struck earlier. The man was mulling something over, and the demon had noticed.


    ¡°Do you have any other¡­ business, my friend?¡±


    The question seemed to pause the entire room, despite the flames still licking up from below in front of him. Everyone looked at Enlil and waited for his response. A minute passed. Then another. Enlil looked over at Saints. She felt her mouth go dry. Then his gaze returned to the demon. Strange words came from the big man once more. Saints felt her heart drop. Was she next?


    The demon laughed once more, longer this time. As it did, its face unraveled and flowed back down into the hole it had come from. The red light flickered and, after a moment, was gone.


    Silence rushed in to fill the room. It filled every space in the house. For the three who hadn¡¯t just summoned a demon to earth, it seemed to fill the entire world. In that pregnant moment, Saints had only one question.


    ¡°What¡­ What did you tell him?¡± she asked, fear making its way into her voice in spite of herself.


    The immortal¡¯s laughter was her only response.

 Chapter 8: Hunting

    Enlil was still chuckling to himself as he walked away from the detective. Saints moved, but it was towards the girls, so he let her be. It was time to leave and he needed new clothes. Ones not covered in the blood of scum, preferably. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from the least-odorous pile he''d passed on his way in and headed to the rear of the house.


    The master bedroom had a glowing blue screen atop a desk, some metal boxes that whirred, a filthy bed, and a dresser with a belt he''d noticed hanging off it earlier. Enlil grabbed the belt he¡¯d come here for and stripped down. The jeans were rather wide, but a belt would keep them at public decency levels for now. He carefully wiped the blood off himself with the cleanest parts of the uniform Watson had given him, then tossed it on the bed.


    Before he left, Enlil held up the shirt and considered it critically. It was a lost cause. These men didn¡¯t have his bulk, the fabric would rip if he tried. Having trudged around in misfit, baggy clothes most of his day, Enlil was nearing the end of his patience playing scavenger. He needed to find a tailor. Until then though, he would have to go without. He might still be learning cultural norms for this society, but Enlil was reasonably certain going shirtless wouldn¡¯t cause him problems with local law enforcement.


    Detective Saints was waiting for him on the other side of the door when he opened it. He¡¯d heard her listening, presumably to ensure he wasn¡¯t about to escape. Enlil¡¯s respect for her rose a half-notch when he noticed she still had her firearm firmly in hand. It rose again when she pointed it at his chest.


    ¡°Hands behind your head. I¡¯m taking you in.¡± Saints commanded with practiced authority. ¡°And before you try anything--¡± she warned, her blue eyes burning into him. ¡°-- even someone as big as you can¡¯t take two slugs to the chest. Hands. Up.¡± The expression on her face was deadly serious. It dared him to test her. To resist. The fear she had shown earlier around the demon wasn¡¯t gone, he could sense that, but it was buried deep, deep down.


    Her reaction made sense, really. The detective was clearly a veteran officer. Which meant she had tested experience, good instincts, and a quick mind. Saints was capable. And he, a perceived criminal, had treated her as if she didn¡¯t exist. Worse, he¡¯d shown her she couldn¡¯t stop him.


    Enlil had met few members of law enforcement who were alright with crime being committed right in front of them. Fewer still who had any sort of moral code or sense of justice. Being unable to stop him from killing that man, even if he was abhorrent, must¡¯ve been hell for her.


    At least, it must¡¯ve seemed so before I brought Maerkhis up to greet her. Enlil thought with a pang of amusement as he remembered the look on her face when his demonic once-companion had appeared. Humans loved to invoke hell or make comparisons to it in daily life. That usually ended when they actually saw its denizens.


    Enlil looked down at the detective and her gun. He made no movement. He could smell the adrenaline rushing through her. The scent was powerful and distinct. Yet her eyes were not hazed over. Detective Saints was in control of herself, despite what her instincts must be screaming at her. It made him¡­ curious.


    She couldn¡¯t stop him, but getting shot would waste precious energy on recovery. Energy he had just gained. Energy he did not want to waste given the likely difficulty of Briel¡¯s task. So he decided to do what he often did. Learn.


    ¡°Your weapon did not stop me earlier, Detective.¡± Enlil began in a calm voice, no trace of animosity or judgement in his voice. ¡°What makes you think it will now?¡±


    Saints, to her credit, didn¡¯t even blink. ¡°You aren¡¯t wearing your body armor any more.¡± she responded simply. The look on her face made it clear she thought she¡¯d caught him at the perfect time.


    A look of sincere concern crossed over Enlil¡¯s features. ¡°What body armor, Detective?¡± he asked innocently, then - ever so slowly - stepped back into the room a bit so she could see behind him.


    Confusion flitted across Saints¡¯ face. She kept the gun trained on him, but her eyes swept the room at a glance. A slight furrow of her brow became evident as her mind worked to supply itself with an explanation that accounted for the lack of any ballistic plating in the room.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± She responded after a moment with some forced finality. ¡°Now put your hands up, I mean i--¡± her mouth stopped moving as she watched the big man do the last thing she¡¯d reasonably expected him to do. Enlil reached both of his enormous hands up and tapped the ceiling with his pointer finger dramatically extended.


    Her gun was slung around it.


    This time, Saints blinked. ¡°How di-¡±


    ¡°Simple. I took it from you.¡± Enlil responded with the faintest hint of a smile starting at one corner of his mouth. ¡°Here.¡± He continued, then lowered his arms and extended the pistol towards her. ¡°You can try again, if you like.¡±


    Tension hung in the air. Enlil remained still. Saints looked him dead in the eyes, searching for some hint of foul play. Her eyes went to the gun, then back to his. She reached for it cautiously, expecting an attack.


    None came. Saints¡¯ expression was one of pure incredulity as she retrieved the weapon and inspected it. Her eyes caught something. The safety was on. Saints took a step back, putting more distance between them than before. She trained the gun at his chest once more.


    And fired. Once, twice-- the detective emptied the entire clip into his chest from near point blank range.


    Enlil did not move. Each bullet felt much the same as the others had. Bright hot pain followed by a searing burning sensation as his flesh reknit itself. The energy he¡¯d gained from Maerkhis flowed into the openings readily. In seconds, the pain was gone. Along with it went more energy than he cared to lose. Fixing vital organs was a more complex task than simple flesh.


    The immortal sighed and pulled the shirt over his head, then used it to wipe up the blood. Humans never seemed to believe him without a demonstration. He tossed the bloody rag to the ground and fixed the detective with a piercing look.


    ¡°Do you believe me now?¡± he asked, letting just a hint of exasperation slip through.


    ¡°What¡­ what are you?¡± the detective asked apprehensively. ¡°How did-- I shot you! How are you not dead?¡±


    In response, Enlil smiled at her. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a ¡®yes¡¯. Now,would you rather talk or continue to waste more ammunition?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡± She decided after a moment. The incredulous expression on her face told him she¡¯d deemed that to be the only logical conclusion.


    ¡°Inhuman.¡± Enlil corrected. ¡°Now, you must have questions. Speak. I will answer them before I go.¡±


    The detective¡¯s eyes narrowed. Enlil watched with a growing satisfaction as the young woman¡¯s mind raced. Now that she knew she couldn¡¯t stop him, her only option was to keep the conversation going until backup arrived. A worthy tactic and exactly what he¡¯d been hoping she¡¯d do. Clever individuals were easier to predict than fools.


    ¡°Those men.¡± Saints jerked her head in the direction of the living room. ¡°Did you kill them?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Enlil confirmed readily, his tone utterly devoid of remorse. It was almost eager.


    ¡°And those girls?¡±


    ¡°They were being kept against their will. Abused. Tormented.¡± Enlil¡¯s distaste for the act was evident in his tone. ¡°Would you prefer I left them to their fate?¡±


    Saints¡¯ expression softened slightly.  ¡°Being a vigilante doesn¡¯t give you the right to kill someone. That¡¯s what the law is for. That¡¯s what we are for. You don¡¯t get to choose who lives and dies.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± Enlil replied simply. ¡°And so do you.¡± His eyes went to the still-smoking gun she¡¯d just shot him with.


    That paused the detective for a moment. She backed up from him until her back hit the wall behind her. ¡°I follow the law. I serve the public. Those men you killed may have done¡­ horrible things¡± she assented, then continued softly. ¡°But you don¡¯t get to kill them for it.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Her eyes betrayed her true feelings.


    ¡°I do not suffer cruelty in my presence, Detective.¡± He responded as softly as she had. ¡°Not to the innocent.¡± He amended.


    Silence fell between them. The detective absorbed what he had said, but didn¡¯t seem to have a response. It was time to give her a crumb. Something to follow once he¡¯d left.


    ¡°What do you think happened to their souls?¡± Enlil asked after giving her a moment to think.


    ¡°Their souls?¡± Saints asked absently. One hand went to the silver cross at her neck, just above where her uniform stopped. It stopped halfway there and her eyes went distant. Saints shuddered, no doubt recalling the sight of the mens¡¯ souls being taken to the Pit.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t hallucinating.¡± Enlil continued, the detective¡¯s eyes returning to him immediately as he did. ¡°That was hellfire in the other room. The being who rose from it - a demon. A scraeb, to be specific.¡±


    ¡°A¡­ scraeb?¡±


    Before he could respond there was the sound of pounding hands at the front door. Saints¡¯ attention slipped, just for an instant. As it did Enlil took a step towards her in time with the banging on the door. The weapon¡¯s clip was spent, but he could see more in her jacket. He¡¯d had enough of being shot for one day.


    Enlil tossed her firearm lazily behind him. The detective¡¯s eyes tracked her now useless gun, then back to him. Her feet began to settle back into the same stance he¡¯d seen earlier.


    ¡°You are not getting away.¡± The persistent woman in front of him growled.


    And just like that, she attacked him. Again. For the second time today, Saints landed a blow solidly in his midsection. Her blow didn¡¯t drive him back as it had before, but it landed all the same.


    The surprised immortal really had to hand it to her. Very few humans, especially ones with no supernatural aid on their side, had ever come after him more than once. Much less struck him unaware. Humanity, it seemed, had grown more brazen while he¡¯d been away.


    A plan began to form inside the maze of his mind. The big man smiled to himself as he swatted the rest of her blows effortlessly to one side or the other. The change and casual ease of it seemed to enrage her. Saints¡¯ attacks came faster. A cry of rage escaped her lips as her techniques lost their earlier precision.


    To Enlil, it seemed as if something inside her had finally broken. She was desperate to stop him. Desperate to hold onto a reality that had already slipped through her fingers.


    The detective needed time to process. His continued presence would only aggravate her more.


    With a practiced motion Enlil slipped a hand past the mad woman¡¯s barrage. A careful pressure on the bridge of her nose caused heavy tears to well up in her eyes. The ancient technique forced a subconscious response that began with tears and ended in temporary - but extreme - pain. The body essentially blinded itself until it could reopen the nasal passageways he¡¯d closed.


    It was a simple move. Simple, but effective. Enlil was out the window and gone before her sight returned. Several flashing red and blue vehicles sat out front. To the rear was more housing. A few fences later and he was out of the neighborhood. Watson had pointed out a ¡®mall¡¯ - a small district of various shops - on their way over to his church. It was time he paid it a visit.


    And found a tailor.


    -------------------------------------------------


    Fair Meadows Mall was bustling. There were hundreds of men and women all flowing in and out of more shops than the immortal had expected despite his earlier passing view. Fountains of water lined the walkways. Streams of water shot up in concerted patterns next to imported trees of a half dozen varieties. Enlil was surprised to see palm trees in America. And healthy ones, at that.


    This ¡®mall¡¯ was quite impressive. Colorado Springs must be a capital or trade hub of some sort.


    Still, it had taken Enlil the greater part of an hour to find a shop with a tailor inside. The neatly arranged racks of clothing he¡¯d passed in several other establishments had followed a simple sizing schema. Unfortunately, it seemed designed to fit the broad spectrum rather than specific individuals. With energy once more flowing within, Enlil now stood at a measured 7 ft 2 inches.


    Fortunately, there were always merchants willing to accommodate customers for the right price. Ahmad¡¯s Attires held one such merchant. And the first today who hadn¡¯t scowled immediately upon seeing Enlil¡¯s dark skin, enormous frame, and shirtless torso. Instead, the man who looked to be of egyptian descent had brightened considerably.


    ¡°Ha-hah! A man who has given the very shirt off his back!¡± The thin, well dressed merchant chuckled at his own joke as he tossed a measuring tape over his neck and walked over. Clever eyes looked Enlil up and down. Unlike the other attendants the immortal had encountered, this one did not have a nametag on his chest.


    The man¡¯s eyes twinkled at him. With a sweep of his arm he gestured towards the racks lining his walls.


    ¡°Can I help you find something even a Samaritan like yourself would not part with?¡± asked the merchant brightly. There was no hint of mockery in the man¡¯s voice, only the undertones of a practiced trader plying his customer.


    Enlil returned the man¡¯s chuckle with one of his own. ¡°If you can find such a shirt, and it fits, I shall buy it from you.¡±


    He did not recognize most of the styles on display, but that would change soon. Enlil enjoyed the sun on his shoulders, but he needed to blend in for this next part to work. That would be difficult, even for him, if wandering eyes continued to follow his topless form. Appreciative stares, while flattering, were still stares. The attention wasn¡¯t something he needed right now.


    Later, however...


    The rotund merchant nodded confidently, his head bobbing up and down like an apple in moving water. ¡°For a kind man, even one as big as you, I can find anything. Come. This way. Allow Ahmad to show you around.¡±


    And show him around Bartholemew did. A quick explanation of being new to this country was all it took to explain away Enlil¡¯s lack of familiarity with modern clothing. After that, and some back-and-forth in Arabic, Ahmad seemed to take the challenge of finding something to fit him as something of a personal challenge.


    Nothing was in his size, which did not surprise him, but Ahmad was quite willing to make alterations for a small fee. The two chatted amicably about the world as Ahmad¡¯s assistant, Yousef, took his selections to the rear of the store.


    It was from Ahmad that Enlil finally learned what had become of the world in his absence. Ahmad had been forced to flee his beloved Egypt in the 80s - the 1980s, Enlil surmised - when domestic and foreign terrorism had been on the rise. It had taken him time to rebuild, but he¡¯d founded his shop here in America with the help of family that had the good sense to flee with him.


    Ever on the alert for a time when he might have to move again, Ahmad was almost exhaustively well-read on current events. The man was a gold mine of information that yielded more each time Enlil sent Yousef back with another intended purchase. Time slipped away and Enlil found himself enjoying his first real conversation in far too long. For his part, Ahmad seemed particularly interested in Enlil¡¯s descriptions of the Great Sphinx at Giza - a sight Ahmad had unfortunately never made the time to see himself.


    Several hours passed as the two sat and learned from one another. Enlil¡¯s pile of purchases grew to a considerable height. When the pile looked as if it might topple despite being folded, he knew it was time to go.


    Yousef helped him into a dark blue suit Ahmad had picked out almost immediately. The solace offered by the thick socks and snuggly fit shoes was enough to bring a single tear to his eyes. He¡¯d forgotten the feel of comfort back in the cave. It was¡­ hard to put into words. Ahmad watched him wipe the tear away with all the pride of a father watching his son dress up for the first time. The merchant was positively beaming.


    Ahmad left Enlil to his thoughts and rang up his purchases as Yousef bagged them. All told, including the small tailoring fee for each item, the sum for his seven sets of full suits containing everything from the shoes up came to a tidy $12,843 dollars and 54 cents. Ahmad even threw in a 5% owner¡¯s discount, bringing it down to $12,201.36. ¡°For giving me a piece of home again¡± the merchant promised him at Enlil¡¯s raised brow.


    Truthfully, Enlil had little idea whether or not that was a fair price. Based on the quality change in the fabrics they¡¯d discussed, and the prices he¡¯d seen in other stores, it felt expensive. But quality always was, no matter where you went. And after wearing his last good pair of clothes out to literally the barest of threads - not to mention the mismatched hand me downs he¡¯d gotten shot up in today - it seemed fair to him.


    If he had any money, that is.


    Watson had given Enlil a pair of twenty dollar bills to pay for breakfast, but Enlil had left that outside the church. The jeans he¡¯d taken had what he¡¯d learned was a quarter left in one pocket, but that obviously wouldn¡¯t suffice.


    Nonetheless, Enlil was not worried. He¡¯d known before coming to the mall that any clothes he found would likely be beyond his current humble financial resources.


    Ahmad waited patiently behind the counter. Yousef, who had been clearly suspicious of Enlil from the beginning, stood off to the side. The young lad did not share his employer¡¯s congenial nature. The boy¡¯s phone was in hand, clearly ready to summon the police should Enlil refuse to pay. It was a smart move, honestly, and Enlil did not fault him for it.


    The immortal reached into his pocket for what Maerkhis had given him. The demon¡¯s gift would resolve this quickly. Enlil placed the object on the counter and met Ahmad¡¯s eyes evenly.


    ¡°Ah, credit then? Please sign on the pad when it turns blue.¡± The merchant happily retrieved the thin, red plastic card Maerkhis had thrown Enlil before vanishing back into the Pit and slid it down the side of a black box with a slit running through it. The ¡®pad¡¯ facing Enlil changed to blue with a line and an ¡®x¡¯ at one end. Enlil signed and pressed the ¡®enter¡¯ button as he¡¯d seen other customers do earlier.


    ¡°Thank you for your patronage, my friend! Come back any time you find your generous self without a shirt again, hmm?¡± Ahmad chuckled to himself and Yousef passed the bags over to Enlil, relief mixed with a drop of shame evident on the boy¡¯s face.


    The duo happily walked Enlil out to where the sun was beginning to fall behind the mountain. A shining tapestry of crimson stretched out over the horizon and poked through the clouds. It would be dark soon. Enlil bid the merchants goodbye and headed out of the mall, the half-dozen garment bags slung over his back.


    The night promised to be a busy evening. And Enlil wanted to make a few more stops before things started to heat up again.