The world exhaled in a torrent of rain. Horrible night for a hunt. But I was paid not to mind. I leaned down to focus on the creature¡¯s tracks before they were washed away. Rift-soot and gravel clung between my fingers. I usually welcomed the rain. It washed the filth off things. Only problem¡ªit also washed away rift-soot, the monochromatic warning sign to get the hell out of there. Unless, of course, a door to Hell was what I was looking for.
¡°This way. Stay close and be quiet. Do not engage it. And if it gets out of my control, run. Got it?¡± The two men exchanged a look and a smile that only wealth and pampering could buy.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
¡°Got it,¡± they grinned.
Jac and Jean were twin brothers and identical one-hundred percent Grade-A prats. The kind of man-children who had never seen a day¡¯s work in their combined lives. I wondered if they wiped their own asses or if the maid did it for them. I also wondered what it would be like not to worry about money or where my next meal was coming from. I didn¡¯t care what the college kids said¡ªramen and beer didn¡¯t make a diet. My stomach growled indignantly, protesting the ramen and beer within.
¡°Focus,¡± I told myself. I needed to concentrate if I was going to find the creature we were after and give these guys a good show. Business had been slow, after all. I wasn¡¯t sure if my head was hurting from dealing with the twins or the lack of coffee.
We were tracking what looked like a lower demon¡ªbarely more dangerous than a stray cat. It was small, maybe one or two feet tall, with claw marks scarring the cement as evidence of its presence. This little terror had been raiding warehouses downtown, snatching up leftovers and unguarded lunch boxes. The plan was simple: catch and release, sending it back to the Otherworld where it belonged.
I didn¡¯t usually take an audience with me on my hunts. It was dirty work. But these two were¡ financially persuasive. Ever since ¡°Grayson Shade: Demon Hunter¡± hit the small screen, rich kids were pouring out of their mansions, trying to buy a guided tour. TV wasn¡¯t enough. They wanted to see the real thing.
Sadly, the real thing was almost never as exciting as the shows. There were no explosions. No scantily clad girls brandishing longing looks and torn dresses. And the hunters weren¡¯t rippling-muscled heroes. At least, I wasn¡¯t. ¡°Paunchy¡± was what they called it. No, hunting wasn¡¯t all that exciting. Not that it didn¡¯t have its benefits. My own hours. No boss to micromanage me. Freedom.
Oh, who was I kidding? It was pest control for the underworld at best. Garbage disposal at worst. But it had to be done. And these kids wanted ¡°the real thing.¡± They wanted danger and darkness wrapped up in a fedora hat.
And who was I to say no to rich stupidity? Worst case: the world would be short two mouths to feed. Best case: I¡¯d make a hefty chunk of change and could pay my plumbing for the next month. How the hell did I get here? I used to be somebody. I think.
¡°It¡¯s going to be a tough one. Dangerous,¡± I said.
I paused dramatically and sniffed the air. I thought I¡¯d seen them do that on the show once.
Chapter Two: Into the Thick of It
Its tracks wound around Skid Row, back to the docks, and through the old warehouses. Its scent twisted across the city like the twine in grandma¡¯s knitted socks.
¡°You smell that?¡± I asked.
I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and this time, I actually smelled something. ¡°Sulfur. We¡¯re close.¡±
¡°I hope so,¡± Jac said.
¡°We¡¯ve been walking around this shithole for hours,¡± Jean added.
¡°I told you, we can¡¯t risk using the car. Demons hate the smell of Nightstone. Spooks ¡¯em.¡± That, of course, was a complete lie. Demons actually loved lurking around gas stations and refineries, the stink of their realm blending perfectly with the acrid tang of rift fumes. But the wonder boys didn¡¯t need to know that. They also didn¡¯t need to know that my car was stuck in the shop, held hostage by an unpaid bill. Or that even if I had it back, I couldn¡¯t afford an ounce of the stuff with the prices these days. No, there was plenty Jac and Jean didn¡¯t need to know.
The scent led us toward an abandoned street hidden away near the dock. Tall brick buildings loomed on either side, their jagged edges reaching for the sky like dying giants. If you squinted, you could almost see the grandeur of their past, now long forgotten.
Once-grand buildings stood tall, their ornate architecture now covered in a thick layer of grime and graffiti. The sound of our footsteps echoed off the decaying walls as we walked. The only source of light came from a flickering streetlamp ahead, casting eerie shadows and revealing shards of broken glass scattered along the pavement like sharp jewels. A chill wind blew through the empty streets, carrying with it a sense of unease. I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was watching us from the shadows, lurking just out of sight.
The light flickered, sputtered, then faded out for a few heartbeats before grudgingly flaring back to life. Damned Infernum fluctuations. Could mean a rift was tearing open nearby, or maybe this side of the city just forgot to pay its dues. Either way, it was a bad omen.
Infernum hummed through the bones of the city, a low, unyielding thrum that kept the lights flickering and the machines grinding. It was the pulse of this place, flowing through blackstone veins buried deep beneath the streets, connecting everything in a web of dark energy. Most didn¡¯t think about it¡ªuntil it stuttered. That¡¯s when you realized just how fragile it all was, how much of this world depended on a force that didn¡¯t give a damn if we lived or died.
It was as much a part of the city as the bricks and grime. When that pulse faltered, it wasn¡¯t silence¡ªit was absence. The kind of void you feel in your chest when you realize you¡¯ve stopped breathing.
For people like me¡ªEnhanced, they called us, part machine, part flesh¡ªInfernum wasn¡¯t just a sound. It was a vibration in my skull, a low, unrelenting thrum that rattled my teeth and buzzed at the raw edges of my synthetic nerves, a reminder that even my body wasn¡¯t entirely my own.
I activated the System and ran a Status Check.
SYSTEM STATUS: OPERATIONAL (CRITICAL ERRORS DETECTED)This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
User: Jack Callaghan
Designation: Hunter-Class Hybrid (Human/Enhanced)
System Integrity: 63%
System Rank/Version: Unranked, Version Classified, Code Name: Project Methuselah
Warning: A recall has been ordered on this System. Report to nearest FedClinic for immediate replacement.
CORE VITALS
-
Vitality: 71% ¡ª Moderate (Scarring detected in thigh, shoulder, and abdomen. Reduced flexibility and strength.)
-
Resilience: 68% ¡ª Moderate (Previous breaks in ribs, shoulder blade, and arm create weak points under stress. Long-term wear increasing strain. Blood toxicity at 4%; effects; minimal.)
-
Fatigue: 42% ¡ª Stable (Mechanical supports compensating for muscle atrophy; power reserves¡ªholding.)
-
Humanity: 57% ¡ª Reduced (Cybernetic Enhancements account for 41%, Corruption accounts for 2%). Warning: Vital System Updates Incompatible. Please upgrade firmware to avoid long-term degradation risk and unforeseen side effects.
GLITCH DETECTED / ERROR
-
Ghost File Identified: Sarah. Presence persists within neural interface. Memory node remains locked.
-
Interaction Frequency: Elevated.
-
Unauthorized Task Log Entries:
-
¡°Find Sarah¡± repeated 17 times.
-
Task Log Error ¨C Status: Impossible, Cannot Delete: ¡°Find Sarah.¡± (Entry timestamp does not match user input.)
ENVIRONMENTAL CORRUPTION LEVELS
-
Infernum Exposure: 13% (Low)
-
Rift Residue Detected: Active. Recommendation: Cleanse immediately to prevent interface degradation.
GEAR AND RESOURCES
-
Primary Weapon: Dark Blade Mk-II (Rank C). Edge integrity at 71%. Recalibration suggested.
-
Armor Status: Modular chestplate compromised; right forearm plating missing.
-
Credits: 460 remaining.
TASK LOG
-
Hunt Target: Rift Entity (Low-Class Demon). Take spectators. Payment agreed at 2000 credits.
-
Upgrade Gear: Overdue.
-
Pay for Vehicle Repairs: Overdue.
-
Pay Rent: Overdue.
-
Nutrient Shopping: Overdue.
ENVIRONMENTAL THREAT ANALYSIS
|
Chapter Three: I Should Have Brought My Coat
The warnings were background static, a hum that had settled into my skull like tinnitus. Always there, flashing neon on the edge of my vision, flickering like a broken bulb that just wouldn¡¯t quit. I¡¯d considered taking the System in for a replacement, back when FedClinics still existed. But the War ended that. Now, the soldiers who¡¯d crawled out of the fire were either dead or had upgraded, and the clinics lost their funding. Even if I did find someone to swap out the guts, the price tag was enough to make you sick¡ªnot that there¡¯d be much left of me worth keeping afterwards.
Movement caught my eye at the far end of the alley. A flicker in the dark, a shadow shifted, and there she was¡ªSarah. Her eyes met mine, wide and bright, like she was seeing straight into me. Her hair hung loose in a braid, messy like it always got no matter how many times I tried to make it neat.
¡°Dad.¡±
Her voice cut through me, slicing past bone and muscle to bury itself deep in my heart. A word like a wound, and then she was gone, swallowed back into the dark.
A glitch. A Ghost. That¡¯s all she was¡ªa memory fragment seared into the System. A burn mark on the synapses, an echo that tech could never quite scrub out. She¡¯d pop up from time to time, like embers that refused to die after the fire had gone cold. Replace the System, they said, and the glitches would stop. But replacing the System would mean losing her¡ªlosing the last parts of her that I still had.
Sure, my rig was outdated. Everyone else had moved on to the new models long ago¡ªsleeker, faster, loaded with Grid sync capabilities, user-friendly interfaces, and hell, maybe even a coffee app if you asked nicely. But this one? This one was built for the kind of work I do. Heavy, clunky, unrefined. Just like me. It was military-issue tech, a relic from the War, a direct line for orders, a threat assessor, a field ops tracker¡ªsimple, functional, brutal. Perfect.
It even knew how to read people. Not true AI, not since the laws got passed¡ªsince people decided giving machines a personality was a step too far. Highly illegal, they said. Unethical. Dangerous. So the Systems stayed cold, calculations without compassion, processing without perception. Clever programming, sure, but no spark, no soul.
The new models promised better Humanity retention¡ªless bleed-out, more ¡°optimized for balance¡± garbage. Balance wasn¡¯t what I needed. I needed something that could take a hit, keep running. This System? It could handle whatever I threw at it, no questions, no complaints. And I wasn¡¯t planning to Cast, not ever.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Casters¡ªdon¡¯t even get me started. Pulling raw aether from the Otherworld, burning their own humanity away, bit by bit, as if they could earn it all back in the end. People talk about Humanity like it¡¯s currency¡ªspend it on tech, or spend it on demons. Either way, it runs out. Me? I¡¯ll stick with the metal and wire, thanks. Wasn¡¯t like I had much humanity left to lose, anyhow.
Something shifted in the darkness ahead.
¡°Hear that?¡± Jac asked nervously.
¡°I don¡¯t hear anything,¡± Jean replied. My retinal enhancers adjusted, zeroing in on the source of the noise.
I lifted my hand with the universal sign for ¡°shut the hell up.¡±
There was an eternity of silence, and then¡ something shifted again. A can rolled out from around a corner. Then there was the sound of claws on metal. A dumpster. Not too unusual to find lost demons rummaging for leftovers. But something was wrong. The sound was... wrong.
I signaled them to stay back and moved forward, every step deliberate, avoiding the slightest noise. Touching the ground, I confirmed it. More rift-soot. Except this time my hand was covered. This was no small fission.
I was a few feet from the corner when I felt something sticky under my feet. It wasn¡¯t until the streetlamp flashed again that I saw it. Blood. Not the type of blood you wanted to see alone at night. Demonic pale blood, almost white. My breathing stopped and I froze. The streetlamp flashed again, and the carnage illuminated around me. I was standing in the middle of countless chunks of flesh, bone, and blood. This was the demon I was hunting¡ªsomething had gotten to it before I could. I heard the sound of a low growl, scraping, and wet gnashing teeth in the darkness.
I slowly started walking backward toward the twins. Inch by inch, I moved back with the silence of a trained cat burglar.
¡°Hey! What¡¯s taking you?¡± One of them shouted from behind me.
The alley went silent and my face must have turned pale as the moon.
I frantically held up my hand again, mouthing for them to be quiet. We stood there in silence for a heartbeat.
Maybe it didn¡¯t hear them. Maybe it went away. Where are you?
As my body flew sideways across the street and slammed into the hood of an abandoned car, I got the answer to my question. Blood stained my shirt as adrenaline quickly numbed the pain. It was going to be a long, cold night. Too cold for this time of year. I should have brought my coat.
Chapter Four: If Death is Calling, I Aint Answering
Gritting my teeth against the sharp stab of pain, I pushed myself off the dented hood of the car, scanning the murky shadows for any sign of the demon. My mind raced, cycling through every survival tactic I¡¯d ever learned, but none seemed promising against a creature that had just massacred its own kind with such brutal efficiency.
The twins crouched behind a dumpster, their eyes wide with terror. I gestured wildly for them to run, to get as far from this nightmare as they could. But as they turned to flee, the air trembled with the heavy, deliberate steps of the beast.
The world grew colder, thick with the scent of iron and fear. From the darkness, it emerged¡ªtowering, its form grotesquely twisted, skin a sickly pale that seemed to glow under the flickering streetlamp. Its eyes, deep red, fixed on me with a predator¡¯s focus. I knew then there was no outrunning this fate.
I drew the silver sword from my belt, the last sliver of hope. It had seen better days. But then again, so had I. My arms felt like lead, yet I raised the weapon, steadying my breath. The demon laughed, a sound like cracking bones. It moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat.
The clash was brief. My blade met its mark, slicing through thick flesh, but the demon was swifter, more ruthless. Its claws raked across my chest, tearing through flesh and bone with sickening ease. Pain exploded through my body, a raw, searing agony that drowned out all else. Red lights flashed in my vision.
Warning:
-
Vitality decreased to 52%
-
Vitality decreased to 46%
-
Vitality decreased¡
|
I mentally swiped the notifications away.
Damn, I really should have brought my coat.
With a guttural roar, it lifted me by the neck, my feet dangling helplessly. The world blurred, the edges of my vision darkening. I could feel its breath, cold and foul, as it leaned close, its lips peeling back into a gruesome smile.
With a violent thrust, it hurled me through the air like a ragdoll. Time slowed as I spun, the world a dizzying swirl of lights and shadows. I crashed through the wooden railing of the nearby dock with a splintering crash, my body wracked under the impact.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
With a strength I didn¡¯t know I possessed, I pushed myself to my feet. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I forced my trembling legs to move. My instincts took over, guiding me through the chaos and pain. The demon charged once more, its black eyes gleaming with malice.
With a guttural roar that felt more primal than human, I confronted the demon head-on. My body moved on instinct, sidestepping just as its claws swiped the air where I stood a heartbeat ago. The silver blade in my hand flashed once before it buried itself deep into the demon¡¯s chest.
Its scream tore through the night, a sound sharp enough to freeze the blood. The demon convulsed, its twisted form casting jagged shadows that writhed across the ground, the splattered blood gleaming like molten silver as it pooled around the beast.
I fell to my knees beside it, body shaking from adrenaline and pain. I caught sight of Jac and Jean peering out from behind the dumpster, their faces ghostly in the moonlight. One of them raised a trembling hand in a hesitant wave, as pale and uncertain as the night itself.
But my victory was fleeting, slipping away as a shadow loomed over me. The demon, stubborn in its death, rose one last time, my blade still lodged in its chest.
It trembled like a dying man, but the hatred in its eyes cut through the haze, sharp and cold. With one last spiteful swipe, its claws raked from my neck to my abdomen. The pain hit like a hot iron to the flesh, searing and immediate. I stumbled back, gripping my neck as blood spilled between my fingers, the world fading to a blur at the edges.
My legs gave way, and I tumbled, the broken railing of the dock offering no resistance as I toppled over it. The icy water below embraced me with an unforgiving grip, the salt biting into my wounds like a thousand tiny daggers.
Red lights flared in my vision. I didn¡¯t have the strength to dim them, not even a flicker of effort left in me. But they dimmed anyway¡ªfading with the rest of the world as it all began to slip away.
The weight of my soaked clothes pulled me down, tugging at me like the hands of the damned, but the bulk I¡¯d added over the years¡ªan accumulation of bad habits and worse decisions¡ªkept me afloat, just skimming the edge of the abyss. Strength slipped away, my vision a narrowing tunnel of shadowy nothingness. The last thing I saw before the cold took me was a crumpled cigarette pack drifting down to the bottom of the ocean, forgotten and adrift in the vast, uncaring void. The darkness watched, indifferent, before it swallowed me whole.
|
Warning:
Vitality critically low. Seek immediate¡
|
My body floated in the water, a silhouette of my former life. The waves pushed at me, relentless and indifferent.
And then, stillness. Not the gentle lull of a sleepy afternoon, where the world sighed with the weight of its dreams. Nor the hallowed hush of a library, where secrets slumbered between the pages of forgotten books.
No, this stillness was ancient¡ªa stillness that belonged to crumbling ruins and hollowed-out cities, where memories didn¡¯t dare to tread.
And in that stillness, as if he had always been and always would be, stood a man.
Chapter Five: Deathcabs & Drycleaners
Death leaned lazily against the hood of a black-and-yellow checkered cab, staring down at my lifeless corpse as it bobbed in the murky water. The cab wasn¡¯t one of the sleek, newer models¡ªthis thing was a fossil from a long-forgotten era. But in a world where the cost of parts rivaled rent, relics like this were more rule than exception, patched up with mismatched upgrades just to keep rolling.
The ocean¡¯s idle ebb and flow made my body dance, bouncing against the stilts of the dock. The motion only made it seem more dead. I stood silent and still, trying to make sense of the scene.
¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned. Jack Callaghan, in the spectral. I¡¯m a huge fan.¡±
Death¡¯s smile faded as he placed a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Real shame,¡± he said, thrusting a long finger toward the body. ¡°It¡¯ll be a few hours before anyone finds it, at least. Hate to see water damage like that. Not to mention the hungry fish. I¡¯m not a betting man, but if I were, I¡¯d put money down on a closed casket.¡± He reached down with one slender arm and lifted my face out of the water, taking a moment to consider it. ¡°Yep, definitely closed.¡± He dropped it with a splash.
Death looked different from what you¡¯d expect. He wore a cloak and bore a scythe, as he¡¯s classically depicted. But the cowl was pulled back, revealing the face of a man. He looked middle-aged, with faint lines around his eyes, the kind etched by years of smiling. His skin was sun-kissed, though still pale at the neck, and he had the unassuming air of a dad who never missed a soccer game but forgot his own anniversary every year.
The thing that got me, though, wasn¡¯t his face. It was the way he felt real¡ªtoo real¡ªwhile everything else around me felt paper-thin, like a cheap holo-projection. The world was off, flat, empty, like it had been sketched by someone who forgot how depth worked. My head throbbed, intense rhythmic drums, like the System was trying to sync with something that didn¡¯t exist anymore.
I tried to focus, but my life was a haze¡ªa chaotic jumble of fractured images, static, and half-formed thoughts. Desperate, I triggered a Status Check, but the only response was a flare of agony, a white-hot spike tearing through my nerves. The System was gone, glitching itself into oblivion. And me? I wasn¡¯t far behind.
¡°Don¡¯t worry about the mind fog,¡± he said, with the bedside manner of an experienced nurse. ¡°The memories come back... or they don¡¯t. You¡¯re thinking without a brain now. New sensation. Don¡¯t know why people try to think with their brains anyhow. Gums up the works, if you ask me. But what do I know? I¡¯m just the embodiment of Life¡¯s Ending, the face of Transition itself.¡±
¡°It¡¯s coming back to me. But it¡¯s a bit of a blur,¡± I replied, my voice distant, like it belonged to someone else.
¡°Quite right. Few people like to hold on to their lives. Easier to let it all slip away, isn¡¯t it? Don¡¯t think too much about it¡ªalways leads to headaches.¡± His accent was a patchwork, shifting like a bad signal, slipping from one region to another mid-sentence, as though he couldn¡¯t quite decide who he wanted to be.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
I studied him, then looked back at the body¡ªmy body. I should¡¯ve been more shocked, maybe terrified, but I wasn¡¯t. I¡¯d seen plenty of strange things: demons, cursed houses, hellish battlefields filled with horrors that refused to die. But this? This was something else entirely.
The edges of my vision flickered, faint bursts of static dancing in the periphery. Images pulsed through my mind¡ªjagged and fragmented. Memories? Hallucinations? A system glitch? I couldn¡¯t tell anymore. I¡¯d heard the stories¡ªabout systems and brains fusing, about neural interfaces going haywire when the end came. Machines spitting out their final, desperate moments as the mind unraveled. I guess this was mine.
Reality rippled, a hollow hum echoing somewhere in the distance.
¡°I¡¯m definitely going insane, or dying,¡± I muttered, the words feeling heavy and inevitable. ¡°Or both.¡±
From this perspective, the corpse hardly even looked like me. Maybe it was because it was dead, or because I wasn¡¯t used to looking at the back of my own head. Then again, and more likely, I just wanted to pretend it was someone else. That I was looking at the body of some other poor hapless schlub. That this was all just a dream. The details of my life came slowly when I let them, but they slipped through my fingers like gossamer if I reached too hard.
¡°So, this is it?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m dead?¡±
¡°I¡¯m afraid so, buddy. But don¡¯t sweat it, no-body¡¯s perfect.¡± Death waited with an expectant stare before shrugging off his smirk with a sigh. ¡°Tough crowd.¡± He shook his head subtly. ¡°What do you expect when talking to stiffs?¡±
¡°You¡¯re not really what I expected,¡± I said.
¡°You know, I get that a lot. It¡¯s like the hood and scythe aren¡¯t enough anymore. People want the whole song and dance. I mean, that was good and all for the first thousand years, but come on, can you honestly tell me you¡¯d prefer this?¡±
He lifted his hood over his head. Black tendrils of smoke spiraled around him, raising him into the air several feet. His face, hidden behind the deep and endless darkness of his hood, left two fiery orbs peering back at me. His hands, skeletal and grotesque, pointed down at me as he rose higher and higher still. Winds crashed hard, and I struggled to stay on my feet.
Then a voice that sounded as old as time itself. To say it spoke would be wholly lacking. Rather, it intoned without speaking. Deep and full and all that was.
¡°DEATH HATH COMETH, PUNY MORTAL. BOW NOW FOR YOUR TIME IS AT ITS END. ACCEPT THE FATE OF ALL. FOR I AM THE DESTINY OF ALL CREATURES. THE FINAL WORD OF ALL WORDS. THE¡¡±
¡°Okay! Okay! I get your point,¡± I shouted out against the whipping winds. This was insane.
Within a blink, he was the middle-aged man again. ¡°See what I mean?¡± he said, straightening up and dusting himself off. ¡°And all that smoke leaves a smell. Heck of a time at the dry cleaners.¡± He assessed me briefly. ¡°Hey, you don¡¯t happen to know of a good dry cleaner in town? Possibly one familiar with shawls. Good cleaners are hard to find. I¡¯d machine wash, but I hate to...¡± He looked up and caught my eyes before shaking his head. ¡°I suppose not. Well, no matter. It¡¯s about time to go.¡± He opened the backseat of the cab and made a sweeping motion with his hand.
Chapter Six: Eternally Not Grateful
I watched him closely, half-expecting another one of those unsettling transformations, but he just stood there, one hand casually shoved into his pocket, the other gesturing toward the cab door, like he was the chaperone at a school dance. It was almost disarming¡ªtoo normal for someone like him¡ªand that¡¯s what bothered me.
Death wasn¡¯t what you think. It was like the punchline to a joke that you missed, leaving nothing but an empty, bitter feeling at the end. Maybe life was the joke after all. I glanced down at the corpse sprawled out in front of me, bloated and already becoming a feast for flies. The sight was familiar, yet the finality of it felt distant, like something just out of reach.
Then I looked at Death¡ªreally looked at him. I¡¯d never imagined what he might be like, but this wasn¡¯t it. There was something familiar in his eyes¡ªa look I¡¯d seen too many times before. It was the same haunted stare I¡¯d caught in worn-out car salesmen and down-and-out hustlers: nervous, desperate, like he was about to pull a fast one on me. It was as if...
¡°Alright,¡± I said, turning towards the cab, pushing down the gnawing unease twisting in my gut. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±
Before I could reach the door, Death materialized in front of me, his eyes now brimming with concern. ¡°Just like that?¡±
Something didn¡¯t sit right. He was holding back; I could feel it.
¡°Why not? I sure look dead to me,¡± I said, nodding at the waterlogged corpse. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve got anything better to do. So, tell me¡ªcan you catch the game in the afterlife, or wherever I¡¯m headed?¡±
Death raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of incredulity and something close to amusement. ¡°This is where most people beg. You don¡¯t want more time? No unfinished business? No lost love or vendetta to settle?¡±
I¡¯d seen cons before, and this smelled like one. Death wanted me to plead, to bargain for another shot. And maybe a part of me wanted to, but a bigger part of me hated being played.
¡°Nope, I¡¯m good.¡± I shrugged, trying to keep the weight of it all from crushing me. ¡°I¡¯ve lived my life. Wasn¡¯t the best life, but it was mine. And, as my old man used to say, ¡®when it¡¯s your time to go, it¡¯s your time to go.¡¯¡± I attempted to dodge around him, but he moved to block me again.
¡°Hold on,¡± he said, raising a hand. ¡°Are you really ready for what comes next? Don¡¯t you even want to know where you¡¯re headed?¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
I paused, considering his words for a moment. ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡±
His grin faltered, darkening into something almost... worried. ¡°It¡¯s not where you think.¡±
¡°I said, I don¡¯t care.¡± I made toward the cab door again, but Death didn¡¯t budge. His eyes narrowed, sharp as a knife. Then, as if deciding something, he deflated a bit.
¡°Alright, fine, you got me,¡± he muttered, frustration clear in his voice. With a swift motion, he slammed the cab door shut, the lock clicking ominously. From his cloak, he pulled out an hourglass and turned it on its side. Instantly, the world ground to a near halt¡ªthe ocean froze, waves suspended mid-crest, and the flies buzzing around my corpse hung motionless, their wings caught mid-flap.
¡°What¡¯s with all the theatrics, Death?¡± I asked, my patience wearing thin. ¡°Think I¡¯ve had enough of the song and dance routine.¡±
¡°I figured if you asked me, it¡¯d be easier than... well, it doesn¡¯t really matter. They warned me you¡¯d be difficult,¡± he said, shaking his head.
¡°Why are you really here? And what the hell is going on? You make a habit of collecting every soul personally?¡±
Death¡¯s eyes darted around, his movements suddenly jittery, like he was expecting someone¡ªor something¡ªto be watching us. ¡°Keep it down,¡± he said, his voice low, tinged with a Manhattan accent that wasn¡¯t there before. He was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge to it.
The realization hit me like a brick. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be doing this, are you?¡±
¡°Technically, no,¡± he admitted, his reluctance palpable as his gaze slid away from mine. ¡°But then again, you weren¡¯t supposed to die just yet either, so we¡¯re both in a bit of a gray area.¡±
A knot of anger tightened in my gut. ¡°What do you mean, I wasn¡¯t supposed to die? I¡¯m standing here, pretty damn dead, aren¡¯t I?¡±
Death sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was shouldering the weight of a thousand worlds. ¡°Someone snipped your thread too early. Cut you loose before your time.¡±
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion and anger mingling. ¡°So what, someone whacked me?¡±
¡°In an Eternal sense, yeah,¡± Death replied with a shrug, as if tampering with the cosmic order was just another Tuesday. ¡°Someone¡¯s been messing with the scales. I had a word with Fate¡ªit¡¯s not her doing, which is saying something if you know how tight she keeps her threads. That little detail should keep you up at night.¡±
¡°Eternal?¡± The word felt heavy in my mouth, like the cold weight of a loaded Glock.
¡°There¡¯s a handful of us,¡± he said, waving it off like it was no big deal. ¡°Time, Fate, War, Love, even the Devil himself.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re saying you guys are, what, gods?¡±
¡°Eh, not exactly. We keep the show running, sure, but gods? No. I¡¯m still on the fence about whether there¡¯s really someone up there pulling the strings or if it¡¯s just us making it up as we go along. If there is a man upstairs, you¡¯d have to admit he¡¯s made some weird decisions. I mean, just look at sex¡ªor the duck-billed platypus. Who thought those were good ideas?¡±
He smirked, but the darkness in his eyes didn¡¯t fade. ¡°No, we¡¯re not gods. And the positions aren¡¯t permanent either. Think of it more like an immortal nine-to-five.¡±
¡°Good benefits?¡±
¡°Eh,¡± he shrugged, ¡°not a lot of vacation time.¡±
Chapter Seven: Unalived
¡°So, some not-god decided to move up my number? How¡¯s that supposed to work?¡±
¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± Death said, his tone darkening. ¡°We Eternals have a delicate balance. Each of us has total control over our own domains, but we¡¯re powerless to interfere with one another. If we start tipping the scales too much, we grant what¡¯s called Permissions¡ªa free pass for the others to step in and mess with things too.¡±
¡°The problem is, when someone breaks the rules, it¡¯s not like we get a memo of who, how, and where. We just get a feeling¡ªa Permission that lets us step outside our bounds. The more they push, the more room we have to push back.¡±
Death¡¯s gaze sharpened, locking onto mine. ¡°The biggest rule of all is we don¡¯t encroach on each other¡¯s territory. Ever. Which brings us to you, Jack. You¡¯re in a dangerous spot. Someone¡¯s breaking the rules to get to you, and that gives me a little leeway to bend some of the rules myself.¡±
I leaned against the cab, hands tangled in my hair, trying to make sense of it all. ¡°Why the hell would someone want me dead?¡±
¡°Now that¡¯s the billion-credit question, isn¡¯t it?¡± Death said, leaning in, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that chilled me.
¡°Someone took you out early, and you better believe they had a damn good reason. If it wasn¡¯t me, and it wasn¡¯t Fate, that leaves us with a very short list of suspects, none of whom you¡¯d want to meet in a dark alley. And trust me, Jack, when someone starts skipping protocol like this, it¡¯s never just about one man. They¡¯re playing a bigger game, with pieces even I can¡¯t see yet. You¡¯re just the first move we¡¯ve caught. And changing someone¡¯s schedule like this? That¡¯s a pretty big move.¡±
There was a tremor in Death¡¯s voice, the kind that creeps in when you¡¯re staring down the barrel of a gun, but you don¡¯t know whose finger¡¯s on the trigger.
¡°Alright, I¡¯ll bite,¡± I said, narrowing my eyes. ¡°Someone wants me¡ªa washed-up Hunter P.I.¡ªout of the way. Why? What could I possibly do that someone with that kind of power would care about?¡±
Death threw up his hands in exasperation. ¡°What do you want me to say? It¡¯s destiny¡ªyou¡¯re the hero, the chosen one, the protagonist of this twisted tale¡ªthe late, great Jack Callaghan, demon hunter and private eye.¡±
I snorted. ¡°I call bullshit.¡±
¡°Oh, of course you do, because it is bullshit. But you¡¯re what we got. You think I¡¯m happy putting this on you?¡±
¡°There are a dozen other Hunters out there far better suited to be a hero than me. Maybe a decade ago, sure, but you¡¯d have better luck grabbing Greyson Shade.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Death chuckled, a low, dark sound. ¡°Oh, I love that show. We watch it religiously at the office. No, we checked, and Greyson¡¯s not due for...¡± He stopped mid-sentence, catching the hard edge in my stare.
¡°I¡¯m gonna need a little more honesty here,¡± I said.
¡°You want honesty?¡± he asked, leaning in. ¡°Alright, honestly, I didn¡¯t even know who you were until today. Honestly, the only reason I¡¯m here is because someone didn¡¯t want me to be. They slipped up, I got curious, and decided to check things out for myself. If they hadn¡¯t, you¡¯d already have transitioned automatically¡ªswoosh.¡± He made a flushing motion with his hand. ¡°Down the cosmic toilet with the rest of you miscreants. Why¡¯d they cut your thread in particular? No clue. But I know they did, and that means they stepped into my domain without so much as a ¡®how¡¯s your mother.¡¯¡±
¡°Alright, I get it. They stepped on your toes. But, for argument¡¯s sake, and just out of curiosity¡ªwhat if I don¡¯t care?¡±
¡°Excuse me?¡± Death asked, giving me a sharp look.
¡°What if I... don¡¯t... care? Right, wrong, or otherwise, I¡¯m dead. And what you¡¯ve got sounds like a problem for the living. I¡¯ve done my time. What if I want out?¡±
¡°You¡¯re really chapping my ass, you know that?¡± He glanced up at the sky, his hands flying up in exasperation, fingers pinched, as if the universe itself could see the injustice. ¡°Anybody else, huh? You couldn¡¯t have picked anybody else?¡±
¡°I thought you didn¡¯t believe in God.¡±
¡°I specifically didn¡¯t say that. I said ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯ But if there is a god, he¡¯s got one hell of a sense of humor, cursing me with a walking migraine in the form of an out-of-shape asshole. Listen good, you whiny little ingrate, not everything is about you.¡±
He leaned in closer for emphasis. ¡°The boundaries between this world and the Otherworld are fraying. Demons are getting bolder, slipping through the Rift more often, and with far too much ease.¡± He nodded at my lifeless body. ¡°Case in point. We¡¯re not just dealing with pups anymore. Whoever snipped your thread is likely the same one tearing open the Rifts,¡± Death said, like he was talking to a child.
¡°I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be this hard to explain... Jack, too much is riding on what happens next. We need you back at the table. The world needs you. It¡¯s your duty.¡±
¡°Duty?¡± I let out a bitter laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that line before¡ªfrom recruiters, old war buddies, and every damsel in distress who ever crossed my path. ¡®Duty¡¯ is just a leash they use to make you think you¡¯ve got a choice. But this time, I do have a choice, and I¡¯m choosing to walk.¡±
I turned toward the cab, but Death¡¯s hand clamped down on my shoulder, hard. He leaned in, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. ¡°This isn¡¯t about you. It¡¯s not even about me. It¡¯s about the world. And this... this is just the beginning. But if you won¡¯t fight for your world, then fight for Sarah''s.¡±
Cold fury surged through me at the mention of her¡ªhow dare he drag her into this? How dare he use her name to pull my strings? But the worst part was, it was working.
I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the car. ¡°What do you know about Sarah? Talk fast.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have brought up your daughter. But,¡± he paused, considering his next words. ¡±¡ªjust because she Transitioned doesn¡¯t mean she stopped existing. When souls leave the body, they go where they¡¯re meant to, and honestly, that¡¯s not even up to me. I¡¯m just the driver. But I do know one thing¡ªwherever she is, she wouldn¡¯t want you letting the world fall apart.¡±
I locked eyes with him, calculating exactly how one might go about killing a not-god.
Chapter Eight: Mostly Dead
¡°They¡¯re poking holes in the curtain, Jack. And when that curtain falls, it¡¯s lights out for everyone¡ªno matter where they are, this plane or the next.¡± He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before delivering the final blow. ¡°No Otherworld, no Normies¡ªjust a big, empty void. Everyone inside? Gone. Or worse, trapped in eternal torment. Fire, brimstone, death on repeat. You get the picture?¡±
I let him go, and Death straightened, smoothing out his cloak as if brushing off cosmic dust before he spoke again.
¡°Now, I¡¯m going to let that one slide because you¡¯re in a bad way, and I know this isn¡¯t easy. But if you touch me again, they¡¯ll be picking up pieces of your soul across every dimension of the cosmos. You can¡¯t technically kill a soul, but you can damn sure hide one in tiny bits. Catch my drift?¡±
A bitter realization washed over me, my anger morphing into something darker, more suffocating. He had me cornered, and we both knew it. I was a rat in a maze with no way out. I tried to take a deep breath, but frustration simmered just below the surface. If he was right, if this was as wide-reaching as he said, there was no escape¡ªnot in this life, not in the next. And if he was right about Sarah...
Death noticed the shift in my expression, and his tone softened. He leaned in, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s not all bad. We could be worse off. You¡¯ve got your perks. Sure, you¡¯re rough around the edges,¡± he said, giving my gut a light tap, ¡°but you¡¯ve got connections, knowledge, and an endearing lack of self-preservation. Plus, you¡¯re already dead. What more could they do to you?¡±
He wasn¡¯t wrong. I could get close to things¡ªand people¡ªothers couldn¡¯t. And there were still a few loose ends I wouldn¡¯t mind tying up.
¡°So, what do you need me to do?¡±
Death considered me for a long moment. He wasn¡¯t just looking at me¡ªhe was looking into me. It was unsettling, to say the least.
¡°Get back to living, Jack. Be who you were¡ªthat¡¯s it. Whatever path you were on that got you killed? Stay on it. You¡¯ll know you¡¯re headed in the right direction when things start heating up. And keep an eye out for the other Eternals. Do this for me¡ªmaybe save the world while you¡¯re at it¡ªand I¡¯ll put in a good word. Might even let you finally rest. Deal?¡±
I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to kick rocks back to wherever the Eternals came from. But then Sarah¡¯s face flashed in my mind, and the decision was already made. I took a breath, steeled myself, and nodded. ¡°Alright, fine. I¡¯ll do it.¡±
Relief washed over Death¡¯s face. ¡°Great. Only took half an hour of my life that I¡¯ll never get back.¡± He exhaled deeply, visibly relaxing. ¡°Just remember¡ªlive your life like you always have. Do what you would¡¯ve done before, and avoid what you wouldn¡¯t have. It¡¯s pretty straightforward.¡±
He pulled a small, shimmering vial from his cloak, filled with a dark, swirling liquid. ¡°Drink this. It¡¯ll bind your soul back to your body.¡±
I uncorked the vial but hesitated, narrowing my eyes at Death. ¡°There¡¯s a catch, isn¡¯t there?¡±
¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, a little too casually.
¡°A catch. A scheme. The fine print,¡± I said, my voice sharp.
¡°Well, now that you mention it¡ it¡¯s a trifling thing, really. Barely worth noting,¡± Death admitted, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ¡°Just a little give and take, a bit of a bumble and a stumble.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
¡°Spit it out.¡±
¡°When I send you back, you won¡¯t be exactly the same. There¡¯s always a cost. Hard to say what it¡¯ll be, but... with a fair degree of certainty, you¡¯ll be... somewhat alive,¡± he muttered, the last part barely audible.
¡°Somewhat alive? Did I hear that right?¡±
¡°Well... mostly dead. But if you take care of the body, it should hold up¡ for a while, at least. Think of it like a loaner.¡±
¡°Great. That¡¯s just great.¡±
I shook my head and downed the contents in one searing gulp. The taste was startling¡ªa bitter mix of herbs laced with a sweetness that lingered, burning as it slid down my throat. My vision blurred, and a violent tug yanked me back toward my body.
¡°Now, this part is going to hurt you a lot more than it will me,¡± Death said, hopping into the water. He stood easily on the still surface between cresting waves, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a glowing, thrumming crystal. It looked like an ember of life itself, pulsing with raw power.
My body floated toward him, the potion working like threads binding me to my corpse¡ªtoo many strings, old and rotten, reeking of rancid decay. Agony tore through me as he rammed the pulsing crystal to my chest, right into my unbeating heart. The light sank deep, yellow and flaring as it fused with me.
The world spun¡ªnausea, burning, freezing¡ªwaves of torment crashed through my veins, my body unable to decide which agony to settle on.
¡°And Jack, one more thing. This is crucial. Whatever you do, for the love of all that is good and right, don¡¯t¡ª¡°
The world snapped back into focus, cutting off his words. I gasped, air tearing into my lungs like acid. Clawing my way out of the water, I shivered, drenched and trembling to the bone.
¡°For hell¡¯s sake, finish the sentence,¡± I muttered, glancing back to where Death had stood, but he was gone, and the cab with him. The only trace of our encounter was the faint smell of brimstone lingering in the air, the burn of the scar etched into my chest, and, oh yeah, the fact that I was now a walking corpse.
As I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the water, I saw it¡ªskin pallid and gray, eyes faintly glowing with an unnatural light. The truth hit me like a sledgehammer: I wasn¡¯t quite dead, but I definitely wasn¡¯t alive, either.
¡°I hate Tuesdays,¡± I grumbled, flexing stiff fingers that didn¡¯t feel entirely like my own.
I stumbled away from the dock, every step heavy with the darkness now pulsing within me. But I pushed it back, forcing myself to focus on what lay ahead. There was a mystery to solve, demons to stop, and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªa world to save. No pressure.
Breathing heavily, I stumbled away from the docks. The smell of saltwater and something acrid¡ªbrimstone? ozone?¡ªclung to my clothes. My reflection in the puddles was wrong¡ªskin pale as old circuitry, faint light bleeding from my eyes.
I found a payphone, its neon-tinted chrome scuffed and dented. The screen flickered to life as I pressed my hand against the panel, the old biometric reader humming faintly before a message blinked into existence:
¡°50 Credits Please¡±
I let out a sigh and nodded, the System authorizing the charge with a faint buzz. My System pinged, flashing a notification that the payment had been processed, along with my updated balance.
I let out a deep breath. At least the System was still limping along; functional enough.
The receiver felt heavy and cold as I picked it up, the static crackling faintly in my ear. My fingers trembled as I punched in the only number that would still answer.
¡°Cali,¡± I croaked when she picked up, her voice cracking through faint interference.
¡°Jack? You sound awful. What happened?¡±
I leaned heavily against the phone booth, glancing back toward the dark water where my corpse had been.
¡°I need a ride.¡±
Chapter Nine: Uncomfortable Truths
A red flash of pain shot through my skull, and for a second, the world glitched out of sync. It was sudden and brief, like a camera flash in a dark room. The edges of my vision rippled, and a dull throb settled behind my eyes. System warnings were par for the course lately, but the data was always gone before I could read it, with no log left behind, like it hadn''t even happened. I might not have believed it, if not for the immediate disorientation. I shook my head to clear the mental fog, but the headache stayed, a lingering reminder of things starting to break down.
That was one hell of a nosedive. I guess dying doesn''t go well with my augmentations.
The deafening roar of the engine broke through the stillness as Cali arrived in a pickup truck. Its body shimmered with a vivid turquoise. The headlights cut through the darkness like knives, revealing a chaotic tableau of destruction. Shards of glass glinted in the harsh beams, scattered debris littered the ground, and the twisted remnants of a recent struggle were illuminated in stark detail.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I stumbled towards a nearby post, my hands grasping at the rough, weathered wood for support. The gravel beneath my feet crunched loudly as Cali came running over, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust in her wake. Her eyes were wide with alarm and worry, her blonde hair tousled and wild. A metallic tang filled the air, mixing with the sharp smell of burnt rubber and sending shivers down my already trembling spine. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, dulling the pain but heightening my senses as I weakly returned Cali¡¯s concerned gaze. My vision blurred, and I struggled to stay upright against the post, a puppet with frayed strings.
¡°Jack!¡± Cali exclaimed, her voice laced with concern as she rushed to my side.
I tried not to bleed on her overalls. Her smooth features were etched with worry as she slipped an arm around my waist, supporting me as I struggled to climb into the passenger seat. I settled into the worn leather seat as Cali slid behind the wheel. The powerful engine roared to life. The scent of Nightstone filled my nostrils as we drove off into the night.
I glanced down at my Enhanced left arm and shoulder, the dull ache giving way to something sharper as a bright flash erupted from the wiring beneath my synth-skin. The blackstone cables pulsed erratically, Infernum energy crackling out in violent bursts like a bad circuit on the verge of overload. The faint glow lit the dark alley in rhythmic pulses, throwing jagged shadows against the damp walls.
I clutched the arm instinctively, trying to keep the energy contained, but it was no use. The blackstone wasn¡¯t meant to handle this level of strain, not for this long. Sparks hissed and spat, tiny fractures crawling along the plating like cracks in ice.
I gritted my teeth against the pain as the glowing veins of Infernum energy flared again.
¡°Just ran into a bit of trouble,¡± I muttered through gritted teeth, unable to hide the grimace of pain that crossed my face with every movement. My voice was harsh and strained, and I clutched my neck reflexively. ¡°Thanks for coming.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Cali¡¯s voice, touched with a gentle Southern twang, wrapped around me like a warm embrace, making the world feel just a little less cold. ¡°For devil¡¯s sake, Jack.¡± Her eyes were filled with kindness and concern. ¡°Let¡¯s get you sorted out and figure out just what kind of mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into this time.¡± Her gaze wandered over my battered form, tracing the angry red cuts and dark bruises that marred my skin.
Cali¡¯s worried eyes flickered between the road and my face. ¡°Jack, you look like hell. What happened to you?¡±
As the truck sped through the night, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the side mirror. She wasn¡¯t wrong.
I hesitated, trying to find the words. ¡°It¡¯s... complicated.¡±
Her brow furrowed. ¡°Complicated? Like how? You owe someone money complicated? Or you picked a fight with a werewolf again complicated?¡±
I forced a weak smile. ¡°No, more like I had a run-in with Death. Literally.¡±
She scoffed. ¡°Death, huh? Well, that¡¯s new.¡± She paused, glancing at me. ¡°He stop by for tea and cookies?¡±
¡°Not exactly,¡± I said, my voice barely a whisper.
The truck drove on, its engine a steady, comforting growl, filling the silence that followed. We passed the exit to my place. ¡°Where are you taking me?¡±
¡°The hospital, where else?¡±
¡°No, Cali. We can¡¯t. We need to keep this under wraps.¡±
She looked at me like I had just suggested she eat a dead slug off the sidewalk.
¡°Oh sure, because patching you up in my garage is the smart play. I think I¡¯ve got a new carburetor that should do the trick. Jack, you¡¯re half-dead!¡±
¡°Cali, I¡¯m undead.¡±
She snorted with the kind of refined elegance that only comes from years of perfecting the art of not giving a damn.
¡°You¡¯re telling me you¡¯re a zombie now?¡± She glanced me over, more intently this time, stealing quick looks while keeping her eyes on the road.
¡°Yeah,¡± I said, trying to keep it casual. ¡°Undead, reanimated, Death¡¯s errand boy. Take your pick.¡±
She smiled, brushing it off with a shrug, like it was just a bad joke. Which, in a cosmic way, it was. But then, as the warm glow of streetlights swept across my face, I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes¡ªa subtle shift I couldn¡¯t miss. I didn¡¯t envy the rollercoaster she was on tonight¡ªfirst the shock of hearing my voice crackle over the pay phone, desperate, then helping me shamble up, and now this. I caught the moment it hit her that I wasn¡¯t joking. But still, she couldn¡¯t fully accept it. I had to rip off the band-aid.
¡°Look.¡± I turned on the light in the cab so she could see me clearly. A bloody gash was open across my throat, and three lines were bleeding from my side where the demon clawed. My face was puffy from the waterlog. Anyone else in my state would be dead. Well, I guess I was no exception.
I cursed as she nearly sent us careening off the road. The tires screeched, the truck fishtailing before jerking to a stop. She threw me a sideways glare, caught between exasperation and disbelief.
¡°Satan on skis, Jack! What the hell is going on? Fighting demons is one thing, but this? What kind of mess have you dragged yourself into this time?¡±
Chapter Ten: Playing Doc
I explained the series of events leading up to my death and the surreal conversation with the Eternal. Cali took a deep breath, her grip on the steering wheel loosening and tightening. After I finished the story, silence hung heavy between us, a long pause that made me wonder if she was about to throw me out of the truck.
¡°Only you, Jack. Only you.¡± Her voice was soft, almost as if she wasn¡¯t speaking to me at all.
Slowly, she shook her head, her gaze drifting off into the distance as cars streaked past like steel bullets, racing toward whatever destiny awaited them. She took another deep, slow breath, gave a subtle nod, and shifted the truck back into gear. She shot me a smile, as if nothing was wrong¡ªand for a moment, I almost believed it. She had that way about her, an unshakable faith that everything was just as it should be, part of some hidden plan. I wished I had even a drop of that certainty.
¡°Alright, zombie boy. Let¡¯s get you patched up at the shop.¡±
She hit the gas, and we were back on the road, speeding towards her garage. The tension slowly eased, replaced by a strange sense of normalcy in the midst of the chaos. I leaned back, feeling the weariness creep in.
The steady hum of the engine lulled us into a comfortable silence as we drove down the winding road. My friend smiled genuinely as she started talking again. ¡°I finally finished fixing her up,¡± she said, her voice filled with pride. ¡°She¡¯s waiting for you back at the shop. And I even managed a few improvements.¡±
She shifted gears effortlessly. I furrowed my brows, concern etched on my face. ¡°Improvements?¡±
Cali grinned mischievously and reassured me, ¡°You¡¯ll love it, you big grouch.¡±
I reached out to pat her shoulder in friendly thanks, but a sharp pain shot through my body like a bolt of lightning, causing me to recoil in agony. Every movement felt like being stabbed with hot knives, and I gritted my teeth to hide the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.
¡°You¡¯re the most skilled mechanic and Hexsmith I¡¯ve had the pleasure of knowing. If I trust anybody with her, it¡¯s you.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Cali chuckled, the sound light and melodic. ¡°And don¡¯t you dare forget it.¡± Her eyes, bright and sparkling like stars in the night sky, radiated with pride and confidence as she playfully nudged me with her elbow. I squashed the pain down.
As the truck bounced over potholes, every jolt made the damaged wiring buzz and flicker with Infernum sparks.
¡°Quit fussing with it,¡± Cali said, glancing over with a sharp look. ¡°You¡¯ll just make it worse.¡±
We reached her place, a modest apartment behind her family¡¯s fuel station and repair shop. She helped me inside, her touch careful yet firm. Martin, her scruffy mutt with one ear flopped over and a tail that never stopped wagging, came over at the noise. He hesitated at first, but after sniffing me for a moment, he started nuzzling my leg. I petted him absentmindedly.
Cali guided me to sit on a stool in the kitchen. She turned on the light and got her first good look at my entire body. Her eyes widened, and she took a sharp breath, clearly trying to keep it together.
¡°How bad is it? Give it to me straight.¡±
¡°You look like a half-eaten dog biscuit,¡± she said.
¡°Don¡¯t hold back now.¡±
¡°You look like you lost a fight with a wood chipper. Like last month¡¯s meatloaf.¡±
¡°Okay, okay, I get it.¡±
¡°You ever see a pi?ata after a kids¡¯ party? It¡¯s kind of like that, except they didn¡¯t stop after they got the candy.¡±
¡°Alright already.¡±
She disappeared into the shop, the sound of drawers opening and tools clattering echoing through the quiet. When she returned, her arms were full: a roll of black tape, a first aid and repair kit meant for Bots like me, a needle and thread, a few vials of coolant and sealant, and a small handheld mirror.
Taking the mirror, I inspected myself under the harsh kitchen light. She wasn¡¯t kidding.
My skin carried the hue of a forgotten antique, an ashen gray that caught the flicker of the streetlights in a ghostly glow. It wasn¡¯t just the color; it was the texture too¡ªlike dried leather left out to rot, rough and cracked, the kind of surface that told you time gave up trying to erode it. Deep creases slashed across my face, the remnants of a past buried long before its time, and my eyes, sunken into shadowed hollows, peered out like they¡¯d been staring at the dark for too long.
She didn¡¯t even flinch when she saw the sparks jumping from my arm. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the repair kit. ¡°Hold still,¡± she said, her voice steady, calm.
She reached into the kit, pulling out a pair of insulated pliers and a small tool with a faintly glowing tip. The smell of burnt wiring filled the air as she worked, cutting away the damaged components with precision.
¡°Looks like you fried a servo and shorted the stabilizer circuit,¡± she muttered, more to herself than to me. Her fingers moved deftly, unwinding a sparking wire and replacing it with a new one from her kit. She sealed it with a few quick taps of her soldering iron, the sharp tang of molten metal cutting through the room.
Chapter Eleven: Patched-Up
¡°There,¡± she said, stepping back to inspect her work, her brow furrowed in that way that always meant bad news. ¡°That should keep you from blowing yourself to pieces for now. But Jack, you¡¯re running on borrowed time here. This thing is a mess. You need a full replacement, not just a patch job.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve heard that before,¡± I muttered, flexing my arm. It still stung like hell, but at least it wasn¡¯t sparking anymore. ¡°What can you do without replacing it? You¡¯ve patched me up before just fine.¡±
She gave me a look¡ªhalf exasperation, half pity. ¡°Yeah, because before, it was cracks in the casing or worn wires. This?¡± She pointed at my arm like it was a ticking bomb. ¡°This is structural, Jack. Your system¡¯s crashing, and I¡¯m not exactly a miracle worker. I can rip the main wires and jerry-rig something, but it¡¯s like duct-taping a dam. It won¡¯t hold for long, and it definitely won¡¯t be compatible with anything else.¡±
¡°Good enough,¡± I said, shrugging.
Her jaw tightened, and she let out a sharp breath. ¡°You¡¯re impossible. Fine. Just don¡¯t come crying to me when your arm falls off mid-fight.¡±
¡°I never cry. It¡¯s bad for my image.¡±
She rolled her eyes but reached for her tools anyway, muttering under her breath about stubborn idiots and their death wishes. ¡°This is going to hurt,¡± she warned, snapping on a pair of gloves.
¡°Okay, give me a sec.¡±
She didn¡¯t give me a second.
The pain hit like someone had jammed a live wire straight into my nervous system. White-hot agony exploded through me, and for a second, the world disappeared in a flash of blinding light.
When it cleared, I was slumped against the workbench, breathing hard, my arm twitching like it had a mind of its own.
¡°Damn it, Cali!¡± I snarled, shaking the dizziness from my head.
She didn¡¯t look the least bit sorry. ¡°Oh, quit whining. You¡¯re still in one piece, aren¡¯t you?¡± She grabbed an oil-stained rag and wiped her hands, her voice softening just a bit. ¡°But seriously, Jack, this thing¡¯s on its last legs. If you don¡¯t get it properly repaired, it¡¯s going to fail at the worst possible moment. And knowing you, that moment will probably involve a demon with a chainsaw.¡±
I flexed my hand, testing the new connections. It worked¡ªbarely. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± I said, which was code for not a chance in hell.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
She gave me a long, knowing look. ¡°Sure you will,¡± she said dryly, packing up her tools.
Cali took a small vial of viscous liquid out of the first aid kit and started to clean my more organic wounds. It was a standard healing tonic. Her hands were deft, but she wasn¡¯t gentle. When I yelped, she looked at me with a smirk. ¡°Big baby.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t have to take so much enjoyment in it,¡± I said through gritted teeth.
Her lips curved into a wide grin. ¡°Keeps you honest. Besides, good to know you can still feel things,¡± she quipped. But I was getting a little worried about that; this all should have been much more painful than it was. She thrust the vial toward my face.
¡°Drink up, zombie boy.¡±
My gaze hovered over the clear liquid, my grotesque reflection staring back at me. Cali¡¯s eyes were practically drilling holes into my skull. With a reluctant hand, I accepted the familiar healing concoction, swirling it around skeptically. Cali¡¯s glare intensified.
¡°Just drink it, you old mop.¡±
I took a deep breath, bringing the glass to my lips and forcing myself to swallow. The thick liquid moved down my throat, making me grimace. Usually, the taste was unbearable, like drinking snails coated in battery acid. But this time it was different. It barely tasted like anything. I wondered if my dying nerve endings were to blame.
I gulped it down, feeling the tingle as the potion started to work, knitting my skin back together. Relief flooded in for a moment¡ªuntil it didn¡¯t. A sharp hiss filled the air, and my flesh began to sizzle like someone had dropped acid on it. The pain was instant, searing. I thrashed wildly, trying to spit it out, but it was too late. She grabbed a glass of water, shoving it into my hand, but but a sip only spread the burn, making it worse.
¡°Damn it!¡± I managed to croak, clawing at my throat.
She scrambled, then appeared with a gallon jug of milk. I ripped off the cap and downed it in desperate gulps, pouring the rest over my neck where the potion had turned my skin into a smoldering mess. The hissing finally started to fade, and I sagged in relief, even as the milk dribbled out through the raw, open wound.
¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Jack.¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I rasped, feeling the last remnants of the potion working their way down to my gut, where it settled like a lead weight. ¡°Neither of us could¡¯ve known it¡¯d do that. Guess health potions aren¡¯t meant for the undead.¡±
She watched as the milk slowly seeped out of my neck, a mix of horror and resignation in her eyes. ¡°We need to find something that actually helps.¡±
She got back to patching me up, this time sticking to tape and stitches, while the rest of the potions got shoved far, far away.
¡°So, this deal with Death, what¡¯s the scoop?¡±
¡°Just some freelance work,¡± I explained.
¡°And what about the whole zombie thing? Should I be worried you¡¯ll start craving brains, or are you more of the cute and cuddly variety?¡±
¡°There¡¯s a cuddly type?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know, Jack. I¡¯m not exactly an expert on the undead.¡±
She let out a low whistle. As she resumed her work, I leaned back, feeling the weariness creep in. The pain was dulling, replaced by a new sensation¡ªan emptiness, a gnawing hunger that was starting to grow. I shook it off, focusing on the pain.
Chapter Twelve: Undead
Cali¡¯s nimble fingers moved with expert precision, the needle and thread dancing in her hands as she carefully stitched up my skin. Years of growing up on a farm had given her plenty of practice stitching up her brothers long before she could even ride a bike. Her natural talent and dexterity, honed by years of hard work, also made her a formidable smith.
The night stretched on as Cali tended to my wounds. We slipped into a comfortable conversation. But deep down, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.
As she finished patching me up, I couldn¡¯t help but admire her. Despite the grease and dirt smudged on her face and clothes, she exuded a raw beauty that was both wholesome and devilish.
In her early thirties, with ocean blue eyes and a warm smile, Cali radiated genuine kindness.
She¡¯d told me once how they¡¯d all come down from Montana together¡ªher, her father, and her brothers¡ªback when the shop buzzed with voices and the clatter of tools. Back then, it wasn¡¯t just repairs; they¡¯d tinker, upgrade, and enhance anything that ran on wheels¡ªor wires. The boys, though, had a restless streak, like stray cats who couldn¡¯t stand staying penned in. Charlie took off west, chasing stardom in Hollywood, while, Jim hopped a train to Chicago, chasing fortunes in the scrapyards, where discarded cyberware and rusted augments were salvaged, hacked, and sold to the desperate and the daring.
Now they were scattered across America, chasing dreams in a booming, chaotic world. She¡¯d been left to pick up the slack, and it showed¡ªher hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, always had traces of oil and nano-grease clinging stubbornly beneath her nails, no matter how much she scrubbed. There was a metaphor in there somewhere¡ªsomething about the city sinking into your skin, leaving its mark¡ªbut I was too tired and too hungry to care.
The shop was quieter now, emptier, but she kept it running. The hum of modded equipment and the glow of work lamps cast a familiar warmth over the space. Enhancements were her specialty¡ªcybernetic upgrades, neural interface calibrations, patched-up old Systems she claimed could run better than the newer ones if you knew where to look. She said she preferred working alone these days¡ªcalmer, less chaos. Fewer voices meant fewer arguments, and she could focus. At least, that¡¯s how she put it.
But I¡¯d catch that flicker of nostalgia in her eyes sometimes, the way her gaze lingered on an old, half-broken coffee can of bolts the boys used to argue over. Like she missed the noise more than she¡¯d ever let on.
I think she would¡¯ve walked away long ago if it weren¡¯t for the ghosts keeping her company. Maybe that¡¯s why we got along so well¡ªboth of us clinging to something that refused to fade, like oil stains that never quite washed out.
When she was finished, I leaned back. ¡°Thanks for the patch-up, Doc. Got any spare brains lying around?¡±
She rolled her eyes but smiled weakly. ¡°You are obviously in want of one.¡±
I closed my eyes, the weariness finally taking over.
¡°We¡¯ll figure this out,¡± she said, her voice steady. ¡°We always do.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I muttered. ¡°We always do.¡±
I cleaned up in her bathroom, and she lent me some clothes her older brother had left behind. I stared into the cracked mirror, my reflection barely recognizable. Pale, gray skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones, faintly glowing circuits pulsing beneath the surface like veins of dying light. My left eye burned a faint green, a cybernetic implant flickering with every strained connection. The trench coat hung heavy on my shoulders, soaked through, and stained with the grime of too many fights.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
I ran a hand down my face, feeling the cold, synthetic texture where skin used to be. The System hummed faintly, keeping me stitched together, but just barely. Whatever I was now, it wasn¡¯t alive. Not really. I ran a full System Diagnostic and Status Check.
SYSTEM STATUS: UNCERTAIN (CRITICAL ERRORS DETECTED)
User: Jack Callaghan
Designation: Hunter-Class Hybrid (Undead/Enhanced)
System Integrity: 12% (Severe degradation detected¡ªprimary systems functioning at reduced capacity.)
System Rank/Version: Unranked, Version Classified, Code Name: Project Methuselah
Warning: Unauthorized alterations detected. Recall order voided¡ªSystem classified as obsolete.
CORE VITALS
-
Vitality: 0% ¡ª Fatality Detected ¡ª Error, recalibrating
-
Vitality: Calibrating¡ calibrating¡ estimated 70% (Post-mortem state detected: No active blood flow, necrotic tissue stabilized by Infernum energy. Decomposition mitigated but ongoing. System attempting diagnosis¡ incomplete data. Diagnostic analysis failed.)
-
Resilience: Unknown¡ªinsufficient data.
-
Fatigue: Unknown (Biological energy consumption reduced. Mechanical supports compensating for all motor functions.)
-
Humanity: 11% ¡ª Critical Failure Imminent (Cybernetic enhancements: 41%. Corruption: 48%. Warning: Humanity level approaching irreversible threshold.)
GLITCHES / ERRORS
-
Ghost File Detected: Sarah.
-
Presence persists in neural interface. File integrity stable. Interaction frequency elevated.
-
Unauthorized Task Log Entries: ¡°Find Sarah¡± repeated 46 times.
-
Timestamp inconsistencies noted¡ªentry pre-dates System activation.
-
Critical Error:
-
Primary neural interface partially fused with Infernum circuit. Signal instability detected.
-
Behavioral impact unknown.
TASK LOG
-
Hunt Target: Rift Entity (Low-Class Demon). Status: Failed.
-
Reason: Client safety compromised. Contract breeched. No payment shall be made.
|
The System didn¡¯t know what to make of me. Hell, neither did I. Undead, alive¡ªsomewhere in between. Every time it pinged, it spat out contradictions: Unknown. Insufficient Data. It was trying, recalibrating, struggling to define what I¡¯d become.
I flexed my fingers, the faint green glow of the circuits beneath my skin sparking in protest. The System wasn¡¯t built for this¡ªwhatever this was. Neither was I.
When I stepped out, Cali gave me a quick once-over, her keen eyes taking in the faint glow in my chest. She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
¡°It¡¯ll have to do,¡± she said.
She offered to let me take my car home, but I couldn¡¯t afford the repairs, and my pride wouldn¡¯t let me accept the favor. When she suggested giving me a lift in her truck, I reluctantly agreed.
As we headed to my place, I let out a defeated sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you back for all you do for me, Cali, I promise.¡±
She waved off my words, her eyes fixed on the road. ¡°You were a hero, Jack. You helped a lot of people. The world might have forgotten, but I haven¡¯t. You gotta let people help you once in a while.¡±
Her words hit harder than any punch. You were a hero. Were being the key word. I managed a small smile and whispered, ¡°You must¡¯ve been kissed by an angel, Cali.¡±
She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. ¡°What was that?¡±
¡°Nothing,¡± I said, chuckling. ¡°Just thinking out loud.¡±
Rain pounded the truck¡¯s roof, the wipers slashing like blades against tiny bullets. Each mile we covered, the past clawed at me, but Cali¡¯s presence kept me grounded. She was something special, that girl. She was a beacon in the darkness.
As the miles stretched out beneath the steady hum of the engine, an old, familiar ache resurfaced - a memory with the rawness of grief and the weight of regret. Part of me clung to that pain, almost welcoming its bitter taste. I took a deep breath, allowing myself to be swallowed by the past for just a moment. In that fleeting darkness, her image appeared before me: golden hair splayed out on the cold concrete, a stark contrast against the brutal splash of red that surrounded her.
People loved to say ignorance is bliss, but that was a load of crap. It wasn¡¯t the worries you braced for that gutted you¡ªit was the sucker punches you never saw coming. They also liked to tell me her death wasn¡¯t my fault, that there was nothing I could¡¯ve done. People said a lot of things.
If I had just taken the day off...
Chapter Fourteen: Murphys Law
We pulled up to a large, two-story New England-style house with a loud neon sign that read ¡°Murphy¡¯s Saloon.¡± A holo shingle above the door said, ¡°On the Corner of Lost and Found.¡± I was renting a room above the bar. I got out and headed for the entrance.
Best bar in town. Helps that it¡¯s the only bar in town. Seeing figures outside the bar wasn¡¯t unusual. The stairs to my place were inside and to the back, and you had to go in through the bar to reach it. It was called Murphy¡¯s because anything that could happen there, did. It was called Murphy¡¯s because it defied all logic, where magic was just another word. Might also have been called Murphy¡¯s because the owner¡¯s name was Murphy.
¡°Goodnight,¡± I said, flashing Cali a smile as I climbed out.
She leaned out the window, her eyes dancing with mischief. ¡°Goodnight? That¡¯s it? Not even a ¡®thanks for the ride,¡¯ old man?¡±
I chuckled. ¡°Thanks for the ride, m¡¯lady.¡± I bowed with a grimace and tipped an imaginary top hat. ¡°Good?¡±
Her grin widened. ¡°That was terrible, but I suppose it¡¯ll have to do. You better get out of the rain. You¡¯ll likely melt.¡±
¡°Thanks, Cali. I mean it. Now git. And be safe out there.¡±
Cali rolled up her window, leaving a thin crack. She gave me one last look before pulling away. ¡°You too, Jack.¡±
I watched as her taillights disappeared into the night, the thrum of the engine fading into silence. I stood outside, feeling the raindrops on my skin, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.
The thunder and rain created a peaceful overwhelm, the sound drowning out all other noises. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth. I closed my eyes and listened to the storm. I felt peaceful despite everything. Logically, I knew I shouldn¡¯t, but I did. It was as if Mother Nature herself was placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.
A distant noise shattered my reverie. I focused, straining my ears to listen. There it was again¡ªa blood-curdling scream. I cautiously made my way around to the side door, the scream growing louder and more frantic with each step.
Instinctively, my hand reached for where my gun used to sit. I¡¯d gotten rid of it a long time ago, but old habits died hard. I reached to the other side where I kept my sword, only to find it missing. I¡¯d lost it to the ocean when I died. Reality hit hard¡ªI¡¯d left behind my days of being a hero. What was I doing? I should just go home. I was barely alive. I¡¯d been given a single shot at life again. This could only end badly.
But I couldn¡¯t walk away. I moved faster toward the sounds.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Through the rain and darkness, I could barely make out four figures at the other end of the parking lot, not more than fifty feet away. The streetlights were out, but a car had its headlights on off to the side. The figures appeared ghostly in the dim green glow of a distant neon sign. As I drew closer, the scene became clearer. Three large men huddled around a lone woman, drenched in the rain. Her once pristine clothes were now ripped and torn. My gut twisted with anger, fear, and something darker as I realized what was happening. Her purse lay discarded on the wet ground.
Her screams resonated through my bones, and the question of fight or flight hit my fraying nervous system. It wasn¡¯t a question.
¡°Hey.¡± I tried to sound menacing, but it was hard to shout without tearing open the stitches in my neck under the tape.
They didn¡¯t notice me.
¡°Hey! Back off!¡± I shouted.
They stopped and turned toward me. A nasal, sharp voice cut through the storm. ¡°Why don¡¯t you mind your own business, pal?¡±
¡°How about I make it my business? Lay another hand on her, and I¡¯ll end you.¡±
Hero complex, Jack? What the hell am I doing?
The leader sneered into the darkness. ¡°Looks like the old-timer wants to play hero, boys.¡±
Heat surged along my spine, flooding every extremity with fierce, visceral rage. I felt the amber light pulsing in my chest as a guttural roar tore from my throat, and I lunged forward, transformed into crude fury.
Without warning, a man I hadn¡¯t seen before charged at me from behind, knocking me to the ground. With a quick buck and a fierce thrust of my shoulder, I sent him flying over my back, his body colliding with the slick pavement with a sickening thud.
Before I could take a breath, a sharp pain erupted at the base of my skull¡ªthe impact of a foot hammering down on me. The force knocked me off balance, and I tumbled face-first onto the cold, unforgiving gravel.
A never-ending barrage of heavy boots descended upon me, each one slamming into my body with ruthless abandon, obliterating any coherent thought and reducing my world to one primal instinct: survival. The stitches were like gossamer against the onslaught. Cali was going to kill me... if I survived this. Every muscle in my body strained to absorb the relentless blows.
The storm raged on, a symphony of pain and madness. My world narrowed to the rhythm of fists and boots, each impact a note in a brutal, relentless score. I could feel my stitches pulling apart, my flesh giving way, but amid the tempest, something shifted.
Calmness. I felt it again as I let my breaths slow and the world wash over me.
The blows didn¡¯t hurt as much as they should. It was as if my nerves were remembering pain that my body no longer truly felt. I let them think I was done for, a lifeless sack beneath their feet. I certainly looked the part. As they turned back to her, I rose.
The rain dripped from my hair, the cold water mingling with the faint glow of my eyes. ¡°I warned you.¡± My voice moved through the storm, raw and powerful, the voice of a man who had danced on the edge of death and returned.
The men froze, their heads whipping around. They saw me, standing there, undead and unbroken, a revenant in the rain. It was then I saw it¡ªthe look on their faces; the slow, creeping grip of fear. And for the first time in a long time, I felt none.
Chapter Fifteen: Tainted
¡°Promises made in shadow are kept in blood.¡±
¡ª Calystria Dane,
Fifth Prophet of the First Order
My vision narrowed. The rain and the world around me faded to black. It was just me and them. Nasal Goon fumbled in his jacket, pulling out a knife. Perfect. He lunged at my chest. I let him connect, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him close. His eyes went wide, and I grinned, a smile that screamed, ¡°you messed up, kid.¡± I twisted his wrist until I heard a loud crack. He screamed.
The hunger grew. Another thug swung a punch at my gut. I sidestepped, closed the distance, grabbed his collar, and hammered my forearm into his neck, over and over, until he crumpled.
Weakness crept in now. The first attacker stumbled forward again. I rushed him, tackled him to the ground, and slammed his head into the concrete. Each impact a punctuation mark in my furious tirade.
Two more thugs stepped up, one with brass knuckles, the other with a rusty pipe. Where in the abyss did he get that?
The bar doors swung open. Murphy stepped out, shotgun in hand, his red hair slicked back. ¡°You¡¯ve got until the count of three to get the damned rift off my property,¡± he growled. ¡°Three¡¡± He fired a shot, aiming high. The goons scattered, dragging their fallen comrades with them.
Murphy lowered the shotgun, eyes locking onto mine. ¡°You alright, Jack?¡± he asked, voice softer now. I nodded, still catching my breath. Murphy shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips.
I blinked away the haze, my senses returning. ¡°You okay, miss?¡± I asked, trying to soften my voice.
The woman, drenched and shaking from shock, clung to her red dress. Strands of brunette hair stuck to her face, framing her eyes. Even soaked and shivering, she exuded elegance. I chided myself for thinking of such things at a time like this.
¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she managed between shivers.
¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you inside and warmed up.¡±
Murphy led us in. He saw me in the full light of the bar. ¡°Jesus, Jack, you look like something the cat dragged in, ate, and then puked up.¡±
¡°Nice to see you too, Murph.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve had prettier bowel movements. Much prettier.¡±
We settled by the fire, and Murphy brought our mystery woman a towel.
Walking into Murphy¡¯s Lost and Found Saloon was like stepping into another world, perched between the strange and the familiar. The flickering fireplace took center stage, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. Plush armchairs circled the hearth, inviting patrons to relax. This place was more than a bar; it was a home filled with the mingling scents of wood smoke and whiskey, cut with just a hint of magic.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Saints, I could go for a coffee.
The saloon occupied what used to be the living and dining rooms of a two-story house. Instead of a grand dining table, there were barstools and small, round tables for intimate chats. The back rooms served as storage, and I called the upstairs home. Murphy, ever the gracious host, seated us by the fire.
The bar itself was a polished mahogany monolith, standing tall and imposing. Each scratch and groove whispered tales of countless toasts, shared laughter, and spilled tears. Soft orange light from the streetlamp filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the well-worn wooden floor. Murphy tended the fire, shadows dancing on the brick wall behind him. Shelves behind the bar overflowed with bottles of every shape and hue, creating a shimmering mosaic. A potion to cure any ailment. A drink for love lost, a drink to deal with terrible bosses, a drink for the hapless, and a drink to celebrate. But not a drop to cure my particular condition.
In the corner, a piano played itself, weaving a soft, haunting melody that mingled with the low hum of conversation. The room was a vibrant tapestry of beings from all walks of life, human and otherworldly. Their voices created a symphony of strange words and dialects, blending into a universal language of camaraderie and chaos.
Murphy glided through the bustling crowd, his red hair catching the flicker of the fireplace¡¯s warm glow. He was the guardian angel¡ªor perhaps a fallen one¡ªof this quirky sanctuary, a protector for the lost and the found. He offered a nod here, a comforting word there. Murphy¡¯s was more than a bar; it was a safe haven where the bizarre and the broken came to find a moment of respite. A place where time and space bent to the power of human connection and the resilience of the human spirit. Amidst the clinking glasses and murmured stories, reality blurred, and for a fleeting moment, everyone found their true place in the vast expanse of the universe.
Murphy brought us blankets to warm up, though I didn¡¯t feel cold. An unspoken truth lingered among the patrons¡ªI couldn¡¯t shake the suspicion that Murphy was Devil Kissed. He¡¯d spent his life surrounded by magic, welcoming everyone into his bar. Maybe he had a bit of fae in his ancestry, or perhaps he made an old deal with a demon. Who could judge? There was so much good in the worst of us and bad in the best of us that it was an abyssal shame for any of us to talk about the rest of us.
Full demons couldn¡¯t linger in our world without going mad, but their influence left a mark. Those who dabbled with demonic artifacts or made pacts with demons started to change, earning the name Devil Kissed. The more they were influenced, the more they bore the mark of the Otherworld.
Then there were the Hexborn¡ªthose with non-human ancestry in their bloodlines. It was a forbidden topic, something that could ruin lives if mentioned in unfriendly company. But here, in Murphy¡¯s establishment, the Devil Kissed and Hexborn found a fragile truce, their secrets safe.
Devil Kissed showed signs¡ªfaintly glowing eyes, an unnatural grace, a voice with a hint of the abyss. The Hexborn had non-human ancestry¡ªPixie Touched, Fae Touched, Wolf Touched¡ªeach with distinctive traits.
In my heyday, even I started showing signs. Until I put Frank away, hints of demon influence clung to me.
Some folks were real hypocrites. Called themselves Pure, like they were better than the rest of us. But they ran their lights on Infernum, cooked their meals with Shadefire, and drove cars fueled by Nightstone oil. Their homes were powered by the same dark currents that kept our world ticking, yet they still had the gall to call us Tainted.
Rift soot coated everything in monochrome, draining the world of color. You only saw real color inside homes, on magical items, or when you wiped the soot away.
These self-righteous clowns would persecute you, fire you on the spot if you were found to be Hexborn. Like they were somehow above it all. But guess what? Even they couldn¡¯t escape the rift. Rift stuck to the backs of angels and demons alike, so the saying went. We were all Devil Kissed to some degree.
Magic wasn¡¯t just a part of our lives now, it was our lifeblood. Ever since those rifts started tearing open, we couldn¡¯t live without it. But that was a thought for another time.
Chapter Sixteen: In Walks a Dame
I sat and stared at the woman before me.
The rain outside died down. The fire crackled, our hands slowly thawing in the warmth. Silence hung between us like an old friend we didn¡¯t need to entertain. And I was perfectly fine with that.
The piano stopped playing as a bard sauntered up to the makeshift stage in the corner, her lute resting easy against her hip. With a few practiced strums, the bar hummed to life with soft, melodic chords. For a breath, I let the world¡¯s weight slip off my shoulders.
She was a woman with warm brown skin and eyes that gleamed like jade. Faint lines creased her face, the only tell of her years. Angelica. Her voice? It was a lullaby for the restless, smoothing out the jagged edges of my thoughts. She crooned about lands we dreamt of and adventures we craved, spinning tales of fierce damsels who saved themselves and rugged men discovering their souls. Her songs were like a cozy quilt on a bitter winter¡¯s night.
The room hushed, spellbound by her melody. I savored the quiet, a rare gift for my stormy mind.
As her first song faded, I broke the spell. Leaning forward, elbows digging into my knees, I finally spoke.
¡°So, how about we start with a name and what brings you to my dingy little corner of the world?¡± I asked, keeping it light, though my curiosity was anything but casual.
She looked at me, and for a moment, her eyes pulled me in like a riptide. Pain seared through my chest, snapping me back to reality.
¡°Aylin. Aylin McGuffey. I¡¯m looking for someone,¡± she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.
¡°Who exactly are you hoping to find around here?¡± I scanned the room, noting the usual suspects¡ªlocals, lowlifes, and the kind of riffraff that blended in perfectly with the worn-out decor.
¡°A man named Jack Callaghan. Do you know him?¡± Her voice wavered, and she stared down at her hands as if they held the answers.
I frowned. ¡°Yeah, I know him. What¡¯s your business with that particular piece of work?¡±
She hesitated, fingers knotting together. ¡°I... I can¡¯t say.¡±
I leaned back, arms crossed, giving her the once-over. ¡°Can¡¯t or won¡¯t? Look, if you want my help, honesty¡¯s not optional.¡±
Her eyes lifted, fear mingling with a desperate plea. ¡°I... I need his help.¡±
I sighed, realizing this was going to be a long night. The flicker of the fireplace danced across her face, casting soft shadows that highlighted her raw, unrefined beauty. There was an authenticity to her that was hard to ignore.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
¡°Alright, Aylin. Spill it. What¡¯s so dire that you¡¯d seek out the infamous Jack Callaghan? Haven¡¯t you heard? He¡¯s washed-up, out of business. Hasn¡¯t had a steady job in years.¡±
Murphy returned with a few more towels and two steaming mugs. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I asked, eyeing the drink with suspicion.
¡°Second fastest way to warm someone up that I know of,¡± he replied. The aroma hit me gently: sweet, hot, and undeniably alcoholic. I was pretty sure it was Earl Grey spiked with buttered rum.
¡°Second?¡± Aylin blushed at his knowing wink.
¡°Go easy on it. This stuff will knock you on your ass faster than your mother can spit,¡± Murphy warned.
I took a cautious sip. It barely registered on my tongue. ¡°Watering down the drinks again, Murph?¡±
He shot me a quizzical look, then grabbed another bottle from the shelf and poured me a shot. ¡°Alright, big shot. Have a go at this one.¡±
I downed the shot. Still nothing. I shrugged.
¡°Saints help you, Jack.¡± Murphy had never been one to back down from a challenge. The fire in his eyes told me he¡¯d made it his personal mission to find something strong enough to hit.
¡°Jack? You¡¯re Detective Jack Callaghan?¡± Aylin¡¯s eyes widened in recognition.
¡°I haven¡¯t been called that in a long time.¡±
¡°You look nothing like your photo.¡± She pulled an old newspaper clipping from her purse. Famed Hunter Faces Tragedy... There was an old photo of me and Frank.
The sting of the memory knotted my nerves, leaving me on edge. ¡°Mind telling me what in the abyss is going on here?¡± I snapped. ¡°How do you know who I am? And who were those men?¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry. It wasn¡¯t easy finding you.¡±
¡°Talk faster, kid.¡± I braced myself on the seat, ready to bolt at the next wrong word.
¡°Listen, Mr. Callaghan, I¡¯ve come a long way. If you could just hear me out. It¡¯s my uncle,¡± she paused, searching for the words.
¡°Spit it out.¡±
¡°He¡¯s been murdered. And those men who attacked me, they¡¯re after me too.¡± Her eyes, deep and blue like an ocean storm, threatened to pull me under.
¡°I didn¡¯t know where else to go. You¡¯re my last hope, Jack.¡± Her hands trembled¡ªfear or cold, didn¡¯t matter. Both were dangerous.
¡°Go to the police.¡±
Aylin¡¯s voice dropped to a whisper. Tears shimmered in her eyes. ¡°The police say it was suicide. But I know that can¡¯t be true.¡± She clutched a delicate silver key, hands shaking. ¡°My uncle Robert was found in his study. But suicide is ridiculous. He couldn¡¯t stand the sight of a paper cut, let alone...¡±
As Aylin kept talking, I reached under the table and fished out one of the hardlines Murphy stashed around the bar for anyone that wanted to jack in. I¡¯ve always preferred hardwired data¡ªthe kind you could feel thrumming through the cable, real and grounded. The Grid feed? Wireless? It¡¯s too slick, too invasive. I don¡¯t trust it crawling around in my head unless I¡¯ve got no other choice. Most days, I keep my tech dark, off-grid and untouchable.
The connection clicked into place with a faint hum, and I leaned back, the hardline coiling across my lap like a metallic serpent.
The feed sputtered to life, its patchy signal clawing through layers of static and interference. Lines of public news and updates jittered across my interface, fits and starts of coherence breaking through the chaos. It was like trying to read headlines through a fogged-up window, but it worked. Just barely.
Chapter Seventeen: Better Left Buried
I ran a quick search, the flickering text streaming across my vision.
The System always seemed one spark away from frying itself¡ªa haphazard web of overloaded nodes and crumbling infrastructure. It wasn¡¯t pretty, but it was enough to keep me ahead of the game. For now, at least. I let the slow drip of data wash over me, scanning for anything that might matter.
Robert McGuffey. The name rang a bell.
There it was. That¡¯s why it sounded familiar. Headlines lit up my feed: ¡°Robert McGuffey Found Dead.¡± I skimmed the article. Throat slit, no sign of forced entry, no suspects. No crime scene photos, just a holo of him¡ªsmug grin, designer suit, the whole ¡°rich old man¡± package.
Suicide, they said. Simple as that. But locked doors? In my line of work, those were just polite suggestions for the supernatural.
¡°Collectors,¡± I muttered. ¡°Always digging up things better left buried.¡±
Her eyes widened with hope, or maybe it was just the bar¡¯s dim light playing tricks. ¡°You believe me?¡±
¡°I believe the dead don¡¯t always stay quiet. And collectors? They have a knack for pissing off the wrong kind of spirits.¡± I leaned in, lowering my voice. ¡°Tell me everything you know about those men.¡±
Her voice steadied. ¡°They wanted something my uncle found. Something... old and powerful. He wouldn¡¯t give it to them. He was a collector of rare artifacts. And he had gotten his hands on an old jewelry box and key.¡± She handed me the key, an intricate filigree glinting in the dim light. ¡°Gave me this the day before he died. Told me to hold on to it, to keep it secret. Was acting strange, paranoid even.¡±
I took the key, feeling its weight. ¡°Collectors,¡± I said again, shaking my head. ¡°Always think they can handle the dark stuff.¡±
Aylin¡¯s voice trembled. ¡°Do you think... it had something to do with his death?¡±
I met her gaze, seeing the desperation and fear. ¡°If he was messing with something that powerful, it¡¯s a good bet. But you¡¯ll need more than just a hunch.¡±
Collectors. They blew their fortunes on trinkets, thinking they were buying power. Most of the time, they were just getting fleeced. Some ¡°demonologist¡± would sell them a busted toaster dressed up with runes and a good story, and they¡¯d fork over a small fortune, convinced they had the key to ancient power. The dirty demonologists got a kickback, and the collectors got conned. It was a joke¡ªusually.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
But sometimes, they stumbled onto something real. And when that happened, it wasn¡¯t just their money at stake. They welcomed darkness into their homes, thinking they could control it. They were wrong. Darkness didn¡¯t get controlled; it consumed. It turned their lives into nightmares and brought ruin to their loved ones. They wanted power, and instead, they got horror.
Guys like McGuffey¡ªgreedy, desperate for something they didn¡¯t understand¡ªthey got what was coming to them.
Aylin¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°I just want his name cleared. The police won¡¯t listen. The papers are smearing him left and right. It¡¯s sickening. They see an open-and-shut case. But I know it¡¯s not. I need a private investigator. Someone who understands...¡± She looked at me, pleading. ¡°And when it comes to demons, your name¡¯s the only one in the book.¡±
I shook my head. ¡°I took my name out of that book, Aylin, for good reason.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll pay five hundred thousand creds upfront just to check it out. Another five hundred thousand if you take the case, and a bonus five hundred thousand if you solve it.¡± She slid a cred-disc across to me. Black market¡ªdirect cash, untraceable, uncoded. This wasn¡¯t the kind of currency you picked up at a corner kiosk.
¡°Please,¡± she said, her voice steady, but there was a crack just beneath the surface. ¡°Just promise to look into it. That¡¯s all I ask.¡±
I picked up the disc, the weight of it heavier than it should¡¯ve been. A half-million large wasn¡¯t exactly pocket change, but what really made me pause was the question running circles in my head¡ªwhere does a dame like her get uncoded credits like this?
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Damn. There was something in her eyes¡ªa blend of desperation and determination¡ªthat was hard to ignore. Plus, the money didn¡¯t hurt. I might be undead, but I still had to pay rent. The advance alone would get me about six months¡ªif I was frugal.
¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll ask around. But no promises. I¡¯ll cast the line, but if nothing bites, we are done.¡±
A flicker of hope lit up her face. ¡°Thank you.¡± She left the key, the money, and a handwritten note with her number on it.
As she walked out, I picked up the key, studying it. Collectors. They always thought they could dance with the devil and come out unscathed. But in the end, it was the devil who led.
Task Log Updated
Assignment Accepted ¨C
-
Ask around about the death of Robert McGuffey.
Reward: 500,000 untraceable credits.
-
Optional: Take up the case.
Reward: 500,000 untraceable credits.
-
Optional: Discover what really happened to Mr. McGuffey.
Reward: 500,000 untraceable credits.
|
The key glowed faintly silver, pushing the rift soot away like two magnets repelling each other. I sighed, rubbing my temples. ¡°Dames and demons. Why is it always dames and demons?¡±
Chapter Eighteen: After Hours
I sat there for a long while, listening to the wind rustling through the trees outside. Why did she have to do that? Tug on my heartstrings like that. I was out of the business. Not going back in. But damn it, her uncle had been mixed up in something nasty, and if there was a demon involved, it wouldn¡¯t end with him.
The night dragged on, the bar slowly emptied. Murph locked the door, slid another drink my way. ¡°What¡¯s the deal, Jack?¡±
I took a sip, sighed, and laid out the whole mess about my run-in with Death and our little arrangement.
Murph arched an eyebrow. ¡°Didn¡¯t peg you as the deal-with-the-devil type. Got yourself Devil Kissed now?¡±
I went behind the bar and fixed Murphy a whiskey neat.
¡°Not the devil, Murph. Death. But yeah, usually not my style. When it¡¯s that or oblivion, reincarnation, or whatever fresh hell waits around the corner, you play the smart hand.¡±
Murph chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°You sound like a character from one of those old dime novels.¡± He rummaged through the bottles, found something, and poured me another shot, eyeing me like I was a puzzle. I downed it without any fanfare. He frowned, diving back for something stronger.
There was a pause. ¡°The largest part of me is pretty sure it¡¯s all in my head. Just one too many screws loose after all these years.¡±
Murphy¡¯s gaze settled on me, bright and unyielding. For a moment, I wondered how old he really was. His face suggested a comfortable forties, but his eyes¡ªthey told a different story, one weighed down by decades, maybe more. Enough tech or aether, and appearances were often little more than convenient little lies. I should know. I¡¯d looked a good ten years younger than my age¡ªbefore the zombification.
¡°Jack,¡± Murphy said, his voice low but firm. ¡°I¡¯ve learned not to be too skeptical of the weird. You¡¯re not the first to see an Eternal while teetering on the edge.¡° He slid another drink my way, which I downed with a shrug. He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before pressing on.
¡°They show up sometimes. Some folks claim they¡¯re the ones pulling the strings behind the curtain, some for of ancient beings. Others think it might be some soft of tech induced hallucination.¡± He leaned in then, getting quiet. ¡°Maybe even some old AI still haunting the cracks in the Grid. Whatever they are, don¡¯t dismiss it too quickly. You, of all people, should know better than most that the craziest explanation is often the right one. Especially since the War.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
His words lingered in the air like cigarette smoke. I studied him, but his eyes had already drifted elsewhere. That far-off look. He never talked about the War. None of us did. But how the hell did he know about the Eternals?
¡°I suppose I¡¯ve seen enough crazy to keep an open mind. But things are getting¡ weird. When Death¡ªor whatever he is¡ªstarts cutting deals, you know it¡¯s bad. He¡¯s spooked about the other Eternals.¡±
I paused, weighing whether to say more, but Murphy nodded as if he already understood, so I continued.
¡°Something¡¯s brewing, Murph. Something big. Rifts are opening up more and more. You¡¯ve noticed, haven¡¯t you? Rift mining could be part of it, sure¡ªbut we¡¯ve been chasing that theory for years.¡±
Murphy slid me another drink, this one releasing a soft, curling smoke. I drained it in one pull, the vapor trailing from my lips as I spoke. He searched my eyes, probing for any flicker of reaction. The taste remained absent, a hollow nothingness.
¡°Rifts have been steady since Edison, but now they¡¯re getting bigger and more frequent. What do you make of it?¡± I asked.
Murph leaned back, thinking. ¡°Heard a lot of chatter from folks passing through. It¡¯s not just here. Even places that don¡¯t touch the stuff or mine in the rift. Middle of nowhere spots. Same weirdness.¡±
He vanished into the back. I heard a loud crack and the slosh of liquid. He returned with a can of coffee and an old surge battery. When he came back, the liquid was bubbling. I took a swig and felt like I¡¯d been plugged into a power line. A zing shot through me. The coffee¡¯s rich, like a punch in the face. ¡°Damn, Murph, I feel like I just got hit by a rift surge.¡± I took another swig.
¡°Technically, you have.¡± He held up the battery, now cracked and empty. He smiled with satisfaction. ¡°Never has there been a customer I couldn¡¯t find a drink for.¡±
¡°You¡¯re going to have to tell me how you know so much, one of these days.¡±
He smiled, a sly glint in his eyes. ¡°And lose my air of sophistication? I don¡¯t think so.¡± For a moment, he looked younger, like a man who¡¯d seen too much but still held on to a carefree heart.
I nodded, the surge still humming through my veins. ¡°Keep your ears open, Murph. If Death is making deals, there¡¯s something big brewing. I despise being left in the dark.¡±
His expression shifted, eyes darkening in a flash as he nodded.
I helped Murphy clean up the bar, trying to push Aylin out of my mind. It was a long night, and sleep didn¡¯t come easy. When I finally drifted, I was haunted by her big doe eyes.
Damn dames.
Chapter Nineteen: O, What a Beautiful Mornin
I felt the tension settle into my bones, the last of the warmth curled around the earth like regret that refused to let go.
Slept like the dead¡ªwhat a joke. I winced and dragged myself out of bed, feeling every stiff and aching muscle. That was a good sign; at least I could still feel. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed my fears¡ªI looked like death warmed over, and not in the metaphorical sense.
I peeled off the tape; the gash in my neck and sides was gone, only remnants of the torn stitching remained. Cali¡¯s help last night must have done the trick. Or was it the drink Murphy had made me? So many questions about this whole undead gig, and I needed answers fast if I wanted to avoid rotting, or worse.
Aylin¡¯s memory lingered like a faint scent. I eyed the loose board in my room where Frank was hidden. I debated talking this whole thing over with him, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it. It would make it all too real. I decided to leave Frank out of it for as long as possible. Besides, I managed without him for most of my life. I could handle this.
Instead, I grabbed a roll of thick silver coins from the hidden compartment in my nightstand and slipped them into my pocket. Favors, we called them. Off-market currency¡ªthe kind that didn¡¯t exist on any ledger and could only be spent in particular circles, for very particular things. I¡¯d hoped to never touch them again. Favors didn¡¯t come cheap, and they always cost more than you expected.
It was time to visit an old contact, Jeff ¡°The Newsie¡± Brown. Maybe he could put some feelers out for strange happenings and increased demon activity. If anyone knew, it was The Newsie.
I grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses and a hat, pulling the brim low. It wouldn¡¯t fool anyone up close, but it would keep the stares to a minimum. A scarf around my neck hid the more obvious decay. Passably human, I grabbed a cab and headed into the city.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The city sprawled¡ªtook an hour to cross on a good day, no traffic. But today? The traffic was a nightmare, way too brutal for that early in the morning.
For forty minutes, the cab jerked forward with spurts and stutters, like some wounded creature caught in a slow death march. Early bird pedestrians glided by, unconcerned, and soon we crept past them again¡ªuntil the same faces reappeared. There was the mother with the stroller, pushing ahead again. Irritation gnawed at me. I paid my fare and stepped out, surrendering to the sidewalk. It¡¯d be faster on foot.
The breeze, colder now, cut through me, sharp as a blade. Summer¡¯s fight was futile. This was the beginning of the end, the first breath of the season¡¯s death, quiet but certain.
The light had faded, drained of its former gold. It stretched thin over the city, pale and weary, casting shadows long and brittle, like echoes of something that was once alive but now just... wasn¡¯t. Trees held on to their leaves like gamblers with too little to lose, their final bets trembling on the branches. But the wind was patient, indifferent, pulling them down one by one, casting them aside to join the others already broken and scattered beneath my feet. There was a finality in the way they fell¡ªan unspoken goodbye, not of sorrow, but inevitability.
With each step, the leaves didn¡¯t crunch; they sighed underfoot, like a secret the earth was trying to share but I was too tired to hear. The warmth was slipping away with every breath, seeping out with each exhale. My breath fogged the air for a moment before the wind snatched it away, another piece of summer claimed by autumn¡¯s grasp.
Everything was poised, balanced on that edge between what was gone and what was coming. The past was fading, and the uncertainty of tomorrow pressed in.
I pulled my collar close, but the chill sank in, deeper than fabric could reach. There was no fight to be had. The battle was already over. It always was.
There was a brief period of calm before the rest of downtown woke up. I cherished it for a few peaceful minutes, enjoying the early birds, though there were too many of them. And then, like a clown with a pie, the city hit me with a slap in the face.
The noise was a living thing¡ªhorns blared, tires screeched, conversations blurred together into a buzz of chaos. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and joined the river of people flowing down the street. The sidewalk was uneven, cracked, like it¡¯d seen better days.
The air smelled like exhaust and cheap food¡ªhot dogs, maybe, or something fried that¡¯d seen more grease than heat. My shoes hit the pavement in time with the rhythmic pulse of the city, every step bringing me closer to...well, nowhere really. I wasn¡¯t in a rush. Not anymore.
Chapter Twenty: Extra, Extra
Up ahead, a man was yelling into a payphone, face red, veins bulging at his neck like he was ready to burst. No one cared. People just sidestepped him, like he was a pothole in their day, not worth acknowledging. He gave me a sideways glance, eyes wild, and I could feel the emptiness of his anger, like it was all for show.
The bustling streets felt suffocating as I navigated through them, the living brushing past, blissfully unaware of the walking corpse in their midst.
It had been years since we¡¯d talked; Jeff and I. He always had a knack for keeping low while running the show. Years back, he had a handful of newspaper stands dotted across the city. They hawked both holopapers and old-fashioned print¡ªcatering to those with Humanity levels too low for even basic modifications and the purists who still harbored a deep distrust of Enhancements.
They looked innocent enough¡ªlegit, even. But behind the crinkled headlines and cigarette smoke, Jeff was pulling the strings on an info network that fed the city¡¯s dirtiest players. A gang of street kids, posing as newsies, funneled him intel. He¡¯d helped me out more than a few times when I was still in the game.
Now I heard he¡¯d set up shop way up in Northern Goodrich¡ªNoGo, the wealthier part of the New Amsterdam city districts, where the skyline gleamed and the streets bustled with quiet power. It was just as busy as the south, but the crime here wore a suit and tie, deals inked over martinis instead of back-alley handshakes. In a city this sprawling, NoGo felt like a different country altogether. If Jeff was operating up there, he was playing a bigger game now. Seemed his little empire had grown into something far more dangerous¡ªand a lot more refined.
I¡¯d spotted him now and then over the years, lingering on the periphery, always just outside my new life. I tried to leave that world behind, but once you¡¯ve seen it¡ªonce the curtain lifts and you catch the old man yanking the strings¡ªthe puppet show never quite looks the same. You can¡¯t unsee the wires. And no matter how far you walked, it was always in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to look again.
The newsstand stood like a relic of another time, its weather-beaten frame and faded canopy defying the sleek glow of its digital holo displays. Headlines in flickering color danced in stark contrast to the grayscale monotony of the world around it, a beacon that shouldn¡¯t be. From a distance, it seemed ordinary enough¡ªa sagging canopy, weathered wood, and stacks of neatly arranged papers. But step closer, and the air shifted. The arrangement was too precise, the flickering light too deliberate.
The chipped counter bore the grime of years. An empty stool leaned against the stand, its vacancy a lie¡ªyou could feel the weight of unseen eyes trailing your every move. The smell of stale ink and lingering cigarette smoke hung thick, but underneath it was something sharper, electric, like the charged air before a deal you¡¯d regret.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
This wasn¡¯t just a newsstand. It never had been.
A flicker of static, and then Jeff materialized on the stool¡ªa holo projection shimmering faintly in the muted light. His voice sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and dripping with familiar disdain. Greasy hair slicked back in his usual attempt at charm only accentuated the receding hairline, making his desperation even more obvious.
¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t the one and only,¡± he sneered, his image leaning forward, elbows resting on nonexistent knees, as if the projection itself carried his weight. The smirk tugging at his lips wasn¡¯t friendly¡ªit was the kind that made you check your pockets.
¡°Expanding north, are you, Jeff?¡± I asked, keeping my tone polite despite the contempt.
¡°Would appear that way,¡± he said.
¡°Thought you had ¡®staff¡¯ to run your stands nowadays. What are you doing out on the front line?¡±
¡°Oh, you know me,¡± he replied with a smug grin. ¡°I like to keep my finger on the pulse. I go where the news is, Jackie boy.¡± He scanned the street before turning his beady eyes back to me with a dubious squint. ¡°So, what brings you back to these parts? You back in the game?¡±
I gave a nonchalant wave of the hand. ¡°Just passing through.¡±
Jeff wasn¡¯t convinced. He eyed me up and down, sizing me up. I resisted the urge to smack him - he always loved to play games, act like he was somebody important. But now, after everything that¡¯d happened, all I saw was a small-time con artist desperately trying to hold onto power in a dying city.
A wide, almost eerie grin spread across his face, revealing a glistening gold tooth that caught the sunlight and winked at me. Charming. ¡°I heard you were working local. Trash man, they say. Chasing down local runts. Is that right? That ain¡¯t no job for a man with your... talents.¡± His voice was oily and smooth, like an old hand at the used car lot, hawking lemons.
I clenched my jaw and fought to keep my composure.
¡°Work is work, Jeff.¡±
He squinted at me. ¡°You know, you don¡¯t look too good, Jackie. You sick or something?¡±
¡°Just tired. Long nights, you know how it is.¡±
He shrugged. His eyes glittered with greed as he got down to business. ¡°Can I do anything special for you today?¡± He gave me a smile that stretched ear to ear but somehow never reached his cold, calculating eyes.
I mentally prepared myself, bracing for the task at hand, as if I were about to plunge my bare arm into a dirty toilet to unclog a stubborn blockage. And I felt just about as dignified.
¡°Just looking for some news. Two questions.¡±
¡°Jackie, you¡¯ve come to the right place. You remember the fee?¡± Jeff was slick and nearly as greasy as his hair.
I put two silver coins on the counter, each pressed with the symbol of the Midnight Council¡ªa raven in front of the moon. His hand moved over them and they disappeared like magic.
Chapter Twenty-One: No News Is Bad News
The city felt heavier all of a sudden, the air thicker.
¡°One: The Rifts, they¡¯ve been happening more lately.¡±
¡°Is that your question?¡± he asked.
¡°No, it¡¯s a fact. My question is, what do you know about it?¡±
¡°You¡¯re gonna need to get a little more specific than that,¡± he said. ¡°I know a lot of things.¡±
¡°Any indication of the cause, Jeff? Why the increase?¡±
¡°Ah, now if that ain¡¯t the million-dollar question, Jackie.¡± He set a silver coin back on the table. ¡°Afraid that info¡¯s been bought and locked.¡±
¡°So someone else was looking for that answer? What¡¯s the release price?¡± I asked.
¡°More than you¡¯ve ever had your hands on, even in your heyday.¡±
¡°How much, Jeff?¡±
¡°Fifty gold.¡±
Fifty gold Favors. Whoever wanted this knowledge wanted it to themselves. You could get a head of state whacked for less.
I took the silver Favor back, returned because he couldn¡¯t provide the info. But that fact alone said a lot.
¡°Fine. Second question. A case a few weeks ago, Robert McGuffey, found in his study, surrounded by his own blood.¡±
¡°Yeah, I know it. A gruesome way to go.¡±
¡°He was involved in ¡®collecting¡¯.¡±
Jeff stared at me blankly, not giving anything away.
¡°Have you heard any whispers about him? Any talk along the grapevine about what actually happened?¡±
¡°I thought you retired from all this, Jackie. You¡¯re asking a lot of questions for someone that¡¯s retired.¡±
¡°I have, but this is personal. For a friend.¡±
His voice got louder, more polite and formal. ¡°Anything else I can help you with, sir?¡± he asked.
Just then, a woman walked up with her daughter in tow. The little girl immediately spoke up, demanding a candy.
¡°You can have a sweet when we get home, Matilda,¡± the woman said, her tone firm but kind, before turning to purchase a holopaper update. With a quick swipe of her hand over the display, the faint shimmer of Grid Access illuminated her enhanced eyes, a subtle pulse of light as the download initiated. For a brief moment, the flicker of data streams reflected across her pupils.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The little girl looked up at me. I smiled and lifted my hat slightly in a nod. Her eyes went wide and she hid behind her mother¡¯s dress. Right, my face. I needed to get used to this.
Jeff¡¯s voice suddenly took on a friendly and surprisingly light tone as he handed a free candy to the little girl with a robotic arm. ¡°Here you go, little one. On the house.¡± She took it, and she and her mother disappeared down the street.
He turned back to me.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small silver key. Its surface was adorned with intricate filigree designs that caught and reflected the light in mesmerizing patterns.
¡°That¡¯s quite something,¡± Jeff remarked. I felt a sudden self-consciousness wash over me.
¡°Yeah, indeed it is. I think it¡¯s connected to the death somehow. So, you got any dope on it?¡±
He thought for a long moment. ¡°Is this a private inquiry, Jackie, or public?¡±
¡°What¡¯s the cost difference?¡±
¡°Goes from silver to gold for private.¡±
¡°Christ man, inflation isn¡¯t that bad.¡±
¡°Prices go up. Just the way it is.¡±
I didn¡¯t have a gold coin. I spent most of my stock buying my way out of the game.
¡°It¡¯ll have to be public, you little rat.¡±
Jeff smiled at me darkly.
¡°In that case, I can tell you two things. Firstly, it wasn¡¯t no suicide, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve guessed.¡±
¡°And the second thing?¡±
¡°You aren¡¯t the only one after that key¡¯s mate, the little jewelry box.¡±
¡°Anything else? Can you tell me who is looking for it?¡±
¡°Afraid that¡¯s all I got. If you want, you could leave the key with me and I could ask around a bit.¡± Jeff¡¯s eyes glinted and the mechanical arm reached out.
¡°I¡¯m thinking I¡¯ll be fine holding onto it for now.¡± I tucked it back into my pocket.
¡°Suit yourself,¡± he said.
Jeff¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°Some free advice¡ªdrop this one, Jack. Nothing¡¯s worth the answers you¡¯re looking for. You¡¯re messing with fire here. If you keep poking around, some people might get the wrong impression. And you don¡¯t have the same protections that you used to.¡±
I gave him a curt nod and swiped my hand across the payment holo. A flickering holo-coin spun in the air before vanishing with a soft chime into the digital register. Cute little gimmick. The "paper" materialized in my inbox, and I opened it as I stepped back into the city¡¯s endless static hum, the neon glow painting everything in sharp edges and shadows.
As I scrolled through the headlines under the erratic glow of a streetlight, one snagged my attention: ¡°Crime Surges in New Amsterdam: Ruby Artifacts Sold to Museum Found to Be Forgeries.¡±
Jeff hand¡¯t been directly helpful, but in a roundabout way, he¡¯d told me what I needed.
I knew that the now-confirmed murder of Mr. McGuffey was tied to the key and jewelry box, and thus to magic.
And that the rifts were speeding up, and someone powerful was behind it or at least trying to keep it a secret. I mulled over the list of players who could throw that kind of weight around. Couldn¡¯t be Calico, could it? Maybe the Council itself?
I wouldn¡¯t put it past those sniveling, power-hungry bastards. They were a bureaucratic nightmare, always hiding in the shadows, their filthy little fingers in everything. They hoarded knowledge like dragons hoard gold, terrified of losing their grip on power. I was all for looking out for your own interests, but these guys took it to another level. They squashed anyone who dared to threaten their so-called ¡°order,¡± not out of necessity, but out of cowardly malice and hypocritical righteousness.
My stomach grumbled loudly, a not-so-gentle reminder that I¡¯d skipped breakfast. Gotta eat. The sweltering heat of the summer afternoon beat down on me as I headed to my favorite breakfast spot downtown. The sun cast a warm glow over the freshly washed streets. Last night¡¯s heavy rain had vanished without a trace, leaving behind a thick layer of humidity and a fresh sheen of soot just beginning to form.
Chapter Twenty-Two: He Who Prowls the Citys Streets
New Amsterdam was prettiest after it rained, in that brief, magical moment when the world¡¯s vibrant colors returned. The city sighed with relief, shedding its grime for a fleeting heartbeat before the soot spread again, sucking the life and color back into its weary bones.
My head felt heavy and foggy as I spotted Mel¡¯s Diner up ahead. The mostly empty parking lot brought a sense of relief. No long wait, and less chance of bumping into old acquaintances. It was quiet as I approached the entrance, the only sounds being the clacking of my footsteps and the rustle of the newspaper tucked under my arm.
Time to grab a bite and maybe a slice of normalcy, if only for a moment.
A scruffy dog with matted fur and a snaggletooth poking out of its jowls trotted out from a nearby alley. It startled me just enough that I almost tripped over him.
¡°Damn it, Sarge,¡± I muttered.
His fur was a patchwork of dirty white and brown, and one ear stood while the other flopped down. His eyes, a mismatched pair of blue and brown, met mine with a mix of curiosity and desperation. He sniffed the air, then seemed to recognize my scent and decided I was still a friend, which brought me a small comfort. His tail wagged furiously, but his body was tense, as if he was deciding whether to trust me or bolt.
Sarge, a mutt with a heart as big as the city, was the unofficial guardian of this block. He was a stray who¡¯d earned his keep through loyalty and a fierce, if often misdirected, protective instinct.
As I moved to step past him, he tugged on my pant leg with surprising strength, trying to pull me back from the diner. I knelt down, ruffling the fur behind his ears, and he leaned into my hand, whining softly.
¡°Not now, boy,¡± I said, giving him a gentle pat on the head. ¡°I can¡¯t play right now.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
He hesitated, then relented, sitting back on his haunches with a resigned huff. I straightened up and pushed open the diner door, the familiar clang of the door chimes ringing out as I entered.
I slid onto a stool at the counter, nodding to the waitress, Sally. She was a staple here, with a beehive hairdo and a pen tucked behind her ear.
¡°The usual, Jack?¡± Sally asked with a smirk.
¡°Extra sauce this time.¡±
She nodded and poured me a coffee. Black. I took a sip and frowned. Nothing. Tasted of nothing.
I sat, lost in thought. The diner was a vibrant slice of Americana: red vinyl booths, chrome stools, and the low buzz of a jukebox in the corner playing some forgotten tune. The usual smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee fell dead on my senses, like a memory I couldn¡¯t quite grasp. My fingers absently played with the key in my hand, tracing its intricate design. I didn¡¯t recall taking it out of my pocket.
¡°How did you get all the way out here?¡± I whispered to it, my eyes locked on the silver filigree.
Sally interrupted my thoughts by setting a cheeseburger with extra sauce and fries in front of me. ¡°That¡¯s a pretty little thing,¡± she remarked, her eyes lingering on the key. Without thinking, I carefully tucked it away in my pocket and took a sip of my flavorless coffee.
¡°It¡¯s just an old souvenir,¡± I lied, my voice flat. I took a bite of the burger, chewing mechanically. The taste was a distant echo, barely there.
The door clanged open again, and two unfamiliar men strode in. They immediately caught my attention with their slick suits and polished shoes.
I shook off the unease settling in my stomach and pushed any thoughts of Aylin and her cursed music box to the back of my mind.
I did my part. I checked on it, like I said I would. I could drop it here.
I heard Sarge bark outside.
As I lifted my mug to my lips, I felt the cold, hard barrel of a gun press against my back. The sudden pressure jolted me, and I froze.
¡°Hand over your cash,¡± the voice said, nasal and thick, like he was trying too hard to sound tough.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Old Clothes
¡°Not the best way to start a conversation,¡± I replied, calm, casual. ¡°How about we step outside, and I¡¯ll give you my money there¡ªbefore anyone does something they¡¯ll regret.¡±
I could almost hear the grin spreading across his face, feel the tension in the air thickening. Then came the click, the unmistakable sound of a thumb pulling back the hammer. Adrenaline hit me like a shot of cold whiskey¡ªthis wasn¡¯t a robbery. It was a hit.
Instinct took over. I dove to the side, the crack of a gunshot echoing through the room as a bullet ripped into the countertop where I¡¯d been standing a heartbeat ago.
Without hesitation, I flung the scorching coffee into the assailant¡¯s face. His howl mingled with the sizzle. Taking full advantage of his momentary distraction, I delivered a swift kick to his legs, sending him crashing to the ground with a satisfying thud. He hit the floor with a CRACK, his knee shattered. His gun skidded away. I kicked it out of reach.
¡°Who are you?¡± I demanded, my voice a growl.
The man¡¯s voice was gritty, tinted with a thick New Amsterdam accent. I had him pinned, my fist clenched around his shirt collar. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be snooping where you don¡¯t belong,¡± he snarled.
¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯m a nosy bastard,¡± I replied, tightening my grip. ¡°What the hell is going on here?¡±
Before he could answer, the deafening sound of gunfire erupted in the small room. I dove for cover beneath the nearest table, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling my nostrils. As the shots rang out, I quickly realized they weren¡¯t aimed at me.
Peeking out from my hiding place, I saw my attacker lying lifeless on the ground, two bullet holes marring his chest.
Who the hell were these people?
Silently, I slipped out the back door, sticking to alleyways and side streets to avoid any unwanted attention. A quick cab ride dropped me off a few blocks from my destination¡ªMurphy¡¯s. I approached with the same practiced caution, entering through the back in case anyone was watching the front.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
¡°Murphy!¡± I called out, but there was no answer. He was either dead asleep or out prepping for the night¡¯s crowd. I hoped it was the latter as I climbed the stairs to my room on the second floor.
It was time for Frank.
Dread coiled in my gut as I knelt, prying up a loose floorboard to reveal a small box hidden beneath. Dust and dirt clung to the surface, mingling with memories I¡¯d spent years trying to bury. With a steadying breath, I slid the lid open. Inside this makeshift coffin of my past lay my old private investigator¡¯s permit and a faded black trench coat.
But this coat wasn¡¯t just fabric¡ªit was a relic from a war that left scars too deep to see, a forgotten battle no one spoke of anymore. A withered old woman in some backwater town insisted I take it after I saved her granddaughter¡¯s life. That night was hell¡ªdemons tearing through the village like wolves among sheep, the sky a tapestry of fire and blood. Screams filled the air, chaos ruled, and I fought like a man drowning, grasping at anything to stay afloat.
I found the girl pinned under rubble, a demon closing in fast. One shot, one kill. Her eyes, wide with terror, softened into gratitude. Her grandmother, tears streaming down her face, pressed the jacket into my hands. ¡°Protect you,¡± she whispered in broken English. ¡°Keep you safe.¡±
What she didn¡¯t say was the price. This jacket wasn¡¯t just leather¡ªit was Frank, a demon trapped in his own skin, bound to this coat, and a constant, unwelcome presence in my life. I swore I¡¯d never use him again. But here I was, staring down the barrel of necessity. There was no one else who could help, no one else who spoke the twisted language of the Abyss like Frank.
I hated that it had come to this, that I had to rely on him, knowing full well the danger he brought. But the truth was, without Frank, I was flying blind¡ªand in this world, that was a quick way to end up dead.
I let out a heavy sigh, resigned to the inevitable, and pulled the coat from the box. The moment it was in my hands, the familiar, unsettling connection snapped into place. Frank¡¯s presence stirred in the back of my mind, as intrusive and persistent as ever. I tried to steel myself against it, but deep down, I knew I was out of options. I needed him. And that¡¯s what I hated the most.
With another sigh, I pulled myself back to the present and slipped the jacket on. The weight of it settled on my shoulders like a dark cloud. Shadows clung to me, and my hands tingled with the pulse of dark energy, like I was holding a live wire.
A familiar voice slithered into my mind, smooth and smug, like a jazz tune you couldn¡¯t shake in a smoky, forgotten bar.
Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. The illustrious detective graces us with his presence. Here to take credit for my handiwork again, Jack?
¡°Shut it, Frank.¡±
Chapter Twenty-Four: That Which Kills Us Makes Us Stronger
The demon¡¯s name was my doing¡ªhe refused to give me its real one, said my mortal tongue would butcher it beyond recognition.
¡°We¡¯re in deep, Frank. I don¡¯t have time for your usual bullshit.¡±
Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. Seven years cooped up in the luxurious accommodations of 123 Dusty Box Under the Floorboard, and I¡¯m not allowed a little chit-chat? You could¡¯ve stashed me somewhere with a window, you know. Pretty sure I¡¯ve lost my tan.
¡°You don¡¯t have skin,¡± I shot back, biting down the frustration. Arguing with a jacket¡ªmy life in a goddamn nutshell.
I resent that, Frank retorted, his tone cutting through my thoughts like a dull blade. ¡®Skin¡¯ is all I have left. I¡¯m a demon bound to leather, much in the same way as you are a schmuck bound to that pathetic meat sack you call a body. Speaking of which, you¡¯re looking a bit more droopy than usual. Like someone left a block of cheese out in the sun and forgot about it. Time hasn¡¯t been kind to you, Jack. You haven¡¯t been doing those exercises we talked about, have you?
¡°One more word, and I swear, I¡¯ll shove you back in the box and bury you twelve feet deep,¡± I growled, my voice low and dangerous. The silence that followed was thick, like a sulking child retreating to the corner. That¡¯s more like it. Now, I need your help. I focused on the telepathic link, trying to reach him with my mind. It felt strange, like speaking through tin cans connected by string. Funny¡ªI used to be good at this.
There was nothing but silence in response. ¡°Frank, you hear me?¡±
Still nothing. I gritted my teeth and took a slow, steady breath. This¡ªthis was why he got the box.
Oh, may I speak now? Does His Grace allow it? Frank¡¯s voice oozed mockery, each word a needle stabbing at my sanity. You stash me away for years and then drag me out whenever it suits you. I feel used, Jack. And I don¡¯t like it.
¡°What do you want me to say?¡± I kept my voice low, ears straining for any hint of movement outside.
You know what I want you to say.
I stared into the middle distance, my patience fraying like a threadbare suit. ¡°Fine. I need you, Frank.¡±
A long pause. ¡°Okay?¡±
Silence.
I squeezed my eyes shut, grinding out the words. ¡°And... I¡¯m sorry.¡±
Was that so hard, Jackie?
¡°We good now? You willing to help?¡±
I live to serve, Master Jack, he said, sarcasm dripping like blood from a fresh wound. What¡¯s the order of the day?Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
¡°Information. I need everything you know about this key.¡±
The pause that followed crawled under my skin, making me wonder if the demon was actually thinking¡ªor just toying with me.
Hmmm. Old. Definitely old. Has that ancient reek, you know? Like something from back when I was still ripping souls apart for fun. This thing¡¯s been around for centuries, easy. How¡¯d you get your grubby paws on it?
The sound of breaking glass cut through our exchange. I pocketed my permit card and slid the floor panel back into place. Heavy footsteps thudded from downstairs, growing louder with each passing second. I pressed myself behind the door, holding my breath.
Wait a second, did I need to breathe? I wondered.
Why wouldn¡¯t you need to breathe? And why do you smell¡ like that? What¡¯s going on, Jack?
Hell¡¯s pits, I¡¯d forgotten how much I hated this. I never did figure out how he could see and smell without eyes or nose. ¡°Remember boundaries, Frank?¡±
Oh, but where¡¯s the fun in that?
Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared, clutching a glinting gun. Without hesitation, I slammed the door onto the hands, using all my strength to knock them off balance. A gunshot rang out in the enclosed space. Like lightning, I grabbed the man¡¯s arm and twisted it over my shoulder in a swift motion. His elbow cracked and bent at an odd angle, his pained scream filling the air.
Another man burst into the room. In a split second, I aimed and fired three quick shots from the stolen gun¡ªtwo in his chest, one to his head. His body crumpled to the ground with a satisfying thud. I quickly reloaded the gun with bullets from the first man¡¯s belt. The injured man on the ground tried to stand, but I kicked him in the side of his knee, causing him to collapse again in agony.
Now this is more like it. If the demon could smile, he would¡¯ve been smiling then.
¡°You can jump in any time,¡± I whispered.
Oh, you seem to have everything under control.
I moved toward the stairs, keeping my gun ready. Each step down felt like descending into a lion¡¯s den. The sounds from the bar below grew clearer; bottles clinking, footsteps shuffling, the indistinct murmur of voices.
As I reached the bottom, I saw them¡ªmore goons, rifling through shelves, smashing bottles of top-shelf liquor like it was amateur hour. The coat stretched itself wide, flexing as if caught in a windstorm.
Ah, it is good to be out again, Frank said.
I stepped out, firing. Bullets shattered glass and splintered wood, a symphony of destruction. Goons ducked behind the bar, scrambling for cover. They returned fire, bullets thudding into the bar, nicking the fireplace and sending shards of brick flying.
I dove behind a table, reloading in a flash. Popping up, I took out two more goons. Chaos erupted, the bar turning into a battlefield of debris and spilled booze. Murphy was definitely not going to be happy about this. There went my deposit. I winced at the thought of my tab.
I slithered on my belly toward the garage; the floor littered with debris. A barrage of bullets whizzed past me, the sharp cracks piercing the air. What was once a peaceful bar was now a war zone. Splinters of wood, jagged glass, and streaks of blood scattered across the ground like shards of deadly confetti.
I inched closer to safety. Every inch felt like a hard-fought victory against the madness outside.
Frank¡¯s voice echoed in my head, clearly amused. Enjoying yourself, Jack?
¡°Shut up, Frank,¡± I muttered, gritting my teeth. This day just kept getting better.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Whats Eating You?
As I entered the garage, a hulking figure barreled into me with brute force. The impact sent me staggering back, gasping for breath as I felt a sharp pain in my side. I fell to my knees, cradling my wounded abdomen where the knife had sliced through my coat and skin. But it wasn¡¯t just a simple cut¡ªthe fabric of my coat seemed to writhe and twist with a malevolent energy.
Pain seared through Frank, his words coming out in a sharp hiss. That hurt.
In an instant, I was on my feet, fueled by Frank¡¯s raw rage flowing through me. My hands curled into fists, ready to unleash their fury upon the goon who stabbed me. The man¡¯s fear was palpable as my fists landed with brutal force, each strike accompanied by a sickening thud.
Two more hulking goons slithered into the dimly lit garage, their beady eyes trained on me like predators stalking their prey. But as soon as Frank¡¯s commands took over my body, I moved with lethal fluidity, my muscles pulsing with deadly precision. The smirks on their faces quickly faded as they realized they were no match for the possessed man before them.
They advanced cautiously, but it was too late. In one swift motion, I was upon them, unleashing an onslaught of unbridled strength and ferocity that left them crumpled and lifeless on the cold floor.
But there was no time to revel in my victory. The sound of gunshots echoed through the garage as I burst through the door leading to the house. I found myself in a chaotic scene, shadows flickering at the corners of my vision. More goons emerged from the darkness, their guns aimed straight at me.
Without hesitation, I fired back with deadly accuracy, taking one out. The rest charged at me, but I met them head-on using every weapon at my disposal¡ªincluding the butt of my gun and swift kicks¡ªto incapacitate them. I was feeling strange. Dizzy. Confused. Moving without thinking.
In a terrifying dance, we moved in perfect sync. Blood spattered across the walls and floor as I fought for my life, each move fueled by rage and survival instinct.
The hunger gnawed at me, more intense than ever before. It was like a beast inside me, clawing to get out. And when the last goon fell to the ground with a thud, the hunger overwhelmed me. Before I realized what I was doing, I was on him, teeth sinking into his flesh. The taste of blood was both revolting and intoxicating. I couldn¡¯t stop myself, my instincts overriding my reason.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Jack! What are you doing? Frank¡¯s voice was a distant murmur in the haze.
Blood dripped from my mouth, the goon¡¯s flesh torn where I bit him.
Jack! For heaven¡¯s sake, this is disgusting. I demand you stop this right now.
I slipped further away. There was a pause as Frank assessed me. When he spoke next, his tone was firmer, a steadying force.
Focus, Jack. Don¡¯t let whatever this is control you.
I felt Frank forcing his way into my mind; a lighthouse in the storm. I focused on it.
With immense effort, I tore myself away from the goon, forcing the primal urge back down. My stomach still clawed at me. Horror and disgust washed over me. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to steady my breathing. ¡°Thanks, Frank,¡± I muttered, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and revulsion.
Oh Jack... what have you become? Frank¡¯s voice carried a rare note of concern.
¡°Take a look for yourself,¡± I said, opening my mind and memories fully to him.
There was a pause and then Frank spoke again, realization dawning. Why didn¡¯t you tell me?
¡°The smell didn¡¯t give it away?¡± I asked.
I thought you were just getting old. In all fairness, it¡¯s not too different from your usual smell.
¡°You didn¡¯t notice the lack of a beating heart?¡± I snorted. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t answer that.¡±
We need to talk about this.
¡°Later. Right now, we need to find Cali.¡±
I sprinted towards Murphy¡¯s sleek black car. I fumbled with the hot-wiring as my hands shook in hunger. The engine roared to life just as gunfire erupted behind us. I slammed my foot on the accelerator; the tires screeching as we tore through the garage door in a shower of splintered wood and twisted metal, leaving behind the destruction.
Frank¡¯s torn fabric slowly stitched itself back together.
We headed for Cali¡¯s, taking several loops and doubling back to make sure no one was following me.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Being a Bad Person
Cali looked up as I stumbled in, her brow furrowing at the urgency in my eyes. She looked exhausted, her bloodshot eyes a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor. The garage was dimly lit, shadows playing off the walls, casting an eerie glow on the various tools and parts scattered around. The air smelled of motor oil and metal.
¡°Heavens, Jack. Get in here. Did you already feed?¡±
¡°Had a bit of a... lapse. But I stopped myself.¡±
She nodded, though her expression remained grave. She gestured for me to sit on a worn-out stool by her workbench. ¡°While you were off lollygagging, I was up late trying to figure out how to help you. Got a book from one of my contacts.¡±
My stomach tightened. ¡°You went to the Shadow Market for this, didn¡¯t you?¡±
¡°Of course I did. I¡¯ve been going there for years. I¡¯m a big girl, Jack. I can handle it.¡±
The Shadow Market was a labyrinthine world that shifted like a snake in the dark, entrances appearing and disappearing with the whims of the arcane. Only those who knew what to look for could find a way in or a way out, slipping through alleys and hidden doors. It¡¯s where the Hexborn and Devil Kissed traded their secrets, spells, and forbidden goods. It¡¯s also where the Midnight Council got their mail. The Market was as dangerous as it was alive¡ªone wrong move and you were hexed, cursed, or worse.
Cali went into the back room and came back out with an ancient tome, its cover worn and faded, the leather cracked with age. The book looked like it had seen centuries of darkness, its pages yellowed and brittle. My stomach churned, not just from the sight of the book, but from the gnawing hunger that whispered Cali looked delicious.
Frank¡¯s voice echoed in my mind, curious. Who¡¯s this?
I sighed. This is Cali. We became friends shortly after I stuffed you away.
Introduce us.
I rolled my eyes. No. We have more important things to do.
Introduce us, Jack. Or I¡¯m not helping anymore.
I breathed out through my teeth while Cali stared at me quizzically. Fine, Frank. But be nice. We like Cali.
¡°My jacket wants to meet you.¡±
She blinked. ¡°Your jacket?¡±
Tell her my name¡¯s Frank. With some respect, please.
¡°His name is Frank,¡± I said, trying to keep a straight face.
The jacket flapped in an invisible breeze, showing off.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Cali just shook her head. ¡°Cursed couture. Why not? When it rains, it pours.¡±
I explained the situation to her, summarizing the demonic binding. Cali listened, her confusion turning to resignation.
¡°Frank and I started working together during the War.¡±
She sighed. ¡°Alright, Frank. Nice to meet you.¡±
Pleasure to meet you, Cali, Frank said in my mind, sounding almost smug.
Cali flipped through the pages of the massive book. ¡°It¡¯s a tome about the undead. It¡¯s all written in old Abyssal, and I¡¯ve been slowly translating it. So far, I¡¯ve figured out two things.¡±
The pages she flipped through were filled with dark, twisted symbols and runes that seemed to pulse with an eerie light. Each one was like a little promise of doom.
I braced myself, sensing bad news. ¡°Go on.¡±
¡°Eating people is bad,¡± she said.
I grunted, my body twitching as I tried to hold onto my sanity. The hunger gnawed at me, a relentless beast inside. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a revelation. What do I owe you for the advice, Doc?¡± My voice dripped with unintended venom.
She rolled her eyes. ¡°But it¡¯s inevitable. If you don¡¯t, you¡¯ll go feral and lose yourself. And if you find a way to stop yourself fully, you¡¯ll just fall apart.¡±
¡°So, what¡¯s the bad news?¡±
¡°Here¡¯s the catch-22. The more you eat, the faster your hunger will grow. You¡¯ll need to eat sooner and sooner after each... ¡®meal¡¯. Until it reaches a breaking point where you simply can¡¯t catch up with the hunger. This is really a bad deal, Jack.¡±
¡°Probably should have stayed dead,¡± I muttered.
She grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±
My heart sank. ¡°So what do we do?¡±
¡°There are some things we can do to slow the process.¡± She pointed to a passage in the book, her finger tracing over the ancient, cracked leather. The page was filled with dark, twisted symbols. ¡°Turns out health potions don¡¯t work the same for you as they do for the living, but they aren¡¯t totally worthless. They have a key ingredient that can help¡ªblack root. We need that. And a lot of it. I bought up all I could get my hands on this morning.¡±
She shoved a large cup of blue-black tar into my face. I noticed the piles surrounded by other dishes and a mess. It looked like a mad scientist had a field day here. The concoction hummed with a faint blue glow as she handed it to me.
¡°This will calm the hunger. Takes the edge off. But you¡¯re going to need to drink this regularly.¡±
I stared at her, feeling the hunger clawing at my insides, more beast than craving. I drank it. It tasted awful, which was a surprise, as nothing had been tasting like much of anything lately. But I felt pressure easing off, and my mind stopped spinning.
She stared at me, tension radiating off her like a live wire. I let the silence stretch out, feeling my senses return. I allowed another beat to pass before I snarled and made my eyes go wild.
She jumped back, yanking out a gun from who-knows-where, and pointed it right at my face. Her eyes were glossy with tears, but her hands were steady.
I threw up my hands, laughing despite myself. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! It worked, okay? I feel better!¡±
She narrowed her eyes, keeping the gun trained on me, clearly weighing whether or not to put a hole in my head. Finally, she lowered the weapon, but just as I started to breathe again, her fist came out of nowhere and clocked me in the jaw.
¡°Don¡¯t you ever pull that crap again!¡±
I was on the floor, holding my jaw, and I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Alright, alright. Bad timing. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±
You¡¯re a bad person, Jack.
I snorted, rubbing my sore face. Calling the cauldron black, Frank.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Abyssals Sake
She took a deep breath, setting down her gun, but keeping it within arm¡¯s reach. ¡°Just drink your sludge and shut up, Jack.¡±
We sat in silence for a long moment. She flipped through the tome, each turn of the page revealing more cryptic text and illustrations of arcane rituals.
¡°And then there¡¯s this,¡± she said, her voice low. ¡°A line about Nightstone. Says it needs to be taken in¡ªabsorbed. Can help stave off the change.¡±
I nodded. Infernum may have kept the lights on, but Nightstone¡ªNightstone was the city¡¯s dark heart. Thick as molasses and twice as treacherous.
¡°Tell me, Cali,¡± I said, a wry smile tugging at my lips, ¡°should I plug myself into a battery or suck on an exhaust pipe?¡±
¡°Neither,¡± she retorted, her tone cool. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t even slow your decay. You need the raw stuff¡ªunfiltered, unprocessed.¡±
When I thought of Nightstone, I pictured what most people did¡ªthe oily sludge that dripped slow and heavy into the tray before it was bled into an engine. The process was filthy, and the stench clung to you like a guilty conscience, but it was the only way to keep a car running. The exhaust spewed rift soot into the air¡ªa dark stain that coated everything it touched. You could always spot the drivers by the grime under their nails and the cough that never quite left their lungs.
But what we were dealing with here wasn¡¯t the usual sludge¡ªit was the raw stuff, glassy and dangerous. When Infernum was compressed too long and too tight, it hardened into a black, reflective stone. This pure form of Nightstone was volatile, a concentrated force that didn¡¯t just power a car¡ªit could tear one apart. And after it was burned out, the charred remains got repurposed into Shadefire coal, another form of controlled destruction.
That¡¯s why I smoked¡ªit soothed the lungs and gave me the illusion of control over the chaos. I grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep pull. But there was no relief, not even the familiar taste of ash in my mouth. The smoke just hung there, a hollow reminder of my recent choices.
¡°Great. So where the hell do we find raw Nightstone?¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
She gave me a wry smile. ¡°Where the city bleeds.¡±
I stared at her, deadpan. ¡°You don¡¯t cross rifts on the best of days, let alone the worst, and now you¡¯re telling me to walk straight into one?¡±
¡°I¡¯m telling you to stay alive¡ªand to avoid going berserk in some quiet town full of grandmas.¡±
¡°Never trust a sweet old lady,¡± I muttered.
Cali sighed, exasperated. ¡°You¡¯re edging closer to full undead, Jack. Sooner or later, there won¡¯t be enough of you left to crack jokes.¡±
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves before continuing. ¡°Here, on our side of the rift, the dead are supposed to stay dead. But the Otherworld? It¡¯s more accommodating to your new... constitution. You know how Full Bloods lose their minds when they step through a rift?¡±
¡°It¡¯s the only thing that keeps the Demon Elders out,¡± I said.
¡°You¡¯re in a similar boat now. The more you feed, the closer you get to becoming ¡®full blood,¡¯ so to speak. But things from the Otherworld might, theoretically, slow that down. Buy us some time to figure this out.¡±
I arched an eyebrow. ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±
She gave me a withering look. ¡°Satan¡¯s tits, Jack, of course I¡¯m not sure. I got this book from a sketchy vampire in a dark alley at the Shadow Market. This isn¡¯t exactly my area of expertise. Just be glad I took a year of Abyssal in college.¡±
¡°Okay, Cali, I get it. So, let¡¯s say we get the Nightstone, then what?¡±
¡°Then you find somebody who knows what they¡¯re doing. There¡¯s a lot here that doesn¡¯t translate, Jack. Look at this.¡±
She showed me the strange symbols bracketing the lines she just read. ¡°There¡¯s no translation. Nothing in any of the books I¡¯ve got. We¡¯re in uncharted territory.¡±
I glanced at them, and a sudden twinge of anxiety rippled through Frank. ¡°I might be able to help,¡± I said.
Cali raised an eyebrow. ¡°You studied ancient Abyssal?¡±
¡°No,¡± I replied, ¡°but I know someone who did.¡±
I focused on the symbols, bringing Frank closer to the book. The ancient script twisted and turned, a dark, tangled language that seemed to writhe on the page. Frank went quiet for a moment, digging through the fragments of his memory.
He¡¯d lost most of the important stuff when his skin was tanned and turned into a leather jacket, or so he says. You can never fully trust a demon, even one as... altered as Frank. But having him around had its perks. The only reason he hadn¡¯t gone mad, as far as we could tell, was because he was already dead¡ªa ghost trapped in his own skin. Creeps me out just thinking about it.
Let me use your eyes. Frank¡¯s voice whispered in my mind.
I relaxed, allowing the connection. My vision blurred for a second before snapping into sharp focus as Frank took control. My eyes darted over the page, following the twists and curves of the script.
Old Tongue, he said. Lower demon caste notations added later. That symbol at the start? It¡¯s a warning. Says the information is from a dubious source. The one at the end? Tells you not to get your hopes up. Means the text might not mean what it seems to.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Stopgaps
My vision snapped back to normal, but a pounding headache hit right after. I hated doing that¡ªit felt like unleashing leeches in my brain. I gritted my teeth and relayed Frank¡¯s interpretation to Cali.
She studied me for a moment, skeptical. ¡°Frank told you all that?¡±
¡°He has his uses,¡± I replied.
Unlike you, Jack, I¡¯m not just a tool.
Cali smirked. ¡°If that¡¯s true, it says a lot about the demon caste system. Demons with warning labels? How considerate.¡±
Not all of us are out to destroy, Frank interjected, demanding that I relay for him.
Ever been to the rougher parts of town? Yes, they¡¯re dangerous, but you will also find some of the kindest people¡ªbecause they have to be. It¡¯s like sharing a lifeboat in a storm.
¡°He¡¯s got a point,¡± I added. ¡°There¡¯s a weird bond in the worst places, an unspoken rule of survival.¡±
The Abyss beyond the Rift isn¡¯t just chaos. It has rules¡ªa code. Even the damned look out for each other.
¡°A language built on survival,¡± she mused.
Precisely.
¡°Well, that¡¯s comforting,¡± I added.
Jack, you know who we need to see about this.
¡°No way. I¡¯m already too deep in her debt as it is.¡±
Even if we get the Nightstone, we¡¯ll need someone who knows how to distill it properly.
¡°Not happening, Frank. We don¡¯t even know if Mildred will help us or gut us. She¡¯s not exactly my biggest fan.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
But she tolerates me, Frank insisted.
Cali watched me argue with Frank, who, as always, was only in my head. She didn¡¯t hear his voice, but by now, she knew the drill.
¡°I hate to say it, but Frank¡¯s right,¡± Cali said, breaking the silence. ¡°She¡¯s the best option you¡¯ve got.¡±
¡°Mildred always gives me the creeps,¡± I grumbled.
Cali stepped back, a determined glint in her eyes. ¡°Then it¡¯s settled.¡± She tossed me a few bottles of her tar concoction. ¡°It¡¯s the best lead we¡¯ve got, and we need that Nightstone, Jack. Sooner rather than later.¡±
I slipped some cash into her hands, more than half of what I earned from the Aylin gig. She tried to push it back, but I insisted. I was starting to think I got underpaid.
Out back, my car waited in the second garage¡ªa ¡¯55 Chevrolet Bel Air that had weathered the years with a quiet dignity. The once-shiny black paint now bore the scars of a life well-lived, the patchwork of dents and scratches a testament to countless close calls. Cali did a hell of a job fixing it up. Despite the wear, the curves and lines of its body still held a timeless elegance, a reminder of a world that hadn¡¯t completely gone to hell.
As I approached, the scent of aged leather and old rift soot greeted me, stirring something deep within. The car¡¯s red seats were lovingly maintained. The dashboard, a mix of chrome and polished wood, featured an array of analog gauges and dials.
We stocked up the car with a day¡¯s worth of the gunk.
¡°It¡¯s all I¡¯ve got,¡± she said. ¡°Whenever you start to get peckish, drink up.¡±
¡°Thanks, Cali. I owe you one.¡±
¡°You owe me more than one,¡± she retorted, her tone light despite the tension.
I slid into my car, the engine¡¯s purr a comforting sound amid the chaos. As I pulled away from the garage, Frank¡¯s voice echoed in my mind.
She really cares about you, you know.
Yeah, I know, I replied, feeling a pang of guilt. But I can¡¯t drag her into this any more than she already is.
The hunger gnawed at me, but Cali¡¯s brew took the edge off. I felt like a model on a Hollywood diet, sipping lemon water to stave off the pangs. Things were going to get a lot worse before they got any better.
¡°You even filled up the tank,¡± I muttered, gratitude washing over me.
Tires squealed as I pulled away from the curb, leaving the garage behind in the harsh midday sun. The Bel Air glided over the asphalt, its engine growling with power. The city blurred into streaks of color as I sped through the streets.
The wind whipped through the open windows.
I needed a weapon. Time to visit the Shop.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Water Under the Bridge
Do we really think it¡¯s a good idea to visit the Shop, Jack? Didn¡¯t Al stab you once?
That was a long time ago,And it was a misunderstanding.
So, what¡¯s the occasion?Anything special?If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Lost my sword to a demon. Need a replacement,
Need to stop anything in particular?
Think you can handle it?
Dragon¡¯s Breath Mark IV Equipped
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Weapon Type
-
Attributes
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+50% Precision
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Elemental Damage (Fire)
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+20% Critical Hit Chance
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Special Properties
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Runic Channeling
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Blessed Steel Reinforcement
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Status
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Item WarningThis weapon requires advanced handling. Be advised: recoil can destabilize unenhanced users.
System Alert: Compatibility Check... Successful
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