Zemeron’s mind raced with endless thoughts as he strolled down the narrow hallways of the Senior Quarters. Not long ago, Trixan had invited him to her office to deliver the news — tomorrow she would be going to Rhodine for an emergency meeting.
The last time the Council of Elders had an emergency meeting, the Vessels of Bezvaros had broken into Nag Tog to steal Bezvaros’ Crystal. Zemeron was only four years old at the time but he still remembered how restless everyone, especially his father, had been.
He often heard stories about how the Outer Sphere had come close to destruction had the vanquishers not stepped in to stop their summoning ritual of the Demon King. An emergency meeting of the Council of Elders was never a good sign.
Trixan had put him in charge of the school’s safety until she returned and that was exactly what he was going to do. He hoped that Trixan would be safe while she was in Agon. It was no secret that the Draghein Family didn’t like her. As someone who belonged to one of the Dominant Families, Zemeron knew how dangerous they were.
He did not doubt that Trixan could take care of herself, but he still could not keep himself from worrying. It was thanks to the Elder that Zemeron and his sister were safe from their own family. Trixan didn’t waver for a second in accepting two Zoleris into a Draghein school even when that meant attracting the wrath of both the Zoleris and Draghein families.
If only Zemeron had had half of Trixan’s courage all those years ago, Pheera would not have suffered the atrocities of their family. He had failed as an older brother, all because he had been a coward. Zemeron clenched his jaws as anger gnawed at his insides. He hated everyone who put Pheera through that hell, but most of all, he hated himself for doing nothing for so long. Once, Trixan had sensed that guilt within him and had encouraged him to forgive himself.
“You did save your sister, my dear” she had said, her green eyes kind and tender. “Never forget that.”
Zemeron sighed, as Trixan’s words echoed in his mind. Then he suddenly halted in his tracks as goosebumps flooded his arms. He quickly turned around, his cold eyes searching the long hallway. It was empty. Not a single person was around. Yet, Zemeron knew someone had been watching him.
Could it be a spy from the Zoleris Family? His jaws tightened. He wouldn’t put it past his father to send a spy or assassin after him. The man was desperate to get Pheera back and he would resort to any scheme to do so. To Esumeraz Zoleris, Pheera was nothing but a weapon to be used for his own political agenda. But would his father be so daring as to send a spy into Draghein School? That man was many things, but no fool. And fuelling the feud between Zoleris and Draghein by sending a spy this sloppy was indeed foolish.
Yet Zemeron could not shake off that feeling of ill intent twisting his bowels. The person clearly had malicious thoughts. He had to keep his eyes open especially now that Trixan was going to the Central Domain. Without Rizav, he was the only class two vanquisher in Draghein School which meant that it was his job to protect the school.
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The clock struck midnight in New York.
A murky black fluid appeared from nothing, tearing a rift in thin air. Out of the murky fluid emerged a tall man dressed in all black. A skull-face mask covered the lower half of his dark face, while a cowboy hat covered his low-cropped black hair. The fluid portal disappeared behind him as soon as he stepped through. The blasting music inside the dimly lit club suddenly turned off and all eyes landed on him.
He grinned beneath the mask. It seemed he had interrupted some kind of party here. Rusmendez did love his parties.
A group of the most vicious-looking ones, obviously Rusmendez’s top dogs, sauntered towards him in a gait they probably thought complemented their glare. He almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
How adorable.
“I won’t waste your time.” He dug his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat. “I’m looking for your alpha.”
No one said anything so he took a step forward. But a burly man with a face with too many scars blocked his path. This must be Rusmendez’s beta, he thought.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the beta. “And why are you impersonating the dead?”
“I’m here for your alpha, little puppy,” he said. “Be a good dog and go fetch.”
The beta clenched his jaws, his hazel eyes turning a deep shade of red. Thin black lines appeared beneath his eyes. The others behind him had the same savage look, low growls filling the club.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“How about I tear you apart?” said the beta.
The masked man laughed. Demon hounds. So stupid. “You sure you want to fight me?”
“I don’t want to fight you.” He cracked his knuckles. “I want to kill you.”
The beta growled as the bones in his body broke apart, shifting and dislocating at odd angles. The masked man sighed. If he wanted, he could have just smacked the fucking demon hound to death before he even attempted to transform. But he let the transformation continue. He hadn’t had fun in a while so this should keep him entertained for now.
The beta fell on his four limbs as the hairs on his body grew longer and thicker. Soon a demon hound stood in his place, twice the size of an actual wolf. The demon hound lunged toward the masked man but the latter punched the demon flinging him across the room. Bottles shattered and tables and chairs splintered.
The demon hounds in their human form gaped at the whimpering beta. They glared at the masked man as they surrounded him. Together they all charged towards him.
He grinned. This should be fun.
Not bothering to use sacred energy or vaz, he swiftly clipped through every demon in his path. The sound of breaking bones and terrified screams was the order of the night. soon everyone lay at his feet unconscious, unmoving. Scores of demon hounds filed downstairs, racing towards him. But upon seeing their comrades, they hesitated, their red eyes full of uncertainty. It was like they were asking themselves if fighting him was a good idea.
Pathetic. Rusmendez’s pack had grown, but obviously, it was full of wimps.
“That’s enough.” That voice hadn’t changed in the last three decades since he last heard it, thought the masked man.
All the demon hounds stood down immediately at their alpha’s command. Rusmendez’s steely blue eyes glared at his pack before descending the stairs with calculated steps.
His taste for tailored suits had not changed, and neither had he aged a day. But he had grown out his hair which he held up in a tight ponytail.
“Not even a million of you would be a match for that man,” said Rusmendez. “If you value your hides, you will all get lost. Now.” The demon hounds shuffled out of the alpha’s way. Soon, Rusmendez stood before the masked man, his hands buried in his pocket.
“So, to what do I owe this visit, Hellstorm?” Rusmendez glared at him.
Low murmurs rose amongst them. “Hellstorm?” said, someone.
“I thought he was dead,” said another.
“Is this man really a vanquisher?” another added. “Why does he have the scent of a demon?”
“That can’t be Hellstorm.”
“But he has Hellstorm’s style.”
“Anyone can dress like Hellstorm. He’s an impostor.”
“Enough yapping,” Rusmendez growled, drawing closer to Hellstorm. He sniffed Hellstorm like a dog and his pointed nose twitched. “You may smell different but I can still smell it’s you.”
“Congratulations. Your nose still works,” Hellstorm scoffed. “But I have to say, Rusmendez, you look old.”
“And you don’t look dead.” Rusmendez raised a brow. “I guess the death of the great Hellstorm was too good to be true.”
“I’m flattered.”
The icy glare in Rusmendez’s eyes returned. “What do you want? My pack has done nothing to bring vanquishers to my doorstep. We have nothing to do with humans.” Quietly, he added, “Not anymore.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” said Hellstorm. “There’s something I need from you.”
Rusmendez narrowed his eyes. Hellstorm recognized this look all the well. The demon was cautious. He didn’t expect any less from someone as paranoid as Rusmendez. “What could a vanquisher possibly want from a demon?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re in alone.” Hellstorm glared at the inquisitive demons hanging on their every word.
Rusmendez rubbed his neatly groomed beard. He nodded, beckoning Hellstorm to follow him. Wading through scores of demon hounds, then up the stairs, they finally made their way into an elegant office that didn’t quite fit in with the raunchiness of the club, yet suited Rusmendez’s performance of elegance. Yes, it was all an act. A way to hide his true nature, the cutthroat he really was. Rusmendez could fool everyone, but he could never fool Hellstorm.
“What do you need from me?” Rusmendez asked when they sat.
“A holy cage.”
“What?” Rusmendez’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind? Why the hell will any demon have a holy cage?”
“Miss me with that bullshit, will you?” Hellstorm chuckled. “I know you have connections to the underworld. You know people who deal in all kinds of relics. I just need a name, Rusmendez.”
Rusmendez clenched his jaws, avoiding Hellstorm’s gaze. “I can’t give you a name. Discretion is key in this business. What do you think is going to happen if people find out I sent a fucking vanquisher to their doorstep?”
“No need to worry about that.” Hellstorm shrugged. “I don’t work for the Order anymore.”
“Yeah, miss me with that bullshit.”
Hellstorm laughed. “I need that holy cage, Rusmendez, and I need it fast.” Then in a graver tone, the amusement completely gone from his eyes, he said, “You owe me.”
Rusmendez gulped, his grip tightening on his armrest.
Thirty years ago, Rusmendez had been part of a demon cartel dealing in Fan’hu, an addictive drug that literally fed on the conscience of humans. The drug eventually made the humans aggressive and violent to the point of murdering their loved ones. Hellstorm had been the lead vanquisher investigating the case and he soon found out that Rusmendez was involved. But after further investigation, he learned that Rusmendez was nothing but a pawn under the royal demon running the cartel.
Hellstorm promised to spare Rusmendez’s life in exchange for two things — first, he must never harm humans, and second, he would use his connections to give him whatever intelligence he needed. At the time, Hellstorm had given the condition because he wanted to learn more about the cartel and destroy it. Right now, however, this very condition would change Hellstorm’s life.
“This is me asking nicely, Rusmendez.”
The demon hound tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “You could just have easily gone to your school to get a holy cage. Or any of the Twelve Schools. But you came to me. Why?”
“That’s not your business.”
“The Order doesn’t know you’re alive?” Rusmendez smiled craftily. “They don’t know what you’ve become now, do they?”
“And what have I become?”
“You reek of demon energy, Hellstorm. What happened to you?”
Hellstorm just gazed at Ruzmendez in nonchalance.
“The silent treatment, huh? No matter.” Rusmedez chuckled. “I’ll give you a name, Hellstorm, but you never got it from me.”
Hellstorm shrugged. “Well, I was never here, was I ?”
Rusmendez laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t wait to see what the Order will do to you, Hellstorm.”
Hellstorm smiled. Neither could he.