Drip. Drip. Drip.
The steady dripping of water, the stench of waste, the crick in my neck, and the growl from my hollowed out gut my welcome to the world. Aching all over. Aching from overexertion, aching from being curled up however long in this corner and aching after...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Yesterday must've happened. It must've. All of it. Made it back to town and ended up sleeping down here, so it must've. Adjusting myself, trying to find a more comfortable position on the semi sturdy, semi soft pillow like object under my head. Reaching out a hand to touch the sewer floor. Not sticking anymore. Spider Climb and the other – others? - seem to have worn off. Rolling my shoulders to work out some of the stiffness. Wait, if yesterday happened, then...
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Putting off that line of thought and struggling to sit up. Where're my herbs? Hopefully not in – there, the pouch is still tied to my belt. Empty. Where'd they all go? Used one or two yesterday doing that, and then there were some cuts climbing, and then that first one went kinda bad, and then. Huh. Guess they all got used up. Okay, fair enough, that'll be one more item on the checklist assuming everything's still a go. Hesitating only a moment before hauling myself up and taking hold of my not-quite-entirely-full seeming pack.
The light of day usually reveals the flaws of all those grandiose plans hatched in the early hours the night before. A hangover's mixed blessing. Today's hangover-like-feeling especially pervasive while struggling through the bright optimism and exuberance currently infesting the city streets. House colors had reemerged throughout the city in anticipation of tonight's rescheduled finals, and today's date had added the spice of holiday costumes and face painting on top of those. Barely the tail end of the breakfast hour and already an impromptu merchant district street fair had begun in full swing, leaving me exposed as the single, dirty brown spot trudging through the colorful collage. Keeping my head down and cloak hood up while being bombarded by their gastric emanations and gluttonous glee. My deceptively half-filled pack weighing down my shoulders with every step.
They're gonna hate me for it. Really hate me. But that seems to be the natural state of affairs - the way everything is and the way it is destined to be - and these past few months of trying to pretend otherwise have largely been a waste. Trying to make a new start, only to be blacklisted. Trying to forge a different path, only to be blocked at every turn. Trying to get along – bending over backwards in some cases to do so - only to be met with betrayal after betrayal.
Approaching a large intersection and my slow, but steady, progress coming to a stop. People fanning out to take a gander - from the sound of it the area had been taken over by a theatre troupe performing some kind of large scale extravaganza. Turning around to try and pick a different path, but the swelling crowd coming in from behind making that impossible. Uncovering my face to aid my search for another exit, but only discovering more people in every direction. Shimmying off to the side to find another way around, but only managing to get behind one of the cramped stalls. The merchant sitting inside quirking an eyebrow at my intrusion.
“Sorry, passing through.”
“What's your rush?” The merchant glancing meaningfully at the crowd milling about in the street.
“I, uh...” Completely packed. Wall to wall. Well, it is still early, and there's only so much remaining prep that needs to be done. Breakfast, shower and a nap should be the first order of the day. The weight of my deceptively half filled bag pulling down again on my shoulders. That is, assuming tonight's plan is still a go.
“You doing okay?” The guy squinting at me. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“I doubt it.”
***
Loosening the shoulder straps on my pack and slowly bringing it to the floor.
The posters littering town, plastered with my likeness, have certainly performed their job admirably. Everyone already does hate me: that fact is more than clear. And the moment when slight suspicion gives way to realization has become readily recognizable. Amusing, even. But their reaction afterwards is completely different than what used to happen. Six months ago, before all this, that initial reaction would've been the same after they recognized me - very similar, at least - but then they'd grimace and bear it. They'd swallow their hate and fear and disgust down while making sure to be extra polite. But not so much now.
Carefully, slowly, unbuckling the clasps on the pack. Unfurling the Animated chain snugly wrapped several times about my middle, trailing on one side around an arm and the other around a leg. Getting it ready.
So everyone despises me - the same as it ever was - but now they also seem to think me dead and gone. They all need to relearn some respect, and they need to understand that actions have consequences. Julie should be fine with this plan, she's got the right mentality. Magpie, too, she'll be in my corner. Evie may end up screaming mad - in private – and she'll be forced to deal with a bunch of ruffled feathers - in public - but she can handle all that. She'll probably work herself up into a lather and then forgive me her in next breath. Her thing may also be enraged, or grossly offended, but successfully fulfilling its demand should wash away any temporary misgivings about the method used to get it all done. There's no remaining reason to hesitate. Doing this offers the greatest chance of overall success while also providing the greatest ability to mitigate any minor, or medium sized, failures.
Peering inside the pack, at the blackened, necrotic things twitching inside the pocket dimension. The compressed, molded bags of flesh and bone beginning to stir as they felt the warmth of life come near, trying to reach with compressed, folded limbs. Instinctively restless and hungry, and aching to be free.
Kate understands – maybe better than anyone else - but understanding may make forgiveness even more difficult. Potentially impossible. Rolling my head from side to side and stretching my arms. So be it. She'll be better off for dropping me, and Vesper, too. She'll get someone loyal, and he'll get a master who actually cares.
Turning the pack on its side and directing the chain to wrap around one of the three creatures contained within. Dragging it out and then reorienting and resealing the bag.
The thing completely desiccated, with rough, leathery, almost prickly, skin. The creature normally existing near the bottom of the bottom most tomb, directing its minions to scour the surface and almost exclusively sustaining itself on long dead flesh. Activating Reshape and beginning the process of uncompressing. Unfolding layers and adding another restraining loop of chain. Finally getting to the head – careful, careful – and uncompressing the skull. Keeping the jaw sealed tight. The thing's glowing orbs burning with an unmistakable hate.
“You're being freed so you can help me tonight.” No reaction, but the thing undoubtedly understands. Not long on thought, but intelligent enough. “There's plenty around here for you to work with, so feed as much as you want. It's all yours.” The handle behind me rattling, followed by some heavy knocks on the door. “There's one now. If you try anything on me I'll put you back in the bag and I'll forget you in there forever.” The eerie glow in its sockets dimming briefly before reigniting. Ignoring the continuing racket behind me and concentrating every ounce of willpower on holding the chain tight. Preparing myself to unlock its jaw. There. Taking a very quick step back as the thing's mouth fell open and a musty puff of tomb dust filled the air.
“Hey, open up! I gotta take-”
The junkie's expression remaining glazed even as the Necrofiend's elongated claw engulfed his neck and pulled him inside the room. His exaggeratedly slow reaction only producing a frothing disturbance in the fluid pouring out from under his chin. His legs visibly losing strength, but his body staying vertical while pinned to the wall. His arms vainly trying to dislodge the supernaturally strong grip - a child fighting for its life and future against the strength of a fully grown man. Snatching up my bag and bolting out the open door.
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No need to watch the aftermath. Who'd want to watch that? No need to listen to his screams as the thing desecrates his body. Who'd want to listen? No need to watch the thing slaking it's appetite before raising its bloody mouth to rasp out the guttural sounds of its ritual. Blessed are You our God who has sanctified us through Your Deeds. No need to watch the raped, mutilated husk rise: numb, hurt and consumed with passing along its desecration. No need to bear witness to the cycle of violence. Abduction and assault, jealousy and theft. Filled with hate, as only the dead can hate the living. The erased spreading their erasure.
Racing out of the flophouse, half sideways now, my feet awkwardly stuttering out a series of beats on the uneven cobblestones and my equally ragged breaths misting the late afternoon air with a different tempo entirely. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, at most. Everyone inside will be snatched, slaughtered, stretched out and then shambling once again on shuffling feet. Dead, not drugged. And not a single one of them will ever be missed – not in this shantytown abutting the warehouses along the docks. A rather small leap from their living death to joining with the ranks of the living dead. Probably not even the most tenderhearted deity in the faraway temple district would deign to cast a glance at the slight uptick in misery already occurring down here on a daily basis.
Alright, release the other two nearby and then give it an hour. Allow their ranks to swell before ringing the alarm bells and calling attention to the growing invasion.
***
“There's a huge problem. You have to tell the master. I may have royally fucked up.”
Concern and slight desperation. That's what needs to be conveyed. Eyes open wide – that shows concern – and don't smile. Whatever happens: Do Not Smile. Channel my inner duper's delight into something else, anything else. There. Whatever my mouth is doing right now it isn't a smile.
“Mac, you, uh...” The scar faced man looking up from the shipping manifest on his desk and taking a moment to formulate his question. “Relax. What's going on?”
Say what but don't let him know exactly what. Just enough to bait the hook and send him scrambling, but nothing concrete and absolutely nothing incriminating.
“The master told me to keep an eye on – and I did, I did! I want you to know that I did. But I was wrong. Tell him that. Tell him that I was wrong, and that he needs to do something right away. I honestly didn't think anything was gonna happen so soon but the situation has gotten out of control. Tell him if he doesn't act now then it may be too late.”
Each syllable flying out of my mouth sending it incrementally wider. The final spewed statement a mishmash of teeth and spittle.
“Mac, uh...”
Dammit dammit dammit. He must be able to see through me. Beard would've been a better mark for this story – he gets softheaded when it comes to sob stories - but scar has the clout to actually make things happen. He was the best choice, but also the most dangerous to try and fool. Okay, time to really lay it on thick, and-
“Mac, get a hold of yourself. You're acting hysterical.”
The accusation and accompanying rough shake of my shoulders creating a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Giggles giving way to peals of laughter, and then tears of frustrated delight sending everything swimming. The pungent smell of liquor under my nose bringing me back into the moment. Accepting his offered flask and taking a swig.
“Alright, Mac, you're upset, I know. Take a moment and then tell me what's going on. From the top.”
“I was told to keep an eye on, uh, but, you see...” Taking another sip. “Listen, you've gotta understand that what's going on here is a distraction.”
His frown merely creating another crease on his face. “A distraction?”
“They're not hitting here, they're hitting the colosseum.”
“Mac. Hold on.” His words deliberate. And more than tinged with annoyance. “You said there's a distraction, so let's start there. What's the distraction?”
“There's undead inside the city.” Taking another drink from the flask in order to contain myself. “But they're a distraction, you gotta tell him that. The situation isn't bad at the moment - something needs to be done about it soon or it'll get bad - but they're a distraction. The real goal tonight is hitting the colosseum.”
“Okay. Okay, fine." His face now covered in creases. “But if they're hitting the colosseum we should still have a couple hours. What's got you so bent out of shape?”
A sensible question. A reasonable question. Stop asking those kinds of questions. You shouldn't think - think later - you should get upset and then act.
“Listen, with the way things have been going I know they're gonna try and blame it all on me. That's why I'm trying to get out in front of it beforehand. I need you to tell the master what's going on, and while you're doing that I'm going to go try to talk to Shaker. I'm not gonna let them blame this one on me - not again - not when I'm actually trying to do something to stop it this time around. Okay? You understand? I gotta get going.”
“Mac, hold on.” His almost casual, yet near unshakeable, grip on my forearm stopping me cold. Resisting my instinctual urge to do something rash and then run. “You haven't said who's behind this. What's going on?”
Another sensible, reasonable, completely unacceptable question. The one specific question that definitively shouldn't be answered. The one that demands pure innuendo. It was a bad idea to try and spin this with him. It's not going to work. Taking in a deep breath and letting out my anxiety. Fine, then. He can probably see through me. If that's the case there's no further need for lies or games. Get everything out in the open in one fell-
The door to the small office banging against the wall as it flies open. Distant yells of alarm and a sort of general commotion from the outside coming in to color the atmosphere a different shade.
“Boss, we've got a problem.” Scar turning his attention to the longshoreman and removing his hand from my arm.
They managed to get here already? How? They shouldn't be moving this fast. This may be bad. No, wait, this may be good. They may be moving quicker than they should, so maybe some pieces don't move to where they should get to, but the overall plan still should be salvageable. Grabbing scar's arm to get his attention back.
“This what I was talking about. You let the master know what's happening. I need to find Shaker.”
***
Under the last rays of daylight the bodies swelling the streets throng and convulse. The freshly risen dead spilling out of the slums now beginning to commingle with the festival crowd all decked out in their holiday finery. Facepaint and masks and over puffed ensembles greeted by coagulated globules and runny bits of red smeared down ashen faces. Stiff and unnaturally strong limbs pulling chunks out of the rotten edifice and gnawing teeth tearing away at the facade.
Making a break for the center of the city, and being entirely unapologetic about it. Unleashing the shield left and right, sending people and things staggering and sprawling. Breaking through the juncture where the dead met the living and gradually the fading chaos in my wake giving way to the unconcerned and unaware festival crowd. Restraining my bursts of power and focusing instead on squeezing through.
Approximately ten blocks past the front a figure clad in white - much too much white - arriving in my peripheral vision. The crowd, with barely any prompting, moving out her way as she keeps her attention focused in the direction of the tumult spreading from the slums. Riley, eyes fixed – flashing, beyond furious - striding right by without noticing my presence in the slightest. A block after passing her by a voice calling out.
“Evie!”
But Riley showing no indication that she'd heard the person persuing her, and the girl continuing to move in the direction she'd been heading without slowing a beat. Wolfe cupping her hands around her mouth to yell again, but then visibly hesitating and her hands dropping. Turning to look in my direction, but a moment later getting jostled by someone in the crowd.
Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stay calm. Stay with the crowd. Be invisible. You didn't notice anything, Kate. You keep doing what you're doing and go help Evie. You'll do more good there. Don't notice me. Don't follow me.
Passing by only several paces away from Wolfe, her head swiveling now, looking around and even at her feet, while periodically being buffeted by passersby, without so much as an acknowledgement or an apology. Keeping myself with the flow of the crowd and letting their momentum direct my path. After another couple blocks resuming my forward push, and then, twenty minutes of dodging and weaving later, finally managing to arrive at the town square. The main entrance to the noble district flanked on both sides by what had to be an entire platoon of not especially alert soldiers. After earlier, the lie coming easily.
“I need to get inside. I have critical information about tonight's tournament that Director Shaker needs to hear.”