Chapter 6: Dealing With Complications
--- Sarah Sionis, Before The Event ---
She’d long since found that -despite the similarities- regaining consciousness after being knocked out, tended to be a significantly less pleasant experience than waking up from a deep and restful slumber. Namely because one could still feel the aches and pains of whatever knocked them unconscious in the first place.
Once enough consciousness had returned for her to begin plotting, planning, and everything else the Sionis family was known for, she picked herself off of the cold metal floor and found that despite the earlier agent’s threats she had not been locked in a tiny cell she wouldn’t be able to stand up in. (Not that it isn’t still tiny.)
Looking around she found that the two side walls could easily be touched by spreading her arms, while the distance from the back wall and the glass wall that made up the entrance to her cell was perhaps three paces long. Admittedly not the smallest prison she’d found herself in, that being a coffin from that time she’d been buried alive, but not a size aided by the flat foam bed that took up half the floor or the toilet that took up its own share of space.
Pretending her inspection was over, she attempted to get a measure of just how much of her cell was viewable from the camera hidden in the back wall of her cell. (Given the way it’s moving it’s tracking me… And with that angle… the toilet is the only thing it can’t see.)
A little more thorough than she’d been expecting, but with her body count and abilities keeping eyes on her at all times was a bit of a necessity.
Walking over to the solid wall of glass she tried to judge the cell hall she found herself in, and realized that instead of getting a decent number of cells in front of her they’d only been aligned so that she could only see the front halves of the two cells barely three paces across from her own. (Okay, so that’s two people I can manipulate instead of half a cell block… If they actually have anyone in those cells.)
Above her a faint airflow above her allowed her to see the only vent in her cell, a thin space she’d be lucky to get a pencil through but long enough that it made up most of her cell. (So with the bed built into the floor, that leaves no hiding spaces unless I break the pipes.)
With her investigation complete for now she moved to sit on the half inch foam mattress as she thought over her situation. (All in all… not ideal, but still workable. My best bet is to slowly work over whatever guards they keep staffed here… Given the size of this city, they’ll have at most two hundred personnel across the city. So four dozen at most for this site. Most of my Malice will wear off if they cycle through all of them, but the higher ups won’t risk themselves so if I can still get a little on the grunts between now and their next attempt at flipping me… I might be able to get a pawn or two under my thumb. Work them up a bit and I’ll be out of here in… three months tops. Just long enough for Father’s men to move past this city.)
With a smirk on her face, she leaned back on her bed and thought, (Yeah, I can make this work for me.)
--- Alexander Pierce, Before The Event ---
He stared down at the black and silver box Eric and Catherine had brought to him, feeling it call out to his blood in a way he hadn’t felt since receiving the gift of blood and shadow decades ago.
It was a valuable piece, and if everything went the way he was hoping one that would allow him to win this war without any more of his kin dying. As was even if no one else died, they’d lost far more blood over the years than he’d ever be comfortable with. (Speaking of…)
“You should’ve run.” He told his daughter in blood.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Catherine merely rolled her eyes as the ever faithful Eric bandaged her arm. “I survived. Besides I know you can feel the power coming off of this thing, we couldn’t let the wolves take this.”
“No, we couldn’t.” He conceded, before giving her a glare. “But you still should’ve run from a three on one fight. You could’ve been hurt a lot worse than a few bites and scratches.”
“I didn’t pick a fight with a whole pack, just the pups they sent out scouting.” Catherine argued. “The moment I heard the howls I ran. We both know I’m not some prideful new blood.”
He ran a hand down his face before nodding. “You’re right, apologies. I just don’t like seeing any of my blood taking risks they don’t need to.”
“Which is why you’re in charge rather than that blighter William.” Eric consoled him, as he gave Catherine a pat on the back.
Normally he’d step in when someone insulted his brother, but his nephew in blood was allowed a pass of sorts on the matter given how, (it’s not my place to get involved there.)
He’d tried before and well… It just reaffirmed what he already knew. (The greatest curse of our gift was just how long we can hold a grudge.)
“So what’s the plan with this thing?” Catherine asked him. “I mean, something like this you’ve got to have a plan.”
He couldn’t help but smirk with some amusement. “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in my tales of blood and such?”
Of all his children, Catherine was the least interested in the old lore. Though the fact that she was also his most trusted operative for any assignment just emphasized how her talents were merely in a less esoteric direction.
“Yeah, but that’s because your stories are usually all about the kin of blood and family, or blood magic if we’re lucky. This though, this is something big.” Catherine admitted as she tapped the table next to the box.
“It is.” He agreed. “Unfortunately, the magic bound within this box requires… skill beyond my own.”
“Really?” Eric frowned. “But you’re the best bloody mage in the city.”
He appreciated the pun with a twitch of his lips, but still shook his head. “Similar to how William specializes in shadow magic, my own knowledge is limited to blood and history. This however requires a type of magic I’ve only experienced the receiving end of.”
Catherine leaned forward with interest. “And that is?”
“Soul magic.” He confessed in the most polite of terms.
Catherine flinched back, experience from her time as a Hunter shining through. “Necromancy? You sure we want to deal with that shit?”
“I’d prefer not to.” He admitted, having fought a Deadman before and not looking to repeat the experience. “Unfortunately, my books tell me that the Lady of the Night, ‘bound soul to blood and blood to shadow’ before talking in circles about resurrections in shadow and blood.”
He chose to ignore Catherine’s, “Sounds like an artsy way of turning someone.”
“So you’re thinking whatever this is is how she started our bloodline?” Eric guessed.
“Possibly. Though even if it’s not it’s still a relic strong enough that we can feel it in our blood.” He reminded them. “Meaning if we’re lucky this will either strengthen the blood we already have or unlock a secret we are unaware of. Either of which would greatly shake the war in our favor.”
“We just need to find a Necromancer who isn’t going to screw us over.” Catherine grimaced, feeling a wariness almost as great as he did.
“Yes.” He nodded, sharing her grimace. “Fortunately, Hendrickson owes me a favor.” (I just hope I don’t regret asking for his help.)
--- Hendrickson, Before The Event ---
There were many secrets to life he’d found.
Like never falling in love after downing half a bottle of tequila, or at the very least sobering up before you do many many regrettable things with the person that turned out to be a body pillow possessed by a shoggoth looking to get lucky.
Or that one should make sure their prostitute isn’t a zombie if they want to keep their little bits without having to go to their ex-wife to explain why they were holding their junk in their hand and that the reason they couldn’t go to the hospital is that they might destroy said willy for now glowing in the dark.
But one of the most important secrets was learning when to tell something was going to be a massive pain in the ass worse than that time he was an illegal prostitute in thailand and had to work his way back into the US of A via the oldest profession. (That was another, more peaceful life.)
That last lesson was the reason why he was currently rolling a very big blunt using some pages from this magic book someone had tossed his way with a cover made from the skin of a very fugly face. “Hope this is like sex and you smoke better than you look.”