“Without God…everything is permitted.”
* Fyodor Dostoevsky
The small, upscale business district situated just north of Tower Bridge was largely quiet in the late evening, offering up only pockets of noise from sparse pubs and taverns that populated all such locales. Like much of greater London, ancient structures of bygone eras co-mingled with modern construction to create an incongruous landscape. The Victorian era building was no exception to this rule, nestled among its larger and smaller siblings, blending in perfectly. No one passing by would suspect the face of the building was a mask designed to hide the unique nature of the business which was conducted within.
A couple walked up to the door with a volatile mixture of alcohol and mischief in their eyes. Upon providing their identification to a man with a dark, well-tailored suit, they were allowed entry into the innocent-looking abode. Soothing jazz caressed their ears as they entered, enticing them to move deeper into the room. Lavish, antique style tables and chairs adorned a large portion of the main floor. Candles, lanterns, and a small hearth provided the only light, coupling with the music to provide a sensuous and teasing atmosphere. A long, mahogany bar rounded out the room’s décor, behind which were two professionally dressed bartenders, a man, and a woman.
Like all private establishments such as this one, the room was populated with a wealthy and highly selective clientele. The environment was relaxed, everyone seeming to have a level of familiarity with one another. On the surface, the gathering appeared quite normal.
One of the guests watched as the couple made their way to the bar, no doubt ordering extravagant and expensive drinks. He supposed he should not begrudge them such a choice, having ordered something similar himself. The bartenders were masters of their craft and this bar excelled in indulgence. Once they’d received their drinks, they made their way to the back of the lounge, where an elegant stairwell led both up to a balcony level, and down into the unknown. It was fitting that, in a place such as this, the stairs leading down were the most alluring.
The lone guest smirked as he watched the couple disappear down to the level below. Perhaps he would head down for some entertainment before completing his task. All work and no play, after all. Before he could spiral too deeply into that idea, a news broadcast on one of the televisions nearest him caught his attention.
“Please be aware: the images you are about to see are rather disturbing.”
Beneath the attractive brunette giving the disclaimer was a banner that read: Leader of Freedom Fighters Meets Untimely and Bitter End. Macabre scenes flashed across the screen one after another, putting on display for the world the death and devastation that had occurred in the Central African Republic. The news anchor narrated each horror, describing how an as-to-yet unclaimed band of mercenaries infiltrated the stronghold of the leader of the communist-backed rebellion in the CAR, slaughtering everyone, including women and children. The bodies were then mutilated and put on display, a warning to anyone considering taking up the mantle.
“Again, no one has claimed responsibility for the massacre, not even the current administration, but supporters of the rebel movement are blaming the Cardinals, a mythical criminal syndicate that is said to span the world.”
The man turned his attention back to his drink, barely containing a derisive snort. He had always found it both amusing, and quite frankly impressive, how news outlets could take the simple truth, spin a web of lies around it, obfuscate it with false morality, and deliver it as a biased narrative designed to fit their agenda.
The truth of the matter was that the man who had been murdered was another warlord, just as most leaders on the dark continent were these days. The rebels were a ploy by a much larger player to accrue political and economic power in the region. They had been butchered like cattle, sure, but it was no worse than what they had done to supporters of the current regime. The major difference was that, rather than being backed by other governments or mainstream media, the current administration was backed by a much more dangerous organization.
The man sitting in the lounge was surprised to see the Cardinals mentioned by name yet again. No doubt she had a hand in that. He had glimpsed her darting about in one of the clips shown, a harbinger of death reaping the souls of the damned.
Three separate events had been laid at the mysterious Cardinals’ feet over the last two months, the massacre in Bangui currently being televised only the latest among them. The man idly wondered if the ignorant masses had managed to make any other connections between the incidents. He doubted it. Sheep were rarely able to contemplate the machinations of wolves.
The man drained the rest of his drink. It really was quite good. He glanced up at the news anchor once more, who was now spewing nonsense about the ethics of war as if she actually had a clue what she was talking about. The man rolled his eyes as he stood. He could forgive her ignorance. It was the hypocrisy that drew his ire. Genocide. Rape. Theft. Torture. These things happened every day. He would be shocked if the woman currently lecturing on war crimes did not have crimes of her own hidden away. No, it was a wicked world that they lived in. Morality was just a mask worn to conceal the hideousness of human nature.
The man walked over to the stairwell and left the lounge behind, descending into a den of secrets and sin. Flickering torches lined walls of faux stone, giving the man the illusion of stepping into a medieval dungeon. The stairs ended in a long hallway with doors of wrought iron lining each wall. It was here that the unique appetites of a very specific patronage could be sated.
A cacophony of sounds reached the man’s ears as he began walking down the hall. Screaming and moaning intermingled with the clanging of chains and the cracks of whips. There was cursing and begging, as well as sounds that could only come from skin making contact with skin.
The air smelled of sex, sweat, and old leather, and the man breathed deep. He had never belonged to the lifestyle, but he had always appreciated the freedom it entailed. He passed door after door, scenes of submission, degradation, and sweet pain on display all around him. Would he were here for a different reason! Would that all of these beautiful artists did not have to die.
Finally, he reached a more secluded part of the dungeon, with solid wooden doors blocking three entrances. The sounds coming from one told the man where his target was. Trying the handle, he found it locked. The shadow of a smile crossed his face. There was a time when a lock like this would have presented a problem for him. Black veins seemed to pass from the man’s hand into the handle, which began to rust at a highly accelerated rate. Barely a few seconds passed before the handle had completely disintegrated.
**************************************************
Jean-Claude De La Croix was a man who had built his fortune peddling flesh. He would never admit it to the high society snobs with whom he now rubbed elbows, but he had clawed his way to the top from the back alleys of Marseilles using any and all methods at his disposal. To this day, he still had prostitution rings running in France, Ireland, and Denmark, in addition to London, where he had made his home.
Jean-Claude had even tried his hand at human trafficking for a while, having made some connections through his business dealings with the Cardinals. He had made good money, but decided the venture to be too risky. He was not a man with much stomach for violence, unless he was the aggressor. Between Interpol, dangerous clients, and shady business partners, he had ultimately opted to get out, settling down in London.
The club he currently owned was one of a select few legitimate businesses with which he was involved and provided him with a multitude of benefits. It was one of these benefits of which he was currently availing himself.
The young lady in the room with Jean-Claude was cute, but by no means beautiful. She was the mistress to a member of the House of Commons, if memory served him correctly. Who she was did not really matter, of course. What mattered was that her face still contained a modicum of youthful innocence, which Jean-Claude loved, and she was ready and willing to participate in whatever dark fantasy he could conjure. Unfortunately for monsieur De La Croix, he had only just begun to indulge his hedonistic desires when the locked door to his private chamber opened, revealing a dark figure standing in the doorway.
At first, Jean-Claude was shocked as he stared at the man who’d just invaded his sanctum. His surprise soon gave way to outrage, however.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” he cried, his face turning a deep shade of red. “How the hell did you even get in here?”
“Good evening, Mr. De La Croix,” the man was American, southern by the sound of his accent. “My name is Kain Hunter. I am here on behalf of a mutual business acquaintance. We need to talk.”
“Business?!” Jean-Claude roared. “Get out of here right now before I have you thrown out! Do you know who I am?”
The man did not respond to Jean-Claude’s question, instead turning to the girl who was hastily covering her naked body.
“It’s time for you to go, darlin,” he said, his voice never changing from its calm pitch. “If you leave the building straightaway, you might even survive the night.”
Jean-Claude, who had been red with anger up to that point, had suddenly gone very pale. The man did not look overly dangerous, although part of his face was obscured by the fedora he had pulled down low. He also wore a suit of impeccable tailoring. If anything, the man looked precisely like someone who frequented his establishment should. But something about the way he addressed the girl unnerved Jean-Claude. She evidently felt the same, because she took the opportunity to bolt through the door behind the man, who closed it once she was gone.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Monsieur Hunter, yes?” Jean-Claude’s tone was much more cordial as he addressed the man this time. “Forgive my rudeness. You startled me is all. How can I be of service?”
Jean-Claude sat down on the bed nervously, waiting for the stranger to make his request.
“You made a deal with the Devil, Jean-Claude,” Mr. Hunter said quietly.
“I beg your pardon?” Jean-Claude was confused. What did the strange man mean by that? His question was answered in short order when Mr. Hunter tossed him a roll of parchment sealed with dark red wax. One look at the seal and he did not need to open the scroll.
Jean-Claude began sweating as he idly scratched his arm. Kain Hunter was here on behalf of the Cardinals.
“You made a deal with the Devil, and then you broke it, Mr. De La Croix,” the man’s words might as well have been nails in Jean-Claude’s coffin, they were said with such finality. “How insanely stupid can you be? Did you think the Cardinals wouldn’t come to collect?”
Jean-Claude could barely hear the man over the ringing in his ears. He felt flushed all of a sudden, and he had worried his arm until it was raw. This was no time for him to have a nervous breakdown! He needed to think his way out of this!
Thinking was becoming hard, however, as his symptoms slowly worsened. He covered his mouth as a cough wracked his body, only to notice the hand come away bloody. What…
He looked up at the man across from him as the man tipped his hat back. Eyes black as the void of space stared back at him.
“Consider the terms of your contract fulfilled, Mr. De La Croix. Mr. Black sends his regards.”
Jean-Claude attempted to follow the man as he left the room. He made it less than a handful of steps before he collapsed onto the stone floor, a darkness to match the eyes of his assailant claiming him shortly thereafter.
**************************************************
Kain strolled from the room leisurely, the thump of a body hitting the floor behind him bringing a smile to his face. His trial had gone off even better than expected, the months of training and familiarizing himself with his new abilities paying dividends. It had been frustrating at first, of course, learning to wield magic he’d only recently learned existed. His mind had struggled to comprehend his having the ability to manipulate disease. Plague Rider, the Cardinals had called it.
Loviator had been thrilled, although less so when she realized his mental block was rendering him all but impotent. She had proved an…effective teacher, however, and Kain had finally managed a modicum of control. Pain, it turned out, was a powerful motivator.
Kain began to make his way back down the stone hallway. A few patrons in various states of undress were poking their heads out of the side rooms, having heard the former owner’s angry outburst. Two security personnel in conservative business suits were currently making their way down the hall. Upon noticing Kain, they stopped.
“Good evening, sir,” one guard addressed him. Both of their bodies were tense.
“Evening gents,” Kain affected the thick southern accent that seemed to work so well at disarming people.
“A few of our guests reported what sounded like an angry altercation coming from the VIP rooms,” the guard explained, indicating the rooms Kain had just come from. “Is everything alright?”
Kain supposed he might have been able to talk his way past the guards, but that was an effort that did not interest him. This was an opportunity to hone his skills, and Kain was nothing if not diligent.
“You know, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Kain tipped his fedora upward so everyone in the hallway could see his eyes as they turned to midnight once again. “It seems Mr. De La Croix has taken ill.”
Several of the patrons drew back in horror at Kain’s visage, one woman even screaming, as though that would do her any good. The two guards both drew their pistols.
“D-don’t move sir!” the second guard spoke up this time, obviously unnerved by Kain’s eyes. Kain raised his hands slowly, indicating that he was being compliant. He had to play this situation carefully. Nephiyl or not, he was not bulletproof.
“Where is Monsieur De La Croix?” the second guard spoke again, the first nodding along.
“I suspect he is lying on the floor in the VIP room,” Kain said offhandedly. He was already focusing his power on the guards. He was able to affect multiple targets now, but the mental fortitude it required was exponentially more substantial. Kain took a deep breath, and then exhaled, the poison of his soul leaking out into the room. “Whatever he was exposed to, it ain’t pretty.”
The second guard looked to the first, concern etched into his face. Kain noted both breathing rapidly and almost smiled. Anxiety was such a useful tool.
“He was just fine when we saw him earlier,” the first guard narrowed his eyes as he stared Kain down. “What did you do?”
He barely got the second sentence out before a coughing spell overtook him. This time, Kain did smile, the cold expression only adding to the alien appearance of his face.
“Me? All I did was speak with him,” Kain watched as the second guard tried to clear his throat, then began coughing as well. “The thing about disease is it can strike anywhere, anytime.”
The guards both dropped their weapons as the intensity of their coughing spells increased. Soon, there was blood on their hands, as well as their suits. Kain lowered his hands, the terrifying smile never leaving his face as he watched the men die slow, painful deaths. Specks of blood and mucus covered the walls and floor nearest the guards, a gruesome mural detailing the final moments of their lives.
The other patrons looked on in shock as Kain stepped over the bloody corpses. They did not know it yet, but they would soon be dead as well. One of Kain’s shortcomings was that using an attack like that always came with collateral damage. Fortunately, that was acceptable in this particular case. These souls already belonged to the Cardinals, whether they knew it or not.
Kain made his way up the stairs and out of the lounge, into the cool night air. Checking his phone, he confirmed that he still had two hours before his rendezvous with Damon. It was a pity he could no longer avail himself of the club’s amenities. If only the pot-bellied Frenchman could have died a little more quietly. Ah well. C’est la vie.
Kain flagged a taxi down and was shortly on his way to Victoria Park where, he hoped, Damon would already be waiting for him. Kain did not take in the sights as he was transported to his destination. Instead, he turned his thoughts inward. He was not thrilled to currently be working as an enforcer for the Cardinals, but he could not deny that the trade was more than fair. Lovi might be a grueling taskmaster, but Kain had to admit the demon got results.
He now had a passing understanding of the nature of his power, and how to access it. It was brutal, yet methodical, and required both commitment and detachment. It was one thing to kill. It was quite another to watch a victim’s life slowly and painfully erode away. Kain supposed it should bother him that his power had manifested in such a vile way, but it didn’t. Besides, wasn’t suffering supposed to bring absolution? He could be doing his victims a favor.
The cab pulled to a stop next to a small lake, as per Kain’s instructions. Kain debated killing him as well, not wanting to leave any loose ends, but ultimately tossed the man an excessive amount of money as he exited, hoping to buy the man’s loyalty. Either way he supposed it did not really matter. So long as he played ball, he had the protection of the Cardinals.
To Kain’s satisfaction, Damon was already waiting by the shore of the lake in a small boat.
“Well,” the big man said cheerfully. “Either things went really good or really bad.”
“It’s done,” he announced quietly. “Was honestly easier than I expected.”
“With a power like yours I am not surprised.”
The two traveled in silence the rest of the way to the little island in the center of the lake. Once they arrived, they walked into the trees. Kain stood off to the side, quietly watching the big man. Each of their powers was unique and amazing in its own right, but Kain thoroughly enjoyed the theatrics that accompanied Damon’s abilities, to say nothing of the ancient spirit that was constantly grappling with Damon for control of his mind and body. Kain was not sure who he wanted to win that fight.
The big man focused as violet fire began to coalesce around his hands. Kain watched as he broke out in a sweat, the difficulty of the task he was attempting no doubt straining him. Finally, Damon thrust his hands out, the violet flames rushing forward to devour their target…except there was none. The flames scorched only air as Damon poured more and more energy into them. Kain was beginning to wonder if this attempt would be a failure. Damon, like all of them, was new to his inheritance, and while all of their abilities were taxing his seemed to demand a little more than the rest.
Just when it looked as though the big warlock would falter, a thunderous crack echoed across the empty island as a tear in reality appeared before them. As the violet flames retreated from the tear, a hazy image of a tent sparsely populated with startled people manifested. With a nod of appreciation to his comrade, Kain walked up to the tear and stepped through. Damon followed, the wound to reality closing swiftly once he was through it. The island was dark and quiet once more, the only evidence of the men’s presence the distant sound of sirens and screams.
**************************************************
“Back a bit early aren’t ya?” Kieran eyed the pair of men that had just appeared in the middle of the tent. “Did things not go so well?”
Kain did not begrudge the man his question. Their “missions” had suffered more than one failure due to ineptitude, and assassinating a man in his own castle was no simple thing. But Kain, like all of them, was growing more capable every day.
“On the contrary,” he smirked, “I finished ahead of schedule.”
Kieran raised his eyebrows slightly as though he were moderately impressed.
“You got the prick, then? Not bad! Looks like we’re batting a thousand this week.”
Kain nodded. Kieran had only recently returned from his own successful mission in South America, something to do with ensuring the safe transport of disreputable goods. The instability of the region was good for business, but recently too much product had been lost to warring factions for the Cardinals to ignore. Kieran was the representative chosen to bring those factions to heel and restore efficient distribution. What was surprising to Kain was how well the unpredictable man had done. In less than a week he had returned victorious, with only a minimal loss of assets.
“I saw the news about Raven while I was out,” Kain was looking around the tent. “She made it back already, I take it?”
It was Kieran’s turn to nod.
“She’s being debriefed right now, actually,” Kieran had to stifle a bit of a snort. “Apparently the Cardinals being tied to yet another horrific incident is starting to annoy them.”
So. Their handlers had stopped by for another visit. That was not out of the ordinary as they were still technically being trained, but the visits from the demons had become more infrequent as the team’s abilities had improved. Kain knew the time for training would soon be at an end. That suited him fine. He’d grown frustrated with skulking about, anyway.
“Who is here this time?” Kain preferred to know what threats were around when possible.
“All of them,” Kieran allowed a modicum of concern to show on his face. “A bit out of the ordinary these days, ain’t it?”
Kain could not agree more. Since their training had begun, it had largely been handled on an individual basis, with no more than two or three of the Cardinals showing up at the oasis at a time. For them all to have come something must have happened. Too bad. After his most recent mission he’d been looking forward to a bit of…intensive R&R.
“Ah, well,” he sighed. “Guess we better go and find out what’s going on.”
He turned toward the tent’s open flap, where he could just make out the reflection of moonlight on water beyond it. While the accommodations were less than stellar, he had to admit the view was beautiful. He stepped out into the crisp night air, Damon and Kieran not far behind.
Emerging, Kain found the remaining members of his team, as well as all of the Cardinals, gathered around a large fire near the shore. A group of musicians were mid-song while servants constantly came and went from the gathering. It appeared that some sort of celebration was underway. Kain smiled. Working with the Devil and his ilk would almost certainly leave him damned. There was nothing more to be said about that. But, it did occasionally have its perks.