Rain pattered and pittered across the hard concrete of a parking lot and across the hard soil and brick of the road beyond.

A lone figure, dressed in all dark gray, walked up to a dilapidated garage. The kind the people of the old world used to go to for repairing their aether-powered automobiles. This was one of the few ragnarok-proofed buildings that no one had felt the need to retake and renovate.

The figure wore a mask, a long dark face with three sets of three eyes, either beaked or canid. Either a nine-eyed dog or a nine-eyed crow. All nine eyes filled with an ominous green light. The actual nature of the mask indistinct and vague.

*****

The Emperor-Ranked Bandit’s name had been Reuben. Within his head were some surprisingly happy childhood memories.

Dad might have been a drunk and a layabout, but he was a doting father. Mum might have been harsh and strict and quick to use the switch, but she’d always cared and she’d always listened.

The family hadn’t been exactly rich, barely eking out their existence on a shoestring budget of a mere five thousand per month, but they’d been happy. It had been a home with a lot of laughter. Which was why Reuben had been quite the cheery fellow.  

After that there was a brief memory of getting into one of the military and martial academies as a scholarship student. There was a memory of getting expelled from that school for being caught with some rich knob’s drugs in his locker.

There was a colorful collage of wild nights out, successful raids and the nauseating recollections of fondly remembered rapes.

Faces that were remembered as beautiful even as they twisted with pain and were stained with blood and tears. Bodies that were warm and soft and pliant, especially after all the fight was beaten out of them.

Nestled within all that garbage was the memory of repeated trips that led back to here, the mechanic’s garage that the gang named the Devil Roosters took for their base.

Billy stood on the outskirts of the lesser kingdom of Garland. Wearing a nine-eyed caster’s mask that he’d made himself. Modelling it after one of the first forms he’d taken after he’d finally left behind his humanity.

He wore the mask for the sake of not borrowing trouble and it had been oddly effective. Folk knew that a practitioner wearing a caster’s mask was out on business, usually business of a bloody nature and they knew to give such folk wide berth.

Even the kingdom’s guards seemed to look the other way. Not that Billy knew that. It just had seemed a good idea to hide his identity in case all failed to go as planned. Seeing the success and feeling slightly more at ease with the mask on, he decided that he’d wear it more often.

On his shoulder rested a sword. He’d had to buy one, instead of taking it from the bodies of the bandits he’d fought. He’d neglected to save any of “those” when pulled them into his inner world.

By the time he’d thought of it, his shades had used them to strengthen themselves. His body had refined the rest and integrated the metals and carbons using them to strengthen his musculature and subcutaneous tissues.

Besides the sword, he’d bought a handgun. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with it but it had been cheaper than the sword had been. Most guns were, unless they were of the monster hunting sort, that essentially amounted to making them into magical handcannons.

In an age of superhumans and magically mutated monsters. Regular guns generally just didn’t cut it.

In front of the garage, sitting on a stone bench and resting against overturned trashcans and shopping carts was a group of seven toughs. Youths who’d been sent out to quietly guard the entrance to the base and warn the folk inside if it looked like trouble was coming.

“Oi, gov. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here but you need to turn around right now and walk away.” said one of the toughs.

Billy didn’t bother answering, he just quietly quickcast a spell that created a glowing membrane that boosted and amplified the inertia and momentum of whatever went through it. Preparing it beforehand after he’d bought out the handgun.

He raised the gun and emptied the clip. Firing six times before the gun clicked empty. The lead slugs transforming into hot red bolts of molten metal once they flew through the inertia boosting membrane.

Six heads exploded as they were struck by bullets whose speeds were several hundred times that of the speed of sound.

The seventh guard fell to a sword. Billy had thrown it through his neck and the man had died with his last breath gurgling out of his throat.

Billy retrieved his sword wiping it on the man’s jacket. The bullets he’d shot had flown fast enough to tear through the walls of the building. Striking whatever and whoever was on the other side.

Billy kicked down the front door and made his way inside the mechanic’s garage before the proverbial wasp’s nest that he’d just kicked over, could bubble over and have its occupants pour outside.

The inside of the garage was a gloomy place, the air filled with cigarette smoke and bad music. In the corner of the garage was its original denizens. A bunch of desiccated metal skeletons, their dimly gleaming hearts hanging above them, suspended on chains, covered in rust and rot.

The Devil Roosters swarmed around him, coming to show the interloper what for. The low ranked, human and material layer members were ineffectual. Showing up full of energy and spitfire.

Then falling like chaff. The ruler layer gang members put up a better fight. A few of them, managing to knock Billy around a bit. Ultimately their numbers eventually dwindled since each successful attack of theirs was countered by a fatal swing of Billy’s sword. Blood and body parts flying everywhere as he crossed the room.

In time enough men died that Billy found himself walking a through comfortable room filled with chill shadows and tasty miasma. The Devil Rooster’s that survived longest were the folk who stayed furthest away. Out of the immediate reach of Billy’s sword. Fighting with rifles and handguns and magic. Using bullets and spells.

His shadow acted as a shield, crawling across his skin and eating up a majority of the damage. To avoid taking too much on, he’d rush to meet the roosters. Chopping off arms if they’d stayed and fought. Chopping off legs if they tried to run.

Ending things by swinging his blade down on the unguarded necks. Separating heads from bodies.

As he made his way through the garage, more folk came out and a few of them were actually genuinely strong. There was one Emperor-Ranked man who was armed with a metal tonfa, who managed to nearly knock Billy out of the building with a single blow.

Only failing to finish things with a follow-up strike because Billy’s sword had already cut his chest open. His insides falling out and into pieces because Billy’s one big swing had hidden the shadow of two small ones. There was another swordsman who almost managed to give Billy a fatal trim, but got cut off at the knees and had his brain pierced through instead.

Midway through the fight Billy realized that he was recognizing faces. There was an Ox-Love, who’d been the first to teach Reuben the love of fighting and the pleasure of beating a man half to death.

There was a Nemo, who taught Reuben that even twelve year olds deserved one last “hurrah”. Leading to Reuben’s unveiling magnificence of little Reuben to many an unfortunate youth. There was Harold who’d actually not been that wretched a person but had a great head when it came to judging a person's worth on the slave market. Leading to many very profitable kidnappings.

Billy welcomed, Reuben’s friends with an earnest and open heart. The flames in his eyes flaring brightly as he surged forwards and appeared behind them all. The air filling with a coppery sweet mist. The walls painting themselves red as the men seemed to literally just disappear into thin air.

Billy finally found himself where he wanted to be. Standing before an office, the bosses office, if Reuben’s memories were right. Standing in front of the office door, knees shaking, a shotgun in her arms. She was the last Devil’s Rooster. Or at least the second to last one.Her shotgun fell and noisily discharged itself into a wall.

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Showering them both with powdered plaster.

What came next should have been the part where he either cut her apart or ran her through. However the girl looked young and she looked scared and she looked like she really, really didn’t belong there.

Of course appearances weren’t enough to sway him. He’d have killed her anyway except her aura was too clean. Killers had a taste to them, and bad men carried the darkness brought to the world on their shoulders. Billy knew this because he’d met many such men.

He knew this because he possessed a mirror. He knew this because he was experienced enough to know who read people. Even if he didn’t really “get” what he was reading.

The girl wasn’t bad. She wasn’t good but she wasn’t bad  either and apparently she didn’t deserve to die. Normally that wouldn’t stop him from killing her anyway, but somehow there was something in her eyes that gave him pause. He slapped her rear with the flat of his blade and pointed to the door he’d kicked down fifteen minutes before.

“.....Go.”

A simple one word command that she followed wholeheartedly, fleeing at a scrambling run. Her gun forgotten on the floor.

After confirming that he hadn’t been tricked and she wasn’t about to turn around and try and fire into his back. He immediately forgot the girl and stepped inside the office.

Seated behind a desk was a bearded bear of man, with spiky green cockscomb. It was Jarrick the “Atomic Rooster”Giles, leader of the Devil Roosters.

As soon as Billy stepped through the door, there was bark, the angry discharge of a big game rifle. The kind used to kill moderately powerful demonbeasts. Blood and shadow spattered out, splattering across the walls.

Both substances crawling back inside of Billy like they had a mind of their own. He crossed the room in a single step and cut the through the barrel of the rifle and the desk that it had been resting upon.

Jarrick dropped the gun, changing tacts, swinging heavy fists and throwing out balls of radiation and force. The walls scorched by the balls of neon-green energy as the two of them danced around each other.

Finally Billy was facing another foundation-layer existence. Atomic Rooster was a fellow Saint. The man brought down an elbow that nearly cracked Billy’s mask. Billy used his sword to try and take one of the man’s legs off and the man danced out of the way.

Billy took a middling kick to the torso and heard something inside him go crunch. He took the blow on purpose, his sword moving quickly like the strokes of painter. Slicing an oncoming energy blast in two and literally disarming the man in a single move.

“Really, mate. Was all this necessary?” said Jarrick. Seemingly nonplussed by the loss of his arms.

Billy just stared at him, keeping mum. Letting the man make himself nervous while Billy used the time to let himself recover.

“Look. Who’d you work for. Arno’s Gang, the Thunder Balls? Rita’s Gang the Foxes. Chekov? Cecil? Or are you someone new? Whatever you’re being paid I can pay double. Even triple if your willing to help me get payback.”

Satisfied that he’d recovered enough Billy finally spoke.

“A few days ago you were offered a job. I want to know who hired you.”

Jarrick frowned as if trying to think. His face pained as if he was having trouble remembering all the terrible things he’d taken payment for and who could pay for such a scary hired sword.

“If I tell you...do I make it out of this alive?” said Jarrick.

“I just killed all your men. I just took your arms. You stood at the head of one of the biggest gangs in the kingdom and now you’ve been disgraced. If you aren’t ready to die in shame then you almost certainly want to live to take revenge another day. So you tell me, would you let ‘you’ live if you were me?”

Jarrick seemed to think about that and then he smiled and spat in Billy’s face. His saliva bubbling filled with a vicious amount of radioactive energies. Hot enough that it would have scorched Billy’s skin had he not been wearing the mask. Billy couldn’t help smiling back, appreciating the man’s gumption.

“Nh...Good Answer.”

The Garage was soon filled with the sounds of screaming and bellows of profound pain as Billy used dark tendrils to tear out and engulf the Atomic Rooster’s soul.

*****

Brutus Maddoc sat at his desk, feeling chest palpitations and intestinal distress. He downed some brandy in the hopes that it’d either settle his stomach or his nerves. Today had been yet another day for Brutus.

He’d woken up, gone to the family’s offices. Made some calls. Made some decisions. His lovely assistant came in and gave him his usual coffe and an afternoon blow job. He signed some paperwork.

He went home and made himself make love to his wife, despite how old and fat she’d gotten and despite the fact that neither of them seemed to enjoy it anymore.

He washed the taste out by putting his head under skirts of the head maid. Later he fooled around with one of the regular maids.

He’d played peek-a-boo with his son, his beloved little boy. The fruit of his loins, born from his wife, and his new legitimate heir. Now here he was in the office drinking.

In short it was just another day for Brutus Maddoc. He’d have normally felt at ease, more or less satisfied with how he’d spent the day. Not today though, for some reason he couldn’t make himself sit still. There was this feeling that something was wrong. There was something dangerous in the air.

Maybe it because all was not well in Garland. There’d been a dust-up in Garland’s underworld. Most thought it was just a conflict between the gangs, but somehow he wasn’t sure.

“Heya, Uncle of Mine.”

Brutus looked up sharply and saw nothing. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and an explosion of pain as he received a blow that knocked him across the room.

“Who the hell-!?”

Brutus was no pushover. Once upon a time his father had thought that he could be a contender. Sure he’d been too lazy to get too far but he’d managed to make it to Jack-Ranked before giving up.

He jumped to his feet and blew hot flames that poured over the desk and onto the curtains. Melting the glass in the windows. Just when he was wondering if he’d gotten his attacker. He suffered another blow.

This one coming up hard and sharp between his knees. The pain made him sick to his stomach, a watery bile working its way out from betwixt his lips.  He sagged but he wasn’t allowed to fall. Someone held him aloft and plopped him onto a seat.

A figure knelt in front of him. Nine-eyes all of them glowing with green ghost’s fire. A sight to chill the bones and void one’s bowels.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Don’t recognize me? Oh right...the mask.”

Billy took it off and the man gasped.

“You-!?”

“Yes me…” said Billy.

“Quick Question.” said Billy holding up a photo. The photo was of Jarrick and Brutus sitting in a diner with two coffees between them. It wasn’t much, but scum and cream never mixed with good attention. It was enough to prove that they met and talked. Two types of trash gathering was never good news. That’s why the old one’s had recycling bins.

“I don’t-...No! No clue what that is, son.”

“Not your son first of all. Second, How about this?” said Billy. Holding up a picture of a younger Brutus and a Younger Jarrick from a few years prior.

“I don’t know what this supposed to be.” said Brutus, his feigned calm strained. The panic leaking into his voice as he saw the flame in his nephew’s eyes churning faster and faster.

“How about this?”

‘This’ was a picture of Brutus and Reuben. Brutus had been the rich knob. Reuben was expelled and a friendship died painfully, but life was funny and full of un-hilarious coincidences. Later the two would run into each other again. This was how Brutus came in contact with the Roosters.

“I’m not sure what this is supposed to be.” said Brutus, his voice just a little hysterical.

Billy just sighed, tutting and shaking his head.

“Neither of us are stupid Uncle and I have other proof. Plus your friend Jarrick was surprisingly paranoid for a high level gang leader. Maybe it was because he was afraid of getting bumped off by his rich clients. Anyway, There were recordings. If you want to hear one I can call the family council and we can all sit down and have a listen.”

“No! No! That-, That won’t be necessary. What do you want?”

The green flames danced as Billy drew near to his Uncle a vicious smile spreading across his lips.

“What if said I wanted you dead? What if I said that I wanted your whole stupid family chopped up and burning in a pit in the shit-pit your gardeners make their compost in?” said Billy. Snarling. His voice low and rough, and growing increasingly, unnervingly flat.

“You wouldn’t!” said Brutus. Recoiling away from the monster wearing his nephew’s skin.

“Wouldn’t I?” said Billy.

His words making both of them tremble.

Billy closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and stepped away from his Uncle. He pulled his jacket and pulled his fingers through his mussed and unruly hair.

“Okay...here’s what’s going to happen. I am now on the family payroll again. Do you understand.”

Brutus nodded.

“You pay me ‘and’ your niece Edna who you very nearly killed and whose survival is the one of the only things keeping you and yours in this world and on this side of the mortal coil, a decent hundred thousand per month.”

“What!? That’s-?!”

“A perfectly reasonable. Perfectly fair amount. Especially considering what you’ve nearly done and considering how much the family makes. Hell, I now know for a fact that you spend more on bi-weekly ‘business’ trips. So let’s not hear you whining, yeah?” said Billy, eyes narrowed, his face drawn into a scowl.

Brutus sputtered but eventually fell quiet.

“This...What you nearly did? That can never happen again. I think I was too nice to you when I last left. That’s why you thought you can go and fuck with me like this. Okay...so let’s try again.”

Billy snapped his fingers and out from his shadow came a group of shades. A mixture of tadpoles and motes and blobs. They hung around him like bees around a field of flowers or carrion flies over meat.

“See these Uncle? They’re cute right? These little fellows are my eyes and ears. They listen to me and obey my will. In short they’re practically a part of me. They’re beasts but they can’t be killed. They’re spirits but they can’t be exorcised and no one of the level that ‘you’ could manage to pay, can deal with them.”

Billy snapped his fingers and one of the creatures swam forwards and bit off the tip of one Brutus’s finger He screamed. Howling, wondering why no one was helping.

Wondering where his guards were while all this was happening. Cursing his nephew asking how he could do this to family.

Then he looked and saw that the finger wasn’t bleeding. It was like it’d been cauterized as the wound was made. The flesh flash frozen and covered in frostbite.

Billy snapped his fingers and instead of returning to his shadow the creatures scattered. Disappearing into the walls of the chateau.

Part of him wanted to do more, to take more, but he didn’t, that would defeat the purpose. Whether Brutus Maddoc and the Maddoc clan lived or died was neither his call, or concern. They weren't why he was here.

“Now they’re in your house. Some of them will even follow you outside the house. They understand words. They understand text and to certain level they and I, are actually a little psychic. If you act against me again, If you so much think about it or plot against me? They will tear you and your wives and your darling new baby boy to pieces. Do we understand each other? We both know there’s only one reason I don’t do it now. So make sure you treat ‘her’ good as well.”

Brutus stared up at his nephew with hate and fear in his eyes and then he nodded. William smiled. His face practically beatific as he did so.

“Excellent.”

They wrote up the contracts, signed them, copied them and then he gave a little half bow and disappeared from before his Uncle’s sight.