Later in the afternoon, the preparations for the night’s ceremony were almost complete. Horan walked among the fold-out tables and decorated (though non-functional) streetlamps, encouraging the people setting everything up. He paused by one building to smell the cooking, the non-canned food being a true luxury for these humans. As he checked out his padded metal chair, Mark walked up to him.
“Hey there, Horan. Sorry for being so rude earlier, I was just-“
Horan waved him away and sidled up to the High Prophet. “Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry got it. Hey, HP! Can I call you HP?”
The Prophet looked over at Horan, startled. “I, um, suppose so. The ceremony is about to begin, so you can get into your seat if you want. It’s reserved just for you.”
Horan chuckled. “Ah, it’s nice to have my own chair again. I’ll get ready in a few minutes, just lemme look around the place first, take it all in.”
Mark tried to get his attention. “Wait, before you go, can I just-“ He trailed off as Horan flew away. “Typical. I try to be nice, he thinks he’s too important for me. And he says he’s my friend.”
The Prophet shuffled over to him. “I’m sure it’s hard, dealing with someone like that.” He looked around at the gathered people. “If it helps, a little time alone in the Nexus always helps me calm down. The whole city is here, and being alone in there is a great way to collect your thoughts. I find it very peaceful in there.”
Mark sighed. “Fine, maybe I’ll come back later if there aren’t too many people wherever the food is.”
-
Mark’s footsteps echoed slightly throughout the dark Nexus. In contrast to the jovial and bright outside, the building was as silent as the grave. The Prophet was right, Mark could almost hear the sounds of his own thoughts echoing off the walls.
Mark ran his hand across the patterned wall as he walked around the perimeter. The people who built this place really knew how to… Hang on.
Mark ran his foot over the floor near the north-western wall. He wasn’t completely sure, but he thought he felt a slant absent from the rest of the floor. Was the foundation just weird here, or…?
Mark pulled out his pistol and removed a single bullet from the clip. Placing it on the floor, he watched it slowly roll towards the wall. He moved the bullet along the wall, and it kept rolling towards the centre of the wall. When he moved it further away, the bullet didn’t move. Something was weighing down the floor by the wall. Something that wasn’t part of the foundation.
Mark continued running his hands along the wall, now investigating. Eventually, he found something. On a small patch of the floor, right up against the wall, the floor was ever-so-slightly scuffed. And there, a segment of the patterning on the wall jutted out slightly. Pushing it in, Mark heard a “click” from further along the wall. Pushing where he thought the sound had come from, Mark pushed a thin, secret door open, leading to a dark passageway. Bingo.
-
As Horan sat down in his seat at the head of the table, two guards stood to attention behind them. Horan chuckled as he looked over the food in arm’s reach. “Sweet.”
The High Prophet stepped onto a stage just behind Horan. “People of Antakya, this is a night of celebration! After being left to languish in this dying world, we have finally found our path to salvation! We have found nothing but demons and evil, but we have finally found a being of good! Horan, lord of the sky!”
Horan smiled and waved as the gathered people erupted into applause.
“Horan! What can you tell us all about your kind? What are other Primoi like?”
Horan puffed his cheeks. “Whoo boy, where to begin? I’ve got five millennia of stories about all kinds of folks. Ooh, here’s one!”
-
As Mark stepped cautiously into the dark hallway, he couldn’t decide if he should be hoping that the hall led to a creepy personal secret of the High Prophet’s, or a legitimate conspiracy. Knowing his luck, it had a decent chance of being both at once.
Mark bumped into another door. Pushing it open, he entered a pitch-black room. Fumbling along the wall, he found a flashlight lying on a desk of some sort. Mark switched it on and swept the beam across the room.
About seven feet on all sides, the small room’s walls were covered in instant photographs of various Primoi and Primus-adjacent creatures. Mark examined a section of the wall, which appeared to have multiple pictures of what were distinctly demons in various shapes and conditions, most bound in some way. Every single picture had a red X drawn over them in permanent marker.
Several whiteboards were set up on other walls, covered with bullet lists describing notable similarities between the demons in various languages, such as animalism, violent tendencies and subservience to Thel, all written in red marker. One board was marked with traits seemingly opposite to the ones written in red, like compassion, calmness and being opposed to Thel. These traits were written in black ink.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
On one wall, Mark noticed a seemingly newer layer of paper on a blank space on the wall, with several images of what were almost definitely Horan. Multiple photographs of Horan were lined up, with a small dry-erase board underneath listing Horan’s personality attributes in no particular order. Traits such as his egotism and overall obnoxiousness were listed in red ink, while those such as his energy and charisma were written in black.
While he was starting to get a few ideas about what exactly was going on here, Mark still wasn’t sure about anything. What he did know, however, was that he and Horan needed to leave as soon as possible.
Mark’s thoughts were halted by the faint sound of a footstep behind him.
-
“And that’s why owl heads can swivel around like that!”
The assembled crowd stared at Horan as he finished his story. Horan waited for a reaction, but quietly returned to a neutral sitting position when he got none. “Alright then. Not the best story I’ve got, don’t you worry. See, one-“
The Prophet interrupted him. “Well, after that… interesting anecdote from Horan, it is clear what we must do. After having nothing but impure animal filth, we have finally gotten our hands on a being of… arguable… good!”
One of the guards pulled out a length of rope and quickly tied Horan to his chair. Horan sat still in mild confusion. “Uh… Okay?”
-
Mark wheeled around and stumbled back as an arrow thudded into the wall, impaling the photograph of Horan. Mark stumbled into the wall and let go of his flashlight in surprise. As it clattered to the ground, the beam illuminated Narin, the woman who had taken out the demon patrol outside the city. As she nocked another arrow into her drawn bow, Mark yanked the arrow out of the wall and charged.
As Mark lunged with his improvised dagger, Narin ducked out of the light and vanished into the room’s darkness. As Mark swung around trying to find her, Narin came up behind him and pulled her bow over his neck as a makeshift garrotte. She muttered something in Turkish as she pulled the bowstring deeper into Mark’s windpipe.
“I… still don’t know… what you’re saying!” grunted Mark. Leaning forward, he reached back to grab Narin as he flipped her over himself and sent her sprawling on the floor. Narin’s backpack quiver spilled its contents on the concrete floor as she clumsily leapt to her feet, grabbing an arrow from the ground and brandishing it at Mark.
The two swiped cautiously at one another, neither wanting to make a risky move. After a few seconds of probing at one another, Mark spoke.
“Lemme guess, I found something I wasn’t supposed to, and now you’re here to shut me up. Well, guess what? Not HAPPENING!” Mid-word, he lunged at Narin, who stepped to one side and stabbed at Mark. Mark blocked the attack with the shaft of his arrow, and spun so that his back was facing the exit to the room. Narin took a step back, keeping her arrow raised in a defensive position.
Mark grinned. “Psych.”
Throwing his arrow at Narin’s face, Mark bolted for the exit. Narin staggered backwards from the surprise stick in her face before righting herself and grabbing her bow off the floor. Nocking an arrow, she hastily followed Mark’s trail.
-
“After years of waiting for our chance to escape this world, we finally have our key!” The Prophet stepped closer to Horan’s bound figure as he spoke. “We shall take his unspoiled power, and use it to follow those taken before into the next life.”
“Hey, now!” Horan complained, not even attempting to struggle against his bonds. “We can talk this out, no power-taking needed. I’m a way better guy to hang with, you know, the guy who took everyone is a huge buzzkill.”
The Prophet scoffed. “And even when he is shown how he can finally do something greater than himself, look at how he begs for his life.”
“Hey! I’m bargaining, not begging. I never beg. Losers beg.”
The Prophet began speaking over Horan. “Anyway, he shall act as the bridge between our city and the world beyond! We shall be taken, and he and all other unworthy shall be left to rot on this dying plane.”
Horan quieted down. “Alright, this one’s gonna be a good deal harder to weasel my way out of.”
-
Narin ran out of the secret room back into the main part of the Nexus. Scanning the room, she saw no trace of Mark as she prowled through the room. Once her back was turned, Mark ran out from behind the a pillar and pulled his hoodie over her head. Caught in the makeshift net, Narin flailed around and grabbed at Mark, but he twisted the hoodie around her and pulled her to the floor.
Narin scrambled to get up, but Mark pinned her down and grabbed her head through the hoodie. He slammed her head into the tiled floor and waited for a response. When there was none, he slumped onto the floor, hoping that he wouldn’t get struck by lightning or anything for almost killing someone on sacred ground.
After a few moments of calming his breathing, Mark realized that if they were trying to kill him now, things probably weren’t looking good for Horan. He leapt to his feet and raced for the exit.
Right before he ran outside, he stopped in his tracks right in front of the door. There were several snipers watching over the city, and at least one was probably trained on his position. Thinking for a moment, he wheeled around and went back for Narin.
Putting his hoodie over her so she could pass a little more as him, Mark dragged Narin to the exit, stood her up, and shoved her out the door. Narin slumped to backwards as a bullet passed through her skull. Based on the direction in which the bullet had come from, the shot had come from the building directly across the street from the Nexus.
The instant Mark heard the sound of the bullet whizzing through the air, he dove out the door and raced across the street, keeping his head down and desperately hoping to not die. He breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the far wall.
Climbing through a broken window, Mark snapped off a shard of broken glass and held it in front of him as he quickly but cautiously began his ascent through the building.