Waia sat in front of a plate of scrambled eggs at the far side of the table, blankly staring at the yellowish mass with her head in her hands. The entire table’s worth of people stared at her, waiting for her to say something. One Aztec cleared his throat.
Waia looked up. “What? I, oh, um, yeah. So, uh, has anything I should know about happened on your end?”
Omet glanced around at the rest of the table, most of whom tried to avert their gaze. On the far side of the table, Mark tried to mention something, but before he could, Omet looked back to Waia, who had taken Horan’s seat next to them. “Nothing really, but I think we can skip our side of the introductions. I feel like you’ve got plenty to talk about on your end.”
“Yeah, well…” Waia pushed the eggs away from her. “For starters, Hawaii’s gone.”
Several exclamations of surprise came from the Aztecs, while the Greeks suddenly became very interested in their food.
Waia’s face hardened and she wiped at one eye with her thumb. “Yeah, it’s… A couple weeks after you guys went back to this place…” She waved at where Mark, Omet and Horan were sitting. “A bunch of… I dunno, cultists? A bunch of people with, like, military-grade equipment and trucks and everything rolled up. And this is just for me, they’d already been taking out the rest of my Domain and their towns, across every island. I looked all over the state and, yeah, those freaks killed or evacuated the whole thing. I didn’t know where else to go but here, so I just built a raft and let the currents take me out east.”
While Waia was speaking, Horan, who was floating above the table in lieu of a seat, noticed Mark gripping the tablecloth tighter and tighter with every extra sentence, out of sight of the others at the table. “Hey, uh, Mark? You okay?”
Mark looked down and released his grip. “Oh, right, no. I mean yes. Nothing to… Actually, hang on.” He leaned forward and raised his hand. “Hey, Waia? Hi, did the cultists call themselves servants? Also, did they say it in a way that makes it really clear you’re supposed to capitalize the S?”
Waia’s eyes widened. She leaned forward and planted her hands on the table. “Mark, what do you know about them? Tell me everything.”
Horan looked between the two. “Wait, how do you…” He recognized the name and leaned back, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, you’re kidding me…”
Mark looked up at Horan and acknowledged his friend’s sentiment with a small nod. “I’ve seen the Servants around before, in the same way you’re describing them. In the middle east. I don’t even… They don’t seem like the type to get that big, but if you saw them all the way out in the Pacific, I guess they’ve ended up turning into a much bigger problem than I expected.”
Waia nodded, her jaw clenching. “Yeah, I heard their ‘leader’ mention coming all the way from England or something. Here’s the thing, though: They were coming after us. Primoi. They somehow knew about my Domain, called me out by name, and they tried to turn the humans against us. When the ones in my village said no…”
Her head lowered, hiding her face from the others. She remained quiet for a while, but her shaking was clearly visible to everyone. After a moment, she sniffed and looked back up. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Remember what we saw happen to Orsinus?”
Several Greeks snapped to attention. The one closest to Waia leaned towards her. “What? Orsinus?! Did you see him or something?!”
Horan’s entire body seemed to visibly contract within itself as he sheepishly lowered himself into clear view. “Actually, I–I… Jus… One thing you should…”
Another Greek connected the dots and looked at Horan. “And you didn’t feel like bringing it up to any of us that you had seen, alive, the father of something like two thirds of us?”
Quet tried to alleviate the tension. “Well, see, the thing about tha–”
“Shut up, Quet.” Saralai pointed straight up at Horan, the tip of her finger lighting up like a firefly. “You had better start explaining right now what happened to him. If it’s not too bad, we might not blast all four of you to bits. we might.”
Omet pushed Saralai’s hand away from Horan. “Saralai, calm do–”
“And why should I do that?!” Saralai’s head whipped over to face Omet. “I feel like we all have a right to be upset if you go three months without telling us that you saw our assumed-dead patriarch out and about! I said it before, Omet. Start talking.”
Several of the nearby Greeks openly voiced their agreement with their de facto new leader
Horan saw Mark attempting to pull the drawstrings on his hoodie shut, and reached down to stop the motion. “You’re going down with the rest of us, dude.”
Omet folded their arms on the table and took a deep breath. “Okay. You know those supernatural-style slasher movies where the one extra with barely any prior lines turns int–?”
Most of the Greeks erupted with various frustrated threats towards Omet.
Omet winced slightly. “Okay, fine. Me, Quet, Mark, Waia, we did all see Orsinus during our trip to the Down Below. But he wasn’t, uh… He wasn’t all there. Remember Yang? The one demon who led that last attack on your home? He was with her.”
Saralai narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t know that you couldn’t lie, I would already be assuming that you’re making this up on the spot. For one, I figured that Yang was dead too. Wait, do demons go to the Down Below? They shouldn’t be able to, right?”
Omet shrugged. “We still have no idea how any of that happened. But yeah, Orsinus was… Something happened to him. He was like a dog on a leash. He never spoke, he only did anything when Yang commanded him to. And then, when we tried to bring him down to stop Yang, he…” They looked up at Waia. “...What happened with the Servants?”
Waia chewed her lip. “I don’t know what their leader does to them, to Orsinus and Iv– and a few of the villagers, but it was the same with them. Dunno how they all got turned into those… things, but it was the same person doing it. They all had that same blue glow and everything.”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“Blue…” Quet got Waia’s attention. “Was their leader a Primus? Blue isn’t that common of an eye-power-thing color, maybe we can narrow the suspects down. Can’t be that many left out there.”
Waia shook her head. “It’s… I dunno, but it wasn’t a Primus. They sure didn’t bleed like one.”
Horan furrowed his brow. “So, what? Power of a Primus, body of a human? Don’t tell me we’re getting into hybrids now.”
“Would now be a bad time,” mumbled Mark from across the table, “for me to mention that I’ve been seeing towns around here depopulating the same way they do when the Servants are in the area?”
All heads turned to face Mark, only to immediately move back to Waia as she bolted to her feet. “Where?”
Mark shrugged. “Like I said, around. I like to get out of the house sometimes, visit local towns. A bunch of places started thinning out a few days ago, and the people left told me a bunch of people who sound like Servants rolled through. I was gonna go check it out with Horan later today, but I assume you’ll want to come too?”
Saralai sighed. “And you just felt like keeping this to yourself as well?”
“Wh– I didn’t know it was the Servants,” protested Mark. “I just wanted to check it out, it didn’t need to be a big deal right out the ga– wh– what are you doing?”
Waia pulled Mark out of his chair and got him to his feet. “Mark. Give me a map and point out what places still have people living there. I can and will do the rest. If the one who burnt down my home isn’t close, someone who knows where they are is.”
“Okay, hang on.” Omet got to their feet. “Just… Slow down, alright? You’re not gonna show up to our place after spending months rafting across half of the Pacific, then just leave half an hour later.” They pointed at Mark. “We can help you with this. We’ve got these cultists a few hours away, and it sounds like we’ve got targets on all our backs. This is our problem too, but we can’t just head off and start fighting them. Fifty-six people aren’t going to last against a world-spanning cult.”
Waia folded her arms. “Maybe you can’t, but I’d say I’ll manage.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “But I’ll humor you. What, pray tell, can you and your roommates bring to the table? What’s your grand plan to stop the Servants? Huh?”
“I– I…” Omet shrank back slightly.
Horan floated between Omet and Waia. “Hey, lay off. This is a lot, just give us a minute.”
Another Aztec got up from her seat. “Yeah, leave ‘em alone!”
“You’re not just gonna talk to the one in charge like that and get away with it,” said yet another.
Waia looked around the room, which suddenly felt a lot less welcoming. “Okay, fine. But we’re on a deadline here. If I see you people sitting around like nothing’s wrong, I’m doing this myself. Understood?”
Omet nodded. “It’s something. But we are gonna help.”
Quet raised a hand. “Actually, does it have to just be the people currently present who figure this out?”
Recognition flashed on Omet’s face. “Wait, does your locator still work?”
Quet shrugged. “Dunno, maybe? Been a while since I checked. But a matrix held together with twine and wishful thinking will still do something.” She got up from her seat. “You wouldn’t happen to have any particular aversion to cooperation from Domains not currently living in our house, would you, Waia?”
Waia tried to piece together what Quet was talking about. “Uh…”
Omet nudged her. “She’s got a reso-something tracking beacon, she’s asking if we should get other Domains on board with this.”
Waia scoffed. “Well, if any are left that’ll still agree to something like that, of course. But I’m not gonna get my hopes up over this.”
“Worth a shot.” Quet went round the table and towards the rest of the group. “We can check it out in my room, figure out a plan beyond ‘blar, violence’.” She turned to face the rest of the table. “And if any of you want seconds, uh…” She fished through a shirt pocket and placed four stones on the table. “Give those a slap. And share.” She followed Omet, Waia, Mark and Horan up the stairs.
-
The island in the middle of the bay had once been a prison, and quite a famous one at that. It hadn’t seen use as one for decades, however, and many of the original facilities had either been cleared out for the convenience of tourists, or looted by scavengers once there was nobody around to stop them. Nevertheless, a disgraced fortress was still a fortress. But that was no longer its sole use.
“This is RS-USA-19, security code 3361. Verify reception, over.”
The facility's radio operator looked up their notebook of station codes. They flipped through a few pages before leaning back towards their radio's receiver. “Code verified. This is HQ-USA-1, security code 8427. State your reason for connection, over.”
A pause. “Code verified. Relaying message from VHC-MXC-3, Huntmaster-level clearance. Intended for CD ears only, over.”
“Understood. Patching in.” The operator flipped a switch and sent the transmission up to the Cloak and Dagger.
The intangible message rose past dank cell blocks, rusted metal and dozens of locked-up Chosen that served as the sole inhabitants of a full half of the island, save for one.
Torch was in the middle of rearranging the assorted memorabilia that filled a massive shelf on a full wall of their office/quarters. They looked back at the small radio setup on the desk, which crackled with the sound of an incoming message.
Torch quickly put everything back in its place on the shelf and walked over to the desk, cracking at least a dozen stiff joints on their twenty-foot journey.
They sat down and rubbed their haggard face before picking up the microphone and holding it close. “Speak.”
“Message from the third Mexican hunter cadre for you. Encoded as per Huntmaster-level clearance. Whoever you put in charge down there has some big news, it looks like, over.”
Torch pulled open a drawer and extracted an ugly, fist-sized device equipped with a microphone and speaker. They set it next to the radio's speaker and pressed the power button, bringing the device to life with a strained whirr. “Proceed.”
The transition from speaker to microphone to speaker, along with several hundred miles of transportation along an ad hoc radio relay network, did not do wonders for the audio quality. Still, the mess of garbled noise that vaguely sounded like a voice was sorted coherently by the device into a listenable message.
“Cloak and Dagger, this is Vanguard Three. Aerial stealth reconnaissance has located a structure south of Mexico City matching your description of the Aztecs’ residence. Forces are on standby in and around the nearest civilian centralization zone, designated on maps as Cuernavaca. Ready to proceed upon your arrival and instruction, over and out.” The message ended there.
Torch took the radio's microphone. “Received. You or a qualified on-hand peer are to locate a VIP who was brought to this city four days ago, currently inhabiting the Chinatown neighborhood. He is to be escorted to the Cuernavaca base of operations. Upon arrival, the current Huntmaster is to be informed that they have been relieved of command by my order. That will be all.”
"Your orders will be disseminated to the appropriate personnel and carried out post-haste. Vengeance scattered. Over and out.”
“Vengeance scattered,” mumbled Torch, standing and walking towards the door.
Torch whistled. A pile of curved steel plates in the corner of the room flew towards them and wrapped themselves around them, reforming their full suit of armor. They then took their cloak and mask from a hat rack by the door and covered their head. It seemed like they would be heading out into the world once more, a chance to fulfill their duty having once more presented itself. With a third whistle, their sword was slung over their back.
They took one last look at the table, particularly the framed photo of two women standing in front of a house. With that, they left the room. It had been too long.