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Flickers of the Pixipoint’s strobes painted the nightclub in nauseating hues, turning the VIP lounge into a show of synthetic shadows. Brennan Palisade slouched deeper into the leather couch, fighting the urge to scratch at his forearms where phantom needle scars throbbed beneath his skin. To keep returning to this place felt like a special kind of hell, a reminder of how easy it was to lose his sense of self under Needle’s influence —of that time he tore through the place, drunk in carnage. Yet people still flocked to this wretched den like moths to poison light, lured by the sickening ecstasy of the illicit.
Not that he had any right to judge. Nowadays, his companions made the usual addicts and perverts look like choir boys.
“What we need is another gang war!” Vardon’s heavy fist crashed against the table, sending glasses skittering down its surface. His massive frame threatened to burst from his leather jacket, stretched tight across shoulders better suited for breaking concrete than sitting on a club. “A proper fucking bloodbath!” Between slurred words, chunks of meat sprayed from his mouth, though Brennan preferred not to know their origin. “Light up a few blocks, remind everyone who are the ones that own Midwich Valley!”
The display never failed to make his stomach lurch, even after witnessing far worse since being dragged into joining the Tools n’ Corpses.
“You say that every fucking time, you walking meat grinder.” Kiel’s cigarette carved lazy ribbons through the air as he spoke, lounging beside Brennan with calculated contempt. “Dr. Waste’s gig is delicate. Even if I clean the mess we’d still draw heat if we start throwing bodies around like confetti.”
>> “Haven’t you been paying attention? There are Punishers crawling out of the gutter lately. Even that back-alley butcher got himself scouted and recruited by some fancy outfit. Times are changing.”
If he followed the conversation correctly —which he doubted—, the two of them had been rambling about an order from some underground surgeon. But none of it really mattered much to Brennan. After barely a month in this world of monsters wearing human skin, everything still felt like a fever dream to him. Beverly flickered in his memory —her mangled corpse, not the confident smile he’d rather remember. He pushed it away with practiced numbness.
He was just like them now, wasn’t he?
“Speaking of bloodthirsty degenerates.” Kiel’s grey eyes slid to Brennan, his lips curling into a shit-eating smirk. “What’s your take on this, college boy?”
>> “Isn’t it about time you start getting more involved with business?”
Brennan’s throat went dry. He licked his lips, trying to think of any way to buy time.
“I… I mean… Needle would probably object if I were to—”
“Hold the fuck up.” Vardon’s chair screeched against the floor as he straightened, an incredulous look on his face as bits of half-chewed meat hung between his teeth. “The fuck do you mean, object?”
“My Punisher, Needle.” The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, withering under their piercing looks. Even the pulsing music seemed to fade, leaving only the thundering of his heart in this unwanted spotlight. “It has opinions… About all these things.”
Kiel’s cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers, ash building like snow. When he spoke, there was no longer any pretense of amusement in his voice.
“Your Punisher… Talks to you?”
The silence that followed felt like a noose tightening around Brennan’s neck. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. But then again, when had he ever made a right choice?
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Enuill drifted back to consciousness with all the grace of a half-dead moth drawn to dying light, their ethereal form seeping through ceremonial stones as they flickered into existence back from nothingness. Mountain air always made them sluggish after a nap. How long had it been this time?
Where ritual grounds once rested undisturbed, the Vil’Tah village had now sprouted metal flowers facing the sky. Solar panels, if they remembered the name correctly. Humans and their toys.
It wasn’t a complaint. This patch of dirt remained one of the few places worth haunting these days, where people at least understood what it meant to live alongside spirits, even as those who could perceive them dwindled in number with each passing generation.
Life persisted in the spaces between longhouses and new cabins, children mixing languages as naturally as breath as they played. Plenty of adults retained the traditional braids of their hair, though others also wore practical short cuts akin to those from the city. Some of them could even see Enuill, though many wished they couldn’t.
Beneath the natural metamorphosis of culture, old powers endured. Enuill had always been fond of the Vil’Tah, though they never admitted as much. Here, humanity wasn’t wholly corrupted, and the Lwa still found reason to cooperate in pursuit of harmony. Those who still carried the spirits within them preferred the term So’oo, but a fair amount of them were aware that others had come to call them Punishers.
Such a revolting term. Narrow-minded and crude.
Hexameron stirred within the perennial ghost child, its serpentine presence leaving reality-worn black holes in their wake as they moved. The Lwa was getting restless. Come to think of it, so was everyone else —people were packing up and clearing out, some towards the concrete maze of Cretierfield, others deeper into the mountain’s embrace.
“Seven years? Or was it more this time?” Old man Howahkan voiced as he sensed Enuill’s approach. He still kicked, though his once proud muscles had grown pitiful and saggy since their last conversation. To count the seasons was irrelevant to the spirit child. Months, decades, or centuries, they all meant very little by now. “Whichever it is, welcome back to the land of the living, Null One.”
“Hard to rest with so much noise.” Enuill’s voice crackled like dead leaves, a trick they’d picked up sometime in the last century. A way to make their thoughts audible to living ears. “You feel it too.”
Howahkan’s expression crumbled into grief, perhaps with good reason. Even as they spoke, Enuill could sense something massive rumbling in the distance, beneath Lake Aqueveque’s surface. Something that reeked of old violence and newly awakened hunger —emotions Enuill knew far too well.
“I have grown too weak to contain her any longer. I fear for the worst.”
“Is that the pupil you spoke about? She seems… Upset.” Dark amusement coloured Enuill’s iridescent white pupils. So this was the reason for the village’s unrest, and their own premature awakening too.
“We did what we could.” Howahkan’s shoulders fell, as if defeated by the weight of decrepitness. Two decades was a long time for any human to channel a Lwa’s power. The price had to be paid eventually. “But her So’oo feeds on rage, and there has been such a terrible abundance lately…”
>> “Leaving feels like surrender.” He added helplessly, gesturing at the slow-moving exodus with heartbreak roughening his voice. “Yet now…”
Enuill stretched, shedding the last wisps of torpor. They knew their past actions had likely contributed to this gathering darkness, and while they couldn’t share Howahkan’s profound sadness, merely watching everything unfold seemed… Tedious.
“While it’s terribly annoying… I suppose I owe you a debt. Can’t have my favorite resting place destroyed.”
“We thank you for your aid, Null One. Anything that could help prevent further suffering.”
Hexameron practically purred at the prospect ahead. Time to make this mountain a little more forgetful. Erase every path, every trail, every half-remembered route that might guide Wemahpiya’s vengeful steps back to her people. The Vil’Tah would become a ghost story themselves, at least until they found a more permanent solution to their prodigal daughter’s return —or just until their fate claimed them all.
And as Enuill set about their work, they couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this long nap had ended at precisely the right moment. The very air trembled with portent, as if every unseen Lwa gathered to witness what approached.
Something loomed over Cretierfield, perhaps his special plan for the world finally starting its course. It was time to pay closer attention to human affairs once again.
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