The weight of my work for the Organization had always been heavy, but it never felt like it would let up. I had avoided taking steps to grow or change, just in case my bones would slowly crack from the increase in pressure. Perhaps the intention was for me to grow. Slowly, I might be able to push back, and become something more. Breathe easy again.
It was not the first time my beat-up car had slowly slipped its way into the alley beside the warehouse yard - and perhaps would not be the last. All things going well this evening, at least. Should I die to the intended assassination, the vehicle would just stay here and become someone else's problem. As the loose dirt and stones crunched beneath the haggard tyres, I pulled to a stop and flicked the headlamps off, plunging the alley into darkness. I turned the key but left it in the ignition. Just in case.
Instead of immediately exiting, I slumped back into the worn leather seat with a sigh.
Wight saw fit to ‘seat’ himself in the passenger side. Ridiculous at best, the side of my jaw ached already from clenching - with him having a body of swirling fog, it made it hard to see the mirrors on occasion. The occasion being when I had to make it to a location in one piece. After two failed attempts at working the stuck lock, I eventually flipped down the glove box compartment.
When you join the Organization and they… coerce you into signing the pact, they make you choose a pact weapon. Something to bind the demon to. A way for their given boons to find function in this lowly world. They had scoffed at my first choice. My youth was spent being forced to learn to fence. Not worth much against the demon horde that didn’t care about being needled, the Org was reluctant to give someone of my... current physicality a melee-based solution. I placed the wrapped pact weapon into my jacket pocket.
In hindsight, I would have argued further. Got what I wanted instead of what they thought was best. But I was blind then. Broken. Everything before that point seemed like a different life - all sunshine, crisp edges, and the color blue. Now everything was dirty and blurred. Even the waning sunlight marred the sky with a familiar crimson hue that had painted over the canvas of my previous life. For the most part, I had made my peace with it. The human brain is remarkable in that way - adapting to the new normal to allow you to proceed. However, much like the evening before me, shadows still loomed in the background, awaiting their chance to strike.
While I tried not to acknowledge Wight, I popped the door open and exited the vehicle. The alley smelled of rotting vegetation. Like compost. The building to my right housed some manner of factory. Perhaps furniture based? A few months back, when I had reason to be here in the daytime, the stench of charcoal and sawdust had been the most standout descriptor for this corner of the city.
Without ceremony, I stepped up on the front of the car, only slightly insecure over how much the suspension bowed to my presence. I was just more dense. It was an excuse I often applied broadly to a variety of topics, like mayonnaise. A frown spread across my face at my runaway thought process. Hands grasped at the dry stone, the brickwork slightly warm from sitting in the sun unabashed all day. I lifted myself up over the wall bordering the Warehouses. A convenient gap in the barbed wire and spikes that guarded the top of the fifteen-foot-tall wall. All too convenient, I would have thought, had I not created the entrance myself.
My boots landed on the other side, with the rest of me reluctantly following. My knees were getting too old for this. Not even ten seconds in the wide yard and I already had gotten gray dust over my dark slacks. If this was some kind of poetic metaphor, I was not here to accept it. Two buildings loomed in the darkness, windows now just shaded portals as all the workers were home for the day. I hardly bothered my mind with what went on in the warehouses during functional hours.
It was just an open area that was always deserted at night. One of the few places in the city that didn’t have the bright glare of never-ending capitalism constantly watching over it. Just an expanse of sun-bleached gray concrete - or some manner of hybrid material. It would come as no surprise that the city had squeezed costs and cut something into the mix. Shipping containers lined the back end of the yard, but they continued to look as rusty and unmoved as I felt.
Wight shifted through the wall, his tether to my wrist drawing him closer like an unwanted dog. With his one baleful eye, he surveyed the scene.
[This is a sufficient stage.]
I rolled my eyes and withdrew my weapon, knowing that the request to bind to the form was coming next. Unwrapping the dark cloth, a short-barreled revolver was revealed. I hadn’t named it, as was custom - it seemed ill to give personality to something that took life without thought. It was a bright silver, as reflective as I wasn’t, and currently aglow with the foreboding dark reds of the sky above. Oversized to a degree, too, but that hadn't been my choice.
The cylinder flicked out as I dropped the wrappings to the floor. No bullets. But of course, it was not traditional ammunition or traditional foes that it was built for. Wight pooled himself towards the five empty chambers. The tiny arms and toothed maw dissipated as its form sunk into the weapon. Finally, the glowing red eye lit up the sight at the front of the engraved barrel. Wight was fully bound and consumed within the weapon - an instrument of death now imbued with the strength of a demon.
Or at least the skills I had unlocked at my Level.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
My boots gave off a muffled creak as I slowly stepped towards the center of the yard. Now away from the dull shelter of the bordering wall, a short breeze buffeted me, blowing my hair out of place. I unclasped one of my dark dress shirt buttons, a hope that the brief airflow may bring a bit of relief from the humidity of my unwashed torso. Most demons liked to ambush you when it was inconvenient. An empty space was as a neutral ground as could be managed in such a short time.
“Is it long now?” My neck clicked as I limbered up. While
[Negative.]
Fate gave me another wry smile as the smell of sulfur washed across my senses. To my right, a tear in the fabric of this reality split open. It was what the Organization would call a ‘brute force’ entry. Literally a portal to whatever Hell the occupants spewed from. Higher-level demons would just pop into reality when they felt like it. No ceremony. I raised the Wight-Revolver and leveled it towards the hole.
The first pigman stumbled through onto the cracked stone. A greased abomination of dirtied leathers, tough hide, and unquenchable gluttony. Typical of his kind, he was tall - easily six feet and built like a barn door. Made him all the easier to hit. Confusion and anger flared in his eyes as he took in the surroundings, perhaps expecting to catch me unawares rather than out in the open. Gnarled fingers grasped tightly around a makeshift trident.
A trail of red light scarred the air, burning the very atmosphere as the demonic payload shot across the yard. Brain and skull fragments burst backwards, a firework of gore in welcome celebration for the other pigmen attempting to clamber through the opening between planes.
As the first of them slumped to the floor, even less going on between his ears than before, I pulled the hammer back on the revolver and kept it trained on the next pigman. Each of the three stepped forth, their brief anger and determination almost immediately faltering in seeing their felled companion on the floor and the thirty-foot kill-zone between their fading doorway and intended target.
“I think you made a mistake.” I felt the draw of the Wight, a yearning for the next shot to go off. For the next demon to be slain. Still, I held the urge back.
The taller pig-demon, with a greased mane of wiry hair, snorted as his beady eyes regarded me with contempt and barely concealed hunger.
“Hunter Redd,” he grunted - a guttural voice that washed over me like a bucket of vomit. “You won’t let us eat from your flesh today?”
“Not on the first date,” I grunted in return, pulling the trigger.
This next shot was slower and did not have the telltale red glowing trail. I tried not to overuse my granted powers - if I burned out too early, then the weapon would be an empty husk. The base shots were still from Wight's demonic power, but weren't able to deal out the kind of damage the boon powers could.
Slow enough that the pigman managed to dodge it - the demonic projectile instead pierced through his ear, leaving a line of red across his face. They split up. One circled my left with a crooked scimitar. One circled my right with a whip and a short dagger. The taller one rushed me from the front with a two-handed axe. Melee weapons were archaic, a symbol of how lowly and brutish these demons were.
I put the thought of my rapier out of my mind and stood unmoving as the demons moved in for the kill, closing the distance quickly.
My arm flicked to the right and put the shot straight through the heart of that pigman. I hated whips. The hellish light immediately left his eyes. For a heartbeat, I almost envied the rest he had been sent to - before remembering these were demons. They deserved little such considerations. Already the first pigman had started to burn away. The foul essence that they were made of dissipated into the air as their existence became untenable on this plane once their lives had been taken.
I sidestepped the wide swing of the greataxe, sparks flaring up from the ground where the rough blade struck. This close to the demon, their presence was a tangible thing, almost like an aura. The stench of the Hells clung to their very being. It was repulsive. As he tried to lift the axe for a second attempt, I jumped back and fired a normal shot into his gut.
He roared and clutched at the wound. A normal shot was not enough to kill him outright, but it still hurt. The second pigman pushed past to swing at me with the cruel blade.
[Reloading.]
The speed of the assault was surprising - no doubt underneath the thick fat and grease, some muscle powered these attacks. I spun away from a slash and ducked into a follow-up wide arc. The revolver blasted a chunk from their shin, and as they hobbled in pain, I pressed the barrel of the gun to their drool-covered chin as I rose back up.
A large weight barreled into me as the third pigman was exorcised - the greataxe pigman knocking me to the floor with a shoulder charge. Pain prickled up my torso as I rolled across the hard floor, avoiding the wild slashes of the unrelenting monster.
[Quit stalling.]
If there was one thing I hated more than random assassination attempts, it was being nagged. It sat in my mouth - a sour mood that overwrote the stench and disgust I bore for these demons. Rolling to my feet, I stepped towards the last pigman, his axe descending in a wild arc to cleave me in two.
I held out the revolver and blocked the axe. A sizzle of demonic energy followed the brief clang of metal against metal. The pigman looked shocked at my unwavering stance despite his clear overpowering strength.
“Next time, send your best,” I hissed and pushed the pigman back.
I unloaded the rest of the cylinder into the bulbous body of the demon. Four normal shots. He stumbled but dropped to the floor, life leaving his eyes as the damage overcame him. Dark demonic blood pooled from his body before he started to hiss away into black mist.
[I know you seek answers, but they do not have them.]
There was no response I could have given to that comment that would satisfy either of us. Instead, my arm hung limp as I walked over to the dark wrapping I had discarded. With some effort, I managed to make it back over the wall, adding a few new scrapes to my worn jacket.
After my foot almost slid from the front of my car, I hopped down and stumbled into the brick wall opposite. Car door opened and closed behind me as I sank into the seat, exhaling and deflating slowly like a long-forgotten birthday balloon lost to the wild. I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. The second and third more desperate attempts yielded no fruitful results.
Car door opened and slammed behind me as I set off to walk back to my apartment. Wight just stared me down.
[You need to take things seriously, Eric.]
I rubbed the sweat and grime from my brow as I waved him away. “What I need is a shower.”