A rude awakening was always ruder when you were tired as shit. Nevermind waxing poetic about how I like to skirt the line between living god and dark smear across the carpet - when the real danger showed up I was half as ready as I should be and double as reckless. Now it wasn’t only my own guts that were on the line. Could barely save myself, yet here I was… being the biggest cliche I could be.

“Shit.” Any thoughts of food went quickly down the drain. “Where? Any information?”

“They want us in. They’re sending some Hunters already - but this is bad.” The Blank’s lips were quivering, the situation like some natural disaster that threatened the whole city. Which it did.

I shrugged at my patron, who was regarding us impassively. “Tell me the good news, huh?”

“They’re going to… well, Partridge is using some uncouth terms, but you’re getting Promoted.”

My shrug turned into some thumbs up towards Wight.

“…twice,” Rodney continued, his brow furrowing.

[Is that some error in communication?]

“No…” the Blank’s eyes darted back and forth over the messages. “This is serious and they’ve known you can handle it for a while. They’re giving us ten minutes to get to HQ or they’ll find someone else.”

“Alright.” My brain spun up, suddenly energized. “I’m going to go change. Rods, tell HQ to get us meals for when we get there. See if you can find out any more information. Wight, go ahead to the Org to get information too?”

[I will do so.]

“Alright, on it.”

I ran for the stairs, adrenaline fueling my body. Mostly, I wondered if we had forced their hand, or this was a bluff. With Gunther licking his wounds, Claude and Joxx’un dead, the rest of the reprobates would know that something was up. They hadn’t been in much of a hurry before, so why now?

Inside the bedroom, I swapped clothes as fast as I was able. Down to my last two good jackets. Black slacks and shirt. Gun holstered, knife sheathed. Shame we didn’t have the time to get the shotgun working, but we’d survive. In the en-suite I gave my face a quick wash to get the grime and devil blood out of my beard, try to appear less feral for the Org.

Not that I cared too much about what they thought… I bounded back down the stairs. No Rodney in the dining room, he must be in the basement… but this was a chance to show them how capable I was.

The thought of promotion barely had time amongst the other roving thoughts in my busy brain, as I found Rodney typing in the Org’s portal destination on the device.

“The portal is out of the way, so no civilian casualties yet,” he started to fill me in. “Left unchecked, it will be a real problem. Demons are a mix of Level Eight to Ten.”

They really weren’t messing around with this one. “Demon type?”

“Deep Fiends.”

I shuddered. Fiends were the distant and uglier cousins of Mid demons like Joxx’un. Almost humanoid in appearance, but with overly large eyes on wide heads. Wings, claws, hoofs, and fangs. Standard fare, and strong as fuck. Ten feet tall and all they wanted to do was destroy. Not even eat, breed, or scheme, like most of the Lowers. Borne of Wrath itself.

“They’re only slowly coming through due to their power level, but by the time we get there…”

“Other Hunters?”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Two on site waiting to engage, us, and then maybe two more that the Org is awaiting a response from.”

I ground my teeth together. Not just because putting five Hunters in one place sounded like a living Hell already - but something else stunk about the situation. Pulling an all-hands-on-deck move like this meant most high level Hunters available in the area would be put to work on this one problem. What if this was the decoy?

What if it wasn’t?

Too many unknowns for even the world’s greatest detective to solve. If I knew Wight, he was hard at work getting them to redo the pact with my new upgrades, putting some pressure on in the hopes they’d make a mistake. The perfect opportunity for them to cut some corners to get me out into the field. I was even fine if he chose the two new boosts. I trusted his instincts for wanting us to improve.

Rodney stood up and wiped his hands off on his tracksuit. “Ah, anything you wanted to do before we go?”

“I guess… if I die, tell Pearl that I-“

“You asshole, Eric.” He shook his head. “You haven’t told her? Do it yourself. Just don’t die, okay?” With a scowl, he stepped up to the wavering portal.

I opened and closed my mouth, not expecting such abrasion from him. Sure, just because I hadn’t said it, it didn’t mean… she hadn’t told me either. Other than in the bathroom message…

With a sigh, I shook my head. I guess I’d have to keep on living then.

The Blank went through the portal, and I followed suit, giving him a few seconds to move out the way.

Which he didn’t. I bumped into him as the dark room of the Org greeted us.

~Rodney Blackburn. Clear.

~Eric Redd. Clear.

The door hissed open with little fanfare and I barely remembered to bow to the faceless chamber in all my hurry. The receptionist looked tired and stressed out.

“Gentlemen. Head towards the prep rooms. I’m sure you’ll hear Partridge when you get close.”

“Thank you,” I bowed. Rodney followed suit, but the cat had his tongue. There was a tension in the air, even for a building that did its best to seem emotionless and bland.

Halls and doorways blurred past as we sped down the corridors - and sure enough, there was plenty of activity around the prep rooms, with Org workers milling about the halls under constant fire from Partridge and other superiors.

The mustached man looked tense, like a volcano that was already erupting but threatened to do it again if you didn’t sit and be buried by the ash nice and quietly. We caught his eye, and he gestured us over.

“Listen up, fuckers. No time for silly games, okay?”

We both nodded.

“Good.” His eye twitched, as though he had a lot more foul language ready in the chamber, but no time to waste finger blasting the trigger. “Room three is all yours. Get strapped in. It’s going to be a shitter.”

“Sir,” I said, with another nod. I didn’t feel much like talking with him, either. All this activity had numbed my already tiny aptitude for socialization. I led Rodney through the crowd to our room.

“Leave the door open for now. We have teams in and out.” Sitting at the large monitor screen was a short woman with tan skin and dark hair tied back. I hadn’t seen her before, but then again, I had only been to the Org a handful of times in years.

Wight was sitting at one of the benches before the area where the inert portal was affixed.

“Mr Blackburn, if you come up here, we’ll get you situated. Mr Redd please hang tight.”

I gave a brief smile and nod to her, and watched Rodney shuffle himself up to the second chair amongst the control panels. Wight seemed to be in good spirits, kicking his legs back and forth. Despite the tension freezing my insides, I felt more comfortable around him - and I went and sat beside him.

“Fiends,” I said, in case he didn’t know.

[Deep Fiends.]

With a sigh, I leaned back and closed my eyes. At least in the mortal world, I shouldn’t get any more corrupt, but it was uncomfortable having the Org as my return point. Home was just more… safe to me.

[I would have thought you would have been more happy, Eric.]

“Why’s that?” It certainly didn’t seem like a good day to be had. Evening was approaching and fighting monsters in the dark sounded miserable.

[You are now Level Eight. They also brought food.]

I opened my eyes, more keen for the promise of something to fill my stomach than having more powers. It was a wrapped sandwich, and a miserable looking one at that. At this point, even if it was poisoned, I would take my chances with it - how bad could it be?

[Do you want to know what I have allowed you?]

As fun as it was to discover things on the fly, we weren’t exactly flush with time or soft targets. I closed my eyes to root around inside myself to see if I could get a handle on what was now possible.

“Mmm. A combat ability and… something for the side hustle?”

[You do not make any money from your… detective work.]

I chewed the sandwich. It was… edible. Mostly, I hoped this wouldn’t be my last meal - it should be something cliche, like pancakes. Could I create my own cliches? That seemed like too much power for one man. “Mmm?”

[Correct on both accounts, however.]

“Alright, tell me how much destruction I’m going to do to myself with the new combat one for now.”

“Two minutes until drop, Mr Redd.”

I nodded, and Rodney gave me a pensive thumbs up.

[Well, to start with… it’s called Hell Mortar…]