Soft rhythmic melodies floated from the field to the ears of a concealed figure. Laying on his back, the cold steel beam beneath him bit into his spine. He shivered and rubbed his palms together. Bringing them to his face, he tried to breathe feeling back into them.

Rotten luck to be deployed in the middle of a cold front.

Not for the first time today, he was tempted to will the inconvenience away. It would take a moment. His control was fine enough for it to not only go unnoticed below but to also cost so little.

Cost it did though, and these days he needed every ounce of magical might he could muster.

He tried to distract himself. When was the last time he'd even been to a stadium? Was it college?

Maybe.

Like most things from his previous life, the details were hazy. Eroded from what felt, what may have been, an eternity floating in a senseless void.

"You know, this suit could stand to be more insulated." He whispered his complaint.

His earpiece crackled to life, and a voice he had not quite yet become accustomed to sounded.

"That suit comes standard with a temperature regulator."

That it was his fault, went unsaid.

He supposed that was true. After all, he'd ripped out all the electronics months ago.

It wasn't paranoia if they were actually out to get you. No. Tried to get him already.

"Status update."

Mercifully, his handler's voice stopped him from going down that particular rabbit hole again.

"One sec," he responded casually. A stark contrast to his counterpart. He could feel the disapproval despite hundreds of kilometers separating them.

He rolled onto his stomach and stretched his neck over the side to get a view of the below, where a sort of play was happening.

If a play was some form of demonic summoning.

Arrayed in a very familiar pentagon formation were about eighty to a hundred cultists ritualistically chanting in some forgotten tongue. Drawn in what he assumed was blood, because cultists, the pentagon spanned the field and was decorated with candles at regular intervals.

At the head of the formation stood a shrouded man on a pulpit, a shepherd leading his flock.

The magic in the air pulsed with his every word as he led his followers in their hymns.

As a simple observer, he would have appreciated knowing the mechanics of what the magic was doing. At least he'd seen this play out enough times to know what part of the show they were in.

"Looks like they're getting close to the sacrifice part." He reported while eyeing said sacrifices. Their identities were obvious both due to their position in the center and the fervor of their chanting.

Willing sacrifices tended to give the ritual more oomph. Or maybe it was just easier to hide if you didn't have to worry about kidnapping people? He wasn't quite sure about that.

"Take it, I still don't have a green light?" He asked, a bit perplexed. Usually, they liked him to nip these in the bud.

"That's a negative on green light; stand by." Based on the tenseness he heard, dear handler wasn't too pleased about the hold-up. Perhaps believing he'd be able to save some of them?

He scoffed.

Rookies. They didn't understand that one way or another everyone down there was already dead.

As for him? Sure, if some innocents, well, whatever counted for that nowadays, were mixed up in it, he'd tell the orders to go fuck themselves. But going out of his way to save a cultist?

Pass.

As the chanting reached a crescendo, he bore witness as the magic and life itself were ripped from the sacrifices, their empty husk falling with dull thuds. What remained of them now swirled in the center, forming a sphere that grew darker with every passing moment.

Of course, with cultists being cultists, it didn't end there.

From his vantage point, he could spot when the song changed, when the shepherd turned on his flock.

Some of the figures began swaying unsteadily as the magic took hold. A few of the more gifted ones realized their grim reality; only they lacked the power to do anything more than call out their anguish.

"What?!?"

"How dar-"

"Why?"

He tuned out the spurned choir.

Surprise surprise, you're being betrayed! In fairness, who could have predicted your garden variety cult leader would metaphorically stab you in the back?

Certainly not him.

The magic swelled as bodies fell one after another.

"We're reading a large spike." His handler's words came out quicker than usual. "What is your status?" A hint of panic infected the usual professional transmission.

He shook his head. His old handler would never be phased by something like this. "Just the normal stuff; I think something good is gonna pop out soon." Maybe his levity would relax them a tad? Not that he particularly cared.

His earpiece remained dormant for precious seconds.

"Green light." His handler finally reported with a breath of relief, "You are clear to engage."

Not acknowledging the transmission, he nonetheless shifted from his prone position to a crouched one.

The magic continued to fluctuate, the ritual nearing completion, yet he didn't move.

"I repeat green light." His ear buzzed again. "You are clear to engage."

"Heard you the first time," he muttered back, in hopes of cutting off the annoying chatter.

It failed as the buzzing in his ears went up a pitch. "Energy levels are rising. Green light. CX-150 engage!"

He hummed to himself. Contemplating the choice. On one hand, it might be more efficient to end this now, depending on what comes out. On the other hand...

"Nah, dude must have worked pretty hard to get this far. The least I can let him do is finish it."

If they were going to play games and delay the kill order, he'd play right back. His resentment towards that designation may have also tilted the scales.

"We're forecasting a Category 4 level demon. Please engage!"

That stupid ranking system reared its ugly head. It wasn't even that helpful. He suspected it got more people killed than not.

More orders, demands, and pleas ran through his ear, but 'CX-150', or Cal to his friends, filtered them out with a practiced ease, intently focused on the developments below.

As the last of the shepherd's sheep fell, the magic hit one last high note and then settled down. The candles were snuffed out in unison as a feeling of wrongness descended on the area. The sphere, now a tar-like color, rippled and fluctuated. Limbs seemed to grasp from it as a form slowly coalesced.

"Well, that's my cue." He said, to the palpable relief of his handler as he dropped to join the party.

He subtly cushioned his landing with a brief manifestation of wind and managed to land without causing a fuss.

Which was fortunate because his favorite part was next.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"HAHAHAHHA, I've done it!" The figure on the pulpit raised his clenched fist. "All those years of studying, the scraping and groveling I did. It was all WORTH it! I'll return every sleight ever given! They'll burn! First this city and then the whole of the FEDERATION! All will know and dread the name of Allister Silas Sterling!"

A snort interrupted Allister's celebration. A snort that did not go unnoticed as the man whirled about to face its source.

With the light of the candles gone, the man struggled to identify the interloper.

For the interlopers part, Cal saw fine. Some distance from him was a man dressed in a frankly comfortable-looking crimson robe. The man, Allister, was of average height; however, his hunched posture made him seem smaller than he was.

His sunken eyes darted around, trying to peer through the darkness. Fed up with his lack of progress, Allister extended his hand, a flame soon manifesting and providing enough light to discern Cal's shadowed figure in the field.

"You—Who are you? How dare—no, how did you get in here!?" the crazed man demanded.

"Name's Callum; I'm a janitor, so got a master key and all that jazz." Cal's eardrum nearly ruptured with his handler's protest, "Ben needed to take the missus out for his 10th anniversary, so I got stuck with the night shift." He shrugged his shoulders in a 'what are you going to do' kind of way. "Well, you know how it is; are you and your friends going to be done soon? Come to think of it, I don't remember an event scheduled for tonight." He stroked his chin in mock thought. "Did you get this cleared by Sally? She might have just forgotten to mention it to me."

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

Wow, did he break him already? Or did the magic rot his brain too much to function?

"You-you fool! Stumbling into matters above your station." Allister completed his reboot. "No matter. Be honored that your life should be the first to be forfeited to achieve my ambition!" He finished, bellowing in an imperious manner.

It was fortunate that the other cultist had yet to be buried. If so, they'd be liable to be turning in their graves right about now.

With impressive showmanship, Allister swung his unoccupied robed arm towards Callum and gave out orders in that strange tongue. Reacting to their summoner's orders, the newborn demon lunged at his target, arms open wide to envelop it.

Must have said something like 'Hug that human'.

Well, nice as that sentiment was, the 'human' wasn't too keen on embracing a ten-foot-tall Minotaur-esque thing. Cal dove under its reach and stepped behind the nascent demon.

"Sorry buddy, you look to be shedding, and I don't want to get a lint roller. We'll have to save the cuddles for next time."

Dismayed at his refusal, the demon let out a guttural cry, and Callum winced as the sound of glass bulbs shattering echoed overhead.

He wasn't looking forward to the complaints about that. Come to think of it, Mr. Demon also shattered a bit of ground with that charge. The poor taxpayer would have to pick up the tab again.

The demon lunged again. One, two, twenty swipes. Each strike was swift and fierce but lacked anything extra. It must have been a pure augmentation type. Rare, for a demon of this level.

Fun as this was. More of the field was being torn up, and he had drawn it out long enough.

Focusing on his right arm, he pushed the augmentation further than most would consider sane. Deciding to be better safe than sorry, he drew from his 'bank' and manifested a dense maelstrom over his palm. He waited patiently for the next overextend and then promptly slid his hand through the demon's abdomen, the momentum and wind letting him slice through the recently formed flesh. Reaching up into its chest cavity, fingers grasped his goal, and he gave it a good yank. Separating himself from the now-hunk of magical meat with a few steps. He examined the prize, a beady black orb. The concentrated magic that fueled both demon and beast', when the former was summoned to this plain.

Hmm, decent quality. Shame he'd have to turn it. At least he didn't burn too much in the fight. He'd been pretty stingy since the incident, trying to build back his 'savings'.

"What's taking so long!" Allister yelled in outrage and turned to the now hunk of meat, " !)#!#* Stop playing around and finish this fool!"

Oh right, he'd forgotten this guy was still around. Shame he didn't realize his pet demon had already returned to the hells.

Callum's thought was punctuated by a meaty thunk as the shell of the demon face-planted.

Hopefully, Allister would get the message now.

"I-impossible, !)#!#* I demand you rise!"

Or maybe not.

Never one to miss an opportunity to further muddy the waters. Callum dutifully responded, "We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."

"What? I don't understa- no." The man ran over, frantic steps carrying him to the fallen demon. "This must be a trick." He knelt beside the husk, using his gaunt arms to shake it and earning no response. "What foul mind magic or illusion have you cast on me!?" Allister howled as he gripped his scalp, the flame he'd been cradling snuffed out.

Ah, denial and grief. He remembered those feelings well from his days floating in nothingness.

While Cal was busy reminiscing, Allister's mental state had further deteriorated, and he had begun to babble. Some words in common, others in that demonic tongue.

That was magic for you; know your limits and use responsibly.

"Welp, sorry to cut you off, but it's about time to end this." Callum strolled over. "Last words?"

That seemed to trigger something in the broken man, and he lifted his head. Staring at Callum with a new light in his eyes.

"All my life's work, I refuse. I REFUSE FOR IT TO END HERE!"

Alistair rose to his feet, his magic growing heavy, empowered by the strength of his raw emotion.

"NOW DIE!" He commanded with his arms outstretched; the mass of magic transformed into some archaic, dark manifestation that shot towards his foe. Cal didn't recognize it, and that was saying something given his experience with that type of magic.

He lazily smacked it aside. Someone looking closely could see the shimmer indicating the use of his shell. A protective layer of magic with a myriad of uses.

The gap between them was simply too wide; Allister had done the magical equivalent of throwing a raw egg toward a steel shield.

Cal closed the distance with a single step. His arm reached out. Fist clenched around Allister's throat. Hands came up as the man tried to claw at him, his fingers sliding off of Cal's shell. The struggles slowed as Cal watched as that last light faded.

It was better this way, cleaner.

"Funny, 'now die' seems to be a pretty popular set of final words." It had certainly been said often enough to him.

The dying man might have heard his comment because, with his final breath, he changed his words, "You're no janitor."

He released the corpse and allowed it to join its fellows on the floor.

"Oh, I am. I just clean up the messes your kind leaves behind."

And with that, the life of Allister Silas Sterling, otherwise known as ASS, ended.

----------------------------------------

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you ask, Callum's life was still a going concern. Which meant he now had to deal with the buzzing he'd ignored throughout the 'fight'.

"Yo, we're clear here. What's the ETA on the clean-up crew?" He questioned while examining said mess. With any luck, no one would be planning on using this place soon. Come to think of it, he had no idea what was even played here. "That janitor thing was a joke, by the way. I hope you don't expect me to get a mop and bucket because there are a lot of bodies here."

A couple of seconds ticked by.

"Teams in route," his handler responded in a clipped tone. "Expected touchdown in twenty."

"Cool cool. What about the locals? Did we wake any up?" He expected they had. That level of magic wasn't something most just slept through. However, he had noticed some robust dampening wards built into the structure, which must be why they chose this place to begin with.

"Local PD is on scene and forming a perimeter. Summoning protocols are in place, so they have strict orders not to enter the premises."

He got the message.

"I'll get out the way then, in case any lookie-loos come around." That'd happened before, and he wondered how many NDAs the poor sap had to end up signing.

He picked a corner and slunk into it. While he wouldn't rate his "uniform" high on style, especially after his alterations. Its drab shades of gray blended pretty well with most backdrops. He missed its other features but was learning how to do without.

He played with the magic core a bit while trying to pass the time. Draining just the barest amounts of magic from it. Not enough to be noticed, but every little bit counted.

Twenty minutes later, the doors burst open as a couple of dozen men and women covered in head-to-toe armor breached the stadium, rapidly fanning out. It wasn't just the speed of it that impressed him or the eerie silence they completed it in. No, what he truly appreciated was the economy of movement. There was no hesitation, no wasted action; every trooper knew exactly what to do and when to do it.

In short order, he'd been spotted and had several automatic weapons aimed towards his vitals.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Jeez, you guys are always so jumpy. Don't you know I already did all the hard work?" Looking through their ranks, like usual, he couldn't see any distinguishing features among them. "So which one of you lot is in charge today?"

His initial words had caused them to stiffen, but after receiving some unheard order, they dispersed like a school of fish, leaving one in their wake.

The remaining trooper approached and removed their helmet, revealing a strangely pale man sporting a diagonal scar across his bald head.

"That'd be me. Didn't think I'd see you so soon again, CX-150."

Callum grimaced at the comment, even if he was a little happy to see the sender.

"Ugh, you know I hate that title. Just call me Callum or Cal even. Hells, we've been through enough together."

The man stood there and crossed his arms in a show of disapproval. Cal presumed his wordplay was unappreciated.

"Some of us follow protocol, CX-150."

That was true, and also why mentally Cal called him Kevin. He could never remember his full identification.

"Wait, didn't you get promoted?" Cal recalled being informed as such; he even sent him a nice congratulatory gift. "What are you still doing in that get-up?"

"Scheduling issue, so I had to pick up the slack," Kevin's gruff voice responded. "Either way, you know my type hates desks."

He could believe that last part, but something about the whole of it smelled off. He dropped it. No use pushing; Kevin wasn't known as the sharey type.

"So anyway, how am I getting out of here? My handler is being a bit grumpy right now." He preempted any argument by plucking out the earpiece and squashing it.

In response, Kevin gave a grunt, which in Kevin speak meant he found it hilarious, and then pointed towards part of his unit that was dealing with the remains.

"Body bag?" Cal did find them oddly comfortable. "It is a classic."

He walked over and snatched one of the bags from the hands of a helmeted trooper. Shaking it a bit to fully expand it, he opened it up and nestled himself inside. Before going any further, he remembered something.

"Oh right, almost forget, catch."

Kevin caught the core with little reaction. The same could not be said for his troopers, who either dropped to the floor or re-aimed their weapons at the offender. On closer inspection, most of them did both.

"So jumpy," Cal grumbled before lying down and zipping up.

Closing his eyes, Cal relaxed himself and entered a sort of self-trance. Not quite sleep, but also not too far from it. Nowadays it was his preferred method of rest, sleep being too….risky.