8 October 2017. Justice City. New Industrial Park. NovaTech Industries Headquarters.
Merlin laid prone, on the tip of his toes, arms taut supporting him. Sweat covered his body like a sheeny, sticky coating, trickling along his gaunt limbs, dripping from short black hairs, from his nose and eyelashes. A puddle already had formed on the slick floor under him.
Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself down for the seventh time. It felt like torture to pace his descent to avoid dropping like a rock. His whole body was shaking, screaming at him to stop. The muscles in his upper arms, shoulders, chest and abdomen were searing, as if on fire.
Yet he stubbornly persevered, using burning anger as fuel. Anger at being imprisoned for gods knew how long. Anger at being repeatedly interrogated, prodded, pricked and scanned. Anger at being dragged roughly across claustrophobic hallways and into even smaller rooms, to the point he was beginning to develop a deep hatred for enclosed spaces. Anger at being forced to keep a low profile. Anger at dealing with people who persisted in trying to gauge his abilities despite having no clue how magic worked. Imbecilic, self-conceited, incompetent, dim-witted, dull brained… The torrent of insults rolled endlessly in his mind.
And, above all, he felt enraged at his own weakness.
“Huff…” Reaching the lowest position he could, his emaciated a hair’s breadth from the floor, he began to push himself back up, ignoring the pleas of his organism.
Suddenly his vision blurred. A sharp pain jolted through his chest. “Argh!” It wrested a strangled gasp from his throat. His strength faltered, his arms lurched from under him and he collapsed, his hand slipping on the wet floor. His left shoulder impacted the hard surface with a sharp noise. He groaned and rolled on his back, clutching his bony upper arm.
Ravens and crows. It’s getting worse! Ever since he’d woken up, ever since that stupid seal broke, magic had been coursing through his body again. Not the raw energy stored in his soul, but processed power attuned to his unique affinity with Death, carrying the same burden of decay he’d borne in his past life. His touch wasn’t corrupting—yet—but his newly obtained, breathing, living, mortal body wasn’t built to endure the lethal power gradually filling it up.
Merlin’s own magic was slowly killing him. Damned.
The naked man remained down for a few breaths, unmoving but seething, teeth clenched. He raised a hand up above eyes, squinting at its backlit form, watching it shake, and bit back a furious roar. He knew it would only come out as a whine. His throat felt sore.
Would his new life be like this? Trapped in a crippled prison of flesh, slowly eroded from within, devoured by the very power that had made his past self a living god? Not if he could help it. He already had a countermeasure in mind, based on a theory the black dragon Shadow had thought up one day while they’d been discussing Meria’s cursed touch. The risks were significant, and the success uncertain, but Merlin lacked alternatives.
However, he would need to get out of this prison first. So far Merlin’s jailors remained unaware of the extent of his abilities. Their lame attempts at assessing them had taught Merlin as much and he wasn’t eager to enlighten them. The measures for his containment were relatively lax at the moment. He didn’t want to give reason to reinforce them.
His days were numbered, but he still had a decently safe margin to act. It was a gradual process. His body wouldn’t just die unexpectedly, although knowing it didn’t make him any less irritated.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, he sat up. His right hand dropped to his stomach. The pain was always explosive, but brief. Nausea, however, lingered longer with each fit, sometimes accompanied with debilitating migraines.
He stood up, repressing a wince when his every muscle screamed in protest. His hurt left shoulder pulsated with a dull throb.
With deliberate, laborious movements, he walked to the sink tucked in a corner of his cell. Every step felt like progressing through dense viscous matter, with weights attached to his limbs. Pathetic human body, he swore silently. It just couldn’t compare to his former envelope. The mind was as sharp and as fast as ever, but the flesh couldn’t follow, like it was stuck in an alternate time stream, always four or five thoughts behind and insanely languid.
Merlin stopped in front of the basin and leaned heavily against its edge, panting from the short walk. Absently, he rubbed a finger on the cold porcelain. The chilling sensation against his soft human skin still felt so foreign he was momentarily dazzled.
He snatched a washcloth hanging from a hook on the wall and turned the knob of the sink. Hot water poured out of the spout. You have to hand it to these primitives. They can do quite a lot even without magic. A few notable exceptions aside, all the people he’d met in this world were for him magically handicapped. Which was admittedly unsurprising, considering the low power density present in the air. Few could learn how to swim in a desert.
He’d have given them his pity if he had any to give. He felt no pity for the weak, only annoyance. And these particular weaklings were testing his patience.
After soaking the washcloth, he started vigorously washing the sweat off his body.
Sweat. Another rather novel and unpleasant discovery. He’d known humans sweated, of course, but he’d underestimated how dirty it would make him feel. It still wasn’t as bad as excreting wastes, but close behind. He could not believe all humans were so disgusting. No, he refused to believe it. There had to be something wrong with him. Or surely this was a male thing—because his mind reeled at the idea that his lovely Princess, his beautiful Elise, the most perfect creature on Zarath, would ever produce such repulsing substances out of her flawless body—a body that still haunted his every dream…and often his nightmares.
Merlin quickly finished scrubbing himself as best as he could. There wasn’t much surface to clean anyway, not with how skinny he was. He wished for a mirror, but there was none in the room. He’d catch glimpses of himself in windows whenever he was being moved to one place or another for whatever tests his jailers felt like subjecting him to, but such quick peeks hardly sufficed to get a clear objective picture of how he looked to others.
He returned the washcloth to its hook and grabbed a large towel to wipe his twiggy form. Once clean, he finally felt like himself again. Human again, I suppose. You have to appreciate the irony. He chuckled dryly.
He ran a bony hand through short still damp hairs, marveling an instant at their softness. Meria’s hair had been coarse and frankly unpleasant to the touch, although Elise had pretended she’d liked it. The princess had always seen the best in her, even where there had been nothing good to see. And secretly, the Demon Queen had always envied Elise’s silky mane. Maybe I’ll let these grow. Merlin briefly wondered about the fashion in hairstyles for human males in this world, before his thoughts drifted in another direction.
Towel hanging from his shoulders over his bare chest, Merlin crossed the room back to his bed. With the sink, those were the only two pieces of furniture in here. Not that Merlin cared. Even in his past life, Meria’s room had been bare. Her Death Touch hadn’t affected inanimate objects as badly as living creatures, but eventually, anything remotely organic she’d made contact with would crumble to dust. Enchantments could only delay the inevitable for a short while.
With a sigh, Merlin discarded the towel and plopped down on the soft quilt, secretly enjoying the bouncy sensation. He closed his eyes, intent on taking a nap to sooth his aching feeble excuse for muscles before someone decided to drag him away again for more ineffectual experiments. Just how much sleep does a human need? How can they ever get anything done if they spend half their lives unconscious? What a waste of time. Did Elise sleep so much? The answer to that question was no. Mages needed much less sleep than normal people as long as their reserves of magical power weren’t depleted.
Merlin was barely slipping into unconsciousness when a knock on the door cut short his attempt at resting. Pure rage twisted his features and his eyes snapped open, for an instant solid black before he managed to calm down and their normal green irises and white sclera reappeared.
Damned Ptaeesh. He swore silently and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was far too high strung. He’d almost unleashed a blast of necrotic power through the door. It would have, undoubtedly, decomposed whoever stood on the other side and dared to bother him but it would also have likely obliterated his own arm in the process. If this body couldn’t handle a passive trickle of death magic, Merlin dared not guess how it would react to an actual spell.
Fortunately, he’d recognized one peculiar presence amongst those behind the door and stopped just in time. He’d rather avoid hurting that woman.
After all, she was family.
A small smile replaced the scowl on his face. The idea of blood relatives held a strange fascination for him, who’d lived a millennium without any family in the midst of the highly clannish demonic society. He gave no thought to the fact whatever family he might have in this world actually belonged to the original Merlin, the man whose life he’d stolen. The former demon didn’t give a damn. That man was gone, definitely, his soul obliterated beyond any hope of recovery.
He stood up. The previous knock was a warning that he was expected to get decent. If he wasn’t going to kill everyone for their insolence, he might as well comply. Over the footboard of the bed laid a thin bluish-white gown. He threw it over his head. The garment fell formlessly on his skeletal frame, descending to his bony knees. He reached around his neck and tied the single thread that prevented the back slit to open and reveal the crack of his butt.
Merlin very much disliked this outfit, especially its unflattering cut, reason why he spent most of his time naked. Immodesty didn’t bother him, but looking like a buffoon in a potato sack most certainly did.
Intellectually, he understood the purpose of this hideous vestment. It was easy to remove and allowed quick access to his body for the tests performed on him. But if those researcher people wanted to be able to disrobe him fast, why force him to wear anything at all? However, they also made clear he wasn’t allowed to walk around in the nude, even in the company of people who’d seen him in the buff already. He couldn’t really understand why. Or actually, he could guess but found such nonsense tiring. Humans are so self-contradicting. Why do they need all those etiquette rules? Even they dislike abiding by them.
No sooner was the gown tied around his neck, the door swung open. A guard in uniform stepped in, wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a gun in hand, muzzle down. Merlin, of course, didn’t know exactly what these two items were, but he’d seen enough leather armors and miniaturized crossbows in his past life to place a pretty accurate guess.
The man glared at Merlin with pure hatred and the former demon had to keep himself from responding with a challenging grin. Instead, he grimaced inwardly. He had to constantly remind himself he wasn’t Meriataneesh anymore. Otherwise, that pesky human would already have discovered how hard it was to breathe without lungs, shiny pseudo-crossbow or not.
At the guard stiff tilt of the head, Merlin resolutely walked out the door. Passing by the armed human, he kept his arms to the sides of his body, feigning obedience and trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. To his shame, it wasn’t all that difficult in his current state. Few feared malnourished cripple.
Although, Merlin didn’t let the shame get to him, strong in the knowledge he could still take out both this man and his colleague outside with only minimum damage to himself. Of course, then he’d still be trapped in a building with an unknown amount of enemies. He wasn’t about to try anything, however—army of guards or not—because of the third member of his escort.
His sister.
Or at least the woman he firmly believed to be his sister. He had no proof of their relationship, aside from the extraordinary resemblance and an odd instinctual feeling of kinship, which he’d been sensing ever since first detecting her presence—or lack thereof in her peculiar case. Despite the lack of evidence, he had no doubt. He’d learned to trust his guts and she was of his blood, no questioning it. From snippets of overheard conversations, he’d figured out her name. Morgan. A fine name if anyone asked him, which of course nobody did. Not that’d he’d be able to understand if they did anyway.
Merlin stepped out into the corridor. Ignoring the second guard standing by the door, his eyes zeroed in on the sole female in the group. Green jewels, identical to his own, stared back with cold suspicion and unabashed hostility. His smile widened imperceptibly. He couldn’t help but find her hateful glare endearing. He’d faced angry dragons and gods, there was simply no way a human girl in her twenties could intimidate him. Quite the opposite in fact. My kin ought to have a fierce temperament. He nodded approvingly in his mind.
Whenever he saw her, pride welled up inside him. Morgan was a strong willful woman who commanded respect to her surroundings by simply standing still in a room, and whose magical power vastly outranked anyone else he’d met so far in this world. Had this been Zarath, she’d have made a fine general in the Demon Army. Too bad her control was so deplorably clumsy. That wouldn’t do, Merlin thought. The girl would end up hurting herself if she continued like this—if that wasn’t already the case.
But it was alright. Merlin would fix that. It was his duty as the eldest. Sadly this would have to wait. Right now he had to escape this place. In truth, he didn’t mind terribly. There would be plenty of time to teach her later. He’d come back for her after he regained enough of his own power. He’d never taught anyone before, but he believed he would enjoy that.
Most certainly enjoy it. He let his gaze roam up Morgan’s long legs clad in form-fitting black pants. He imagined her calves and thighs underneath, as toned as the defiantly crossed forearms the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt were revealing. With its hem tucked under her belt, the white shirt also did nothing to hide her firm rump, which perfectly matched the rest of her tight athletic frame and the palm-sized breasts pushed up by her current angry posture. Her angular face void of makeup spoke of determination with an enticing touch of ruthlessness. Chin-length, straight raven black hair, and piercing emerald eyes completed the picture handsomely.
Truly, this woman was a sight for sore eyes, and one of the only half-decent specimens of human females he’d seen so far. Most of them always seemed lacking in some way. He briefly wondered if the company of Sheila and Elise had spoilt him. The succubus went without saying, but even as a human, his princess’ looks had been acknowledged by the demonic seductress. With one embodying the epitome of lust and the other a paragon of noble elegance, other women could hardly compare. So yes, the former demoness was definitely spoilt. Not to mention he lacked any objectivity regarding the Imperial Princess.
Merlin’s eyes lingered some more on his sister’s enticing forms and a now familiar warm tension roused in his groin. Immediately a frown scrunched his eyebrows. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his arousal in his present outfit. Male humans were pretty obvious on that matter and, in his recent experience, females tended to get upset when they noticed the signs—or one sign, really.
Here was another exemplary oddity of the humans. Shouldn’t females feel flattered to be thought of as desirable? He couldn’t wrap his head around this seeming contradiction.
Truth was—because a succubus had been in charge of his sexual education—there were understandably quite a few gaps in Merlin’s knowledge. Moreover, demons’ general notions on interpersonal interactions greatly differed from human’ morals, which didn’t help either. Modesty notably, was a rather foreign concept to them, as was any taboo on incest. Demons were creatures equally as magical and biological. Inbreeding had never been a problem for their race. In fact, because some clans counted only a few handfuls of individuals, such practices were even very often the norm.
That said, Merlin wasn’t so clueless not to know how to behave in human company. He also preferred to avoid upsetting his irritable sister, if only because she could easily beat the current him to a pulp since he felt averse to using any magic, especially against her.
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To counter his growing arousal, he reluctantly conjured up in his mind the memory of a defecating dwarf. The effect was immediate. The warmth in his underbelly left as if fleeing. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Dwarves were especially vocal about their gastric problems, and this was one image he’d have lived happily never recalling.
“You got something to say?” Morgan’s harsh tone cracked like a whiplash in the silent hallway. Merlin didn’t answer, only kept staring wordlessly at her face with a sly grin. Eventually, she looked away, muttering angrily. “Let’s go. The directors are waiting.”
The guards reacted fast, getting in front of and behind Merlin, with his sister bringing up the rear of their short procession, likely to keep an eye on him. Not that he planned on opposing any resistance. He quietly allowed them to guide him through the maze-like underground complex. The tiled floor was cold under his bare feet, but he didn’t mind, paying more attention to where they were going. He’d already drawn a pretty accurate mental map of what he’d seen so far of this facility he was being detained in.
Only when they suddenly turned into a hallway he wasn’t familiar with did his alertness flared. His magical awareness spread to the maximum of his diminished range. However, he could only detect his three escorts, who made for a disturbing impression to his mind’s eye. One he was slowly getting used to.
First, the two men had barely any presence at all. Weak auras were to be expected from non-mage, but back on Zarath, even plants had stronger aura than these two. It wasn’t only them either. This world’s low power density made it difficult to notice normal folks. Merlin was a little concerned about this as it forced him to rely on his weakened five senses far more than he felt comfortable with.
Second, was Morgan. She had no presence. The only reason Merlin even knew she could use magic was because he had enough experience to read the flow of power in her vicinity. Otherwise, his sister was a void. Paradoxically it made her stand out even more. Magical stealth required one to blend their own energy with the ambient power. Morgan didn’t blend in, she stuck out like a sore thumb—a sore hollow thumb. Or maybe like a shadowy silhouette standing right in the middle of a bright room. You might not know what you were dealing with, but you certainly knew exactly where it was.
He’d also witnessed her extend that area of void around her, literally sucking the magic from the air in a large radius. His sister was a true nightmare for mages. He had trouble fighting the wide grin that threatened to take over his mouth whenever he thought about this. He was so proud of her, even if she was one of the main obstacles between him and his freedom.
He was pondering on that very issue when a few more auras suddenly entered his range. His focus snapped to them. One, in particular, caught his attention. Something about it felt…wrong, but also familiar. Irritatingly, he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. He lacked the necessary power. If it were the old me. He groaned inwardly but didn’t dwell on it. There was literally nothing he could do about it at the moment.
The presences were getting closer with each step, but not faster than Merlin and his escort were advancing, which meant they were likely stationary and his group were the ones walking towards them. Merlin tensed briefly, then forced himself to relax. If a fight occurred, he needed to stay calm and clear-headed. He wasn’t in a state that allowed him leeway for mistakes.
Eventually, the lead guard stopped in front of a non-descript door and knocked once.
Almost immediately, the panel swung inwards and a young woman appeared in the frame. She was dressed in a professional but elegant navy blue pencil skirt that stopped short of her knees and a matching jacket. Her brown hair was up in a simple bun. Crescent-shaped vermeil earrings hung on both sides of a face that traipsed on the prettier side of plain and she wore a simple golden pendant around her neck. Her eyes were a dull swampy green but her light makeup brought them out nicely. In short, not an outstanding beauty but a woman who knew how to appear her best. She was holding a rectangular tablet in her left arm folded over her stomach.
Her gaze surveyed the group, pausing ever so slightly on Merlin then looking away with what he thought was a blush. He frowned at this, unsure what to think. The woman eyes then landed on Morgan, still at the back, and her smile broadened. “Hey, hi. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine Audrey, thank you,” Merlin’s sister replied in a tired but amiable tone, which instantly took a turn for the worse in her next sentence. “I’ve brought him, as asked.” Merlin couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it was obvious Morgan was upset about something. And for once, he didn’t think he was the direct cause of it. He found he felt annoyed by that.
Audrey replied with a helpless half-smile then composed herself a business-like mask. “Please come in. Everyone is already waiting.”
She turned on her heels and disappeared back into the room, soon followed by the first guard. Merlin hesitated a heartbeat to follow. The auras he’d been feeling since a little earlier had grown stronger when the door was opened, but at the same time, they were now overlapping each other so that he couldn’t distinguish which one was worrying him.
Cold metal pressed against the small of his back, pushing him forwards. He stumbled a step then shot a glare over his shoulder at the second guard. He was short but burly, with a small mustache. The former demon committed his features and tiny magical presence to memory, adding the man to the fast growing list of people to whom he owed a beating—maybe a lethal one, depending on his mood.
The guard pointed at the door with the muzzle of his weapon. Merlin quelled his urge to break his hairy wrist and obeyed.
He entered a conference room illuminated brightly with crude artificial white light. No windows, only plain gray walls and two doors, including the one he stood in. A long table took up most of the available space. Comfortable seats surrounded it, seven of which were occupied by middle-aged human men and women.
All wore official-looking suits and scowls on their faces, except for one woman Merlin recognized as the first “local” human he’d met. She was also the one in charge of most of the tests conducted on him. Sonia Harris was garbed in the white lab coat he always saw her in and unlike the rest who were glaring somberly at him, she looked lost in her own thoughts.
He almost chuckled at the sight. He probably should have felt angrier at the woman, as she was responsible for much of his discomfort since coming to this world, but he wasn’t. She reminded him of an old acquaintance, another old woman whose head had been filled only with her research, with little place left for people skills, even though she had technically been the Headmistress of the Imperial Magic Academy.
Merlin still remembered fondly the day the place known as the Empire’s Second Stronghold, the Academic City, had surrendered to the Demon Army without even a pretend fight. The Headmistress had boldly called Meria “the lesser of two evils” in comparison to the Emperor, which she’d taken as a compliment. Elise had been overjoyed obviously and, according to reports, the Emperor had nearly choked when the news reached him. It had been a good day. A very good day indeed. One of the last… The war had picked up in brutality from then on and Elise’s beautiful smile had become a rarer and rarer sight as time passed.
Merlin’s mood abruptly darkened. If I had been stronger, more in control, if I had done it differently, perhaps I—Ah… Hahaha. Not good. Not good. I can’t think like that. It’s all useless now anyway. And Elise wouldn’t like me wallowing like a sulking child. She’d scold me. The princess truly was one of a kind, to dare call the fearsome Demon Queen a sulking child to her face.
Focusing on those happier earlier memories, the former demon shook off the gloomy thoughts that were starting to invade his mind and reported his attention to the people in front of him.
The fat, white-bearded magnet-man was also amongst them, his prominent belly pressed against the tabletop and the buttons of his suit crying in agony. The woman who’d greeted them at the door was now standing behind and to the side of the largest seat in the room, at the extremity of the long table, directly facing Merlin. Occupying that seat was a man.
A neatly trimmed pelt of short white hair sat on top of his pale and narrow face. Prominent brow ridges cast a permanent shadow on his sunken gray eyes. His eyebrows grew more prominently next to his slightly crooked nose, looking oddly like sideway tears, and his lips were so thin and tensed, it might hurt him to smile. His left arm rested on the tabletop while, with the right, he was pointing a silver pen at a lonely chair set at the opposite extremity of the table.
“Sit down.” Language barrier or not, the message came across pretty clearly.
Keeping his anger in check, with a self-control he’d never known he possessed, Merlin stepped further into the room. The two people still outside filtered in after him. The short guard took his post standing beside the door, next to his colleague. Merlin’s sister crossed the room and went leaning against the wall in a corner. She’d addressed only a token greeting to the important looking gathering. Once again, she was radiating disapproval and it was not targeted at her brother. Merlin had to fight a sudden urge to slaughter the old farts.
Instead, he sat calmly and considered every other person with an unreadable expression, trying to figure out to whom belonged the abnormal presence that continued to disturb him. It felt like standing in a familiar room and knowing something had been moved, but unable to tell what. A few squirmed and averted their gazes under his scrutiny, but that didn’t prove anything, except maybe their cowardice.
“Merlin…”
At the mention of his name—another thing he’d picked up on—Merlin’s impassible façade pivoted back towards the man sitting at the center of the elderly lineup, who was annoyingly tapping the silver pen against the tabletop. From the disposition and body language of everyone else in the room, he had to be their boss, king, chief, or whatever passed off as a leader around here. From the corner of his eyes, Merlin caught Morgan sending a brief glare in the man’s direction, and in turn, the former demon had to conjure up his self-control once again not to obey his instincts and kill the irritating pest on the spot.
It wouldn’t even be difficult. Even in his deplorable physical state, Merlin’s mind still retained centuries upon centuries of experience in fighting and massacring, and what his muscles lacked in endurance or strength, they made up with explosive power. He might not look like it, but he was the quintessence of health right now, slow erosion by death magic notwithstanding. He could have run over the table and stabbed that stupid pen through the vermin’s eye and into his brain before anyone could react.
However, no matter how much relief and satisfaction that might bring, it would be a tactical suicide. Even if he wasn’t killed on the spot, all his hopes of freedom would no doubt go up in fumes. So he decided to exercise self-restraint and cautiously plan on how to murder the shit out of that bastard later on. Zephyr would be proud of me. He chuckled darkly.
“Do you find something funny perhaps?” The pen-wielding boss asked. Merlin decided he found his voice annoying and replied only with an expressionless stare. After an awkward silence, the man clicked his tongue, coughed and launched into a series of questions.
Merlin quickly tuned him out. He’d heard those same questions what felt like a thousand times already. He had no clue what they were asking of him, but the same words kept popping up so he could only assume they were repeating themselves. Although, he could guess some kind of incident had accompanied his reincarnation. Such a massive discharge of raw magical power wouldn’t be without consequences. People had died, undoubtedly. It would at least explain why every guard in this place looked at Merlin like he’d killed and ate their daughters, and not necessarily in that order.
Eventually, surely noticing Merlin wasn’t going to answer his interrogations, the tone of the boss-man’ speech shifted to a lecture, punctuated with orders and threats. The former demon wouldn’t mistake those inflections, although he was more accustomed to dishing them out than be on the receiving side, and he very much hated being threatened. However, he had decided against rash actions.
Which was lucky for the other. The foolish human had no idea how many times he narrowly avoided death during those forty-five minutes he rambled on and on.
* * *
Jonathan Brayers, NovaTech CEO, concluded his speech with an irritated tone.
“You are thus to leave the premise of NovaTech Industries this instant and, once out, are banned from ever stepping on the grounds of the company ever again without express permission of one of the directors present here. I would go into details about how screwed you’d be should you ever reveal any secret about this company or anyone, anyone working for us, but you’re clearly not giving a fuck, so why should I?” Merlin had indeed been staring at him with bored apathy for a while now. “Everything is written inside the file that will be handed to you with your personal effects at the exit.”
His brown gaze moved from the skeletal man to the two guards standing at attention by the door. “Get him out of my sight.”
Strong hands grabbed the seemingly frail Merlin under each armpit and yanked him up, before turning around. Briefly, he looked at his sister, but Morgan refused to meet his eyes. He smiled faintly and let himself get dragged out of the room.
The door closed behind the trio and silence fell on the gathered people inside. There were a few awkward coughs and exchanged glances, but no one dare speak first.
Suddenly one woman stood up. Her lab coat swayed with the movement and she distractedly straightened it. Her sharp tone cut through the tense atmosphere. “If we’re over with this farce, I have important experiments that need my attention… Sir.” She nodded at the CEO, then made her way around the table towards the second door. When she walked passed Morgan, she lightly patted her shoulder but said nothing. The door slammed shut behind her, sounding louder than it probably was.
After Sonia Harris’ departure, the other directors slowly left the room, murmuring amongst themselves.
Still standing motionless in a corner, a deep frown on her face, Morgan was staring pensively at the closed door through which her brother had disappeared. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Although maybe her constant pessimism of these past few days could be blamed on the headaches that continued to torment her.
Recently, she’d even started having nightmares. They were always similar, with her running away from some unseen beast through dark woods. She would always wake up right before the beast caught up to her. She’d tried telling herself these were only dreams—horrible, awful, terrifying dreams—but her mind wasn’t listening. It had gotten to the point she was afraid to close her eyes. She was exhausted, but she struggled to stay awake. Sleep never lasted long anyway. She was trapped in a vicious cycle. And her pride forbid her to talk to a therapist, though it was likely a matter of time before the company ordered her to.
Eventually, she looked away from the door, pushed away from the wall and called out to the CEO, who was last to leave the room, along with Audrey Whitmore, his secretary. “Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?”
Both man and woman stopped in their tracks and pivoted to face her. Audrey wore an apoplectic expression, while Brayers’ obvious annoyance bordered on anger. However, he was quick to regain his cool. NovaTech CEO was known to be temperamental, but also to very rarely direct that temperament at those he thought didn’t truly deserve his ire. He didn’t like people contesting his orders, but he wasn’t insensible to the heroine’s plight.
“Miss Pendragon.” He addressed her formally, aware how much she valued propriety, a character trait they shared. “We’ve been over this already. The search of your brother’s apartment revealed he had in his possession several rare books on occultism. Regardless of whether or not we give any credits to their content, it is a fact some of those so-called ‘grimoires’ would sell for tens of thousands on very specific black markets. Those are articles your brother certainly didn’t have the means to acquire by himself.”
Morgan couldn’t disagree. She knew Merlin was completely broke. He would often come to beg her for money whenever he was too short on cash to remember he despised her. Of course, she’d never given him a penny, which he would repay by calling her a heartless bitch.
She still believed that the CEO’s plan was a stupid mistake. Not that she’d tell him so plainly to his face.
“Are we even sure his supposed accomplices will show up?” she said instead.
“We lose nothing by trying to lure them out.”
“We could lose him. What if he escapes somehow?”
“Miss Pendragon,” the CEO repeated in a tone that now steered towards condescending. Morgan cringed internally. She hated to be patronized. “Your objections have been duly noted. But we have bugged his home with our latest spyware technology. He will also be under watch by one of our heroes twenty-four-seven. We had Miss Whitmore use her power to mark him in the unlikely chance he escapes our surveillance. And we took measures against teleporters. There is virtually no possibility for him to slip away unnoticed.”
Like there was virtually no possibility for something like the Power Surge to happen. Morgan swallowed her retort. With Audrey involved, she had very little room to complain.
The woman wasn’t a licensed hero because her power wasn’t suited for action on the field, but she was part of the NovaTech select team of employees who had useful powers and helped in the background. Her ability allowed her to mark someone and then be able to pinpoint their exact location wherever they might be. She was limited to a single beacon, but as far as anybody knew, distance didn’t affect her ability and the mark was impossible to remove unless she willed it.
Still, Morgan felt like she had to make one last attempt. “Couldn’t we get a mind reader first?”
The CEO let out a deep sigh and moved his hands away from his body in an irritated helpless gesture. “If you know one that can be trusted with such sensible company information, please, do introduce me.”
Morgan swallowed. She knew of a few mind readers, but none personally. In the first place, mind-related powers were strictly regulated. Anyone manifesting them would have their freedom restrained and be constantly monitored. They were prisoners in all but in name, for something they had no control over. So of course, most were bitter, unstable and certainly untrustworthy. It was a case where the cause of the problem and its solution blended unsatisfyingly, but Morgan still believed parahuman with the ability to read or manipulate minds shouldn’t be allowed to roam the streets unsupervised. They were simply too dangerous.
“What about a truth teller?”
“Miss Pendragon, your brother isn’t even talking at all. What kind of lies are they supposed to detect?” The CEO’s exasperation was now plainly audible in his voice. Morgan lowered her eyes in defeat.
She knew she sounded paranoid. But she couldn’t help it. She knew something was very wrong with Merlin. Of course, many things had been “very wrong with Merlin” for several years now, but this was different, somehow. Never before had she been scared of her brother. Disgusted? Yes. Ashamed? All the time. But scared? Never.
Several times in the past week, she’d caught him staring at her with lust in his eyes. She’d like to believe she was just imagining things. However, lustful desire was an emotion she was much used to seeing directed at her whenever she went out as Nemesis in her skin-tight bodysuit.
And there was more. Many small details she’d picked up now and then, which at first glance matched her disdainful asshole of a brother, but on second consideration just didn’t fit. There was a new assurance in his demeanor, where before there had been only the pretense of self-confidence. His haughty smirks had less spite in them now, replaced with calm arrogance. Above all, he didn’t seem to give a crap whether people recognized him or not, when before he’d been all about rubbing his supposed worth in everyone’s face.
She could tell something wasn’t right. She knew something wasn’t right. She felt it in her guts, whenever he was close, or in the same room, like a cold force reaching inside her and twisting her insides. It drove her mad. She was constantly on edge. And she was so, so tired. Tired and in pain. She couldn’t go on like this. She would break.
When she looked up again, she was alone in the room. And truly, she felt more alone than ever before. Unable to stop trembling, she walked up to the deserted table and lowered herself into a chair. She fished out her smartphone and, with shaking fingers, dialed the number of the one person she really needed right now. The phone rang twice before a female voice came out of the receiver.
“Pendragon household.”
The old-fashioned greeting, delivered coolly with almost no emotion to speak of, washed over Morgan like a refreshing breeze. She folded an arm on the table and laid down, her forehead against it, eyes closed.
“Hi, Mom.”
* * * * *