The young teen and the old man traveled the sidewalk under the passing overhead amber lights. Vora found it odd how her uncle started to shift his eyes around about halfway through their journey. Nigel Crowdon had nerves of steel, so this made Vora warry.

“Is there something wrong?” Vora asked bluntly.

“Nothing for you to worry about. That steak didn’t settle right, and I’m scouting a restroom.” Nigel forced the pipe and a notebook on Vora. “You’re right, you don’t need me. Go home quickly and quietly and give those to your father. Don’t be a brat about it, and try not to trip.”

After suspicious hesitation, Vora put the objects in her purse. “I’m as graceful as a swan,” she huffed. “Farewell, then.”

Once Vora was at a reasonable distance, Nigel sharply turned into an alleyway and emerged on the other street. He had his close to his chest as some Chimes who had been eying him approached.

“Is there something you need of me?” Nigel asked casually. “Because I have nothing for you.”

“We’ve seen recently that you’ve been carrying around some glowing stones. Having such things is heresy,” The tall Chime leered with golden eyes.

Like lightning, Nigel drew a pistol and unloaded several shots into the Chime’s skull. The ivory creature staggered and healed quickly afterward, his face unchanged from before the damage.

“Wrong rounds,” Nigel shrugged. A flaming brass sword swung at his head, but Nigel evaded it cleanly. At the same time, Nigel swapped out the magazine for one with bullets with a faint blue glow. “I use that stuff for my inventions. Your brains are too tiny to understand.”

“We could turn you in to a Kindler,” said another Chime. “If you give up those a part of your cult, you may be given the option to be saved.”

“Well…” Nigel shot all the Chimes in the skull in a second. “We don’t do that. Nor could we, for that fact.”

The Chime’s leaking brass blood slowed, tarnished, and flaked. Their split heads had rusted internally, and the immortals collapsed to the cobblestone beneath.

Nigel Crowdon limped down the block, but his gained distance was minimal. Intricate circles of light with bell designs appeared on the ground. Shortly after a few flashes, Chimes manifested atop the sigils, and afterward, the lights dulled and poofed away.

A Chime shot a brass chain out of his palm in an attempt to bind the dark-skinned man. But a bullet to the hand halted such an attack. Another Chime shot golden lightning, but Nigel used his unique cane as a lightning rod.

Nigel ran into the middle of a busy intersection. All the HCs and people came to a confused halt as Chimes swarmed the perimeter. Those holy ivory-skinned creatures dressed in casual suits and dresses tried to calm the crowd.

“Be not afraid. We are after that heretic. Nigel Crowdon has been deemed a Dowser,” announced one sour-faced Chime. Gasps and screams followed. Then he questioned Mr. Crowdon himself. “Share with the people your moronic number.”

The Chime’s head erupted into ivory and rusted, and more panic followed as Nigel’s luger smoked following its final bullet. “Eighty-eight. I won’t get all preachy about how the Burning Bell is evil,” he announced to the watchers. “We’ll remove the veil, and you’ll decide for yourself. I wish I could see that day, but I served my time. I’m old and tired.”

Nigel twisted the top of his cane. The black, sleek cane parted down the middle to reveal a blue glow and dancing gears and springs. It hummed soothingly as the cane tip split to reveal a muzzle and blade. From his coat, Nigel drew a smooth gray mask with a clock design on it. He slapped it on his face, stating, “I’ll at least show you they are no longer immortal. Thanks to my genius and creativity, the Dowsers will no longer be something to scoff at.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Nigel swung his cane, and the blade expanded and extended incredibly far. The blue light passed through five Chimes, chopping their limbs and bodies and rusting their blood before shrinking again. He then flipped his cane, held it like a rifle, and blew away four other Chimes with shots like cannonballs. All the while, the Chimes failed in casting divinity.

That little brat had rubbed off on me. Nigel thought with an internal chuckle. I wonder if she would have been just like that purple snot.

***

He was acting rather odd tonight. Vora thought, stepping lightly while returning to her house. She passed the occasional lit window, hearing people making a commotion in their homes. Does it have to do with that blue shard? Or this notebook, maybe?

Vora debated on reading the notebook meant for her father. She debated it all the way to her front door, stopping at the steps before ascension. She twirled around and quickly double-backed. Halfway through the return to Mr. Crowdon, a sharp pain struck her shin, tripping her on her mug. Her other leg recoiled, suffering the same fate.

It must be coming from Mr. Crowdon, Vora assured herself, standing with shaky legs. She saw golden fire in the air from his direction. What’s going on? Are Chimes attacking him?

She picked up speed and then received a blow to the ribs. There was a pain behind her left eye. Vora peered into the reflection of a window to see her eye had turned white and was cracked like it was made of glass. A river of tears poured from it.

“I don’t have time for this,” she announced, holding her eye.

Continuing, she examined her hand and noticed colorful crystals forming from her palm. She clenched her fist, and they vanished when she reopened her fingers. More loud sounds came from an intersection ahead.

She thought it best to get high ground. She grabbed onto a fire escape ladder and climbed, nearly slipping and cracking her skull twice. She made it to the top and gasped at the battlefield below.

***

Nigel panted, removed the brass spike in his ribs, and stumbled to dodge a golden fire blast that blackened the ground. He was bloodied, and his mask was broken, revealing half his shimmering beard. He had taken out nearly twenty children of God, turning their lives into rusted brass.

The assault stopped when a sigil appeared, and a Chime with a different air emerged. The other Chimes backed away, signifying that this was a Kindler.

“What is going on?” he growled. “All this commotion. Who is this human?”

“He’s a Dowser, sir,” replied one of the Chimes. “We—”

“I can tell he’s a Dowser,” The Kindler snapped. “Given our dead siblings and the Fallite. I’m infuriated that you haven’t smote him yet.”

“I’m done with this,” Nigel muttered in his deep voice. “I’m too old and worn and don’t have long left. Sorry I had to leave you like this,” he said, pertaining to Rudolf and his family.

While the Chimes argued, Nigel drew the sphere from his coat. He pulled either side, and it opened, revealing a bright blue glow that forced nearby Chimes to fall away. He twisted the sides, emitting loud clicks from the ball.

“I’m coming, baby,” Nigel Crowdon whispered weakly, blood dripping from his lip.

***

Vora saw the blue, glowing sphere in Uncle Crowdon’s hands. He fiddled with it and appeared to be passing out.

Vora cried out. “Uncle Crowdon. Uncle Crowdon!”

After numerous callouts, Nigel looked up at Vora on the roof. He softly smirked, then swiftly pushed either side of the sphere together.

A blast of orange fire consumed the intersection, and following that was a wave of blue energy that traveled several blocks. Every Chime in the area froze in place. Their bodies stiffened, their flesh dimmed, and their gold eyes became reddish-brown and green. All brass metal in the area suffered the same fate as the Chime’s eyes and crumbled away, causing objects to fall apart.

Vora wasn’t aware of any of this devastation. Her body felt like it was burning and tearing to shreds. The left half of her body’s flesh grayed and cracked. Bursting from her being were crystal butterflies that flew around her like a cyclone, shredding anything they touched and leaving behind a cracking blight like the one on her pale eye.

She screamed, holding her temples with her palms, dropping to her knees, and blacking out.

***

Vora had no idea how she returned home. She was at the entryway of her house, stunned and crying. She held the pipe and the notebook. Rudolf and Madeline’s parent-sense told them something was wrong, and they gathered to Vora from different rooms.

“What's wrong? What happened?" Madeline asked, paler than average.

“Uncle… Uncle Crowdon…” Vora looked up at their eyes. “He was called a heretic, and now he’s gone.”