A grizzled square-jawed man sat at a large oak desk in a huge leather chair staring out his office window. The man, or rather faux human male, was barely contained in a pristine black suit that hugged his massive shoulders. His pale, almost grey, skinned face was set with shallow valleys from a life of constant scowls and scornful glares. While the man's hair was black and untarnished by discoloration of age. His reflection stared back at him with the ever intense soul haunting stare of the red globes that made up his eyes.
The city outside was cast in the shadow of a storm that refused to cease it's insistent pouring of rain.
"I hate the rain, Yarkin.."
The man's voice rumbled out as if two mountains were grinding together in an earthquake. The lanky leathery skinned assistant known as Yarkin looked up from his desk, his youthful androgynous face scrunching up with a speculative frown, as both sets of eyelids passed over his reptilian green eyes one after the other.
"If you don't mind my saying so," Yarkin's flanged and rhythmic voice broke the brief silence, "didn't you lose your wife on a day like this one sir?"
The sound of leather protesting under strain as the large man clenched the armrest of his chair. The air grew inexplicably warmer, drying out Yarkin's already leathery red skin. The assistant pulled at his collar, clearing his throat in distress and reached down under his desk to grab the three litre jug of water and fervently put it to his lips.
Realizing his blunder the man relaxed and the room began to cool off. No sooner did the room cool did a busty woman, with long wavy red hair, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt open the door. Her luscious burgundy lips were pursed in contained frustration, soon formed into a smile for her boss.
"Mr. Sloan, you asked me to remind you of your seven o'clock meeting with Ms. Aetorsol. Also your daughter, Miss Marsila, is on line three. She's asking about James again."
The woman spoke curtly and professionally despite her blouse's first two buttons being undone providing a generous view of her cleavage. Her excuse was always about giving her girls space but everyone in the building knew she was an insufferable harlot. That wasn't why she was hired though. Out of all the applicants she was the one who had the most linguistic experience, a bachelor's in interspecies relations, and overall twelve years of magic theory and implementation of advanced practices. She was a well paid overqualified secretary that doubled as a bouncer and had a hobby of spreading her legs.
A girl's gotta unwind somehow.
Mr. Sloan barely gave the woman a glance before speaking, "Thank you Kathryn. Tell her I'm in a meeting and will call her once I'm finished." The woman smiled and nodded before leaving.
Yarkin looked to his boss and cleared his throat again, "Did you really have to involve that butcherer? You know she's killed a number of Syndicate members. There's a standing notice in all establishments to kill on basic principal alon-"
Mr. Sloan raised his hand as a roaring chuckle welled up in his chest before climbing to his feet, standing at a good two-hundred-fifty-nine centimeters, and turned to his assistant. "That's why I hired her, Yarkin. She's not afraid of us or anyone and she's good at what she does. The collective families of the Syndicate hate and like her," Sloan's resounding chuckle subsided and he absentmindedly straightened his suit, " No, she's earned her place as an element we can use when needed and that worm who defiled my daughter needed to be taught a lesson."
Yarkin could only shake his head dismissively. Long before he was an assistant to anyone he was friends with the man before him, brothers even. He was godfather to Sloan's oldest daughter Stacia. Yet, he often wondered what made Sloan so fiercely protective of his second oldest, the middle child from his first wife before she died. Perhaps it was a simple case of protecting the last piece of herself that his wife had blessed him with.
Admittedly Yarkin didn't know what went on in the Verkasi's family home behind closed doors. Considering they were all a family of high born demons with a pure bloodline, Yarkin could see the possibility of keeping things in the family. Demons were strange like that. He was just a Zarken, one of the many leathery skinned reptilian-like humanoids that lived alongside the other sentient races here on the world Viridia.
"Shall I call for the car, sir?" Yarkin finally piped up once Sloan was finished tidying up his apparel. With an imperious nod, Sloan made his way for the door while Yarkin stood up and grabbed his phone to call down to the garage for one of the drivers to bring a car around front.
---
You know how you get that unusual giddy feeling in your stomach when things are going well and you're excited about something?
'Nope. We don't get that feeling remember?'
I imagine what that would be like right now as I'm standing in the office of my one-woman clinic for those who want back alley discretion for reasonable prices and with assured knowledge that they're getting what they want. It had taken me an hour to wheel James down the winding tunnel to reach my place of work. I don't own a car. It's too overt, especially when you deal with cadavers off and on.
'Or the occasional live victim who was grabbed against their will and thrust upon us to carry out horrific acts of butchery on the human body.'
That too I suppose. Either way it was much easier to covertly weave a spell under a bustling city of life and create a tunnel from the basement of my house to the basement of my office building. Honestly I don't mind the leg work since it provides some nice exercise and the results offer resoundingly amusing expressions when I'm in shorts.
'Even a hundreds year old Eldritch Witch, who has consorted with all kinds of filth, deserves to have nice legs and an ass to match.'
Exactly. Much to the point it also makes stepping on those who've royally pissed me off that much more enjoyable. The conflicting emotions of enjoyment and terror as they realized their inner masochist with the revelation of knowing the last thing they'd see of this world was my well toned sexy legs.
'Before you unceremoniously crushed their skull under your heel. I think you're mildly narcissistic when it comes to your legs.'
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
You know what?
'Hm?'
Accurate but I don't care. I will flaunt my sexy ass legs, or body, whenever I damn well choose. Speaking of bodies I believe James is done fermenting.
With a sigh I leave my office and head down the short hall to the hidden door, that slides open at my touch, and I descend the stairs to reach the operating room below. Numerous glass pods lined the walls, full of green bio-fluid and held various bodies in them. Their metal bases had small screens to display information on the contents within and wires ran to a computer terminal nearby with even more screens, dozens of buttons and numerous switches.
Beyond the gestation pods resided an operating table, complete with a biometric scanner, heart monitor, another multi-armed apparatus with all kinds of heinous tools and lastly a oxygenator system to keep my subjects breathing properly. Fortunately James was in one of the six pods that lined the back wall, with the table between my terminal station and the stairs, and the tunnel far to my right past the table. Various other kinds of equipment littered the room along with a healthy amount of counter space. All in all it looked like the space belonging to a professional mad doctor or scientist.
'Ahhh home sweet home away from home.'
Sitting down at the terminal I activate the pod James is in, which immediately begins to drain away the green liquid within. His naked body comes into view, looking somewhat healthier only now his torso was sporting a vaginal crevice that looked like it could satisfy an elephant. Truly it wasn't my most favorite work to date but Mr. Sloan wanted to humiliate and torture the poor bastard and money is money. I just wish he had had a little more imagination to go into what he was paying me for.
Do you know how many women, demon or otherwise, come to me about their bodies? I'm not just a butchering flesh-crafter. My full time job is fixing that which people don't like about themselves or making them better beyond their wildest dreams. I also cater to a number of criminals, crime families, crooked businesses, and so on. If you've got the money, I can carve into you whatever change you want.
'Don't forget we also dabble in corpses.'
There's that too.
Sometimes in life you need more than a badass bodyguard or a well trained soldier. Sometimes you need something that will march into your enemy's teeth and eat them, boots belt, buckle and all. That's where I come in. The Syndicate, a collection of crime families composed of different races, is always at odds with other forces that be. Primarily the ARIMDF otherwise known as the Armed Regulation of Interspecies & Magic Defense Force.
They're also a thorn in my side too. Originally they were a coalition force put in place to help humans maintain their air of superiority but now they're a force that governs everything. Think of them as a specialized military force designed to protect the average law abiding citizen and their governments from people like the Syndicate.
I digress. Point is the ARIMDF is a pain in the ass, they've got the means to stay a pain in the ass and organizations like the Syndicate don't have infinite dispensable muscle at their beck and call. So they come to me with corpses, I work on them for a day, and someone comes back to pick up a newly animated machine of death. Given enough time I can even clone them to make more. Fortunately for everyone else, I don't have the storage space or the desire to create an undead horde.
'Been there done that.'
So I do what I do, get paid to do it and create quality products for the sleezy bags of shitheads known as the Syndicate. There are some in that group who I refuse to work for though. Some of which I vehemently detest and would gladly kill their entire bloodline on principal alone. I don't appreciate being used or shafted out of payments.
When you make a deal with me you had best honor your word. Otherwise there'll be hell to pay and I always make full payments on that. A number of Syndicate members have tried to shaft me in such a way in the past. The Syndicate was several notable members short, Saren ate good for a month and I've been permanently barred from entering certain establishments unless I want to leave with an assortment of new holes in my body.
'I prefer sticking to the three we already have.'
Technically seven if you count nostrils and ears.
'Yeah but you can't put anything in those.'
Oh I beg to differ.
'....'
....
'I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that.'
So yeah me and the Syndicate have a rocky relationship and only certain members like to do business with me and I them. One such member is Mr. Sloan who should be here anytime now to collect James here. Speaking of, he seems to be waking up.
I casually get up, one the pod has drained completely and the glass slides away to release James. He falls to the cold tile floor with a thud and a groggy groan while I quickly reach down and hoist him up before dragging him to the table where I secure him. The finalizing process is quite simple. I pull a thick metal collar from my coat pocket and place it around his neck, causing an acknowledging beep to go off as a red light flicks on. Retrieving a small device, no bigger than the size of the ancient Nintendo SD handheld game devices, from the opposite pocket I flick a switch and the light turns orange and then green as a gentle hiss goes off.
On the device's screen a number of command options and specimen information is displayed. No sooner did I finish this task did the ominous triple beep, notifying me of the front door to my building opening, sound off in the operating room. I sigh and pocket the device, fixing my coat, and brushing my untamed ear length white hair into some semblance of neatness. On my way up the stairs I fidget with my strapless black tube top.
Reaching the door it slides open and I step out into the hallway before walking to the tiny insignificant lobby that resides just past my office at the opposite end of the laughably small building. Standing in the lobby, as expected, would be Mr. Sloan with his business-like, no nonsense expression set on his face. His empty red globes stared at me as his brow furrowed.
"You're actually presentable this time... Imagine that."
Like grinding boulders his voice hits me but I can't help but smirk at his comment.
"Well last time you caught me with my pants down because I had just had a corpse explode all over me. You'd be surprised to know how much energy a corpse can take before it pops."
---
Sloan could only gaze with a look of disinterest before he gestured down the hall behind Dahlia. He wasn't a patient man when it came to this woman since she had a way of getting under his skin. However, he could appreciate her work and the fact she had an iron stomach against all manner of heinous sights.
"Enough talk woman. Is it done?" His voice ground out with a tone of irritation while Dahlia only smiled more and gestured for him to follow her as she turned and walked back the way she came. The hallway was much too small for him even though it was designed with larger races in mind.
"Wait here Yarkin. I won't be long."
His assistant, who had been waiting behind him, stood and watched as Sloan squeezed himself down the hallway and disappeared through the doorway at the end of the hall, on the right hand side, positioned presumably across from the bathroom. Yarkin detested Dahlia's existence and had no intentions of following his boss.
Descending the stairs, Sloan was greeted by the sight of James laid bare on the table with his disgusting modifications having been completed. A twisted and sadistic grin crept across Sloan's face as they approached the table before Dahlia held up a device to him.
"Your new toy is all yours now Mr. Sloan. If you need anything else don-"
"I have another job for you." Sloan immediately interjected on her sentence causing a perturbed scowl to cross her face.
"Oh?" She spoke with a curious tone, her interest visibly piqued, causing Sloan to nod with a smirk.
"My eldest needs a new toy and my second eldest keeps harassing me over this worm. You do neural work, yes?" He turned to Dahlia and saw her expression had become sadistically delighted. A woman after his own heart if she didn't get under his skin so terribly.
"Do tell me more of what you have in mind for this job... Mr. Sloan." Her voice rang through his ears with a disturbingly sultry tone. Looking at her, as she gazed up at him with a ravenous hunger for something indescribable, suddenly Sloan began to have regrets for the first time in his life.
A lump formed in his throat that he couldn't swallow.