The piercing whistle cut through the chaos of his thoughts as Bellamy realized what was happening. He knew that sound – it was the same one that had saved his life in the pit at the cost of countless others. He didn’t need to turn to know who held it. It was Viracio – had to be.
The ground lurched beneath them, stone splitting in jagged cracks as The Jackal whipped itself into a frenzy to force its way up. A violent tremor sent Bellamy staggering, his boot skidding over loose rubble.
Bellamy just didn’t understand why. Why drag him here to fight? Why put himself in the line of fire? All to kill Penny? She wasn’t a large enough piece to warrant this level of risk, unless Viracio was completely unhinged.
“Why” is all Bellamy asked, as the building shook, pieces of stone coming loose and falling around them as The Jackal began tunneling its way out. With every layer of stone it disintegrated, another collapsed on top, burying it deeper. But eventually it would break free. There was only so much dirt until it reached the surface. Soon enough it would escape.
Viracio’s eyes darted around the room, frustration plainly visible. “Wire got crossed,” he muttered under his breath. “What I get for making the gang decentralized.”
Bellamy ran through their predicament.
The Volkov’s wanted to keep their reputation. This wouldn’t look good for them to have an essence beast appear in their club. So they’d likely fight against the beast, if only cursory.
The Wardens wanted to contain and eliminate any threats in the building. They dealt with essence related events and people. The exacts were up to individual Warden discretion, maybe they’d be seen as an asset, maybe as a threat.
The Jackal, however, wasn’t burdened by politics or individualism. It was hunting. It was that simple.
Another ripple in the air as a sinkhole began to form.
It was a grim comfort, that the only thing Bellamy could predict with any certainty was the monster.
He started making a plan, it involved him staying behind, but he was confident in his ability to escape if push came to shove.
“Cover your faces,” Viracio instructed. “Better a glimpse than nothing left to the imagination.”
Bellamy didn’t hesitate. He strode toward the fall wall, away from both the Volkov enforcers and the growing sinkhole. The wall facing the alleyways was already collapsing, the pit widening further to consume the club as The Jackal worked. It was a bad exit both because of Wardens no doubt watching and anything that passed over the abyss risked being swallowed.
He moved to the far wall, opposite to the enforcers, and activated his ability. The scaffolding inside him stirred– an alien crawling sensation spreading through his core which he pushed outward, threading it through the wall, shaping and twisting until he understood its structure intimately. Then he collapsed it, folding it into razor thin cuts in space until there was naught by a passageway.
“Out” he barked.
Sarah hesitated, but ultimately followed, whispering to Callum in a low voice as they went “Not Safe?”
Callum blinked out of existence and came back with a grim nod, “multiple essence signatures on the roof tops.”
The club itself was near silent now. Bodies of previous patrons littered the floor, some slumped over tables, glass still in hand, other twisted by a spray of bullets. Those still alive cowered beneath overturned furniture, not daring to make a sound. Even for those still alive it didn’t matter. They’d be bodies shortly.
Bellamy grimaced at the thought, but he couldn’t do anything for them. No need to be stupid.
“We wait for it to escape” Bellamy started. “When it does, use the chaos to get out. Callum, you lead. You’re the only one who can scout and find an opening.”
Callum hesitated, an argument on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down and nodded.
They crouched behind nearby tables, all of them and their Volkov hostage tense and waiting. Time stretched unbearably long for a span that couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds. Still no sign of The Wardens trying to enter, likely still unaware that it would never self-destruct like a normal essence beast.
The ground beneath them groaned. Then – silence. The kind that sounded quieter than it was as your brain readied itself to process the cacophony to come.
It came in a thunderous crack that split the air.
The sinkhole’s jaws grew wider, swallowing wood, stone, and bodies. Clouds of dust billowed up and out. Thick and suffocating that coated the ruins of the club, turning it into a miasma of swirling gray. Shapes moved rapidly within as the Volkovs finally moved. Their figures were half seen, running, tripping, vanishing.
Bellamy couldn’t see The Jackal, but he knew it was there.
He watched the way the air warped. The way it swirled unnaturally from the large beasts movements, displacing space around it.
A ripple coursed through the ruins, like heat wafting off pavement. Then – just for a moment – Bellamy saw it. The hulking shape, wrong in every way. It stalked in and out of the thickest parts of the dust, barely visible through panicked muzzle flashes of gunfire.
A low chitter fell over the ruins. It clicked its teeth, raking sharp point over sharp point as The Jackal laughed. A scream. Then silence. A sickly sweet rot filling the club with greater intensity every second.
“Now,” Bellamy hissed. “Go.”
Callum took the lead, the others following closely behind.
The moving Volkovs all seemed to have different plans. Some ran for the exits, others shouted orders, but he could no longer glimpse the training that he saw from Rick and Dadum, it was more mob than regiment now. Those who tried to fight, or organize all seemed to have their voices cut off in screams as The Jackal hunted them down one by one.
Bellamy stood still, watching the smoke.
And then, through the haze, something locked eyes with him.
Gray met brown.
The Jackal’s jaw trembled with anticipation, it arched it’s back, but more shouting caused its ears to twitch at the chaos. Irritation flickered over its monstrous features, leading to ripples of flesh along its skin.
It could have lunged, could have begun their fight once again. But it didn’t. Instead, its claws scraped against the floor in a slow deliberate line – an unmistakable command.
Don’t cross.
Then it vanished – a blur of twisted flesh moving far too fast. It was a blur. The first scream was cut short with a snapping sound. The second dragged across the ground, choked and desperate before going silent. The third was longer, a shriek followed by the roar of gunfire. The muzzle flash painted light across the dust, granting all those looking a horrifying glimpse of serrated teeth biting into a silhouette, before the enforcer combusted into paste.
It continued, with each muzzle flash the room seemed to heat. The screams continued. Another yell. Another meaty crack. Another pop of evisceration. Another set of gunfire.
Then – nothing.
Bellamy stood, unmoving, waiting as the dust thinned. The last remnants of chaos settling into the previous quiet from before.
Bellamy met The Jackal’s gaze once more. It panted, tongue lolling from its maw, eyes gleaming with anticipation.. He flared his essence, ready for the fight to come. He didn’t need to win, he just needed to stall. Stall long enough for The Wardens to realize this thing wasn’t going to handle itself.
The two circled each other. The Jackal reared onto its hind legs, then – lunged forward snapping jaws descending like a fox diving into snow. This time, Bellamy didn’t bother moving. Instead, he activated his ability, folding the space in front of The Jackal itself.
To any onlooker, it would seem like an illusion – the beast twisting mid-air, it’s trajectory warping impossibly as its entire being rippled. Sending it back in the direction it jumped from, far away from Bellamy.
He couldn’t rely on brute force for this encounter. Any attack he made would be redirected to himself. The stronger the attack, the more likely he’d hurt himself. Even a weak attack wouldn’t do anything even if he managed to get it through The Jackals defense.
But there was a way to win. There always was, he just needed to find it.
He drew on his essence, feeling the power pulse through him, raw and volatile. He shaped the fold – a fragile, spherical, twisting prison of warped space. If he could properly invert the sphere to point inwards, he could fold the creature into a pocket dimension –severing its connection from the outside world. Then he could just wait for it to starve.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
He shaped fast, focusing as best as he could, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to invert the sphere properly. It left the distortion unstable – requiring constant effort to maintain. With all the twists and folds he managed to get most of it to point inwards, but it resulted in two weak points – singularities where all the space met and buckled under its own weight.
It would have to do.
The Jackal attempted to move forward, but halted as its head met its side, trapped within the sphere of folded space. It growled, prowling the edge of the sphere. It tested the invisible wall, with snaps of its teeth. Then a kick, before finally it let out a piercing howl. The growth of energy in the closed system pressed against the distortion and caused the singularities to flare with energy. It seemed the entirety of the howl was concentrated at the two weak spots as all space traveled to the two locations, funneling more and more energy.
Bellamy felt the pressure like a migraine splitting his skull. He shouldn’t feel pain, yet it felt like his mind was on fire.
Hold.
Just hold.
The sphere shattered.
Bellamy was thrown backward from the backlash of losing control of his essence. Heat rippled outward. The air shimmered, and The Jackal threw back its head and laughed. It grew louder and louder.
Bellamy felt the energy build, the disturbance in space. The volume grew to a crescendo.
Then reality fractured.
Everything within thirty feet of the beast ceased to be – tables, bodies, walls, dust – all erased in an instant. No remnants. Just a yawning void over a fighting pit.
Bellamy fell.
For a split second it felt like there was nothing except terrible weightlessness. He mastered himself, and pulled – folding space beneath his feet to the now fully revealed fighting pit where it all started.
The Jackal landed a few seconds later, panting heavily as it stalked side to side. It’s gaze locked on him.
It was time for the second exchange.
Except–
“Messy work, huh?” the voice resounded from above, calm, reassuring. “These temp Wardens are quite the set of cowards.”
Another voice responded, raspy, as if they had fire in their throat, “I believe they choose to call it being ‘strategically minded’ Ridley”
Bellamy risked a look up and saw two men standing at the edge of the pit. One had chains wrapped around their too long arms, which almost reached their knees. The other seemed to be a middle aged man with red hair. Bellamy’s heart sank when he saw their garb. While they did have the embroidery of the Wardens on their shoulder pads, the flowing cloaks told him everything he needed to know, these two were from The Congregation.
The Jackal growled, annoyed at yet another distraction as it howled up at the two of them.
“ESSENCE!” Bellamy yelled out. As much as he didn’t like The Congregation, this could be a good enough distraction to escape.
The force rippled through the pair like a wave, but neither man flinced. They nodded appreciatively towards Bellamy, seemingly unfazed.
“It redirects impacts, and can control forces,” Bellamy offered up the information, irritation cutting into his voice as he continued “maybe stop screwing around and help me?!”
“Redirects forces”, the smaller man with red hair spoke, “makes things rather difficult”.
The other, with too long arms didn’t bother, “I’ll chain it up then” and he jumped down into the pit.
The other shouted after him, following suit shortly after, “It’d break them”
“I’ll reinforce with essence”
“You’ll run out first”
They both landed one after the other as their boots met uneven dirt. The Jacakl regarded the two newcomers, calculating as it made space between them.
A question loomed over the trio, how could you kill something that couldn’t be hurt?
For starters, avoiding bad assumptions. It wasn’t that it couldn’t be hurt, just that it couldn’t be hurt through force or impacts. Bellamy’s mind raced, scanning the beast’s hulking frame, trying to think of a weakness. Then he saw it. Remembered from before. It was panting. It needed to breathe.
“We could smother it” Bellamy murmured.
Both fighters turned to him.
Bellamy shrugged. “It’s breathing hard. Means it needs air. If impacts won’t do. We can stop it from breathing”
A glance passed between the two Congregation members.
“Sigismund?”
“Yeah I can do that,” the redhead said “I just need an enclosed space.”
Bellamy gestured to the fighting pit around them. “This enclosed enough for you?”
Sigismund grimaced. “It’ll have to do, I suppose. I need a moment to pray. Ridley, cover me please.”
The Jackal was tired of waiting. It began its slow, deliberate advance, muscles tense underneath matted human hair.
Ridley wasn’t a fan of waiting either. He let the chains around his arm unravel, raising up his hand and sending one flying forward as if he had complete control over it. The chains wrapped around the Jackal’s front legs, meant to pull them inward and send the beast crashing down.
Instead, the force rebounded – yanking Ridley towards the beast.
The fighter barely reacted in time, twisting his body and redirecting his momentum into a slide he used to pass underneath The Jackal. He let more and more chain spill from his arm as he moved, manipulating and twisting the weapon around legs and chest as he passed.
The Jackal snapped, kicked, and tried to pin down the annoying man, but each time it found the space around it to be false. Its footing shifted, the target moved just out of reach or a nip moved through air several feet to the left. It took all of Bellamy’s focus to keep the fighter relatively safe, he used it in subtle ways in an effort to conserve essence displacing inches into yards and devastating blows sailing into thin air.
Ridley continued his rapid movement, never still, never not moving some part of his body or his essence infused chains. He was careful to give the chains a lot of slack, not wanting to activate The Jackal’s ability – instead letting the beast tangle itself up in the criss-crossed chains.
Sigismund, kneeling in the dirt not far off, closed his eyes and began to chant.
May The Heart That Beats True stir the Waters,
Beneath parched earth and empty skies
May its pulse call forth the storm
And its rhythm unchain the tide.
The air vibrated with power
When land is cracked and silent,
May the flood rise to answer its cries.
A whisper in the gathering wind
A drumbeat in the rising waves.
The Jackal thrashed, tangling itself up more in the chains. It’s ears perked, and it snarled as it felt the change in the air and locked onto Sigismund.
In a moment of desperation the beast took a large breath, and leapt to the side. Fully tightening the chains and yanking Ridley with him just enough that Ridley impacted the side of the essence beast.
It was a start. It howled, redirecting both the energy of the sound and the impact of Ridley on its side directly into a single chain.
Ridley pumped as much essence as he could into his weapon, trying to fight the vibrations as the Jackal continued its piercing yell. Then the monster switched its focus to a different chain, then another, then another. Ridley couldn’t keep up, and one of the links disintegrated.
Let no hand still the river’s path,
Nor false voices bid it retreat.
For the water knows theri course,
And the truth they carry cannot be damned.
Just like that the connection to essence was cut off, and The Jackal was quickly able to destroy the rest of the chains keeping it in place.
It didn’t gloat, didn’t laugh or take any joy. Instead it charged into a frenzy at Sigismund.
Go forth, O tide of the divine,
Break the chains, cleanse the earth,
For the heart That beats True surges within,
It leapt jaws open wide, maw going to close around the red haired priests head.
Then Bellamy pulled. Yanking Sigismund out of the way of the killing blow.
Now and always.
Water bloomed from the air itself.
Beads formed from nothing throughout the arena, swelling into droplets, then streams, then a torrent of water. It poured down in waves, filling the pit rapidly as if opening a portal to the sea itself.
Bellamy didn’t bother waiting. He folded space and the world snapped around him, repairing at the crater’s edge.
Ridley was already moving, grabbing Sigismund by the collar, he used his remaining chain to lash upward. The metal links sticking deep into one of the few remaining pieces of foundation as the two began their rapid ascent.
Below them, The Jackal roared. It clawed against the water, rapidly rising to its chest as it tried and failed to tread water. Its body twisted in the churning vortex of holy water, muscles bulging as it fought against the rising tide. Then the water rose above its head, and the creature sunk.
It clawed at the stone walls, desperate to find purchase. Its movements slowed and its limbs flailed. It tried to yell out once more – but only bubbles rose.
Moments passed, and the last breath left its lungs.
Bellamy didn’t stay to watch it die.
The second he landed at the edge of the ruins he folded space again, straight up as high as he could, launching past rooftops. His essence reserves were nearly empty, he had at most two large folds left.
One more pull. The world snapped and he rose higher still. Trying to lose sight with any prying Warden's eyes.
One last push. He shot forward across the slums.
His essence depleted completely.
The weight of his body crashed back into him as he plummeted, a nearby rooftop rushing towards him as he barely stuck the landing.
His legs snapped and he was sent sprawling across the roof.
He thanked the gods he was undead.
For a long moment, he simply laid there on the roof – staring up at the sky.
There was so much left to do.
But now he had some answers. He knew the strange essence had come from Viracio. He just needed a little more. Find Viracio, get answers, pay back his debt to the cult.
Then he could sit the fuck down and lay low until The Congregation left.
Slowly his hand drifted upward, reaching out towards the night sky. A palpable energy filled him as he remembered the fight.
For the first time in a long time.
Bellamy felt excited.
----------------------------------------
An image slid across Fern’s desk.
She raised an eyebrow at Ridley before picking it up. The man in the photograph looked to be in his late twenties, dark tanned skin, thick curls of brown hair, and a body built for hard labor.
She flicked her gaze to Ridley, waiting.
“His name is Bellamy Hollow.” He spoke, “It is currently suspected that he and his brother Callum Hollow are Harbingers – and more importantly, undead.”
Fern nodded, expression unreadable “And you know this how?”
“We have eyes and ears around, but according to the bishop, evidence of them being both Harbingers and Undead comes from a first hand account of people who were observing them.” He paused before tacking on, “I also saw first hand that this Bellamy had Harbinger abilities”
Fern frowned, “This is about the essence beast in the slums isn’t it.”
She stood, moving to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a stack of reports. Flipping through them, she selected a few pages and handed them to Ridley.
“From your report, the beast appeared stable” she said “Not the first instance of this.
Ridley skimmed the documents as Fern continued.
“Before Spearhead was wiped out, they were investigating the creation of stable essence beasts in Velnias. They didn’t find out much, just that it was happening. These beasts were far weaker than the one you described in your report.”
Ridley hesitated, setting the reports down. “That’s important, but I’m talking about the Hollow brothers themselves. I’d like to request a mission to capture them.”
“Ah, yes. That is important. I was more talking about these two brothers themselves. I would like to request a mission to capture these two individuals.”
Fern drummed her fingers against the table, considering her options.
She would like to say no, but then The Congregation might pull Sigismund and Ridley away, and as much as she hated to admit it they were by far the two most useful assets she had in Velnias.
Finally she sighed.
“Not Bellamy. He’s been on our radar for a while” a lie, but Ridley didn’t need to know that, “he’s considered an asset. Callum. We can approve that for a mission, you’ll have to use a day off to pursue this. I won’t use full Wardens resources on one Undead”
Ridley’s expression tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”
Fern watched him leave, then glanced down at the image of Bellamy Hollow once more.
Might as well turn a lie into truth. Time to see if he really could be an asset.
----------------------------------------
Viracio stumbled into one of his gang’s many safe houses, breath shallow, pulse still thrumming from the night’s chaos.
He had ditched Callum and Sarah as soon as they ran. Splitting up had been the right call—at least, that’s what he told himself.
The night had been messy. He had nearly died, and worse, some of his own plans had gone up in smoke. That was the cost of working with a decentralized group. Sometimes, you fucked each other over.
He made his way to the back of the warehouse, pressing the button for the elevator.
It groaned in protest as it descended.
The basement was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of chemicals. Cages lined the walls with varying degrees of occupancy. Large vats bubbled with his carefully brewed mixture—his masterpiece, his weapon.
He grabbed the phone near the entrance and dialed.
“It’s Viracio,” he said. “Call a meeting. All hands. I don’t know which cell hit Penny’s tonight, but they did a damn fine job. We need to take advantage of this chaos.”
He waited just long enough to hear the confirmation before hanging up.
Letting out a slow breath, he traced a hand over one of the vats. The liquid inside churned, dark and sickly.
This could have gone differently.
He had wanted diplomacy. Wanted to find another way.
But people didn’t listen. Not until you forced them to.
His concoction was the answer. A perfectly tainted essence.
It had taken years of trial and error—balancing just the right amount of instability. Too much, and the subject would implode. Too little, and they’d remain human. But this? This was the sweet spot. Just unstable enough to ensure transformation. Just potent enough to keep them from turning mindless.
Spearhead’s death had been a tragedy.
But it had given him an opportunity.
It had given him power.
He let his fingers linger on the cold metal of the vat, then turned away. The real work was only beginning.