Black Magic - Chapter Four: The Deeds We Do
Chapter 4: The Deeds We Do
With Forte now in tow, I exited the woods and boarded the Pacer. I adjusted my rear view mirror, thrust in the key, ignited the engine, and took off at the roaring speed of smell. What else would you expect from a Pacer; actual speed? Not a chance. Forte just stared out the window as we drove, his wide eyes scanning the horizon and taking in all of the modern wonders that he'd overlooked during his last trip away from the forest. It wasn't very often that he managed to get out of the 'house' and to him, taking in the wonders of modern society was something of a big deal. Suburban homes and peaceful playgrounds sped by us like Hallmark greeting cards until the scenery changed to passing parking garages and factories; much less appealing in my expert opinion. It took about 20 minutes, but we'd finally arrived in the industrial district, our destination and presumed battlefield. As Zeke stepped out of the car, he opted to take with him one of my enchanted baseball bats, though I'm not sure he knew that it was a supernatural weapon. He gripped it tight and walked carefully, making it all the more obvious that he was nervous. Yeah, Zeke always was a bit of a coward, which is odd given what he's capable of.
"Just take deep breaths, Zeke." I snickered.
"Not funny." He replied with a grunt. "I'm not worried about a couple of zombies. But I am worried about the bloke who made 'em."
"Worry not, young man." Forte added. "If a sorcerer of evil intent steps in, then I shall bar his path. It is as simple as that."
"I'm not so sure, that coming from the world's most mature toddler." Zeke growled in return, rubbing his eyebrows. "Well, the most mature fox toddler..., or whatever you are."
"You know, changeling, you could just stay in the car." Dante sighed, floating just millimeters above the ground. "If you're going to complain and whine the whole time, I'd just rather have less backup then, okay?"
The four of us continued onward, slipping through the chained gates and abandoned police barricades that stood in our way. Much creepier than it first appears from afar, the industrial district is a quiet and empty place, and very much like a maze. It functions as the city's dump and scrap yard, the place where destroyed machinery goes once thoroughly destroyed. Wrecked cars and construction equipment created a rusty, jagged labyrinth as we approached a condemned bus terminal. I looked to the left and spotted a faraway bench by the river, the one that Zeke must have been occupying prior to his encounter of the undead kind. It was safely behind the protective fencing that encompassed the entire area, though I'm not sure that such a thing would have occurred to me either, given the situation. When you see zombies, you usually tend to run. And that was the main problem, seeing as how I neither saw nor heard a zombie, the real reason that I had even come.
"Zeke, can we have a little talk?" I growled. "Where are the fumbling, bumbling bad guys?"
"Hey, don't give me that sarcastic crap!" He shouted in return. "They're here, I swear it! They were here before, I saw one of the creepy bastards with my own two eyes!"
"Yeah, so if I punch a fiery hole in one of these walls, then zombies are gonna come spewing out like sewage, right?" I exclaimed angrily. "Because I swear to God, if there isn't an entire horde in there, or at least one ready to surround us any second now; oh, you'll be in for a world of hurt!"
"Perhaps Dante can take a look inside of the facility before we attempt something as drastic as storming the gates, yes?" Suggested Forte calmly, making both Zeke and I look like meandering idiots. "As much as I would love piercing the walls of the Bastille, I would also prefer that we avoid any ambushes that may well be lying in wait."
"Glad somebody mentioned it." Dante said with a jaded frown. "I'd rather face an undead horde than listen to these simpletons argue anymore. I'll be right back."
Dante rolled his eyes then swiftly flew at the old building, disappearing as he passed through the solid brickwork that made up one of the structure's outer walls. The action made absolutely no sound, elegantly displaying some of the advantages of being dead and intangible. No less than 30 seconds upon entering did Dante come flying back out, a terrified look plastered across his face. He assumed his solid form and landed lightly upon the ground, walking with his face towards the concrete in a defeated stride.
"Dante, what's wrong?" I reluctantly asked. "What's got you looking like you're alive, but soon to die again?"
"Don't even try to be funny." He murmured softly. "I can't laugh right now."
"That seems unlikely." Forte interjected, walking up and putting his hand on Dante's shoulder. Fortunately, Dante isn't much taller that him. "It is not characteristic of you to take a joke and not spit fire in return. What has you so distraught?"
Dante took in a deep breath, a show of regaining one's composure since he wasn't in need of breathing any time soon. He opened his eyes and made my jaw hit the floor by saying, "Your changeling friend is an idiot. We're not dealing with a zombie or even an army of zombies. There's only one thing in there, and it's an abomination. He's slouching on a bench inside, not even a dozen meters from where we are standing right now."
Silence hit for a moment, much like it always does. Zeke excluded, we were all stunned and shocked. I guess the mimic didn't know what an abomination was, what an abomination was capable of. Lucky him.
"An abomination you say?" I questioned, completely shocked. "An abomination?"
"That's right." He replied. "I saw him immediately upon entering and evacuated them moment I laid eyes on him. I'd tell you to leave, Dominic, but I already have a good idea of what you'd say."
"So do I." I sighed nervously, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "If there's an abomination in there, then that's all the more reason to go in and lay waste to the place. If we went to the Conclave for help now, the damn thing might not still be there by the time the cavalry and reinforcements arrived."
I approached the large building and nervously extended my arm, opening my palm and spreading apart my fingers as though I were trying to sweep the area with some kind of natural human radar. Which, in hindsight, I sort of was. With my arm extended like that, I flipped on my body's overload switch, the one that regulates how much information my brain is allowed to take in at any one given time, and focused all of my senses into a single sharp point. Specifically, I sharpened my sixth sense, and sent it slithering slowly along the ground towards the building. I felt nothing along the terminal's outside perimeter, so I continued up its walls and across the structure's entire surface. A sudden feeling crawled into my mind, a feeling a horrible sickness and nausea; the sensation that floods your body right before you vomit. The cause was a black and stained energy that emanated disgustingly from within the terminal, a foul and noxious aura that I was even beginning to taste. Oh yeah, something awful, something BAD, was in that building.
Snapping out of my mini-trance, I fell to one knee and caught my breath. Lightheaded, I blathered almost incoherently, "Bad news bears."
"Very well." Forte stated stoically. "Then it is war?"
I took a minute to put myself back together. What I'd done was a special little trick that enhances the user's Sight, supplying that the person has a knack for it anyway, transforming it into something that sees thing even more clearly, peering even deeper into the wellspring of knowledge that is normally inaccessible to the human brain. It takes the sixth sense and ramps it up into the domain of the seventh sense, it that makes any sense to anyone. Regardless, it's easy enough to do but puts a fairly massive strain on the one performing it. The Conclave had a name for it; 'The Truth'. It's a fairly accurate name, seeing as how it can be used to see the world for what it really is, a land rife with the flowing of natural magics.
I shook my head and slapped myself in the face. The sting brought my surroundings back into focus and I finally got back on my feet.
"So, we gonna do this thing or what?" Snapped Zeke mildly.
"That's right, boys and girls, because I'll be damned if I let a juggernaut like that escape without a fight!" I yelled as I surged forward in a dominant stride, not even trying to act as though we hadn‘t been seen or heard already. "We march!"
Have you ever had one of those days that just started out badly and slowly got worse from there? For me, today was one of those days. I thought that I'd run into a few undead soldiers, some simple cannon fodder, and yet I somehow ended up running into an undead god instead. That's just fucking spectacular. Really it is. Nothing kicks off the rest of your already intolerable day like battling against one of the world's most malevolent, vicious killing machines. So I ripped open my backpack and withdrew a few of my magical knickknacks and thingamajigs, stomped towards the building's sealed doors, then released a powerful spell as a show of force. If I was going to fight a foe as strong as an abomination, I might as well try to impress or intimidate it first. Am I right, or am I right?
Alright then, next question. Have you ever tried to fend off a vampire? It's not easy. They're mean. They're quick. They're undead. All in all, it's pretty damn difficult. You see, the thing about the undead, the thing that makes them so hard to deal with, is the fact that they're nearly impossible to damage. Undead are highly resistant to physical wounds and abrasions, but are even more resistant to damage inflicted through the use of magic, thus making my attempts even more futile than most other's. An abomination, for example, is one the worst kinds of unholy creatures in existence; the kind of monster that Bram Stoker would have written about. The highest tier of vampire, abominations have the physical strength, stamina, and speed of 20 men combined. I've seen these things lift compact cars with one hand and crash through brick walls completely unscathed. At the very least, anybody with even a single day's worth of experience would never mistake one of them for anything other than what they obviously are. Zeke for example, doesn't have even this much experience. Most vampires look completely human, with the exception of their fangs and their famously pale skin, but not abominations. Oh no. These guys look like zombies; rotting flesh, dead eyes, and the occasional broken bone protruding through ruined, tainted skin. These things don't have fangs either. Instead, they just bite into their victim's neck with their normal, dull teeth, then rip a chunk out and proceed to drink down all of the blood that starts to spray. Yeah, I know, it's not a pretty picture.
As my spell, the 'unlocking dagger', sent the nailed and boarded doors flying into pieces, an enormous chill shot down my spine. It felt as if I'd been thrown into the frozen Atlantic waters that killed a majority of the passengers aboard the Titanic. This thing, whoever or whatever it was, was powerful. Of that I was quite certain. It was just the right kind of shock to my system that I'd been expecting, especially coming from a beast known for draining ALL of the blood from its victims as though they were disposable juice boxes. Beyond the hole I had just made lay no-man's-land, so I entered casually and indifferent, trying to feign the utmost courage. You know, like I owned the damn place. The inside of the transit center was unsurprisingly dark, lit only by the dim rays of sunlight that managed to sneak their way in through the makeshift plywood barricades. Rats and mice scurried from the edge of the building that I had entered through, but made sure to steer clear of an occupied bench as they did, moving around it in a wide arc instead. On the bench sat our target, an abomination still in the early stages, still vaguely human. The creature's skin flaked and chipped away as he slowly moved, his black hair disgustingly matted and grimy. He held his face in his cupped hands, resting his elbows on his knees as though he were crying or recently had been. A second or two passed before he looked up at me, then at Forte and Zeke as they entered. His eyes were white, empty, and glazed; entirely emotionless and yet I still felt a painful twinge of sorrow as I stared into them.
"It's quite here. It's peaceful here." He said slowly, in a rough voice; probably very different from his original. "But it's safe here too. Safe for me and safe for others as well. When I woke up this morning and looked at myself in the mirror, I could tell that a monster was looking back at me. I've seen all the movies. I've read all the books. I'm not stupid. No matter what the monster was like or how the monster acted when he was still human, his personality never lasted long, and his mind always ended up becoming a perfect mirror image of his physical appearance; a nightmare."
Stunned, I tried to muster up something to say, but found myself saying nothing instead. Nothing I had in my usual arsenal of snappy comebacks could work its way into this situation. This was just too heavy.
"I'm not entirely certain of what I am anymore, but I do know with the utmost certainty that I'm not something that belongs in this world." He stated solemnly, pain and defeat filling each and every word. "The longer I stayed around ordinary people, the more I began to hurt inside, the more I wanted to hurt them. It's only been an afternoon and I've come to that conclusion; how fucked up is that? I mean, there's nothing I can do about it, nothing at all. That painful ache in my gut and that horrible need to harm others are almost the exact same feeling now; a nagging, itching sensation that just won't stop screaming in the back of my mind. They're the only things I can feel, the only things I can think about, and I think that those feelings are starting to win... I don't think that I have the resolve or strength to stop myself anymore..."
I hesitated again before saying anything. This wasn't what I'd been expecting at all. First, I thought I'd be combating a group of idiotic zombies, but I was wrong. Next, I thought I might end up going toe to toe with the cause of the first problem, a necromancer, but I was wrong again. Lastly, I was told that I'd be waging war against an abomination, the evilest of evil creatures, an undead scourge capable of tearing me to the tiniest of pieces, but I was wrong yet again. What stood before me was a young man steadily coming to terms with the 'thing' that he had become; with the terrible crimes against humanity that he was now able to commit. He had essentially become a diseased animal that had to be put down and killed; gotten rid of before it could become a real problem, before it became rabid. That thought disturbed me, because as things stood, I was the veterinarian holding the syringe full of 'eternal sleep' that had to be administered.
"That feeling; that urge you're suffering from is called 'The Hunger'." I stated quietly, calmly. "Almost all vampires get it after going too long a time without feeding. It's famously strong amongst your kind, in your case. It won't be long now before the urge wins and you start becoming violent; terribly, terribly violent."
"That isn't fair." He yelled angrily, cupping his face in his hands again and finally breaking down. "This isn't right, none of this is. I didn't ask for any of this."
"I can't imagine many that would, so long as they knew." I muttered, looking away.
"One can only become an abomination, the epitomized bane of all that lives and thrives, through two different processes." Forte added; stepping in between the two of us as a precaution. "First, and most common; an ignorant human struggling for power drinks the blood of 30 virgins and then receives a blood baptism of sorts. Second, and far more rare; an innocent human is placed under the legendary 'Scarlet Undeath' curse and is transformed into an abomination against their will."
Forte's explanation wasn't off, not at all. All he left out were the end results, which are pretty bad regardless of the scenario; gruesome even. If someone were unfortunate enough to get hit with the curse, then the sorcerer responsible would probably be a necromancer, and a powerful one too boot. What that essentially means, as pertaining to necromancers, is that they'd have the ability to control any undead that they'd brought into creation, which includes the abomination in question. They can't just mind control any random vampire that they approach, making them sing or do cute parlor tricks. No, it isn't that simple. It has to be an undead that they themselves had a hand in creating, forming, or turning. 'Turning', by the way, is the dumbed down term that most use to describe a mortal, human or otherwise, who has been transformed into something else; most commonly used when describing a freshly created vampire. However, as for the stupid idiot scenario involving a moron bringing it upon himself? You do the math. They never see The Hunger coming until it's done come and went, turning them into a rampaging murderous fiend and often ending in the death of anyone unlucky enough to be nearby, friends and family not excluded. Once they realize what they've done, they usually let themselves bake in the sunlight until dead. Our abomination was coherent enough to talk, so I figured he would be well enough to answer any of our questions as well, at least before becoming something I'd prefer not talking to. Best not to scare the shit out of him with his inevitable future when we could still get some use out of him, right?
...And yes, that was the most horrible thing I'd ever thought of, so far anyway. Fuck, I might as well be torturing the poor sap.
"Are you saying that someone did this to me?" He questioned; his eyes widening.
"You tell us." I replied. "I take it that you didn't do this to yourself, yeah? If so, do you think you can tell us who did? It would be a great future help."
"I don't remember being in any sort of ceremony or joining in on any incantation; anything like that." He said gruffly, turning his head to face a wall. Apparently, he knew something of magic; that it existed and was real at the very least.
"A skilled necromancer wouldn't need anything big or flashy like that." Dante explained as he walked through a wall and into the conversation. "Ceremonies and the like are usually used by magicians who lack enough power to cast the spell or place the curse immediately. A long process like that would just get in the way and slow down a professional. If you were cursed, it's likely that you wouldn't have noticed until it were already too late. The Scarlet Undeath isn't something to be thrown around by mere amateurs; it's a deadly and sadistic curse used by necromancers of the highest of caliber."
"Yeah, long incantations are only really useful when you need to draw in a great deal of power from around you." I added. "An amateur would need to do that for a high level curse like this, but a seasoned warlock would only need to do so when casting something truly potent, something that would level mountains and flood cities. Do you remember being around anyone out of the ordinary, anyone that could have been a spellcaster, a powerful one?"
A long silence passed as the creature thought carefully, a loud rumbling sound roaring from his gut. He placed his hand over his stomach and said in a low voice, "There was Helios."
Dante's eyes went wide, very wide, at the sound of that name. He stepped forward a pace or two and asked, "What? What name was that again?"
"Helios." he answered, repeating himself.
Again, Dante reacted to the sound of the spoken syllables, stomping his foot on the ground and causing several unprotected windows to shatter. As far as ghosts go, Dante's a powerful shade, even compared to amalgamations like poltergeists, though not the one I'd just dealt with. Seeing him react to that name with what looked like anger kind of scared me.
"...There's your answer." Dante muttered, dragging his gaze across the floor, avoiding everyone else's. "Helios cursed you."
Standing up quickly, the abomination begged, "Can you do anything? Anything? Can you change me back?"
Silence again. Much longer than last time. Nobody wanted to answer that one. Nobody wanted to tell him that everything was over. Nobody wanted to, but somebody did.
"I'm so sorry." Dante said with a stutter, still refusing to look anyone in the face. "Th-there's nothing we can do. Th-there's nothing anybody can do. Soon, you'll lose control of yourself. You'll lose sight of who you are. Soon, all that will matter to you will be satisfying Th-the Hunger."
The abomination dropped to his knees and his jaw fell wide open. His eyes, though white and empty, drifted off into the distance. It seemed as though he were searching the darkness of the building for the answers he'd been wishing to hear from us, but didn't receive. It wasn't long before his gaze re-centered on us, realizing that the shadows had not the capacity to answer him either.
"I think I already know what you're going to say..., but still..., what happens now?" He asked, barely louder than a whisper.
"We came here to put an end to a monster, a creature that represents a danger to all the innocent around it." Forte replied; sadness in his voice. "Instead, we found you, a man in the process of becoming a monster."
"...I have to die don't I?" He questioned, sounding utterly defeated.
"I'm so, so sorry." Dante said again, now further away from us all, drifting towards the silent blackness.
I reached around to my back and unsheathed a .38 Special from between my pants and belt, having been cleverly tucked away underneath my loose t-shirt. It was a last minute addition to my arsenal, a purchase I made out of thief's trunk in a parking lot some several months ago. I wished I hadn't brought it. Next, I fished a silvery bullet out of my pocket, tiny French incantations inscribed upon the tip in some sort of runic script. I checked the gun over once or twice, switched the safety off, emptied the current ammo, then loaded the special shell. I was taking my time, biding it, hesitating; mostly because what I was about to do didn't sit very well with me. I could screw around all I wanted and try to delay the inevitable, but not indefinitely. In the end, there are only so many things you can do with a gun and I sure as hell wasn't about to point it at myself.
"Tell me your name." I said in a near whisper, the gun pointing at the ground, not yet ready to fulfill its designated task. "Please."
He stared at me for a moment, confused, but then smiled. It looked both disturbing and heartbreaking. This was, no doubt, a good man at one point in time, someone who'd minded his own business and didn't do anything to deserve what was about to happen. Through the rotting flesh, soulless eyes, greasy hair, and horrid smell, his smile told me that he didn't deserve to die.
"Anderson." He laughed. "Dennis Anderson."
"I'll remember you, Dennis." I said as I leveled the gun at his head. "I'll remember you. I swear it."
"Wait!" Zeke yelled; finally entering the conversation. "I don't really know what's going on, but does it have to come to this?!"
"It does; I knew it would from the start." Stated Dennis, still trying to maintain his false smile. "The monster always dies in the end."
I swear, I almost saw the color return to his eyes.
"Goodbye cool world." He said with a smirk; his eyes slowly closing and his smile widening, becoming more genuine.
The shot rang out in the dramatic kind of way that you usually only see in movies. It was loud and it echoed for a long time, like the ringing of a heavy church bell. Though an abomination, Dennis didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell against the force of my single shot. The enchantments placed upon that bullet could have annihilated a lot of things, maybe even a few lowlier demigods on a good day. It didn't take me four entire days and nights and another fifth day straight of meditation to craft the damned thing; some of the materials including mythril, ivory, 'Tears of Aphrodite', 'Star Dust', and several precious gems. His body fell limp and still, unmoving against the cracked concrete floor. Forte glanced at me, but remained ever silent. I know he would have done the dirty work for me if I had asked him to. At the time, I really wanted to ask him to. I wanted to rewind the tape and take back what I just did. But the deed was done and Dennis was dead, freed from the nightmare he was stuck in, constantly worrying over when The Hunger was going to strike and who it was going to take down with it. Still, I just killed an innocent man because of the threat that he represented, just that, and I was goddamn sure that I was going to find the one responsible for his fate. I had to find this Helios, the person or thing that sent shivers down Dante's nonexistent spine by mere mentioning, and strangle him dry for all the answers I could wring out.