Enclave

by Brandon Varnell

  “And yet you fell in love with Lilith.”

  “Lilith and I just sort of happened,” Christian defended. “We have a lot in common, and without the laws being shoved into my face, I was able to get closer to her than I was to any other woman I know.”

  “And what would have happened had your mission to Seal Beach not turned out as it did?”

  “You mean what would have happened if Lilith turned out to be human?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would have asked for an honorable discharge.” In the face of Samantha’s wide eyes, Christian could only offer an uncomfortable shrug. “Before Tristin told me that Lilith was a succubus, I had already been planning to ask for a discharge. I had been sure you would have allowed it, provided I turn in my weapons and allow a minder to watch me.”

  When Samantha flinched, Christian frowned.

  “You would have allowed me to leave, right?”

  “I... maybe.”

  “Samantha...”

  “You were important to the Executioners,” Samantha muttered. “Important to me. I wouldn’t... I didn’t want you to leave. Even after we learned that you had run away with the—with Lilith, my intention was always to bring you back alive.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re one of the best we have. No one else in the entire force can do what you do, fight like you do. Not even the other members of the XIII have your talent.”

  Christian studied the woman for a moment as she stared at him, her eyes earnest. She really did believe what she said.

  He shrugged. “You would have been better off trying to kill me. Even if you had managed to capture me alive, I would have never served as an Executioner again.”

  Samantha reared back as if struck. “Why?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that you obviously had no intention of letting Lilith live?” asked Christian, his voice tinged with bitter sarcasm. “Because I can no longer believe in the Executioners cause.”

  “I... I don’t understand,” Samantha said, her voice small. The way she shrank her shoulders was something he’d never seen from her before. It made her look like a child being scolded by her parents.

  Christian sighed. “The Executioners mandate is the slaying of monsters in order to protect humanity from the supernatural beings that inhabit this world.”

  “We carry out God’s will,” Samantha added.

  “Do we?” Christian shook his head. “I’m not so sure of that anymore. The Executioners kill monsters because the Catholic Church believes them to be evil, because they are supposedly the personification of sin. Yet the Bible tells us that humans are born sinners. Wouldn’t that make us just as evil as the creatures we slay?”

  Samantha didn’t say anything. He waited to see if she would, but when she remained silent, he leaned back in his chair.

  “We don’t slay supernatural creature’s because they are evil. We do so because we are afraid, because they have powers that humans don’t, because they are different. It’s like how white people used to hate and fear black people for having different colored skin, only on a much larger scale because these people aren’t human.”

  “Take succubi for instance. They are a monogamous species. They find one mate, or at least one mate at a time, who they more or less pledge their life to. They remain loyal to that single person for the rest of their mate’s natural life, and when their mate dies, they can choose to find another mate or die alongside them. They are far more loyal to their partners than most humans.”

  “But they drain men of their life force through sex!”

  “They only do that if their bodies have been defiled by a man who is not genetically compatible with them. Succubi only become monsters after being raped by humans.” When Samantha sat back onto her couch in shock, Christian plunged on. “The Catholic Church and the Executioners have always just assumed they were evil because a few ended up going mad after being sexually assaulted by humans. They were never evil; we just misunderstood their situation.”

  “But what about their Aura of Allure.”

  “It’s a part of their physiology. A man who is genetically compatible will be immune. That’s how they find their mates.”

  “I... I see...” Samantha placed her hands on her forehead and closed her eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more tired.

  “It’s the same with many other species,” Christian continued, deciding to press his point home. “Andrew is a werewolf, but he’s already saved my life several times.” Samantha looked at him, and he added, “he also works for the LAPD, and I am told that the Special Investigations Unit has several other non-human police officers in their force.”

  Samantha remained silent. Christian waited, knowing that he had just bombarded the poor woman with a lot of information. Eventually, however, she spoke up. “So you’re saying that we’ve been wrong all this time? That we have never been doing God’s will?”

  Knowing that he needed to tread carefully, Christian tried to put this as delicately as possible. “In a way, though I do not think it’s entirely the fault of the Executioners and the Catholic Church. There have been many creatures that have harmed humans. Vampires and werewolves who do actually pose a threat, succubi who have gotten drunk off feeding on the life force of men, mermaids who lure sailors to their doom. They exist, and they are a threat. But, just because a few of them are dangerous and should be put down before they can harm humans, that doesn’t mean all of them should.”

  Despite the seriousness of the conversation, or perhaps because of it, Samantha gave Christian a smile. “I’m not surprised it was you who came to this conclusion. You’ve always been the philosophical type.”

  Christian shrugged. “This is just something I’ve been thinking about since learning that Lilith is a succubus.” With a heavy sigh, he stood up. “Now then, I’m really tired, so I think I’ll be going to bed.”

  “I suppose I should get some sleep, too.” Samantha stood as well. “Though I don’t know if I’ll be able to. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “I’d imagine so. Good night, Samantha.”

  “Good night... Christian.”

  ***

  Faust walked through the succubi enclave, feeling disappointed. Over to the side, about several dozen yards away, his goblin minions were piling up the bodies of the succubi who had been killed during their assault. Even now, he could see two of his minions carrying a succubus between them, a pretty little thing of maybe eighteen. Her arms dangled limply, swinging back and forth like a pair of pendulums, her head lolling around as her half-lidded eyes stared at nothing. They held her, one by the armpits and the other by the feet, moving over to the growing pile, where they proceeded to toss her on top like she was trash.

  He shook his head. What a waste. He hadn’t even gotten to bed one of them.

  Faust was no Asmodeus, but he still craved the feel of a woman’s flesh against his, and unlike Asmodeus, he was not willing to fuck a corpse.

  In some ways, he thought it was good that the demon was once again residing in Hell. Asmodeus was a sick man, even by the standards of other demons.

  He took in the simple architecture of the buildings, paying more attention to the goblins moving in and out of them than the actual constructs themselves. They were looting the place. He could see them carrying all kinds of objects: lamps, clothes, pillows, tableware, anything and everything that could be expected of an enclave of women to have.

  He frowned in disgust. Bunch of vultures. Still, they had their uses, and he would use them until they had fulfilled their purpose.

  After some searching, he eventually found the goblin he was looking for. This one was taller than most, standing almost a head shorter than Faust himself. His silver armor held a dull gleam, the intricate patterns that ran along the breastplate, gauntlets, and grieves had long faded. The helmet on his head was chipped and pitted in some places, signs that it was a well-used piece of equipment. Resting at his hip, attached
by a belt, was a basic falchion.

  Faust walked over to him. “Have you found the succubus and Executioner?”

  The goblin glared at him and garbled out a reply, which sounded more like a series of snarls, grunts, and groans than an actual language.

  Faust returned to glare. Useful these creatures might be, but they were very disrespectful.

  “I do not care,” Faust said. “I want those two found. Send out a search party and have them scour the area. They can’t have gone very far.”

  The goblin “spoke” some more, and as he did, Faust’s expression began to darken.

  “Very well then. If you shall not send out a search party, I will merely relieve you of your duties and find someone else who is more... pliant.”

  Faust swung his hand faster than the goblin could blink. The swing, a horizontal one that moved level with the goblin’s throat, passed by with nothing more than a whisper. His cape moved along with the action, billowing about behind him.

  Faust then turned spun around on his heels and began walking away. As his booted feet descended to the floor at an even pace, thudding with the sounds of hard leather on granite, the head of the goblin he walked away from slid off with nary a sound.

  The head hit the floor with a dull thunk. The body dropped onto its knees, standing still for several seconds, swaying from one side to the other. A second later, it pitched forward.

  Faust did not look back. He had to find a goblin that was willing to do his bidding.

  It was so hard to find good help these days.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Everyone not holding a weapon, move to the second floor!” Samantha, ever the pragmatic leader, was quick to take charge. “Christian! Cut a path to the stairway! Leon! Sif! Drive them back! Werewolf! Help Christian!”

  “I have a name, you know!” the werewolf howled. He still ended up rushing to Christian’s side, because really, what else was he going to do?

  Christian paid little attention to the now furry Andrew standing at his side. Instead, he charged forward and plowed into the goblins trying to go up the stairs.

  There were five goblins in his path. The first one was killed instantly when Christian swerved around the monster’s incoming blow and carved through its stomach. He paid no heed to the blood spilling on the ground, nor the organs falling out of the creature’s now disemboweled body as it keeled over. He simply moved onto the next target.

  Andrew howled as he reached rushed in front of Christian due to his superior speed. The goblin in front of him raised the sword in its hand, but before it could actually do anything, the werewolf smashed a clawed paw into its face, tearing the flesh to ribbons and causing dark ichor to fly from the wound. The goblin spun around, shrieking in pain. It was silenced when Christian finished the creature off by plunging Rafael into its back as he passed.

  Another goblin lost its head as Christian spun around, blades flashing. The fourth one came in to bash his face in with a club. Christian parried the attack, then bisected it from left hip to right shoulder. He pushed the dying goblin into its only remaining brethren as a distraction. Then he impaled them both on Rafael. They died, soaking his weapon in their blood.

  They made it to the stairs, Christian guarding the staircase itself, his twin blades flashing, creating arcs of brilliant luminescence as the lights played off their polished surface while he cut down any foe foolish enough to come near him. Unlike the young Executioner, Andrew created a sort of passage using his werewolf speed and sharp claws to rend apart any goblin trying to get by.

  Lilith, along with Clarissa, Kaylee, the young redhead, and Tristin moved quickly toward the staircase, following in the wake of the two. None of them had their weapons on them―Lilith couldn’t even use a weapon—which rendered them useless in battle. The other succubus, the defenseless women who were not inured to fighting, also went up the stairs.

  They ran up the stairs quickly, the adrenaline in their veins no doubt granting them a boost in speed. Christian created a wider path for them to follow, killing two more goblins that tried to attack them, one with a masterful stroke to the back of its neck, the other by impaling it through the heart when he spun about in a clockwise motion and thrust Michael through its chest.

  Up ahead, near the door, Leon was laughing.

  “Come on, foolish goblins! Give me a fight!”

  The large, muscular man swung his warhammer, Sandalphon, onto the nearest goblin with great force, crushing it beneath the immense weight. Gore splattered out in a manner that looked eerily reminiscent of a child jumping into a puddle. Vermilion decked the floor, walls, and other goblins filling the room. Several goblins screeched as it happened, though whether from horror or anger was unknown.

  Darting around Leon was Sif. The surprisingly buxom young woman, her hair whipping about her in a fierce hurricane of motion and energy, spun around one of the goblins that began screeching. She moved behind it, her feet sliding along the carpet in smooth and economic locomotion. She thrust out her left gauntlet-covered hand, penetrating the base of the creature’s skull, killing it instantly. As she removed the claws from its cranium, she slid back, spun around, and shoved the other claw right into an approaching goblin’s eye. It, too, died instantly, falling to the ground when the claw was removed.

  Unlike those four, Samantha had taken to defending the back. Several goblins had gotten the bright idea to break in through the windows of the bedrooms―a surprisingly brilliant maneuver on their part. They had broken down the doors with ax, club, and sword, and they were now streaming in through the small entrances.

  None of them got very far.

  Samantha stood in the center of the central point between all the doors, knees bent, dominate leg forward, her center of gravity low. She breathed in slowly, gripping Zaphkiel’s hilt. The goblins rushed her, seeing her as the first of many kills.

  They would be disappointed.

  An arc of light was all anyone saw. Samantha spun about in a half-circle, then stopped, her back to the goblins she killed. Her blade, already being sheathed, closed with a light “click.”

  Blood sprayed out of several deep wounds. The goblins reared back, stumbling, their hands going to the wide split in their flesh. They died, tumbling backwards, scrabbling for life, twitching and spasming as they slowly weakened, eyes glazing over and mouths hanging open in a facsimile of human emotion.

  More came and more died. Samantha spun around again, her blade flashing out, going back into its sheath, flashing out, going back into its sheath. Several times this repeated and several times no one got past her.

  “Damn,” Andrew muttered upon seeing the woman work. “She’s frightening.”

  “There is a reason she was selected to the commander of the entire western hemisphere,” Christian said. There were no more enemies for them to slay yet. Leon and Sif had a handle on the front doors, and Samantha was dominating the entrances to the bedrooms, even though she was constantly outnumbered six-to-one. “In all the years I’ve known her, I never once won any of our spars.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

  “I am. But Samantha is also one of the best. She just happens to be better than me.”

  “What a terrifying woman.”

  A loud roar rumbled in the distance. Another soon went up. Then another, and another. Christian paled as he whipped toward the direction they were coming from.

  “Andrew! I need you to guard the stairs!”

  “What? Why?”

  The wall on the opposite side exploded inwards. Splinters ranging from the size of a thumbnail to bigger than a person’s forearm rained upon the room. A troll lumbered through the newly made entrance, roaring with more ferocity than a lion.

  There were several more trolls behind the first.

  “That’s why!”

  “Shit!”

  Christian rushed forward, away from the stairs, Andrew taking his place.

  Being the first to react, he also ended up being the fi
rst to reach the trolls. His blades were sheathed as he pulled his guns from their holsters. The first two shots he fired blinded the troll by taking out its eyes. The creature roared, staggering and swinging its large fists. Christian avoided them, moving swiftly left, then right, swerving around the lumbering blows, allowing them to create large dents and cracks in the floor.

  He holstered his guns and pulled out his swords. He swung Rafael, slicing through leathery flesh along a tree-trunk arm. Another roar. The arm jerked back as the pain shocked it. Christian used the troll’s distracted state to move in, past its arm’s guard.

  Lashing out with Michael, he soon carved a trench into the creature’s belly, slicing through skin, fat, and muscle with impunity. The acrid smell of sizzling blood filled the air, burning his senses as it invaded his nostrils. Few things smelled more horrible than troll blood.

  Taking several steps back allowed Christian to avoid getting his skull crushed when the troll fell forward onto its hands and knees. He moved again, in front of its face. The troll looked at him, its face a snarling mass of putrid teeth and hairless gray skin. It opened its mouth to roar but ended up choking on blood as Christian opened up its throat with Rafael. Black, sludge-like liquid oozed out, pouring down its chest and legs, falling to the floor where it spat and sizzled, eating through the wooden tile. It then fell forward, landing face first on the ground.

  Dead.

  Christian coughed, choking as the smoke from the acidic liquid caused fumes to rise from the floor as it ate the wooden tiles. His eyes watered, tears stinging and blurring his vision. Hoping to avoid inhaling anymore of the crud filling his lungs, he moved back several feet.

  It wasn’t far enough.

  The entire wall before him exploded.

  Christian’s style, otherwise known as the Fake Opening Style, was based upon the concept of creating holes in one’s guard that enemies would not hesitate to exploit, thereby allowing the fake opening user to predict where attacks would come before they actually came. The entire style had been created by Christian, under the belief that so long as he knew where someone would attack, he could take control of the flow of battle by directing the actions of those he was fighting against. It was a suicidal style, and one that had been conceived to allow Christian to fight beings whose strength, speed, and power dwarfed his by a large margin.