by Fox Lancet
The dark, anonymous liquid rained on Nefarion only briefly before he stepped from its reach. He had not attempted to pursue his enemy and the key, for after dueling him briefly, he knew Kaleb was a great deal faster, the only reason the Seraph had bested him.
His attention turned to his wrists where his custom chain was twisted and embedded. He unwrapped and pulled its length from his flesh inattentively, damaging some of the wounds further in the process. After liberating it, he returned the still bloodied weapon to his belt loops. Running a hand through his dampened, limited locks, he pushed them all back on top of his head.
“Kaleb,” he growled. Dwelling on what he had just lost, thunder grumbled in his chest before he took hold of a deep sigh.
Peeling his partially damp t-shirt off, he began walking in the direction he and Saliea had been heading before they had been disrupted. And separated. He tore the shirt into strips, discarding the wetter pieces. With the remaining rags he wrapped his persistent lesions. As much as he would have liked to pursue Kaleb and Saliea, he knew his tracking skills would be useless among the concrete world of humans. There would be no footprints, and scents would be trumped by potent chemicals and pollution.
The loss did not seem as great as he had anticipated. Mostly because he had felt their connection and knew she had the will to free herself and find him again. There was no rush; he was confident they would be joined again. In the meantime, he would continue searching for his Elite while acquainting himself further with the new world.
Nefarion stalked on until he reached a busy, populated street where curious stares immediately fell on him. A few younger women crooned at his topless approach, his upper body packed neatly with defined muscles. Older women gasped bashfully while men averted their eyes, trying to keep their features from distorting disapprovingly.
At the first gas station, he entered and demanded the attendant to point him in the direction of the gel, something the hairdresser had used to make his hair stand on end. After dropping a small bottle into his back pocket, he went and plucked a few tattoo magazines from the stand before pushing back through the door.
“Uh.” The older man behind the counter lifted a hand as he addressed Nefarion, who paused in the exit. He turned his head slowly. The moment his black eyes fell on the human, the man’s hand dropped, as did his jaw. When Nefarion saw the man did not mean to continue, he finished his departure.
Once back out on the sidewalk, he thumbed through one of the magazines without watching his progress. The lack of attention did not impede him, for everyone managed to stay out of his way. After a few blocks, he stopped a young man rolling languidly along on a small bike. The boy gaped at him.
“Where can I get a tattoo?” He set his boot before the front tire of the boy’s bike to deter him from leaving without answering. It took him several moments to complete a coherent sentence.
“SinSet Tattoo is ‘bout six blocks that way.” The boy pointed behind him in the direction Nefarion had been going. Smiling graciously at the human, he pulled his foot away, dragging the toe of his boot across the front tire and slicing through the rubber with the jagged metal piece protruding from the tip of his shoe. He had added the feature before leaving the metal shop with Saliea that day.
The tire hissed and deflated unpleasantly. With disappointment, but too frightened to voice any irritation, the boy watched it before dismounting to walk it away.
Nefarion had crossed through the gate just over a week ago. He had done what he could, in the process of finding the key, to also educate himself in the new world. This had included scanning computer screens as well as testing humans, whether it was to gauge their reactions to statements, or their threshold for pain. He had studied them at a distance to get an idea of their mundane, everyday tasks. They all did many different things, but in the end none of it seemed purposeful in any way. He was unsure what they were accomplishing throughout their days.
His thoughts drifted to Saliea. He ground his teeth in agitation. Now that he had been in her presence, he only craved more. The witch had said nothing about bonding with her and that was what he felt now that she had come and gone, like a severed tether withered inside him. That grated on him. Never had he felt dependence for another being. His Elite were important to him and he would be devastated with their loss should they ever meet an end, but he would not feel their absence physically, perhaps mentally. Again he reminded himself he would find her again soon. And if he found Kaleb still with her, he would finally kill the wretched creature. No more aloof disregard.
If getting tattooed in this world was anything like scarring on Trissana, the pain would assist in calming and refocusing him. Then he would go in search of Syler and Hunter.
After walking for several minutes, he found the boy had not lied. He looked above the door of a shop that was placed along a connected row of businesses. The orange and purple neon sign blinked every few seconds: SINSET TATTOO. Nefarion curled his lip at the supposedly clever title. He pulled open the glass door and walked in.
A heavy-set man with tribal tattoos adorning his bald head and a four-gauge septum ring was seated behind a showcase counter. Beside him, lounging on the wall, was a slim blond female, both her arms sleeved in tattoos. She had a smaller septum ring in addition to four lip rings and cheek piercings. They stared at the relatively clean slate that stood grimly in the center of the lobby. The female slid a pierced tongue over her lips. Nefarion smiled at her and noted the muffled voices drifting from other rooms.
“Hello,” she breathed. The man tried to act unimpressed.
“I would like several body modifications and my tolerance for pain is beyond anything you could fathom. May we begin now?” The girl lifted a brow and glanced at her seated co-worker, who stood.
“If you got the cash, man, I got the time.” The man’s voice was sincere and deep.
“Excellent.” Nefarion followed the tattoo artist into one of the backrooms, the blond female trailing them.
Roughly three hours later, the sun had long set and two of the shop’s employees were keeping themselves busy in the front, including the blond who was restocking jewelry in the showcase. Another man was seated on a stool in front of a computer where he was scanning photographs of tattoos. A stereo murmured quietly on the desk beside him.
From the studio hallway, there was a sudden clatter and a shout cut short. Both the employees stole disconcerted glances at one another. The man at the computer stood from his stool and the woman leaned over the counter, straining to hear anything else.
Before the man could take a step, a newly tattooed and pierced Nefarion emerged from the hallway. He stepped into the dim light of the lobby carrying two shadowed objects in each hand. He lifted one and dropped it on the glass countertop. The girl fell back into the wall and screamed at the bodiless head of their co-worker.
Blood rapidly accumulated from the disengaged neck, the light of the showcase illuminating it into a bright, transparent red. Streams of the liquid ran to and off the edges in dark rivulets, dribbling animatedly onto the hardwood floor. The woman was holding her hand over her mouth in attempt to stifle her sobs, her black makeup raccooning her eyes and smearing her cheeks. The other shop employee had not moved, frozen in shock.
“This is my payment. Do you require more than this?” The woman’s sobs elevated and she shook her head wildly. Nefarion looked to the man whose eyes were still fixed on the decapitated head, though he made a slight gesture that agreed with the woman’s.
“As I anticipated. I will be on my way then.” Nefarion had already wiped the blade in his left hand on the corpse before entering the lobby and now sheathed it in his boot before turning and leaving.
He walked eastward—the direction Saliea had been leading them—for some time. Making a point to stop at a black shop window that reflected his image clearly, he reviewed his new additions as well as took the gel from his back pocket to readjust his hair.
During his sitting, Nefarion had the tatto
o artist extend the obscure design on his back up the back of his neck and over the sides of his shaved head. Now on either side of his head he had three thin black lines, each with a slight angle in the center tapering off sharply before the edge of his hairline.
The blond woman had been the resident piercer and she had accomplished several new holes for Nefarion. He had allowed her to pierce his right ear eight times along the cartilage and puncture and stretch each lobe with a four-gauge.
On his face, she had pierced the bridge of his nose. She had suggested his nipples and he had consented. When flipping through the magazines, he had seen many skin piercings that did not require going through anything but flat skin, otherwise known as surface piercings. He requested three barbells on both his wrists that the woman had called a ladder.
He had not stopped there, the largest tattoo was the one across his chest. In thin, slightly gothic, black font it read: SIN. The S and N took up most of each pectoral muscle and the I was centered between the muscles.
His final tattoo, and the one that had taken the longest, was the image of the Grim Reaper on his right hand; its scythe bordered his knuckles, the staff running the edge of his hand under his index finger. The figure’s face was hooded and its shoulders rested below his wrist. The artist had questioned the healing lacerations on Nefarion’s wrist and insisted that he did not want to risk working around the damaged area. Nefarion needed but to eye the man contemptuously in order to get him to finish the work. The black rags of the Reaper ripped away shortly above his wrist, finishing the piece.
Nefarion was pleased with all of it. Even the pain endured to receive it had been fortifying. The worst had been the needle over the cuts on his wrist; though he was healing fast, it was still open flesh. When the artist had been filling in the black of the Reaper’s cloak, Nefarion found himself cringing, which had made him smile.
When his hair was standing in spikes on top of his head again, he discarded the tiny, plastic bottle into the gutter. He turned to continue on, the night dark and the pedestrians very few and far between.
* * *
A throbbing in her head awoke Saliea, though the migraine had ceased. The room she blinked into was white and full of sunlight. She automatically sneered at the empty walls. When she went to sit up from cold concrete, she felt resistance at both her wrists resting in her lap.
“You are awake.” A gentle voice assaulted Saliea’s ears. The remnants of the migraine persisted in making the slightest sound irritating. The ensuing nausea made her wonder if it was just the owner of the voice inciting all of the uncomfortable symptoms.
Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Kaleb’s fair form and features. The sneer didn’t recede from her face.
“Can I have some fucking water?” she snarled, averting her gaze from the angelic features.
“Perhaps, in return for information.”
Saliea groaned, rolling her eyes. “And you think I know anything because…” She trailed off. With anticipation he watched her, waiting for her to finish. When she realized this, she added,
“Because you’re inept. Why does that not surprise me? Here’s a trade: let me go and I won’t strangle you and thumb out your eyes.” She glowered in his direction but still refused eye contact. Kaleb frowned.
“You are much like the Demon Lord. I am having trouble understanding this connection when you are clearly of another world and of an inferior race.” This elicited another eye-roll from Saliea.
“Fuck off.”
“You know, I am no more against violence than you or your Demon counterpart,” he growled, leaning toward her. She gagged, cringing at his nearness.
“Alright, is this just a one-way reaction or are you just really good at controlling it?”
“The aversion, you mean? Yes, I am experiencing it, but I have learned to repress it. After being consumed by it while engaged in battles with Demons, one must learn to ignore it or die. If life or death depended on it, you could do the same. Unless this human race is incapable of such discipline, which would not completely astonish me after what I have witnessed thus far.” He leaned back in the straight chrome chair that he was propped in. With one foot he pushed off the thick, white pipe that Saliea’s rope restraints were secured to, balancing the chair on its back two legs. She checked the urge to kick it with her free foot.
At the moment, he seemed content with silence and Saliea took the moment to eye him disdainfully. His hair was chopped jaggedly and started short in the back and came down at a severe slant to his chin, framing his sharply angled face. It wasn’t white so much as it was an extremely faded blond. And the eyes that seemed white at a quick glance in fact housed foggy blue irises, like those of a corpse. His form was slim and seemed lithe; his arms were up over his shoulders, gripping the chair’s back. A smile appeared on his thin, pale pink lips. Saliea looked away abruptly.
“If you haven’t been impressed by the people on this planet, why do care to preserve them from Nefarion and his evil plans?” Saliea couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous that sounded. It was like she had fallen into some bad sci-fi flick on late night cable. Though, it was a very real and dangerous event, happening right now. Saliea stopped smiling.
Kaleb’s other foot hung freely off the floor and he began to swing it lazily.
“Just because I am willing to fight violence with violence when concerning my enemy, I do not enjoy engaging the unwilling and the helpless in the endeavor. Nefarion always has his own agenda but he must always take my actions into account, for I will not let him alone until he has been vanquished.”
“Couldn’t you have killed him when you had him chained up? He was practically helpless then.”
Kaleb lifted his barely visible brows at her. “You are correct. However, I am surprised that you would even consider it. In answer to your inquiry: in accordance with my peoples’ law, Nefarion must be slain with witnesses for sure confirmation. Ideally it must be my commanders. For myself, I would like to do it in front of all my people. I have been pursuing him for so long and he has done so much damage, I feel it is only fair that my people have the pleasure of witnessing his demise.”
“What did he do anyway?” Saliea went to fumble with her hair when she realized the restraints were too short to allow for it. Instead she dropped her hands back to her lap and leaned against the cold pipe with her shoulder.
When Kaleb still hadn’t responded, she glanced at him. He was staring at her blankly, his lip curled. His leg had stopped swinging; his body rigid like the rest of him had gone somewhere else. Saliea waved slightly. He still did not stir and she began groping at the knots of rope at her wrists.
Her skeleton nearly ripped from her skin in alarm when the two legs of the metal chair slammed back onto the concrete floor. Saliea’s attention became rapt on him. His eyes were glowing lightly and he was glowering with disgust.
“Do not even dream escape.” At that, he backhanded Saliea, sending her head into the pipes with force enough to put her out yet again.
* * *
After an hour of just the sound of his footsteps, a timid female voice rode to Nefarion on the still air.
“Hunter?” He did not heed it immediately, but paused, recognizing the name. He scrutinized the space to his left. A well-lit alley framed two delicate silhouettes. The red in the back of his eyes burned instinctively, trying to clear the shadow from them. As they stepped from the alley, he felt the red dissipate.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re not Hunter.” The female voice belonged to a tall, scantily dressed woman with long, wavy hair of burgundy. “But you must be one of his brothers. He did say he had a few.” Nefarion turned to face the two frail females. The second was a brunette with straight hair that glimmered under the streetlights.
“Yes, I am, and yes, he does.” He smiled encouragingly. The burgundy-haired girl had trouble reciprocating the gesture. Nefarion watched her suspiciously, noting the unease. “Have you seen him recently or do you know where he resides
?” he tried. She pressed her lips together, hiding their luscious pink shine.
“Not for almost a month now.” The two women stood arm in arm in severely high, platform shoes. Though, the deceptive shoes still only brought the pair to his shoulders.
“Wow, your work is all like brand new, huh?” The brunette stepped forward, peering closely at the reddened skin around the tattoo and piercings on his chest.
“Yes.” He tensed uncontrollably at her proximity, but did not lean or step away. Her warm breath cascaded over his skin. He watched the female intently as she studied the simple work. When she stood straight again he could not help but glance back at the other female. She still seemed rather wary of his presence, which was not all that unusual for a human to display around him, but there was something more in her eyes.
“Are you feeling well?” he directed at the burgundy-haired girl.
The brunette threw a look at her and pursed her lips in concern. “This is the brother of the one, huh?” she asked her friend, who glared at her with acrimony.
“Has Hunter done something offensive?” Nefarion could not care less if Hunter had done anything vulgar to the human, but he knew feigning concern might aid him in snaring the woman’s assistance in Hunter’s location. The girl’s glare shifted to him.
“Need you ask? It seemed like a normal night on the town for him and Syler. But hey, I don’t give a fuck. He didn’t kill anybody I gave two shits about, just a bunch of dirty Johns and coke-head security guards, seeing the fact that they got the guns in and all. A little warning would have been appreciated is all, and maybe finding me later would have been a nice gesture,” she prattled off so passionately that Nefarion could not ward off the smirk creeping onto his lips.
“Well, I must apologize for his lack of attentiveness.” Nefarion bowed his head, still smiling slightly. She huffed, throwing her gaze down the street.
“Don’t mind Whiskey, she’s just pissed cuz he fucked her so good and didn’t come back to do her like that again,” the brunette blurted and followed it with a high-pitched giggle.
