As far as his father was concerned, no one's mind was greater than his. Dipak Rakash, the Lord of House Rakash.
He was a powerful, broad shouldered man. In a white collared shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and striped suit pants, he was dressed as if he could have just stepped out of a boardroom. His dark beard contrasted sharply with his bald head, and his eyes were shadowed under large brows. He was brutish and rich and a bully, and enjoyed every bit of it. His voice rang out again, this time amplified so it could reach the stockade walls of House Mancini and those that hid behind it.
"It is over. There is no help coming. You are starving and dying of thirst. You sit huddled in the dark, terrified, as you should be. You stand in the face of a hurricane. It is the price of those who deny House Rakash. It is the price of those who defy me."
No response came.
House Mancini was reasonably rich. But even the rich had their social tiers, where the strong were cowed by the powerful. No one was coming to help House Mancini, so great was everyone's fear of Dipak.
A woman stepped into view next to Raja's father on the dais. The familial resemblance was immediately noticeable. Shira Rakash, looking sleek in tight fitting red leather, flipped her hair back with a hand then yelled at the darkened compound in front of them.
"Do you have hope?" she asked. "If so, it will die."
Dipak favored her with a smile and nod. Raja turned from staring up at his sister and father, just in time to see the gates in the defender's walls start to open.
And with a thunderous roar, monstrous warriors poured out.
The Asag were half again as tall as a man. They hulked toward Raja and the soldiers around him, spitting and growling like animals, their red-hued skin bristling with bony protrusions like armor and clenching fists that could crush steel. The leather straps they used for clothes were barely able to contain their heavily muscled torsos and legs.
Their faces were humanoid, even oddly attractive, until their mouths opened and unhinged like a snake, revealing sharpened teeth and long, black tongues that flipped back and forth. A guttural cry rose from their stretched and distorted features. Raja's eyes narrowed when some of the newer Rakash guardsmen brought up firearms and, with shaky hands, opened fire. The rounds plowed into the charging demons, only to meet sparks of light before falling to the ground with no effect. The Asag were protected by the Hinge's nature, and only weapons powered by raw muscle could harm them.
Nearby sergeants grabbed the panicked men and pulled them to the back of the line. Anxious trigger fingers were a greater danger to their fellows than the enemy. Raja had time to curse their lack of bowmen for only a moment before the Asag made contact.
The soldier's whips lashed out toward the Asag like a deadly wave, unfurling and striking with barbed tips that tore and ripped across the red-skinned warriors. They responded by howling defiance and reaching with lightning speed at the lines. The whips they grabbed were tugged with a casual strength that yanked soldiers from their feet and flew them toward the waiting creatures. The Asag impaled some men against the bony protrusions on their hands, while other soldiers exploded upon impact with their monstrous fists.
With a battle cry, the Asag reached the sword line. In return, the guardsmen unleashed their fury. Their swords rose and fell to slash and pierce at the monstrous beings, and shields were swung to deflect their great fists. Soldiers falling beneath their enemies' blows were stomped and crushed under gigantic feet.
Groups of soldiers acting together cut and stabbed at single enemies, making them look like pincushions before crashing to the ground.
The guards were larger in number, but the Asag had the greater strength, and it was like wolves attacking a giant bear. For a moment, the battle swung back and forth, with neither side gaining the advantage and the outcome left uncertain.
Then the Ghostblade joined the melee, sprinting across the battlefield with his blades spinning and stabbing, then darting away. And where he went, the Asag screamed in pain and confusion, holding up stumps where their hands used to be, or crashing to the ground from severed leg muscles. Raja Rakash had taken the field and where he strode, enemies fell.
Raja ducked under a giant arm, the limb swinging like a clothesline at his head, then spun on his heel to swing his blade around and down at his attacker. The razor edge sheared through flesh and bone then exited the other side. The severed arm fell to the ground in a fountain of blackish blood. The Ghostblade continued his circle motion and brought up the other blade, this one straight like an icicle. He stabbed it into the Asag's neck, then sliced straight across. The Asag gave a dumbfounded look before dropping to his knees to watch its lifeblood gush from the wound.
Raja swayed backwards at his waist to avoid a downward strike by another demon. His blade flicked and severed a waggling black tongue, then the other stabbed in a cross-body motion into the Asag's eye. It struck deep into the brain and dropped it dead.
The battle cleared for a moment. One of the guardsmen was on the ground. An Asag stood over the stricken man with both fists up, raised to pummel him into oblivion. Raja ripped his blade from his slain opponent's skull and sprinted through a gap of fighting bodies. He fell to his knees and let his momentum slide him forward over the blood-slicked ground. His knife swept out and slid through the back of the demon's legs, severing its hamstring and dropping the creature. The guardsman regained his feet and swung his sword. It plunged into the monster's chest and out the other side. He nodded his thanks, and Raja recognized him as one of the men that had fired a gun earlier.
"We're win—" A giant open hand rose behind the soldier and slapped down on his head in mid-sentence. The soldier's skull shattered like glass, and he was driven halfway into the ground like a nail. The attacking Asag, larger and more heavily muscled than all the others, pierced Raja with a glare and roared a challenge.
The Ghostblade screamed in return and charged forward. His lead foot met the Asag's arm, still angled down from its killing blow. He brought his other foot forward and ran up the massive limb like a cat on a tree branch, moving so quickly his opponent couldn't react. He extended both arms and leapt forward. Both blades speared the Asag's face with such force, it shoved him backward and he landed with a crash to its back. Raja brought his blades down again and again, hacking and slashing at his enemies' flesh until, finally, the Asag moved no more.
The blood-covered knife-fighter rose in a crouch and eyed the battlefield.
Soldiers were dispatching the few remaining Asag. Some used their shields to bash fallen enemies. Others had their whips wrapped around an Asag's neck. Men on either side were pulling in an obscene tug of war until its neck was crushed. House Rakash had won the field, and a cheer roared from their ranks. Raja looked behind him.
His sister and father had watched the battle sitting in chairs above like distant royalty. Suddenly, Shira jumped from her throne, raised her arm and pointed it towards the House Mancini compound.
"Crimara!"
The army surrounding Raja quieted like children who thought they'd just heard something under their bed. From the defenders open gate, came a single cloaked and darkened figure. It was surrounded with a sickly blue glow like an aura, and it floated forward on a bed of smoke. From beneath its cloak, tendrils of glowing blue energy erupted out to whip and cut at the air. They moved like striking snakes to snatch at soldiers too close to retreat and lift them into the air. At their touch, the men burst into a bluish glow. They became frozen and immobile save for a terrible scream. The glow faded after a moment, the screaming stopped, and the soldiers were dropped. Before their bodies reached the ground, they shredded like weak leaves tossed against a strong wind.
A crimara projection. Constructs formed from people able to manifest parts of their souls. Reflections of someone's humanity. Or lack of it. They had incredible power and were all but unstoppable. Raja drew both of his blades and sprinted. He was fast enough to avoid the tendrils but wasn't sure if his blades could harm the crimara
. There was only one way to find out …
"Brother. Please. This one is mine." Shira's voice, oozing with condescension, stopped the knifeman in his tracks and turned to look up to the dais. His sister dropped back into her chair, closed her eyes, and a red liquid erupted out of her eyes and mouth. It poured forth and flew in the direction of the crimara. Behind it, Shira's body went limp, and the nearby guards surrounded her in a protective circle.
The thick liquid rolled and coalesced as it moved, becoming more and more dense, shaping itself as it flew at the other creature. Finally, it became solid. Hovering above the tendril creature was a huge lizard-like form, flapping great pointed wings and glowing with its own aura, this one red-hued.
House Rakash's crimara opened its serpentine mouth and roared a challenge. The two titans measured each other for a moment.
The ground creature attacked first, whipping its tendrils to latch and grab at its opponent. Shira's crimara ducked and dodged in the air, but one of the tendrils wrapped around her taloned arm. The scales immediately blackened and began to erode. The flying lizard roared, and at the same moment, Shira screamed in pain.
The lizard opened its mouth and out spurted a burning, red substance. The thick fluid was caustic and burned the tendrils from its arm. Then, it heaved a great breath and fountained a blast directly towards the other crimara.
The creature on the ground threw up its tendrils in a hasty shield to block the attack. Its tendrils smoked and burned away. In desperation, the creature opened its cloak and out billowed a great toxic smog, so black and deep, it hid the cloaked crimara in its recesses.
The flying creature peered left and right, snorting in frustration. It began sweeping its wings up and down in great bursts. Each sweep of its wings blew a piece of the smog away, until it spied the other crimara backing toward the shelter of House Mancini. A smirk creased the reptilian face and out of its mouth came Shira's voice.
"The day belongs to Shira Rakash. Remember that."
She blasted and enveloped the other crimara full on with liquid flame. From within the burning cocoon came a muffled cry, then an eruption that rocked the very ground the army stood upon.
When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a burning crater.
The triumphant crimara flew a circle over the cheering soldiers of House Rakash and roared flame into the air. Then, it dissolved back into red liquid that poured back to the dais and into Shira. She opened her eyes and stood, wincing and staring at the black burn on her arm. She spoke to her father in a voice cold as winter.
"I want all of them dead. Their women, their children, every one of the Mancini's cease life on this earth."
She looked down to where Raja stood staring back at her. "And one of them goes to Raja before we kill them. His knives aren't done yet."
"Anything for my little girl," Dipak smiled with pride.
The Lord of the Mancini family limped to Dipak on shackled feet. Anyone looking at the disheveled old man, dressed in simple cloth pants and dark shirt, would never have guessed he was the head of a criminal empire.
Abramo Mancini had built a moderately successful business from underage sex trafficking. It was all acceptable to the powers that ran the Caliber, so long as it stayed under the surface of their glimmering city, like waste invisible under the shiny top of a lake.
While searching the compound, Raja had passed a corpse so burned it wasn't recognizable as man or woman. It was a reminder of what happened to a host body when their crimara was destroyed.
They'd found the old man, Abramo, hiding in a bedroom along with three children and two wives. The women were given to the guardsmen to use. The children were now watching Abramo hobble to the head of House Rakash. Shira, an unsheathed sword gleaming in her hand, walked over and stood next to Abramo's three young boys. Raja watched from the side, hands crossed over his chest and leaning against a wall littered with large cracks.
"Abramo, my old friend," said Dipak, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture and shaking his head. "So terrible it's come to this. We could have done so much more, you and I. Was I really asking for too much? Just a little support, small compensation for our ongoing relationship."
"You wanted half of everything!" Abramo spat and struggled against his bonds. "How was I to live? My family …"
"It's a shame really," Dipak mused as if he hadn't heard anything. "So few of us old men left. It feels like it's all youngsters now, too full of themselves to work properly. We were part of a generation, Abramo. And now, for old friends to have come to this ..."
"No one brought us to this but you, Dipak! Was it too much to leave me alone? You need to control everything, like some damn king lording over peasants, feeding us scraps from your table. What did you think would happen? Do you think everyone will bow and kiss your feet?"
"Anyone who wants to live," said Shira, laying a hand on Abramo's eldest son.
The boy was about fifteen, swarthy and handsome. He was struggling to reach his father, but Shira clamped a firm hand onto his shoulder and held him back.
Abramo looked to his son, shifted his gaze to the rest of his children, then sighed with resignation.
"What will you do to them?" he asked Dipak.
"Some of them can join us, the younger ones most likely. I do that out of respect for our old friendship. The eldest one though …" Dipak shook his head. "I see too much of you in those dark eyes, Abramo. I really think he'd try to kill me."
"Anthony is a good boy. They are all good boys. They can be of use to you. They know my operations very well."
"But do they know how to obey?" Dipak asked, staring at the older boy's hate filled eyes. "Probably not. But maybe they can learn."
Dipak gestured to Shira. "Teach the boys how to obey."
Shira walked over to Abramo. Her sword cut through the air, and suddenly in place of his right ear, the old man had a gaping, bloody hole.
He screamed in pain and his children looked on in horror. Shira's sword flicked out again, and Abramo's other ear disappeared in a red splash.
Dipak's eyes focused on the three boys, all of them crying and making inarticulate noises. "Your father doesn't know how to listen!" he screamed. "All he had to do was obey me, because you always obey me. I am the master of his world and the owner of yours! Will you obey me?"
The boys were so stunned; all they could do was gape in silence. The eldest tried to turn his face away, but a soldier came over and shoved it forward.
"Do you want this to stop Anthony?" Dipak asked the eldest.
"Yes," he cried in response.
"Then say you will obey me, that you swear fealty to me and will do as I command."
"I will," he cried.
"Should I believe you, Anthony? Will you do anything I ask?"
"Yes! Stop hurting my father, I'll do whatever you want!"
"Do you love your father?" Dipak asked.
"Yes," he cried again.
"Then make a choice. He can keep living, one cut at a time. Or you can end his pain. You can choose to make the cutting stop."
The boy looked back in confusion.
"Choose! Do as I command! Choose now," yelled Dipak.
Shira slashed again. A finger fell from Abramo's hand. He gave a guttural scream.
"Make it stop. Make it stop," Anthony cried.
"Are you certain, Anthony? Do you want this to stop?" asked Dipak.
"Yes," he cried.
Dipak smiled broadly and turned to Raja. "He's made his choice. Make it stop," he ordered.
Raja stared back at his father.
The eldest boy had dropped to his knees to stare at his bloodied father. He was weeping in great gulps and blubbering what sounded like an apology. The knifeman's hand hovered over his straight knife. But he did not draw it.
Dipak's furrowed his eyebrows and his mouth tensed with annoyance. He looked at Shira. In response, she shoved her sword and pierced the man's thigh. It exited through the back of his leg, and this time, the old m
an didn't scream, but shrieked—a cry starting with the father and ending with his eldest son.
Dipak turned back to Raja. "Don't make me ask again."
Raja stood unmoving and torn with indecision. Dipak gave a grunt of frustration and motioned again to Shira. She reared back with the blade and aimed towards the old man's arm. Anthony cried out, begging for her to stop, for anyone to please make it stop. Dipak's eyes bored into Raja.
Shira's blade, aimed to shear the man's arm from his shoulder, began to fall. But it suddenly froze in the air. Shira stared at the knife that had sprouted from Abramo's neck.
For a moment, all was quiet. Abramo gave a sudden, violent cough, and a spray of blood jetted from his mouth. It went far enough to splatter against Raja's still outstretched arm. He recoiled and tried to shake the blood from his arm.
The mortally wounded Abramo was released and fell forward. Dipak looked over at Anthony, still kneeling wide-eyed but mute.
"Everyone in this family does what I tell them." Dipak turned and walked towards the other buildings in the compound.
Guardsmen moved the boys away, one half-carrying the traumatized Anthony. Others began looting the compound. Raja watched it all for a moment, then turned and began to walk away. He didn't look back.
Raja stood bone-weary in his lavish bathroom. The en-suite was the size of some apartments. It boasted a huge doorless shower, an ornate tub that could fit two people comfortably, and three sinks with their own separate stations, all framed with large mirrors that reflected the knifeman. He still wore the battle-stained clothes from earlier, too weary to remove them, and he moved to a sink to wash his hands. Abramo's blood had stained his sleeve. He stared at it for a moment, then turned towards the soft footsteps behind him.
"I was worried about you," his mother said. He smiled for the first time that day. His own brown eyes were reflected in Sita's, though hers were now lined with the marks of time. His mother wore a modest housedress like a queen's robe, and grace surrounded her in an almost palpable form.
Jebediah's Crime: A Heroic Supernatural Thriller (The Hinge Series Book 1) Page 3
