by Kai Leakes
Finding the trail in the alley and the studio apartment was easy, especially since he saw Slayer runes, letting him know exactly what went down. For his kind, it was like a CSI crime scene, markers flashing everywhere. He could see what protection scriptures were used, what anointed bullets, if any, and what entity went down in the fight, or if Slayers were lost or taken in the fight.
For whatever reason, he was always able to see the scene as if it was happening in current time, something no Slayer could do. As he kicked a random chair in the now empty studio apartment, he watched the phantom bodies of the partygoers appear before him. He could hear the music, feel the environment, as he crossed his arms and watched the scene play out like a movie.
So far from what he’d read, the Chicago team did well. No casualities were taken, but one of the entities slipped way via the uproar during the party.
Khamun strolled around the room, watching the ghost figures of Darren and Takeshi fight for their lives. He was suddenly taken aback by a guy with a dragon tattoo on the side of his neck and some of his friends, all with similar tattoos, who were dancing earlier as if they were on a b-boy dance squad. That squad quickly jumped in to try to help stop the fight. The one who drew his attention seemed to hurdle in the air as if flying, landing a kick to the side of one burly demon’s face.
Khamun had to commend the mortal as he watched him and his friends push innocent bystanders out of the studio apartment as the Chicago team, who blended in with the guests, took over. Khamun watched the b-boy who sported a low buzz-cut with sideburns that formed into a goatee stop a demon from feeding on a partygoer.
Assessing the room, he kept an eye on the demon that looked like a wannabe combination of Kanye West in attire and the lead singer of Maroon 5. The bastard looked like he was savoring every moment of the fight, but something was a little off.
First of all, the b-boy was something different. He could sense it the longer he watched, and a slight smile played at his lips as he watched the tattoo swirl and move as if coming alive while the b-boy fought. Khamun noticed the same thing with the guy’s crew, and he knew he definitely would be contacting ol’ boy shortly.
Second, the demon the guy kept eyeing seemed to be recording the whole fight while texting like crazy and occasionally glancing out the window.
Pulling out a trinity, Khamun lit it and inhaled. His hands rested in his pocket as he casually walked around the room then headed to the window leaning out and glancing up. “Oh, so you had spectators, huh.” He narrowed his eyes and descended to the roof, his cocoa skin glowing with his power.
The quick descent to the roof had him staring directly in to the ghostly face of a woman who he knew all too well. He walked around her, studying her features. He had seen this woman back in St. Louis once, and he remembered her well from back in his past. I see your ass, Dark Lady. He quietly chuckled in thought.
Shorty was fine. Body built like a coke bottle. Lips thick and plush, made for kissing, if you wanted to test the waters and end up dead, so he’d heard. He glared. Her hair flowed down her back in dark waterfalls, and she sported Egyptian tattoos all over the side curves of her revealing body with two golden asp-shaped bracelets on each wrist. He knew you never wanted to be on the other end of those things, since they turned into poison-tipped blades that could slice through any type of bone.
Her height, her kohl-lined grey eyes, and dimpled smile marked her resemblance to her twin brother.
Khamun shook his head, letting out a slow trail of smoke as he looked at her well-sharpened nails text away. A key-shaped golden whistle swung, connected to a ring on her middle finger.
“Bad as ever, Cousin Reina.”
Scanning the rest of the roofs, nothing seemed to show up as he turned away from the ghost image of his lethal cousin and dropped down into the alley. He landed in a low crouch, his fingertips resting in the phantom pool of blood seeping from Darren and Takeshi’s broken bodies. Any other mortal would have died from the ordeal, but he could clearly see they were more than they seemed.
“Yeah, looks like you both are definitely fam.”
Observing as the Chicago team handled business with the demons, cursed Gargoyles, and other pets of Reina’s, he studied the protection spell being cast, as traces of Darren and Takeshi’s blood disappeared, so no traces of them could be taken. He listened as his body shook with the sudden need to feed, sweat beading on his brow. As his enemies screamed around him, he followed the trail he’d originally gone there for.
The demon’s trail was easy to find, due to the Locus tracer spreading in its system. Those tracers slowed the demon down until it eventually died from the slow poisonous release in a specific time period. He had to smile at the Slayer who had the skills enough to put the tracer in the demon’s system because apparently this was a slow-torture releasing tracer.
Khamun easily followed the blinking Christmas light trail, leading him throughout Chicago’s Southside, until he found his target’s trail stationed in an old factory building. One text to the Chicago team’s network had them on their way to clean up the mess he was surely about to lay down.
Now here came the simple part—breaking into the old factory turned house. It was nothing for him. He landed in and saw the human demon hybrid sitting in front of his TV, surrounded by dead, homeless bodies. The draining of their spirits and blood would give his prey easy cause to shift into its combat form. Yet this bastard sat clueless, one hand on his dick, the other clicking away on his cell, texting, and watching various videos of torture, bloodstains on his fingertips.
The Reaper cracked his knuckles and flexed his fists while he quietly watched in silence, blanketed by shadows. Yeah, handling his business and taking care of the trash was part of protocol, but returning the favor and pushing the screaming demon out of his window into the alley below was for pure sport. As he watched the prick fall, he knew he was going to feed well and enjoy the hunt while he was at it as the sun set.
Khamun rolled his shoulders as his fangs dropped. His silver black wings expanded while his prey lay on grey cement crawling away. With a quick lift in the air, he flew near his target, dropping a little away from him, as he toyed with him and strolled closer.
“Please, don’t kill—”
The Reaper slammed his blade down near his prey’s head. “Oh, so we are pleading now?”
The bastard crawled, sputtering and spitting blood as he held up his hands to block any attack, his eyes wide with fear. “Yeahhh, I didn’t ask for this, man. Please?”
The Reaper’s face showed his disapproval as he laughed. “So wait . . . no texting? No YouTubing? You’re innocent, right?”
“Right, right. It was all just a joke, you know, staged and . . . and . . . please . . .” He tried to push himself up in a low crouch and held his spot as he watched The Reaper stalk him.
“That’s funny, my man. The theatrics was incredible. You get an Oscar for that shit.”
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk! Don’t kill me!” The target jumped up then rushed around the open parking lot attached to the building.
“My man, why are you playing yourself right now with all that running? You’re going to die anyway, but you know that.”
The Reaper shook his head, inwardly laughing as he grabbed his prey by the collar. He slammed his hand around its throat and squeezed until he pulled on the demon’s corrupt soul. He could see every death, every sin committed, and it pissed him off to no end. Through it all he knew his objective. He had to get the information he needed, which was nothing but cell phone texts detailing that this demon was to hunt and capture his two potentials, under direct orders.
Khamun shifted deeper within the demon’s mental web and shook his head at the crap he saw. So this type of bastard’s sins was video documenting. This type of demons was into voyeurism. This breed got a high off the pain they inflicted.
The Reaper winced, digging deep, and turned every evil the demon committed into the purest of unadulterated torture lined i
n pure Light, as he searched for what he was looking for. There it was, flashed in his mind. He had found it.
The Cursed knew that Darren and Takeshi were powerful. They just didn’t know what type of powerful Vessels they were, which was why the whole family was being hunted. The Cursed wanted them all. Greedy-ass bastards.
Hissing, the Reaper felt the demon push back, breaking free, and attempt to tear at him.
“Muthafucka, you hit me.”
The demon flashed a wicked smile, slowly walking backwards to use the shadows as a cloak.
The entity roared, his fangs dripping with saliva as he leaped to attack. Razor-sharp claws protruded from once human fingers, while torn flesh hanging like peeling wallpaper made The Reaper assess his target in disdain.
He so enjoyed a good fight. Shit made his day as he calmly walked in a slow zigzag motion, pushing an idle hubcap across the cement street. He listened to it scrape while it hit his prey, and he waited for the impending attack.
The entity scrambled on the ground, pushing the hubcap away, spittle running down his face.
Khamun laughed as the entity hissed. It was ready for a kill.
The demon pummeled forward, swinging out to slice, but only ended up face down on the rough concrete, scratching and heaving in disbelief all in one quick move, and with a guttural grunt.
“Look, look, it was reflex. You were hurting me. Okay! I’ll talk, my man.”
In a swift motion, Khamun lifted and threw his prey like a rag doll, enjoying the fact that he hit the side of a building. He rubbed his hands together slowly, stalking his target with amusement and disgust. “‘My man?’ I’m going to need you to come better than that.”
The Reaper watched his kill’s crumpled form slowly twist to push up with an eerie power that would have any normal human running scared. But, of course, this was nothing new. Just extreme, boring-ass showboating, in his opinion.
The demon rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as he turned and stared, putrid green foam forming around his mouth.
Eyes glowing in the darkness of the parking lot, sweat beads rested calmly against the entity’s temple. It ruggedly breathed in and out, scanning and looking for a means of escape.
“I get not an ounce of help, Nephilim? Typical. You all preach this love-thou-neighbor BS and hunt us without discern. Don’t you think that’s some evil shit in itself?”
The Reaper stood steadily, his anger simmering underneath the surface, as his power-glowing eyes. “No.” The Reaper whipped his blade smoothly in the air, making contact across the demon’s neck. He smiled as he watched the head drop to the concrete in a reverberating thud. “It’s called Holy Vengeance.”
He reached for the still standing and flailing body and bit down. Liquid elixir almost dripped from the corners of his mouth as he took his fill, and he drew out the sins and trapped souls within. And both the head and the body violently shook and imploded into a red visceral mist of dark blood. The force of it all made him drop to one knee. His eyes rolling in the back of his head as his wings quaked with force.
The ecstasy was supreme. He felt his body purify the spirit and send it to the heavens. This vessel was a pure possession, a film school student who was forced into the darkness that kidnapped him one night while heading home from late-night classes. So it pleased The Reaper that this spirit would get an honorable judgment.
Sound evaded him, but he knew his protection barrier was up. Any threat that came his way was dead and drained within a blink of an eye while he was in bloodlust.
Jolting one last time, The Reaper exhaled and rolled his shoulders. He could hear the Chicago team rummaging through the building, whispering prayers over the fallen bodies as they cleansed the scene.
Slowly running a shaking hand through his locks, he cleared his essence from the scene before he rolled out, something he realized he innately did a majority of the time. No Guardian he knew, Slayer, or Arch could erase their essence, but he could. He could also manipulate it so it only showed him using his Guardian gifts, and not his Attacker gifts, as he called them. So, he exhaled, his power spreading over the lot, sizzling and fusing away his essences, while he manipulated the spiritual molecules and changed the scene as he walked off.
Descending into the factory building, he was pleased to see Dr. Toure working protection runes, while others ran around the building handling their business.
“That was powerful tracking, young man,” Dr. Toure stated, walking up beside him, his hands dropping to cross his arms.
A brief smile flashed across Khamun’s face. “Powerful? I wouldn’t say that, Doctor Toure. Felt it was my Guardian duty to clean up some loose ends. Good thing I knew an Arch who could help that out, with those ends. Liked how your team handled everything, by the way,” he added with respect.
“Thank you, son.” Dr. Toure reached out to shake hands and gave a strong squeeze with a chuckle. “Doctor is too formal. Call me Eammon.”
Both men walked around the scene assessing what had occurred.
One hand in the air, Eammon motioned to Khamun. “Tamar—I mean, Mrs. Steele is keeping me abreast with everyone, and they all are being watched carefully in their hotel for backup to your team.”
Hands behind his back, Khamun stepped to the doctor’s side as water spilled over the building floor, acting as an energy-charged conduit for the runes being laid down. This was done to protect any humans that stumbled upon the building.
“Again, I cannot say thank you enough. Hopefully, we will be ready to go soon. We need to keep them guarded and secret for as long as possible.”
Khamun muttered and kept his voice low as he shifted out of the way of a unit personnel. He knew he needed a moment with the doctor, so he clasped a hand on Eammon’s shoulder. “Step to the roof with me, Mr. Toure.”
Both men descended to the roof as Khamun placed a silent barrier around them. His hand still on Dr. Toure’s shoulder, he quietly relayed what he found, flashing selective images in the Elder’s mind. Each image deepened the furrow forming across the good doctor’s forehead.
Eammon stepped back to study the street below. His tone dropped in concern, and his soft accent filled the space between the men. “I believe, or well, I’ve learned that people are placed in your life to guide you on your personally tiered path, and each way you go, you are forever blessed.”
Khamun listened as Eammon quietly crossed his arms over his chest to stand calmly. Eyes cast downward, he watched various cars, ambulances and police vehicles drive by below them. Some vehicles swerved past multiple potholes, others hit each bump in the road as they slightly shook or bounced with the impact.
“Where I grew up, we were limited on Guardians, due to civil unrests. As you know, the protocol dictates that every region must have Guardians. So my family has a history of being just that—Disciples who train as Guardians.”
Eammon kept his glaze ahead, studying Chicago’s skyline. “When I was twelve, I went back to my father’s home in Kingston, where I met my grandfather. He taught me how to be the Guardian Disciple I am today. He explained that you protect the innocent as if they were your family. That is number one always. Then when I went to my mother’s home to visit my great-grandparents in Nigeria, they gave me the tools to be strong in my sight. Tamar . . . I dreamed of her. I never understood who she was to me, but I knew if I ever met her that I would protect her with my all. But then I grew up and met my wife. I moved on in my role as a Guardian until my wife passed of cancer, and I got into a car accident that changed my perspective on many things.”
“I’m sorry.” Khamun glanced at the elder and quietly listened in communal respect. It was embedded in every Nephilim youth that you listen to your elders; otherwise you may miss your blessing or the knowledge needed as a key in life. They had many stories that could help or assist in making you see within yourself. Mainly, it was due to the fact that Elders were chosen not because of how long they physically lived, but by how many soul incarnations they had, as we
ll as diplomatic experience. Nonetheless, he still listened to this man who was his elder in years, because they too were meant to be respected, as dictated by family creeds.
“It is okay. Iyiah was a good woman. She was the one who made me remember my dreams. She told me to protect this woman and her children, and that the car accident will serve a purpose. It wasn’t until I met Tamar that it all became clear. It also became clear that, like me, you, my boy, care deeply for her daughter.”
“Uh . . .”
Eammon chuckled. “It is okay, son. At your age I didn’t understand my heart fully yet either. I just tell you this, so you can know. I will protect them as if they are my own.” He pointed to a semi mini-version of himself below and smiled. “My son, Zion. He also has the gift of sight and is a strong Slayer. So do not worry, my boy. We will see each other soon. My role in Tamar’s life is not over. I believe it is just beginning.”
Silence took over the pair as Khamun took in the rising sun. Colors washed across the sky comforted him as a soft smile played across his handsome face, amusement and respect swelling within at the elder’s wisdom.
“Yes, sir, I believe we will meet again, but I wanted you to understand that I know it’s against protocol to step over the line. A Guardian never falls for their Guide.”
“Well, my boy. You know that everything has changed. She is no longer your Guide, but something tells me that you had crossed that line well before knowing that.”
A quiet smirk briefly lit up Khamun’s face as he thought on the erotic nights he had spent in Sanna’s mind before Eammon’s deep chuckle drew him back to reality.
“Ah yeah. Yes, sir, I knew.”
Eammon walked near the roof’s edge as he spoke to the air. His sturdy and muscled arms rested behind his back. “That role is as old as time, but you do know that it has been broken and will continue to be broken until the old ways adapt?”
Khamun stretched and closed his eyes. His cell vibrated erratically while his mind began to ache with a sudden SOS making him process everything. “Yes, now I do. Sanna comes from such a union, which has changed everything . . . including what I previously knew about her.”
