by Hunter Blain
Closing my eyes, I let my senses flow from me in all directions. I could feel my pupils shift, changing from a purple shade, to a dark crimson. An unseen pressure in my gums forced canines to elongate and sharpen to surgical points. The air became a distinguishable mixture of smells, each with their own trail leading to their origin.
I opened my eyes to see three heat signatures approaching from my 10, 12, and 2 o’clock. The thermal silhouette from the middle blood donor didn’t match his visual body. It was an ogre wearing an expensive glamor. I’d have to reflect on this later, as these guys weren’t your everyday thugs, mostly because it was incredibly difficult to mask their size. Those who could afford such expensive glamours usually didn’t do basically level dirty work. Ogres are not intelligent beings — but they are good at following the commands of their bosses, at least to the best of their limited ability. Someone else probably bought it for him. I suppose this would make sense why they were waiting for me at my favorite hangout if a nefarious, unseen bad guy was directing them. This gave me plenty of ammunition to chew on. I could probably trace the source back far enough to get substantial answers to at least move the plot along until the next book.
Now I know this was serious and I shouldn’t play with my food before eating, but sometimes, I can’t help myself. The thug to my left rushed impatiently, forcing the other two to join suit just behind. This caused a staggered approach, which was just fine by me. I lifted my arms and bent at the elbow, hiding my hands behind my upper back. I focused on my palms and willed blood to flow, molding it into a giant, looney-toons type hammer.
As the thug approached, I kicked out my leg at preternatural speed into his solar plexus, stopping him dead in his tracks and emptying his lungs for him. As he bent over with a wordless cry of surprise, I said, “Stop, hammer time!” Before obliterating his head in an explosion of skull fragments, blood, and chunks of brains. I took notice that my super strength, well, extra super strength was diminishing. But I still had enough in the tanks to be considered overkill for these jokers. The supes body dropped to the cracked pavement, spasming violently as chunks of loose cement shifted. Val really needed to fix his foundation.
“Wait, is Gallagher still relevant? I feel like there’s a joke here somewhere.”
The cranial explosion caused the remaining normal sized thug to slow in shock. The ogre just behind him continued to lumber forward, unable to slow his momentum as nimbly as his buddy. As the ogre charged into his companion, I stepped forward like a baseball hitter and smoothly slammed my hammer into the chest of the human-sized punk. With the ogre acting as a brick wall, the hammer completely crushed the chest cavity with a glorious crunch that sounded more like a car crash than the shattering of bones.
The ogre barely felt the impact and took advantage of my precarious positioning before I could reset. Huge, invisible lunchbox-sized fists closed over my head and lifted me up before beginning to squeeze. After a few moments of preparing to mimic the playdoh toy where the dough grows out like hair, I was acutely aware that my head was still intact and my brains weren’t squeezing through invisible fingers. As a matter of fact, I was closer to being comfortable than in any sort of pain. I really needed to get me some more angel blood, you know, for emergencies. Or after a really long day. Or just because… You know what? I feel your judgment and I reject it completely. I mean, have you tried blood? I think not. Back to it.
To an outsider, it would have looked comical to see a normal sized dude lifting another one off the ground with one hand. To those with eyes that can see through glamour, it was probably still funny; especially considering the ogre was straining so hilariously hard to pop my cherry. His teeth were about to fracture and veins throughout his entire body threatened to bust like a geyser.
Feeling perfectly at ease, I separated my hands and willed my blood-hammer to reshape into two gladius style swords made for stabbing. Even though my head was enclosed in his fist, his glamor still functioned and I was able to see through his hand. Damn, this really was a top-notch spell. I was almost flattered. Almost.
Using the position of his head as a center, I thrust one blade upwards and the other down and to the left, aiming for his throat and liver. The ogre saw the attack coming at the last moment and tried to move. Instead, he screamed loud enough to rumble the ground as one sword hit close to home. Still grasping my skull, he threw me away and I flipped through the air and landed on my feet just in time to see a chunk of pavement being hurled towards my face. I ducked out of the way with ease, and immediately saw why it was surprisingly no trouble to dodge. One of my blades had found an eyeball and the ogre was not a cyclops.
I let my gladius’ melt into whips as I strode over to where the beast was spinning in circles, throwing his fists out in a tantrum. Ogre’s are pretty stupid and aren’t adequate at articulating their frustrations— but what they lack in intelligence, they make up for in raw power. The ogre grabbed another handful of the foundation-impaired concrete and was about to hurl it my way, using his remaining eye and new lack of depth perception.
Flinging out my wrist, I wrapped a whip around the thug’s throat, his real one. I let my other hand fly forward; entangling his legs, and pulled backward with that arm. He fell to the ground with an earth-shattering “Oomph.” The chunk of rock that was intended for yours truly landing on his forehead. I barked out a laughter as if I were watching a cartoon.
I willed the whips to shorten as I approached, like reeling in a fish, while keeping the pressure tight. The fun was over and it was time for answers. I brought my hands together and let the whip from my right-hand merge with the left so only one handheld both manifestations. With my free right-hand, I extended my palm towards the ogre’s actual head, fingers outstretched. With a focus of will, I sent my essence into his head. My consciousness flew from behind my eyes and down my arm, using my essence as a train track to follow to my destination between the ogre’s eye sockets. I flowed through the barrier of his mind in my incorporeal state and began to search for answers.
There wasn’t a lot there. I mean, I knew they were all brawn and no brains, but this was like a warehouse with a single file cabinet in the middle. Not to boast, but I had an entire city, complete with a castle within my head where I stored pertinent information. One downside about having perfect recall was I remembered everything I ever experienced or learned with complete details that does not deteriorate with time. This provided for a lot of useless information that needed to be filed accordingly, otherwise I’d simply go insane with all the raw information floating around like a tornado of random thoughts. I still remember what I said the day man landed on the moon.
“Neat.”
Back to the empty ogre brain. I went to the file cabinet, which was illuminated by a lone spotlight overhead, and opened it in search for who had hired him. Only a crudely drawn image of a man wearing a black cloak was in the particular file I was searching for, aptly named “Kill Fat Vampire.” I’m pretty sure the picture was done with crayon as well. I wasn’t expecting much and yet I’m still disappointed. Hey wait…fat? I may have a powerlifter’s build, but I am far from fat (he tried to convince himself). Besides, dadbods are in.
With an eye roll and accompanying sigh, I pulled out the file and tore it to shreds before dropping it on the warehouse floor. I released my grip and my essence reversed the roller-coaster ride until I flew back into my own mind. PS waved and gave a thumb up in question if I had found anything. I shook my head once and his shoulders slightly slumped in frustration.
The ogre had stopped struggling at my invasion of his mind. It had never been done to me, but I can surmise that it was like a prostate exam; you didn’t want to move for fear of making it worse. I might be off on my comparison, but it was close enough.
Instead of killing my would-be assassin, I retracted my blood ropes while turning to walk to where I set my bottle of goodness next to the back door. Picking it up, I turned around to see the ogre, still in glamor, sit up and hold his
head as if a massive migraine had just invaded his skull. He looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask, “What just happened?” My own shoulders lifted in answer, suggesting I had no idea, before I set off into the darkness.
Once out of sight, I went into full stalk mode and watched from the shadows. Ogre’s didn’t have super awesome night vision like some of the more predatory supes did— they simply didn’t have to stalk their food, whatever they ate. I shuddered as I randomly thought about an ogre eating a unicorn in giant, crunching bites.
After a few more confused moments, he stood up on shaky legs and began walking towards the front of the saloon. Fingers slid loosely along the wall searching for stability while his other hand cupped the empty eye socket, which oozed blood. It coated his invisible hand, creating a crimson outline that floated above the man-glamour.
Stepping back towards the building, I leaped on top of the roof. My feet landed with barely a sound as pebbles lightly crunched underfoot.
As I approached the edge of the building looking over the parking lot and main road, I heard the purr of an expensive engine approach. My vision crested the roofline and I could see Mr. Ogre approach the back window of a stretch limo. The pitch-black tinted window began rolling down, and excitement built in my chest as I was about to see who wanted me dead, or so I guessed. The ogre had other plans as both his hands grasped the roof above the window for stability. His glamor body blocked the passenger. It was as if my unlife was a movie.
I sent out my senses and focused on hearing.
“Is he dead?” A hushed voice whispered.
“Huh? Who?” Was the ogre’s confused response, “Who…who you? Why eye hurt?”
There was a moment of silence and then realization.
“Drive,” said the mystery guest, spoken with the same barely audible voice. The window began to roll up as the limo pulled away. The ogre, still confused, kept his hands on the roof for balance and tripped over his own feet as the vehicle moved forward. He hit the ground and sprawled out, giving the rear tire total access to one of his arms. I stifled a laugh as the limo bounced over the mound of muscle.
The window was almost rolled up when two red eyes peered out from beneath a black hood towards the noise I had made. We locked gazes while the window completed its ascension, breaking our brief but intense connection. Then the limo accelerated gracefully down the street while I stood, stunned.
“Who the hell was that?” I asked myself. Probably someone wanting to claim the bounty on my booty.
I took a step off the roof and landed smoothly on the pavement below, my black trench coat billowing like a cape as I did. Ignoring the confused ogre who was struggling to stand up, I strolled down the street towards my lair. It was time to go have a drink and watch Aliens.
Chapter 4
T he cemetery was inky black except for a lone light at the old front gate. The crescent moon provided enough illumination for my pretty eyes to see and make my way to my mausoleum. The enchanted bottle of jack swished audibly in the silence of the graveyard while my footsteps alternated between dirt and grass, crunching with every few steps.
I put my free hand on the cold, white stone of the slab that acted as my door, and pushed to the side. The marble slid easily as I had installed wheels on the opposite side after Depweg had moved in. It’s not that he wasn’t strong. Oh no, quite the contrary. Depweg was probably just as strong as I was, but with the caveat that it was only while in werewolf form. As a man, he was as strong as several mortals were and can leap entire parked cars in a single bound — but a pure slab of marble is still a pure slab of marble.
I entered my gauche mausoleum and slid the door back in place. There used to be a titanium beam that I could lower to further secure my hidey-hole, but after my home was attacked so easily, paired with Depweg moving in, I thought it unnecessary. Especially now that Locke was gone. To beef up home protection, we had set up security cameras throughout the cemetery that had motion detection, night vision, and even infrared, all in 60 frames per second and 4k quality.
When the door was in back in place, LED lights sprang to life along the floor and illuminated the room where I had a custom marble throne made in the center. There was a coffin at one point, but it had been knocked over when my home was attacked.
I walked past my marble throne in the middle of the room to the back wall where I pressed a false stone panel that unlocked the hydraulics that were attached to a false door that was the back of my huge chair. With a hiss, it lifted from the floor, hinged at the top, revealing a stone stairway that I then descended. Once upon a time, torches had been placed along the walls in such a way that I could ignite the molecules of the wicks and set them alight, but once again, Depweg. The line of LEDs in the throne room above also graced the sharp edges of the stairs, providing adequate, but not overpowering, illumination.
At the bottom of the stairs, I approached the newly installed, iron-infused door with a handle that was wrapped in thick industrial rubber. After our last home invasion, my roommates and I had taken more precautions by adding iron to our defenses to prevent divination or magic attack.
My Fortress of Solitaire was made from a number of freight containers I had procured on the cheap from Florida. They even included shipping on the house to sweeten the deal; no mind freaking required. Using my X-Men power of blood manipulation, I created some hefty, industrial sized shovels that looked like they belonged on a big yellow machine, and cleared out enough earth to make my home. Depweg had his own freight car now, which I had to create another massive hole for, then set the metal beast into it, and finally redistribute the dug-up soil all over the cemetery to avoid suspicion. Though the place was run down, there was a groundskeeper that kept the grass trimmed and weeds pulled. Frankly, I’m glad the parent company that owned the cemetery did have an employee, because I siphoned utilities like brand new, high-speed internet, electricity, and water from the main lines of his modest cabin. Not that I needed to drink water or anything — it’s just nice to take a hot shower after a long night. I do suppose that Depweg required water to survive, probably. I’ve never had a dog before. What I can tell you though is that buying food and water bowls wasn’t quite what I had expected. The early dawn after I had bestowed a caring gift to my best friend, I opened my filled coffin with hundreds of garlic bulbs. He knows that garlic is a myth perpetuated by mortals to provide them a false sense of security and control when dealing with vampires— but my coffin still stunk to this day.
Grabbing the rubber handle, I pulled the door towards the landing and entered. Once inside, I reached for the opposite handle and secured our home with the heavy clang of some industrial strength locks.
“Bout time, man,” Depweg said from the couch with a mouth full of popcorn. “We were about to start it without you.”
“Yes, John, what did take you?” Da asked. “Didn’t get into any more scraps I would hope.”
I didn’t answer as I placed my adult beverage on the counter. My silence prompted Da to turn towards me from his favorite recliner and shoot daggers at me with his eyes.
“You didn’t…” Da said in disbelief as if asking a lactose intolerant friend why they keep eating the delicious ice cream.
“It was a hit, orchestrated by a man with red glowing eyes and an affinity for Sith apparel.” They both stared at me. I expected my movie references to go over some people’s heads, but not these two.
“HE HAD A SITH HOOD ON! Lilith damnit you guys are dense!” I said in exasperation.
Depweg, being of a military mind, asked that I explain the events of the evening in adequate detail. Da interrupted before I could start and suggested I keep to only the most pertinent of details. A juvenile smile tugged at one corner of my lips.
I explained the entirety of the evening to Depweg who inched to the edge of the couch, listening intently with a furrowed brow, the popcorn temporarily forgotten. I was touched he cared so much about my wellbeing.
“You’re an idiot,
” Depweg said coldly. Turning his attention to Da, he asked, “Does iron and silver work on angels? Specifically, can they divine John’s location right now?”
“Why are you asking him? He doesn’t kn…”
“Silver, no. It is a holy metal,” Da spoke with authority, believing he was an angel instead of the fairy he clearly was. It drove me mad sometimes, and I wasn’t the type of person who played along with what people identified themselves as. Live and let unlive, but keep me out of it. Then again, he was a friend and I had an obligation to put up with some shit, just as I’m positive he dealt with a lot of my own unique mannerisms that some would find unbearable. Their loss.
Da continued, “Iron, on the other hand, cancels all magic. So, to answer your question directly; no, they should not be able to divine John’s location in here.”
A thought tickled my mind just behind my forehead. “What about just outside the door?” I asked out loud, both to them and myself.
We sat in silence for a few moments before the proximity alarms started shrieking in warning. Without a second’s hesitation, Depweg set his popcorn on the coffee table and flipped the TV from the paused opening scenes of Aliens to another source. Several boxes filled the screen that showed every camera broken up across the 80-inch of Samsung glory.
“Holy…shit…” I said with eyes trying to bulge out of my skull. There was a squad of armor-clad angels stomping their way through the grounds, their heads scanning left and right.
Depweg chimed in, “Good. They don’t know John’s exact position.”
“You mean our position, right? Buddy?” I asked hesitantly. “Pal?”
Depweg’s hands went up in a halt gesture, “We didn’t kill an angel there, bud.”
My mouth hung open in surprise.
“But of course, we got your back,” he reassured.
