Götterdämmerung

by Barry Reese

  “You know,” he said, projecting as much bravado as possible, “if you’re going to play with masked vigilantes and use a dramatic name like Nimrod, you need to raise your game a bit. Wear a mask yourself or at least put on a bit of makeup. Otherwise, you’re just playing at it.”

  Nimrod chuckled. He reached down and unbuckled his guns, tossing them onto the table where Declare and Vinnie had been seated a moment before. “I don’t think I’m going to need these. I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

  The Peregrine noted that mafia goons were circling them but still keeping their distance. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get out of this situation and he felt like a fool for not having shared the information about the meeting with his friend Will McKenzie. The town’s top law enforcement official could have swooped in right now with a bunch of cops and The Peregrine would have been quite grateful.

  Nimrod didn’t wait for The Peregrine to respond verbally. He struck first, delivering a backhanded blow to the side of Max’s head. It left Max’s ears ringing but was intended more to insult than truly harm.

  The Peregrine was quite comfortable with hand-to-hand combat, however. He had been trained by no less than the famed Warlike Manchu, after all, and was considered one of the ten best fighters in over a dozen different techniques.

  A flurry of quick punches and kicks came from The Peregrine but to his surprise, Nimrod blocked them all. In fact, the man seemed to be perfectly mimicking every style that Max knew.

  Grinning, Nimrod whispered, “I’ve been watching you for weeks now. Saw you take down Declare’s boys last weekend and before that, I witnessed you against those things that climbed out of the lake. You’re a talented fella and I like that.”

  The Peregrine remembered both of those fights. The things from the lake had been young Deep Ones, horrible amphibious monsters that had come to Atlanta looking for easy prey. “Who trained you?” he asked, narrowly avoiding a punch to his throat.

  “You might as well have,” Nimrod responded. “Once I see a move, I can copy it like I’ve always known it. Makes me the perfect hunter, don’t you think?”

  The Peregrine grunted as Nimrod spun about and caught him with a kick to the midsection. It was a kick that The Peregrine had used against a Deep One, finishing him off.

  Max hit the floor but rolled over and sprang up in an instant. The mood in the room had shifted now as the criminals sensed that they were about to see their hated enemy get his comeuppance.

  The Peregrine wasn’t sure that they were wrong.

  Nimrod continued to press his sudden advantage, not giving The Peregrine a moment to catch his breath. The villain unleashed an obscure martial arts move that The Peregrine had learned in Vietnam, driving the flat of his foot hard into the hero’s chin and then spinning about to connect with an open-palm slap to The Peregrine’s forehead. The combination left Max reeling and he was unprepared for the follow-up: a good, old-fashioned punch to the nose.

  Blood flowed freely down The Peregrine’s face and he tumbled to his knees, pain momentarily blotting out all rational thought. It was just then that the worst possible thing happened—a stabbing knife of agony sliced right through The Peregrine’s brain, making him scream out loud.

  Nimrod and the men watching all froze in place, uncertain what was happening. They saw The Peregrine reach up and seize the sides of his head. His face was contorting in obvious distress.

  “Jesus, what did you do to the guy?” Declare asked.

  Nimrod paused, giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe he’s upset because he knows he’s about to get killed.”

  The truth was that The Peregrine was now unaware of his surroundings. He was seeing images in his mind’s eye… horrific things full of death and destruction. Ever since he’d witnessed his father’s murder, Max Davies had been plagued by such visions and they came at a time of their choosing.

  He now saw a set of dramatically-attired people, most of whom he recognized but some that the did not: he saw Lazarus Gray, the bloodthirsty vigilante known as The Gravedigger, a man dressed in a domino-style mask and, of all things, a top hat, a Negro wearing a peculiar set of emerald clothing and several others that looked too hazy for him to focus on the details.

  All around these people were scenes of horror. Strange, octopus-like tentacles were writhing around them, seizing hold of their necks and limbs. He heard echoing laughter rising above all… and he saw the already infamous swastikas that were now associated with Nazi Germany being raised on scarlet flags on no less than the White House itself.

  Another flash of light and sound accompanied a transition of sorts, showing The Peregrine a familiar locale: 6196 Robeson Avenue, the home of Lazarus Gray. The building was aglow with some sort of mystic power and a skeletal man dressed in dark clothing was on the roof, bearing aloft a crystal ball.

  The visions faded as quickly as they had emerged and The Peregrine shook his head to help clear them away. He remembered now where he had been and as he looked around, he saw Nimrod had reclaimed one of his pistols and was now standing above The Peregrine, the barrel pushed up against the hero’s forehead.

  Acting quickly, The Peregrine seized Nimrod’s hand and yanked the pistol towards Declare. Applying sudden pressure, The Peregrine caused Nimrod to pull the trigger, sending a bullet straight into the mobster’s face.

  The reaction from Declare’s men was instantaneous. The action had been so quick that many of them had never even seen The Peregrine’s movement. As a result, they suspected a double-cross, leading them to open fire not only on Nimrod but on the Italian mobsters, who then responded in kind.

  Nimrod cried out as a bullet caught him in the shoulder but he was swift in his motions, diving below a table and then quickly scurrying towards an exit.

  The Peregrine also elected to take the better part of valor, though he reached into his jacket and extracted a small smoke bomb. It wasn’t enough to do more than annoy those it hit, which was why he hadn’t used it upon being spotted. But in the sudden chaos, it took on a greater impact as the bullets continued to fly wildly.

  The Peregrine emerged into the night air. He wiped away blood with the back of a gloved hand, noting that Nimrod had managed to effectively vanish.

  I’m going to find you, The Peregrine silently swore. And next time I’m going to be prepared for your little tricks.

  Confident that there would be few, if any, gangsters left alive after their gunfight ended, The Peregrine took flight and found his roadster parked down the street. The visions he’d seen were still rattling around in his head, concerning him.

  He knew what he had to do, though. Before anything else, he needed to call Lazarus Gray and tell him that dark days lie ahead.

  CHAPTER II

  Sovereign

  The rain was coming down hard, making the edge of the rooftop perilously slippery. The woman who stood balanced there was attractive, with long brown hair and soulful eyes. Her green dress was drenched and clung to her athletic form in the most scandalous way. It wasn’t something that Morgan Watts felt good about noticing at a time like this but he was a heterosexual man and it was impossible not to take notice.

  He took one tentative step towards her, trying not to worry about the fact that he was wearing a brand new suit. It was going to be ruined after all this but in the end, his fashion woes paled next to the possibility of a woman dying.

  “Stay back!” she shouted, swaying slightly. She held her arms out to help keep her balance but Morgan’s heart still swelled up into his throat.

  “Come towards me,” he pleaded. “No matter what’s gone wrong in your life, there’s no reason to do this.”

  The girl bit her lower lip and looked down at the street below. A crowd was gathered, comprised mostly of police and emergency workers but there were plenty of gawkers, too, even in the middle of the downpour. Inspector Cord, one of the few honest cops in Sovereign, was down there. He’d given Morgan the green light to come up and try to talk
the girl down. Morgan wasn’t sure if it was because of his reputation for sweet-talking pretty girls or if Cord just genuinely had faith in him.

  “I saw in the papers about the others,” she murmured.

  Morgan nodded, knowing what she was talking about: six suicides in the past four days, all with victims that shouldn’t have had any reason to end their lives.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, sliding a bit closer. He was still too far away to grab for her.

  “Beth… Elizabeth, really, but everyone except my dad calls me Beth.”

  “I bet he’s going to be so sad if you fall, Beth. Don’t do that to him.”

  Beth looked up into the rain and Morgan thought she was crying from the way her shoulders moved. It was impossible to be sure since there was so much wetness already on her face. “I’ve always seen things, you know? Things that I shouldn’t.”

  “Did you see something bad, Beth? Is that why you’re up here in the rain?”

  “Yes.” She turned and looked at him, freezing him in place. Her eyes looked haunted and he was reminded of soldiers who had returned from The Great War, shattered inside in ways that made their physical health a secondary concern. “Sometimes I have dreams of things that come true. I wonder if the others saw it, too. The same monstrous things I did, I mean.”

  To most people, those words would have sounded insane. But Morgan was a member of Assistance Unlimited and, alongside Lazarus Gray, he’d seen enough weirdness to last several lifetimes. “Whatever it is that you saw, I can help you. That’s what I do. You’ve heard of Lazarus Gray, right? I work with him.”

  “He’s going to fail. They’re all going to fail. And then we all die.” Beth closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I’m too much of a coward to wait for it to come. I couldn’t bear that… horror.”

  Morgan saw her foot lift off the roof’s edge and he called her name in sudden horror. He lunged towards her, arms outstretched, but it was too late.

  He made it to the edge and peered over, seeing her body tumbling down. She twisted at the last minute, her face now turned towards his.

  Her expression was one of relief.

  She smiled at him… and then she hit the ground.

  * * *

  Samantha Grace had rarely seen Morgan look so deflated. He was seated in one of the offices located at 6196 Robeson Avenue, home to Assistance Unlimited. He had a warm blanket thrown over his shoulders and he was holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands but she could see that he was shivering in his wet clothes, which he’d refused to take off.

  The pretty young blonde was one of Sovereign City’s most sought-after figures, not only for her head-turning good looks but also because her family was so well known. More than just a shapely débutante, Samantha was skilled in multiple languages and was capable of besting men twice her size in unarmed combat. None of that was as useful to Lazarus Gray as her ability to sense the emotions of others and make them feel better about their situation. It was a natural gift and one that came in handy on an almost daily basis.

  “You did all you could,” she said, taking a seat beside him. She put a hand around his shoulders and rubbed his back. Once upon a time, she knew that he’d carried a large torch for her, but eventually they’d developed a sibling-style relationship that suited them both.

  “There’s something weird going on,” he replied. “Those visions she was talking about… I don’t think she was crazy, Samantha. There’s something to it.” He paused and then added, “I never told you everything that I saw during that affair with The Claw1 but it… it was pretty awful. And I’m afraid that this might be tied into it. There are terrible things out there and they’re just waiting for the right moment to strike. Nightmarish things.”

  Samantha could see how much it pained her friend to even discuss what he’d seen in the vaguest of terms. “Lazarus is supposed to be back from his honeymoon in the next day or so. We’ll tell him all about it and I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”

  Morgan shrugged off her touch and stood up. “She was barely twenty-five years old.”

  Samantha said nothing for a moment, letting her friend pace and stew. When she did speak, she asked, “Do you want to get started on the answers without waiting for Lazarus? No reason why we can’t get the ball rolling.”

  “How do you recommend we do that? He’s the one with the connections to the supernatural community.”

  “I’m not entirely helpless in that regard,” she said with an enigmatic smile.

  “I’m not in the mood to play guessing games,” he said. Though the words sounded testy, Samantha could see that he was glad to have some forward momentum again. He was looking at her very hopefully.

  Rising, Samantha moved to the door and said over her shoulder, “Let me make a phone call. Five minutes tops, and then we’ll have all the help we could ever need.”

  * * *

  Gifted was the name given to humans that possessed the natural ability to tap into the most primal forces in existence—the stuff that normal humans called Magic.

  The Catalyst was the High Mage of his era and generally only one existed per century, though their reign sometimes varied in length and occasionally overlapped. They could be recognized not only by their power but by a peculiar uniform that went along with the responsibility of wielding that much magical ability: an emerald set of clothing that changed appearance with the times but always bore a similar look.

  The Catalyst of the last century had been Andre Thierry and he still occupied that role at the present time, though he knew that he would soon turn the power and the title over to another. In fact, one could argue that he should have done it already. After all, he had died back in 1903.

  Kept mobile by the power of his own will, Andre had continued to defend the world since then but his abilities had waned and there were days when he looked so dusty and dry that he thought he might blow away in a hard wind.

  He was old, so ancient that his shoulders were bent forward as if they’d carried a large weight for far too long. He was also a Creole, born and raised in Louisiana. His skin and hair were such that he could never pass for a white man but neither did the Negroes accept him.

  A man of two worlds, he had often been called, generally by people who had no idea just how true that was.

  Recently, he had traveled to Sovereign City on two different occasions. The first had been to help Lazarus Gray combat the twin threats of The Three Sisters and the immortal Princess Femi. The second had been a happier time, as he’d helped provide an appropriate level of protection for the wedding of Lazarus and his longtime love, Kelly Emerson. Since then, he’d returned to New Orleans and enjoyed a bit of respite from the usual craziness that defined his existence.

  As he sat in his tiny home, a brazier of incense burning at his left and a half-empty bottle of wine to his right, Andre realized that the recent wedding had reawakened desires that he’d thought long dead. It had been decades since he’d been with a woman and he’d considered that part of his life to be over. After all, his animated dead state left him where he could fulfill numerous physical desires but they were no longer necessary or even ones that pleased him any longer. The wine was flavorful and pleasant but it could not take him to a drunken state, for instance.

  Now he wondered if a woman would find his slightly cool-to-the-touch body pleasing in the way that it once would have been.

  The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his reverie. He’d just been fondly recalling a caramel-colored beauty that had taught him quite a bit in his younger days. Sighing, he rose from his chair and approached the noisy device. It was one of the so-called modern conveniences that he had not learned to truly appreciate.

  “Oui?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice. When he heard the soft voice that came in reply, however, all of that was forgotten. He was genuinely pleased to hear from one of his new friends.

  Their conversation was short and to the point. By the time he’
d hung up the phone, Andre’s mood was both alert and somber. Samantha’s words had sent a trickle of fear down his spine, for they did not bode well.

  He had felt tremors in the ether for days but hadn’t been able to pinpoint their meaning or cause. Apparently, other sensitives had detected it as well, but whereas he’d only gotten vague impressions of unease, they had seen something more substantial… and awful.

  He would do some research and contact a few associates before returning to Sovereign. Something dark and awful was lurking at the edge of his consciousness and he realized that what he’d been enjoying was just the calm before a terrible storm.

  * * *

  Lazarus Gray and his bride descended the stairs and stepped onto the rain-slicked tarmac of Sovereign City Airport. Kelly was clutching a large umbrella but Lazarus was just outside of its protective cover. It was only drizzling at the moment but with the Sovereign weather, you never knew when it might turn ugly.

  In that way, the weather was a lot like the rest of the town.

  The newlyweds made an impressive couple. Lazarus was tall and broad-shouldered, with hair that was more grayish-silver than brown. As such, he looked older than he actually was. His eyes were mismatched: one was a glittering emerald, the other a dull brown. His face was handsome and well-formed but there was an odd stiffness to it, as if his expression rarely veered away from the serious cast it currently possessed. His eyes were continuously moving but not with any sign of nervousness. His gaze was like that of a predator constantly on the lookout for new prey.

  Kelly Emerson Gray was nearly his equal in height even without heels. Amazonian in stature and beauty, her red curly hair hung loosely about her shoulders. She wore jodhpurs and a man’s button-down shirt. Her calf-high leather boots were scuffed and showed signs of heavy use.

  They had arrived without fanfare, having only called ahead to Eun Jiwon so that he could meet them with a car. They found the young Korean-American standing beside the black roadster. He was leaning against the hood, arms folded over his chest. He smiled and stood up straight as they approached and he seemed oblivious to the sprinkling rain.