Loyalty Oath

by Edmund Hughes

  Mezolak had given him the penthouse to use for his own purposes. He made few demands on Jack’s time, only getting in touch with him once a week or less. Oftentimes, Jack merely served as a bodyguard, standing outside rooms while Mezolak met with people Jack didn’t know to discuss things he didn’t really care about.

  Of course, if he’d had a choice about it, he would have picked just about anything else. It wasn’t the modest amount of money Mezolak paid him on a monthly basis that kept him in line. He’d sworn his loyalty to Mezolak, to a demon, and that had consequences in the supernatural world. He couldn’t resist Mezolak’s orders, not if he asked more than once.

  He hadn’t tried to resist since that first, fateful morning, when Mezolak had tried to force him to kill Mira. The oath he was under made it so that with each request, the intensity of the effects scaled, going from a powerful compulsion to psychic pain and ending with the kind of sinister, traumatizing fear that left no room for refusal. Jack knew what the first two respective outcomes felt like, and he wasn’t interested in experiencing the last one.

  So he’d served Mezolak. He’d killed a few criminals and gotten the demon out of some hairy situations. He’d made an effort, every step of the way, to ignore the fact that Mezolak was still inhabiting his father’s body. He hadn’t let himself harbor any hopes of saving the man underneath the monster. It wasn’t that hard, given that he’d already gone more than a decade assuming that his dad was dead.

  Mezolak was smart, however. Smart enough to pick up on how much the face he wore affected Jack. He’d made an effort to treat him with respect, and at times, even kindness. It was all subtle manipulation, designed to create the perfect supernatural henchman, one that he could command without having to abuse the threat of giving commands backed by the force of Jack’s loyalty oath.

  He dressed quickly, stopping to pour himself another drink on his way out. He didn’t see the point of spending the night sober if he didn’t have to. Once upon a time, he’d used alcohol as a crutch to keep his bloodthirst under control. That wasn’t much of an issue for him now that he was taking small sips from so many different women on a regular basis.

  He missed Mira, Ryoko, and Katie. That was probably the real reason why he poured himself the second drink. He hadn’t heard from Ryoko since the night he’d brought her back from death’s brink more than three months earlier.

  She was a water nymph now, or at least a hybrid of one. He’d spent some time down by the water during his first few days in Arc City, hoping that she’d follow through with her promise to come to him if he called her name and was nearby. She hadn’t showed.

  Jack had tried calling the mansion’s landline, hoping that Mira might have decided to stick around Lestaron Island. Nobody had ever picked up. Jack had half-expected her to either call him or perhaps even just show up on his doorstep, but he’d been disappointed there, as well.

  He’d even tried using his Blood Sight spell to reach out to her directly, to no avail. It hadn’t worked with Ryoko, either, and it left Jack wondering if Mira’s shift between vampire and human and Ryoko’s transformation into a supernatural nymph might have stymied the magical basis of the spell.

  Then there was Katie. Jack had her cell number. If he wanted to talk to Katie, all he had to do was pick up the phone. He hadn’t, and he couldn’t. As far as he knew, Katie was unaware of him leaving the island and becoming Mezolak’s tool.

  What would he even say to her? Would he tell her that she was right, that he’d finally become the monster she’d been afraid of? Worse, he’d become a monster in service to a monster. He’d gone over to the dark side both in action and affiliation.

  Jack poured himself a third drink before leaving the penthouse. If Mezolak wanted him sober, he should have given him more advance notice.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mezolak’s black SUV slowed to a stop as it drove through the hotel’s drop-off lane. Jack climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door, looking over at the devil he’d made a deal with.

  Mezolak, or rather James Farmoore, was in good shape. His hair was mostly gray, with only a hint of its original blond color. He looked to be a man in his early fifties who’d taken care of himself throughout the course of life. He wore a two-button black suit with no tie, and appeared completely average and ordinary, outside of his cold, blue eyes.

  When Mezolak used the Potential or drew from his demonic abilities, those eyes turned into gateways into another realm. Jack was half sure that it was the literal truth, rather than simple hyperbole.

  Mezolak was a demon from one of the Other Realms. He’d taken James Farmoore’s body in a deal not unlike the recent one Jack himself had made. It was a deal that had restored Jack, as a child, back to life after the car accident that had taken his and his mother’s lives. In exchange, his father had pledged his body to the demon, who continued to exploit it for the purpose of interacting with the mortal world.

  “We have an appointment to make,” said Mezolak. “Are you in a state where you are capable of serving me, mortal?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “It’s not as though I have a choice about it, either way,” he said. “A little heads up would be nice next time.”

  Mezolak smiled and let out a low chuckle.

  “I wished for this particular meeting to be a surprise to you,” he said. “It’s the culmination of a plan I’ve had on the back-burner for several years now. It seemed as though tonight would make for a good time to explain to you how you fit into it.”

  “Right,” said Jack. “Of course you did.”

  Mezolak smile turned into a full-blown grin. Jack had to take a slow breath to keep his anger in check.

  He knew enough about Mezolak now to have a sense of why he’d been so eager to have him as a servant. Mezolak was paranoid by nature, and Jack was one of the few people who he’d let himself trust. Or at least, Mezolak trusted that Jack wouldn’t be able or willing to attack him, both due to the loyalty oath he’d taken and his relation to the vessel Mezolak currently inhabited.

  In truth, Jack had mentally run through a number of different plans and scenarios that might have allowed him his freedom back. None of them involved killing Mezolak or finding a way to orchestrate his death. It just wasn’t something he could make himself do, even if his father was all but extinguished within the shell of his old body.

  He’d considered trying to find a way to inflict a disabling injury: rendering Mezolak unconscious or drugging his food. Each time, he’d come to the conclusion that it would be pointless without the means to force the demon out of his father’s body.

  He’d contemplated making a run for it. Trying to escape from Mezolak and scraping out an existence that was better and less obligated than the one he had now. But he knew Mezolak.

  He knew that the demon would not only go after him but after the people he cared about. He wasn’t interested in putting Mira, Ryoko, or Katie at risk. Just because they were outside of his current life didn’t mean that Mezolak wouldn’t see them as targets for retribution.

  “I think you’ll be interested in what I have to show you,” said Mezolak. “It’s a plan that was, in part, inspired by something mentioned to me, mortal.”

  That was enough to get Jack’s attention, though not in a good way. He’d done his best to keep much of what he knew about Lestaron Island and the people he cared about from slipping out in his interactions with the demon. He opted not to pry any further, hoping that his silence would be mistaken for a lack of curiosity regarding the bait Mezolak had just presented.

  Mezolak had tried and very nearly succeeded in killing Mira once. Jack had not forgotten that fact. Just because he’d managed to save her in the end didn’t mean that the anger wasn’t still there.

  They drove out of the city and to the south until they entered a stretch of industrial decay along the edge of the Arcos River. A small, abandoned factory park that looked overdue for demolishing was Mezolak’s apparent destination.

&nbs
p; The demon brought the car to a stop in front of one warehouse that stood out from the others like a sore thumb. It was well-maintained, with a few exterior lights and security cameras. There was also someone standing outside of it.

  “Here we are,” said Mezolak. “If you would, please.”

  He gestured for Jack to follow him as he climbed out of the car. The two of them walked over to the man who’d been waiting for Mezolak. He was short and somewhat chubby, and he wore a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses in an attempt to make himself look inconspicuous that had clearly backfired. He was also standing next to a large, refrigerated van.

  “Brian,” said Mezolak. “This is Jack. Jack, this is Brian.”

  The man in the hoodie gave a quick grunt of acquaintance.

  “Quality specimens this time, Brian?” asked Mezolak. “Don’t mind Jack. He’s trustworthy.”

  “A motorcyclist,” said Brian. “A stroke victim, and a heroin overdose. I’ll need help moving them.”

  Mezolak looked at Jack expectantly.

  Jack sighed and followed Brian into the back of the van, where three bodies lay side by side on wheeled gurneys. Each of the three of them pulled one out of the back of the van, down the metal drop-off ramp, and then toward the warehouse’s entrance.

  Mezolak punched a keycode into the panel outside a square sheet metal cargo door, and it slid open. There were no lights on inside, but the street provided enough illumination for Jack to make out the scene within.

  Bodies. Hundreds of them, at Jack’s estimate. All of them were naked and hanging from meat hooks like the bodies of butchered cattle. The smell was overwhelming, but it wasn’t the sourness of rot. Instead, it was a coppery, freezer-burned scent.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Mezolak.

  Jack felt sick to his stomach, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Brian did the dirty work of attaching each of the bodies to the hooks, though he did have to lift each one into place. As soon as he was back outside and could both think and breathe again, he glared at Mezolak.

  “This is insane,” he said. “And disgusting. You really are a monster.”

  “Not in the slightest,” said Mezolak. “I’m putting them to good use. What’s the word you mortals have for it again? Recycling?”

  “I’m not going to be a part of this,” said Jack. “I know what you want, and I won’t do it. I’m not making ghouls for you, Mezolak.”

  It was one of his lesser-used vampiric abilities, and for good reason. As a vampire, he could use his blood essence to transform people while biting them, if he so chose. On a living target, the result would be to give them the Embrace, turning them into a vampire in their own right. On a dead target, doing the same would create a monster. A hulking, violent ghoul.

  Mezolak didn’t react to Jack’s refusal in any of the ways he’d been expecting. Instead, he sighed and shook his head from side to side.

  “Brian over here was not aware that you had that ability, Jack,” he said. “See, he does have a small magical talent. Unfortunately, the piece of information you just volunteered is dangerous for him to know.”

  Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. Brian looked as nervous as he felt and tried to back away from the situation, only managing to bump against the warehouse’s closed metal door.

  “Kill Brian, Jack,” said Mezolak.

  He gave his instruction as a command, taking advantage of the loyalty oath that Jack had sworn. The effect was instantaneous and really fucking hard to ignore. Jack felt a sudden, almost irresistible impulse to throw himself at Brian and see it through.

  He could see himself doing it, in his mind’s eye. A single punch to the stomach to double him over, followed by a twisting headlock. Aided by his vampiric strength, he would easily snap the man’s neck. The scene replayed itself when it reached the end, slamming into Jack’s psyche like a blaring internet video on loop.

  “Jesus Christ!” shouted Brian. “I—I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Yes, you did,” said Mezolak. “Jack? If you would, please.”

  “Fuck you,” said Jack through gritted teeth. He’d killed for Mezolak before, but never like this. He wasn’t a trained hound, primed to attack on command. He had free will, even if it hurt to exercise in the face of his supernatural obligations.

  “Must we really do this?” asked Mezolak. “I’ll say it again. Jack… Kill Brian.”

  Each successive time Mezolak gave Jack the same command brought him to a different level of suffering. The first was always the throbbing, insistent compulsion. The second was pain.

  Jack gasped as horrible sensations hit him in a rushing wave of badness. It was unreal how painful it felt. The only thing he could compare it to was when the dentist accidentally went a little too far into a tooth with his drill, except it was all over his body, ebbing and flowing for maximum effect.

  He screamed as he fell to his knees. He felt sick to his stomach, as much from the intensity of the pain as at the idea of it continuing, and after a few seconds, he threw up his dinner and his drinks onto the concrete. Mezolak came to stand next to him, leaning over and staring at him with intense though ultimately non-judgmental eyes.

  “Be reasonable, Jack,” said Mezolak. “I don’t want to command you a third time. I really don’t. I’ve told you before about how the third request might damage or warp your mind. I know I have.”

  Fear was what came next. Mezolak had never given Jack the same command thrice, and probably for good reason. The pain had always been enough to make him bend. Or maybe it was a combination of the pain along with the knowledge that Mezolak wasn’t bluffing about how much worse the fear would be.

  “I won’t just lay down and die!” screamed Brian.

  He rushed forward and kicked Jack hard in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Almost as soon as Jack made the conscious decision to get back on his feet and defend himself, the pain subsided. He felt almost high in those few seconds immediately afterward, as though the normalcy left in the wake of the unbelievable pain was heroin in his veins.

  Brian was whispering an incantation under his breath. Mezolak had said that he had a small amount of the Potential. Brian’s hand flashed with white light, and then he closed it around something invisible. He whipped his arm from side to side, and Jack could hear something sharp slashing through the air. But he couldn’t see it.

  “I’ll fucking kill you!” shouted Brian.

  He let out an incomprehensible shout and rushed at Jack. Jack cast Spectral Hand without even thinking, lashing out with a shadow tendril to knock the man backward. The tendrils curled like the arms of an octopus, gave off tiny wisps of smoke, and felt like bars of steel when they struck against people.

  Brian slashed his invisible weapon as the tendril tried to loop around his wrist, and surprisingly, he managed to sever it. Jack wasn’t sure if he’d seen anything do that before, and he felt suddenly wary of his opponent. He licked his lips, hating what he knew he was about to do.

  Then he summoned his Spectral Sword.

  The weapon appeared in his hand with more fanfare than Brian’s had. It was a long, symmetrical blade, with a color similar to blood soaking into the concrete. It had undergone some changes over the past few months, most of which Jack owed to his increasing skill with his blood magic.

  At the bottom of his sword’s hilt now hung a single, curling shadow tendril. Jack had discovered that he could make the weapon far more deadly and effective by pairing it with another spell, and over time, he’d merged the advantage directly into the sword’s design.

  On top of that, his Spectral Sword now gave off more shadow smoke than it used to, wisps of the ethereal substance dripping from it like flash-frozen condensation. The shadow smoke did more than just look intimidating.

  He’d never realized it back when he’d been new to his weapon, but there was a damaging force imparted by its presence. What Jack had figured out was how to increase its natural level, making his summoned weapon f
ar more deadly than a similar sword of steel. The cuts it made blistered and burned now, as though it were coated in ethereal, super-heated steam.

  “Don’t come any closer!” shouted Brian.

  He almost immediately rendered his demand contrary by hurling himself forward at Jack. Brian’s invisible… whatever-it-was hissed as it moved through the air. Jack played it cautious, jumping a few steps back before countering with a slash of his own.

  Their weapons collided. One of them shattered, and it wasn’t Jack’s sword.

  He didn’t realize what he’d done until it was already over. His Spectral Sword had passed through Brian’s invisible conjured weapon, and also through his neck, beheading him as quickly and as easily as popping off a beer cap with a bottle opener.

  Blood gushed upward from Brian’s neck stump as his body fell limply to the ground.

  Jack felt a rush of hot, nauseating emotion. He was used to killing. He was good at killing. But never like this. He felt so ashamed of himself that he almost couldn’t bear it.

  His shame morphed into unhinged fury as Mezolak stepped back into his field of view. He still had his Spectral Sword conjured, and in a rush of movement, he hurled himself forward at the demon.

  “Stop,” said Mezolak.

  A single word. A single goddamn syllable, and suddenly, all Jack could see in front of him was his father, the same man who’d been there for him and his mother throughout his childhood. The man he’d loved.

  This was the real reason why Mezolak had gone through such trouble to secure his loyalty. Jack had tried to attack him several times over the course of the past few months, and it had always ended the same.

  Whenever Mezolak ordered him to stop his attack, all he could see was what the horrible, disgusting result would be if he actually went through with it. He’d be killing his father, and it would do little more than force an essentially immortal demon to spend a few years or decades hunting for a new body to inhabit.