by Fox Lancet
“Syler, I do not brag to you normally, nor do I keep count, but I have killed hundreds of these creatures since we arrived.” Syler shot an angry glance at him, holding back as not to let the red appear in his eyes, cautious of the amount of people around. He began growling, but abruptly stopped when a deep, ruthless sound poured from the open entrance in front of them.
“Where are we?” he asked, glancing up and around.
“This is the Gothic Theatre. They play live music here, though I have never heard anything like this in any of my previous passes of it,” Hunter replied, equally intrigued. “The black block letters announce who is performing.” He pointed at the marquee. “Tonight is The Faceless.” The sound hammering from the doors was fast and heavy. “We must enter.”
Syler silently agreed by following his cohort to a window next to the open doorways. “How much for this show?” He bent over, his hands propped on the silver counter protruding from a hard-plastic window.
“Ten dollars,” a static, female voice responded through a silver grate toward the bottom of the window. Hunter flipped through his wallet and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill.
“I would like to acquire two passes.” He pushed the bill through a gap at the bottom of the window. The girl on the other side of the glass lifted a brow at him and nodded, smiling gently.
“There you are. Enjoy the show,” she responded as she pushed two rectangular tickets through the hole.
After the duo handed their tickets to the human in the yellow jacket at the front door, they entered the lobby and stopped simultaneously.
“Did you feel that?” Syler growled quietly to Hunter.
“Yes,” he replied without looking at Syler. His eyes instead darted about the immediate vicinity.
“You go up those stairs, head in, and double back on the first floor. Cover as much ground as you can!” Syler barked and they separated, each toward the opposite staircases branching off either side of the lobby.
Hunter took the stairs easily three at a time under his long legs, his clunky knee-high boots pounding violently with each landing. He shoved past a couple ambling up the steps; the boy cursed at him, but Hunter paid no heed. His eyes pinpointed red. Typically he would control them in such a populated area, but the moment required a layer of night vision and absolute focus repressing them would have impeded.
The trace of extreme familiarity encased his skin as his eyes scanned the balconies for any sign of a rare aura. Humans presented with dull auras, mostly a subtle gray glow that went unnoticed unless he really concentrated. Every so often he caught sight of one with a glitter of color, but he never stopped to investigate. With the way he was currently feeling from a being he had yet to lay eyes on, he could only imagine hers would stand out.
As he anxiously approached the staircase leading down to the floor in front of the stage, set on the opposite end of the building, he caught sight of an unusual air. It radiated from a nearby girl with long black hair who leaned against the wall, surveying the show over the bodies lining the balcony railing. He began striding toward her, though as he did, the familiar sensation slowly began dissipating. Before he was in arms-length of her, the female twirled around rather suddenly as if she had sensed him. She hissed, but did not move in time to avoid Hunter as his hand promptly gripped her throat. Hunter dragged her closer to look down into her dark eyes. She grimaced and Hunter noted her shortened fangs.
Keeping a firm grip, he let his senses consume his surroundings: suffocating heat, sweaty human bodies, body odor, alcohol, weed, stale cigarettes, shouting, whistling, and the luring combination of instruments coming together through stacks of speakers. But through it all there was no familiarity with her. He growled angrily. Men had begun closing in on the confrontation in the woman’s defense. Before any of them could interfere, he threw her into the wall with a shout that became lost among the roars of the vocalist performing on stage. Her body met the wall with a muffled crash and she slid from the dented drywall. When she recovered immediately, the men attempting to intervene froze and gawked at the woman’s lack of injury as she glared after Hunter, who was already descending the nearby stairs. He was down them in two long leaps and shoving through the tighter crowd in front of the stage as the powerful draw of the aura he had been hunting became a memory.
A growl remained in his throat, black strands of his hair dangling between his eyes as he pushed through the crowd and back towards the lobby.
When he neared the bar, he knocked a man aggressively into a group of people and their drinks splashed over the man’s shoulders and arms. The man took a swing at him. Hunter turned on him, towering over the man by almost a foot. His eyes were still teeming in the centers, and he grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt and pulled him sharply forward. Hunter’s forehead slammed into the bridge of the man’s nose with an audible crack, and the man’s nose instantly gushed blood. The Demon did not pause to revel in the man’s suffering, but threw him away and continued on to his destination to meet Syler in the lobby. The aura had now completely vanished.
Syler was outside the front doors looking in both directions, trying to discern in which direction the key had gone. Hunter joined him.
“What took you so long?” Syler inquired without irritation, as he reserved it for their loss.
“I mistook a Vampire for the key momentarily. Then I was met with some hostility on my way back to the entrance. I lost the feeling by the time I was on the other side of the building.”
“Me as well. She must have come from the lower floor and left the theatre.” Syler’s eyes continued to scan the distant streets. “We will have to return here again.”
“Celest did not lie about the lure, the way we are drawn to the places that the key can be found.” Syler nodded in agreement.
“Let us return to the theatre, I would like to hear more of this music. Perhaps she will return yet.” Syler turned back toward the entrance, but when he attempted to re-enter, the lady at the door stopped him.
“There’s no re-entry,” she commanded and pointed at a sign on one of the closed doors. Syler clenched his jaw and looked down into the woman’s small face without bending his back.
“I do as I please,” he uttered slowly and threateningly. Her jaw went slack and she only responded by stepping back out of his way. Syler passed her without another glance and Hunter followed with a broad smile.
The two large men placed themselves near the bar located on the other side of the lobby wall. Alcohol did not affect them as it did the humans who infested the building so they did not drink. The spot merely provided a decent vantage point without putting them in a thick crowd of noxious people.
They listened attentively to the newly discovered sound that poured through the air. The depth and speed reminded them of their distant home, of war and bloodshed. It created an atmosphere that they had not yet experienced since they had arrived. The heavy music blasted through enormous speakers and reverberated off the walls, enveloping the crowd in constant dark waves. Hunter and Syler were astonished that the humans they had deemed weak and feeble could conjure such a powerful sound.
The crowd imitated the sound in many ways. The majority of them had donned all black attire accompanied by metal or silver jewelry, including punctures in their faces. Tattoos were a prominent feature as well. Even the prints on their shirts displayed the aggression and emotion the music portrayed: they were often gore-splattered, vulgar, or had phrases like “I was sent from Hell” and “I hate everyone” filling the backs of the garments.
Syler and Hunter blended in effortlessly and unintentionally: both in dark attire, dark hair and features. Hunter alone melded even more with his many piercings and two recently acquired tattoos inked on his tanned skin. One peeked through the sleeve hole that had deliberately been ripped from his red shirt and gaped open down to his waist. On his left rib cage a multitude of human skulls screamed and stretched from one another in firelight as if they had been melted together. The second wrappe
d about his right bicep and went down just below his elbow: a gruesome depiction of a Demon decapitating a Seraph.
When the music ended, the crowd dispersed quickly, either stumbling drunkenly through the suffocating haze or walking quickly to the open doors only to replace the fresh air with tobacco smoke. Syler cringed as the crowd packed and rallied past him, but Hunter’s attention devoured every different form and face.
“As much as I do not like humans, I think these the better half of the creatures,” Hunter stated as they trailed the exiting crowd. Syler sneered in disgust.
“Sometimes I cannot comprehend you, Hunter.” He shook his head. Hunter made no response.
“Are you still inclined to attend the strip club?” Hunter inquired when they reached the Broadway sidewalk again.
“So long as you take me to one that is obscure so I might relieve some tension.”
“Absolutely. I know the perfect place.”
Syler scowled as they entered the dimly lit cavern of the gentlemen’s club. Both their gaits were casual as they ambled down a few shallow steps leading into a flat nook adorned with four small stages. A vertical metal pole and a half-naked female accompanied each platform.
The room was nearly black save for a strip of red lights running along all corners of the ceilings and walls. Each stage was decorated with small white lights. Mindless music blared a constant beat that pounded from unseen speakers on the ceiling. The women twirled down the poles, or lay on their backs in provocative positions, clapping their over-sized, plastic heels together.
“Look at all the weak filth,” Syler spat as he scanned the small area.
“I think the women are plenty fine,” Hunter said, the smile on his face never wavering since they had entered.
“No, the females, they know exactly what they are doing. These men, it is the men: weak, easily manipulated trash. These women are extorting their money with something as simple as their naked bodies. Would the Succubi not have a kingdom here.” The latter remark he declared as more of a statement than question. Hunter looked at him thoughtfully as they lingered at the bottom of the steps before the four platforms.
“That is an interesting observation. It is a strange occurrence that the men are the more powerful gender in this world.”
“Perhaps the women allow them their power for good reason.” Syler began testing theories in his head. He sidestepped to a small round table on his left and pulled out a chair, settling in without taking his eyes off the scene before him.
Hunter did not follow and instead lounged on his feet, resting his weight on his left foot, his large chain swinging ominously.
“Hunter!” After a few short minutes, one of the scantily clad females roaming the floor flashed to Hunter’s side. She entwined her arms around his muscled bicep. The young woman had an angled face with a clear complexion. Her curly, burgundy hair was thrown up on her head in a messy bun and myriads of strands fell like rivulets of dark water down her slender neck. He grinned down at the pretty face with muddy brown eyes. Syler’s attention jerked in their direction at the sudden interruption.
“Ah, hello, Whiskey,” Hunter replied as he studied the smooth features of her pale face, then turned to look at Syler. “Whiskey, this is my brother, Syler.” He held his hand out in Syler’s direction then dropped it back to the pocket of his ragged pants, torn away just below his knees. Syler responded by lifting a black eyebrow.
“Hello, Syler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She moved a six-inch-platform-heel in his direction and extended her hand in a customary American gesture that humans engaged when presented to new humans. Syler squinted at the hand that landed at eye-level. He did not move. The female glanced at Hunter. “Not overly personable, is he?” Arrogance tinted her cheerful voice. Hunter laughed shortly and shook his head.
“He does not get out often. I am a bit taken that he agreed to join me tonight. So no, Whiskey, he is not very personable.” Syler shook his head minutely with a mixture of perplexity and irritation before he returned his attention to the women on pedestals and the men who groveled before them.
“I was hoping you would come tonight. It’s my birthday and I would like to give you a freebie because you are my favorite!” She pressed her nearly naked body against his side as he grinned down into her face once again.
“Birthday?” Hunter questioned.
“The day she was born into this unfortunate existence,” Syler drawled without looking in their direction. Whiskey frowned her pouty red lips at him then rolled her dramatically shadowed eyes.
“I don’t suppose you know what a freebie is either?” She looked up at Hunter with a sly half-smile resting on her mouth. He shook his head short and slow. “I’ll show you.” She turned away and led him between the stages, holding his hand. He let her guide him with a slight smile on his face. “I like your new piercings, by the way. Very suiting,” she spoke loudly over her slim white shoulder, above the music.
“I agree.”
“I have something else that I think might suit you.” She turned toward him as they neared the dark wall and took his hand in both hers. She winked at him. His smile grew. She pushed through a door hidden in the wall and into a small room, lit in the same dim manner as the main room. The door shut and the music became a muffled thumping. There was a dark booth stretching the length of the three walls and a large, square foot-rest of the same color and material in the center. All the color in the room was consumed by a muted red, a color familiar and comforting to Hunter.
“Have a seat.” She paused as Hunter rounded the furnishing in the center and plopped down into the cool, leather booth. “You should probably take your shirt off.” Hunter hesitated, pursing his pierced lips in consideration before shrugging and pulling his t-shirt off. “Ooo, more tattoos,” Whiskey crooned and her eyes softened at the sight of his naked upper-body. She bit her lip while she surveyed his rigid eight-pack abs and defined chest adorned with a pair of AK-47s. Their butts etched into his shoulders and came down in a slant so their barrels crisscrossed at the center of his chest. Hunter smiled and looked down.
“One of human’s most profound inventions, aside from the fragment hand grenade and the atom bomb,” Hunter announced factually. “Any weapon of destruction really.” Whiskey showed a set of perfect white teeth when she gave Hunter a wide smile.
At that she slid a long, toned leg between him and the foot-rest and leaned back, opening her thighs provocatively position. Her body undulated several times before she arched her back and lifted her ass off the seat and threw her right leg over Hunter’s head, flipping her entire body agilely over so she was bent at an acute angle with her ass eye level to Hunter. The shape of her pussy showed beneath black satin between her spread thighs. Hunter’s tongue pushed at his top lip, his mouth gaping at the pleasing display. His body heated, though he was only vaguely aware of the response.
She came up in a careful wave, her back arching until she stood completely. Her arms followed the flow and stretched up over her head, reaching for the low ceiling. When her acrylic nails scrapped the ceiling, she twirled back toward Hunter. She seductively slid her left knee beside him on the leather booth. Her torso leaned away before she grasped his right shoulder with her delicate hand and pulled herself toward him. She knelt over him, touching him only with her hands.
His body made a second instinctive response that was hard not to note as his hands reached out to touch her somewhere. Anywhere. He wanted to feel her warm flesh. An unsteady breath cut into his lungs and he scowled at the ambiguous gesture, but his senses pleased him so he disregarded it.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Whiskey breathed as she pushed both his hands away by his wrists. She wiggled an index finger at him and he frowned with confusion. She gave him a smug smile. “Wait until I’m done, then I’ll let you touch me wherever and however you want.” She winked at him, a signal he did understand. Another wave of heat rushed through him as she denied him. He cringed as desire pressed his control. She sated him
momentarily as she slid her body up against his, her breasts smothering his face. Hunter took the moment to break the barrier and bit the tops of one of her round, soft breasts. She squealed in surprise.
“Hunter! What did I just tell you?”
He smiled wickedly up at her, his tongue caught between his teeth. “You are lucky that is all I did,” he replied, his tongue slipping back and his lips coming together in a sneer.
Whiskey pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, their glimmer dissuading any actual disapproval. She knelt up straight again, pulling her torso away from him and reached behind her back. The purple satin bikini top she wore slid off her breasts and into Hunter’s lap. They both smiled. She spread her legs further and began to grind on him, her smile fading and her eyes softening. Hunter looked up into her face and felt yet another wave of heat rush through him. His smile transformed into a rigid gap.
Grasping Hunter’s head in her hands, she pulled him to her lips. He hesitated briefly, but was far from threatened by the small woman so admitted her actions. Her tongue slid into his mouth as their lips pressed together fitfully. He followed her movements as best he could manage. His human body’s instinct claimed him and he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, pressing her fragile body against his. After a few brief moments, Whiskey pulled her face away in a gasp.
“Here.” She reached for her messy bun as if she was going to adjust it but instead pulled her hands back down and held a flat, silver package. Hunter cocked a brow when she held it between their bodies.
“What is it?”
Whiskey laughed briskly and shook her head. “It’s a condom, silly. Didn’t they teach you about these things in high school?”
“I am not from around here. I did not attend school.” Whiskey tilted her head to the side as she scrutinized his serious features.
“You are so strange. Next you’re gonna tell me you’re a virgin with that body.” She snorted and shook her head again.
“Virgin?”