Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  The girls entered into a mirrored room well-lit by a myriad of globe lights. Makeup compacts and boxes littered the countertops before each mirror. Frailty and Whiskey dropped into low stools in booths next to each other.

  “You’re not understanding me. It has nothing to do with Hunter, it has to do with what’s inside me. That’s all. And yes: he. I know it’s a boy, it’s part of this whole connection thing I was just trying to explain to you.”

  Frailty sighed, defeated, twisting in her stool to look in the mirror. She sluggishly applied fake lashes with tiny gemstones glittering amongst the black hairs. Neither girl needed much makeup to impress their customers in normal light, but in the shrouded light of all strip joints, they had to take extra lengths to punctuate their attractive features.

  As Frailty began to generously cake on eye-liner, she continued, “So you’re gonna have some creature baby then?” Her voice didn’t suggest any hint of sarcasm, just more criticism.

  Whiskey glanced over at her in the mirror. She’d smoothed on some deep purple eye shadow and had just finished sticking her fake lashes on. They were a bit shorter than Frailty’s and without gemstones.

  “I will have whatever it is and love it just the same. Hunter was human enough to procreate, his offspring can’t be that bad.”

  “Do you think he was like a vampire or something?” This time Frailty’s voice had an honest ring of curiosity. Whiskey snorted a little laugh as she stood to amble toward the closet. “What? Well, what do you think then?” She clunked after Whiskey, who was pushing through the hangers of skimpy outfits. Frailty joined her by grabbing the stringy ends of the clothes and pulling them from the rest to eye them. The rack they scrutinized was their shared collection, both girls being of similar size. They took home and cleaned worn outfits after each shift.

  Whiskey paused in her search and sighed deeply. She stared past the hangers into the blackness of the closet. Frailty noticed her stillness and stopped as well. She waited.

  “No, Talia, he wasn’t a vampire. A vampire would be a blessing compared to what he is. After seeing what his brother did and his complete disregard for it, it was like another day for them. They didn’t drink anyone’s blood. They just spilled it. The police told me what had been done to some of the men. It wasn’t just a shooting spree. Syler used his bare hands to kill some of those men.” Whiskey finally pulled her attention from the darkness and met Frailty’s eyes pleadingly.

  “Those horrible deaths on the freeways and those cops at the Gothic. The description of the assailant is always the same. And it’s Hunter, I know it. Or both of them. It doesn’t matter. Whoever it is, they just kill. Just because they can. Because they like it.”

  “Hey, ladies, stage three and stage five in four minutes. Let’s move, you aint gettin’ paid to gossip.”

  Whiskey blinked erratically as though she was waking from a dream. “Right, Ron, be there in two.”

  Frailty was staring at her, eyes wide with fear, her frown seeming over-exaggerated. Whiskey turned away and pulled the first thing her hand landed on off the rack and began stripping to don it. Her roommate just stared.

  “Talia, please, come on. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “You’re gonna keep it,” she murmured.

  Whiskey ignored her and pulled a blue outfit off the rack for her. “Here.” She pulled Talia’s dress off over her head and slid off her panties. Her roommate stood, unresponsive. The satin top flowed over her breasts and just above her waist with matching shorts that hugged her ass and thighs, climbing into her crotch. A white g-string hid underneath, save for the sides coming up above the shorts to hug her hips.

  “Come on, sexy, snap out of it. I made it seem worse than it is.” Sandra snapped her fingers a couple of times. Talia’s blue eyes flickered to her friend’s face and back past her shoulder, somewhere else. Sandra scoffed before tightening the cord of her red and black corset. After finishing the knot, she stomped her black heel in frustration.

  “Ladies, move it!” Ron went unseen, but his voice permeated the closet.

  Finally Whiskey slapped Frailty. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to cause a tingling aftershock.

  “Whoa!” Frailty snapped to in surprise. “You better not be pulling my chain, you fucking slut. Let’s get to work.”

  Whiskey rolled her eyes. “Let’s do.” She pushed her prior thoughts of Hunter and the thing growing in her stomach to the back of her thoughts and strutted after her friend into the shaded room of the strip club.

  After two hours of stage dancing and wandering the floor as pure eye-candy, Whiskey found herself on her third stage of the night. It was still early and a weekday and there was only a John or two to each of the six stages. She’d carefully cleaned the pole with the required disinfectant. Both the men at her stage were in their mid to late thirties. She looked past them as she did with every John, unless they were younger and noticeably attractive. Like Hunter had been. She grimaced, setting the chemical and rag back under the stage. Still, she’d been in the job long enough to know how to make it look like she was looking at them.

  As she mounted the stage, she shunned any more thoughts of Hunter and focused only on the images before her: the pole, the lights, the ceiling, the wall mirrors, the other girls. She attuned to the music and started slowly, pretending there were no men watching her movements closely.

  Halfway through the song, she knew it was time to make a more intimate approach. According to her boss, she was not a doll on display; she had to get close to the customer to get their money, to make them come back for more. It was up to her if she allowed them to touch her or not. Really it was illegal, but in joints like this, blind eyes were prevalent.

  She crawled down to the first John, looking at his ears or herself to avoid eye contact. He stuck a five in her black g-sting. She smiled at him and continued to give him a seemingly individual dance, coming partially off the platform by resting her ankles on his shoulders. He gave her another five, this time in the breast of her corset. Before retreating, she whispered a ‘thank you’ into his ear and pulled herself back onto the stage.

  The next song started and she slid across the stage to the other John. She smiled without looking directly at him. He brushed a hand up her calf. She pretended not to notice. Once she had her ankles up on his shoulders and he brushed his jaw down her thigh, she growled a little. It surprised her, but it couldn’t be heard over the pounding music. She pulled her legs away and continued to dance in front of him. The John seemed to want more. He gently wrapped a hand around her ankle and tugged. She shook her head with a forced smile. His hand fell and she relaxed a little, assuming her point had been made. But when she was ending the personal stage dance and had her legs spread, knees bent, he stood and grabbed both her thighs and pulled her toward him.

  Whiskey gasped in surprise. Then a sudden intense wave of hatred and anger surged through her and before she knew it, she was slugging the man across the face with more power than she ever knew she had. The man released her immediately and fell back a couple of paces. She wasn’t done. Sliding from the stage, she waited while the man regained his bearings.

  The punch she’d dealt him had relieved some of the anger she’d felt and she was left feeling somewhat satisfied. But something was nagging at her, wanting something more. When the man faced her and she saw the blood dribbling from one of his nostrils, part of her knew what that more was going to be. And she couldn’t stop herself. She picked up a chair beside her and swung it full force at the man’s head. He yelled and fell to the floor, writhing for a few moments before throwing his arms up to defend against her next attack. She lifted one of her platform shoes and brought it down on the man’s stomach so his hands reverted to protecting the lower region. Immediately, she lifted her foot again and brought it down on his unprotected face. Blood splashed across his cheeks and down his chin. Whiskey felt a delighted chill weave through her and she stomped his face once more before someone grabbed and dragged her
away.

  She screamed defiantly and kicked out, hoping to hit the John one more time before she was out of reach. The damaged stranger was still in her line of vision and she sneered at the sight of him. He was missing teeth and nearly his entire face was covered in blood, made black from the lack of a brighter light.

  She giggled as she was dragged from the room. Finally surrendering, she rested her head back on her captive’s chest. It was Gerald, one of the front-of-the-house bouncers.

  “Whiskey, what the fuck has gotten into you?” He didn’t release her, but looked genuinely concerned.

  She shrugged as well as she could under his tight handle. “The ass-hole was askin’ for it. So I gave it to him. What can I say?” She smiled. Before Gerald could respond, Ron came in, his baritone obliterating all thought.

  “What the fuck just happened here, Sandra?”

  Gerald let her loose, save for one light grasp on one of her arms. Whiskey rolled her eyes, standing straight. Ron never called her by her real name. She was impressed he even remembered it since being hired on a month ago.

  The three of them were congregated in the dressing room, the door being watched by another security guard as to ensure they weren’t disturbed by curious clients or employees.

  Ron was a stout man, a balding one too. He wore a well-pressed black suit with a red satin tie. He looked like a mobster. Whiskey casually dragged her fingers through the curls of her hair. “What do you want me to say, Ron?”

  “I want you to tell me what the fuck you were thinking?”

  She shrugged again. “What do you think I’m going to tell you besides the pig was handling me inappropriately?”

  Ron growled and stepped toward her, hands lifting as if to grab her arms and throttle her.

  “Ah,” she snarled, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He hesitated and his jaw twitched. “Yeah? What’re you gonna do?”

  “Oh, I thought you saw the guy out there. Go ahead, if you’d like to find out firsthand.”

  Ron’s face scrunched angrily and he dropped his hands. “You’re fired. And if I have a lawsuit on my hands, you’re paying for it. Unless you want to tell me it was self-defense.”

  “It was self-defense. Like I said, the fucker was handling me inappropriately.”

  “Fine, regardless, you’re fired. I’ve never had a stripper defend herself to such an extreme. Get out of here. I’ll tell them you ran for it and that you didn’t have a permanent address.”

  Whiskey had slowly been unwinding. Ron’s gesture seemed to pull her back to earth. She grimaced at him. “Really?”

  He nodded curtly. “Yeah, now get out of here before I get a good look at the customer and change my mind.”

  “Thanks, Ron.” She slid from Gerald’s slack grip and headed toward the alley exit. Talia was already waiting for her, wide-eyed and pouty-faced. Sandra whisked past her without a glance.

  “Sandra.” Talia turned and shuffled after her roommate, platforms scraping the gravel as she itched to catch up. “Sandra.” She was finally able to reach Whiskey’s shoulder. “What happened back there?”

  Whiskey glanced back without breaking stride. Once out of the alley, she slowed so Frailty could catch up.

  “It wasn’t me,” she murmured.

  “Obviously.” Frailty paused. “You could have killed him.”

  Whiskey snapped a furious look in her friend’s direction. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Sirens grew from down the street. Whiskey cursed under her breath and picked up the pace, not far from their street.

  “What did he do that pissed you off so much?” Frailty’s voice was low, almost fearful.

  Whiskey sighed, running fingers through her curls. They rounded their street corner before the sirens got too close.

  “He just grabbed me, even after I made a point to show him I was uncomfortable with it when he touched me before. It scared me and upset me, and it just woke something up. I think he meant to protect me, but when the blood started coming, there was a relief, a thirst to see more. He’s going to be more like his dad than I thought.”

  They were walking up the front yard when Frailty stopped. “He tried to protect you? Are you telling me that thing in your belly is already aware, can see what’s happening outside of you?” She shook her head with disbelief before mounting the stairs to the front door. “It hasn’t even been two months.” She pushed through the heavy door, decorated with a frosted oval window. The house was dark.

  “Well, Talia, I can’t imagine that this process is going to be the same as a normal pregnancy. Especially after what just happened. That was not me. It was what’s inside me.”

  “Then get rid of it! For all you know, it’s only going to get worse. You could kill someone. Do you want that on your conscience?” Frailty was getting frantic.

  Whiskey shut the door carefully. “I won’t.”

  Frailty released a shrill squeal before pounding off to her bedroom, slamming the door.

  Whiskey leaned against the wall in the foyer. She set her hands gently on her belly. “I won’t,” she whispered before going to her own bedroom.

  18

  Exodus

  Nefarion led the small group out of the warehouse. They had all spent the last day discussing their discoveries and theories of the new world, Saliea interjecting to explain or fill in the blanks.

  After strapping the less conspicuous guns and knives to their bodies, they left the rest behind to head back to the gate. Save for Hunter, who could not bear to part with a large quantity of ammunition and explosives, all stowed away in a large pack clinging to his broad back. He grumbled briefly over the amount of artillery being abandoned. Once promised they would return for it they were able, he quit.

  The quartet had barely gone a few steps from the steel door when Nefarion went rigid, Saliea tensing a moment after. In a matter of seconds, they were all responding to the same anxious feeling.

  “How did they find us so swiftly? Did you not say you have been here for some time without detection?” Nefarion growled, eyes sparking as he glared over at his Elite.

  Syler was scowling. “Another vampire must have been sent to this area.” Turning his irritated expression over to Hunter, he added, “Or one followed you after your excursion last night.”

  Hunter shot him a malevolent glare. “I would have sensed I was being followed if that had been the case.”

  Before Syler could reply, Nefarion interjected, “Enough!” They each turned their attention to the roof of the warehouse where the presence emanated.

  Three Seraphs peered over the edge, their pale skin rusty in the distant orange glow of a streetlight. A silver glint reflected in their eyes, dancing from a radiant glimmer to a pale lifelessness as they stared down at their enemy. The trio of unnatural eyes drifted across the Demon crew, all tense with anticipation.

  Kaleb smirked and leaned flippantly on the lip of the warehouse roof, his eyes coming to rest on Nefarion. The Demon’s new form was still daunting, embodying the evil that sweltered from him at all times. Only now, the form had been molded to the evil of this world. Perfection meant to lure. Fortunately, humans had some instinct. Nefarion had even gone as far as to blatantly carve the word ‘SIN’ into his chest. Kaleb scoffed haughtily. Then his eyes fell on the Demon’s key, Saliea. He regarded her, unperturbed that she had escaped. She had not been his priority at the time and he had not thought she would be reunited with the Demon Lord so quickly. He left his eyes on her, knowing it would agitate Nefarion.

  “Leave them.” Nefarion turned, took Saliea’s hand, and walked away from his enemy. Hunter and Syler let their glares linger before heeding their Lord’s command and moving toward the darkness of the streets.

  Kaleb sneered, nodding toward the ominous group. He and his comrades leapt over the lip of the warehouse and slid down its wall, landing softly on the sidewalk.

  “Where do you think you are going, Demon filth?” Kaleb called after them be
fore they were fully submerged by the night.

  Halting everyone else, Nefarion paused. He glanced over his shoulder, his red eyes burning into his nemesis’ gaze. “To meet the masses,” he replied quietly, threateningly. And just as he went to take another step, Jacob and Elijah attacked, blurring into a ghostly haze. Nefarion’s Elite went on the offense, attempting to catch the pair before they reached their target. Neither succeeded.

  Saliea’s screech was cut short by Nefarion’s ferocious bellow as she was torn from his grasp. Elijah had her around the waist and stopped several feet out of the Demons’ circle of reach. Jacob was beside him, a knife in hand.

  “Return her!” Nefarion’s voice deepened with the undercurrent of another foreboding set of vocals.

  Kaleb walked casually to his Seraphs. He put his hand out for the blade. “It is time to end this, Nefarion. You cannot have this world.” Jacob did not finish handing off the weapon; rather they all froze, suddenly in rapture.

  Even Hunter and Syler were captivated as they took several steps back from their Lord. Nefarion’s eyes grew dark with violet and the two voices rose in his throat in guttural gasps. His body heaved with every breath and on every heave, he seemed to grow. Top and bottom fangs bit into his lips as his fingers grew into talons. Even his skin appeared to dim several shades. The transformation seemed to taper off when he reached his natural, eight foot Demon height. He did not fully take on the Demon form, but the sharpened bone structure and massive size attested to what was attempting to break through.

  The trance everyone had fallen into dissipated when he hunched over to release an ear-splitting roar. His first voice had vanished and the second dominated, recognized by all the present Trissana natives. It shook the buildings, loosing dirt, dust, and chips of paint from them. Once it became only an echo among the street, Nefarion was lunging for Saliea.

  In a panicked gesture, Jacob made a blind slice, hitting the side of Saliea’s neck with the blade and bringing it down her chest. He was immediately knocked back several yards, landing with a crack into the corner of a concrete building. His body crumbled to the sidewalk and disappeared in the dust cloud Nefarion’s rage-cry had woken.