by C H Chelser
Because they were not wrong.
He turned into himself to ease the pain. Laws were facts; irrefutable and dependable, assuring the continuation of existence. This he relied on. It grated against his very being that the bullet was accurate. That not all transgressions constituted a crime. He could not say how or why, only that this, too, was a fact, whether he wanted it to be true or not.
A fact that did not fit; souls that did not know their place. How were such deviants permitted to exist at all?
He wiped the acid from his lips and ventured into the labyrinth of the fog-riddled world, determined not to stop until he found a meal to compensate for the energy this internal struggle had cost him. But his path was undetermined, aimless. During his meanderings, he searched for the woman’s signal and found it broadcasting from the physical plain once more. That gave him peace of mind. One less upheaval to nag at him.
For now. She would shift again. Now she knew how, he couldn’t think of a valid reason why she wouldn’t try again. He didn’t appreciate the prospect or what consequences might ensue, but at the same time he was not impervious to the fact – fact! – that what she had done should not have been possible. It required a strength and resourcefulness he had previously ignored. It would seem that dismissing her as being of no value beyond bait to catch his quarry – a fact, or so he had believed – had been an unjust miscalculation.
A miscalculation that could cost him the hunt if not corrected.
He grimaced at his own obtuseness. Incorrect facts were fallacies; fallacies were quicksand. He had stumbled into such quicksand once before, and it had destroyed him. Back then someone had gotten under his shield, too…
But what choice did he have? She had learned how to shift. Into the fog, possibly deeper. Not as far as the outer edge, but by accident or not, she had already gone as far as the deep darkness.
Deeper than the boy could go.
Deeper than any but his own kind could go.
He stilled and focused. Regardless of how he despised being dependent on her, if ever he had a chance of hunting down this rampant other, she was it.
His shield resumed the appearance of a long coat, and he made to straighten his top hat. As always, he missed. His hands clenched into fists.
If ever he had a chance of redemption from his own despicable nature, she was it.
‘Provided she plays her part.’ Focusing on her soul marker, he saw how sordid colours rapidly accumulated about her. Again.
The cool of her world’s night seeped through to the threshold and its adjacent plains as he shifted towards her. All around, the dark came alive while the light receded. Ghosts that walked, wailed, waited; embittered demons; fallen warriors; parasites in search of their next meal. Countless souls stirred like stars in the night sky, always there but often hidden by that which shone brighter.
None of them paid much attention to the woman. More than anything, they seemed to give her a wide berth, as they did him. Not unlike the time she had cast up that pillar of energy. When she had drawn the other to her as well.
He sped up.
Back then her colours had been stronger. Now they were dulled, unstable and sickly hues that reminded him of cornered prey. Of fear.
She was afraid. Had she sensed the other?
Without breaking stride, he reinforced his shield around him and cut through, into her direct proximity, all senses primed.
‘Where?’ he barked.
No answer. Taking this as a sign of still greater distress, he whipped out his cane. Only then did he realise that she was oblivious to his presence.
His initial astonishment swiftly turned to irritation as he investigated her mental shield. She had closed her mind to all outside herself, and to him specifically. To what purpose? He observed her with close attention. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling over the shoulder of the only other person in the room, to wit a rather nervous man whose energy sloshed with crude lust for power and for—
Ah, yes. Of course.
He now recognised the space as a bedroom and the motions of the two bodies on the bed as the rutting of animals in heat. He tilted his head to monitor the naked, sweating man rocking back and forth on top of the woman. Her husband, he expected.
She, however, took no pleasure in this act of copulation. Her fear and repulsion were pungent, but she did not fight the assault. Much to his dismay. The sooner her discomfort was over, the sooner her colours would cease to be so vile. Instead, whenever she let out a moan of pain, the husband took it to be an encouragement to increase his frustrated humping, the renewed vigour sprouting new strands of greenish brown in her. Those strands dimmed almost at once. With every instance the man thrust into her, her aura drained further, until it became bland and unremarkable. Nearly colourless.
Enough!
A soundless snarl, and he lashed out. Not moving from the foot end of the bed, he leaned over their tangled bodies and grabbed the back of the husband’s head. By the way the woman’s eyes widened, he assumed she sensed him at last. Too late. Her shock would not deter him from consuming his sorely needed meal.
Under his touch, the man shivered. In delight or rapture perhaps, but not because the man was aware of the sharp, elongating nails driving through his skull and into his spine.
Thus tapped into the main channel of the body’s energy, he opened his mouth and brought his face close to the intangible punctures his intrusion had created. Energy spilled along his fingers, which he drank with long draws. Technically he did not need to suck his sustenance out like a predator tearing off flesh and drinking blood, but the satisfaction of absorbing the energy through his mouth was enhanced by the memory of devouring food and fluids in that fashion.
Inside him, the infernal hunger rose to take in more, ever more. The husband arched into the long talons, shaking with spasms that the man likely contributed to a physical climax. Exhaustion was close, but not close enough yet.
He absorbed another mouthful of the man’s energy, and another. Unconsciousness loomed.
He fast approached the critical point. As ever, instinct roared at him to take it all, to not stop at draining the body alone. But the instant the body slackened, he withdrew his nails and broke away all together. The meagre meal was insufficient, his darker side complained. He ignored it. No meal ever sufficed, but it would have to nonetheless.
Spent, the man slumped onto the woman’s breast like the sack of meat that he was. She quickly pushed the body off her, but spared several moments to assure herself that the man was still alive.
He withdrew a fraction, recalling her frantic response when she had last witnessed him feed. He was not in the mood to suffer her capricious behaviour tonight.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have to. Her aura flailed, upset but not unhinged by the recent violation of her physical integrity. She was quite collected when she rose from the bed, smoothing her wet, dishevelled nightgown where it stuck to her skin at awkward angles.
Resignation. He hadn’t seen that in her before.
“Thank you,” she said, and reached out a hand.
He avoided her attempt at contact, a deep frown carved into his features as well as into his thoughts. ‘Your distraction was intolerable,’ he retorted. ‘Now return to your task.’
Again her reaction failed to meet his expectations. Brooding resentment, outright rage; these he understood and anticipated. Yet her energy’s signature rather resembled that of the more amicable parasites after he had permitted them to take refuge behind his shield. Brownish yellow made way for soft purples and pleasant blues that signified relief as well as confidence turned inside out. Inexplicable, but an improvement nevertheless. Appetising, too.
He tightened his shield as much as possible, wary of how she had caught him off guard before.
“You…” Her mind was now open, an unorganised mess that showed her thoughts well before she spoke them. “So it is true. You do feed like those leeches.” Lilac spurts of excitement blossomed around her.<
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‘Parasites,’ he replied deadpan, careful not to become engrossed by these marvellous colours. ‘What you call leeches are more properly referred to as parasites.’
“As you say, monsieur. Parasites. What matters is that Jean was right. A demon you may be, but you do not feed on souls, even when the opportunity presents itself.” She glanced at where the husband’s prone form had dropped, and chuckled nervously. “Although Eric will have quite a headache in the morning, I expect.”
‘Do not think lightly of my appetite. Draining a body of its energy is not harmless.’
“Perhaps not, but he lives.” She stood before him, head craning back to bridge the difference in height she perceived. “Could you have hurt him?”
‘I did.’
Her expression darkened. “You did not. He will feel poorly when he wakes, but you did not hurt him. Not as he hurt me. Not as you hurt those men in the alley.”
He saw her memories of long claws and his cane raining down blows on two faceless brigands.
‘An exception. If prey can be subdued without violence, this is preferable. Less strenuous for both hunter and hunted.’
A dark red stain in her aura suggested she would have approved had he unleashed a fair amount of aggression on the husband, but her thoughts moved on to the more pertinent subject.
“The other devourer. Will you try to subdue it without violence?”
‘No,’ he said before she finished speaking. ‘Prey that believes it has something to lose never submits without a fight.’
—A criminal cornered; an iron bar raised in threat. ‘Do not disturb me now,’ warned a familiar voice before disappearing into the night. The night; the alley; the fly escaping from the spider’s web—
With a flick of his mind he dispelled the unwanted memory. Through its remaining threads, he saw the woman shivering before him. He tensed. Had she caught sight of this slip? Possibly. Her colours dulled again, as if a dark veil had been cast over them. But while distraught, she was also alert and keen. Her energy should be, too. Unusual.
“The bed curtain,” she muttered, pointing at the fluttering fabric. “Look at the bed curtain.”
He took no note of said curtain, but he did pay attention to the panicked jumble of thoughts about a cold wind chilling her when all the windows were closed. Her conclusion shaped itself between them before it found words.
“The other! Monsieur, it is here!”
At the first tone of her warning, his mind cast a wide net in search for any other but themselves. He found no energy that he hadn’t already detected on his way up here, and berated himself for his foolishness. Too preoccupied with her predicament and his own hunger, he had failed to recognise the signs when he should have. A dangerous omission! Unfocused and divergent trails had betrayed the other’s path before. The current lack thereof suggested it had been here for some time. Behind their backs.
‘..rupte…!’ something roared, indistinct despite its proximity.
“I hear it,” the woman cried.
‘Where is it? Tell me!’
“I…I cannot. It is all around!”
Her anxiety flared up like a bonfire. Red and orange waves shot in every direction. His shield deflected rather than absorbed the energy, but otherwise her colours swirled undeterred. Except in one other corner, opposite him, where an intense darkness devoured the colourful strands on contact.
That darkness had no shape that he could see, but it had a marker, cut and spliced but still recognisable. His whole being vibrated with anticipation. The thrill of the hunt boiled up, consumed him. He smirked.
‘Extend your aura,’ he told the woman. ‘Give me more colours.’
“My aura?”
‘You wanted to be my eyes? Then do as I say!’
Confusion and irritation at his address mingled with her anxiety, broadcasting a fresh wave of brilliant hues. As water engulfing an obstacle in its way betrayed the obstacle’s shape, so the splash of colours identified him. A double-edged sword, because while it revealed him, the course of the woman’s energy also revealed the entity harassing them. At last he made out its general features.
Those of a giant tiger stalking the glow of a campers’ firelight.
At the rise of his cane a second shield formed, a barrier separating him and the woman from the other. For the briefest moment it blackened everything beyond, but just when the woman’s energy flared in panic from being blinded, he turned the shield outwards – protecting them from the world without blocking. The cloud of orange that the woman emanated burst through like light through an opened window.
Outlined by the dancing hues, the other circled the shield with increasing agitation. It barked a call; a single thought as unclear as the rest of the creature. Yet the woman responded with a wave of renewed fear.
The same bark hit them again. Although it repulsed him, he concentrated on the primal instinct that had spawned it.
‘Me first. Mine.’
His perception was jaded and the thoughts lacked context, but their simplicity invited an educated guess as to their meaning.
‘I intruded on your meal?’ He bared his teeth. ‘Good.’
‘I wait. Long wait. Too busy, too much other.’
Its frustration at repeated interruptions in its hunt stood out sharper than the rest of it. So, it preferred to hunt in solitude. A catch-and-run killer, as he had suspected. Interesting.
‘There will be no meal for you today. Or ever again.’
A shadow of countless long, razor-sharp teeth stood out a fraction against the darkness. ‘Mine!’ it growled, its focus on the woman.
‘No.’ Cane and talons primed in preparation. ‘It is back to the outer edge with you.’
The attack came instantly, faster than he had anticipated. The woman cried as the other leapt. His shield caved under the pressure of the impact, but remained intact. He forced it back into position, flinging the other back. Audacious bastard! Well, what else should he have expected from a criminal?
He braced himself for a second onslaught, but that did not follow immediately. More’s the pity, because the evidence that his shield held against the attacks comforted the woman. As a result, her aura subsided, changing to calm colours that provided too little contrast. A change of tactic was in order.
‘I cannot catch it like this. I will need to drop the shield.’
Instant effect. A flurry of frantic reds, orange and yellows exploded through the shield he maintained.
‘Better,’ he muttered, and turned his attention back to the prowling creature, which now emitted a continuous whine as it sought and sniffed, searching the shield for a weakness.
‘Hungry! Hungry!’ it howled.
He scoffed. ‘As you are always, you damned abomination.’
‘You, same,’ the other growled in a concealed undercurrent that ran beneath the whining. ‘Same hunger! Same need!’
Within him, that hunger rose at the recognition it received, which he persistently denied it. As it breached the surface of his consciousness, the light by which he perceived his adversary now distracted him from his purpose.
“Monsieur? Monsieur, do something!”
‘Quiet,’ he snapped at the woman. Now that he was fighting his own instincts as well as the other’s, she was no longer helping by attracting more attention to herself. She was too close, an easy prey that would fill – No! No amount of feeding would fill him. The other before him bore a poignant testament to that futility.
He turned away, willing himself to all but forget about the tantalising energy the woman emitted and to focus solely on the miscreant instead.
Which reacted to his restraint with a surprisingly clear fit of desperate jealousy.
‘Mine! Mine!’ it screeched as it ripped at his shield with unseen nails.
And tore it to shreds!
Shocked but not stunned he lashed out. His own hand, now a monstrous claw, grabbed the fleeting shadow: all that the other was to him. For a fraction of an ins
tance he had something, but then it vanished from his grip. Retaliation was swift, but the other’s teeth, dripping acid and bile so similar to his own, did not last long enough to hurt, never mind do damage.
‘Weak. Weak with hunger,’ it whined.
‘Feed to your heart’s content on your own soul,’ he hissed. ‘As you should!’
The other gathered its attention. ‘Weak,’ it spat, referring to either itself or to him, or possibly to both of them. ‘Lost. Weak.’
‘Still stronger than you.’
Apt as he was at reading intentions, he sensed the lunge before the thought matured into action. His cane was up and a refreshed shield in place just as the other went for the woman’s throat.
The other’s existential despair clashed with his righteous indignation; neither yielded. The collision shook them both to the very core before they disconnected.
Using the moment’s reprieve, he straightened the shield and checked on the woman. She was losing coherency, but struggling against her mind’s urge to shut down in terror. She seemed to understand that if she let it, her colours would fade with her, and she refused to let that happen. Good. He had more important problems.
He focused on the vague, still shimmering outline of the criminal; a prey that he could apparently grab but not keep hold of. His plans had all depended on that simple possibility, which now proved unfeasible.
‘Stuck,’ the other huffed at him. ‘Lost, no purpose.’ Its intentions again centred on the woman. ‘My purpose!’
The woman had heard that. She began to pray.
‘Oh, I do have purpose,’ he growled as he positioned himself between her and the flitting shadow. ‘My purpose is to stop your madness and incarcerate you where you belong.’
‘Survive.’ A wisp of a gigantic claw struck out but missed him. ‘Must survive!’
‘I think not!’
His cane connected just as the other shifted away from the threshold. That he must follow in pursuit was a forgone conclusion.
***
“…kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as in Hea... Heaven?”