"Okay..." I set my bag on the padded floor and slowly brought my arms up. His eyes flicked from my left hand to my right, brows furrowed. I didn't make eye contact—it was too awkward—and instead stared at his tattoos. The scar across his left shoulder slightly distorted the face of the brown owl, making it look like it was scarred, too.
"Not bad." He walked over to the closet on the far side and riffled through the weapons. "What would you like? Spear, dagger, or sword?"
"In the past I've used a gun." And by 'the past,' I meant one time, the day before yesterday.
"I don't teach guns. Too barbaric. No art to it."
"Okay, then I guess... some kind of knife?"
Schliiing. He pulled out a curved, silver sword and set it in my hands. "Try this scimitar."
It was a lot heavier than I expected. As soon he transferred the full weight of it to my hands, it swung down, pulling my arm straight like a plumb line. "How much does this weigh?!" I gasped.
"Nothing—if you practice enough.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s enchanted to be heavy for anyone who isn’t its owner—so that it would be difficult for someone to steal it and use it against you.”
“Okay. How do I become its owner? Fill out a form, or—”
He laughed. “Only practice will make you its owner. Slowly, it will grow attuned to you, and you will be able to wield it with ease.”
“Great.” With a grunt, I pulled it up to my waist level. I slowly waved it through the air, hoping for the cool swish sound in the movies. Instead, it just bobbed side-to-side, very awkwardly.
He laughed. A deep, booming chuckle that filled the mirrored walls of the studio. I scowled at him.
“Lift it."
Slowly, I did. My arm twitched as I tried to keep it in position.
"No, not like that."
"Why don't you show me?" I shot back, annoyed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"With pleasure."
He took the sword from me, holding it up easily. He advanced towards the beat-up punching bag with all the grace of a ballerina—despite his 250-pound figure.
Thump! He lunged towards it. The sword flicked through the air, then came swishing down on its leathery surface. Riiiiiip—it easily sliced through, spilling cotton filling onto the carpet.
"Now, you try." He handed the sword back to me.
"Try... all that?"
He nodded.
"But I—"
"You will never learn if you don't try."
I carefully took the sword from him. It still felt too heavy in my hands—like I was using every ounce of energy to keep it from clattering to the ground.
I slowly advanced towards the punching bag, glancing back at Jim. He eyed me with a concerned, judging glare.
"Okay. Uh. Let's see," I stuttered. I took a quick step forward, pushing the sword through the air.
"More oomph," he said.
"What?"
"Put more passion into it. More strength." He looked over me again. "You have long arms. Use that to your advantage."
I wildly swung the sword through the air. It made a small swish sound. "Like that?"
"That's slightly better. But you still need more oomph. Imagine… the punching bag is your ex-boyfriend."
I nearly laughed. “Fine.” I pictured Adam Tsang. Imagined his stupid little face saying the words I think we should just be friends, over and over, looking at me like I was an idiot.
"Aaaaah!" I yelled, running towards the punching bag.
Crrack.
I slammed the sword into it. It sliced through the leather and came out the other side. The punching bag tottered, swayed, and then fell to the ground.
Thump.
"Better?"
Jim shrugged. "A little bit."
"Thank you very—"
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Little red lights flashed against the ceiling. The alarm system. This time, though, it wasn't Thomas's voice coming through the speakers, but an unidentified female voice. "Attention: All Hunters report to the parking garage immediately," the voice said, on repeat.
"Do they have to do this every time?" I shouted over the noise. "Can't they just text us?"
"Gear up." He pulled the curved blade from the punching bag and pulled a bandolier over my shoulder. He tucked it inside. The weight tugged at my back. Then he threw me a black jacket. "Uh. What's this?" I asked.
"So we vaguely resemble police when we arrive. Don't want anyone asking questions."
We pulled on the jackets, and then we were on our way.
***
Dozens of police cars parked haphazardly around the Johnson Industries skyscraper, red and blue flashing along the cement. A few black monster trucks were parked behind them, with other NIMP teams climbing out. Bystanders clustered on the sidewalk, holding their phones up.
"This looks bad," Jim said. He parked his truck behind the other NIMP cars and climbed out, carefully unfolding his long limbs. I wrapped my scarf tighter around me, bracing for the cold. Then I opened the door and jumped out.
The crowd parted for Jim. I followed in his wake. "Get back!" a police officer shouted into the crowd. As a teenager whipped past her, she grabbed his arm. "Hey. Do you want me to write you up?!"
We passed the line of officers, flashing our ID cards, and headed towards the cluster of Hunters on the side.
Gavin and Abby had already arrived. They stood next to a woman with purple streaks in her hair and a short man with a villainous goatee.
"What's going on?" I asked, as Jim and I approached.
"Tentaclon," he replied.
"Seriously? Don’t they stay underground?” I asked.
"Yeah. It shouldn't be out here," the woman with the purple hair said, nodding at me. "Usually they live in sewers, subway stops, the Underground. Never a crowded city street."
"That’s true, Yang,” the goatee man replied. “But when all that construction was being done at the Bluffs North stop a few years ago, they surfaced. So if there’s something happening underground, it’s enough to push them up—”
"Well, actually," Abby interrupted, "there's this theory going around, that alligators are living in the sewers and driving Tentaclon—"
“Okay. Let’s get to work, shall we?” Gavin interjected.
The six of us crept towards the back of the building. "Stay behind me," he whispered to me.
"Why?"
He sighed, exasperated. "Because you don't have powers. Or a weapon."
"No! Jim gave me a scimitar!"
"Do you know how to use it?"
"...A bit."
"Right. Stay behind me."
Crrrack.
The sound came from the shadows behind the building. I saw a flash of black—and then nothing. Abby ran ahead, her face lit in the flickering glow of fire that erupted in her hands.
"Kira, with me!" she shouted. "Come on!"
"Uh, no, I don't—"
"I need her back here, Abby," Gavin interjected.
"No, Gavin, we need her up here!" Abby shouted. She locked eyes with me. "Come on, Kira! Show me what you can do!"
I shot a fearful look at Gavin.
Then I jogged across the pavement and joined Abby's side.
Gavin stared at me, mouth agape. I forced a smile back. Then I pulled out my scimitar, vaguely pointing it at the shadows behind the building.
"No, not that! Your powers!" Abby said, fire crackling up her arms. "Weapons are for the common folk. Like Gavin."
"Hey!" Gavin protested behind us.
"I like to use both. A dual approach," I stuttered, following Abby around the corner. I looked up.
There it was.
More than a dozen tentacles, writhing and twisting. Sliding across the building, leaving watery, black goo in their wake. No head—or any sort of centralized body. Just dozens of black, snake-like creatures, all tangled up with each other.
It looked a lot grosser than the drawings in my text
book.
Splat.
One tentacle hit the glass, full force.
Thin cracks blossomed from the impact point, fracturing the silhouettes of the people inside. Muffled screams rang out into the night air.
Splat—crash!
The glass exploded. Shards rained down on the sidewalk. The glistening, fat tentacle poked through the hole.
Then it shot for the people.
"Ignis!" Abby shouted.
Fire shot out in a thick stream. It collided squarely with the Tentaclon's skin. AAAAEEEEEEEEE—an inhuman, ear-splitting wail erupted in the air above us.
"Way to go, Abby!" I cheered.
My smile quickly faded as one of the tentacles disentangled itself from the creature's "body." It slid down the windows, making an awful sceech-sceech as it rubbed against the glass. Baring pointed fangs, yellow eyes flashing.
Then it hit the ground in front of us with a sickening splat.
"Get back!" Gavin yelled, diving in front of me. With a steady hand, he aimed the gun straight for its head. Crrack! It thrashed on the ground, screeching madly.
Splat. Two more dropped to the ground, watching us with their beady, dark eyes. The stream of fire from Abby's hands quickly faded into a trickle. The strangled roars from above turned from pain to anger. I gripped my scimitar, ready to strike. Gavin shot as fast as he could—crack, crack, crack –
A particularly long, thick tentacle cut through the air. It wrapped around Abby's waist and jerked her upwards.
"Help!" she screamed. Sparks flew from her hands—but no fire came. "Oh my gosh, this is so gross, ew—"
Crrack! Crrack! Gavin pulled out his gun and fired a round at the creature. It jerked and twitched. Jim threw his spear. It soared through the air and missed. The goatee man hit it with a shower of rocks, and Yang—the purple-haired woman—threw a weird-looking energy ball at it.
But it didn't let go of Abby.
"Kira, help!" Abby screamed, looking at me. She pressed her hands against the tentacle's skin. It sizzled and smoked, but the Tentaclon didn't let go. "Use your powers!"
"Abby, I can't—"
"Try," she said, her voice weak and strangled. "Please, help me."
I did try.
I stretched my hands out in front of me, closed my eyes. I focused every thought, every ounce of energy, every last fiber of my being on saving Abby.
Maybe I do have powers. I just never... tried. I prayed that some arcane power would tingle through my arms. Burst through my hands like wildfire. Drop the creature dead in front of me.
Crrrack. AAAAEEEEEEE. The creature roared in pain above me.
With a soaring heart, I opened my eyes.
It wasn't me. It was a woman, standing several feet away from me. Black, curly, wild hair. Chocolate skin glistening in the light. Her hands were raised to her temples, her brows furrowed.
As she stood there, each of the tentacles twisted and contorted in unnatural ways. Crrrack, crrack—the bones snapped. The skin stretched. The Tentaclon roared.
"Thank you Erika," Gavin muttered.
"Who?"
He pointed to the woman. "Erika. Telekinetic from Team Aubergine," he panted. "Moves stuff with her mind. Including monsters. Does the work of five of us put together, honestly."
The Tentaclon lowered Abby, withdrawing its tentacles with a wet slurp. Then the creature slowly shuffled down the side of the building, the snakes on the ground slithering back to join it.
As soon as the tentacle unwound from her waist, Abby finally opened her eyes.
"Oh my gosh, Kira. That was incredible!" She ran over and wrapped me in a tight hug—possibly just as tight as the hug the Tentaclon had just given her.
"I, uh..." I glanced over at Gavin.
"Yeah, you were incredible, Kira! I've never seen you use your powers like that!" Gavin said, with sarcasm.
"What?" Jim started. "That wasn't Kira, that was Er—"
Gavin promptly jabbed him in the side.
"Hey!"
"It was nothing, Abby," I said, hugging her back.
I looked over her shoulder. A few NIMP men were sedating the Tentaclon, now, and dragging it towards an immense monster truck.
"You're amazing," Abby said, finally letting go of me.
We all started towards the row of monster trucks. Jim grabbed his spear off the ground, checking it for damage. Abby brushed some dried black goo off her shirt; Gavin slipped the gun back in its holster.
And then I tripped.
I flew forward. My hands slapped against the concrete. Pain shot up through my arms, my knees.
I'd tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. Or, rather—a set of cracks, fracturing the concrete in a radial, oblong pattern. Covered in a thick layer of black ooze.
I shuddered and heaved myself up. "I'm –"
The words died in my throat.
What the hell?
The sky was dark. Stars twinkled above me.
The side of the building was bare. Not a trace of the tangled, tentacled mass left. I whipped around—the street was dark and empty, dimly lit only by the glow of the streetlamps.
"Abby?" I called. "Gavin? Jim?"
Silence.
What the hell is happening?! Did the Tentaclon somehow do this? Or some other monster? Why is it night? Where is everyone?
With no better option, I decided to run.
I took off on the sidewalk. The cold wind blew against my neck, chilling me to the core. I looked down.
My scarf was gone.
And my clothes were different. A blue hoodie, black jeans, red sneakers. My hand crept over my neck, grazed my head. My hair was tightly braided.
What the heck?!
Then a low rumble sounded in the distance. Like thunder.
I ran until I reached the corner of the block. Then I turned left, peering down Maryland Ave. The buildings beyond lurked in shadow. Like immense creatures ready to pounce. Their silhouettes mingled and mixed with the shadowy alleyways, the black sky above.
Every single one was dark.
Not a single light came from the windows. The only light, other than the faint stars in the sky, were the streetlamps. They hovered in yellow orbs, stretching into the darkness until they became tiny, twinkling stars.
Rrrrrrm.
The thunder was louder, now. Yet no rain pattered down on the city streets; no clouds obscured the stars. "Hello?" I called again. My voice echoed down the street, bouncing between the monoliths of steel and concrete, then fading into the night.
Rrrrrrm.
Fear coursed through me. Not the fear I felt when I saw the dolls or the snakes. Not even when I'd imagined the blond man in the vampire bar.
It was a fear that slowly sank into my bones. Pricked my skin. Pounded in my head.
Something is wrong.
Something is terribly wrong.
Rrrrrrm—there was the sound again. Now I could hear it more clearly. With horror, I realized it wasn't a smooth rumble; it was a sound made up of many smaller sounds, growing to a roar.
Footsteps.
And when I turned and peered down Maryland Ave. again, I didn't see an endless, empty corridor extending into the blackness of night.
I saw an army.
They walked down the street, slowly advancing towards me. Coordinated, graceful, fast. Their footsteps echoed off the buildings; their voices grew to a roar.
But there was something terribly wrong with them.
Their skin was pale and discolored. Their flesh was caked with dirt. Gaping holes marred both their clothing and their skin.
They looked... dead.
I opened my mouth to scream.
Not a single sound came out.
CHAPTER NINE
My eyes flew open.
I was staring at a white ceiling. The cold wind and the dark shadows were gone—replaced with warmth and light. To my left, Gavin's pale chin leaned over me. Next to it, a mess of curly dark hair and a pink sweatshirt.
"Kira, oh my
gosh, are you all right?"
"What happened?"
Gavin and shot Abby a worried glance.
"You tripped. And then you acted... odd."
"What he means is," Abby said, giving him the side-eye, "after you tripped, you lay there with your eyes all jittery, mumbling to yourself. But we got you over here to the medical ward real quick." She broke into a grin, as if exceedingly proud of herself. "The doctor says you're fine. She thinks it was a reaction to the Tentaclon goo you fell in."
Right. Tentaclons were reactionists. A term for monsters whose saliva (or other fluids) caused strange reactions like hallucinations, fevers, rashes upon contact as a defense mechanism.
Hallucinations.
Was the doctor so sure it was a reaction? And not something wrong with me? I quickly changed the topic. "What happened to the Tentaclon?"
"Locked away in B1, now." Abby leaned back in her chair, twirling an empty bottle of water in her hands. "We've just been sitting here, waiting here for you to wake up. We played chess, ate too many donuts from the café..."
"And saw a dead bloke," Gavin interjected.
"Oh, yeah! Some old guy in room 41 died like an hour ago. The nurses were really stressed about it, because apparently the morgue is already closed, so there's just going to be a dead body chilling in there." She shuddered. "Ugh. I hate dead bodies. Even watching zombie movies freaks me out. All the deadness and brains and—"
The door creaked open.
A hulking form took a shape. Jim stooped as he walked in, nearly missing the top of the door frame. "Can I come in, now?" he asked.
"Yeah. She's up."
Gavin caught my confused stare. "Abby banned him from the room while you were out."
"What? Why?"
"Because he kept trying to put some funky-smelling goo on your forehead," Abby said.
"It's just yarrow root and healing elixir!" he boomed back. "You all know I'm a registered cleric, right?"
Abby shook her head. "It was nasty."
"And," Gavin said, pulling out a paper bag from under the chair, "we got you a get-well gift."
"Oh! Yeah! I can't believe I forgot!" Abby grabbed it from him and placed it on my belly. "Open it, open it!" she squealed, clapping.
I reached inside. My fingers fell on something soft.
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