Succubus Hunter

by Daniel Pierce

  My own heart rate was increasing now. I had grown used to Succubi and Incubi to the point they no longer fazed me, but these Sisters of Pain were a new and terrible wrinkle in the pantheon of immortals.

  Not that I was going to let that stop me from hunting them. If they were devoid of fear, then I could master mine. “These women need our help. Can you identify where they are being held?”

  Eve forced herself to look into the mirror shard, as painful as it was to her. She watched each scene several times, and finally she nodded. “Yes. I think so. They’re not places I have been, but I’ve heard about them in passing when I was . . . working with some of the other Succubi.”

  “How long do we have before they are fully converted?”

  The two former Succubi exchanged a look. It was Lyanne who answered. “It depends on how strong the will of these women is. It could be hours, could be days.”

  I rose from my seat and stood in front of my two companions in war. They were both shaken from this experience, from the memories that had been forced to the surfaced. But I needed them now more than ever.

  “Three sites. Four women. Limited time.” I laid it all out. “And after that, Tandi herself, though I imagine she will come for us when that happens. Are you with me?”

  They didn't need to verbally express their agreement. The look in their eyes was enough.

  The real battle was about to begin.

  13

  Our first target was the woman we’d witnessed being tortured in the penthouse. Eve could only narrow our search to a block of apartment buildings she knew Tandi liked to recruit women out of. By sending pictures of the skyline to Sara, we were able to identify the exact building in Chelsea.

  I wasn't taking any chances with this one, gearing myself up with every weapon and piece of equipment that Lyanne and I had purchased over the past few months. I then decided to dump most of it because it was weighing me down and I needed to be mobile if I was going to fight a fast-moving Succubus. Eve volunteered for the role of equipment caddy, carrying all extra stuff in case I needed it. I would use my body, my mind, and something really fucking sharp.

  Lyanne, on the other hand, was ready for combat. She dressed in a skin-tight black outfit that made her look like a Bond girl, though she assured me it was a designer brand, even giving me a flirtatious twirl that finished with a savage kick.

  “That’s fucking hot,” I said, with an appreciative smile.

  “I know,” she said, blowing me a kiss. I like that kind of confidence.

  In the lining of her boots were hidden holsters where she kept a pair of pistols, and she had a set of knives tucked up against her arms under her sleeves. She was determined to be my backup during these missions, and I was not about to and dissuade her.

  We drove up to the apartment building early in the morning, hoping Tandi was expecting us to make our move under the cover of night. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to not have to fight in the dark for once.

  The building manager was not thrilled about the idea of letting a few strange people into his ridiculously overpriced apartment. Lyanne still had some of her supernatural Charm, and with a few bats of her eyes and a little magical pulling she not only had the manager letting us in but offering us the key the penthouse so we could “surprise our old friends.”

  Eve, who had no supernatural powers remaining except her stunning body and smile, was made to wait down the hall, but she had her own role to play-- she had the best knowledge of the Blood Magic used in Tandi's curse and was our best bet in stopping it from progressing further. Not to mention she was stocked up on first aid supplies and the knowledge of how to use them, which might come in handy if we got our asses handed to us.

  Lyanne and I approached the penthouse door and prepared for the fight ahead.

  She looked as collected and erotic as ever, her outfit being better suited to an evening in bed with me, but she moved with comfort and ease as we stalked forward to rescue a woman in the throes of having her soul shattered.

  “I’m going in first,” I said. “You sneak around and get to the prisoner. Only get involved in the fight if I'm in serious trouble. Otherwise, your duty is to free and protect the woman.”

  I might as well have been reading off a grocery list for all the effect it had on Lyanne. “It’s your show. I’m ready when you are.”

  A deep breath, one last paranoid check to make sure the Night Flail was ready, and I put the key in the door.

  The inside of the penthouse was a scene from hell itself. Modern art decorated the walls and a number of display cases, plush seating surrounded a table covered in pretentious magazines about business tycoons and upcoming artists, and shelves were filled with nick-knacks from a dozen different cultures, arranged with little care to their significance.

  And it was all covered in a thin layer of dried blood.

  In the center of the room was the source of the blood-- the body of a man that had been torn open at the torso and left to rot like a child's discarded doll. His face was mangled, but the little I could make out resembled the description of the penthouse's owner given to us by the building manager.

  Beyond the spacious living room, the bedroom doors were open, revealing the bed with the sprawled, naked form of the woman we came here to save strapped to it. And standing right in front of that door was the Sister of Pain.

  She stood perfectly still, not even seeming to breath. If I didn't know better, I might have mistaken her for a statue, but I could sense the hatred emanating from her spirit, like the first winds of an oncoming storm. I was certain she was looking at me, though her mask had no eyeholes so I could not be certain.

  What was most unsettling had to be what she did to my danger instinct. It was fuzzy, like static on a radio, an impression of danger that could not quite form a clear picture. There was no chill to tell me I was being observed, either. It was as if the instincts granted to me by the Night Flail were themselves unsure how to treat this creature.

  I took a few hesitant steps forward, flail dangling. Behind me, I was barely aware of Lyanne skirting around the edge of the room to take the long route to the bedroom. The Sister of Pain did not react.

  For a brief time, I allowed myself the foolish belief that maybe we could catch the almost-Succubus sleeping. Sleeping on her feet seemed appropriate for a creature of her construction. I twirled the flail gently from the end of its chain and stepped within range of a strike.

  The Night Flail lashed out, and the Sister leaped into action. Literally. From a dead standstill she jumped straight up into the air, launching herself so high her head grazed the penthouse's high ceiling, and the flail whipped by under her feet. I used a snapping motion to bring the flail back to my hand, but the Sister was already descending upon me. She came from the air feet-first and hit my chest dead center with both heels. I was launched from my feet by the impact, colliding against a sculpture that looked like a woman with a melted face, before it shattered into so much shrapnel.

  The Sister was moving, her speed so fast she was little more than a blur in my vision. I struggled to my feet, but my breath had been knocked out of me and my movements were labored. Fortunately, my body knew what to do, and memory flooded my muscles like a visit from an old friend. My arm twirled in a swirling motion, the flail spinning at the end of its chain in a ribbon dancer's spiral. The Sister stopped at the edge of it and bolted to the side to get around. What she didn’t realize was from this form I could quickly strike at any angle in front of me.

  She came at me from the left. The flail reached out to meet her and she was just barely able to duck in time. From the right, the flail struck out at her head, just grazing the ivory mask and putting a crack in it before the Sister jerked her entire body at an unnatural angle. She leaped and came at me from above, and the flail cut a vertical path through the air aimed at splitting her down the middle. The Sister turned her leap into a somersault by circling her body close, but she wasn’t able to move her legs out of the way in time.
The flail wrapped around her right leg, the flesh erupting in a familiar sizzling sound as the chain wrapped around her exposed skin. With a savage jerk, I pulled her out of the air.

  The room exploded with the sound of the center table being shattered by the Sister crashing into it. It had been a sturdy piece of furniture, made of faux-marble and reinforced glass, and even though we were enemies, I nodded in appreciation at what an impact it had been.

  The Sister of Pain didn’t seem to mind it much. She rose steadily from the debris, seemingly unfazed by the impact of the seared black ring of flesh on her leg, the skin still firing from inside the cut as my flail’s magic lingered, eating her bit by bit. Eve had said they didn’t feel any fear, and it seemed she wasn’t exaggerating. This was a machine made of meat, and she wasn’t close to quitting.

  I wondered how she could see, as ivory wasn’t good for masks or windowpanes, no matter how thinly it was worked. I thought at first she must have senses similar to my instincts, a knowledge of the general positions of things that allowed her to operate, but her reflexes and precision movement proved that she reacted to her surroundings as quickly as someone with sight. Quicker, in fact. If I could figure out the trick, I could blind her for real and take the advantage.

  We faced off, two cowboys in the street at high noon, me twirling the Night Flail, her standing still as a corpse and just as silent. With one fluid motion, she untied her robes and exposed a body that had been brutalized, mutilated to the point it barely resembled anything human, and I spared a moment of pity for the woman she had been at one point. There was no person left; only wounds. Only violation. Only pain. Whatever she had become, no one deserved that kind of fate.

  The reason for her sudden flashing became apparent as she reached into her open robes and pulled out a bundle of lethal throwing daggers. One after another, she flung them at me with a motion so smooth it was nearly hypnotic. The knives came at me with such force that when the flail intercepted them, I was twisted in place as if absorbing a vicious punch. It took a focused effort to swing the chain around in time to deflect the next one, each parry coming slightly later, each dagger getting slightly closer to me before being knocked off course.

  As the last dagger was tossed, the flail was too far out of position to deflect it in time, so I did the only thing I could think to do and ducked. The decision probably saved my life as the knife only grazed my shoulder, a small nick thanks to the padding in my coat, instead of piercing my heart. I rolled back to my feet and arched my arm to strike out with the flail, but the Sister had already used her impossible speed to close the distance between us. Her fist swung out, but my army hand-to-hand training kicked in and I brought my arm up to block it. The punch connected with the force of a jackhammer, and my arm up through my shoulder went numb while my whole body was sent stumbling back. A sharp pain told me that something in my arm had probably cracked.

  Bizarrely, I took note at that moment of how the Sister's fingers were still fingers. I guessed only full Succubi got the claws. Good thing, too, or she would have probably ripped my throat out by now.

  I regained my balance and rubbed at my shoulder, trying to get the feeling to return. My attention was fixed on my enemy and I was ready to react as soon as she moved, but she made no effort to take advantage of my moment of weakness. She just stood there, that blank mask now marred by a single crack cocked ever so slightly as she observed me.

  That was when I heard something coming from behind the mask. It was so faint that I could not be sure at first, but with my senses so focused the noise became clearer. A low moaning sound, but not one of pain. It was a moan of ecstasy. Pleasure, drinking in my pain and that of others.

  I remembered what Eve had said, about The Sisters of Pain being addicted to inflicting torment, which made them perfect torturers. It seemed my opponent was getting off on my injuries. At least that meant she was likely to try and kill me slowly to get the most joy out of it, like a predator savoring the chase. The flip side, of course, was that when she was done with me, I’d probably wish she hadn't.

  A groan sounded from across the room. The Sister and I turned simultaneously to Lyanne and the prisoner near the front door of the penthouse. Lyanne had freed the woman and helped her nearly to the exit while the Sister had been busy with me, and probably would have made it if the woman had not chosen that moment to collapse.

  The Sister bolted toward them and I reacted. The Night Flail carved a crescent arc as I put all my force behind the swing, the weapon cutting the air with a shrieking whistle. My target spun rapidly but could not get out of the way in time. She brought her arms up in a block, her right arm sheltering her body and her left bracing it from behind, and the flail cut right into it with a bite that was savage and deep.

  The stench of burning flesh overpowered even the blood and sweat in the air. The flail tore a path straight through the Sister's arm, which went flying through the air overhead, and scored a dark burn across the side of her body.

  You'd think losing your arm would cause you to hesitate, at least for a minute, but apparently not for a Sister of Pain. Her attention back on me, she rushed forward at full force. I whipped out with the flail once, twice, and again, but the feeling still hadn't fully returned to my shoulder and my movements were sluggish and inaccurate. She was easily able to sidestep my strikes and move in close to me. Her remaining hand reached out and grabbed me around the throat, inhumanly strong and free of any uncertainty. This act was going to end in death, no matter what. It was up to me to see to it that the death wasn’t my own.

  She pressed herself so close against me that I couldn't swing the flail as her fingers tightened, choking me so swiftly that stars descended like a curtain of night, and lights began to flash in the periphery of my vision.

  The Sister lifted me from the ground with her unholy strength and I dangled there like a prize held up for the world to see. Her fingers dug deeper into my neck and I could feel my body begin shutting down from the lack of oxygen, my vision a smeared memory, my chest burning, my mouth open in a desperate attempt to gasp in air. My feet kicked futilely in desire for purchase on the ground. I heard that ecstatic moaning rise up from behind the mask as she choked the life out of me, one second of her iron grip at a time.

  A thunderous crack split the air around me, and the Sister stumbled, her hands faltering enough that I wrenched myself free. I dropped to the ground and took greedy gulps of air, not even caring at this point that it all tasted like blood and scorched flesh.

  Lyanne had her gun drawn and pointed at the creature. As the Sister turned to face her, Lyanne squeezed the trigger again. The Sister stumbled as the bullet dug into her chest, but she kept her feet. Bullets continued to pelt her to the same effect, forming small holes in her chest and stomach, which leaked a black, tar-like substance. The wounds seemed to be little more than a nuisance for the creature

  The trigger clicked as the gun ran empty, and the Sister wasted no time in leaping at Lyanne with silent, murderous intent. I wasted no time intercepting her with a tackle. The surprise allowed me to get the better of her strength and we both went tumbling to the ground. I got my knees atop her, and as she grabbed at my legs to throw me off, I brought my arm, and the flail, up for a strike.

  The Night Flail knew where it needed to go. It pierced through the chest of The Sister of Pain. She stopped struggling, either accepting her death or welcoming it. Her body began to burn up from the chest wound, and soon she was a pile of ashes.

  Breathing heavily, body aching, I rose to my feet, swaying with the effort and sheer exhaustion. “That went about as well as I expected.”

  Lyanne was looking sadly down at the recently liberated woman, who was now eerily still. “Not quite.”

  It turned out we were too late. The victim had already been beaten past the point of her life, and by moving her away from the site of the Blood Magic we had effectively killed her. It was tragic, though still better than allowing her to become one of those monsters. At
least now, she could rest.

  Eve took the loss particularly hard. She insisted we take the body to the hospital where it would be cared for until someone could identify it. Neither Lyanne nor I were particularly thrilled with the idea of showing up at the hospital with an unexplainable corpse that had been tortured beyond recognition, but Eve would not be swayed. Fortunately, the transfer went smoothly. Eve brought one of the hospital's mortuary assistants out to claim the body and he was practically falling over himself to be of some help to her. He not only agreed to take custody of the body, but he promised to work day and night until she was identified so her family could make proper arrangements. No questions asked.

  It was an odd enough exchange that Lyanne remarked on it, saying, “It seems our Eve may not be quite so removed from her power as we once believed.”

  We didn't have time to contemplate the implications of that, however. Our next target awaited.

  One down. Two to go.

  Our next target was the dark room that we had seen two women being kept prisoner in. Eve had been more certain of this location-- an abandoned firehouse in Harlem. The building had been left empty when city had decided to save some taxpayer money by having another nearby firehouse perform double duty. Succubi sometimes used it as a halfway house of sorts when they were in the city; a holding point for immortals away from the prying eyes of their prey.

  And now Tandi had turned it into one of her conversion dungeons. That ended tonight.

  I was still aching all over from my first confrontation with a Sister of Pain. A brace over my arm helped with the cracked bone, but my shoulder felt like it was filled with broken pottery whenever I moved it too much. My chest was sore from being drop kicked, and my throat was raw from being strangled.