by Wall, Nathan
The music he’d just recorded played in his helmet. A crystal with a pink mist inside manifested in his grasp. He let the crystal go and it hovered in place. A quick burst of light spouted out of the crystal, wrapping around him, and sucked him in. Time and space warped, setting him alongside the others just outside a closed coffee shop. Hermes was noticeably irritated, which was normal.
“What were you doing?” Hermes asked, squinting.
“You forget who answers to whom.” Set grinned. The music cut off and his facial armor retracted. The three stood in the shadows of urban night life. A gentleman’s club was in full swing across the way, and street walkers were busy enticing clientele down the avenue on the corner. “It’s always the pigs we’re called to slaughter.”
“They’re all that is left.” Hermes leaned against the cracked brick wall. His purple aurascales beamed underneath his black leather trench coat as a metallic orb with angelic inscriptions spun in the palm of his hand. “They find nourishment where others starve.”
“How many are there?” Set asked, referring to the infestation of demons in the club.
“I counted about thirty-eight myself. Hermes said another fifteen or so,” Sif replied. She stood behind her commander. “I’m ready when you are.”
Set looked at Hermes with a raised brow.
“The command is yours, sire,” Hermes said in a mocking tone, bowing for emphasis.
“With all the recent action on Earth, we’re supposed to keep this low-key. But there’s not much fun in that.” The exoskeletal armor formed over his face and his eyes beamed a dark green. His voice sounded robotic from the outside. “I rather enjoy the taste of bacon, don’t you?”
Before they could soar across the street with blades drawn and spill some blood, a limo pulled up. Out stepped a curious figure. Set recognized the face behind the human flesh from a time long ago. It was Beelzebub, one of the first demons spawned by Lucifer in his attempt to duplicate the power of a soul. He pushed the other Assassins around a corner and out of view. He crouched to watch Beelzebub and a female he couldn’t make out enter the club.
“What’s the delay?” Hermes asked, trying to push by Set. His leader shoved him back into the wall. “Get your hands off me.”
Set’s grip grew tighter as he towered over the swift-footed angel. Hermes’ hand clamped around Set’s wrist and he tried to pull himself free.
“You counted only fifteen or so. Why didn’t you get an exact number?” Set barked. His latch on Hermes remained stiff despite the latter’s struggle. “What are you trying to prove?”
“Nothing. I just wasn’t sure if Sif and I were double-counting them,” Hermes grunted. “That’s all.”
“We don’t deal with guesses.” Set let his subordinate go. “I prefer cold hard numbers.”
“What do you suppose we do?” Sif asked. “Demons of that number are bound to cause a ruckus. We can’t complete the mission without breaking protocol. Should we ask the Archangels?”
“No.” Set shook his head and popped his knuckles. “Demons are survivors and concerned primarily with self-preservation.”
He marched across the street and the demon-possessed security guards at the front entrance noticed him immediately. Their smoky-black auras slithered behind their human faces, snarling at him. Several more lined the four story roof and exited the building, as if each demon was psychically linked to the troubles of others.
“You know what I am and what that means for you if you get in the way.” Set folded his arms, waiting for them to reply. They just blankly stared at each other, apprehensive. He could smell their sweat. “Consider tonight your one-time free pass. Judgment doesn’t seek you.” To his surprise, twelve more demons stepped out of the nightclub. Set’s triplet wrist blades protruded out from his right arm, curving over his hand. “Really?”
The demons spread apart, giving way to his demands. His blades retreated and he stepped through the crowd. Sif and Hermes followed. The neon signs and strobe lights of the club dance floor and VIP lounge created a blanket of white, blues and reds inside the fog and misters. Haze from dry ice lingered around their ankles. Half naked dancers twisted their bodies on thin table tops for those stuffing their noses with white powder. A hostess with striped pink and silver hair approached. Her eyes turned to solid black.
“It’s not every day we see the likes of angels still in service as guests.” She smiled, folding her hands behind her back. Set paid her little attention, scanning the room for their mark. “I take it this is business only. No time for pleasure?”
“This is repulsive,” Hermes said, scrunching his nose. “Count yourself fortunate you still draw breath inside your host.”
“My kind has to make a living somehow,” the hostess replied. “If your precious human pets weren’t so weak-minded and frail of will, we wouldn’t have much to tether us to this planet. Admit it, though, you need us just as much as they do.”
“I don’t care to squabble and debate.” Set snapped his fingers and the others went quiet. The bass speakers still rumbled through the floor. The gyrating, frantic screeches and bloated squawks from what the newest generation regarded as music gave him a headache. “What ever happened to learning to play instruments with strings or your lungs instead of at the push of a button? Where’s the skill in programming a computer to artificially produce the sounds?”
“It’s what’s hot.” The hostess stroked his arm.
Set smirked at her. “So is hell.” She withdrew her hand. He brushed past her and motioned to Hermes and Sif. “You know what to do.”
The Assassins split, going in three different directions. Set rounded a corner, away from the main area and dance floor, to a part where only the walls could hold the throttle of the music. The hostess tagged along. Two beefed-up guards stood in his way. She nodded at them. Their hands relaxed and they hesitantly parted.
“Third floor, second door on the left,” she said, stopping at a flight of stairs. She motioned with her head. “Boss would like to say hello.”
“Right.” Set was skeptical but not worried. There had to be a reason Beelzebub was showing his face in this neck of woods. Even though other obligations should’ve held influence over his time, Set needed to feed his curiosity. His hand rose to knock on the door, but it opened on its own. Across the room, standing with his head over a sink, Beelzebub washed his face. Set entered. “No longer inhabiting scientists?”
“Not by choice,” Beelzebub laughed, turning around. He patted dry his dark hair and square chin. His body bore battle scars in the form of abrasions from exploding metal, stab wounds and gunshots. “My last meat suit was obliterated into cosmic dust by a starstone.”
Set moved further into the room and quickly inspected the surroundings. “Too bad. Elliot Foster was growing on me.” He spoke of Beelzebub’s previous human host. “I can only hope your new shell holds the same amount of influence.”
“Shawn Hershiser has proven to be a valuable commodity, given recent events.” Beelzebub tossed the towel to the side and sat down. He gestured for Set to do the same. The Assassin shook his head and remained standing. “I can’t believe my time is up.”
“Our paths’ crossing at this juncture was not my intent. But I must say I’m awfully confounded as to why you’re here looking like that.” Set walked behind the plush white sofa, his fingertips caressing the arch of its back. “Comfortable.”
“Quite. Take a load off and stay a while.”
“Still making copies of Zeus?” Set asked, referring to Beelzebub’s pet project with the US Government. The way the demon scratched the back of his head in response to the question told Set all he needed to know. “When did they shut you down?”
“They didn’t. The scientists in charge of the Double-Helix were both killed.” Beelzebub sighed and sat forward, hanging his head between his knees. “And the catalyst used to reshape subjects’ DNA was set free and is now MIA. But we both know he can’t get far in his condition.”
&nb
sp; “You let Zeus get out?” Set went rigid. He drove his knee into the back of the sofa and sent it flying across the room. “Please tell me that it wasn’t him who sent that horde into Moscow.”
“No, that was all Maya and her spoiled little self.” Beelzebub looked at his overturned sofa and the antique oak liquor cabinet it landed on and crushed. “That was one of a kind.”
“So is the Forge,” Set replied through his clenched jaw.
“Ah, and the penny drops. It’s not my life’s work you’re worried about, but a shiny sliver of a fractured amulet.”
“You know what it can do.” Set’s wrist pad vibrated. Sif was trying to get his attention.
“Don’t I know it.” Beelzebub smiled. “Luckily I’m still in control of the piece I found, and its owner. Soon Hershiser here will stumble upon the notes of Drs. Foster and Sanderson, and he’ll get the Double-Helix back off the ground with the second catalyst.”
“About that other catalyst…”
“He’s still in his angelic cocoon.” Beelzebub nodded and raised a hand. “Nothing to fear there.”
“So that wasn’t him stomping all over Argus in downtown Moscow?” The wrist pad buzzed again. He quickly double-tapped the light to shut it up. “You were successful? The horseman…”
“Rides? He does indeed.” Beelzebub stepped closer to Set and spoke softly. “He hasn’t quite put it all together yet.” The wrist pad vibrated again. Beelzebub took Set’s hand. “Who is it you need?”
“One of your lower level thugs has been gutting too many humans and making a scene. We’ve been sent to burn him.”
“Thazmurzia?” Beelzebub asked. Set nodded. Beelzebub shook his head and closed his eyes, temples throbbing. He opened his solid black eyes again. “He’ll be waiting out back for you. My more subtle men will have him wrapped up in a doggy bag. Do please come again when you can enjoy the scenery a bit more.”
“Why are you here?” Set grabbed Beelzebub by the wrist and twisted, bringing him to his knees. “If this meat suit is so useful then shouldn’t you be worried about it losing appendages?”
“I’ve got many fingers in many pies,” Beelzebub grunted and Set let him go. “I dabble in a little of this and that. Some days it’s arming Syrian rebels. Others it’s coke to the Greek Mafia. Today it’s individuals with a fetish for kids.”
“I thought you were above all that?” Set asked, shaking his head. He walked to the back of the room and looked out the window. Hermes and Sif waited in the alleyway with a few demons and their target, all tied up. “Is it sexual?”
“I don’t ever care to ask. I just know these clients were very particular. They wanted livestock that only my agency could provide.” Beelzebub stood and rubbed his arm. “I think you know one of them. He’s a former Alpha Guardian from the now defunct Southern Corner. Didn’t you kill all of them?”
“Amun?” Set looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. What would a person like him want with gifted kids? “You know many of them eluded me. As long as my bosses don’t know any different then it won’t matter. You said ‘they’. Who are the other clients?”
“Anonymity is something they’ve paid very highly for. Just know you would recognize his flaky skin condition if you saw it.” Beelzebub lifted the sofa and put it back in its resting place. “Look at that, you’ve stained it. You’ve got what you needed—it’s time you be gone.”
Set jumped from the window, his landing causing the concrete beneath him to crack and cave. He removed the hood from over his target’s head and confirmed his identity. He nodded at the other demons and they retreated back into the club.
“Filthy scum. I feel soiled just having to deal with them.” Hermes spit on the door as the demons closed it.
“It’s all about the end, Hermes, not the means.” Set cupped his fingers around Thazmurzia’s jaw and opened his mouth.
Hermes removed the silver orb from his satchel and pinched in on the sides. A slit through the equator of the orb opened up, bleeding white light, and two beams of energy sprang from its poles. The orb spun quickly, emitting a whistling noise. Thazmurzia kicked and screamed. A black vapor trail was ripped from the mouth of his host body and sucked into the orb. Hermes grabbed it from the air and placed it back in his bag.
The wrist pads of all three angels vibrated. They examined their message. Set groaned, longing to retreat back to the orchestra. He dropped the limp body to the ground, his shoulders and back aching from centuries of stress. He couldn’t let the other Assassins see it.
“They’re sending us to Moscow,” Sif said with a hint of anxiety in her voice. “They say an angel has reached out. Could it be Azrael? The rumors, do you think them true?”
“Hard to say.” Set shrugged, holding his knowledge close to the vest. He swiped his fingers across his wrist pad and a cloudy pink crystal materialized in his grasp.
“Why would it be Azrael?” Hermes asked, coughing in the process. Set whipped his head around and stared holes through his fellow Assassin. “What?”
Set knew the sound Hermes’ voice made. He’d heard it several times through the many wars his kind had been through, and again buried in the wails of those he tortured for information and hunted for penance. There was a secret, and secrets were the most valuable commodity in existence; more so than souls, starstones and pieces of the Forge. Secrets unlock mysteries, and there was a mystery Set had longed suspected Hermes of keeping to himself.
No matter. That would have to wait. Set hadn’t spent countless ages coordinating his plans to get over-eager and pop his top. He managed the mundane nature of life by taking it one hunt at a time. He could stomach a little more patience.
“Nothing, Hermes.” Set handed Hermes the crystal. “After you.”
Chapter Six
Horus I
A large, light-beige hood draped over Horus’ curly umber locks. His cloak was unbuttoned just below the neckline, but securely fastened all the way to his waist with bamboo toggles. His sky-blue woolen pants crackled in the wind, keeping him warm amongst the snow flurries.
He proceeded through the large, crowded market, walking between lines of fire-spouting trashcans. Bakers selling piping hot bread and fishermen touting the morning’s fresh catch had replaced the fields of corner stores and liquor shops that used to litter the inner city of Moscow, before what the locals called “the invasion.”
“Did we land in the right timeline?” Horus wondered aloud, looking at the clothes of the people around him. To him, they wore modern uniforms. However, he couldn’t help but notice things were different with the way they acted. They didn’t drive cars, but instead slept in them. Three triangular-shaped drones with cameras mounted underneath zoomed overhead, racing through the buildings. “We must stay close together.”
Anubis, who lingered behind Horus, was nearly a foot taller than everyone else. He watched as a butcher carved a pot roast for a woman and her three kids. She dumped a bag’s worth of money onto the table, but the butcher yelled at her and pointed with his knife. She undid her blouse, nodding at the fat, bald man. He licked his lips, putting a sign in front of the stand as he led the woman away. The youngest child—a girl—happened to look at Anubis. Her eyes grew wide as his cloak and hood didn’t shield his gray complexion very well. Horus grabbed his cousin’s wrist.
“We must be quick. According to the information from our point of contact, our rendezvous is close,” Horus said, dragging Anubis. They slid between two stands and into an alleyway. The red brick walls were painted with generations of graffiti. Horus’ fingers caressed the newest designs; a black skull with blue eyes. “The face of Death,” he said, eyeing the fresh painting. “They worship him as they did our ancestors in Memphis, Thebes, Aswan and others.”
“They are hungry, yet have plenty to ration evenly.” Anubis kept his gaze on the three children who were left waiting in front of the butcher’s stand. “She offered money and he didn’t take it.”
“Would you prefer she offer her chil
dren?” Horus looked casually towards the kids and then stepped in front of Anubis. “They did far worse in our fathers’ time. Their struggles and penance are their own. We cannot help them anymore.”
“What is the difference between those children and the girl Aunt Isis has asked us to retrieve?” Anubis’ blank stare moved back to Horus. His cousin pressed on, leading them further into the secluded alley.
They made it to the back of the building. Anubis stopped in place, watching as the butcher bent the woman over a trashcan. He turned his back to follow Horus, but heard the woman cry out. At the sound, Anubis spun and walked towards the pair, but Horus yanked him back. The butcher tangled his hands in the woman’s hair and shoved her face into the garbage as she sobbed. A blade slid down Anubis’ right arm and into his palm. He tried to pull away from his cousin.
“There’s a bigger picture to all of this, cousin,” Horus said. Anubis tried half-heatedly to break free but Horus wouldn’t relinquish his grip. “We have deadlines. We don’t wish to draw undue attention to ourselves.”
Anubis looked down, and it was clear from the look in his eyes that he did not understand. Horus knew that his cousin was incapable of comprehending the gravity of the situation before him. When Anubis stopped struggling, Horus breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the way.
“I only mean to scare him.” Anubis quickly stepped forward before Horus could stop him and dashed toward the butcher, shoving the fat man to the ground. The woman crouched next to the dumpster as Anubis held the blade against the butcher’s stomach, standing over him. “Do not get up.”
“Very well, then. Let’s go.” Horus sighed, snapping his fingers. “Anubis. There’s time to keep.”