Succubus

by Brandon Varnell

  This was not good. It would be a slaughter. The police stood no chance against that Assassin, regardless of whether he was or wasn’t who Christian assumed him to be.

  But he couldn’t do anything about that. His guns were ineffective against Uriel and Barachiel unless he had Orichalcum bullets, which were in his hotel room. His only hope to beat this person was to reach his apartment and grab his swords and ammo.

  The only silver lining that came from the police running into his enemy was that they had delayed the figure long enough for Christian to arrive at his hotel.

  He didn’t bother using the ladder this time. He ran straight up the tree near his window, as if he was defying gravity. He jumped off the trunk and latched onto the nearest branch, which he then used to swing himself like an acrobat to the next one. He grabbed that branch, flipping around until he landed on top of it, then proceeded to jump off that branch and ascended to the next one and then the next one, until he reached his room.

  Upon leaping through the window, he hurried over to his bed, pulled out his swords and sheaths, and then strapped them on. Afterward, he exited the room the same way that he had entered, hitting the ground and rolling forward before bursting to his feet in an all-out sprint.

  More explosions sounded out like the rumbling thunder in the distance. The sky lit up multiple times as police cars blew apart one after the other. Christian could see the smoke and flames rising in the distance.

  He said a prayer for those officers who had been killed. He hoped that they and God would forgive him for not being able to save them, for once more committing the sin of living while others around him died.

  It wouldn’t be long before his adversary caught on to his trail. He needed to find a place for the upcoming battle. The park where he’d fought the werewolf was out of the question. There were too many trees, and the playset would put him at a disadvantage. The Assassin wielding Uriel and Barachiel was good. He had no doubt his adversary would be able to use those weapons to their fullest in a place littered with obstacles that could be sliced and thrown at him.

  He needed a more open space. He did know of a place, a soccer field near Lilith’s apartment complex. It was about the size of a football field and had no trees or obstacles that could be used against him. The terrain was also mostly flat, which would give him the advantage by allowing him a wider range of motion.

  He didn’t want to use the soccer field, though, because it was so close to Lilith’s apartment. Christian didn’t know how long this guy had been stalking him, but it must have at least been since he and Lilith had left The Crema Café. That meant this unknown enemy knew about her. The last thing that he wanted was for her to get hurt because someone seeking his life used her as a shield.

  But Christian also knew he didn’t have a choice. If he wanted to defeat this mystery Assassin, that soccer field was the only viable option, the only battlefield in which he held the advantage.

  And so he ran to the soccer field, arriving in record time despite the ache in his back. The wound didn’t sting as it had when he first received it. Those nanomachines from the cream Dr. Adams had smeared on him must have still been working, though they should have disintegrated by now. Odd though it was, he was grateful to know that he wouldn’t be passing out from blood loss mid-battle.

  Several minutes after his arrival, his enemy showed up. With that red cloak fluttering about him, the man using Uriel and Barachiel raced down the soccer field from the opposite direction. In response, Christian slowed his breathing and relaxed his body. This fight wouldn’t be like the one he had with the werewolf. While a decent fighter, that creature had been easily dealt with after Christian retrieved his weapons. The only reason it had been such a hard-fought battle was because of the injuries that he had sustained during their fistfight.

  Whoever was wielding those gloves had more talent than Nathan Storm—the werewolf that he'd fought—ever would. They were clearly a master at using them. If Christian wanted to come out of this battle intact, then it was imperative that he be at his best.

  As the cloaked man sent three wires toward him, Christian’s hands reached over his shoulders, and his fingers wrapped around the hilts of his blades. Michael and Raphael left their sheaths with a soft hiss.

  The wires converged, striking at him in three directions. Michael met the wire on the left, while Raphael struck the wire on the right. Both wires tried to wrap around the blades, but Christian was prepared this time and threw the wires off his swords with a flick of his wrists.

  Coming in behind him was the last attack. Christian avoided serious injury by twisting his body to the right and using some fancy footwork to move out of the wire’s path. It still nicked him in the side when the wire changed direction at the last second, but it was just a scratch and not something to worry about.

  Seven more wires came in as the other three retreated. They were moving faster than before. Christian could only see them because of the moonlight flashing off their surfaces.

  His enemy manipulated the wires to move in random patterns designed to throw him off. It was an effective strategy for fooling most opponents, but Christian could already see the weakness of this maneuver. Constantly changing the direction of the wires at random meant that the wielder had to focus all of their attention on manipulating their fingers to get the desired results. Even the most minute of mistakes could cause the wires to collide with each other and become tangled.

  That must be why his attacker was using only seven wires instead of the typical nine. His enemy probably couldn’t use any more while still keeping track of all the paths that the wires were following.

  Reaching his position at speed, the seven wires split and twisted around each other in complicated patterns that most people could never hope to predict. Christian was not most people. Thanks to his fighting style, he knew where all the wires were going to attack and responded accordingly.

  One wire veered off course when Raphael struck it with great force. The wire tangled with another one when Christian twisted his blade and redirected its path into the path that he knew the second wire would take seconds before it happened.

  He dodged the third wire when he took one step to the left and spun his body ninety degrees. He brought Michael up into a guard position and allowed that wire to wrap around it. Then, with a great heave, he slashed his sword into the fourth wire coming in from his left. Christian wove a quick circle with his sword, entangling another wire with his blade, and then slipped the sword out through a small gap. The two wires became twisted together and fell to the ground.

  Realizing that four of the seven wires he’d sent were no longer usable, the cloaked man retracted the other three. At the same time, he yanked his left hand into the air, where he soon revealed that the other three wires had been hidden right underneath Christian’s feet. Christian threw himself into a shoulder roll to avoid having himself cut into quarters. When he came back up, six wires came in hot, all set to spear his body through different locations.

  Christian became a blur of activity. His body moved like never before, as he focused entirely on keeping himself alive. Wires came in and were sent back as they met one of his swords. Loud clangs rang through the air, as the two battled each other in a ferocious life-and-death struggle. Each time one of Christian’s blades met a wire, sparks erupted between them.

  As if in a choreographed dance, they moved across the soccer field—Christian spinning and weaving and ducking and dodging, his swords lashing out at blinding speeds. Meanwhile, his opponent’s fingers danced to an unseen rhythm, like a puppet master playing with a marionette.

  As the battle wore on, Christian realized something important. He and his opponent were evenly matched. His speed and reflexes combined with the ability to predict his opponent’s attacks made it impossible for the Assassin to hit him. But, his enemy was a ranged fighter, and he was doing a damn fine job of keeping him from closing the distance. Every time Christian tried getting close, the Assassin wou
ld backpedal just as fast. Those wires moved in even more erratic and unpredictable patterns the closer Christian got.

  A fight of this level would not be decided by who had the greater skill, but by who slipped up first. It was going to come down to luck.

  There was no telling how long the fight wore on. As far as Christian knew, it could have been hours, or it could have been minutes. The elapsed time could have even been mere seconds and Christian wouldn’t know how long he had fought.

  His muscles aching with the strain of keeping up with his opponent, Christian continued to fight. Each breath he took came out as a loud gasp that rang harshly in his ears. Every move he made caused droplets of sweat to fly from his hair. Perspiration ran down his face and got in his eyes, burning them.

  He didn’t dare close them, though, as doing so would mean death. And he could not afford to lose. Not until…

  A change in his opponent’s pattern forced Christian to backpedal. His opponent’s wires flailed about in a chaotic dance. He zigged to the left. This motion halted abruptly as he placed all of his weight on his left leg, then swerved to the right, avoiding a wire that crashed into the ground that he had been standing on, slicing through it and uplifting several dirt clods that exploded into the air.

  Christian was just about to make another attempt at closing the distance between them, when his opponent stopped, the wires going slack.

  His enemy tilted their head curiously, as if listening to something that only they could hear. Christian eyed the figure warily. His opponent might be trying to lure him in, so he needed to remain on guard.

  But there was no trap. A second later the Assassin struck the ground with his wires, kicking up a large cloud of dust and dirt that forced Christian to shield his eyes. When the makeshift smokescreen cleared, his enemy was gone.

  With narrowed eyes and a fierce expression, Christian moved cautiously forward. He kept a firm grip on his swords, ready to attack or defend as needed. Soon enough, he reached the spot where his enemy had been standing. After taking a moment to look around, he found nothing. Nothing at all that would indicate where his opponent had gone.

  Confusion set in. Why had that man retreated? He hadn’t been winning, but he hadn’t losing either. That battle could have gone either way. Why give up an opportunity to kill his enemy? Unless…

  Unless I was never the real target to begin with!

  Like a lead weight, an unsettling feeling caused his stomach to drop, as he realized that only one person could be the real target.

  ***

  Christian raced up the stairs to Lilith’s apartment, only stopping to stare at the door that had been flung wide open. His heart nearly stopped beating as he rushed into the apartment.

  “Lilith?!”

  He surveyed the living room but found nothing out of place. He saw no signs of a struggle—no broken furniture, no overturned tables, nothing at all to indicate that anything was wrong. The sight only made Christian worry that much more.

  “Lilith?!”

  He rushed farther into the apartment, going straight for Lilith’s room. There, he found the first signs of trouble. The bed was a complete mess. The sheets lay tangled, half on the bed half off, twisted in a macramé of knots. He could see indents in the mattress where several springs had been broken. Two springs poked straight through the fabric of the mattress. The headboard was cracked, as if someone had been slammed against it repeatedly, and there were several chunks of different colored hair. He could make out at least three different colors.

  Not wanting to jump to conclusions, Christian searched the rest of the house: Maria’s and Stacy’s bedroom, the bathrooms, the closets, everywhere that he could think of. He found nothing to disprove his theory.

  Returning to Lilith’s bedroom, Christian sat on the bed and buried his head in his hands. As the icy fist of realization clenched his heart in its ironclad grip, he came to a terrifying conclusion: Lilith had been kidnapped.

  Chapter 21

  Christian didn’t know how long he’d stayed in Lilith’s apartment. Time seemed inconsequential to him now. Only one inconsolable fact penetrated the haze that he’d been in since its realization set in.

  Lilith was gone.

  As he sat there on Lilith’s bed, cursing himself for his stupidity, he surveyed the decorations that made up the bedroom, taking note of the room’s feminine touches. Everything about this room had Lilith’s unique signature to it. When he looked around, he could imagine Lilith sleeping in the bed that he was sitting on, or sitting behind her desk as she did homework or read a light novel.

  His hands clenched the fabric of his pants and his teeth gritted into a snarl of frustration. Something wet ran down his cheeks, dripping off his chin to splash against his hand. Blinking, he swiped his hand underneath his eyes.

  Tears?

  He was crying. How strange. Christian had not cried in years, not since the destruction of his home and the death of his parents. Yet he was crying now, and over a girl that he’d known for barely over a week. There was something inherently wrong about that, crying over the girl that he’d been sent to kill, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  Standing up, Christian made to stand in front of Lilith’s desk, where several picture frames covered its surface. After picking one up at random, he gazed at the image contained within the frame.

  It was a picture of Lilith as a child. Her cherubic face was framed by short blond hair, and her blue eyes contained the same mystifying innocence, though they lacked the current Lilith's melancholy. Standing beside her, with one arm wrapped around her shoulder, was a woman–Valerie, Lilith’s foster mom.

  They looked so happy in the photo. Lilith wore a mile-wide smile and the woman that she called mother was also smiling gently into the camera. It was a beautiful photo meant to showcase what he could only consider to be the perfect family, one that had been destroyed by hardships beyond their ability to control.

  ***

  The walk back to his hotel was slow. Christian had a lot on his mind; worry for Lilith, questions about what he should do now, and what Headquarters’ response would be when he reported in. So much had gone wrong on this assignment. What should have been a simple assassination had snowballed into a mess that he could scarcely comprehend.

  The streets were eerily quiet. He didn’t miss the dichotomy between now and several hours ago, when sirens blared and explosions went off like fireworks at a festival. He could see smoke rising from between the buildings. The police cars must still be on fire.

  All of the police were likely dead now. That Assassin had been good. Christian didn’t doubt that he was also thorough and had ensured that no one could report back about him.

  After reaching his hotel and climbing in through the window, Christian sat on the bed, the mattress creaking. Weariness overcame him. The weight of his failures mercilessly crushed him, causing his shoulders to slump as his hands covered his face.

  Lilith was gone. He had failed to protect her. He’d allowed himself to get drawn into a fight, not even stopping to contemplate that he might not be the real target. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, but Christian felt like he should have realized that he wasn’t the person being targeted after the first few minutes of their battle. Now Lilith was paying the price for his failure.

  The sound of his phone ringing snapped him out of his pity party. He reached into his pocket, accepted the call, and held the phone to his ear.

  “Tristin.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

  “Christian, is something wrong? You sound like someone just took one of those light novels you’re so fond of and threw it in a furnace.”

  A snappish reply was on the tip of Christian’s tongue, but he held himself back. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and thought through Tristin’s words before coming to a conclusion.

  “No,” he said. “I am not all right.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Tell me what happened?”

  And Ch
ristian did tell him what happened. Despite his misgivings, he told Tristin everything that had occurred in the past several hours. He mentioned his run-in with the figure whose entire body had been obscured by the red cloak of an Assassin. He didn’t hesitate to mention how that same person had used both Uriel and Barachiel, two weapons that should have been in the hands of Anthony Trekovski. He even informed his fellow orphan about his greatest failure that night; Lilith’s kidnapping.

  “It sounds like you’ve had a rough night,” Tristin said after a moment. “I guess it makes sense. Nothing about this mission has been going right: finding out that your target is afraid of men, running into a werewolf, and now this strange figure wielding one of the Executioners’ most powerful weapons. Not to mention whoever kidnapped your target.”

  “Speaking of which, have you found out whether or not Lilith is, in fact, a succubus?”

  “No, I’ve finally managed to pull up all the relevant information I can find. I even went ahead and hacked into the government’s database and pulled up the files they have on her; blood work, incident reports, hospital records, the works, but I haven’t actually gotten the chance to search through them.”

  “I see.” Christian didn’t think going through the files mattered anymore. It was clear to him that Lilith wasn’t a succubus. She was just a girl who had issues with men. A succubus not only wouldn’t have any problems with members of the opposite sex but would revel in their attention. They also had their Aura of Allure, which caused men to lust after them.

  Lilith didn’t have that aura. He hadn’t felt any desires upon meeting her. Christian wasn’t exactly sure what the Aura of Allure was supposed to feel like, but that hardly mattered. The fact was that he should have felt something from Lilith. The Aura was always active. Succubi couldn’t just turn it on and off like a switch, or even control who it affected. Every male within a certain radius of a succubus was affected by her, regardless of who he was or how strong a will he possessed.