N30 Mystics Pt. II

It's a dark, cool, and rainy day in the city of Daci. Light showers, heavy wind, and dark clouds fill the air. Every so often, the sound of thunder can be heard. Well, at least some of it is thunder.

The sound plaguing the city is loud, raucous, booming, and threatening. It has many layers to it. It is a palette of sounds, all mixing together to form the dissonant noise that falls upon Daci's collective ear today.

There are screams of all pitches: altos and sopranos, tenors and baritones. Each note stemming from a unique source. Each voice telling its very own story. The boy who had to skip school today for unexpectedly having an outbreak of boils, staring in his bathroom mirror over the sink. The young, vibrant, otherwise healthy bachelorette stuck in the doctor's office for having these strange and frequent outbreaks of hematemesis. Scared children hiding desperately under their dining room table from an abusive father. A lone man running into the wrong group of people for taking a wrong turn down the wrong alley at the wrong time of day.

Normally when a town has a demon outbreak, the effects are subtle. The vast populace can't even perceive a demon in their true form, so an outbreak, especially a large one, appears as a series of unfortunate events. The weather acts out in unprecedented ways. A snow storm may pop up in the middle of a normally sunny June. A tornado may appear in areas where they rarely occur. A new fault line may be discovered. Natural disasters. Acts of God.

Normally.

But so far, nothing in Daci has been normal.

Thunder, lightning, and rain. High winds. Trees falling. Fires spreading. And the sound. A symphony of plagues. Altos and sopranos. Tenors and baritones. Thundering bass. Sharp, booming drumming.

The boy with boils cries out. Each malformation of his flesh. Bursting. Popping. Colors of white, colors of yellow, colors of red, colors of black. Liquid matter leaking from every orifice. He cries out. Louder and louder still. The liquid doesn't stop flowing, and before his very eyes, the black turns misty. Foggy. He's enshrouded in it. The fog. The mist. His screaming doesn't stop. He can't help but wonder why his parents haven't heard him. He can't help but wonder why the mist is forming. He can't help but wonder why the mist has bright red piercing lights like eyes staring back at him. The boy cries out. The boy cries out.

The woman has another attack. She stumbles off of the doctor's examining table and makes her way to the sink. She is two steps too late. Her body gives out. Forced on her hands and knees as she heaves and heaves. Bile, gastric acid, all manner of bodily fluids vomited on the floor. And then the blood. She can barely take a breath between each outburst. One after the other. She hears a banging on the door, but she's too indisposed to get to it. She wonders how the door got closed to begin with. How it even locked. She wants to dwell on these questions, but she's stuck. She can't stop. She can't stop. The floor turns red. She can't stop.

Two children. Brother and sister. Nine and Eleven. Frightened and worried. Cornered and trapped. They thought they knew how bad he could get. They've heard their mother scream at night. They've seen the bloodstains on the floor. They've heard her bones crack.

They got over it.

They accepted it as normal. This is the way husband and wife are supposed to act. This is their behavior. So in spite of the initial shock and horror of it all, in spite of their gut calling it wrong for whatever reason they could never understand, they accepted it.

But now, back to the corner, furniture overturned, looking up at the large, burley man with pistol in hand, they fear for their life. This doesn't seem right. This doesn't seem normal. Even for them, this is too much. The younger brother tries to flee. The father renders him unconscious with a sharp blow to the head. The older sister remains.

Why is it so dark? Where did the sun go? Why can't she make out anything anymore? How is it that when she looks upon the visage of her father, the only thing she can make out is a shadowy creature with piercing red eyes? She wants to scream, but she can't. She wants to cry, but she can't. She's frozen. And soon, she'll be lifeless.

Cornered and afraid. The young man was on his way home. This storm came out of nowhere. He needed to find shelter, a place to lay his head. But just around the corner, he found a group of devils instead. He didn't know why they immediately stepped to him, grabbed him, beat him, dragged him. Did he see something he shouldn't have? He's so disoriented, his mind can barely make the connections.

In one flash, he sees knuckle dusters fly towards him. The next, a feeling of searing pain as a hot, burning, plasma knife digs its way through his abdomen. In the final flash, he can barely even describe his assailants as human. Dark, shadowy figures. Bright, piercing red eyes. Cornered and afraid. Dead and dying.

This is how they operate. When demons take over, it's not always them committing the acts. It's the people. The people making their own choices, committing their own actions. And it's the people who suffer.

And if this were a normal incursion, this is where the story would end.

But so far, nothing in Daci has been normal.

The boy with boils continues crying until he cries no more. Until he lies no more. Until he dies no more. In his place, the shadowy figure with red eyes stands. He doesn't stand alone. There are others with him. All shadowy, all dark, all distorting the actuality of them being.

The woman vomits blood until she can't vomit anymore. She lies motionless on the red painted ground. Standing before her, a shadowy figure amidst shadowy figures. The lights in the room flicker almost as if they too fight to illuminate. They flicker until they can't flicker anymore. The room goes dark. And the shadowy figures remain.

The two children lie motionless. The father remains. The father's shadow remains. The father's shadow steps out. One foot in front of the other. One foot away from the other. Limb from limb, the shadow tears itself from the father. All along the wall, the shadow moves. One foot in front of the other. It makes its way from behind.

The father catches wind of it moving. Jumpy and startled at the thought of some person walking in at what he's done. How would he explain his two children lying in front of him, bleeding out and dying out? He turns to the wall. His shadow turns to him. Eyes piercing red. The shadow's form changes. No longer the father's silhouette. It morphs. It mutates. Eyes piercing red, batwings outspread, and fangs made to shred. The shadow leaps from the wall, stepping into this three dimensional plane.

Something special is happening in Daci. Something new. They're revealing themselves. Even though they unveil themselves as shadows, they are taking form. And it's not only in isolated incidents. This is happening all over town. In every walk of life, the shadows are stepping out, and there's no light left to drive them out.

The city is dark. And the shadows remain.

*/

All over town, the demons rise. They stand tall. The sight of these dragon-like creatures—the zmei—in the skies, these ogre-like creatures—the capcauns—towering over buildings, and these raptor-like creatures—the balaur—racing through the streets gives pause to every man, woman, and child. The inhabitants of Daci have never seen something quite like this, and, until recently, neither have the Mystics.

Duke, Huifang, and Kevin stand in the heart of the city and watch as all matter of calamity falls upon it.

“What do we do now?” Kevin asks.

“The plan hasn't changed,” Duke answers.

“But all these people – the world's falling apart!”

“And it will keep falling until we get to the root! Kev, we're on the same side. I feel the exact same way you do, but –”

“But we have to keep things in perspective,” Huifang adds in. “As crazy as all of this is, we still need to focus on the main threat. Now, what do we know?”

“We know the city's messed up.” Kevin says.

“Right,” Duke says, “but what's different about it? Why is this place so special? The demons chose to come here. What do they have planned?”

“Do they even have a plan?” Kevin asks. “Think about it. All they're doing is wrecking things. What did they do before?”

“Before, it was, well, it was different.” Huifang states. “They still came here to cause problems, but there was more direction. It didn't seem as random.”

“So maybe we were going about it all wrong.” Duke says. “We were looking for a logical reason for them to reveal themselves here, but if they just chose this place at random, then –”

“Then that brings us no where.” Kevin says.

“Not necessarily.” Duke says.

“It means their motivations have changed.” Huifang says. “We already know we're dealing with a different breed. The fact that they're acting out and being bold about it is one thing, but if they're changing their mind like this, doing different things at different places, then maybe that means –”

“Maybe they never had any direction to begin with?” Kevin asks.

“Maybe.” Duke says. “Anyone find the Hellgate, yet?”

“Just now, yeah.” Huifang says as she looks up at the dark, cloudy sky.

“Then that's our next stop.” Duke says.

*/

The three Mystics emerge from a portal of light. They now find themselves in a dark, dimly lit room. Tables, chairs, bar stools abound. Behind the bar, various wine bottles stacked next to each other.  All manner of pictures and paintings on the wall for aesthetic.

The room is run down. There was an incident here. The broken tables, shattered glass, and occasional falling debris is indicative of that. Beyond the obvious wreckage, something strikes out at the Mystics' spirit. It is a sharp, heavy pressure, clawing at their psyche. They do well to mask their stress, but the longer they stay, the harder that becomes.

“Where is it Kev?” Duke asks.

Kevin looks down at his handheld device. A holographic screen shines from it. Various dots, lines, and symbols of different colors, each represent different data points that Kevin has cataloged and stored.

“So they don't care about revealing themselves, but they do care about revealing their way in?” Huifang asks.

“I don't even think it's that.” Kevin says. “This isn't the only Hellgate in the city. I'm pinging the others right now. This is the only one they're hiding. It's not even in this plane.”

“But it's causing the most problems,” Duke says. “This is the one we were drawn to, which means it's the one with the most value.”

“And that's not all,” Kevin says. He looks up from the screen and finds his gaze trailing to an empty stool by the front of the bar.

The other Mystics look at the same thing. It's at that moment that it hits them.

They're not alone.

The already dim lights flicker on and off. With each flash, the bar stool flickers in and out of existence. Right up until that final flash. The image changes. The scene changes. A man, shrouded in shadow, covered in terror, comes into focus. He sits at the bar, pouring a bottle of the finest aged white wine into a Montrachet glass. He picks up the glass and examines it. In one moment, the wine is white. In the next, blood red, like the color of his curly, cut hair.

The man stands up. The light hits his light brown face as he takes a sip of his drink and places the glass on the counter. In a nonchalant manner, he turns to greet his Mystic audience. The shadows he wears appear wild and gaseous in form, but softly settle down on his person, morphing ever so carefully into the stitches that make up his clothing until finally a black suit is formed. His slacks – pressed and ironed. His light purple shirt – crisp and buttoned to the neck. His jacket – black like his pants. His neck tie – dark purple and black, tied in a double Windsor knot.

“Don't worry,” the man in black says. “I'm not here to cause any trouble.”

The Mystics are on edge. Something is off about him. They know a demon when they see one, and this man in black exhibits all of the signs: seen and unseen. The purple, black, and red aura about him is chaotic and erratic, constantly doing battle with the natural world as if asserting its dominance over it.

“In fact,” the man continues, “I'm here to bring an end to the trouble plaguing this town.” He pauses, waiting for a response. Instead, he is met with harsh looks and skeptical glares.

“You don't believe me,” the man says. In no sudden movement, he strokes the finely short, red scruffy hairs of his chin. “Good. No one, especially a group such as yourself, should trust the words of a devil. We are all deceivers. It is in our nature. The greatest gift a devil has is his mastery of words.”

The man turns his back to them and slowly strolls along until he arrives at an empty table at the other end of the room. On the table is a cracked glass, but in that glass are the last remnants of some green colored beverage. The man raises the glass, and instantly the crack is removed, the glass is whole, and the drink fills itself out to the brim.

“But I don't have to tell you that,” the man continues after taking a sip. “No. You're Mystics: masters of spirit, well versed in the arcane. I'm sure each of you has at least a decade's worth of experience with my ilk. You know our ways. You can infer our motivations. Up until now, you've done a fine job keeping a handle on us.”

Kevin summons forth his short-barrel riffle to his side.

The man in black places the now half empty glass back on the table top. “But that's just it, isn't it?” He turns to the three. “There's something about now that you can't quite get. I bet it's been plaguing you since you stepped foot in this city. What's wrong with Daci? Why are the rules different here?” The man sees he's struck a chord as Huifang slightly flinches and then rolls her eyes.

The man chuckles before going on. “And no, I'm not reading your minds. These are the questions anyone would naturally ask in your position. Fear not. I come bearing gifts. Knowledge. Information. Understanding. Hear me out before trying to shoot me.” The man looks at Kevin—or more at the barrel of Kevin's gun—as he pauses.

Kevin looks at Duke and Duke returns the glance in kind with a light nod. Responding to the nonverbal queue, Kevin lowers his firearm.

“First” the man says, “the Hellgate.” And at that very moment, a door manifests itself between him and the Mystics. The door is shrouded in a mist. The door is shrouded in a shadow. The door is shrouded in a light. The door is made bare. The door cracks. The door vanishes. The door is no more. “I had already sealed it before your arrival. As for the others in the town, as we speak, I am taking care of them as well. From here on, no more demons will be able to set foot in this city. Go ahead, check your gadgets, scan the area with your senses. Verify that my words are true.”

Quite a few blips on Kevin's device disappear in sequence. One after the other in each passing second. Duke and Huifang look at him with inquiring eyes. Kevin nods his head. Huifang sighs. Duke looks back at the man in black.

“Now I'm sure that gesture wasn't enough to garner your trust. I didn't expect it to. And considering the fact that this city is already overrun, the act may come off as a little half hearted. But while I have your attention, there is a demon in this town. A devil, like me. A great earl of Hell. His name is Raum, and he is behind this current calamity. It is his legions that wreak havoc. He is seeking to do what so many of the unimaginative and uninspired lot try to do once crossing over: rule the world.”

“Now I suppose you think I'm after the same,” the man continues. “Or maybe I'm after something much worse. You could be right. You could be wrong. But right now, that doesn't matter. I am not your enemy. Not this day at least. Now go. Do what you came here to do. Save this town. Save these people. Defeat Raum and his legions. And if you have any questions for me, which I'm sure you do, I will remain in this bar until you return.”