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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 23, 2013 1:33:02 GMT -5
Entry One I walk into the apartment, crossing the police tape and nodding at the attending officers. It's dingy in here and cramped. It's morning outside but none of the fresh air or bright light enter passed the front door or windows. It's musty.
Her body lays on the floor at an awkward angle. The recently deceased, no – murdered, Suzanne Sharmers. Her pale eyes stare motionlessly at the stained ceiling. Thick red blood surrounds her head like a sick halo. It's the same story all over again: sharp blow to the back of the head. Fifteen deaths so far and the NYPD had nothing to show for it. No killer and no suspects.
I kneel by the corpse of Ms. Sharmers and gently lift her head up to inspect the wound. It's almost too identical to the other wounds. Her body is laid out in the same manner as the others were; hands resting on the chest, her eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. Hell, even the blood spatter looks exactly the same as the others. I should take a look at the other photos later to confirm. Still, that wouldn't give me much to work with. No one has any clue as to who is doing this.
Karl Weinstein. Amanda Claussen. Steven Schraeder. Sameer Goodridge.
The killer is very good, not a scrap of evidence left behind. The boys over at Forensics are getting absolutely nothing from any test results. Fucking nothing. That doesn't even make any sense, considering the killer always writes a little message in blood on the wall next to his victims. Very cliche, but I will admit they are getting to me.
Carole Lapierre. Valentina Oliveri. Darren Muller. Lucy Kaye.
Why didn't you save them? , the message reads. Almost as if he-whoever this guy is-knows exactly what words to use to piss me off. The strangest thing is that, apparently, the guy uses his fingers to paint the walls. And everytime someone runs tests, nothing. Not just no match ups, nothing. There are literally no results. The computers don't even acknowledge that you're trying to test anything.
Which has baffled the NYPD for over two years now, ever since these murders started. Some of the victims are single, some aren't. Their bodies are found all over New York City, some in apartments, some in alleys, some in their offices. Some had a criminal record, others were perfect angels. No witnesses, even when there should have been. Valentina Oliveri was found dead on the bathroom floor. Her husband had been fast asleep when he heard a loud thud from the bathroom. He rushed over and saw her lying there with the bloody words Why didn't you save her? written on the ceiling. All the doors were locked in the house, with no signs of entry. The husband had been the primary suspect for a long time, but when Darren Muller was found dead a week later, while Mr. Oliveri was under guard, he was cleared of all charges. A month later, he committed suicide. And the killings continued.
David Travers. Zoe Carell. Niroka Thevathas. Henry Dalish.
It's completely hopeless.
David Boutin. Kerry Rice.
And now, Suzanne Sharmers.
You've failed them. All of them.
Fuck. You.
Selfish. Always selfish. And cowardly.
I'm not going to listen to that damned voice again. It lies, it always lies.
Ashamed? Of your failure? Of your weakness?
Since the first, it has been there. Counting down the dead.
And you've known, since the first. You've always known.
The voice lies.
Always.
“When are we going to catch this fucker?” I say aloud. The voice sometimes stops when I talk.
When indeed. How many more lives must be lost?
“Soon, I'm sure,” one of the cops replies somewhere behind me. He doesn't sound sure. I look once more upon the corpse of Suzanne Sharmers, capturing the image in my mind.
Yes. Remember the faces. The faces of those lost to your weakness, your inability to accept the truth.
The voice lies. The voice lies, it lies, always lying...
Remember the faces of your victims. Remember their names. And perhaps that will ease your conscience.
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 23, 2013 1:34:25 GMT -5
Entry Two I walk into the apartment, crossing the police tape and nodding at the attending officers. It's dingy in here and cramped. It's morning outside but none of the fresh air or bright light enter pass the front door or windows. It's musty.
Her body lays on the floor at an awkward angle. The recently deceased, no – murdered, Suzanne Sharmers. Her pale eyes stare motionlessly at the stained ceiling. Thick red blood surrounds her head like a sick halo. It's the same story all over again: sharp blow to the back of the head. Fifteen deaths so far and the NYPD had nothing to show for it. No killer and no suspects.
“Looks like our Ripper struck again,” a gravelly voice rumbled from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the squat and obese form of my partner Ramirez. The older man wheezed his way over to look at the young woman, who lay dead on the floor. His light blue button-up shirt was stained with sweat, coffee and mustard and every indrawn breath sounded like he was gasping for air. Thick, sausage-like fingers ran over a glistening bald pate and through thinning tangles of oily brown hair. He dropped his hand, stroking crumbs out of his mustache. He held out his other hand to me – greasy sweat stains already discoloring the manila folder clasped in his pudgy hand. “Just got the report back, she’s just like th’others. Hooker out near Hell’s Kitchen, from a few reports at the station the boys say she was disease free and cheap.”
I paused, slowly turning my head to look at my partner – ignoring the open folder in my hands, “Really, Eddie? I get she was hookin’ but try and show a bit more class about the whole thing. C’mon, Eddie, how would ya feel if it was your daughter lyin’ dead on the ground?”
Eddie grunted, “You callin’ my daughter a hooker, Shawn?”
“You know that’s not what I’m sayin’, but this girl had family too. Even if they did let her drop to this… state,” I shook my head as I began flipping through the files on her. Compared to the others we’d found she was mostly clean – a few too many times picked up for indecent exposure, I’d say she had a decent enough body, personally. Closing the folder I shunted that thought aside and watched as the corpse was wrapped up and carted off.
“I think we can start ruling out the idea of a pissed off pimp,” I said as I turned and headed out of the small apartment, briefly reflecting as I left that she must have had grateful clients for living in such a nice place. “Or a jilted lover – unless someone’s operating from Lower Manhattan to Fort George,” I placed my fedora firmly on my close-cropped brown hair as we exited, the brim already beginning to collect a nice dusting of snow. I huddled deeper into my thick topcoat before looking over to still marvel at the fact it was thirteen Fahrenheit and Eddie was sweating more than a pedo at Chuck-E-Cheese’s.
“Also not just a regular loony, the bodies are still complete – except for that new hole in the back of their heads. I actually hate this – all the kills are too clean, too methodical, it’s not right,” Ramirez shook his head, thick jowls wobbling with the motion.
I stared at him for a moment, “Eddie… you’re complainin’ that we aren’t after some psycho who’s stringing the Five Boroughs with these ladies’ guts?”
“Look – I’m not saying I want every murderer to be like Mark the Mauler, I still get nightmares about that freak. But he at least gave us clues to what he was doing – y’know? We knew he was tryin’ to kill enough people to decorate the Boroughs with some gory garland. But with this new guy, we know he’s targetin’ workin’ girls all over. But other than hookin’, these girls couldn’t be more different,” the conversation carried us to the ’67 navy blue Chevy the department gave us.
“I’ll go over the cases again when we get back – there has to be some connection we’re missing,” I ducked into the driver’s seat, pulling out the keys and starting the car as soon as I got in – extremely glad for the relative warmth it provided. The car sagged slightly as Eddie climbed in, shutting the door with a loud slam.
“I thought you and Serena were doin’ somethin’ tonight… ain’t it you two kid’s anniversary?” Ramirez gave me a curious look, the vague expression of bemusement only deepening.
“Naw, that’s next week,” I pulled out into the road, turned on my siren and gunned the engine. I was sure our anniversary was next week… but just in case I wanted to get to the precinct and be done with this crap incase Serena decided to commit justifiable homicide.
~~
I stared at myself in the mirror of our bathroom, well outside of the city. I got home early, and as luck would have it just in time to take Serena back into the city for our anniversary (and thanked God a few times for Eddie saying something – had picked up a gold necklace from a fence on my way home). After a night of reliving our honeymoon in every room of the house (happy our kids were still visiting Serena’s folks) I now had a chance to look at myself in a mirror and realize why Eddie looked the way he did.
The skin around my eyes was becoming deep and bruised – there were streaks of grey in my hair that hadn’t been there before this case. Not to mention a few wrinkles and a five o’clock shadow that wouldn’t have dared to show itself before on my pale features. “Shawn Reilly, you look just like your drunken bastard of a father,” I muttered as I turned away from my reflection to finish getting ready for work.
Of course – soon as I had a good night away from work it hurls it right back in my face. I fell into my chair in mine and Eddie’s small office, giving him a weary look, “Guessin’ ya got the good news?” He asked around a half-eaten jelly donut.
I gave a slow nod of my head, “Another murder – Christ. Whoever this guy is he’s starting to move quicker.” A half-hearted smile crossed my face, “Think he knows we’re onto him?”
Eddie forced out a laugh, “You’re kiddin’, right? If anything this fucker is tauntin’ us. He knows we can’t catch him and is showin’ off by killin’ quicker.” He finished scarfing down the last of his donut before standing and taking a large gulp of his coffee as he struggled into his jacket, “C’mon Shawny-boy, for once luck smiled on us if not the girl.”
I raised my eyebrow, following my partner out into the bitter cold of New York.
~~
“We thought it was nail polish at first, then we checked closer – she got a good claw on her attacker before dying,” the CSI guy stood, gesturing to the wound on her forehead. “Best guess we got – he snuck in to kill her, she heard him turned and got a good swing in before he crushed her skull.”
I nodded slowly, motioning for them to cover the girl’s face. Without her license we wouldn’t have been able to tell who she was from the red mush that used to be her features. “Get the blood to the lab, then, let the girl’s family know – I think this is just the thing we need to bring this psycho to justice.”
I should learn not to speak sometimes.
~~
“What do you mean fucking inconclusive?” I snarled, glaring at the two doctors.
“Just what I said, Shawn, we didn’t get any readings off the blood. Hell, we aren’t even sure it’s human,” Dr. Sheffield placed specific emphasis on the last point as she leaned back against the wall of the crime lab. “It’s not like we have the blood of demons and shit on in our databases,” she murmured before pursing her lips.
I frowned, “So, you’re telling me, our killer ain’t human?”
She shrugged, looking over to her colleague. Dr. Forrest cleared his throat, “Well… we can’t be entirely sure but, yes. There’s a distinct possibility that our killer is not native to this world, however…”
“However when we examined the latest victim more closely and compared it to the earlier results we determined that this was done by a different murderer entirely,” Sheffield finished tightly.
“Copy cat?” Eddie asked with a raise eyebrow.
Sheffield, the bitch that she was, just smiled thinly, “Well, that’s not our department inspectors.”
I narrowed my eyes, treating her to a withering glare, “C’mon, Eddie. Let’s leave the two clowns to being useless.” I turned on my heel, marching out. Eddie just shook his head and followed, leaving Sheffield to stare daggers at my back.
“Do you think it’s an attempted copy cat?” Eddie asked after we’d gone a good ways away from the lab.
“No,” I answered after a minute of silence, “Despite how worthless those two were they did give us something. Our killer ain’t human, but is killing in the same way as the first.” I regretted insulting the two doctors and leaving at that point, I didn’t even think to ask what the difference was and I sure as shit couldn’t go back now. “Who was that one jerk we busted two years back?” I asked after another few minutes of silence.
“The guy who called himself the Witch King of the West Side, right?” Eddie offered after a few moments of thought.
I nodded slowly, “Didn’t he have a bunch of hellhounds or whatever it was he called them?”
“He called them his Blessed Children, you called them hellhounds as you unloaded your clip into his face, for all the good that did. But yeah – he had some unnatural servants that did his killing for him once he got them here,” another pause. “You think who’s ever behind this is copying him?”
“I don’t think intentionally but yeah, this doesn’t give us any real leads but now we have something for the beat-pounders to keep an eye out for. Probably can also check the database for new cult activity, registry for anyone new to our little slice of hell, and hassle a few cabbies to see if they’ve seen anyone close to the crime scenes,” our conversation once again lead us to our blue Chevy, the both of us climbing in.
“Guessin’ we’re going to radio most of that in on our way to Relda’s?” Eddie asked as he buckled up and reclined his seat.
“Yep, if all else fails she’s bound to know something,” I peeled out of our parking spot, turning the siren on and gunning the engine.
“Shoulda gone to her in the first place,” Eddie muttered.
“Shaddup,” was the terse reply.
~~
Not even our siren could break through a car wreck. We sat there, watching the streetlight shift from red to green to yellow then back to red. Our windshield wipers squeaked lightly as they moved back and forth to clear away the sleet that had started to form. “Sometimes I think they’re right, y’know,” Eddie murmured after ten minutes of mutual silence. I looked over with a raised eyebrow, prompting him with a glance to continue, “Those end of days cults we find. Sometimes I think they got the right idea, that the world needs to end.”
“Why’s that? ‘Too sick to live’ or whatever that crap they spew out is?” I said with a snort, “I think we’re not doin’ too bad right now.”
“C’mon Shawny – just look at the case we’re on. Some asshole is going around bashing in the skulls of relatively innocent girls. You’re honestly tellin’ me the world ain’t a sick place right now?” Eddie sat forward a bit, enlivened by the prospect of a debate.
I frowned slightly, “It ain’t the world that’s sick, or even everyone in it. It’s those few jerks out there who are sick.” A lopsided grin stretched my face, “Hell, we just seem to get most of ‘em here. So naw, I don’t think the world needs to end for everyone. Just for those freaks out there who give us a job.”
Eddie nodded his head slowly, “I can agree with that.” We lapsed into mutual silence again, though much briefer than before, only a minute passing before Eddie spoke up, “You ever think we don’t get paid enough to deal with these bastards, supernatural or otherwise?”
“Every damn day I get in the car, Eddie. Every damn day,” I switched into drive and gunned the engine as soon as the wreck was cleared.
~~
I slewed the car to a halt in front of our stop, the bright pink neon sign flashing vividly Esmeralda’s Palace of the Occult and below it in bright green letters Dare You to Enter? A deep sigh escaped my lips as Eddie slammed the door to the car and we both made our way into the store. Thick carpets hung over the windows, the only light a dull red in color – masked even more by thick smoke that carried the cloying smell of incense. Bells jangled as the door shut behind us.
“Ah… curious travelers, you come to the lair of Madame Esmeralda? Is it your future you wish to know, or maybe your past? Do you come for occult lore or- oh God damn it, Shawn. I thought it was someone who was gonna pay,” the voice which started out husked and mysterious suddenly took on a high pitched and slightly nasal quality as both we and the speaker came into view.
She had a cheap spray-on tan to hide the pale skin similar to mine, and her long brown hair was let out in long curls barely kept contained in a dark purple bandana. Her green eyes glared at me as I quickly took in her appearance and rolled my eyes – as always my sister went out of her way to show off her huge, fake tits. “Jesus, Essy, cover those damn things up – I’d almost think you’re tryin’ to sell more than just palm readin’s.”
She continued glaring at me, making no move to do as I asked as she reached out to her counter to pull a stick of gum from a packet and pop it into her mouth, “The fuck do you want, twerp?” She glanced over and offered a smile as she chewed, “Heya Eddie didn’t see ya there.” Her gaze shot back to me and narrowed, “Spit it out Shawn, I’m runnin’ a business here.”
I shook my head, getting wonderfully reminded why I always use my sister as a last resort. “Help with our case – sure you’ve heard about the murders and shit and we’ve kinda hit a dead end,” two snorts made me realize the pun after I spoke it, now both Eddie and Esmeralda were giving me dirty looks for that. “Point is, we have cause to believe either the killer ain’t human, or that he’s gettin’ inhuman help – and sadly, you’re the most qualified person we know of who won’t laugh us outta their store.”
Esmeralda smirked, “Alright, long as I get paid as a consultant.”
“No deal.”
“Deal.”
I glared at Eddie as we both piped up at the same time; he returned the look, “If it gets us an answer, she’s getting the pay.” Eddie looked back to Esmeralda, “That’s if it gets us an answer – if it doesn’t ya ain’t getting’ paid, understood?”
Esmeralda nodded, still smiling, “O’course Eddie – when have I let you boys down?” She waved a hand, each finger tipped with a fake nail, “C’mon boys – we got some mojo to work.”
A glance between the two of us showed equal parts hope and trepidation as we followed my sister to the back. The actual back.
Standing as far back from her was we could, we watched as Esmeralda began to prep everything that she’d need. Both of us keeping our mouths shut concerning the thick blood she poured into perfect lines, and the questions about candles that burned with black flames and gave off no warmth. Juxtaposed to this was a strange, golden liquid lined with softly glowing candles that gave off a welcome warmth. Finishing her pouring of blood, Esmeralda stepped away from the pentagram and triune, returning with two different books shakily held in either hand. “Shawny, hold this book for me,” she tossed one of the thick, leather-bound books toward me, and I fumbled to catch and hold it.
With a nod of her head, Esmeralda opened the other book, holding a hand above the pentagram – her voice echoing in the room where it hadn’t before. An odd language left her lips, a language that gave me chills every time I heard it. The flames leapt to the roof, roaring and bellowing their hatred at such a disservice done by the woman. “Come forth, Raziel the Red!” Esmeralda finished in English; the flames burst brighter before dying down to contain the form of something that wasn’t too different from a human.
He was a scarred and haggard specimen, with two great pinions currently furled against his back, long feathers a mingling of ash grey and obsidian black. Short-cropped hair of the same salt-and-pepper quality as his wings crowned his head. Eyes of hellfire opened, glaring at my sister, “Pathetic witch! You have the temerity to summon forth Raziel the Red? Butcher of the Boran, Slayer of the Slavs, Pillager of Pra-.”
“Shaddup!” she spat, the demon’s words suddenly silenced. It glared at her as its mouth continued to move, cursing her silently. “You’ll talk when I want you to talk, and not a second sooner,” she matched the ancient creature’s glare with one of her own before snapping her book shut. Walking past the bound monster with a toss of her hair, she exchanged her book for the one I held.
Turning to the triune, she flipped the pages until she reached the proper one, intoning once more in a slightly more musical language, not harsh but flowing. A language I’d never, in all my years, heard her speak before. The faintly glowing lines began to brighten, and where anger had formed when the demon was released a calmness descended upon the room. “Come forth, Lasha.”
The creature that spawned in the center of the triune was a curiosity. It looked a bit like a sphinx had sex with a centaur, the upper half was that of a beautiful human woman, bare except for what I took to be glittering body paint. Descending, her hips flared into a massive leonine lower body, large claws pawing at ethereal ground. Six pairs of wings were folded against her backs. The ones on her human half similar to those of the demon save for being golden with silver flecks. The wings of her leonine half were a pair of massive bat-like wings and smaller butterfly-like wings. Her eyes, in counter to the pools of hellfire were orbs of the purest sky blue and were framed by hair of soft silver.
“Why do you call upon me mortal…” her voice trailed off as her vision locked on the demon. Her nails lengthened into silver blades, her talons flexed and her mouth opened impossibly wide to show off row upon row of ivory fangs, “Spawn of the Black Pit!” Her voice was a wet hiss, thick with a serpentine tongue as she railed against the barrier locking her to the triune.
Similarly, Raziel hurled himself at his own barrier – a sword of brimstone slashing impotently at the magic preventing him from reaching the other creature. Esmeralda sighed deeply, slamming the book shut and shouting, “Enough!” Even Eddie and I were forced back a step at the power in her voice, the two trapped Others finding themselves locked, frozen in place in the last movement they’d made. Raziel with his blade raised high and a talon-tipped gauntlet extended to try and rend the barrier with his fist. Lasha rearing up, her six wings beating the air.
“Christ didn’t think havin’ these two in the same room would be this bad,” Esmeralda muttered moving over to take the first book from me and placing both on a small table in the corner. She ran her hands through her long hair, before turning around and walking over to the caged Others.
“Sis – why did they try to kill one another? I thought all demons worked together?” My voice trembled slightly, I loathed being in the presence of Others. Probably one of the reasons I hated being around my sister so much of the time as well. Being Other-touched was just… wrong.
“Raziel there is a demon, Lasha here is an angel. I know she isn’t your typical Roman-Catholic goody-two-shoes, but she’s as just as they come,” Esmeralda motioned with her hand to free the two from her last spell, “No fighting – you two will answer what questions you can.” The angel and demon collapsed as the spell binding them was ended, both rising and favouring one another with a final glare before looking to Esmeralda.
“Ask your questions, witch,” Raziel spat. Lasha just nodded her head for Esmeralda to proceed.
Esmeralda nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear, “Right. Raziel – what are the stirrings amongst the… well, whatever the fuck it is you demons call your home.”
Raziel sneered, but the magic forced him to speak, “F’rhnufgn, the God of Nightmare, sends his legions forth into the world of men at the behest of his newfound prophet.” His sneer turned into a wicked grin, “And he promises his brothers to open a Gate wide enough to allow the Armies of the Lost to once more tread upon the soil of Man!”
“Yer done,” Esmeralda said with a wave of her hand, silencing Raziel and locking him in place once more. A look of triumph was still plastered across the demon’s face. Esmeralda turned to offer a sweet smile to Lasha, “Now you – if you don’t mind. The minions of… that name I ain’t even gonna try to pronounce, what are they?”
Lasha grew quiet for a moment before speaking, her words carefully considered as she dredged up ancient memories. “The minions of F’rhnufgn are beasts of insanity and mutation – they have no true form and change their appearance at will, even in this plane bound by primordial laws are their forms mercurial at worst. They are a difficult foe to face because of this but still have some weaknesses,” the angel’s lips quirked upwards, “You’re in luck to call kin to one who can aid you. Witch’s Fire is more than enough to slay the Warders of Lost Hope.”
Esmeralda bowed her head, “Thank you for your aid, angel.” She turned, offering Raziel a glare, “And thanks to you, I guess.” She stepped back, waving her hands through the necessary passes to return the Others from whence they came. With a low sigh of relief, she turned to face the two of us, “Go to the front of the shop – I’ll brew up some fire to coat your bullets in. And I expect double for this,” she muttered as she wandered off to collect her items.
~~
“My gun feels weird,” Eddie grunted, shifting around and wheezing a bit as he finally managed to retrieve his Glock 19, a perturbed look screwing up his features. “Hope her potion doesn’t gunk up my gun, I like this gun.”
I just grunted in response, my fingers tight on the wheel and my knuckles white. I’d called in back-up the moment we got into the car and was supposed to be meeting up with the entire SWAT team, all the detectives on the force and most of the beat-pounders. When we arrived at the scene I wasn’t surprised to see a warzone – especially one filled with devastation with the survivors of the first engagement hiding behind barricades and peering out in fear. I coasted to a gentle stop; climbing out of the car and reaching down to reassuringly grip my S&W pistol.
Eddie and I strode, back straight, right up toward the building our forces assaulted – a rundown cathedral that had been closed down for whatever reason. We stopped at the entrance to the imposing edifice… and looked up to the bright and sunny sky that held sway above us. “I think I prefer the rain for things like this,” Eddie said at my side, “Feels weird to be this cheerful out.” He kicked out, knocking away the gun-mauled corpse of a cultist.
“Just think of it as a sign from on high – we’re about to illuminate a bunch of psychopaths on the wrongs of murder,” I drew my handgun and turned the safety off, “With extreme prejudice.”
Eddie nodded, “Whoever gets the most kills doesn’t do paperwork for this.”
I smirked, “Yer on old man.” With that we both gripped our guns tight and rushed into the dilapidated church.
~~
Our feet jingled spent shells as we walked through the initial massacre. Cultists and officers lay where they fell, some too ravaged to even tell who or what they might have been. Behind us followed three squads composed of an amalgamation of SWAT, regular police and the department’s Chief Chaplain. All of them were toting combat shotguns, assault rifles and sub-machine guns. I felt woefully under armed in comparison. Though I knew that heavy firepower wasn’t gonna mean shit when the bogeymen showed their faces. Or whatever amounted to a face for the demons.
We moved quietly through the scattering of debris raised by the first assault. “Eyes open,” my voice was deafening in the silence, “All contacts are to be treated as hostile. Make sure target is dead before moving on – some of these crazies are too far gone to feel pain, or realize they should be dead. And if you see anything that looks more batshit than these cultists – spray and pray. Understood?”
“Sir,” the word was chorused in sloppy sync.
We wound our way through the cathedral, finally finding a passage that had to be the way down – the steps looked well-used, devoid of the dust and cobwebs that filled the rest of the massive church. With a muttered prayer to any higher power that would lend an ear, we descended into the cult’s underworld.
~~
“Multiple contacts!” The Chaplain’s strained voice cried out over the sound of gunfire, “Concentrate fire on the ‘Zerkers, suppressing fire on the gunners.” Machine guns spat death at the cultists armed with guns while the officers with shotguns and assault rifles busied themselves trying to mow down the charging men and women who shrugged off only the most serious of wounds.
Eddie and I had our eyes to the sky as we heard the beating of wings, the slithering of scales and the clacking of claws. Horrible shapes, indescribable in their insane amalgamation came shrieking from the dark. One descended, it looked like a hideous cross between a deep-sea fish, a platypus and an elephant. How the fuck it was hiding in the rafters I don’t know, I just pointed my gun at the freaking Other and blazed away until enough bullets hit that forced it to burst into violet flame. It spiraled from the air, disintegrating into scintillating shards of light as it fell.
Eddie cursed as his shots missed, one of the Others swooping from the shadows to pluck a SWAT member from the ground and carry him, screaming, off into the darkness above. “Shawn, Eddie, we cleared a gap – get going and end this fucking thing!” the Chaplain’s voice was hoarse; he was pumping his shotgun and unleashing the full power of the gun right into the faces of anything that got too close.
“Ya sure ya can hold?” I called out, ducking from scything finger-blades, the demon hissing with its baby face in annoyance. Two quick shots from Eddie sent the thing back to hell.
“We can hold ‘em off long enough for ya two to finish this. Now move your asses!” the Chaplain slammed the butt of his shotgun into the face of a ‘Zerker before blowing a hole through the stomach of the next one to charge the line.
Taking a deep breath, Eddie and I raced from cover and through the gap in the cult lines. Gunfire following us to keep the heads of the cultists down and continue directing the fury of the ‘Zerkers toward the battered police lines. As we left we heard the Chaplain’s voice following us – prayers were ringing out to chase us into the darkness of the under-temple. Soon the battle above was a distant memory; even the sounds of gunfire seemed to have died away. Our breathing was too loud, each step sounding like a thunder crack in the deafening silence.
Our slow progress carried us ever downward, until finally we entered a large room. Idols of titanic proportions replaced columns in holding the massive ceiling; frescoes of the mutated freaks from the battle above were daubed in blood and human waste. The entire chapel, for that’s what this profane place undoubtedly was, reeked like an abattoir.
And in the center stood the maestro of this madness. He was tall, thin to the point of starvation and old. His bald head could barely be made out to be liver-spotted in the drab light that filled the chambers. “The revered inspectors – welcome to my cathedral,” he turned, offering a yellow grin through a tangled mass of grey beard. “You shall be the final offerings for Ytrf’grhn, the Arch-Herald of F’rhnufgn,” his crooked smile stretched wider, “The souls of two heroes to be placed on the Altar of Hope. Quite fitting.” As he rasped out his cold words, putrescent green flames crackled along his talon-formed hands.
I raised my gun, “Not today ya ugly motherfucker.” I pulled the trigger, firing rapidly at the psychopath in front of me. Spooky fire was all I needed to justify blowing his brains out.
The bullets clattered harmlessly to the floor in front of him, the man laughing raucously at the ineffectual shots, “Really? Regular bullets to kill me? Ha! Maybe you aren’t as fitting a sacrifice as I thought.”
I cursed my stupidity, realizing I had reloaded with a regular magazine instead of one of the bewitched ones. I still held my gun firmly in hand, firing my useless rounds at the bastard and watching as the spent casings fell to the floor along with my shots. Eddie and I were forced to dive away as the amusement of my attempts began to die. Sulfurous blasts of the maniac’s putrescent flame lanced toward where we’d been standing. The ground we stood on was instantly vitrified.
I slammed my back to one of the foul columns that lined the fane; my breath was ragged and loud in my ears. “Eddie, ya got a shot?” I called out from around my protection, noticing that the cult-priest wasn’t attempting to blast me with his crazy witch-nonsense while I hid behind an idol of his god.
“Not one I can take – every time I try he just ends up tryin’ to kill me. Shit!” there was a blast of magic, followed by various curses in Spanish. “Bastard almost got me – turned my fuckin’ coat into water!” Well, least Eddie was okay.
I fumbled around, ejecting my spent magazine and locking in another clip. “Please, God, let the bastard be too focused on Eddie to- FUCK!” Freaking tentacles wrapped around my waist, hoisting me into the air and ripping me into the open. I thrashed, my gun dropping in my panic as I was brought to look into the eyes of the grinning maniac.
“Oh, you have quite a bright soul – it seems favour has been shown to you,” the tentacles squeezed, tugging me in closer to the sorcerer at the same time. “I have been favoured, too,” his breath was hot and carried the rank smell of rotted flesh. A third tentacle formed, and now I could see it was from the freak’s own body that it coiled out of. This tentacle, unlike the others, had a gaping maw at the tip – the leech-like appendage coiling around toward the back of my skull.
“Hey! Fuckface!” the man turned at the shouted words, Eddie’s gun barking three times. Witch Fire erupted along the tentacles, each disintegrating into scintillating ash. The sorcerer stumbled away, crying out in pain as he futilely clutched at the stubs which oozed a thick, violet ichor from the wilted stumps. He shrieked in rage, whirling toward Eddie.
More tentacles formed, shredding his robe to reveal a body with four arms and four legs, eyes glowered from the wasted flesh, mouths formed, opened, closed and vanished before reforming somewhere else. Long spines erupted across his arms and legs, coiling their way along the tentacles to become hooked barbs. Veins stood out across the man’s flesh as he glared at Eddie, “I will rip your soul into a thousand pieces! I will flay the flesh from your bones and suck upon the marrow while your heart yet beats!”
During the entire show of his mutated form, I had managed to crawl away and retrieve my gun. Standing, I took in a deep breath as I aimed my own gun at the freak. “We’ll remember that, until then give that fuckin’ squid you worship our regards,” the two guns began to bark out, riddling the mutant form with multiple holes. The priest staggered, looking down as the wounds began to knit. His smile began to return, smoke spewing forth from his mouth.
Manic laughter began to fill the fane as fire burst out between his lips, from his nose and eyes and ears, flames leaping from his fingertips to smoke and smoulder. He continued to laugh as his pores erupted in the Witch’s Fire of our bullets, even as a skeleton his jawbone continued to move in the parody of his mocking laughter, before blackened bones collapsed into ash.
We stood tense as we waited for something, anything, to happen. When the roof didn’t start to crumble and nothing lurched out to suck our souls, we holstered our guns and looked at one another. “We’ll call our little bet from earlier a tie,” I reached out, slapping my partner’s shoulder and nodding my head toward the stairway, “Let’s get outta here and order a demo-team in immediately.”
Eddie nodded, looking at the pile of ash, “I don’t think this is over, Shawn.”
“Me neither, Eddie. Me neither.”
~~
We found a similar slaughter in the room above. The officers and SWAT team were cut down to a man, the Chaplain ended up crucified to a wall by rusted rebar. The cultists were similarly wiped out, most seemingly having taken their own lives when their leader departed. Of the demons, there was no sign. We trudged through the charnel house, into the upper levels of the cathedral and ultimately out into the bright sunlight.
“Still think the sun was there to illuminate our enemies with extreme prejudice?” Eddie asked as we wandered to our car.
“Feels weird to be this damn cheerful out,” I grunted |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 27, 2013 3:20:07 GMT -5
Review Entry One:This isn't a story at all. This is the beginning of a story, maybe. Even as a beginning, it lacks anything self-explanatory. The content feels like it's mostly a list of names. I don't mean to be overly critical, but this just lacks most of the basic principals that make up what a 'story' is. It's an entirely unfinished piece of writing. Technically, it's not a -bad- piece of writing. It's just not in any way whole or complete. ... Can't really say much about the plot, there just isn't enough there. I could see the twist coming from a few miles back, and I don't think you understand how fingerprints work. That's about it. As always, the writing was fine. I'd say all of our members have solid fundamentals, even when they're rushed for time (which you obviously were), or when they aren't pushing any envelopes. If I had any notes, I might say that your language was a little cliché ... but honestly, I'm reaching. There just isn't enough to review in any depth. ... Spelling & Grammar I didn't find any spelling errors. Grammar was pretty good, as well. Nothing stood out horribly, but the comma before "the message reads" looks strange. Ease of Read It was easy to read. Didn't have problems with flow, except the direct thoughts stood out strangely with the rest of the text. Italics would have helped on his direct thoughts, as opposed to the general prose from his perspective. Characters There wasn't a character here. No name, no description, nothing. All we know is he's able to look into the case. Is he a regular officer? Detective? The Coroner? I dunno, I just didn't feel anything for the character. There was no connection. Just hints at him begin the murderer, which still doesn't tell us anything. I mean, the only emotion we even see is irritation/anger. Story Not sure if I'd classify this as a 'story'. Maybe an excerpt from one. A scene, perhaps. A problem is presented, but there's no resolution. It's just a pretty straightforward hint of this nebulous character being the murderer, but... nothing happened. What was the point? Maybe if there was an actual character, I'd care, but as of now, it's just a small snippet of... something. ... Loving that you went down the route of killer-pissing-copper-off plot. Those are always the best stories/plots. Also loved the ending but bloody hell did it end quickly (which is a bit hypocritical of me but never mind). I feel the build up would have been more immense if you'd had the whispers start gradually and much slower and continued the story for a while. It definitely ended too quickly especially since it was such a great read to start with. I feel like we've had 30 minutes of foreplay and decided to skip the sexings for a bowl of cold custard. Just saying. Entry Two:What really stands out to me about this story is how ambitiously cultural it is. You really attempted to get the sort of blue-collar NYC down not only in the setting, but in the dialogue and in the characters. And I think you were largely successful with that to be honest. I think the introduction of fantasy elements could have probably used some work, and I didn't find the detective process to be much more interesting than your average episode of CSI (not -bad-, just sort of very -generic-). But overall, I'm left feeling like this was an ambitious and creative piece of writing, if maybe only sort of a B+ quality one. I liked it. ... This was pretty fun. I've always liked buddy cop formats, and you were laying the tropes on pretty thick. The urban fantasy stuff was pretty fun as well, especially the bits with Esmeralda. That said, neither "genre" was handled perfectly. The cop half sort of petered out without amounting to anything; I don't think we even found out why the hookers were being murdered, did we? They just got murdered because death cults like murdering. Which is fine, except that it kind of kills any semblance of an interesting mystery. Especially when the Others spell everything out for the detectives before they even get a chance to detect. As for the fantasy bits, I think your worldbuilding kind of suffered. Given that supernatural stuff is clearly public knowledge, it all felt a little tacked on. One would hope that, if Cthulhu worshippers were a real and acknowledged problem, the NYPD would keep a few people like Esmeralda on permanent retainer to deal with them. It all also felt pretty rushed. It did that thing that short stories do sometimes, where they start out really rich and descriptive, then basically become bullet points a little farther in, when the author realizes he needs to keep the word count under control. Still a fun read, though. ... Spelling & Grammar There were a few spelling errors interspered throughout the story. Nothing terribly annoying or repeating, but they were there. Grammar wasn't bad, but you have a habit of making mistakes like adding a comma after the character does an action and then speaks or vise verse. If a character does something like "He frowned.", you use a period preceeding or following the dialogue, depending on the position. If he speaks, laughs or, sometimes, even groans, then it's okay to use a comma. For instance, ("Hey," he groaned out, "stop it!") or ("Hey." He frowned. "Stop it!") Using (He frowned, "Hey!") is incorrect. Ease of Read While there weren't too many spelling errors, I kept stopping at the mistakes I caught exampled above. Other than that, it was relatively easy to follow, though I have a nitpick in the story department that sort of ties in with ease of read. I'll follow it up in the Story section of this review. Characters I like the idea of a fat guy as one of the main characters. Too often, main characters are physically fit, or even just average, so breaking out from that is refreshing. I kind of wished you elaborated more on his difficulties his size brought, but you did manage to sprinkle bits and pieces throughout the story. So that was good. The main perspective character was just alright. He was there to facilitate the story. I hesitate to say he didn't have a personality, because he had one, but he wasn't as fleshed out as I'd like. Maybe it was a bit of the first person perspective, but playing your characters off one another is a great way to give both of them personalities. I'd suggest a bit more banter and flavor adding to the perspective character here, but he wasn't bad. Story So, the story, I've got a little beef with. The first quarter, everything is going as expected. Mysterious murder, two detectives trying to solve it, it's all very pat. Then, as if screeching onto another set of tracks, we're suddenly in a demon and angel-filled supernatural world. It was pretty jarring, because there was no easing into it. I didn't even suspect that as a possibility in the first quarter. I mean, the most we got before visiting the main character's sister is "those end of the world cults", which honestly isn't enough information. I'd suggest easing the reader into the world you have here. It feels like two different stories at present, and the second one didn't even finish. The ending just stopped abruptly. Maybe you ran out of time, but still... it wasn't complete. It would have been better to axe off that last part completely. At least then it wouldn't feel like a new chapter starting. Entertainment I was moderately interested in where you were going in the first quarter and, despite my complaints, I enjoyed it a bit more when the angels and demons were brought into the story. It's an interesting scenario to think about and I felt you did it some justice. I would have liked more explanation of what was going on, but the story all right here was self-contained and easy to follow. Bad demon worshipper is killing people, so the guys stop them. The battle itself was abruptly entered and left, too, aside from the final 'boss battle' you had. I liked that. Just the getting to that point felt like "They were there, now they're here. And scene!" ... Really enjoyable story. I didn't expect it to turn in to a demon-type-thing but it was still pleasantly enjoyable. The story could have been taken anywhere really so it was a huge benefit to you. The descriptions were spot on although I do think you spent too long describing Eddie? Perhaps you really enjoyed describing him because it came through as something you enjoyed … even if it was too much? Carried away, possibly. I wasn't sure about the ending. It was all wrapped up a little quick. Maybe it was Eddie's comment about it not being over. It's like it was setting up something else. That might have been intentional but I wasn't keen. You can set something up without actually saying so. Still, it would be nice to see more. |
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