Super Genetics
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Chapter 48: The Iron Maiden
🕑 Added 2024-05-01 17:41:26 +0000 UTC[A/N]: This chapter was so fun to write. Enjoy!
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When the detective and his lamper left the Break Room, Terry found himself trembling in the booth. A cold anger washed over him as he imagined Flore’s desecrated body.
“Damn you.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Damn you all.”
The rest of the team were watching him and he had to remind himself of his role. Being a leader meant they followed his cues. Forcing in three deep breaths, he stood from the booth.
“Burg, have the detective and the lamper guarded.” He said it to the open air, relying on the ghoul’s heightened hearing to pick up the command. The shift in Burg’s aura was all the acknowledgment he needed. Turning back to his team arrayed around the table, he sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Katie braved the question, though he noted the trepidation on each of their faces.
He approached the table, taking in their expressions and their auras. Longing, fear, worry, all intermingled in a melting pot of emotion that would have overwhelmed him in the past. But now, he pushed his own fury down, letting ice course through his veins.
“Flore is dead.”
Alan and Peter shared a horrified look. Katie gasped, looking at the others in shock. Only Tristan seemed too stunned to react.
Terry didn’t fill the silence, letting them each process the news in their own way. It was her apprentice who spoke first.
“No she’s not.” It was a declaration, his tone flat—no anger there.
Terry eyed Tristan, seeing the willful defiance of youthful surety. He’d felt the same when his father had first told him of his mother’s death. Denial was natural.
“I’m sorry, Tristan. She is.”
He shook his head, pushing his chair back with a clatter.
“This isn’t funny, Terry.”
He didn’t interrupt the outburst, knowing it needed to run its course.
“Flore was a B-ranker! No one could touch her in Wichita…” He trailed off, drawing the only natural conclusions.
Except the sanguine or…Terry’s family.
Tristan’s eyes went wide as he backed away from the table. Terry wanted to assure him that his family wasn’t involved, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they had been.
“Listen to me, all of you.” He held Tristan’s gaze, then turned to the others. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I swear it.”
“How?” Tristan was nearly shouting. “Ask your grampy over dinner: ‘Hey, did you murder my friend?’”
“Tristan!” Katie hissed.
Terry held up his hand, locking eyes with the young man.
“Maybe, Tristan. Maybe. But first…I’m gonna pay a visit to Blood Alley.”
Peter went wide eyed, while Katie gasped and Alan chewed his lip. Tristan, on the other hand, took on a determined look.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you are not!” Katie replied sternly.
Tristan whirled on her. “You’re not my teacher! Flore wa-was—” A choked sob cut him off and he turned his back on them.
Terry closed the distance, placing a hand on his shoulder. Tristan flinched, glancing back before quickly wiping at his face.
“I know what Flore meant to you.” Terry kept his voice low, only for Tristan. “She was the backbone of this team, but she was more than just that.” He turned, raising his voice. “Flore was the light in the dark and they snuffed her out. But they’re not going to get away with it.”
“Even if it was your own family?” Tristan’s question was asked quietly, but full of iron.
Terry matched it, feeling the answer deep within his bones. “Even if it was the Emperor himself.”
***
Crunch, Burgundy, and Bloodstain flanked Terry as they approached Blood Alley. He could have pulled in more of the ghouls, but didn’t for two reasons.
One, he didn’t want to antagonize the sanguine by marching an army into their district.
Two, he would have been forced to ask Whipvine or Mesmer, and that would have led to questions, which would have led to them trying to stop him.
And that wasn’t happening.
Even the three ghouls that were his constant shadows weren’t strictly necessary; Terry wasn’t a foreign B-ranker with loose affiliations. He was the Emperor’s grandson and there was no mistaking his identity—not for beings like the sanguine, whose sense of smell was so powerful, they could probably delineate his entire ancestry.
No, he should be safe entering their territory uninvited. Should…
Blood Alley had once been a section of train tracks cutting through warehouses and auto shops. Long abandoned, the locomotive artery had become the home of the sanguine. Once upon a time, there had been fine dining only three blocks to the west and the east—dilapidated buildings giving way to the inner suburbia of Wichita.
But now, the people were under no illusions about their safety around Blood Alley. Enough of them had gone missing that it was clear the sanguine were sating their desires on civilians and the Emperor was doing nothing.
Despite the lack of people in the surrounding area, the demarcation between the no-man’s zone and Blood Alley was clear as day. The street lights were often smashed all over the city, but once they neared the entrance to the sanguine district, the dark became absolute. Only the stars and moon illuminated the street and even they had to fight through the supernatural fog.
But Terry’s vision was also supernatural now and despite the dark, he could read the markings painted red on the buildings before him. In big, bold letters—paint or blood, he couldn’t tell—read the words:
BLOOD ALLEY
Beneath them, smaller lettering read:
Food Enter Here
It was meant to be intimidating, Terry was sure. But it had the opposite effect on him. It was too on the nose, too gauche instead of the subtle tyranny of true terrors in the night. A whisper from the dark would have done more to ramp his heart rate. A brush of wind against his exposed neck might have made him flinch.
But he had to remind himself, this wasn’t for him. This was for the normies, the powerless who held no recourse in the face of these supernatural beings. Rather than fear, his anger sparked, that reminder lighting the kindling that was Flore’s murder.
Metal Telekinesis was Affixed to his Body slot. Marlon’s F-grade portal skill rest in his left hand slot. He could feel it was close to an upgrade, on the cusp of E-grade, but just needing one more push in his sessions with Marlon. It was to the point that he could teleport himself or others short distances with some effort, but he generally never utilized it unless in private. As far as he knew, nobody knew of its existence except his three ghoul shadows, his father, and Silver.
In his right hand slot, though, was his trump card.
He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to use it.
As soon as the four of them passed the threshold of the marked building, the air changed. Terry felt eyes on him, heard quiet calls, the sounds of supernatural movement, and flickers of shadows as at least one scout ranged deeper into Blood Alley.
“I love when dinner delivers itself.” A voice hissed from the nearby roof. Terry didn’t need to look to feel the sanguine’s presence.
Answering chuckles came from across the street, echoing down into the street below.
Quieter, he heard another voice near the speaker. “He has servants of bone with him.”
The chuckles trailed off, replaced with violent hissing sounds that came from every direction.
Terry continued forward, ignoring the threatening noises, the catcalls, and the shadowy movement trailing them above.
After a few hundred feet, the railroad tracks swerved past a warehouse teeming with activity. Movement flashed on the roof, around the sides, and across the open air. The sounds of hissing and quiet whispers echoed toward them.
And, the pained moans of the three humans locked in stockades in the center of the tracks.
His stomach dropped once he recognized the sounds for what they were. He spotted the sanguine beginning to form outside that warehouse—presumably their headquarters—but he ignored them. As he neared the three imprisoned people, they heard his footsteps and flinched, their moaning becoming more panicked.
“No, please!” a woman cried, bucking against the wooden restraints.
“Take me!” The man beside her strained to look up to catch Terry’s eye. “Let my wife and daughter go. Please!”
Bile filled his throat as he came around the front of them, getting a good look for the first time.
On the left was the woman, dressed in a white night gown, red splashes coating her neck, drying upon the wooden stockade. On the right was the man, whose face was a mask of pure fatherly terror.
And in the middle, a girl, no more than seven. She was in princess pajamas, one foot naked, her other covered in a Snoopy slipper.
His fists clenched so tight he felt blood begin to drip.
The father seemed to realize he wasn’t a sanguine, his eyes widening.
“Please, help us! They took us from our homes! Send the Emperor! Send the—” Crunch, Burg, and Blood walked up beside Terry and the man gasped. “Oh, thank the Emperor. Lucy, we’re saved!”
Terry bent his knees to come eye to eye with the girl. Her eyes flicked up, terror and hope mingling there. Dehydrated lips spoke of multiple nights left outside and he felt his blood burn.
“Wh-who are you?” the girl asked, her voice soft and high.
He forced a smile past the anger. “I’m Terry. I’m here to save you. What’s your name?”
“Anabelle.”
“What a pretty name.”
“Terry? Prince Terry?” The father nearly shouted in relief. “Yo-you’ve come to save us…right?”
He stood and nodded toward the man. “I’ve come to save you.”
The father closed his eyes, sagging against the stockade. Terry turned to go, but the girl called out, stopping him.
“Will the Emperor stop them?” Her voice sounded so pure, it pained him to walk away.
He couldn’t look back—his throat felt tight, ready to betray him if he did. “No.” He paused, scanning the dozen sanguine watching him with hunger from in front of the nearby warehouse. “He won’t stop them,” Terry continued. “But I will.”
With a shift of his aura, he left Burg and Blood to watch over the family. The instructions were clear: protect them with your lives. A few months ago, they might have bucked against being left behind. But now they understood that Terry wasn’t a helpless boy anymore. They understood that there were some things he wouldn’t allow to happen. And leaving this family out here alone with the night predators was one of those things.
As he approached, he fingered the bracelet Silver had given him a few months back for his fifteenth birthday. They’d spent the day visiting Terraform’s Market, exploring the underground wonder, before returning to Wichita. The bracelet had been a gift, as well as the portal to Topeka where he’d spent the week with his father. After Silver brought Terry back to Wichita, he had left to continue his search for the other Singularities and Terry hadn’t heard from him since.
For the millionth time, he prayed his grandfather was alive, prayed that he’d come back soon. Without him, Terry feared Topeka was lost. And with it, Wichita.
He gave the bracelet one last touch before turning his mind back to the matter at hand.
The sanguine weren’t like the legends of old. Nothing about them suggested human origins or some sort of turning process. They weren’t physically imposing like ghouls, nor did they have powerful aura attacks like draugrs. Rather, they were relatively diminutive, most of them coming up to Terry’s chin. Their skin was pale with blue veins writhing visibly beneath the surface. That same skin could stretch or contract along their arms and sides to give them the ability to glide—though he was assured that most of them couldn’t fly. Despite their stature, he had been told they were strong for their size, though not as strong as ghouls.
Unlike the ghouls, they multiplied quickly—though how they did so, he had never been told. But he knew their numbers were growing, and fast.
Before the entrance to the main warehouse, eight sanguine barred the way. They leered at him, licking their fangs and clicking them audibly. Their auras quested forward, but Terry blocked their attempts to infect him with terror. Crunch stepped forward a moment later and their demeanors changed entirely, like hackles raising on a dog. Hisses echoed out, a pit of pale vipers, and Terry wondered if they would actually attack.
But a powerful presence reached out with its aura, slapping the eight sanguine down like an annoyed parent. They instantly parted, shrinking into themselves before bursting into motion. Terry almost reacted on instinct, but realized a moment later they were racing for the warehouse wall. In a blink, they were climbing up the exterior, reaching the roof in moments. Their silhouettes launched into the night sky, their arms spread out wide as they glided through the air.
Terry and Crunch shared a look—Terry in surprise, Crunch as stoic as ever.
“Enter, son of bone.”
The voice echoed out from the warehouse, sounding ancient and powerful. He felt it in his chest and his aura. He wondered for the briefest moment if he’d made a mistake confronting the sanguine elder. But a glance over at the family protected by Burg and Blood steeled his resolve.
He entered the warehouse, Crunch stepping quickly to angle his body in front. No light burned in the space and the windows were blacked out against the scant starlight above. But Terry’s vision was adjusting, his Perception Attribute high enough now that his night vision was supernatural.
Still, he paused at the door, both to let his eyes acclimate and to steel himself against the iron smell assaulting his senses.
Blood. The smell of blood invaded his body. He could taste it in the back of his throat, feel that copper tang burning his nostrils.
He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath, letting the smell wash over him. As he entered the pitch black, silhouettes became visible.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of people-shaped silhouettes lined up on either side, forming an alleyway of bodies leading forward. Ahead, a large blob stood raised up, commanding the center of the warehouse.
He put a hand on Crunch’s arm, then took the lead. There was no fighting this many sanguine. If it came to a melee, they were dead. The ghoul let him move past and together, they approached the large thing occupying the center of the space.
As they approached, the shape resolved clearer in his vision. Steps leading up to a chair—no, a throne, he realized.
Twenty feet separated them from the throne, when he stepped on something that broke beneath his foot with a crunch. He glanced down, catching the general shape of a bone snapped under foot. As he scanned the dark floor, more white bone caught his eye.
He closed the distance, placing his feet carefully as he neared. As he stopped, it was clear that stairs rose up to a dais made of bone. The indistinct shape that must have been the sanguine elder, rest upon a throne made of the same material.
Crunch and Terry stopped at a respectable distance, but the weight of the sanguine’s aura sat heavy in the space. It was hard to qualify without obtrusively wrapping his own aura about the creature, but a rough guess put the density and strength around that of his father, perhaps. Powerful, but no match for the Emperor.
That thought buoyed him, though it made no difference in the present moment.
“What brings you to my domain, son of bone?”
Terry clicked his tongue in thought. “Your domain?”
Movement flashed all around him, lost in the dark but unmissable to his ears. Angry hisses echoed out, painfully loud.
But he didn’t flinch; didn’t even allow his heart rate to flicker. His eyes held that dark shape on the throne before him, never blinking.
The violent hissing went on for a few more moments, then aura washed out, drowning the sound as the elder imposed his will on the others. The weight of its aura was heavy but Terry didn’t allow himself to flinch beneath it.
“This is the Emperor’s domain, no?” Terry looked around, taking in the dark warehouse as if he could see clear as day. “You, his honored guests.”
The elder chuckled dryly. “Just so.”
“I find it strange, then, that you hold his citizens prisoner inside his domain.”
Silence hung heavy in the air, not a flicker of movement or breath to signal the elder had heard his words. Terry kept his body still, his heart rate calm.
Then, aura flexed, warping the air. Crunch shifted at his side, prepared to fight, but movement all around them signaled that the horde were pressing in.
The elder hadn’t moved, but Terry had.
His left hand flicked imperceptibly, forming a nearly invisible flash of blue that parted space no wider than his pinky finger. At the same time, he activated the Affixation on his right hand slot. The bracelet on his wrist seemed to melt away, the twelve balls of silver liquefying before re-hardening into slivers of ramrod straight metal six inches long and as thin as needles. He propelled them through the tiny portal, using his metal telekinesis to angle them subtly into position.
It all happened in a blink, his aura use so discreet that even the elder hadn’t understood what he had felt.
“The lord of bone didn’t send you, did he?”
Terry let a pleased smile touch his face.
“So what if he didn’t? As prince of this city, it is my duty to protect my people.”
The elder chuckled dryly. “How can you protect your people when you cannot even protect yourself?”
“Can I not?”
A wave of the elder’s hand encompassed the warehouse. “You are surrounded by hundreds of my spawn. The lord of bone has no inkling you are here.” The elder’s voice lowered. “Tell me, why shouldn’t I taste your Awakened blood? We have ways of hiding bodies that would leave even the lord of bone clueless.”
Terry matched the elder’s chuckle, sliding his needles forward a half-inch until they pressed against the sanguine’s aura sense.
“You tell me, why shouldn’t I end your miserable existence? Emperor knows it would wipe a blight from this city.”
The elder felt the silver needles approaching him from every angle. He moved in a panic, but reared back as his skin touched one of them. The ancient sanguine was encased in an iron maiden of silver and was just realizing it.
“So, this is how this is going to go.” Terry pressed the silver needles in tight, locking the sanguine down completely. “Answer my every question. Release that family. And tell me what you know about the murder of an Awakened going by the name Fluorescent.” A needle speared the elder in the arm and it hissed. “And if you don’t, I’m gonna turn you into a pincushion.”
Comments
Kaywye
Your domain? ...THIS... IS...WICHITA!!!
Yury Postnikov
That was NOT an Iron Maiden i was thinking of
