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Chapter 63 — Backbone
🕑 Added 2024-09-28 11:02:50 +0000 UTCA/N: Lily's summary will be written later as Omakes instead, since I don't want to flood the main story with sex.
As a child, I always dreamed of sitting in a spinning chair in the dark with a cat on my lap so I can reveal myself in a classic, cheesy B-movie fashion.
Today, I’ve gotten my wish… Multiple times to boot!
Unfortunately, even that can’t save my dampened mood.
Half the people on the list are, predictably, six feet fucking under.
Many supposedly died of ‘heart attacks,’ despite having no prior history of heart disease in their family tree.
Most also seemed to have lost their minds prior to their disappearances and, presumably, deaths… Real fucking convenient, ain’t it? That’s how the system works. If somebody has incriminating shit on the government, they’ll be labelled as crazy, and rare are the people who care for the ramblings of the insane.
Even with [Hypnosis] and [Reinforcement] at my disposal, the responses from their families essentially fell into three categories: Confused babbling, fear-driven screams that sound like a cacophony from the depths of Hell itself, and a whole bunch of non-answers.
The few who were honest unfortunately didn’t have much to say at all, which leads to me on what feels like yet another wild goose chase… Thorough as the government has been, surely one or two must have escaped the net?
I can only hope Lieutenant Dan hasn’t been killed or poisoned to the point of insanity yet, but fingers crossed.
“Someone’s at the front porch.”
Stella’s whisper snaps me out of the rather depressing train of thoughts instantly.
Adjusting my posture, I settle into the leather-clad chair and signal the homunculus to find a nice and cozy hiding spot.
With a silent nod, she leaps onto the metal beams supporting the roof, moving as nimbly as a spider as her breathing slows to a crawl. I have high expectations for a Combat Model homunculus, and though Stella does appear somewhat lacking in certain areas, her overall performance thus far hasn’t disappointed.
Attention shifting from the homunculus to the frantically-turning doorknob, I slink into the shadows just as the power box short-circuits and plunges the tiny apartment in complete darkness. It doesn’t take long for Dan to notice the abnormality, shuffling feet quieting as he goes for the light-switch...
Honestly? I was expecting the dude to act like every horror-movie character and ventures into pitch-black darkness; instead he whirls on his heel and makes a beeline for the door.
Unfortunately for him, this ain’t our first rodeo.
With naught but a twitch of her finger, a white strand of hair latches onto the door and slams it shut.
“… Hells be damned! Listen, whoever you are, I’ve already signed the NDA and left the military; I want no smoke.” Speaking into the darkness, Dan tries the doorknob again to no avail. “You have taken me eye; you have taken me career, what more can you possibly want?!”
Cackling to myself, I reply, [Vibration] distorting my voice and creating an eerie echo that disguises my actual tone.
What comes out sounds virtually indistinguishable from the garbled whisper of the foulest Demon in Hell—not the most efficient or even recommended recruitment method, but damn is their reaction hilarious every time. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for you.”
“Aye, screw you! You wanna try me? You wanna try me?!” I know not where a dishonorably discharged army Lieutenant who’s—allegedly—mentally unstable got a functioning gun in the middle of freaking London, especially since his was a set-up, but it’s the most ridiculous sight I’ve seen in a while. “… Are you serious? Is that pink glitter on the grip panel? Are the bullets pink too?”
“I got it for cheap,” Dan justifies, momentarily forgetting his fear as embarrassment takes over. “And so what if the bullets are pink? They do the job fine!”
Holding back a snort, I gesture for Caragor to reveal himself. Fur as dark as the night, the Demon slowly emerges from the darkness, his golden eyes fixated on the gun. He can’t talk, but the disdainful look on his face says it all.
Startled, Dan points the gun at Caragor and unloads several rounds that the Demon eats up completely, form fragmenting into countless brushes messily dragged across the colorful canvas that is reality.
“—Goodness fucking gracious! What in the King’s hairy arse was that?!”
With a swift; violent motion, the Demon chomps down on the gun, chewing it to broken parts and bits that Caragor promptly swallows, along with the magazine which, as it turns out, are indeed pink.
It must be a custom job too, because I can’t think of a single manufacturer that unironically sells bullets in pink.
That’s not gonna put fear in anybody’s eyes… Just smiles on their lips while they die.
Just then, frantic knocks sound at the door. “Dan? Are you alright?!”
“Nice voice… Are you and her a thing?” I muse quietly, chin resting on the backs of my hands as I direct the sound to his ears via, you guess it, [Vibration]. “Go on… Answer. You don’t want your girlfriend to freak out and call the cops, do you?”
Teeth gritted, Dan glances nervously at the Demon and replies shakily, “I’m alright! Just—just made a little mess in the kitchen!”
“Smart move…” I commend, [Elder Fiend] flicking to reddish glow.
“—Lord! You need a hand? Not to toot my own horn, but I’m something of a cook!”
“She religious?”
“Why?” Dan hisses. “You a Hellspawn? ‘Cause the power of Christ—”
I never thought I’d see in person a cat—Demonic or not—deadpan, but Caragor’s expression seems to scream, “Get a load of this clown!”
“—Compels you! The power of Christ compels—”
Annoyed, I let loose the power of the Fiend and sink his mind in the bottomless darkness. His breath hitches as the last streak of light which barely illuminates the room to begin with blinks out as well.
The details are murky, but from what I’ve gathered, Dan was involved in testing a biological weapon disguised as a ‘drug test’ program and allegedly lost his eye in an accident at a military compound where big pharmaceutical companies and the House of Lords were collaborating on the project.
“F.E.A.R… Does that name sound familiar?”
F.E.A.R. Short for ‘Fabrication of Encephalopathic Agents for Reconnaissance,’ a cutting-edge neurotoxin that behaves like a virus.
Its effects on humans are modeled after various brain diseases that significantly distort human perception—dementia, Parkinson’s disease, and schizophrenia. Imagine DC’s Scarecrow’s fear toxin, but cranked up to 11, and it’s actually transmissible through bodily fluids.
They were developing the average zombie-enthusiast’s wet dream, but instead of mindless, flesh-eating undead, the infected remain very much alive and conscious, trapped in a state of overwhelming fear that causes endless hallucinations and irrational behaviors.
Comforting words will turn into insults and manic growls; people will appear as their worst nightmares coming to life.
How J-Saul got hold of this information is beyond me.
I will need to run a background check on the guy soon, but my guess is he’s an informant of CIRO, which is Japan’s equivalence of the CIA from what I can tell.
“What am I talking about? Of course, it sounds familiar to you! You were there, after all!”
The Lieutenant shivers, turning in the direction where he believes I am.
It’s a neat trick I’ve picked up.
Since sound is just vibrations in air, if I can create, direct, and manipulate it, I can perfectly replicate my own voice from any angle, so long I have the Od for it.
One of the biggest challenges is trying to replicate human speech without it turning into an incoherent mess at the end. It took some time to figure out, but I’ve found that mumbling the words helps me better visualize and control the Spell.
“I have nothing to do with that anymore… I was only in charge of a small area of the facili—!” Dan protests, swinging at Oblivion while I and Caragor only watch with amusement.
“Aren’t you angry?” I interrupt. “Morality asides... Aren’t you angry they disposed of you? To be discarded like a piece of trash... Do you not feel the slightest bit of indignation?”
“What does it matter?” Snorting, the retired Lieutenant shifts uneasily on his feet. “This is out of my control anyways.”
“Such a,” Spell lifts just as the EMP device I stole off Cyberpunk runs dry of battery—perfectly timed. “Defeatist’s way of thinking.”
Our eyes meet for the first time. Realizing there’s no need to intimidate him anymore, I wave Dan over and point at the flat beer on the table. “Sorry, I got bored waiting for you. I don’t know how other villains do it, but hanging out in the dark is actually pretty dull. Who would have guessed?”
“Who are you…? What are you?” Dan demands.
“Come on, sit down first! Don’t worry, my cat won’t bite!” I say, causing the veteran to flinch at the sight of Caragor, who is busy licking the jiggling, furry fat of his belly. Graceful, he is not.
Looks like it’s time for a diet.
As if sensing my thoughts, Caragor jumps onto my lap and starts rubbing against me.
Nice try, but I’m not changing my mind!
“Are you going to kil—”
“Sit.” I interrupt, [Elder Fiend] flashing a deep crimson.
Once he’s seated across from me, I down another can of beer and pop open a grape-flavored Strongbow before tossing it to him. “Catch! I know you Brits are big on Strongbow, but honestly? It tastes like watered-down juice mixed with piss.”
“Enough of your insane rambling! You broke into my house with a Demon for a cat—we are not friends.” He snaps impatiently, the grape-flavored Strongbow resting untouched on his kneecap.
With a wicked smile, I point to the darkest corner of the room—the one dead-spot where no light can reach.
“As a child, I was terrified of the darkness. There were nights I’d spend hours staring at that very spot, convinced a creature would emerge and tear me apart like wet toilet paper. Even now, the fear lingers. Even now, with all the power I possess, I am… Afraid.”
My throat tightens as I admit my fear, and a familiar surge of rage bubbles up inside me like molten magma.
“What about you, Dan? Are you scared too? Do you fear for your life?”
“I…” He hesitates, fingers gripping the bottle tighter. “I do. Every time I go for a morning walk; every time I walk home.”
“Your monsters—unlike mine—are, unfortunately, real. You know they’ll get rid of you eventually, right?” He’s only alive because he has dirt on them and was good friends with a general’s son, but there are plenty of ways to erase a veteran. “Sooner or later, the past will catch up with you. Hell, it already has! You’ve seen the white van following you, right? A snap of fingers and it will be like you never even existed.”
“No… No! The van doesn’t exist—” Dan protests.
“It’s a trick, Danny. Let me guess, they recommended a psychiatrist to you after giving you a small payout and telling you to keep quiet?”
“…Anita was recommended to me by Tina. She’s well-respected in her field.”
“Makes sense now,”
I mumble, my eyes locked onto the door where Ms. Tina—if it’s even her real name— is trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.
“She’s being paid off, Danny, to keep tabs on you… Just like the hotdog vendor a block away, or the newspaper stand five blocks further down; even the café where you grab your morning coffee. It’s all just in. Your. Mind. Paranoia, all of it!” Uncontrollably, my lips curve up in a mocking smile I don’t bother to hide.
“Really think about it… Your neighbor used to be grumpy ol’ Mr. Johnson who has lived here for a decade. A mere month after you moved in, he just upped and disappeared? Then came the plain, but kind girl who made you believe in love and goodness again. It really does feel like Fate, doesn’t it?”
Only the Fates play no hand in this drama; only mortal men.
Facial muscles twitching with rage and disbelief, Lieutenant Dan hisses, “What do you want?”
“I want them to fear, I want them to cross to the the street when they see me. I want to be,” Leaning over the table, I crush the bottle in my hand into fine shards of glass, “The monster that all other monsters fear.”
“You’ll die trying.”
“We all die, Danny. If my time comes, so be it. But it’s better to die standing—proud and glorious—than miserable in a dump like a rat.” I slide over a box containing a cybernetic optic—my olive branch, so to speak. “I want them to look at us with terror in their heart; to speak of us with hate in their voice and gaze at us with trepidation in their eyes. I…”
Being a King isn’t enough.
A King is bound by rules imposed by both mortals and the Divine…
Only one person—one entity—can make its own rules.
“I want to be God.”
“And why’d ‘God’ want to recruit me?” He asks, tone thick with self-deprecation. “I’m just a cripple.”
“A cripple who excelled in military training. You were a beacon, Danny. Your peers and subordinates admired you. They’ve taken your Light; trampled on your dignity; twisted your morality, and you’re just going to sit there and take it up the ass? Where’s the anger? Where is the FUCKING RAGE? I know it’s there… I can see it.”
[Vault Ring] slides the Magnum V over to his side of the table—the unassuming firearm practically screaming at Dan to grab it. “Pick it up, Danny. Pick it up, and kill… Do it in my name.”
With a flick of Stella’s finger, the door unlocks, and a girl with frizzy red hair and innocent, blue doe-eyes stumbles inside.
Whoever chose her nailed the look.
I had never seen anyone with such a perfect ‘friendly girl next door’ vibe.
“Da- Dan? Who’s that? What’s that in your hands?”
“Tina, right? A simple name for a simple girl… But you aren’t as simple as you appear, are you?”
I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, but now I see it.
Even through the tears and snot, there’s something dark and taunting in those blue eyes; something that’s slowly shifting to fear.
“Da- Dan?”
“How much did they offer you?”
“What’re you talking about? Just- Just put the gun away, okay. I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but we can talk this out, like we always do!”
I didn’t expect to find myself in a stage drama, but it’s entertaining nevertheless.
It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion—you know you shouldn’t watch, but curiosity keeps you glued anyways.
“Was anything we shared real? All those moments together… did they mean anything?”
I gaze at the scene, one leg elegantly crossed over the other as the tension between the two builds.
Looming over what could’ve been a beautiful love-story in another life, Dan cries.
“Dan… Please, Dan!” Tina pleads, gently pushing the nozzle away from her forehead. The retired Lieutenant reluctantly lets her.
The old Chinese idiom rings true to this day: ‘Scarce are the heroes who can resist a beauty.’
The anguish is plain on his face, even as the woman of his dreams lunges to disarm him. With a swift move, her thighs expertly lock around his neck. Quite the fancy move she has used, but it's only that: Fancy.
No amount of training can bridge the physical disparity between a 6’4” soldier and a 5’3” white girl, unless Magecraft is involved, which neither has access to.
Prying himself out of the hold, Dan throws the spy on the grounds, the Magnum V blowing a chunk out of Tina’s shoulder while she runs for the door.
“I loved you… I shared things with you that I’ve never told anyone else… But it was all just a joke to you, wasn’t it?”
“Please hear me out, I was forced! They wanted to know where you hid the files! I was just following orders!”
The word seems to send the Lieutenant into a trance as he absentmindedly mutters beneath his breath.
“Orders… Orders… Yes, I was too…”
He turns to me, forfeiting the decision to me. “You have my permission… Caragor will clean things up.”
At the mention of his name, the Demon slithers between the woman’s legs, his eyes glowing a bright yellow as he salivates, tail coiled around her leg.
“Dan—”
Gunshots cut off her excuses in an instant, while the Demon, who has hungered for human flesh and blackened Soul devours the body without spilling so much as a drop of blood.
“I trust you can handle the rest?”
“How do I contact you afterward?”
“There’s a card in the box, along with a gift for you.”
"Gift…" The veteran snorts. "I don't care for wealth or fame, and I know I'm not getting into Paradise. All I ask for is one thing."
"Vengeance?"
I place a hand on his shoulder and smile. "Their demise will be slow—that I can promise you. Give me your Faith, and I’ll grant you your heart’s desire.”
Marching out of the room with Caragor and Stella, who descends to the floor like a spider, I instruct the Demon to keep an eye on Dan in case he decides he doesn’t wish to hold up his end of the bargain.
Then, I address the homunculus. “Who’s next on the list?”
“Leslie Loe, sir. He is—”
She corrects. “Was a rank higher than Lieutenant Dan. His records show he’s currently homeless, and unlike our previous candidates, he was dishonorably discharged from the military for a more mundane reason.”
“What did he do?”
“He broke the jaw of a general’s son, sir. He claimed he was defending the new recruits, but no witnesses came forward to testify. Allegedly, the general’s son was forcing the recruits to… Engage in inappropriate behavior. The exact words he used in his written testimony were ‘Twink-Diddler.’”
I nearly choke on my spit at the insult.
Now that’s a new one!
“He really fucking said that?!”
Stella nods. “If I may ask, what exactly does ‘Twink-Diddler’ mean?”
“Never mind that.” I howl with laughter, nearly toppled to the floor by my own reaction as I wipe a single tear squeezed from the corner of my good eye. “Now I’ve got to meet this guy. Where he at?”
“He’s homeless, sir, but he’s spotted near a bridge about 7 miles from here according to the files.”
“It’s late, if you’re tired, you can hit the motel. I’ll be fine on my own.”
Never got my driving license, but who cares? With my reaction speed and impeccable vision, I must be dead-drunk; high and sleep-deprived to get in an accident.
Eyes narrowing in annoyance and offense, the homunculus scowls.
“I was created to serve as a line of defense for House Einzbern. My stamina won’t run out that easily.”
“If you’re sure.” I shrug.
I don’t mind driving, but if someone offers to chauffeur me around, who am I to refuse?
“Hit it!”
Comments
Ano Nymous
Took a while. I was debating on whether I should write more scenes for Gil and her handmaidens, but decided against it. Two smut chaps back to back is enough.
Hoang Nguyen Bui
He’s back baby!
