Mecanimus
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169. Guns and Glory! Pearls are Eternal
🕑 Added 2021-12-01 18:08:16 +0000 UTCThe establishment known as the Pearl greeted me with a massive room vibrating with the din of conversations even so early in the day. A few steps up led to a central square covered in tables, couches, and chairs where men and their hosts socialized without reserve. A long counter extended to my left with a collection of bottles and glasses sitting in well-ordered rows on a shelf that covered the entire wall. Stairs and doors surrounded this pulsing heart of sin, passages to — I assumed — private rooms where one may consummate. A well-kept piano occupied the back of the room on a small pedestal where a man of indeterminate pedigree was busy playing the violin with surprising skill. None of this truly mattered to me at that time, for my mind no longer belonged to me, but to her.
My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat. A lead mantle settled on my wit, robbing me of my countenance at the sight of this apparition. She was a diamond at the center of a tin tiara, a rose in a bed of dandelions. A hive of — forgive me, dear reader — painted harlots buzzed around her, wearing gaudy garments and enough make-up to renovate the Westminster Cathedral with some left over for a couple of Whitehall pubs. By contrast, she only needed a plain dress in the deep green of winter pines to cover her lithe form. Her cleavage was just on the edge of daring, while a slit in her dress showed just a little too much calf. Ah, dear reader, you must feel me weak of heart and of conviction, but think! Think of the first time you lay your eyes on the one who robbed you of your heart with a casual tilt of the head. Then you would understand my predicament, for indeed, she had captured my attention while my cold mind refused to let go of the only thing that stopped me from throwing myself at her feet.
She lounged gracefully in a brothel’s main room.
It did not take the mind of Isaac Newton to guess what her occupation might be.
The scarlet of her hair was like a winter twilight, brazen and beautiful, yet cold. The smoldering of her brown eyes held a distance that I feared no man could ever bridge. For all her modesty, she was a kiln of desire, and for all of that passion, she was cold as ice. None of the activity around her touched the windows of her soul as they followed me across the room. As much as I tried to escape the burning frost of her fingers on my heart, I knew that I would charge a fort for a true smile to bloom on her angelic face. It took all of my willpower to swim away from the whirlpool of her pupils and to make my way to the bar. If it had not been my original plan, I believe that I would have failed to think of one.
My arrival and the lady’s gaze was noticed by a quartet of rough men nursing hard liquor. Their leader was a thug with a dirty, messy beard, two porcine eyes, and a gut covered by a shirt that might have been red under the stains at some point in the distant past. They smirked, but I decided to pay them no heed. I was a marshal now, and a marshal should not provoke people for the sake of his ego. Challenges would come soon enough.
The barman was a barwoman, a solid lass with a square jaw like you would see socking their husband by the Thames for coming home stinking of gin. What she lacked in conventional beauty, she made up for in confidence, giving her a powerful presence. The mistress of liquors inspected me with a quirked brow but a pleasant enough smile, and I knew that I was not considered for shoe-slapping quite yet.
“What is the second most refreshing thing you have?” I asked, still in the thrall of my heavenly vision. And indeed my heart beat a thunderous drum at the thought that she was here, behind me, so tantalizingly close.
“Oho, good one. For you, pretty boy, I got some lemonade just the way my ma used to do before the pox got her. Fancy a glass?”
“That would be terrific, miss,” I assured her. I was eager to sample the local specialities after swallowing dust for seven days. The lady smiled and served me in a beer mug. I sipped on tangy bliss and sighed with contentment. It was then that I heard the heavy thud of footsteps tramping behind me. Ah, what a conundrum, dear readers. I could turn and face the sun of her beauty, or show my back to what was possibly imminent danger. Come on, Alexander, I told myself, trust in yourself.
I gathered my phlegm just in time to face the tall man in the red shirt, and recognized in his lopsided grin the base, animalistic pleasure of the simple bully at the sight of a fresh target. I was immediately on my guard and he didn’t disappoint! Stopping a few paces aways, he placed his meaty fists on equally meaty sides and roared his provocation.
“What’s a lilly-livered coward doing in this here fine establishment?”
I delicately placed the mug on the counter by my side and straightened my posture for the inevitable showdown.
“I was wondering the same thing, friend. What are you doing here?”
It took the brute a remarkable amount of time to decipher my insult. By that time, I had come to a decision. As a representative of the law, I was to avoid brawls and show an exemplary behavior to steer the frontier masses on the path of righteousness. Unfortunately, one could not garner respect without showing a bit of spine first. I had to be realistic about my chances of convincing anyone if I hid behind my badge at the first sign of trouble. The law-abiding lad in me wanted nothing less than to bring this troublemaker to the authorities, but the adult saw that this was a different place from my proper Surrey, and while in Rome, give an idiot a sound thrashing.
“Don’t think too hard, you’ll strain something,” I added helpfully.
By that time, I was already on the balls of my feet and ready to give the lout what for. Indeed, his bovine face exhibited confusion, then consideration, then finally crimson anger as my defiance finally crawled its way through the underused paths of his mind. He took a step forward. He stopped immediately. Even I felt my smile slip a little when the barrel of a long hunting rifle bypassed my left ear to aim squarely at the bully’s chest.
“None of that, boys, you take your ‘disagreement’ outside or I’ll splatter your guts over the floor. That means you, Walker.”
“Don’t point that thing at me, Sally. You wouldn’t want to see me angry.”
“The only reason I’m not seeing you inside out right now is that I’m the one who’ll have to mop your lard off the parquet if I pull the damn trigger. You mess with me, you mess with the Pearl, Walker.”
The thug snarled, an animalistic move that surprised me, as I would never have expected such a crude expression from a white man.
“Come on out, stranger. Let’s see if you can put your fists when your mouth is. You and me. I’ll be waiting outside.”
“I’ll put my fist where your mouth is,” I grumbled to myself. Not only was I dragged into an embarrassing affair in front of a fallen angel, but now I was even denied my lemonade. For shame.
“Be careful,” the bartender said. Her previous confidence had faded like snow under the sun. Now she looked strained and worried.
“I seen them drink from a vial around their neck. Makes them as strong as a bear and just as stupid. Drugs of some sort.”
“Can they stoop any lower?” I exclaimed, scandalized.
“I ain’t eager to find out, Your Lordship.”
“Thank you for your help, Sally. I will be careful. And my name is Alexander. No Lordship for me.”
“He will hit hard and he won’t feel pain. Perhaps it’s better if…”
“Do not suggest it, Miss Sally. I could not entertain the thought.”
I left and thought I heard a whispered sentence about entertaining her instead. Duty called. The sun greeted me far too soon. Four brutes waited downstairs, spread evenly to prevent my escape, I suppose. I placed my felt hat on a wooden balustrade and stepped down to meet them. I noticed that the men all had revolvers on their hips, and so I didn’t remove mine.
“We can start whenever you wish,” I informed my would-be opponent. A crowd was already forming to watch us rumble.
“Now then, you little shit. I’m going to show you why they call me the hammer,” Walker grumbled. He spit in his fist, which was to me as abhorrent as it was incomprehensible, and picked around his soiled shirt to reveal a tiny flask. He drank from it what must have been just a drop, but his ugly mug immediately exhibited into an expression of pure, unadulterated felicity, a happiness defiled by the beastly instincts it fed on. The brute roared and came at me swinging.
Dear readers, I never mentioned it before since it was scarcely relevant to the story, but do note that I took quite a few licks from William ‘Bendigo’ Thompson at the bequest of my father, who had rescued that awesome man from his drunken morass. One does not survive apprenticeship under England’s former heavyweight champion without learning a few tricks, a notion my opponent discovered immediately when I dove under his haymaker and delivered a powerful jab on his liver. To my surprise, the man barely grunted under the onslaught, and the backhand blow would have caught me off-guard without Sally’s warning. As it was, it was all I could do to dodge the onslaught.
Walker would rush at me and hit with everything he had. I would move to the side, deflect and block what I could before he would charge again. The few painful counters I landed would have incapacitated most men, but he was no longer himself.
It was when he landed a solid blow on my shoulder and I reciprocated by breaking his nose that I realized the only avenue of salvation left to me. The blow got me the first solid reaction since the beginning of the fight. Walker shook his head and pulled back. His blood ran a fresh coat of color on his blemished shirt.
I had to aim for the face.
Instead of waiting for the man to recover, I charged into the breach with determination. A proper pummel would see me take the day! And pummel him I did, until my knuckles bled. I gave the lout the correction he deserved without giving him the chance to recover, even taking a small hit to the temple so I could keep fighting. It was when my adversary barely stood that an imperious voice woke me from the focus of battle.
“Behind you!”
I turned just in time to block a hook aimed at my neck. The gall! What manner of miscreant interrupts a fisticuff, I ask? Only the vilest, most honorless fiends. Anger seized my heart, and I gave the surprised foe an uppercut that sent him careening on the ground. When I turned, Walker had not moved yet for he was stunned, but one of his cronies had his hand suspiciously close to a grubby handle.
That was when, dear reader, I decided to put a stop to this farce. Insults and knuckle fights might toe the line of legality, but assault with a gun crosses it. I casually opened my vest, revealing the star beneath and saw my assailant pale.
“You will remove your filthy paw from that disgrace of a gun or, with god as my witness, you won’t live long enough to regret it,” I told the man
It was with some trepidation that I observed the terror on the man’s traits. Unfortunately, he had frozen in place and, heeding Mr. Delaney’s advice, I took a step back and to the side in order to put my back against the wall and keep all the mooks in sight. This maneuver let me look at the man still on the ground, nursing his jaw and glaring.
“You’re messing with the Crew,” the gunman grumbled into his (possibly lice-infested) beard. “Nobody messes with the Crew.”
“The law messes with everyone, villain. Remove that hand now.”
“Let’s all calm down now,” another one said. “We will all take a deep breath and go our separate ways.”
“Surely you do not expect to threaten an officer and refuse to comply and just walk away? I have questions for you lot,” I said, outraged that they would suggest just leaving. You must understand, dear readers, that I was quite young at the time. The very idea of letting those ruffians go even temporarily filled my heart with righteous fury. Did they honestly believe that they could almost kill a man, then walk away after their attempt failed? The hammer of justice would smite those louts here and now, for the scale-bearing goddess could suffer no compromise.
“That’s a bad idea, friend,” the man continued, his hand sliding to his holster. I could feel where the situation was going, and placed myself in the proper posture to draw. Around us, the crowd raced away to take their distance. They knew too.
I breathed in and breathed out. All thoughts of anger left me. There was only me and the three targets. Two on my right, one on the ground, on my left. Walker was still standing drunkenly, a line of drool dripping down his bruised lips.
Three.
They would move. I knew they would try. The right man would do it. The man in the middle was hesitating, and the one on the left was waiting.
Breathe in.
A rictus of rage. A hand grabbing down. Motion.
I was ready.
I drew and shot once, twice, thrice. I caught the first two in the heart and the last one under his chin. They fell.
Breathe out.
They were dead.
I would have liked to claim, dear readers, that I felt vindicated since I had stopped an attempt on my person. A sense of duty fulfilled and of safer streets would have been welcome, I assure you. However, the only thing filling my chest were horror and a deep sense of emptiness. I had killed. I had broken the first commandment. The circumstances did not matter to me at that time, and neither did the legality or morality of my actions. The visceral reaction to ending one’s life cared not for such abstract notions. I had killed a person. I had killed three people, and my life would never be the same again.
Curiously, what drew me away from the abyss was not the muttering mob, but the memory of my mentor’s advice. I knew, as a marshal, that I would have to deliver death. My father Ronald and his father Cecil had taken lives all around the globe. Miss Delaney had been quite insistent that I should realize this, and not to hesitate when the time came. I was alive because of my conviction. It had been their choice to draw on an officer of the law and it had been my choice to pursue this career. I was where I had meant to go. Now, I had to own it.
Out of habit, I checked my corners and replaced the three spent cartridges in the cylinder, just in time to see Walker collapse on his side with the ponderous speed of a toppling tree. A few of the women in the crowd screamed at the sight of three cadavers. I did not feel like doing much right now, so I hailed an old caravan driver with a massive white beard.
“Is the sheriff on his way?”
“He sure is, my boy. You’re a little young to be a marshal, but there is nothing wrong with your aim. Hot damn.”
“Then when the gentleman arrives, please be sure to direct them inside. I need a drink.”
“Sure thing Your Lordship.”
“Just Marshal Bingle is fine.”
I went through the doors again. I had a lemonade waiting for me.
Of course, as soon as I crossed the threshold, all thoughts of liquid were forgotten in favour of something infinitely more invigorating, the sight of my fallen angel and her smile. Oh, that smile. I will never forget it. In this false palace of stucco and golden paint, from within that den of sin, surrounded by colored glass and frilly apparels, it was the only genuine thing I could spot. Oh, and Sally’s lemonade too, I suppose. It was quite fine.
“You had us worried there,” she told me. Her voice was low and husky, as smooth and indulgent as dark chocolate. I could have listened to her read an address book and never grown bored.
“I might have been concerned as well,” I freely admitted, “though concern cannot stop me.”
She chuckled. Waves of bliss radiated from my stricken heart with every ‘ha’ of merriment. I could do nothing. I was undone before the battle even started.
“I prefer courage over temerity, sir. How may I call our savior?”
“Alexander Bingle, milady, at your service! I cannot claim this title since those ruffians were after me, not after you.”
“Oh, they were after all of us. The Crew regularly comes to ‘unwind’ in town between two dastardly deeds. They are rowdy, rude, and they do not pay.”
“Dreadful. Then I am glad that I have done my duty!”
This boastful comment awarded me with another chuckle. Then, my fallen angel removed a shawl from — forgive me, dear readers — her cleavage. She used it to sponge the smidgen of blood on my temple despite my protests. I was loath to soil such a precious piece of fabric, but the lady would not have it. When she was done, she tied the colorful item around my arm.
“You defended us, Mr. Bingle. It is only fair that my knight in shining armor would wear my colors.”
I was blushing mightily during the whole process as you can imagine. It did not help that the shawl still carried her perfume, and its delicate scent titillated my nose during the entire delightful ordeal. I prayed to be delivered from inappropriate thoughts but my faith failed me, or to be precise, it could not compete.
“How may I call you, my fiery angel?”
“Aw, that’s a new one. Call me Annie.”
Annie. Annie. Annie. I had a name for her now. Quick, Alexander, get a hold of yourself!
“Then, Annie… why is the sheriff not acting?”
“He is a reasonable man. The sheriff has five deputies to deal with scuffles between colonists. He doesn’t have the numbers to stop the Crew. They have a hundred men, all veterans from the war. On both sides! Disciplinary battalion dogs, the lot of them.”
“They do nothing to stop this ignominy?” I exclaimed. Scandalous.
“Alas, no. My thanks again, Mr Bingle. I have to talk to the other girls. If you’ll excuse us.”
“Certainly!”
I made my resolute way to the bar out of fear that I would stare at her back and not stop until she had disappeared from my view. Sally was still at her post, polishing a glass with nervous gestures. Her smile was more bitter and sad than I remembered.
“You got them. Well, better than the alternative, I suppose. It couldn’t go on anyway. Here,” she said, giving me a piece of cloth drenched in cold water, which I applied to the bruise on my head with effusive gratitude.
“Think nothing of it,” she replied. “You just, ah nevermind, a wild weed can’t match a rose heh? Just be careful when you go out. The Crew will want to take revenge. You should get out of town soon. Hole up somewhere.”
“Never! But I understand your concern and will not go charging at a hundred men. I am courageous, not stupid.”
A doubt crossed my mind at some of my past actions. I firmly believed that a dumb man can never learn, which made me exempt. In my own eyes.
“You take care now, Mr Bingle. Can I call you Alexander?”
“Of course Sally, tis only fair!”
“Oh, the sheriff is here. Can see his hat from the window. You… ought to go talk to him. Don’t let your guard down, you hear? Never let your guard down.”
“Thank you Sally. And I will see you later!”
“Yeah. You do that.”
I stepped outside, ready to face the music. The sheriff was an old man with a neatly trimmed grey beard and a white felt hat, making him visible from afar. He was accompanied by a few fellows of various ages and they all had one thing in common besides their badge of office: a deep fear that they never bothered to hide.
“You done did it, boy. You done did it. The lord save me from hotheads, Jesus. They’re dead.”
“I was merely defending myself, sir. They drew first.”
“Yes yes, I’m sure. Not that it matters. You just started a war, boy, and it’s us that got to pick the pieces, if we ain’t pieces ourselves. Jesus lord have mercy.”
“Instead of complaining, should you not call for reinforcements?” I asked, annoyed. “I understand caution but it looks like you gave up.”
Alas, my comment turned the man’s face red with unbridled rage.
“You think I ain’t done it? That I’m sitting on my ass all day long? The Crew’s a fist, boy, and the arm behind it is longer than mine, is all it is. I did ask, and I was ignored. The second time the Crew officer visited me at my home, got it?”
“I see. Then… it is a conspiracy!” I exclaimed. What an unexpected development! Who could have guessed that a chance to apply justice would present itself so soon?
The sheriff just shrugged sadly. I begrudged him his defeatism. The man needed a stiff upper lip and a proper moustache to adorn it, I say! His responsibility for the town was too important to give up after two attempts, and I did not think that the grasp of the Crew extended to the marshall office, or to the anti-corruption commission. Unless...
“Is there some dark magic at work?”
I regretted my words as soon as they crossed my lips and the men present crossed themselves in a cascade of muttered prayers.
“No witches here, boy. This is a Christian town. They’re not allowed inside… and if we catch one, she’ll burn.”
I closed my mouth with a click, because their reaction spread a fear that almost reached a boiling point. I had to return to my convoy and take stock.
“Well, are you going to at least arrest Walker? We cannot leave him lying in the street like a swine.”
“Yes, yes. We’ll get him inside, look after his wound. You should go, boy. Leave town if you know what’s good for you.”
I decided that discretion would be the best part of valor, for now. I needed to learn more about the situation before deciding on a course of action. I did not face a small band of cattle thieves, but a large group with a powerful backer. Almost a private army. Rushing in headlong would only lead to a lone grave on the prairie. I left on my horse, wary of my surroundings. The town was barricading itself already, and I spared a thought for the safety of Annie. The locals were rushing back while the visitors fled to the safety of their own camps. I made good time and found Miss Delaney’s convoy without much difficulty, as they had found a prime location on a small hill. I was let into her secured carriage and locked its massive door behind me. I had no idea how oxens managed to pull forward what amounted to a portable fortress.
Inside of the carriage, a pallid Ariane awaited me. The vivacious woman lost her lustre during the day. Her traits were drawn and her eyes had sunk, yet they still shone with a cold intelligence in the shimmering blue light of a strange lantern. A series of documents were laid on a large desk that occupied much of the surface. A steaming cup of her excellent coffee awaited my presence. I sat down and tasted it gratefully. Then, the floodgates opened and I dumped the tale of the recent events onto her patient lap. The mysterious lady listened without interrupting me until I was fully done. Her first reaction was to quirk a brow with an expression I seldom ever saw on her delicate features: surprise. She picked an elegant silver watch from an unseen pocket and checked the time.
“Barely one in the afternoon and we already have a brawl, a gunfight, and a love interest…” she grumbled. “You certainly worked fast. I credit you for your success, although you could have avoided the risky duel. That was an unnecessary risk.”
“Why would I do such a thing! The Law must have the last word!”
“Humiliated thugs must retaliate or lose their main source of power: fear. They will come for you no matter what. I would advise you to be more flexible in your pursuit of justice, young Bingle. You can always make an arrest while in a position of strength. The side of good should never look down on guile and delayed punishment, as some of your fellow mor… people, have demonstrated. In any case, you are uninjured, so I suppose it does not matter. Did you keep the vial of potion with you? The effects you describe sound familiar.”
“Alas, no. I did not think of it,” I grudgingly admitted.
“No matter, I will be sure to visit the morgue tonight. I am quickly learning more of the situation as the day goes on. It appears that your private militia and my railroad project issues are related.”
“Could it be that the mysterious backer behind them is the SAME PERSON?” I exclaimed, happy for the quick and gratuitous development.
“Yes. How fortunate,” Miss Delaney said, though she betrayed no emotion. “I need some more time to finish reading those reports. Stay as long as you like. Don’t waste coffee.”
I pondered today’s events in a silence only broken by the susurrus of turning pages. I had found a terrible injustice, but more importantly, I had desperately fallen in love at first sight with someone no mother would approve of. I had to save her. I had to find out which circumstances had led her to sell her dignity and make an honest woman out of her, I could accept no other outcome. After finishing my cup, I escaped and tried to absorb myself in the many tasks before me. The repetitive nature of cleaning, washing, and darning the holes in all I had provided no distraction. My thoughts wandered back to the woman, Annie, her smile, her delicate perfume. I dared not touch the shawl tied to my arm. What did it mean? Had I truly earned her favor, or was this a ploy from a cunning woman?
Did I even care?
Forgive me those ramblings, dear reader. I was a moth caught by the prettiest fire this side of the Atlantic. The fallen angel had me hook, line, and sinker. I was a doomed man. My only solace came a couple of hours later after everything was done and the shock of love and death merged with the fatigue of the trip. I collapsed on my cot and only opened my eyes after the sun had set. I realized that I was ravenous and left my tent to a surreal vision.
The camp was on a sparsely wooded hill around a grass-covered meadow. Its center was now occupied by the most curious of scenes. Miss Delaney stood to the side next to a table carrying scientific equipment, inspecting a test tube filled with dark liquid. Meanwhile, Mr Nead sat at a table covered with a genuine white cloth. Candelabras provided a warm glow that seemed to ward off the evening’s chill while tall glasses filled with golden wine spoke of summer afternoons by the lake. Mr Nead himself was resplendent in a beige ensemble, princely and lavish, yet sharp. An ethereal woman I had never seen before played the harp with impressive mastery, reinforcing the feeling of otherworldliness. I felt as if I had stumbled across a banquet in a dream, and that Puck might lead Oberon and Titania to join us shortly. And yet, the glass felt solid under my fingers when I joined them, and the wine tasted of honey.
“So good to see you, young Bingle,” Mr Nead said as he shoved a cracker in my hand. It was covered with cucumber sliced so thin it was perfectly transparent. I took a bite and sighed in contentment. At the back of my head, memories of fairy tales warred with my rationality, hinting at journeys with no return and century-long stays.
“Eat plenty, because the night is young and filled with secrets,” the man whispered. I turned to ask about the elfin woman, but felt rebuked even thinking about her.
“I have found more about the liquid your opponent consumed,” Miss Delaney said as I did my best to eat with moderation, instead of gorging myself like one of Circe’s guests.
“Mr Nead kindly obtained a sample from the town’s, for lack of a better term, surgeon. The solution is magical in nature, and quite dangerous at that. It ignites the consumer’s essence, pushing the body to its limits and providing relief from pain and discomfort, but it does nothing to protect the body itself. Whoever drinks it will be a dangerous, implacable warrior for the effect’s duration at the cost of, I suspect, longevity. Additionally, the substance is a potent mood-enhancer and disinhibitor which contributes to making it highly addictive. If the Crew members do use it regularly, then they are fiercely loyal. I also suspect that higher brain functions might be impaired, from what I have gathered.
“I see, and how does it relate to your train line issue.”
Miss Delaney put down her tube and nodded at me.
“Well spotted, Mr Bingle. An unknown interest is buying strategically placed land from local farmers at cutthroat prices, then reselling it to my venture at rates that make expansion unsustainable. Usually, such individuals or organizations transfer funds east to reputed banks to safeguard their interest, but it seems that we are dealing with a local, paranoid organization. Their refusal to deal with everyone is a weakness in the sense that they lack backing, but a strength because they leave no trail. We will have to inquire more.”
“The sheriff mentioned that he had contacted his superior twice, but that it only resulted in threats to his family,” I remarked.
“Yes, an excellent starting point for our investigation. I fear that I must rely on you for the… day-to-day operations, so to speak. May I suggest —”
Miss Delaney stopped mid-sentence, and when I looked up, she was facing the city with a deeply intense expression. A moment later, I heard the roar of a gun. I was on my feet before the noise died down.
Comments
Robert Vick
Thanks for the recommendation guys
Venalitor
169 - His grandfather did have a much greater respect for narrative pacing. It seems the Bingle curse gets stronger with each generation.
Sean
Yep! I mentioned it here so I thought I should mention it there as well. If someone likes this book they'll like Nightlord, and vice versa.
Hayden Leech
Is this Sean Adamo from the Garon whited spoiler group? Haha. I definitely recommend nightlord. Though i think you’ve done vampires better. He’s more of a wizard that happens to be a vampire rather than your full alien vampire and the MC retains pretty much all of his humanity because he turns back to human every day and into a vampire every night. Plus he doesn’t associate with other vampires so there’s no vampire politics/societies.
Sean
Fair warning, the tone shifts dramatically between books 3&4 to the point where books 1&2 feel like you're reading from the perspective of a different person compared to the character in 5-7.
Mecanimus
I heard of Nightlord and now I want to read it. Maybe during my winter break.
Sean
Man the more I read this the more I find your style is quite similar to Garon Whited's Nightlord. I wonder what a Collab between y'all would look like
Mecanimus
All will be revealed in the next episode....
Cormac
Is Annie a vampire, I think maybe a Hastings variety? (Aren't they the ones that can endure a bit of indirect sunlight, such as you would have in building like that one?) To me, her encounter with Alexander reads like she tried to Charm him but couldn't due to his Bingleness.
Mecanimus
With a Bingle in command, every chapter is a cliff!
Mecanimus
Ooooh there is more fae where this comes from.
Mecanimus
The gods protect us... Maybe. I would be more interested in stealing other characters
Gardor
Your cliffs are getting pretty savage
BramBora
Why must he be so cruel?
Mai0e
The cliff 😩😩😩😩 Cant wait for the next one, this was a fantastic chapter!
MacDB
Amazing, I love the quick mood and almost genre change. Plus the sinead enthralling mortals is always a treat
Andrew
Thank you!
Young Youghurt
Man this chapter slaps. Feels really westernish and actually quite relaxing. I wonder if some Bingle shenanigans or Binglenanigans could be smuggled into the Bob's story (I mean Arthur's story ofc) perhaps for April's fools or something? Reject metaverse, MCU and all other multimedia corporate products. Embrace Bingleverse! Bingle bells, Bingle bells Bingle all the way Oh, what fun it is to read Adventures of slay, hey
Mecanimus
Isn't that how every day should start? >:D
Bunny Waffles
And to think I woke up this morning and thought to myself "Boy, I sure would love another chapter of Journey of Black and Red to brighten my day!"
Young Youghurt
Yes I am astonished.
Aurora1325
Soon
