The moon was out, and an eerie silence was broken only by the howling of the wind and the occasional scream.
I walked among the loamy earth where once had grown grass. I remembered the clawed fingers tearing their way up from below. I remembered the markers of passing falling over onto their sides.
In the distance, the various scenes of Lontyn were discovering something disturbing, something horrible. Turning from the cemetery at Wesminst Abbey off into the city, I saw them. The reverockers, the synthoRians, the medieves, the puncoriers, and the industria were only a few that were screaming in horror. Society wasn't fragmented enough, naturally, so Xristos knows they had to all start hating each other based on how "harcor" their music was as well. Bloody Emeriquan term.
Well, maybe the medieves weren't squirming as bad; really, they've all probably been begging for a day (or rather a night, those dark-loving warkers) when something like this would happen. The lights all go out and death pervades the streets, how posh is that, honeykins? They'll lose that attitude when they see what happens.
A shrill, girlish shout rings out followed by base grunting. I can barely hear it above all the extremely silly music pouring out of the withithip clubs. All I know is that I'm supposed to ignore everything going on around me, and make my way back to headquarters.
I walk through Lontyn after midnight, with all the lights out and relying on the faint stars. All I can say is that I'm glad I'm not in a place like Whitechapel or Kyngston-en-Tymh where they built those skyscrapers. I wish it wasn't a new moon, though; but hey, it's all up to the Pater in any case.
I was told that the apartment I'm looking for would have a candle burning in the window. I'll bet that people are starting to wonder why nobody's lit any candles yet.
I turn onto the street that the address shares, and I see it. It's just one small candle, but in a city of pure darkness I can't help but notice. Neither can anyone else in the area, and they're swarming the window.
"Oi, 'e's got a candle burning, why can't we burn ours?" one of them demands.
"It's like a bloody curse or something!" another echoes. "The lights are out and we can't get a bleeding fire started anywhere! Matches won't strike and lighters won't spark! I even tried rubbin' two sticks, an' still nothing!"
A guy jumps up on the metal railing in front of the building. "I say we take that fire from 'im and we use it to light our candles!"
"Yeah!" adds another.
"Bloody right!" someone else agrees.
But before the mob can do anything, I shoot into the air with my Merlowe. I waste half a clip on that action, too. Pity.
Many of them take off at the sound of gunfire. But, interestingly enough, the gunpowder shoots but it doesn't light anything up. The place was as dark as ever, without any lightning-like flashing from my Merlowe.
"Step aside, tha's right, step aside ye warking sheep," I tell them as I brushed a path through the remaining with the butt of my automatic. I then knock out the code on the door, and with a candle in one hand and a Deutsch in the other, a pale girl with blond hair lets me in.
"Colin Winchester," she says after she closes the door. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable by one of the candles. Listen to the news."
I do as she says, reclining in a drab olive green loveseat and turning on the radio.
"What's with the darkness? And why do only the candles burn?"
She sits down next to me, in a truly hideous stuffed orange chair.
"Listen to what the newscaster is saying."
I turned an ear towards the radio, and I heard my suspicions confirmed.
"We have gotten word, of course, that a series of nuclear devices have been detonated in Eire. We have yet to get word from General Chacazzo on the matter, and there's no official statement from 10 Downing yet about it. Of course, the Brytash Aerospace Sensor Network has confirmed a 98% probability that the weapons originated from Unity Ascendant, the Chi Xi Stigma flagship, but nonetheless we are waiting for a proclamation from-Hold on, this just in. The Rhuskan government has just issued a statement acknowledging the destruction of Vaynaskiy Tri, the key station in the Earth-Lunar power grid."
She switches off the radio.
"And I take it that the dead are walking the streets?" she asks me.
"Yes, why yes they are," I recognise. "So... I guess that means we're on. It's finally started."
It's then that I hear the ticking coming from her neck.
"What's that?" I ask. "The ticking. Did someone slip a bomb in?"
She laughs. "No, fool. I have an antique from before Idealism. It's a cesium clock designed to emulate a cuckoo clock."
I nod, slowly. "So... what now? I've confirmed the resurrection for the Vir, and now what's my mission?"
She leans forward, delightfully exposing a bit of her cleavage. I try not to look.
"You mean our mission," she corrects. "We're supposed to go to Emeriqua and train the Vir there in the niconecric arts."
I arch my eyes. Knightemplar has pretty much let me work alone.
"I know what you're thinking, Colin," she says. "I've read your case history. You exorcised a demoniac squadron in Northumbria and you were singlehandedly responsible for the destruction of the Lightsmith cell in Berlynna. But times have changed and so have your orders."
I chuckle. "Yes, yes I suppose times have. Just five years ago we would have been preaching against the Vir, and now we're allies with them."
She bobs her head slowly about, as if to contemplate the situation from every angle. "Well, it was the Vir's Vesper that resurrected the dead, at least in part."
"And five days ago you would have been excommunicated for such blasphemy," I add.
"It's not blasphemy. Their source is the same as ours."
"And lanced through with a desire to be magic. I'm sorry, but I miss the days when the Mother Church didn't consent to her own rape."
Her expression sours slightly, but then she looks up and smiles, a little self-consciously if you ask me.
"Well, we're all on the same side here and I'd like to start our partnership off on the right foot," she decides.
"Bloody brilliant way to start off a partnership," I point out. "You have me at a disadvantage, so I take it I'm the lesser partner?"
She laughs politely at that, and smiles again. "I'm sorry, my name's Katie. Katie Kerrick. Pleased to meet you, Colin."
"Who's got rank?" I ask rather abruptly.
"Well, actually I do, but-"
"No way a little Christomantic fluffbunny's higher than me in the food chain."
"-but I was planning on forgetting protocol. That is, if you're quite through with your verbal travesty of my interpretation of the faith."
I grunt and lean back. This is going to be... interesting in the sense that eyeball surgery using chopsticks would be interesting.
"Well then. Guest room's upstairs and to the left. We're headed for Lifyrpouil tomorrow."
"Cut it out. It's Liverpool."
"We're headed for Emeriqua. They call it Lifyrpouil."
"Yeah, they're ponces like that."
She looks at me for a bit. "In any case, sleep's probably a good idea because we've got a flight to Nayarque City out of Lennin International to catch at one tomorrow."
***
"Praecipio tibi!" shouted a trenchcoated man in the shadows. "In nomine Xriste, adventura infernus et devolva nunc!" His stringy black hair complemented his swarthy Aravine features, and his musculature strained to hold a figure down to the asphalt streets.
Another was there, scowling and writhing. He thrashed against the hold of the first, but to no avail.
"I called you out, demon! If you fear the Spirita Sancta, if you value your worthless existence, you will run trembling!" the man shouted.
"Shine, Kirisuto-kyo!" shouted the demoniac, hatred echoing throughout his features. The dried blood around his mouth only accentuated his fearsome visage.
The man wasn't worried in the slightest, and merely continued on praying, ensuring that his prayers contained as many references to the Xristos, Pater and Spirita as possible. The demoniac detested those words. However, the demoniac was sufficiently enraged to overpower the man's hold and he took off running towards the street.
The man took off after him, whipping out a Merlowe and aiming for his knees. He failed to hit him entirely, and golden bullets ricocheted off the sides of the alleyway.
They spilled out into the street, a vast collection of neon, kanji and traffic piled up into the heavens. The man kept praying under his breath, trying desperately to stop the demoniac. He saw his chance as he noticed the demoniac running across the traffic. He saw that he would run behind a truck, and so he shot off the lock on the truck's back.
The demoniac turned, and noticed that the words "Pausyphic Salt Incorporated" were emblazoned on the opening back doors right before a flood of white crystals engulfed him. The man caught up with the demoniac, now half-buried under salt.
The man just smiled.
"You've made my job easier. Exorcizo te!"
The demoniac convulsed for a moment, and then fell still. Drenched in spittle, urine, offal and now salt, he stood up in the middle of the street, angry motorists yelling epithets at him in Nipponese.
"What on earth?" he inquired of the man.
"Level three possession," the man replied. "Loss of motor functions and memory to the forces of Hell. Go home, get a bath, and report to Emeriquan Army, Extreme Orient Command headquarters tomorrow morning for a debriefing. We're listed in the phonebook, but just in case it's down two blocks from here."
The former demoniac looked at him, unbelieving of what had transpired. "Um, thanks. A lot. I appreciate this."
"Anytime."
"Hey, stranger, what's your name?"
"Just call me Avenger."
The one known as Avenger then nodded and walked away into the industrial haze.
***
In a faraway land, Aulglore flew under a massive metallic plate, in a realm where the pale sunstarved citizens had climbed up but remained low. Dim fluorescent lights above struck the tops of the buildings, and very little filtered down to the quixotically-arranged streets below.
This is Undercity Bellamarha, where the sun doesn't shine. Even in a land where the power of Xristos is a thing one can pick up and grab, it is a holdout from the old days. Drugs, whores, the gods of Iorepha and Aravia-all perfectly legal across these anarchic Estata Ionyted, but found in abundance only in nooks and crannies such as these. Of course, there were others here and there-Seetak had Microsov Dystroch, Jacago had Easside, Langelis had Soucent, and Nayarque had Grounzere. They were places where the minority (whatever that was) could come to and live together. Whatever they believed in, whatever they didn't, it made no difference here.
A woman with bright red hair walked into a bar in the Undercity, and as she opened the door the sound of harmonicas spilled out.
She looked extremely odd. Her eyes were hidden by sunglasses, and her hair-naturally red, a typically Iorephan genetic marker in the beige-skinned nation, fell across a back covered by a purple half-shirt. She was wearing black cargo shorts, and she carried a rather tacky-looking orange purse.
However, she blended right into the eclectic patronage. People wore everything from overalls to cloaks here, in every color of the rainbow and even in a few outside of it. The harmonica originated from the stage, where a large man in an immaculate suit-and-tie wailed on it like the last great king of Naurelianum.
This is the place, she thought to herself as she stepped up to the bar.
A middle-aged heavyish woman with mousy brown hair came up to take her order.
"Canaio Jo getar you somethen?" she asked.
"Jo needaio informaten," the girl informed, handing the woman a photograph. "Frinstanz, the locaten ov this man."
She took a look at it, and her pupils dilated as she shook her head. "No cannaio sayar that Jo recognizao him."
The girl merely smiled at her for a moment. "He's around here somewhere. He summoned me and I'm trying to find him. Now, pray tell, where is he!?"
"Isat Brytash?" the woman asked as she moved to pour someone's drink. "No speakaio Angol, losiyento."
"Isat bulchit, the linguas isayont mutally comprendable. Anyway, this man. Where isat he?"
The woman sighed audibly. "The Vir me toldayont about you. Me killat, but still Jo no yatellaio."
Now was the girl's turn to sigh. "The Vir no'veyont thellos facts straight. Isaio a third party, sif wantat to callar it that. Isaio friendly to the Vir, but isaio fallen."
The woman turned angry. "No believaio the verbs ov an indweller! Begonat, pora the power ov Xristos Iasu!"
The girl trembled for a bit, and backed off. But she was still there.
The girl finally decided that she was getting nowhere with the woman, so she went into the next room. She shoved her hands into her pockets, her eyes downcast.
"That man... wantaio him to isar my doma," she whispered silently to herself. It was her unspoken mantra, the purpose that kept her going. Her world was desolate, and she was a barren spirit wandering a calloused world she had helped to create. Or destroy, depending on your perception.
"Helen."
She turned around to see an Emeriquan with blond hair and dark black sunglasses sitting at a table admiring the harmonica performance. With him were two white people; a man with brown hair, and a pale woman with blond hair. They both were wearing silver crosses that the girl flinched at.
"You're probably wondering why we're here," the Emeriquan noted.
"Aureus?" she inquired.
"I knew you'd recognize me in my latest getup," he said in impeccable Angol. "We intercepted a Lightsmith summoning Vesper and we're here to take you with us."
She started looking around, hesitating.
"I-I'm not a threat to you guys, you know. I'm not with Lightsmith."
The Emeriquan pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose. "I think that you're misunderstanding us, Hel."
The brown-haired one nodded. "Orders from above say that you're supposed to cooperate with myself and Miss Katherine in the land of Emeriqua."
She blinked, taken aback. "But-but why would you do this for me?"
Aureus answered her, "We've been monitoring you for some time and we believe that you're sincere. He Is told us that we can trust you for this. The idea is that you're gonna be a poster child for turncoat repentance and inspire a whole pile of the enemy to switch sides in the endgame in exchange for better treatment at Parousia."
She laughed. "So when do I begin?"
Aureus pointed to the doorway. "Right now. We intercepted the Vesper, but it still got through to them. That guy over there, who just came in, is their agent. Kill him and thus prove your loyalty."
She nodded and stood up, walking over to the man. He was in a tan trenchcoat and was smoking a foul-smelling cigarette. He looked at Helen and seemed to recognize her, waving and smiling. She responded in kind, walking over to him. He didn't notice that as she shook his hand, she was pulling a stiletto out with her left.
She gutted him and he fell down to the ground, dead. Mysteriously, though, nobody seemed to notice.
"Welcome to the dark side," the Emeriquan said as he got up and left.
***
A hotel room in Undercity, near the atmospheric regulation plant. The thrumming of the oxyngines provided a backdrop to the screams of the angel in the foreground.
A fiery-haired girl stood over a bathtub, and she poured into that bathtub several vials filled with a clear liquid. She shed her clothes, and stepping into that bath she felt pain. As she lay down in it, the liquid burned her flesh and her soul. Muscles on her back twitched, as if trying to propel her away from it. She withstood, though, and even seemed to take a sort of pleasure from it. The suffering was unbearable, but deep down in her spirit, she knew it was fitting. It was just, it was right, it was even... holy.
She bore it gladly, the creature of salt and water etching nothing but ecstatic, perverse pain into her naked flesh.
***
The cries of gulls blanketed the Overcity next morning. The sun hung low on the waters, burning up the harbor in orange. It was beautiful.
The bells of Innerharbe Abbey tolled, a sign for the ascendant sun to the people at large. The Abbey was built on the site of an old Mirilenian naval base, to commemorate the victory of the Emeriquan Eleventh Army in a battle against the forces of the Second Republic of Brytannia.
Katie and myself dragged an unkempt man into the abbey.
"Exorcisaio you in the name ov Xristos!" I shouted at the demoniac. My partner Katie soaked his clothes with a vial of olive oil.
Meanwhile, the new girl, Hel, was trying to punch out the possessor in the realm of spirit. She was invisible sometimes, visible others. For my part, I shouted out every holy word I knew in an attempt to give Hel an unfair advantage. The blessed oil seemed to restrict his actions, as his clothes were now dedicated to his enemy. Katie opened his mouth and poured salt in it, trying to sanctify the demoniac's insides as well.
I saw in the spirit for a second, and witnessed the demon twitching from our actions in the physical realm. It was helpless to Hel's relentless strikes, and finally she severed its throat with her stiletto and it fell still.
Hel and myself both returned to the physical world to find the body had fallen down, dead.
"So would that be our first kill against the false undead?" Hel asked.
"Yes," Katie nodded. "Rather cunning bastards they are, too. Just when the resurrection happened, they possessed the dead to make a resurrection of their own."
"We knew that they could do this, though," I reminded. "Give it a few years and the big bad himself will be taken by The Big Bad himself."
"True," she agreed. "And if everyone's okay, then we might just be able to do this for the long term."
And so it was that two fallen Knights and a fallen demon became hunters of the living dead.