The Gathering

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Four

     The pulse is rapid and blinding as it descends from the darkness of the long hall. The guard’s neck snaps like a twig in his hand. Upon hearing the shatter and thud of the falling body, the second guard turns to face his partner. As his eyes focus on the limp form, a massive first strikes forward and catches him squarely in the nose. Blood vessels detonate upon the impact, sending the guard tumbling to the deck. His brain reduced to Jell-O. “Fucken pussies.” His voice is low and hollow and carries a note of disappointment. He stands, with slightly shrugged over shoulders, above the remains of weak supernatural deities. He quickly disposes the bodies within a small water closet and continues on his way toward the ship’s nucleus.



Five

     “Your report mentions something about ‘Children’ encircling the warehouse, prior and during the assault. What’s this about?” He questions from behind his desk with self-importance. His voice hung with concern wrapped in disbelief as he questions her. She did this as a favor for the Ministry, maintaining that her skills could be of better use in a Private Enterprise. Yet, she is the backbone of this society and they needed her. ‘Always playing the role of the mother,’ the memories of her sister’s words linger in her mind. That was a long time ago, too long to dwell upon. However, home is far away and an eternity has passed without its presence.

     “I can’t explain it. They were in their tens to early teens. All I could sense were young, yet torn eyes typical to the hungry and destitute. They hung around with morbid curiosity, watching the event as it unfolded. Beyond that, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. If I had been...” She was about to continue before he interrupts, by raising his right hand over the edge of his desk top.
     A pale smoke drapes him under suspicion as a long, fat cigar suspends loosely from the extended fingers of his left hand. “I understand. I just can’t see how these children fit into all this.”
     She simply continues to stare blankly through the dense haze of the cigar smoke. The concern was on the children. Yet, too many other questions are left unanswered. “Were there any questions asked of the people of the community from that night?” She questions, shifting her gaze beyond the proximity of the large, bay windows of his office.
     “What witnesses? Everyone’s dead.” He chokes as he focuses more on her breasts than face. She did not pay any heed to his misbehavior. This behavior, expected from these perverted men, after seventy years of living among them nothing escapes her. However, she feels cheapened by their disregard of her other assets.
     “I’m not sure about that. I think I’ll go back for another look, I just feel like we’ve overlooked something. Things like this are not always clear-cut. They happen for a reason.” She then turns and leaves the office, before the Colonel could reply. He dislikes her involvement and how she often took control of the situation. Although, she got the job done and often, in the first try.



Six

     The stench of the place carries itself far beyond the cascades of its inner walls, smothering the dank and dingy underground from the fresh air of the upper levels. He laughs at the thought of fresh air. Earth had not known fresh air since before he came. Drenezani Prime, there was a real planet with a real atmosphere. However, his people were scientists and artists. There was little industry to speak of. That was, until the Great War, which lead to his banishment.

     The normally magnetically fastened security door suddenly and silently opens, which was surprising for something of its mass as he approaches the surveillance camera outside. This releases the many chemicals present to preserve the interior contents, into the spaces beyond. The stench nearly drops him to his knees as he pauses, musters his strength and composure then enters. His eyes water from the agony, for his sense of smell is uncannily acute as he identifies most of the chemicals as largely lethal to straight-laced humans.
     “Hey Deano!” The voice emanates from somewhere behind the many shelves, curtains and artifacts. Its beholder stirs around the many hurdles that lay between him and his client slash partner. The voice quietly curses the clutter of debris as it laces the area more as decor than merchandise.
     He listens, with amusement, to the man’s fevered rant as he stumbles over items close to the floor. “Hey Fred, what’s up?” Deano offers, as he stops to question a particular looking alien fossil, with puzzlement in his eyes.
     “Nothing much, nothing much at all.” As he emerges from behind one shelving unit that houses many tomes and trinkets. “How’s my dear Jade these days? Still fucking up a storm, I hope.” He says lustfully, with a smile. Fred is a short, fat, bubbly looking creature with a fat neck that joins his fat head to his fat, hairy body. He often utilizes the services of a hover thrown for motion outside his hidden emporium. However, within these walls, maneuvering was difficult. His body displays many wounds that were self-inflicted by the many procedures required to remove the toxins from his body. Deano cannot get over the imposing effects of Fred’s feminine voice for a creature so massive and ugly. Again, Fred did enjoy young males of any species, which were not too alien in appearance.
     “Dead.” Deano offers curtly as he picks up a small miscellaneous object, studies it, and then replaces it in its original order. He betrays no emotion as he passes on the information, which Fred had obviously known nothing about. Deano saw this as a sign of weakness and lacked professionalism, for a man who makes information trading his business. And again, he did make good in hiding the bodies of the dead.
     “My god.”
     What a fag, “You don’t have one.” He wrestles inside his pocket for a moment, and then pulls out the small azure ruby that he had found in the blood pool. “What can you tell me about this?” He did not look at it as he centers directly into Fred’s lidless eyes. “Pro bono.” He growls, more as a statement than a question.
     Fred fixes upon the ruby as it glitters between Deano’s clawed fingers. The sharp, razor tips teeter the object with pure balance as they appear to inhale the light the stone emanates. He reaches for it with his porky fingers and tongue slightly dangling from his dense lips, dribbling saliva down his beefy chin.
     Deano flashes the sharp edges of his alien teeth as his black tongue licks them, as a warning against betrayal. Fred responds with a slight smile, which was his custom. They had known each other for far too long for a double cross. It is only that, Deano never trusted anyone he did not kill. “She was murdered in an ambush. The Lucky Lady wasn’t so lucky after all.” This, after Fred had taken the ruby and began examining it. “What do you think?”
     “I’d hunt down and kill the sons of bitches.” He retorts, this time not sounding like a fag, never withdrawing his attention from the gem.
     “Not the fucking killers you asshole, the ruby. What do you think?”
     “Definitely imbued with something. I can feel the residuals. They tingle my fingers.” He licks his lips again, for what seems the twentieth time. Fat beads of sweat roll down his forehead, like a constant plague of transparent slime. However, this was him as he uses his many talents for appraising. “From off a rune weapon.” He finishes.
     Deano continues to focus on the ruby as the fat man holds it up to the ceiling. “Where would you get these types of rune weapons?”
     “How the hell should I know? The universe is a big place.” His face begins to redden from the inquisition and the sweat beads grow larger.
     “These were humans, some kind of Juicer. They must have gotten their hands on these weapons from somewhere. Not many Humans can make it to Atlantis. Not if they expected to live that is.” His bleak, black eyes continue to look hollowly into Fred’s as the fat man stirs uncomfortably.
     “Well, to the exclusion of the Splynn Markets of Atlantis, there are the Markets of Splynn London, Cordoba and those independents found within the Federation of Magic. None other come to memory, not anything like Ruin Weapons. Even there, the Federation wouldn’t see many of these types of weapons. Unless . . . ”
     “They stole them.” Deano finishes the fat man’s sentence.
     “That’s right, but it would make sense.”
     “How?” Concern drapes his face anew.
     “Well, you’re looking for super Juicers or the likes. Where would you go for such enhancements?”
     “Makes sense.” Without further warning, Deano turns about face and begins for the door. “Keep it.” A few feet away, then he says nothing further.

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Seven

     The hall opens up into a grand atrium, which are four of its kind. It towers nine stories high and sports lavishly decorated balconies, gardens and a fountain. His eyes meet the various kinds of creatures, humanoids the majority, walking the area entering and exiting the various boutiques and shops. To the center of the vessel, he finds the massive Death Sport Arena where games last 24 hours. To the exception of surveillance systems, there is little in way of security. However, Blind Women are present along with armor-clad Sunaj Soldiers. Supernatural guards are known and walk freely among the inhabitants, but they maintain a low profile.

     He finds solace in the knowing that his existence is unquestioned, uninhibited, here in a haven built for the damned. The populous number into the tens of thousands as the luxury cruiser sails its way around the world, seeking new contenders for the arena, yet that is not the why he is here. Besides, what possible opposition could he find here? He questions as he looks down upon the many denizens. Suddenly, frail elderly, human-like male steps unnoticed under his feet. Feeling free to behave in any manner he pleases; he kicks the senior with his right knee. The assault does not daunt the man, as he simply looks up with his cold, gray eyes hidden under the massive hanging clumps of white hair from his brow. His eyes suddenly flare under an azure hue arc. Magical energy pulsates from his face, turning his expression to gravity.
     The bully now becomes the frail human as he takes a step back, raises his hands to signify ‘no harm done,’ and offers a sly smile. All his pearly whites twinkle under the dull luminescence of the atrium. The deity concedes and allows the energy to re-enter him before moving off again. The human wipes his brow in cold relief and continues his way. His lesson learnt.