Dancing with Deamons I

Solomon Toralta stopped and listened for a moment before he grabbed his fire-axe off the desk in front of him. The room he was in was dark and smelled of dank dirt and old garbage. But it was reasonable dry and he had hoped to be able to spend the night here, although it was not to be, he realized now. Not only did the door lack and adequate lock, he sure needed something else than office chairs to sleep in, his back was beginning to hurt now.  

Without hesitating Solomon turned towards the door leading down the stairwell, one hand clutching his axe the other at the 9mm at his hip. He lifted his leg taking a deep breath and gave a swift kick to the door, crashing it open. Into the darkness he heard a creature being thrown down the stairs, obviously it had been skulking just behind the door. Solomon took only a moment to look down at the almost human-like individual as it struggled back onto its feet. Then he rushed down, two steps at a time and before the creature even had the chance to react Solomon chopped its head off.

After that he took a quick look at it with the flashlight. Skin pale as Turkish yoghurt. Mouth covered in blood belonging to everything besides the creature itself. Not a shred of clothing on its gaunt body. Bald as a newborn and claws as sharp as a feline's. Salkerings. The basic Specimens, the first which had appeared after what was these days called the Outbreak. They were the least deadly, the most numerous and the most underestimated. For every other Specimen you found there was at least three Salkerings as many.

Solomon gave a quick shake of the head at the corpse, before continuing down the staircases, two steps at a time as always and axe ready to kill anything that dared to not be human in his presence. He hadn't been doing this type of thing too long. Since the start of the Outbreak anyway, about a year ago. Solomon had been knocked out by a speeding van with a passenger hanging out the window with a bat, aiming for the heads of the Specimens. He missed. Solomon had awoken down a half-closed manhole in the sewer, long after the main waves had moved on, next to him a dead woman in her forties. That was how it had started, all this shit. The world going crazy as a lethal circus or a Stephen King novella. And with just more and more of these little beasts. He didn't know how, but it just seems that the moment you killed one specimen, others would come.

"That's the way it works" he muttered to himself as he idly glanced up at the night sky. A helicopter flying not too far was seen clearly, but of course, trying to signal it would be suicide. Still, it didn't matter where salvation was elsewhere; he needed to find shelter here. As if urging him to get a move on, a single drop of rain came down, hitting Solomon right in the forehead.

He groaned as more began to follow and started running up the nearest pileup of cars and when he reached them he started climbing. It was only three cars high but it was his best vantage point to find any building with an entrance that hadn't either been completely caved in or bolted beyond reason. By now the rain had started pouring. It wasn't until the crash of thunder came Solomon heard the moaning. He turned in an instant pistol raised for immediate use; however even with his flashlight he could only illuminate two Salkerings out of what was most likely ten.

Then came another crash of thunder, this time the lightning in clear view, sawing itself across the overcast sky and illuminating the entire street for a split second. Among the six pale-white Salkerings was one creature about a foot taller than them. Its skin was far redder than it should have been possible and its bottom jaw was missing. Where its left arm should have been was nothing but a stump while on its right there was a three-foot long blade where the hand should have been. Just like the Salkerings around it this specimen, known as the Coaldeamon, was nude. Anyhow there were no signs of geneticals. These beings were not meant to breed but to kill.

Solomon swore quietly to himself, firing two quick shots one in the head and one into the leg of an approaching Salkering. The first shot took off its head completely though it still continued until the second shot tripped it up and sent it to the ground permanently. Solomon shone his flashlight on the group one last time before pulling himself over the last few cars and off the pileup.

As he pushed open the door to a cafe he made sure to lock it behind him. The windows were already drawn and the original glass door had been replaced with a wooden one, in a futile attempt to keep the creatures from wandering in. Solomon sat down at the nearest chair, gripping his axe intensely with his right hand and aiming his pistol at the door with the other. He waited several minutes before he finally slumped forward in his chair, certain that the specimens wouldn't follow him in.

He thought too soon. A moment later the blade of the Coaldeamon stabbed straight through the door from the outside, attempting to tear it down but only succeeding in getting itself stuck. Solomon wasted no time in pulling himself to his feet and, while his axe couldn't chop off the blade, it was heavy enough to bend it. So that's what he did. Solomon took three good swings at the Coaldeamon's blade protruding from the door until it was bent so irregularly there was no chance of the Coaldeamon ever escaping until the door itself was in pieces.

There was no doubt that the rest of the deamons would be coming to do just that and he didn't have much time to leave. The yells of the Coaldeamon confirmed it and Solomon gave its blade one last good kick before turning, hoping over the cafe's counter and heading out the back door. Just as he closed it behind himself another groan from the end of the alleyway caused him to turn. It was too dark to see the numerous Salkerings heading towards him, but what stood out was the creature standing behind them. Both its eyes glowed a fierce orange, as did a cylinder-like object where it's right hand should have been.

Solomon silently cursed the beast over and over, turning and sprinting down the opposite way at the same time. Any other Specimen he could have killed together with its Salkering friends in the narrow alleyway. Not so much with this. The lightning illuminated the sky for half a second and he saw the exit of the alley just a few feet ahead of him with a large blue public mailbox in front of it. The same instance he heard the distinctive sound of a huge amount of air simply being... sucked in by something. Suddenly those curses from Solomon weren't so silent anymore.

***

Santiago was ostensibly out of place for being so peaceful and quiet, as if the whole town had taken a siesta in the heat of the blazing afternoon sun. That belied the widespread insanity which had gripped the rest of the world since the Outbreak about a year ago.

To any regular mortal the Chilean city would resemble an eerie ghost town but for a man such as the old Roman valkhyrios Clemens it mattered little. He had seen it all, from the fall of the Roman Empire and further on. Now he was sitting in his Pontiac outside the entrance of a gated society which was guarded by at least two thugs with machine guns visible in their arms. It was not as if any deamon would care if the humans were armed or not, they would be coming nevertheless. They had no fear of death, they didn't work that way. Yet Clemens had no interest in being used for target practice, in spite of the bullet-proof vest he had taken to wear regularly over his camoflague patterned T-skirt these days.

"Listen señores!" snapped Clemens in his Italian accent. "Either you'll let me AND my car in or you can begin explaining to your supervisor why I wasn't able to make this meeting!". The crossing guard was speaking fast and with a Latin American lilt to his Spanish which made it hard for Clemens to understand where he sat there annoyed in his seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. But he did understand body language and the pot bellied guard was pointing with blunt fingers at the various weapons adorning Clemens' car. He continued his tirade until his radio beeped and he picked it up and talked into it. After a few moments he visibly paled before taking a few steps to the side, sweeping his arm to allow the car entrance.

Clemens became guided across a neglected park and then admitted into an underground garage of a large high rise. He was then promptly directed up to a large concrete blast door. The two guards slowly pulled back away from the front of his car as orange emergency lights began spinning. Next moment the door was sliding upwards revealing a darkened area beyond it. Clemens was about to switch on his headlights when a guard pulled out a bullwhip and slapped it sharply against a sign near the door reading 'no lights or thermal imagers of any kind'. The Roman made a face, the Iberians had never been known for embracing the finer nuances of communication.

"Impressive, one has to admit," Clemens muttered as he pulled up his sunglasses and slowly rolled the Pontiac into the inner garage. Meanwhile the door slowly came closing down behind him with a hissing sound as if thousands of snakes were encaged within the connected iron pipes. The Roman continued slowly moving forward until he became herded into a parking box. His car came to a halt, Clemens killed the engine and dead silence engulfed the area. The guard who had followed him, a short and plump Indian-looking woman, gestured for him to step out of the vehicle.

The valkhyrios abided by the decision. It wasn't the case that he was scared, he knew he had enough firepower to tear the door behind him apart, but this secrecy was going beyond what was reasonable even in these crazy times and Clemens was about fed up with it. After all there wouldn't be any Salkerings or Coaldeamons down here, would it?

"Vamos!" the guard said and nodded towards a group of elevators, and she pressed a key, calling one down to this area. Soon the doors of the second nearest elevators slid open and Clemens and the Indian stepped inside. She used a key to order the elevator up to floor 38 and after an earpoppingly quick ride the doors opened again, admitting the duo out in a dully lavish reception area with abstract art covering the dark teak walls. Behind a desk sat a receptionist, a blond with faked breast under a tight fitting T-skirt featuring the artist Pink. She hardly looked up when Clemens and his chaperon entered and walked across a thick, blue, hotel-style broadloom and up to two double doors where two more guards were posted. One of them pushed the doors open, and then stepping aside, admitting Clemens inside.

The large, windowless room laid in dusk, only a light ramp ahead showered warm yellow light over twelve darkened figures sitting on a dais at the other end of the room. They were poised in a triangular formation with a single chair on top, and the setting remained Clemens of how the Roman gods used to present themselves to the world when they were at the height of their powers.

"So here we have the twelve High Wizards of the Adelphoi Magici," thought Clemens slightly impressed as he counted those chairs. One of them had to be the infamous Etienne Vassiliades, the one Akiko had warned him about. Just like most people, Clemens had never seen the great magician Supreme and he had to admit he was curious about the one. All men craved power, but these twelve magicians had gone ahead and seized it. Seized it in the vacuum after the disaster, seized it instead of the fallen governments. Now these ladies and gentlemen were controlling more or less all of the South American Continent as well as Australia and huge chunks of eastern Asia. They were above the salt, the new pantheon, and they sure carried themselves as gods as well. "It's only the togas and thunderbolts missing," Clemens thought sarcastically.

"Buenos tardes señores y señoras, what may I do for you?" the Roman asked pointedly in his Madrileño Spanish when none of the magicians introduced themselves. Instead they continued regarding him in supreme silence.
"Clemens," began one of the magicians, a man with a thundering voice, speaking English with an Eastern European accent. "Valkhyrios appointed by the god Jupiter in 145 BC. Free lancer since the fall of the Roman pantheon and then known as everything from alchemist to mercenary for hire. Since the Outbreak he has remained very elusive."
"Apparently not elusive enough," Clemens stated and switched to English as well.

"Aggressive, skilled, intelligent," said another magician oblivious to Clemens' remark. "Was a member of the legendary round table of King Arthur in 531 AD trough 586 under the identity of Perceval and in close professional relation with the mage Merlin, the founder of the Adelphoi Magici in 564. Was also part of several crusades during medieval times, although did never bow down to the Christian religion, but continued his search for surviving Roman gods. Followed Marco Polo to China where he stayed for centuries and was after his return to Europe among other things pirate captain and body guard of Emperor Napoleon. The assumed father of Rasputin..."
"Capra, is that you?" asked Clemens, trying to recognize the voice of the man who had visited him in Venice. When there was no reply, nor confirming nor denying, the Roman commenced sourly while looking at the group: "So what is it you want from me?"
"Previously deployed by an Adelphoi Magici secondary Akiko..." the mage continued uninterrupted.

"Enough already!" belched the valkhyrios. "Why not getting down to business?"
"Signore Clemens, tell us about the state of the world today," inquired the Eastern European, leaning forward but still not really visible.
"Chaotic," Clemens decided upon. "You own this continent, the European Union is struggling to not fall apart and the rest of the world nobody knows about. Or that's the last I heard being about... two months ago. And wherever you turn - deamons everywhere. They seem easily killed but their numbers make them lethal."
"It's accurate enough," said the mage. "And what keeps mankind alive in spite?"
"Toy robots. Those Soteiras that was the hype of the world just before the Outbreak seem to have come with programming for defence. As if someone really knew what was going to happen and began to manufacture robots for defence - disguised as toys!"

Clemens smiled a bit skewed. Knowing where this was going he was glad to finally be getting down to the brass tacks.
"Your interest lie with these robots?" he continued.
"That's quite correct." The Eastern European replied. "We are today controlling the one and only factory for robots on the South American continent. But we're planning to expand. Or to be more exact, we are planning on retrieve the factories in the United States. And that's where you come in."
"Pardon me, but do you want to use me as a broker and negotiator?"
"You might call it that. Even if your approach is to become a bit more direct, if I put it that way. You might be aware that today no normal business laws are applying anymore. It has become a jungle out there. Eat or be eaten. The United States is in a state of martial law due to intense invasion of deamons in the major cities and all law enforcement and military personnel have been called in to bring 'peace'."

"So the plants are vulnerable?"
"Yes," said the mage pleased with the old valkhyrios' grasp on things, their dealings with other soldiers of fortune in the past had been less fruitful when it came to intelligence. Yet for a man of Clemens's price, he had better come above average.
"Then you want me to...?" Clemens pushed sharply, determined to make sure he and those mages were completely on the same page. To his surprise, yet another of them leaned forward.
"We want you to bring those companies to their knees and force them to become subservient to us," said the mage and her voice was dripping with evil.

The Roman nodded.
"Mission specifics?" he asked.
"We know there are gods up there. And we also have the weapon with which to deal with them. It'll be provided to you upon your leaving," said the female mage. "As will further instructions."
"And the agreed upon fee?"

"Down payment confirmed, full payment upon completion of the assignment, the complete amount being 20 million pound sterling to be issued into said Swiss bank," stated the woman.
"And the Vatican?"
"The last part of the mission will be about retrieving certain intelligence. A decay product of that information will lead you to certain Vatican interests. What you chose to do with that when the mission is over is nothing we care about though." With that the lights were snuffed, leaving Clemens once more in darkness before another set of lights went on in the ceiling. To his astonishment, the large hall was completely empty, no chairs nothing. Magic Holograms, the valkyrios assumed.

Then the doors opened up again and the guards posted outside wordlessly beckoned for him to come out, one of them handing him an envelope. The audience was over and he was escorted down in the elevator again and to his car. Clemens got in, started it up and exited the facility and into the hot sun outside. In the shadows of the overgrowth gardens surrounding the highrise, somebody snapped a photo before vanishing.