Dancing with deamons II

"He's dead now," Rennion says as he strolls into the large living room, trying to sound as casual as possible when he walks up to Elion who is sitting in the sofa by the window with a report mailed to his laptop. But his face is grim and there's satisfaction as well as sadness to be seen within his hazel eyes. Elion looks up from his readings, regarding his brother:
"How long did it take?"
"Some 30 minutes. He was tougher than I thought, even unconscious."
"Yes, but I'm glad it's finally done." Elion replies. "As much as he was our brother I had begun to hate him for all he did."
"Iryon seized being my brother millennia ago" Rennion spits. "When he killed my wife, raped my daughter and held my son hostage to get me to do his bidding. And it's not just about revenge. For every year he lived he got more blood on his hands, more ended lives which never stuck on that teflon conscience of his. I'm so glad it's over. Finally."

"Now we need to inform the Greeks." Elion says.
"They sure are going to be celebrating in Crete tonight."
"Well, it's not like we have that much to celebrate anymore. Our world is dying and it's more or less our own fault."
"Elion, it was Akiko who killed Lanineme and almost Loradan as well. Not to mention letting loose Cysir upon the world."
"It was not her fault," Elion answers his half brother. "Cysir deceived her. It deceived us all by taking Lanineme's place, possessing Emilia Cooper and reducing our sister to but a shadow attached to its spirit. The shadow which Akiko then sent down to Tartarus in the beast's stead. And thus causing the Outbreak of Armageddon. We could have taken a closer looks upon those souls before handing Emilia over to Akiko. We would've recognized the pattern of Lanineme. Or at least seen that something was off."

Elion rises and walks over to the large panoramic window. Down there in the pale midmorning light Manhattan is shrouded in fog. That's the best they can do at the moment, using Sanomina's weather abilities to make it a little bit harder for the beasts out there to get to their human preys. That and trying to fight as many of them as possible. Olimon, Rhonia, Tumar, Kinari, Eitha, Ikarla, Lia, Cerdon, Alin, Luke and a few others are out there every day bearing the brunt, battling the beasts. The problem is that they seem to be so many. For everyone you kill there appears to be ten new ones. Oiroran had been right when they had talked the last time. What the gods need to do now is not only to kill deamons and hand out Soteira and Nike robots, they have to find the deamon cradles and put a stop to it before it becomes too late. And most of all they have to find Cysir. But how?

For more than a year now they have been scanning the brain of Iryon, before finally deciding to execute him tonight. To kill him not with Mithralium or nuclear energy but to tear his very soul into fragments to prevent him from ever reincarnating again. But the brain scan has revealed very little, beside an insanely clue mind.

"When did he become so crazy" Sanomina says as she enters the door, a dressing gown over her voluptuous body and her dark hair still wet from the shower. "Back when I first came to Arumanoria I remember him as rather normal. Rather sane. A bit tempered, that's true, but not the mad hatter he later became. What triggered it?"
"I don't think it was a single event," replies Elion. "I think it was the small steps. He grew slowly madder and more megalomaniac over the centuries. Iryon always wanted power, he always wanted respect. More than anyone else of us. I, for certainly, didn't care. But he, he wanted the power. And I think it started with the fact that he felt overrun and left out by Ireu. I know that several times over the centuries Iryon went asking for a place on the board. Yet he was never given one. Ireu always told him to wait. To be patient. And the more he demanded that of Iryon the harder my half brother had to comply."

"But would it have been so bad then? To have Iryon on the board?" Sanomina asks.
"I doubt it." Elion replies, as he continues looking out over Manhattan. "Not in the beginning at least. But I think father believed Iryon to be too eager, to keen on ruling. And that in a very negative way. He wanted Iryon to… perhaps he hoped Iryon would grow out of that trait before he could be appointed a seat in the board. Instead it just grew in the other direction. Then again Ireu was a lot, but he was never very pedagogic."

"Shall you or I tell the Greeks?" Rennion interrupts.
"I'll do it" Elion says, sensing that Rennion wants off the hook. "Go out and kill some more deamons meanwhile. I'll join you as soon as I've learned where those missing Soteiras and Nikes went."   
"Are we to retrieve them?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Depends on who took it. If they are brought to protect innocents the way they are supposed to or if they are being used by greedy people, sold for fortunes or used for blackmail."

"So you mean it's okay to steal them if they are used for a 'good purpose', Eli? What kind of law is that now?"
"Rennion, it's a law of mercy and emergency. Not really an ordinary one. But then again the situation is far from ordinary now, which I guess you too do admit."
"But…"
"He's right," Sanomina comes to Elion's defence. "It's more efficient to churn out new robots than to retrieve a stolen shipment. If there'll ever be a somewhat normal situation out there we may concentrate upon upholding the law to its letter. Now we have to save lives instead. And perhaps those thieves actually helped us with that."
"I still don't agree but – never mind." Rennion shrugs, not ready to open any cans of worms. "I'll go out zapping some Salkerings instead."  

With those annoyed, almost angered words the scout god turns on his heels and leaves. And Elion sighs. For what time in order he doesn't know he feels that he hates this. Really hates this! Hates making decisions and those petty conflicts they cause. How could anyone ever want this he wonders, this too for what time in order he doesn't know. How could anyone ever want power? He sure doesn't want it. It makes him feel petty and arrogant. And he begins to finally – someway at least – understand Ireu. This must have been what his father might have felt sometimes. No wonder why he could be in such a foul mood from time to time.

Then Sanomina is there with her soothing caresses and Elion holds her close, buries his face in the dampness of her hair. He sure wouldn't know what to do without his lady during these hard times.

***

The occasional Salkering could be seen running around on the deserted and trash filled Washington D.C. streets but otherwise they remained empty. Naturally the capital of the United States of America was 'safer' than the rest of the country, but it was still dangerous to be outside by oneself with or without a weapon. Especially after presumed terrorists had launched a failed attack on the White House. They had damaged the outside fence severally and launched themselves across the grounds before becoming gunned down by the Secret Service and the military in an all out battle. There was still blood on the front lawn and all kinds of rumours flying around.

In the FBI Building the situation was tense and the Agency did its best to perform with any sort of efficiency after a year of chaos. Money was down, agents were dwindling, incidents were rising, and it was becoming too much for the beleaguered individuals still sticking around.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted the Deputy Director Jordan Osterling as he kept his eyes peeled at his computer screen while fiddling with his goatee.
"Osterling; keep your head!" snapped FBI Acting Director Catherine Delanto. She had recently been promoted to the position since her precursor had been reassigned to Barak Obama's White House cabinet.
"Sorry ma'm," said Osterling sheepishly. "'T'was just…" With that he turned his screen revealing a muddied but still identifiable photo of the man known as Clemens – no surname attached - in his car with the legend 'Adelphoi HQ, Santiago, Chile' beneath.
"Yes this could be a problem," was all Delanto was willing to admit to.
"'Could' be a problem?" said Osterling disgusted. "Ma'm, th'is a problem, the Adelphoi Magici bastards has finally made their move."

"We don't know that," said Delanto, very reluctant to leap to conclusions. She pulled back her brunette hair from a facelifted forhead and resumed: "The Roman could be there for any number of reasons. He could as well have been hired to protect the Adelphoi. Against the deamons. Against the Vatican which is rising in Europe these days, rallying for the power over the European Union. Or against some threat we don't even know about."
"Ma'm…" began Osterling.
"Then what do you propose we do?" said Delanto aggravated. "We don't have the manpower to deal with this because if it does end up being a dud then we're in hot water."

"Funny you mention the word 'man' power ma'm," said Osterling as a smile threatened to break out across his pink, round face, gray eyes twinkling behind rimless spectacles. Delanto shot him a confused look before she figured out what he was talking about.
"No," she said immediately shaking his head vigorously. "No way! Absolutely not!"
"She'd be perfect for the job!" protested Osterling.

"She's a rookie!" Delanto shot back.
"Yes, and the only survival from the last class of cadets before the Outbreak. All the rest have perished to deamons or new criminal organizations. Boss, think about the benefits if she does go!" said Osterling apparently seeing something Delanto could not.
"Like what?" the Director snorted.

"One, it might actually restore some public faith in us that we can do our jobs. Two, she's got magic abilities, inherited on her Cherokee mother's side, but she knows very little – almost nothing about the real sketch up of this world. She doesn't know more than the necessary about the magic orders like the Adelphoi or the Chinese Gilded Dragon or the Russian Sawiars. Or the Vatican. Finally, if she dies, no one would ask any questions, since she has no living relative around, save for a mother who's down with the bottle."

That last comment made Delanto think for a moment.
"You'd better be right about this because if something happens…" she began.
"Ma'm even if something happens, she's not the first Agent to become killed in action." said Osterling frankly.

"Alright, let's go get her," Delanto nodded solemnly and opened a file on her computer. "Amalia Cortadello, consider yourself 'assigned!" The Director gave a few fast commandos on her keyboard. And in another part of the building a phone begun to ring.

***

A huge streak of fire burst from the new creature's hand arcing over the Salkerings and heading towards Solomon. If not for that public mailbox, that Solomon had managed to duck behind at the last second, he would have been fried. Even so he felt the force of the blast as it hit his cover. He could smell the smoke and even though there was a sheet of metal standing between him and it, he could feel the heat. He peeked out behind his cover, or rather the half that was left of it. There was literally only one sheet of metal standing between him and the demons now just barely being held up.

The fire that burned allowed a clear view at the new Specimen. It's skin was a sickly tan yet completely covered in wrinkles. The wrinkles themselves were bright red. It wore a sort of gas-mask that only covered the bottom of its face and had a distinctive orange glow over the mouth. To complete the look, just as expected, where its right-hand used to be, there was simply a large cylinder-like object, completely made of metal, with only three little slits on either side which glowed orange fiercely. It may also be interesting to note that while this Specimen was just as bald as the others, it actually wore torn green cargo shorts. The fact that the creature looked absolutely dead, was probably how it was given its name. The Sleethoe.

Solomon wasted no time firing two hotshots into the alley - and hearing yet another sound of a Salkering groaning and falling- before pulling himself from his cover and running down the sidewalk. His lungs felt like they were burning, not from exhaustion, but from what that damn Sleethoe did to the air around him. Yet Solomon didn't make it halfway down the block before he felt something jut out in front of his foot.

By that point, it was too late to stop himself from falling and he did, face first. He didn't get a chance to react before being dragged along the ground by his leg. 'Not that easy!' He thought to himself, rolling himself onto his back and giving a blind kick with his free leg at whatever had grabbed him. He heard what sounded like a woman yelling "Ow!" and backing away, dropping him where he was. He saw the door of the building next to him open, a light coming from inside.

The door was obviously made out of some reinforced metal, most likely steel and from the light, he could just faintly make out the outline of a petite African-American woman. Her hair was cropped short and dyed pink and her green cargo pants, unlike the Sleethoe's, were actually intact and were filled with pockets carrying who knows what. On her upper body, she wore a grey jacket, probably a couple sizes too small for her, opened in the front. Underneath was a black t-shirt with Metallica's Eddie. Both her hands wore fingerless leather gloves and to cover her feet were two large brown boots.

"Alright fine, fuck you, I'm not going to save you, you hit me!" became the first thing she said. She was holding her right hand over her right eye, where Solomon likely landed his kick. He didn't even get a chance to say sorry before she slammed her metal door shut. Solomon heard, yet again, the sound of all the air nearby being sucked into one location and he had to slam his head back onto the ground just as a streak of fire flew not three inches over his body. His lungs felt as though the air was just robbed from them and replaced by smoke and other hot unpleasant gasses.

Solomon pulled himself up, already seeing the Sleethoe and its Salkering friends coming slowly down the sidewalk towards him. If the Specimens had any drawbacks, it was their lack of ability to run, for some reason or another. He banged loudly on the door:
"Come on, can't we talk about this?"
"No" Came the muffled reply from inside.
"You're not really going to let another human die out here are you? Open the door!"
"What's the magic words?" She was toying with him.

Solomon heard the distinctive sucking-sound yet again.
"I'm sorry!" he yelled. The door opened inward so suddenly that when he tried to bang again, he ended up stumbling inside. He heard the door slam shut behind him, followed by the roar of the fire as it was shot. The secure metal entrance made no indication that it had been hit.