Round 2, NiTessine vs. BardStephenFox
From the Other Side
Assembled in the dingy room were not the best, the brightest, or the most competent operatives of the agency. They were not prodigies or exemplars. They were, however, good at what they did. They were proficient enough to get their job done, and devoted enough to carry it through.
They numbered four, the standard size for an agency operatives group.
There was always one leader, an absolute authority. He was a tall man, dark-haired and strongly built. He wore a black trenchcoat. It was well-made – the gun holsters under his arms did not show. Neither did the ones at his ankle, hip, and wrists, for that matter.
Next to the leader stood a rather more diminutive man. Thin, blonde, pale, and short, he almost seemed to blend in the background, fading from view. He was dressed in the standard black suit and white shirt that marked him down as an FBI agent a mile away. Of course, he was not, which was precisely why he wore them. Though he did not limp, he carried a sturdy cane of black, lacquered wood, with a silver handle.
There was also a woman, Caucasian, with long, flowing hair the colour of gold, tied in the back with a green ribbon. Her dress was featureless white cotton, with a silken sash. She was unarmed, and kneeling near the wall, examining something.
A third man paced about the room. He was bald and heavyset, with a broken nose and a strong jaw. His feet were encased in the black leather of army boots, and his outfit was bulky around the torso in a way that suggested the existence of heavy body armour under the layer of black clothes. His grey eyes flickered from corner to corner, every now and then glancing into the corridor outside the room, or through the window. He seemed to avoid looking at the item near the wall.
The object of their attention was a small painting of sorts, residing rather low on the wall. There was a basket, a large eggshell and some lavender flowers around it, but the painting was the only thing of consequence. It depicted a ghostly figure, clad in robes, emanating a luminescent green light. It was moving. (3)
“Yeah, it’s a strong one,” the woman commented. “Definitely a bound spirit. Dormant for the moment, but I don’t want to take any risks and wake it up.”
“Can you neutralise it, Annah?” the leader asked.
“Yeah, but it’s the last of the potions I have. Been a busy week. Why are all of these undead popping up now, Chief?” she replied, rummaging around in a leather backpack. A moment later, she came up with a blue jar. She peered at it apprehensively for a while, (2) and then removed the cork. Standing up and stepping back, she flung the contents of the jar over the painting.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. With a hiss, dark vapour rose from the green figure, which began to run like wet paint, its outlines becoming smeared and blurry. A small, unearthly scream pierced the air, making shivers run down the agents’ backs, but they’d seen it too many times to be rattled anymore.
“Wish I knew,” the Chief replied, his eyes locked on the display. “Wish I knew.”
The house they were in was condemned, an old, wooden building run through with dry rot and not fit to house even the termites that infested it. It was located on a beach, in a less-developed part of the city. The sensors of the agency had picked up something from the Great Beyond in the house, and the team had been dispatched to take care of it. It was the twelfth such occurrence within the last month. Usually, they got that many in six months. Something was afoot. Something big.
“Sir, I am picking up a disturbance,” the pale man suddenly said, holding a finger to his left temple. His eyes were focused to a point far beyond the walls of the house. “It is near... Outside. In the water.” The eyes came back, focusing at the chief. “Now!” he said, in a hoarse whisper, and hurried to the door. The others followed him, having long since learned to trust the clairvoyant’s visions.
Outside, they were met with a peculiar sight. There were two baboons in the water, rising slowly up the beach towards the agents. A grey cast over their eyes told they were either blind or dead. (4) The agents had been in their line of work long enough to realise the latter was more likely. The first zombie ape leaped up, and was met with a hail of .357 bullets from the two semiautomatic pistols Chief had pulled out. It fell to the ground heavily, but soon jumped up again. The other one tried a flanking manoeuvre, but the pale clairvoyant drew a long, thin blade from his cane and took the classical en garde stance.
He lunged, thrust, cut, parried, and even slashed with the blade, scoring a dozen small wounds on the undead beast. It felt no pain, however, and the small blade could do little real damage to it. Then, strong, thick hands grabbed the creature by one arm and yanked hard. The bald man with the body armour ripped the baboon’s arm straight off its socket. Off-balance, the creature could not defend itself when he next grasped its skull and twisted. An unpleasant crunch and some leaking of fluids ensued, and baboon fell in three parts.
Chief returned his guns to their holsters, peering at the other undead creature, now lying on the beach, its form riddled with bullet holes. It’d been a tough one. Not many things can take ten consecrated silver bullets. This one had taken twenty. That would mean its master was nearby, or it was commanded by an exceptionally powerful necromancer. His eyes were suddenly scanning the slate-grey sea that opened in front of them as a vast expanse. The baboons had come from there, so their master would probably be there as well... There! A small motorboat was making its way towards the city central, going well above the naval speed limit of the harbour area.
“To the cars!” he shouted, already running towards them. Fortunately, the road from the beach to the city harbour ran along the beach, allowing them a view of their prey. As the speedboat neared to harbour, it slowed down noticeably. Another advantage to the agents.
They burned rubber and broke every traffic rule and regulation in the books trying to get to the harbour, but they did, in the record time of only five minutes. Seeing their prey trying to tie alongside a pier, Chief steered his car on it, parking it diagonally across the way, blocking the way from ordinary pedestrians. He rose out and pointed a gun at the man in the speedboat.
The moment he locked gazes with his foe, he knew the man for a sorcerer. Purple eyes and a grin far too wide for a human being were good clues. Its disguise spells had fallen during the chase.
“Freeze,” Chief shouted, in vain. The sorcerer wove a quick spell, and an orb of force formed around him, deflecting the agent’s shots. Then, to Chief’s surprise, he jumped in, no, on the water, running inside the floating orb to get away from him. (1)
He would have given chase, were it not for the sorcerer’s next spell. The speedboat warped and melded, its form running like molten wax, assembling itself into a new shape and configuration. Wings. Horns. Claws the size of baseball bats. It shifted itself into the form of a classical devil, while retaining the garish coloration of the speedboat.
“Chaos demon. Crap,” were his thoughts when he jumped backwards to avoid being disembowelled. His twin pistols were already out and spitting large-calibre bullets at the fiend. It roared when they hit, but did not slow down. Pseudopods formed from its flesh to strike at the other members of the team who closed in to do battle. One of them was promptly sliced off by a well-placed slash of the sword cane. Sirens of police cars could be heard in the distance.
Chief threw away his empty pistols and reached for the second pair, jumping up and twisting in the air to avoid a claw. He took aim at its head, and fired. His target parted in the middle before the bullet, letting it pass before melding back into its bestial visage. Chaos daemons’ bodies were as fickle as their minds. The barrage of bullets was taking its toll on the fiend, that much could be seen. It moved slower. For a moment, one of its pseudopods flickered into the shape of the ship’s propeller. Of course... if it had trouble retaining its form, sooner or later, the gas tank would materialise. Chief ran to the trunk of his car and shot the lock open. No time for keys now. He dropped his guns inside and took out the red steel canister filled with gas. He uncorked it and ran to the demon.
“Cover me,” he shouted to the others, while he sprayed the creature liberally with the flammable liquid. Then, with one of its giant claws, the fiend split the canister and gashed deep across his arm. Pain overwhelmed him as the chemical found its way into the wound. Purple blots obscured his vision. He kicked out with both his legs, hurling himself into the water. The next moment, a shot caused the gas on the demon to catch fire. The moment after that, it exploded.
A wave of force rippled over the harbour. The inherently magical creature’s death resulted in a powerful backlash, and in the case of a creature of chaos, the results could be quite unpredictable.
“I don’t believe it,” the clairvoyant said as he looked over the changed harbour.
“Who’da thunk it?” the burly man said, next to him. His shoulder had been dislocated.
“Should we help Chief out of there?” Annah asked.
“Nah. He can make it out himself. Especially now,” the clairvoyant replied. “The colour is really quite nice.”
“Damn your hides, help me out!” came the exasperated cry of their leader. “I hate chilli peppers!” (5)
Best of luck to us both.
