Demon's Reign

The rain had finally burned itself out, leaving the alley slick and breathing a cool, metallic damp. Puddles stitched the broken pavement into dark mirrors. The knights had rallied in force—dozens of armored silhouettes ringed the site, cordoning off the mouth of the alley with barricade tape and dull-gleaming shields. Their boots tracked water into the grit; radios crackled softly; steam rose in thin threads from the gutter like the city exhaling.

They stood in wait, isolating the area from bystanders. Paramedics worked with efficient hush, lifting Dalas onto a stretcher, buckles clacking as they secured him; Viktor's body lay on the ground, covered by a white sheet that clung where the rain had dimpled it.

A pair of knights moved deliberately through the debris field, sweeping their handheld scanners over scorched brick and cratered concrete. The devices hummed and chirped in sterile tones, throwing up little grids of light that skittered over the alley walls.

"Come on man, look around, we have to find something!" Matsuhide shouted.

"Sir!" a knight approached him. "We can't detect any presence of mana in the air," he explained.

"Then try a different frequency," Matsuhide growled, pushing his glasses up with a knuckle, impatience flashing like heat lightning behind the lenses.

"We've tried searching for most elements," the knight explained.

"Goddammit!" Matsuhide started pacing back and forth, water kicking off his heels, coat flaring and settling with each turn.

"Excuse me sir," the knight paused. "But when is "he" coming?"

Matsuhide turned to face the knight. "He said he was on his way," he shook his head, annoyance tightening his jaw.

X walked onto the scene, cutting through the barricade of bodies and tape like a man who assumed doors opened for him. One knight held position, palm out, stopping him at the line.

"Your identification please," the knight requested extending his hand.

"What?" X smiled with a confused expression.

"Everyone who comes into the restricted area must submit their identification," the knight stated.

"Hey, Matsuhide!" X shouted waving his hand.

Matsuhide looked back, then pivoted away—pretending not to notice, as if disavowal could rewrite the moment.

"Your identification please!" the knight repeated.

"Matsuhide, I know it's you, I can tell from your awkwardly shaped head and glasses!" X shouted. "I forgot my ID, can you tell this guy to let me pass?"

Matsuhide grunted angerly walking towards the barricade.

"Let him pass," he sighed.

"But sir, that would mean disregarding protocol!" the knight exclaimed.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I am the protocol," Matsuhide remarked.

The knight stepped aside, allowing X to pass. Water still clung to the barricade tape; the alley smelled of ozone and iron.

Matsuhide and X walked toward the epicenter.

"I am the protocol," X mockingly said, laughing.

Matsuhide shook his head. "I'm this close to having you detained."

"Ahhh, but you love spending time with me," X jokingly nudged his shoulder. "So, what's up?" he asked.

"Today, at 1 PM the Ordinus system detected an outpouring of demonic energy within the babel academy. It came from two sources. Because of a system malfunction we were unable to identify the culprits. One of the culprits was found on the academy grounds, he was tossed out in an explosion he created, luckily because he was unable to control his own magic. The other figure is still missing. We were able to identify this person as Zeke Ventew, a Dullahan contractor." Matsuhide explained.

"A Dullahan, huh?" X sighed. "So why did you call me here?" he asked.

"I'm getting to it. Special class investigators Dalas and Viktor were in a nearby area, so they quickly arrived on the scene. Coincidentally Viktor ran into the Prowler on his way to the scene. That is when we lost all contact with the two of them. Half an hour later their signal returned." Matsuhide explained as they waked up to Viktor's body.

X walked closer and peeled back the sheet. Rain-shadow pooled in the hollows of Viktor's collarbones; the face beneath was unnervingly serene.

"He's dead," X murmured.

"Do you know what could have caused it?" Matsuhide wondered. "Apart from gash on his stomach he doesn't appear to have any injuries."

"Magic," X murmured.

"I figured as much," Matsuhide sighed.

They moved to the stretcher where Dalas lay. He was motionless, eyebrows and skin blanched to bone-white, as if winter had settled under his flesh.

"He doesn't have any injuries, he's alive, however he appears to be unresponsive." Matsuhide stated, crossing his arms.

"He was healed," X remarked. "This magic, abstract and illogical."

X lifted a lid with two fingers; the iris beneath had gone a flat, lifeless gray, unreactive to the shard of daylight.

Both men looked washed—bleached—like the essence had been wrung out, leaving only the shape behind.

"This Prowler, do we have information about him using his magic before this?" X asked.

"No, there have been no such reports," Matsuhide replied.

"Have there been any reports about him killing someone?" X wondered.

"No, no reports on that either," Matsuhide crossed his arms. "Do you know what kind of magic this is? Our scanners can't pick it up for some reason," he stated.

X laughed. "They won't," he stated.

"Why not, what kind of magic does he use?" Matsuhide wondered.

"A primordial spell as old as demons themselves," X stated.

"What!?" Matsuhide explained.

"Don't you feel it? This uneasy feeling floating in the air a brutal, cold and sinister feeling erupting like an onslaught of despair?" X smiled. "If you were to tune your scanners to it's wavelength they would go off all around the city. This is the magic of the human soul. The only reason it's still here is because the user couldn't harvest the entirety of it." X explained.

"What do you mean?" Matsuhide asked with a shocked expression.

"He was trying to devour their souls," X explained.

Matsuhide staggered a half-step, fear and confusion stiffening his features. Sirens moaned far off; closer in, the paramedics' zippers whispered as they secured straps.

"What kind of," he paused. "What kind of demon is he contracted to?" he asked.

"One of the three primordial demons, the primordial demon of the soul, Prometheus," X expression suddenly turned grim.

Matsuhide's phone rang, a sharp insect buzz against the damp quiet.

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat, stepping back a few paces to answer.

X stood alone with Viktor's covered form, eyes on the outline beneath the sheet. He thought of family—children waiting for footsteps that would not return—and weighed again the cost of a knight's oath: glory measured against an empty chair at a dinner table. At least this death had been painless, swift; among knights, that was a kind of mercy.

"WHAT!" Matsuhide screamed. "Alright, understood." He slid the phone into his suit pocket and returned to X. "We were ordered to return to outpost 17 as soon as possible."

"Oh, what happened?" X asked.

"Arthur has been found," Matsuhide stated.

"A diversion," X sighed.

"Without a doubt," Matsuhide said, lifting his gaze to the low gray sky where rain had thinned to mist—the city holding its breath again, waiting for the next move on a board that was already slick with consequence.