by Don Dadda
The battle of good vs evil continues.....
| Yes you can. Said a voice in his head. And I know how. Let me help you. Born froze for second. He knew who it was, he was just surprised the creature would reveal itself after all this time. Well, time for introductions, Born figured. |
“Who and what the fuck are you, and why would you help me?” asked Born.
You know who I am, and what I am. Does it matter? Without me, you would be dead. If you want to get to the ones who erased your friends mind, you need me. And if you help me get what I want, I can undo what was done to your friend. Do we have an arrangement? Born knew his back was against the wall, and he knew he had no choice.
“Ok, what do we do?” asked Born.
Watch, human. M’vilitz took over, walked over to Tab’s body, regarded it for a moment, then , in energy form, the alien passed from Borns body to Tab’s and entered him. Born came back to himself, got up, and came face to face with Tab.
M’vilitz/Tab smiled at Born, but Born wasn’t ready to kiss and make up.
“You son of a bitch. You been rambling around in my head for a month, and you made me kill that girl, Daisy. And now you’ve taken my partners body, and I’ve seen what happens to bodies you use.” Born drew his Glock 19 in a flash and pointed it at M’vilitz/Tab’s head. “Why shouldn’t I give you Excedrin headache # 9milimeter right now and handle the rest myself?” If M’vilitz would have known what a laugh was, he would have doubled over doing so.
“Number one, you couldn’t shoot your partners body if you desired to, and two, what makes you think I would let you?” with a suddenness that surprised him, Born found himself irresistibly turning his gun on himself and putting the barrel in his own mouth. M’vilitz still had powers that he, Born, could not understand, and talking instead of shooting when dealing with this, this thing was a mistake. Born would remember that from now on. M’vilitz released his hold on Born and faced him again.
“Do we have an arrangement, Detective Born?” Asked the alien. Born stared at the gun that was just in his mouth and that was still in his hand.
“Uh, sure, sure we do. So what the hell do I call you anyway?” Asked Born.
Just call me M.” The alien replied.
Tala paced back and forth in the hotel suite, fuming. This damn situation was out of control. That alien was stronger than anything she had ever met. Even stronger than her. Nothing should have survived the mental attack she had leveled at it. Marla sat quietly, remembering her place and not getting in Tala’s way. It was bad enough that they had had to run to stay alive, which Tala hated, but they had apparently done no damage at all to the thing. In the world of witches, many different species of life were known about that average humans knew nothing of, and many aliens had visited earth, some were even on good terms with the High covenant, but this one was strange to Tala. But maybe not to others. Tala would put in a call to her superiors, though she hated to call them that, and await an answering callback. Tabitha dead. Shane dead. She would have to stand before the council and explain this, adding to the embarrassment she already felt.
“What do we do now?” asked Marla, tired of sitting quietly. “It’s just the two of us now, and the alien is strong.”
“Yes, and don’t forget the Werewolf is still out there too,” said Tala. “We are going to need some guidance from the council on this. I will make the call, you prepare what we need for battle, that alien cannot be allowed to run free.” Tala lifted the phone and dialed. She spoke briefly to the voice that answered, then hung up and paced some more, waiting for the phone to ring and receive instructions.
In a dark room in a highly secured building somewhere in Washington D.C. a phone rang. It was answered by a man sitting naked before a horned statue. He listened for a while, and then he smiled an evil smile, and hung up. It was time to take a trip. To Ipsilanti, MI.
Tala almost jumped out of her skin when the phone rang. She answered it quickly, not talking, just listening. Marla watched as Tala’s face went pale, and her hand started shaking. She answered a few questions then hung up.
“What is it?” asked Marla, “What’s wrong, Tala?”
“The Children are being called in, and a Chosen will lead them.” Said Tala, struggling to show no fear.
“A Chosen.” Repeated Marla as she sat down heavily. “Hell is coming to Ipsi.”
The Chosen are Satan’s handpicked favorites. Humans that have sold their souls to the devil for richer lives and a belief that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. Throughout history, although known to only a few, The Chosen have been responsible for some of mankind’s worse atrocities. Some crimes they commit themselves, but the more notable ones are the ones they inspire innocent humans to commit. The love of the Roman Empire for crucifixions, Hitler’s gas chambers, and the constant genocide committed across the African continent. Though the love inspiring mayhem, they can also physically do great damage. The Chosen are strong, way stronger than any normal human. They have a bloodlust to put some vampires to shame, though they just like to see it spilled. But they are not above drinking some every now and then. Most magic spells have no effect on them, and fire does absolutely no harm to them at all. Fire is the Chosen’s servant. They are able to take great damage to their bodies and still wreak havoc among those they call enemy. They twist the minds of the weak and test the faith of the strong. Satan’s Priests, alive on earth.
The Children of Satan are a large group. You can find them defiling neighborhood churches and cemeteries. Usually young people, mislead into Satan’s service, or drawn there by the darkness that lurks in all humans. In small groups, usually leaderless, The Children do no more that vandalism, hate crimes, and occasionally the wild shooting spree that ends up with the Child dead just in time to make the nightly news. But in large numbers, under a leader that has Satan’s favor, they can be dangerous. Eager to please Satan and move up higher in the ranks, they can be a determined foe. Under a Chosen, they can be an army.
Chaz watched the young couple pass the weed he had sold them and guzzle the beer they had bought at the store before stopping here, in a dark parking lot behind a coin operated laundry mat. It was secluded, dark, and perfect for what Chaz had in mind. He raised his head and sniffed the warm night air, filling his nose with the scent of human flesh. It was great being a werewolf. Everything was better. He could see in the dark, and see farther than any normal man. He could smell a drop of blood from a mile away. And it helped that the young lady he was watching was on her monthly cycle. Fresh bloody pussy, ummm that outta be delicious! He had to be careful, though. Orders from Derrick himself were no hunting in the city until told otherwise, but Chaz didn’t quite give a fuck what Derrick Cane thought. Before Derrick had showed up with his infectious bite and his damn orders, Chaz had run things. It had been his gang, and his bar. His town. And it would be again sooner or later, just let Cane slip once. So for now Chaz would play the good little soldier and act like he was down, but he would eat on the side, when he wanted too. Chaz saw the couple looking like they might be about to leave, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. He grinned as he let himself change, ribs expanding, claws elongating, hair growing all over. With a speed and stealth that would make a hunting lion jealous, the Chaz thing charged.
Layla giggled as her boyfriend Jeff nuzzled her neck as they sat on a curb behind the laundry mat. She pushed him off, because she didn’t want him to get too excited when she couldn’t do anything sexual anyway. Jeff came right back at her, kissing and groping. Layla rolled her eyes and while doing so caught a glimpse of something moving fast toward them from the brush in the alley across the parking lot. At first she thought it was a dog, but it was too big for that. Then she saw the teeth and claws gleaming and she screamed. Jeff, startled by Layla’s scream, turned and saw the werewolf and added his scream to hers as death rushed at them. The Chaz-wolf leapt, fully intent on a quick kill and a slow dinner, when suddenly a strong thin rope whipped around his neck and yanked him back, landing him/it on its back. The werewolf recovered quickly, bounding back to its feet and turning to its adversary wildly crazed at the thought of anything interfering with its will. And there stood Aaron Cross, re-coiling the whip he had used to halt the werewolf’s charge, encased in all leather with a leather trench coat, and his white collar showing his priesthood. It was not the fashionable leather people wear every day, but rather leather even tougher than that worn by motorcyclists for protection against falls on the road. Cross looked to Layla and Jeff.
“Run. Now” he said to them. They didn’t need telling twice. As the lover’s footsteps faded into the distance, the werewolf attacked. It went down on all fours and rushed at Cross with blinding speed. At the last instant, Cross sidestepped the creatures rush, spun in a tight circle and slammed a knife, complete with silver blade, deep into the Chaz-things back as it rushed by. The werewolf stumbled, fell, and, it’s own momentum working against it, skidded across the lot to crash into the laundry mat wall. The howl of pain the werewolf let go was heard for miles around. The wolf stood and pulled the smoking dagger from its back. With a roar, it charged Cross again. This time the werewolf was more careful. As it charged , it jukked to one side , then the other, changing direction from second to second until it’s attack came from an awkward angle and caught Cross slightly off guard. The wolf’s raking claw attack caught Cross on the lower right calf muscle, sweeping his legs from under him, landing him on his back. The wolf reached down with one clawed hand and pulled Cross up by this neck, lifting him off his feet and bringing him eye to eye with it. The wolf bared its teeth in Cross’s face and emitted a low growl, preparing bite his face off. The only warning the werewolf had that it was in trouble was the click it heard as Cross cocked the hammer back on the sawed-off double barrel shotgun he had slung over his shoulder under the leather trench coat. Cross whispered into the enraged face of the wolf.
“Hell calls, Satan spawn.” Cross pulled the trigger, and silver buckshot entered the werewolf’s chest and exited his back, taking its heart and most of its lungs with them. The wolf was blown backwards ten feet and landed in a wet splash of blood. As Cross walked over to the creature, it began reverting into its human form. Cross began making plans for the body, but suddenly the quiet night was shattered yet again, but this time it was the wail of police sirens, and not the howl of a werewolf. Cross could see the flash of red and blue lights splashed all over the nighttime landscape. Cross faded into the dark.
Born and M’vilitz sat in the police station at their desks, Born at his, M’vilitz at Tabanski’s . It had been agreed that M’vilitz should assume Tab’s life, so they could operate openly as cops. Born sat at his desk half scanning recent police reports and half peeking at M’vilitz out of the corner of his eye. An alien. A fucking alien. Tab was an alien. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this shit? And could he even trust it? How did he know that it wouldn’t kill him the moment it got what it wanted? Or get him killed trying to get it? Born glanced at M’vilitz again and found the alien staring at him.
“You need not fear, Detective Born. I have no intentions on killing you. Unless you try to stop me. I do not advise that course of action.” Said the alien. Born swallowed hard, sure now that the alien could read his mind. Born was about to ask the alien if he really could read minds when his train of thought was interrupted by loud yelling. Born glance over his shoulder at the booking desk to see a young couple both talking at the same time to the intake officer, who looked confused and amused at the same time. Born turned back to M’vilitz, determined to set some things straight with the alien, until he heard the word Werewolf yelled by the young couple he had just mentally dismissed. Born and M’vilitz locked eyes, then jumped up to go question the youngsters. Now they would find a clue.
Born stood over the body, wondering if this was a dead man or a dead werewolf. The body was still warm, though it was cooling fast in the night air. A returning patrol car had been near enough during whatever happened to hear the shotgun blast, so they investigated, and found the body, still twitching. Born noted a few strange hairs and had the forensics team collect them as evidence, but he was sure they would say it wasn’t human hair. As he turned to go back to the car, he saw M’vilitz standing a few yards away, staring into the wooded area behind the laundry mat, intent on something. Born walked over to the alien, ready to tell it it was time to go. He still couldn’t think of the alien as a “him”. Before born could say a word, M’vilitz spoke.
“We are being watched, Detective Born.” Said M’vilitz. With a nod towards the woods, M’vilitz indicated the direction Born should look in. Born looked in the indicated direction without really seeming to. The sight was only there for a second, but Born saw it. Four pinpoints of light peering out from the woods. Yellow eyes reflecting the lights of the police cars and ambulances. Just that quick they were gone, but Born knew what he was seeing. There was more than one Werewolf in Ipsi.
Cane stared at the two naked women sprawled across his bed. Yeah mon ! He thought to himself. His body ached sweetly from the marathon sex he had enjoyed last night. And the night before. His chest swelled as the feeling of power infused him until it seemed he would burst out of the small room above the bar he had taken over. Life was good now. Great. Who would believe that just a few short months ago he had been a homeless bum, going from city to city, afraid to even look up fellow immigrants from the isle of Jamaica, as was the standard when one made it to the States, because of his unfortunate run-in with a Werewolf somewhere in Florida. But look at him now. He owned a bar, ran a gang of drug-selling Werewolves, and held the magic black stone that made him stronger with every passing day. Glancing around the room, Cane took in the small , now inadequate bed the women slept on, the scared and burned coffee table, the ratty little couch, and the make shift kitchen table that still had a light dusting of cocaine over it from the all-week-party. He could remember when compared to the hovel he grew up in Jamaica, this was a palace. But now it didn’t seem to fit him. Why should he not have a nice little house, and some fine clothes? He didn’t need jewelry, the black stone that he now kept on a gold chain around his neck, was all he needed. Why not? A nice new bike too. Cane walked over to the refrigerator and collected himself a beer, all wrapped up in thoughts of the things he would buy, never for a second even realizing the thoughts were being pushed on him from a place other than his own brain. He was totally wrapped up in his fantasies when his cell phone began to ring. Slightly pissed at his thoughts being interrupted, Cane went and retrieved his phone and answered it. It was Tank, one of his gang members, and that meant Slick was probably standing next to him. Those two were inseparable. There was a problem, and they needed to meet with him, now. Cane agreed and hung up. They probably did have news for him, but he didn’t trust them. He already knew they were skimming off the profits. And that they were more loyal to Chaz than to him. Maybe it was time to remind the troops that He was the boss.
The house was located on the notorious south side of Ipsilanti. It was bordered on two sides by vacant lots, and it was backed up against a twenty-foot wall that separated the community from the I-94 freeway, giving a perfect view of all approachable ways to the house, which is why it was chosen. It was a big house, five bedrooms, three stories, and a basement, a house meant for a big family. Given the nickname “The ice cream shop”, the house had been the processing center for the gang known as the Spiders for three years. Derrick Cane had been considering changing the name of the gang to the Wolves since he had taken over, but he didn’t want to do anything to draw unnecessary attention to his new position. Cane stood on the wall behind the house and looked down on it, eyes swirling from yellow to purple as he felt his anger rise. Tank and Slick were supposed to be there alone, but Cane could smell five others from where he stood. Cane also smelled something else: a trap. He smiled a smile that would make a freight train change directions. Derrick stepped off the wall and dropped the twenty feet into the backyard, landing unnaturally lightly and walking up to the backdoor, totally unnoticed, though he figured they had the street covered from the lookout spot in the attic. Time to set an example.
Tank and Slick paced the floor in the dining room worriedly. They new Cane was tough, not to be underestimated, so they had backup, a few gang members that they knew were still more loyal to Chaz than Cane. This was where they, Slick and Tank, felt the safest for the talk they would have with Cane, just to make him see things they’re way. The gang needed fresh leadership, and though Cane was a strong leader, he left something to be desired when it came to paying fairly, they thought. Not to mention the whole werewolf thing, though it did give the gang certain perks that helped them out. Like the great sense of smell. Everyone in the room smelled Cane two seconds before he walked in, but they had expected far more in the way of warning than just two seconds. Cane strode in, dreadlocks freshly oiled, new leather trench coat flared out behind him, black Gortex boots shined and matching black silk shirt and black denim jeans pressed and dry cleaned, and a black/purple stone on a gold chain around his neck that for some reason drew the eye yet was hard to look at. All talk stopped, and the rest of the wolves in the room felt humbled by Derricks presents, puppies in the presents of a lion. Derrick stared at them each in turn, daring them to speak with his eyes. None could hold his gaze for longer than a second, except Tank and Slick. As Cane had thought, these two were the problem, the others just followers. Lesson time. Cane walked over to the table were three others of the gang sat doing lines of cocaine. Derrick bent over and did a line himself, tasted some, and nodded to the gang members.
“Damn man, we sellin shit that pure?” he asked, feeling the effects quickly. “No wonder we puttin them other fools out of business!” The others laughed, felling that everything was cool now, the Boss seemed to be in a good mood. All except the main two. Cane could feel the tension blasting from their bodies in waves. They wouldn’t back down, as Cane hoped they would, they made great lieutenants, but dissention in the ranks was not to be tolerated. So Cane proceeded.
“Alright mon, what’s the bloodclot problem then?” said Cane.
“We think you should know Chaz is dead. But that ain't the only problem, we wanna re-negotiate our whole werewolf-slash-gang banger-slash dope dealer-work for you arrangement man,“ said Tank, who stood as tall as Cane, about six feet, but outweighed Cane by fifty pounds or so, putting him at about two hundred and thirty pounds of solid jail-time earned muscle. Slick was smaller, about five foot eight and weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, but was just as jail taught and bred as Tank. Slick stood and walked over to stand beside Tank. Cane blinked as he heard about Chaz. Tank and Slick told Cane what they had seen, not even leaving out that Chaz had been hunting without permission.
“Yeah homeboy,” said Slick, looking Cane up and down, admiring the new clothes, “We wanna get fresh too, dude.” Cane smiled and shook his head. He hated when white boys tried to talk black.
“Anything else?” asked Cane as he positioned himself in a spot where he was purposely surrounded by the gang and far removed from any route of escape. As he new would happen, Tank kept talking while Slick began to circle him slowly, as though he was just pacing. Cane decided to get it over with quickly, so the rest of them could get back to making his money. Cane cut Tank off mid sentence.
“No. No talking , no negotiating, no nothing mon. I’m the head nigga in charge here! Now, what you say to that mon??” It happened fast. Far faster than anyone there thought possible, except Cane. Slick’s clothes ripped as he transformed, going from human to werewolf in seconds, followed closely by Tank. In seconds, and in a planned and practiced way, Cane found himself standing between two fully transformed werewolves, and he in his human form. With a growl, they attacked, the Slick-thing going low for a hamstring move, and the Tank-thing going for the throat. Both creatures were surprised when they’re teeth clamped down on air and they slammed into each other right were Cane was. Had been. When they bounced to their feet, Cane was at the table doing another line, much to the surprise of even the three sitting at the table. The werewolves attacked again, this time coming straight at him to make sure they didn’t miss. The stone at Canes throat blazed a purple/black light, matching the glow in his eyes. Cane inhaled deeply, and roared. It was not just a roar. It was a sonic blast with the effect of three military grade concussion grenades. The attacking werewolves took the brunt of the blast, but everyone in the house was affected. Tank and Slick were blown out of the room, through a wall, and into the kitchen. They landed in a heap, blood pouring from their eyes and ears, and they lay stunned in a furry heap as Cane walked up. He clamped his hand around Tanks throat and lifted him from the ground with one hand. The stunned werewolf’s bleeding eyes blinked as they tried to focus on Cane. Cane smiled as he realized the creature could somewhat see him.
“ Good, you can see me. You should have kept quiet. I knew Chaz was fuckin up, but I had hoped to save you two.” said Cane through clenched teeth. “Now you will serve as a lesson to the others. Now I know how God felt when Lucifer turned on him. I hate to kill my own children, but I’ll do what God should have done.” Cane slammed his hand into Tanks chest, through his chest, and out of his back clutching Tanks heart, still beating. As Cane through down Tanks remains and grabbed hold of slick, the wolf still stunned, Cane heard movement behind him. He turned to see two of the cocaine sniffing gang bangers leaning in the doorway, watching, though the bleeding ears meant they’re hearing was quite impaired. Cane’s teeth elongated as he tore Slick’s heart out and bit into it. He stared at the gang banger and issued an order.
“Tell them all, I’m the Boss!”