The Hammer of War, Chapter 32

I walked the narrow street that ran behind the City Skyline Hotel. The building soared, a modern tower of glass and steel. Lights glowed faintly in its upper windows. My phone read close to 1:00 a.m. The sidewalks sat empty, the usual city crowds long gone. A soft breeze ruffled my hoodie. I scanned the area, checking corners and ledges, measuring distance with my eyes.

To the east, a shorter office building stood almost level with the hotel's fifty-fifth floor. Both rose from the same block, separated by a small alley. I stepped around piled trash bins, then glanced up at the office tower. Its windows were dark. A sign above the door said REPOSE FINANCIAL, letters chipped and stained. I pressed the handle, found it locked. I twisted harder, hearing the lock snap. No alarms, or if there were, none that sounded.

Inside, I saw a cramped foyer with a single corridor. The faint reek of stale carpet. No doorman, no security lights. I found the stairs easily. Concrete steps wound up through the building’s center, each floor marked by a flickering bulb or a bare fixture. I started climbing, boots echoing in the silence. On the third floor, a battered window faced some cramped offices. On the tenth, the paint flaked in long strips. I trudged on, breath steady, not tiring.

At the twentieth floor, I paused to look out a dusty window. The city lights stretched below. The faint afterglow of that distant warehouse fire still flickered on the horizon. Red and orange tinted the low clouds. Sirens no longer screeched so loudly, but I could sense the tension in the air. I kept climbing.

Floor by floor, I ascended. The building wasn’t new. Rusted metal rails and chipped steps told me it had sat neglected. My phone read half past midnight. A faint mechanical hum suggested some leftover HVAC system. Finally, I reached a door labeled “ROOF ACCESS.” A chain locked it from the inside. I pried the chain off with a twist of my hand, letting the door swing open.

The rooftop lay deserted. A few old vents and a half-collapsed antenna. The city stretched in every direction, lights in the towers and the streets below. I turned, squinting at the high floors of the City Skyline Hotel. The gap between this rooftop and that level was maybe a dozen yards. The hotel’s exterior glass glinted under the glow of passing aircraft lights. I moved to the edge, leaning out to gauge the distance.

I caught sight of a row of balconies across from me. Each floor of the hotel had four suites, each with some form of balcony or extended window. That matched the intel. Four rooms to a floor. Helena was in one of them, specifically Suite 55A. I didn’t want to charge the lobby or rely on the elevator again. Instead, I'd try an approach from outside.

I unzipped my hoodie, freeing my arms. The jump looked feasible. My stats had soared well above mortal bounds. I flexed my shoulders, took a few steps back from the ledge. Then I ran forward, shoes pounding the rooftop. I sprang, arms pushing off the low wall at the edge. Air rushed past my ears. The building's side loomed. A row of balconies at about the same level.

I reached out. My fingers found a balcony railing. I caught it with a jerk, ankles scraping the building's exterior. A grunt left my throat as I hauled myself over the railing. My breath hissed through clenched teeth. Then I stood on the balcony floor, hunched to minimize my silhouette.

I steadied myself, pressing against the glass door. The lights inside the suite seemed off or very dim. The door was locked, but a small adjacent window had been left open a few inches, letting in the night air. I pried it wider, quiet as I could. An AC hum masked minor sounds. I slipped in headfirst, hands bracing on a carpeted floor. My knees followed, body contorted through the gap. One last twist, and I was inside.

I rose, scanning the darkness. A faint glow from streetlamps filtered through the glass door behind me. I made out the shapes of a bed, a couch, a table. The air smelled of perfume and stale sweat. I glimpsed a trash bin near a corner, the top of it crammed with used condoms and tissues. My eyes flicked to the floor around the bed. Clothes lay scattered, a tangle of men’s jeans and women's skirts. Probably a couple's affair. Or more than a couple, from the looks of it.

I crouched near a nightstand. My phone screen illuminated a glossy brochure for the City Skyline. The open folder read “Suite 55B,” in ornate lettering. So I'd guessed incorrectly. This was the B suite, not the A. No sign of occupant though. Possibly in the bathroom. Possibly out. I'd keep quiet.

I scanned the place more thoroughly. A few bags near the closet, half-zipped, stuffed with random items. A half-empty bottle of champagne on the table, glasses smudged. The bedroom door stood open, no occupant. The bathroom door lay ajar, the light off. I heard no water running. The suite was vacant.

I exhaled, stepping toward the main door. If B was here, then A was across the hall. I'd guess the elevator was in the center, so A would be close by. The hallway might have cameras, or none at all. I’d see soon.

I eased open the suite's door, letting my phone screen show me the corridor. Dim overhead lights. A plush carpet in a deep burgundy. No sign of activity. Four doors in total, one at each corner of the floor. The door to 55A was across from me on the same side, near the elevator alcove.

I caught a faint shimmer on 55A's frame, some ghostly flicker. A ward. My eyes narrowed. I'd faced wards before. Usually I'd pick a lock or try a stealth approach. But wards meant magic, meant I'd deal with them in kind.

I advanced quietly, each step sinking into the thick carpet. The ward crackled faintly, a swirl of runes etched into the wood. Possibly lethal. Possibly just an alarm. I'd not chance it. My [Blank] aura could dissolve magic if I cranked it high.

I paused, scanning the corners of the corridor. No cameras, no watchers. The building probably expected no infiltration at this hour. Good. I let out a breath, focusing inward. Summoned the power that dampened spells and snuffed wards. I activated [Blank] at full force.

A chill passed through the hallway. Colors dimmed, edges turning gray. The flicker around the door glowed once, then erupted in sparks. A hiss sounded. The runes flared bright red, then shattered into motes of dust. The entire door cracked with them, wood turning brittle as if centuries of decay rushed through it. In seconds, the ward crumbled, and the door followed.

Chunks of wood crumbled away, leaving an open entry. A swirl of stale air rushed out, carrying a faint smell of sulfur. My aura still raged around me. I heard muffled gasps from inside.

I stepped through the threshold, bits of dust and debris under my feet. The corridor opened into a small foyer of sorts, leading to a larger sitting area beyond. A low glow from a single lamp revealed three figures standing in a line, weapons or magic readied. They had crimson eyes, twisted horns or spines along their foreheads–most of them did, anyway. Their postures were tense. Devils. Or, at least, I assumed they were devils, since they certainly didn’t seem to be vampires.

One hissed through pointed teeth. 

“You dare,” he said in a voice that thrummed with resonance. Another stepped forward, brandishing a short, curved blade that gleamed with runic inscriptions. The third raised clawed hands, swirling with some dark power. “The blood suckers told us an assassin was coming. To think it’d be a filthy human.” 

They looked ready to leap. I toggled my aura a notch lower. I'd kill them or break them if they forced me. The first devil spat words. “We will protect the Mistress. You will not pass.”

I raised my [Las Pistol], the muzzle unwavering. My gaze flicked among them. Three devils, each different in shape but clearly aligned in purpose. The one with the blade had small goatlike horns sprouting from near his temples. The caster with swirling claws had eyes of solid black. The last one, behind them, was broad-shouldered, wearing a battered vest, fists clenched; he was the most human-looking out of all of them. But, what really grouped all three of them together were the small, bat-like wings protruding from their backs.

The goat-horned devil stepped forward. He tested the air, eyes flaring. I saw a slight tremor in his posture. The aura I'd unleashed had battered the ward. Now, even a lesser amplitude might hamper them.

He spoke again, voice tense. “We are prepared to die. The Mistress gave her orders.”

A drip of sweat rolled down his horn, though. I watched him clench his jaw, bracing for an attack. The caster to his side muttered something, forming a red sigil in the air. The big one cracked his knuckles, a faint demonic glow around them.

I said nothing, only stepped further into the suite. My boots ground door fragments underfoot. A faint swirl of dust drifted around me. The air reeked of brimstone now. Possibly they'd conjured it as a threat display.

The goat-horned devil lunged first, blade raised for a slash. I let the [Las Pistol] bark, a bright flash in the gloom. The shot struck his right shoulder, causing it to explode in a shower of blood and gore. He hissed in pain, stumbling to the floor, the smoking and steaming remnants of his right arm falling to the floor. Oddly, he did not scream or roar in pain despite all the agony about him. Was it because he was desperate not to disturb or awaken his mistress? 

The caster hurled a bolt of crackling red, aimed at my chest. I flicked my aura higher in that instant. The spell fizzled into a harmless ember, scattering before it reached me. He stared in shock.

I advanced on the goat-horned devil, side-stepping as he swung the blade again. Sparks flew from the rug. I smashed the pistol’s butt into his wrist. The blade clattered to the floor. Another shot, this time in his thigh. He buckled with a choked cry, dropping face-first onto the floor. I then shot him in the back of the head with the [Las Pistol], splattering skull and brain matter all over the place in a hissing, steaming explosion. Huh… I thought he’d be stronger. Just how strong is Helena compared to these guys?

Or was it my aura that was dampening their physical power? No idea. But I suppose I’d have to find out at some point just so I wasn’t kept in the dark about my own abilities.

The big devil roared, charging me. His fists glowed with blackish runes. He swung a haymaker. I ducked, felt the wind of it overhead. The training I'd gleaned from the [Tempestus Scions] kicked in, my stance shifting. I hammered the pistol butt into his ribs. He snarled. My aura swirled around him. He coughed up blackish spittle, eyes bulging. Then I hammered a second blow into his gut, before pulling the trigger and unleashing a single laser shot into his chest. His torso did not explode as I’d expected. Instead, blood and steam came gushing out of his mouth and nose before he slumped forward–probably dead. 

The caster saw his two allies downed, fear flickering across that blank stare. He turned, raising both hands. Another swirl of red lines. A stench of sulfur. I advanced, aura intensifying. The lines fizzled, his jaw dropping. He tried a final chant, but the words strangled in his throat. Blood seeped from his eyes. 

I guess none of them were prepared to deal with anything like a [Blank]. I raised the [Las Pistol] at him and fired a single shot. Something shimmered and then shattered around him, like crimson glass, falling apart and then dissipating. 

“Wow,” I said, huffing. “You guys are seriously weak.” 

And then, my eyes widened. 

This was bait.