The Hammer of War, Chapter 28

I walked. The city slept. Dark roads and alleys lay empty under dim streetlamps. I’d see a passing car sometimes, headlights carving brief tunnels of light. Then nothing again. Every once in a while I’d see familiar faces. They didn’t see me. I didn’t want them to.

For an hour or more, I roamed. The pavement under my boots felt rough, cracked in places. Dad often said that Portland seemed like an entirely different world at night. He must’ve been talking about all of this. Flickering neon signs pointed nowhere I cared about. Bars shut their doors. People whispered in corners, but I heard no mention of devils or daemons. I tried to keep my hood low, face hidden. My jacket was no longer covered in dried blood, but I couldn’t rightly claim to be presentable.

I turned, found a narrow alley. Shadows pooled in the corners, the smell of rotting trash in my nose. I stepped in, scanning. I heard a shuffle. Some man in a ragged hoodie loomed near a trembling figure. A would-be mugging. The mugger had a knife. The victim's purse clutched tight in fear.

I didn't hesitate. I approached in silence. My hand found the [Las Pistol] at my side. I wasn’t going to kill him. He didn’t deserve to die–as far as I was concerned. But guns were scary things to see at night. The mugger spun around, knife brandished. He saw my face and froze. I stepped closer, letting him see the gun in my hand, the certainty in my eyes. Our eyes locked for a moment.

He swallowed, dropping the knife. He sprinted off, stumbling over trash and screaming curses. The victim stood there trembling, purse clutched so hard her knuckles went white. She tried to speak. No words came through her lips. Not a sound. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

I nodded once, then turned and left.

Somewhere else, another alley. Some group huddled in the shadows. I smelled smoke. Sharp chemical tang of meth or some street drug. They raised bleary eyes to me, but I walked by. The deals they made meant nothing to me. They posed no threat. Wherever humanity gathered, vices were sure to follow. 

I checked each corner, each dead-end. I found graffiti, old crates, sometimes a homeless person asleep under newspapers. No sign of devils, no sign of Helena or anything like her. I found a pair of drunks bickering over spilled liquor. A cat picking through a dumpster. That was all. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing inhuman.

So I drifted deeper. The moon sank lower. The glow of distant buildings rose. At times, I'd see a swirl of color from a passing taxi or a late-night bus. I'd check an alley, I'd see only stone and filth. I'd check a side street, I'd see only broken lights.

I started to think I'd find nothing at all.

Then I heard music throbbing from a club. I walked closer, saw a line of people outside. Bouncers at the door. Men and women in flashy clothes. The neon sign blinked overhead, half the letters burnt out, but the place was alive. I slowed, scanning the crowd.

Nothing special. Just humans wanting a good time. I crept away, circling the building. The back door was shut, a bored guard lighting a cigarette. I left him alone.

I wandered on, crossing another intersection. The city lights shimmered across puddles in the street. A thousand shapes of color. My body felt strong, but my mind was restless.

An hour passed. Maybe more. My phone read 1:47 AM. I kept going.

Then I saw them. A couple stepping from a club. The woman leaned on the man's shoulder, face slack with booze. The man was tall, a black coat draped over narrow shoulders. His eyes glowed faintly in the club’s neon spillage. I frowned. No one else seemed to notice that glow. The man led her by the elbow, guiding her into the night. She giggled, half-limp, letting him direct her path.

I followed.

They walked down a short row of closed shops, passing under dead streetlights. The woman's laughter died away as the man whispered something in her ear. She nodded dully. My boots scraped the sidewalk in pursuit, quiet but firm. They reached a narrow alley not far from a broken lamp. The man guided her inside.

I paused at the alley mouth, peering around the corner. He pressed her against the wall. I saw them kiss, lips meeting in the dimness. Her arms hung limp, no fervor in her posture. He leaned down, brushed her hair aside, set his mouth at her neck. A moment of stillness. Then I saw him bite. She made a soft moan, but didn't scream, didn't flail. Unnatural.

I stiffened. The man’s mouth latched onto her neck. She sagged against him, eyes half-lidded. The man’s pupils glowed a sharp red for an instant. Blood. He was feeding on her blood, draining her life. A vampire. Inhuman. 

I stepped forward, heart pounding. I drew the [Las Pistol]. Her breathing grew faint, an unnatural calm in her eyes. The vampire drank with such wild abandon that I thought he’d drain her, throwing caution to the wind. That was his mistake.

I moved into the alley. The vampire turned, eyes narrowing. I saw his fangs, long and stained red, glistening in the gloom. He hissed. The woman hung in his grip, limp as a rag doll, no fight in her. The vampire's lips curled back. He was about to snarl or pounce.

I exhaled, activating my [Blank] aura at full force.

In an instant, color drained from the scene. My aura rippled outward, the shadows turning sharp and gray. The vampire's eyes widened, the glow extinguished like a candle in the wind. He let out a retching sound, dropping the woman. She slumped to the ground, not screaming, just unconscious.

He stumbled, choking on something unseen. I saw him convulse, one hand at his throat, the other bracing the wall. A black fluid—his own blood—cascaded from his nose, mouth, eyes. He tried to speak, but only gurgles emerged. He clawed at the bricks, leaving smears of thick gore.

I watched, brow furrowing. I didn’t expect such a violent reaction. He collapsed, curled up, trembling in the filth. My aura hammered him, life and magic draining from his form.

I frowned. I'd wanted him subdued, not dead–at least, for now. So I toggled [Blank] off. The effect receded. The color bled back into the alley. The vampire gasped, blood spattering his chin. He lay still, unconscious or close to it. The woman lay nearby, breathing shallow but alive. No obvious wounds except the bite.

I sighed, kneeling by her side. Her pulse fluttered in her neck. Her eyes shut, but she seemed stable. She might wake soon. I'd risk calling an ambulance, but I'd prefer not to stir up questions. Still, she was a victim, mind controlled or enthralled. I'd do something.

I pulled out my phone, typing a quick message to the local paramedics line, something anonymous. Then I stepped away, leaving her in the open. The ambulance would find her. I'd guess they'd chalk it up to an assault or drug overdose. She’d live, and I'd spare the city further mysteries.

The vampire was another matter. He lay on his back, face streaked with dried blood. He'd come to eventually. I had questions. Possibly, he knew something about Helena or the local supernatural network. I'd force answers out of him if necessary. At the very least, the [Tempestus Scions Training] included the ways with which one might bring pain, though I wasn’t sure how effective such methods were against a vampire.

I looked around. The alley was quiet. The woman’s shallow breaths continued. Far off, I heard sirens, maybe cops or an ambulance. I had little time. I knelt, seizing the vampire by his shoulders. My new strength made hauling him easier. I lifted him like dead weight, ignoring the sticky blood that smeared my arms. He moaned but remained limp.

I carried him out of the alley, leaving the woman behind. I slipped down a side street, searching for an abandoned place. This city had more than enough deserted warehouses or shuttered factories. I found a locked gate. I forced it open with a grunt, the metal snapping under my own inhuman strength. The place beyond the fence was a run-down storage facility, windows boarded up with mangled plywood. Perfect.

I entered, boots crunching over broken glass. The smell of dust and mold. My phone's flashlight guided me through a wide, empty floor scattered with debris. Rusty metal poles rose in the gloom, once supporting shelving or equipment. I set the vampire down, propping him against a wall. He groaned, head lolling. I rummaged in my [Inventory] for rope or duct tape. I'd stashed some supplies there, after all, before leaving home, including a bunch of random items that–at the time–I figured I might need eventually.

I found a thick bundle of paracord and a roll of tape. I began tying the vampire to a metal beam, winding the paracord tight around his torso and arms. He twitched, blinking half-lidded eyes. I taped his wrists to the beam, then his ankles. He tried to speak, coughed up a clot of blackish blood.

I stepped back, crossing my arms. The warehouse lay silent, dust motes drifting in my phone's faint glow. The vampire's eyes flicked open, reflecting a dull red. He tested the bonds, found them secure. He growled, fangs bared.

I waited.

He snarled, tugging at the rope. Nothing budged. He hissed words in some unknown language, then spat a glob of blood at my feet. I said nothing. Just watched.

He stared at me, eyes trembling, fear or rage flickering in them. 

“Let me go,” he rasped. His voice wavered.

I took a step closer, shining the phone's light on his face. He squinted, wincing at the glare. Dried blood clotted his nose and lips. He parted them, fangs half-extended. He tried to speak again, but I raised a hand.

“You attacked that woman,” I said, voice calm. “You tried draining her. She’d have died if I hadn’t come.”

He grimaced, looking away. A growl built in his chest, but no words.

I knelt, meeting his gaze. 

“You’re a vampire,” I said. “You do that often.”

He bared his fangs again, no retort.

I adjusted the rope near his shoulder, making sure it was tight. Then I exhaled, letting a fraction of my [Blank] aura seep out. A faint chill passed through the air. His eyes widened. He gasped, flinching as though I'd pressed a blade to his throat.

“That’s you,” he murmured, voice shaking. “You did something… Something that made me cough blood.”

I nodded, toggling the aura off again. “Yes. That’s me.”

He tried to speak, licked his lips. “What do you want?”

“Information.”

He glared, but I saw the flicker of fear. “I know nothing.”

I leaned in, letting him see my eyes. “I want to find a devil. A woman named Helena Stolas.”

He blinked. Confusion in his stare. “Never heard that name.”

“You’re sure.”

He nodded, swallowing. “I deal with my kind. Vampires. We don’t mingle much with devils.”

I gripped the rope near his face, pulling him closer. “Then who does? Where do I find them.”

He gulped, face twisting. “We have spots in the city. Supernatural hubs. Mixed crowds. Vampires, changelings, maybe devils. I can tell you one. That’s all.”

I loosened my grip a bit, letting him breathe. “Speak.”

He wet his lips, eyes darting left and right. “Old hotel. Near the river. Called Riverside Lodge. Abandoned on the outside, but we use it. Nightly gatherings sometimes. People trade info. Maybe devils come, maybe not. That’s all I have.”

I studied him, checking for lies. His pupils quivered. His breath shook. Possibly he told the truth. Possibly he told me a worthless lead. But I had nothing else.

He tugged the rope. “I gave you what you wanted. Let me go.”

I stared at him. He waited, breathing ragged. After a moment, I stood. I tore a strip of duct tape and plastered it over his mouth. He tried to yelp, but the tape muffled it.

His eyes bulged in alarm. He mumbled, “Ngh hmm go—”

I turned away, ignoring the frantic noise. He was stuck there. Maybe someone would find him eventually. Maybe not. I didn’t care. He’d recover or starve, or maybe the morning sun would leak in and fry him. Not my problem. He attacked that woman. Let fate judge him.

I shoved the tape roll back into my [Inventory]. Then I walked out, leaving him in the dark. His muffled cries echoed behind me. The warehouse door clanged shut