Tim Marquitz - Armageddon Bound

I stopped my thought process there. There were just some things that didn’t need to be imagined. I was treading dangerously close.

After a minute of awkward silence and her glancing about the room as I wandered about inside my head, she got down to business. “As you know, Abraham sent me to check the gates.” She laid out a small map of the city on the coffee table. I waited a few seconds after her voice trailed off, but it didn’t seem like she intended to continue. “And?”

Her eyes focused. “The gates themselves are stable. I sense no abnormal fluctuation in them. It would appear nothing of any significance has passed between the dimensions recently.” She tugged at the ends of her black hair for a bit before starting again, her other hand tapping at the map. “However, I have located three points off the grid where I believe the dimensional wall has been breached. I feel as though some great psychic trauma has been inflicted in these places, but I cannot be certain as to what caused it.”

Rachelle’s face was lined with doubt, the creases deep.

“Why not?” I’d never seen her look so uncertain.

“Something interferes with my senses. I feel it pushing back against me, distorting my perception like nothing ever has before. One moment I can feel the Demonarch’s presence seeping through, the next there’s nothing; a void. This is not natural.” She looked at the ceiling, her hand held up drawing invisible symbols in the air. “Though I cannot determine what lurks behind these abnormalities, I can be certain of one thing. There is much power to be found there; a dark, malign power.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “Great.”

She pointed again to the map, her finger lingering at each location in turn. “The occurrences happened in that order, each two days apart. The last occurred sometime today.”

“So you’re thinking they’re connected and might happen again?”

Rachelle nodded as she rose to leave. I stood as well. She gestured to the table. “Seek out these breaches and find out what’s behind them. I’ve informed Katon, so expect his assistance as soon as he is able.” She turned away from me.

She waved her hand and I felt a sudden rush of magical energy coalesce inside the room. I took a step back as a tear began to open in the dimensional wall. Bright colors flooded out of the crack as it widened. Sparks of energy fluttered along the seams until the hole was large enough to accommodate Rachelle. I could see one of the DRAC offices through the shimmering veil of the tear.

“Be careful,” she told me as she stepped into the portal. Once through, it closed as quickly as it had opened. A breath later, it was as if she’d never been there.

I rubbed my eyes to clear the spots that had sprung up from witnessing the dimensions merging. Once I could see clearly again, I looked to the map.

I growled when I realized where the markers were. Not surprisingly, all three locations were deep inside Old Town. If something bad was gonna happen, you could pretty much guarantee Old Town was where it’d go down.

Distraction over, I felt my injuries crying out for attention. I pulled my bloody and torn sweat jacket off with a grunt and dropped it on the floor beside the now empty beer bottle. My shirt followed. I examined my arm and hand, both cuts deep and festering. An unhealthy blackness bubbled in the wounds like heated tar. I went to the bathroom and looked at my back in the mirror. The cut, while long, wasn’t very deep. I sighed, grateful for small favors.

I hated magically-forged weapons.

It’s bad enough my ex-wife sent a bunch of goons after me, but to arm them with the tools to allow them to actually kill me, was going too far. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to hunt her down and wring her gorgeous succubus neck. I promised myself though, if I managed to avert Armageddon before it got too far along, I’d make the time.

Pushing away my petty, but oh so satisfying thoughts of revenge, I went to the bedroom. I walked to the back corner of the room and moved my nightstand to the side. Lifting the carpet below it, I rolled it back to reveal the tiled under-floor. I tapped on the corner of one of the innocuous tiles and it popped up, then I set it to the side. From the hole beneath it, I plucked out a small, felt Crown Royal bag. With my prize in hand, I went to the bed and sat down.

From the bag, I pulled out a handful of small, glass vials rubber-banded together. I slipped one loose and set the rest gently on the bed. I shook the tube and watched as the reddish-black liquid roiled inside, moving about within the vial like a lava lamp. Once it settled, I popped the rubber stopper off and took a sip. In an instant, I felt a surge of energy as the blood-Lucifer’s blood-ran down my throat. I replaced the rubber stopper as quickly as I could, my hands twitching like an epileptic’s all the while. I set the vial down just as the shakes started to wrack my body. A moment later, it felt like my skin was on fire. Sharp, tingling spurs of agony danced across my body as the blood took hold. And as fast as they started, the pain and shakes ended. A warm tickle replaced the rest, its fingers fluttering soothingly over my flesh. Goose pimples broke out everywhere as the warmth settled into my crotch. I shuddered as I felt myself harden against my will. A moment later, the feeling drifted off into a vague numbness. I drew in a deep breath and let it out in a loud sigh of relief. I looked to my arm and watched as the wound churned, a healthy redness creeping in to evict the black. In the span of minutes, the sickly darkness had been cleansed away and the cut began to pull itself closed. I examined my palm and the same process had nearly finished there, only a pulsating red line remained. I stretched, testing my back, the shallower wound already healed. A moment later, the other two were closed as well, leaving behind no trace of injury. The pain passed as well. I gave silent thanks to my uncle, wherever he was. The blood had been a gift from Lucifer given to me long ago when the roles of demons and angels had been more clearly defined.

“All things in their place,” he would say. I longed for those days. Life had been so much easier when I knew who my enemies were. These days it was everyone for themselves. Trust was a commodity traded on the open market, to be bought and sold on a whim. Ambition had become the new religion whose dogma had no place for compassion or mercy. No wonder God and Satan left.

My mood soured by the day’s events, I decided work was the best distraction. I bundled up my uncle’s gift, leaving the partially used vial out, and returned the rest to their hiding place. They had more uses than just healing and it was comforting to have one close at hand. I never knew what kind of trouble might pop up, so it was best to be prepared for anything. I took a quick shower to wash away the blood and dressed for action. Black pants, black T-shirt, black boots. Beneath the shirt I wore a thin, small-ringed mail shirt, which a LARP (Live Action Role Playing) pal of mine weaved together. While far from the best protection in the modern age of guns, it would help ease my mind should I run into any more of my ex’s cronies. Clothed, I checked to ensure my spare. 45’s were loaded, then slipped them into a double holster shoulder rig. I buckled an ammo belt on and covered it all up with a black jacket. I looked in the mirror and grinned, ready to rock. I threw the horns up and stuck my tongue out, head-banging.

Unable to think of an excuse to stay home any longer, I headed out. Since I couldn’t tear open a dimensional portal, which would transport me in a blink of an eye like certain other people, I took the car. Blasting Cradle of Filth’s, Godspeed on the Devil’s Thunder, I rode out.