Dawson City
Yukon Territory, Canada
Friday, November 23rd
Bree shivered, despite her multiple layers, as she exited the hotel. As a native Californian, she was not well suited to this northern weather. She remembered how she'd thought it cold when she had visited some of her father's family in Chicago one Christmas. That was mildly chilly compared to arctic blast that whipped around her now.
She had arrived the previous night and checked into the room she'd reserved so she could get out this morning and get a look at the Endron facility. She had been worried that she would be conspicuous, but despite the miniscule size of this small and isolated town compared to Los Angeles sprawl no one paid her any attention.
Protesters inundated Dawson City and local businesses were struggling to keep up with demand from visitors. A large group of activist who had been camping out just off Endron land regularly rotated back to the town to recover from roughing it in the bitter Canadian wilderness. Fresh protesters were always ready to take their place. However, it wasn't just the normal crop of environmentalists that usually dogged Endron. This time, the 'eco nuts' were joined by a group of history and archaeology students from Miskatonic University, who were incensed by Endron's seizing of ancient artifacts discovered at their drilling site. And these were not just well intentioned, idealistic students. Several members of the school's faculty had come to help evaluate a few of the artifacts and to verify the protesters claim that the site was of archaeological value.
News services, both Canadian and international, had shown up to get a quick story, further filling the town and putting an even greater strain on guest services. As Bree watched, a news van just outside the hotel was interviewing the unofficial leader of the Miskatonic group; a man by the name of Agam Singh. Just last night, Bree had seen him on television and casually run a few internet searches to check his background.
She was rather impressed by what she found. He was not an archaeologist himself but a sociologist. He had been at the forefront of organizing university efforts to get involved in 'esoteric' issues around the world. He had made the news in the past debunking false psychics, exposing cults, and shining light on hate groups. She was tempted to stop and listen to what the man was saying in his interview, but it was abysmally cold outside, and she was only going to get colder.
According to the documents the Dragon Blooded had given her, Endron had built an experimental pipeline in a torus connected to a small oil well. The locals were calling it the pipeline to nowhere. It was not meant to get the oil to a location, however, it was meant to be a test of the materials used in the pipeline's construction. A new form of Aerogel had been developed that was reported to be resistant to harsh weather while being stronger, lighter, and safer. If it lived up to its reputation, it would be a major breakthrough; one that vastly cut down on expensive spills, while, at the same time, reduced the frequency with which the pipes had to be replaced.
The Glass Walkers were not fooled. They had seen several false green initiatives spearheaded by the various Pentex companies that were meant to cash in on hype while funneling money away from truly revolutionary items. They also had seen Pentex sabotage true innovations to associate them with disasters to kill their funding.
While the corrupt corporation's motives were unknown this time around, it was known that the man in charge, who spent much of his time on site, Warren Hardy, had long been the go to guy for Pentex efforts to stymie the Glass Walkers. The very man who had been behind her father's death.
Bree got into her vehicle and prepared for the nearly day long drive out from Dawson City to the Pentex site. She had been able to get a permit to carry a weapon thanks in no small part to her ex-law enforcement background and connections within M.S.I. It was not, however, a concealed weapon permit. Bree had a handgun, rifle, and shotgun in carrying cases in the four wheel drive truck she had rented. She also had some advanced photography equipment. Her cover story was she was taking photos and had the weapons for defense should she encounter hostile wildlife.
Aside from her firearms, the other equipment she had was on loan from the Dragon Blooded and was of a quality beyond what could be purchased. They had equipped her with experimental, full color night vision digital camera that featured a wide range of spectrum filtering allowing one to peer into the ultraviolet and infrared. The zoom was not to be believed. She was confident she would be able to get some excellent reconnaissance of the site with these.
Once she knew what she was dealing with she would then make a plan to bring down the man in charge.
Wilderness Outside the Pentex Facility
The wolf stood on a snow covered hill clustered with trees. It sniffed the air before turning back. Not far away was shelter. The shelter was hard to see even to its alert eyes which knew what to seek. Upon reaching the refuge the wolf scratched at the hidden door which promptly opened. Mike eyed the wolf and tossed a towel down. "Don't get water everywhere. It's hard enough to keep the mud from getting into everything without you tracking in snow."
There shelter was a hollow space, carved by magic, into the frozen ground. Plastic sheeting made an attempt to keep the heat in and some sections clean of the mud. The heat of two bodies and the occasional bit of sorcery made the space in the center warm enough to rest in, but had the side effect of heating up the frozen soil turning it into a muddy morass quickly. The unheated sections were used to store perishables. A stolen convenience store microwave provided the only source of cooking. Mike had been tossing the leftover plastic trays in a large box in another unheated section.
Axe turned back into his human form picking up the towel. He had been tempted to shake then curl up on it knowing how it would send Mike into grousing fits. He was due for a good rant. It would help him blow off steam. Plus, Mike hated trying to argue with him when he was in either of his less humanoid forms. Despite knowing the werewolf could understand every word, Mike always felt vaguely ridiculous arguing with what appeared to be an animal.
"More protesters," Axe said simply. He moved a few more markers on the map Mike was using to keep track of the area.
"Stupid fucking hippie ass BULLSHIT!" Mike spat, looking at the map.
The camp had quadrupled in size over the last month. While they were not at risk of getting hurt in Mike's planned take down, they were inconveniently placed to observe something they should not see.
"Ever since their lawyer quit on them and their chance to stop this with legal action took a nosedive, those assholes have redoubled their protest efforts. It's starting to piss me off," Mike said in disgust.
Axe sat down and looked at the map. He had scouted the area in his wolf form; as it was something not completely out of place in the wilderness. Once they had a good map of the compound, Mike had had used his magic in several clever ways that were invisible to human eyes. He had planted magically enhanced explosives under the supports for the pipeline. He could drop the line at any time. However, the leader of the Pentex unit was not just some corporate rube. He was a magician of the lesser magics and a demonologist who had pacts with dark spirits. Those spirits might be able to help him get control of the situation. What Mike needed, what the old man from the Technocracy demanded, was a complete disaster. A situation so catastrophic no one would question it being taken out of private hands.
"There is no two ways about it. We've got to whack this Hardy guy and his guard dogs. Now how are we gonna do that without those dipshits seeing something that gives us away?" Mike asked, clearly agitated.
"Frame 'em?" Axe offered.
"They'll likely get investigated for the bombing anyhow, so it's a possibility, but the problem isn't the norms. For most investigators, whatever those hippie asswipes claim to see could be easily disregarded as ranting from a bunch of guilty extremists, but, Pentex would no doubt know the truth and then they'd be wise to our ruse. Remember, it's THEM we have to fool here," Mike reminded his quiet friend.
Axe nodded. "Airport?"
Mike looked at the map. Pentex had constructed a small airstrip for their private use. He stood thinking while pinching his lip. "While the head honcho is coming back on a plane tonight, we couldn't take that plane down in the air without military grade hardware. I could still get it, even on such on short notice, but no one will believe some environmental nuts got hold of an anti-aircraft rocket," Mike said.
Axe again pondered the map. "Tricky," he admitted.
Mike nodded still lost in thought.
Axe had eaten while outside. He preferred catching something to eating the microwave crap that Mike had stocked in their hidden bunker. You didn't find beer in nature, however, so civilization had some benefits. He fished into the storage area and pulled out a six pack, broke off a cold can, and popped the top. He had finished his third can and was opening the fourth when he noticed Mike hadn't moved. He stood stock still, staring at the map with his bottom lip pinched between thumb and forefinger. Axe had only seen him enter the unresponsive state of mages called "quiet" once but it had scared the hell out of him. Mike had been basically comatose for ten days then and Axe really didn't want to see that again.
Suddenly he moved, tossing his hands up in the air. "Fuck it!" He spun and reached into his storage to pull out one of his cheap meals. After slamming it in the microwave with more force than required, he started the device and sat down at the stool and plastic tv tray he used for eating.
"Beer?" Axe offered.
"Nah, I'm good. You drink piss anyway. Okay, here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna go back down there and see if we can sabotage the pumping station itself. Maybe we can blow that Pentex son of a bitch up. At the very least, if we have to go in and kill him, a plume of fire from that pump should keep everyone's eyes off what we're doing," Mike said.
"A lot of maybes," Axe replied.
"Yeah, but it's the best we've got right now. I'll take a maybe over nothing. If it ends up dry, we're no worse than we were," Mike said.
To that the wolf had no reply.
Hours Later
Outside the Pentex Airstrip
Bree took another reconnaissance photo with her telephoto lens. She was in winter camouflage gear peering over a hill at the Pentex base. She had made some good observations of the facility and her quarry had just landed. Rather than traveling separately, he had ridden in on one of the small cargo jets that brought supplies to this isolated base.
He was personally supervising the unloading of a particular crate. Guards walked along with the unloading crew as they marched along into the laboratory level. She scanned over the plane again and something caught her eye. A crate was opening from the inside. Out of it, a man in leather jacket over a button up shirt and khaki pants crawled out. She watched him sneak up on one of the porters and deck him.
"You have got to be kidding me," Bree said aloud, shocked.
True to the cliche, he drug the man behind some boxes and took his clothing before depositing him in the box. Once he was done dressing, he headed off into the base carrying a package that held his own clothing and effects, rather than its intended cargo as to not look suspicious.
Bree mentally debated what to do. Whoever this nutjob was, they obviously hitched a ride as a stowaway. Then, with their attempt to infiltrate with such a flimsy cover there was no way they wouldn't be caught. That was obvious. The question in her mind was would this lunatic's imminent distraction draw enough attention that she might be able to get into the base herself undetected?
Deciding opportunities like this would not come often, Bree started to make her way carefully down to the facility. After all nothing ventured nothing gained.
Protest Camp
Agam Singh was a man of faith; a man devoted to the defense of the innocent from evil. He was a tolerant man who believed all faiths of peace held a glimmer of God's truth. Like many others of his Sikh faith, he sought to expand his own and humanity's understanding of the all pervading spirit by a devotion to learning and truth. He realized, however, that some truths required wisdom to understand and were not meant for all to see. Those without the proper background would misunderstand them and be lead astray.
With his own thoughts so in line with their goals, it was no surprise that the small, secret society that operated out of Miskatonic University had inducted him into their hidden knowledge of occult ways and their quest to protect the world of man from these dark influences by banishing, suppressing and locking away that which man was never meant to know.
It was on one of these mission to banish darkness that he had been filled with light and the righteous fire of the divine. He had used the power and knowledge it bestowed to drive the dark and corrupted spirit and its ghost ally's from the men they possessed and dispelled the ignorance of the cult who had given them power.
There were many dark spirits who were interested in the activity here at this Pentex site. With care, Agam had gathered allies and rallied more protesters, hoping their watchful eyes would push the wicked who ruled this corrupt corporation into ceasing whatever evil they worked here.
Now, however, he felt the coming of yet another dark evil. Something far stronger than the spirit he had confronted, the master of the death cult. It seemed rather than making Pentex cautious, they had made them desperate. They decided on a reckless path bent on unlocking whatever foul power was at this site though the use of magics just as perverse.
Agam rose from his meditation and found his fellow inductee, Professor Beeman, was close at hand. Beeman was nearly seventy. His face was lined like wrinkled parchment and his hair was snowy white. He had taciturnly endured the weather and primitive camping conditions without a word of complaint. He enjoyed putting younger men to shame. It was not by some great physical hardiness or endowment of fortitude. Beeman's body was nearly as frail as he appeared. Inside, however, Beeman possessed a spirit of pure iron and a will of tempered steel. He had been a powerful mystic when Agam was but a boy.
"Do you feel it? They have brought something dark and very evil."
Beeman nodded "I agree, Agam, my friend, it is something of great power. I am not sure what we can do. Can even the power you have been blessed with match it?"
"Where light goes, there can be no darkness. Where knowledge goes, ignorance is dispelled. I do not ask if my power is great enough, but only if I have the courage to bear it into the dark. However, getting to that darkness might be difficult when there are men with guns and hearts full of violence between it and I," Singh, said with a sad smile.
"A snow storm is coming. The weathermen missed it, but my inner eye has seen it. In that storm, I will have the young people here raise a disturbance at the gate. While the enemy is focused on them, you might, swathed in white, make your way into the compound and challenge this evil power," Beeman suggested.
"Then we will let it be so. Do not fear for me, old friend. By faith and will I will rise to best this evil," Agam assured him by placing a comforting hand on Beeman's shoulder.
Endron Laboratories
New Materials Fabrication and Testing Facility
Warren Hardy had made a very long and prosperous career out of finding success where others could not. In the cutthroat world of Pentex's interoffice politics, that was not an easy task. Often one had to ensure that one was not only appeasing the right dark masters, but not overly concerning the wrong ones at the same time. The struggle to remain on top had grown harder since the defeat of the Great Wyrm. At least in those halcyon days most of the corporation answered to the same dark master. Now, there were hundreds of spirits each vying to become the top patron of an organization as powerful as Pentex. For now, the dark wizards, vampires, and other creatures that could walk among men were in a prime spot. As the outward rulers of Pentex, they winnowed the field, not bothering to cull the weak for they would naturally fall. They, instead, sought to cull those spirits too abrasive and too toxic for more human centric beings to work with.
That need to court and control spirits brought him to this place. This site was itself a nexus of leylines that contained a powerful relic; an ancient artifact that had been unearthed by Endron contractors while they were constructing their pipeline. Even more tantalizing was the fact that it seemed meant for human hands to wield. With luck, it might be able to put him in an even better position to bargain with the host of spirits that sought to replace the Great Wyrm.
The question was how to use this newfound relic and what powers were contained within? Warren had decided on a dangerous path, however, he felt certain he had planned for every contingency. There had been many cases where another relic was useful in discovering or unlocking a more powerful one. There were also times when a powerful spirit could answer many questions. To that end, he acquired and brought with him one of the most powerful and darkest artifacts ever to find its way into Pentex's possession. It was often dangerous and always costly to use, but he had prepared for those dangers. Already, he had gathered what was needed to pay the price.
The men guarding the metal chest continued to follow Warren while even more men joined and followed in his wake; a quiet, dirge-like procession ever downwards. No elevator had been placed here as some things one simply didn't want a fast way to access. Some things one wanted time to prepare before seeing.
The metal walls gave way to cut stone and the stone gave way to natural cavern. Finally, in what seemed the interior of a giant geode, they came to a stop before the vast brazen artifact. It appeared to be a vessel in the shape of an urn standing three and a quarter meters tall with what appeared to be a seam separating a lid from the body about two and a half meters from the base. The thing was just a fraction over five meters wide in diameter if one discounted some of the embellishments and was covered in low relief images and writing.
The images within the relief were mostly obscene depictions of a myriad of creatures - some humanoid others not. Some some of the grotesque images depicted figures that were half melted in vats while others figures either formed swords out of the the slurry or drank the remaining liquid contained therein.
The portion that might have been a lid had two embossed rings of engravings encircling its diameter. The larger of the two rings featured elaborate pictograms while the inner, smaller smaller ring contained logograms.
The logograms on the massive brass artifact were of a language that was partly translated. It was an antecedent to the oldest Sino-Tibetan languages known. Only one of a few magically preserved objects had survived that contained any trace of this lost script, and only by consultation with very ancient spirits had any been translated. Those spirits claimed the pictograms were even older even than the logographic language.
The translation revealed that the message was a warning. A warning that read that if one could not read the first language, the pictograms, one did not yet have the wisdom to use what was contained within. Only the 'Celestial Ones,' bearers of the Mandate of Heaven, were authorized in its use.
Warren carefully unlocked the chest to reveal the relic he had brought to the site. It was a glossy, black, metallic cube eleven and a half centimeters square. The perfection of that square held up under an electron microscope. Inscriptions were pressed into its surface, each side in a different language. One face had the logograms, another the pictograms while the other four had never been seen before or since by modern man.
The artifact Warren had brought was instrumental in translating this larger one. This giant brass basin was the only other artifact they had found with these pictographic symbols. The sixth, translated side of the cube sported the logographic text. The smaller relic's function was simple: it could summon a powerful spirit. That spirit had confirmed that all six sets of writing on the cube repeated the same message in different languages.
To that end, Pentex had labored to translate the inscriptions on the brass basin using the smaller relic as a sort of Rosetta Stone, but the brevity of the message on the cube had not given them enough words to work with. It was time, Warren decided, to put caution away and go to the source. He would summon the spirit from inside the cube and bargain for it to translate these lengthy inscriptions.
Re-reading the warning and instructions on the relic was not necessary. Warren had memorized them. One of his assistants brought one of the six sedated prisoners to him. He removed the cube from its protective cradle and sat it into a glass bowl. He then slit the prisoner's throat as the assistant tipped him over so the blood would fill the bowl.
"Come, Alveua, the Keeper of the Forge of Night. Come in the name of those who bind you and in answer to the blood we offer. We seek to bargain for your service, here, where the sun shines not, nor the moon's light can reach." It was not quite the chant from the inscription, but a beckoning that had been refined by demonologist over the centuries since this relic was found in the eastern portions of China.
Blackness flowed forth from the cube and wrapped around itself like a cloak before taking the form of a thin, beautiful, girl clad in a dress made from glossy black interlocking metal plates. Her torso was skimpily covered revealing skin which was pale white. Her skin clashed with her hair that was red as blood. Two small curved horns as black and glossy as the metal of her dress sprang from her forehead. In her hands was a hammer, its handle almost taller than she with a double head nearly a meter square on the face with half again that on the longer portion of the sides. The hammer glowed reddish white and gave off a forge-like heat. She turned and faced Warren and sneered. He could feel the power of this malevolent entity boring a hole in him with her pitiless eyes.
"You are not of the chosen and have no right to call, but you make offerings. Do you wish to be perfected?"
"No, not I, but such services may be needed and other materials have been brought for you to craft should the need arise. Behind you there is a relic. I propose we bargain over learning its nature. How it might be used and what the inscriptions on it mean," the demonologist requested.
The demon turned and eyed the large relic behind her. "I could give you a demonstration but, I will not tell you the purpose of this artifact. It would be far more fun to show you. As for the writing, I could forge you a tablet that translates the script into your native tongue, but it would cost you. The life of two of those you have brought as material," she said pointing back at the group of sedated captives.
"Two seems excessive, but I will place trust in you not to be wasteful," Warren said.
It was at that moment that a voice called out into the dark chamber. "STOP!"
Bree stepped out from the curve of the stairway her gun pointed directly at Warren. "I was in no position to stop your first kill. The cut had been made but now I have pictures of you committing murder, Warren Hardy. Send this demon away and I will allow you to face justice in a mortal court for murder. If you do not, it will be my pleasure to end your life for your many, many crimes."
Warren laughed. "Kill her. She can be the first to be forged into a tablet."
The demon moved faster than anything Bree had seen; even faster than some of the vampires she had encountered. The creature wielded its hammer with a fluid grace that belied the object's bulk. Bree changed targets and fired with no hesitation, calling on her Exalted gifts before the hammer could strike her. Golden power followed her bullets as they slammed into the metallic sleeve of the demon girl's arm knocking her slightly off balance. On Bree's forehead, her Caste Mark flared to life.
The demon stopped and stared in shock at that golden disc of light. Then turned to shout at Warren. "You ignorant, fool! This is no ordinary foe! She is of the Chosen! Keep the box away from her if she gains it, all is lost!" Her voice was strained with fury, the fury of one who had seen her mortal foe revealed before her.
Seeing no damage to the demon, Bree gave ground while aiming for her unarmored face. "You are an unholy creature and I bring the Sun's Judgement," she taunted.
Warren waved to two of his companions. "Transform and help Alveua," he ordered. The two started to turn into what could only be described as monsters. Deformities and growths exploded from their flesh, revealing crustacean like armor and slimy tendrils. Before they could act, both staggered and blood began to pour from their now twisted bodies. Between them a giant, brown Crinos form werewolf appeared. The half human, half wolf war machine had already sunk claws into both and with a sickening sound of bone and blood colliding he pulled them into each other in a slam.
Warren rushed for the box hoping to pull it from the bowl as instructed, but he hit something invisible in his path. With stars in his eyes, looked for a brief second and saw a dark haired, short man before him. Then, several gigawatts of electrical power shot from the figure's blue eyes as Warren Hardy's own eyes ruptured in a gory explosion.
"Axe, stop playing with those things and clear us a path. I'm blowing the charges first chance I get," Mike, said, whirling to grab the cube for himself.
Before he could, however, something swung down a rope tied to the catwalk that ran over the monstrously large brazen relic and sntached the cube up mid swing. "Thanks, the National Museum will be grateful for your donation," the figure in Pentex work overalls said as he landed on the stairs and started to rush up the way Bree and the Demon Alveua had vanished.
"Who the fuck was that?!" Mike bellowed.
Axe tossed one of his foes into the brass relic, smashing its skull before turning to give an indifferent shrug.
"I'm going after him. I want that thing. Finish these demon tainted fucks off and hurry after me will ya? We ain't got time to play around," Mike shouted as he rushed up the stairs.
Axe sighed as he ripped a piece of metal out of the scaffolding and used it to block the snapping beak of the mutated being he was still fighting. Mike was like a brother, but sometimes, like most siblings, he just wanted to dunk his brother in an ice cold lake for being an asshat.
Endron Laboratories
New Materials Fabrication and Testing Facility
Lobby and Public Relations Area
Bree knew she had done the right thing moving to save the captives, but now she was unsure of the long term wisdom of her actions. This creature was far more powerful than even the Elder Vampire Kashi had fought in San Diego and while her gifts were potent, she did not have Kashi's resilience or his supernaturally enhanced physical strength, two things that would definitely have come in handy. The female demon also seemed to know the sort of powers the Exalted wielded and, while cautious of them, was by no means fearful.
While in the cramped corridors, she had managed to give ground and play to the strength of her weapon's longer range, while exploiting the lack of room for her foe's hammer to swing. She had managed a few hits on the black clad nightmare's armor but only one wound seemed to have inflicted enough damage to bleed.
The demon had smashed walls with her ridiculously large weapon and managed to get out into open ground. The large reception area that Pentex would have visitors linger at held displays of their new technology it had several seating areas and was three stories tall. The second story had a balcony the third was just windows so the administration could look down into the area.
Free to move the demoness kept blocking Brees attempts to exit the open area and find more favorable ground racing ahead of her with lightning speed. Brees anima had flared her white gold aura filling the space the ruby red bird in the middle crying out in frustration at being unable to do more than nick this demonic foe.
The demon seemed to be enjoying herself but Bree could tell this was partly a mask. Annoyance crossed the demon's face whenever she failed to connect with her hammer. She took her frustration out on any Pentex employee unfortunate to be nearby. Now, however, she was out of living beings to slaughter. In a fury, she pounded the ground in a heavy two handed over the head swing that had the power of an industrial pile driver.
Bree dashed away from her foe before the hammer could connect. She rolled behind the receptionist desk. The former police officer used the cover as a rest to steady her weapon and took careful aim. The demon Alveua, true to her former tactics, raced straight for Bree's cover, her arms working the hammer back into position for another blow.
Two things happened at once. Bree let go of her shot aimed at the demon's eyes and suddenly, from the direction of the front doors, came a shriek like an eagle. A bird fashioned of pure flame raced toward the demon at arrow like speed. Alveua had turned her head to see what was oncoming. The movement turned her eyes and Bree's bullet hit her low on the cheek bone. Her face and side of her jaw exploded her flesh ignited with the golden fire in Bree's bullet.
Acting on pure instinct, Bree dropped for cover. Her instincts were proven right as the air exploded with flames as hot as a bonfire. The demon let out an inhuman scream.
As soon as the air was clear of flames, Bree leapt up scanning the area. Alveua was down but not dead. Standing in the doorway was a brown skinned man in his early fifties in a white hooded snow suit his hood had fallen back revealing a blue turban in the dastar the turban shone a golden disc like Bree's own. Around this man the air was rippling as light was building into something.
"Demon of the darkness, you have no place in this world! I command you return to exile and confinement and trouble this world no more with your wickedness! Whatever invitation the unrighteous extended to you is revoked by my will!" As the Sikh spoke, the ripple of light flared and coalesced into a magnificent sinuous dragon of white gold. In the air around it danced letters of fire that spelled out passages from holy texts from around the world.
Alveua rose, laughing, as her cheek healed. "You have no power over me, old man. It was your kind who bound me to remain in the world. Without the key to command me, however, your words are as meaningless as..."
A sharp whistle came from the balcony. The man Bree had seen sneaking into the building, still in an ill fitting Pentex jumpsuit, dramatically held out the glossy black box that had called the demon forth. "You mean this, honey?" he said with a smirk.
Alveua snarled. "In your hands it will do nothing. Only the Usurpers, the so call 'Princes of the Earth' can use it!" She started for the man, but his brow flashed with the half empty half full circle of the Twilight Caste. Seeing this, the demon skidded to a halt in panic.
"That's right, sweet cheeks, now get back in...OOOPH…." he was interrupted as he was knocked to the ground while being tackled from behind.
Bree had slipped quietly from her place behind the now flaming reception desk and had been creeping stealthily up the stairs. Her goal was to use the distraction to go back for the drugged victims the sorcerer had planned to sacrifice. From her position she could see much. The Sikh had stepped back out the entrance and seemed to be making arcane gestures.
Here, on the balcony, a dark haired pale guy in jeans was wrestling with the would be infiltrator for the box. He managed to toss the Twilight over the railing. This new comer then held out the box "Get back in the box. I don't have time for you."
The demon laughed. "You fool, you are similar to an Exalt but are not a Prince of the Earth. You are a pale copy at best. You do not have the authority to command me. You are ignorant of the spells used to obtain even a semblance of that control," the infernal creature gloated.
"I told you I don't have time for this horseshit! Alright, fine, you want to piss me off you'll get what's coming to you, bitch! I not just some two bit hack like the guy who summoned you. I've seen and know things and have the power to use them." His voice took on a strange cadence.
"I know that all things born of this world die. I've see the Pit, the Abyss where the world ends and all your Master's creations come to naught. Floating in that darkness are the Tombs of That Which Made the World. That which never was of the world and thus never born to it may never die. But slain they are and so they cannot live. Caught between life and death they bleed and suffer and you will feel their torment. I call from the depths the form of their writhing agony for I wield the fire that hungers for the blood of those that shaped this world into being and joys in the misery of all things they wrought. To defy me is to know suffering beyond death. Obey me or face the Pyre Flames!"
The demon starred in aghast horror as harlequin green flames rose from the mage's free hand. The flames did not light the room but seemed to draw the light out of it oddly bringing things into a sharper detail. Even from where she crouched Bree could feel their cold leeching away at the heat of the room.
Bree rose and shot the box out of this madman's hand. She was unsure what this power he called up was, but it reeked of evil and she was having none of it.
"The fuck!" The dark haired man took off, sprinting for the box in a panic. He didn't even seem to care who shot at him, such was his intent to reclaim his prize. Bree dashed back the way that the mage and before him the Twilight had come. It had to lead back to the basement tunnels were she would find the helpless prisoners.
The scuffle over the box continued. Marshall Thompson had been all over the world and had involved himself in the very risky enterprises of hunting lost antiquities, often liberating them from the hands of black market dealers. He was also an unimbued hunter of monsters. He was not about to let a single story fall stop him. He lifted himself up carefully from the table he had crushed when he had stopped his rather abrupt journey down from the balcony. He worked to refocus his eyes and get moving despite the pain he was in.
To his right was the mage who had tossed him over. He was literally sliding down the banister while holding the hand coated in the nimbus of pyre flame well away from his body. The stuff was nasty. It could not be extinguished, burned cold instead of hot and annihilated any matter it came into contact with leaving nothing, not even the energy said matter was composed of.
To his left the demon was racing for something not far away. She held her hammer to the side as if for a wide defensive swing.
In front of him were the doors leading outside. Through them came Professor Agam Singh in a run. He had turned his skin into bronze somehow. His hand had also twisted into impressive looking claws with a wood grain pattern. He screamed at the demon. "You will not gain this prize!"
As the three converged, the demon's hammer struck the Sikh, despite his attempt to catch the weapon. Its momentum sent him into the mage who reached around the professor to make contact with the hammer with his flame wreathed hand. This sent pyre flame racing down the hammer's haft toward Alveua herself. The demon released the weapon rather than risk the flames making contact with her flesh.
Marshall had already started to dash. Without the demon's grip what would have been a crushing blow to both men just sent them sprawling to the floor. This, however, had two unfortunate effects; the floor nearby was already weakened from Alveua and Bree's battle and the weight of being struck by the hammer once again as well as the impressive weight of a man sized hunk of bronze was not good for its structural integrity. Secondly, on impulse, the mage had tossed his arm out to cushion his fall. The pyre flames spread out across the floor sinking into the cracks.
Marshall raced past, grabbing the cube and leaping over the spreading flames. The Demon was so distracted by trying to keep her eyes on the deadly magical pseudo fire that she was unable to prevent him from getting his hand on the box. Her quick reaction speed sent her reaching for him but she was too late to stop him from verbalizing. "Back in the box. I command it!"
With those words she vanished. Agam Singh lifted himself up and saw a simple solution to both the troublesome mage and the spreading flames. He struck the floor with his claws in a cracked spot that the flames had not yet filled. The entire lobby gave out a groan and started to fall in on itself. Both he and Marshall sprinted for the door in interest of self preservation.
Neither saw Mike hastily dismiss his pyre flame-spell and desperately leap and roll to escape the flaming section of floor. Nor was anyone but Mike close enough to hear the electronic *BLEEP* that came from his pocket as he hit the ground. They did, however, hear his resigned exclamation of "Oh... FUCK!"
After that the night was filled with multiple ear splitting explosions and a horrid flaming red light as the entire circular pipeline and oil well that fed it went up. The ruptured pipe sent a wave of ignited oil surging outwards in a tide of death and destruction. The office building was uphill but aftershocks began to rock the building as the caves underneath it started to buckle.
"Come with me, stranger. I am from Miskatonic University. We will lock this evil thing away in our vaults so that it might never be used again," Singh said to Marshall.
"Lock it away?! Is that all you Miskatonic sorts can think of doing? It doesn't belong in a vault. It has to be studied and understood. It's a part of deeper mysteries that still have to be explored," Marshall said.
"It is too dangerous. It has to be secured, contained, and protected from those who would use it!" Singh exclaimed.
"Never! It's a piece of history! I won't let you cover that up," Marshall replied, shifting the box to his left hand while moving away from Singh.
Singh moved to close the gap between Marshall and himself. He raised his claws. "Give me the box!"
"No," Marshall said, drawing a pistol with his right hand. There was a high pitched metallic ping as he then unceremoniously shot the professor twice in both legs.
Singh fell to the ground. His bronze skin saved him from the worst of the bullet's force but both legs felt like they had been struck with a bat. Unable to follow, he could only blink as his vision blurred with tears of pain. He watched the other man steal a car from the parking lot and race away with the box. Resigned to being unable to catch up, the professor started to crawl away in the direction of the front gates. He hoped he could find some of his compatriots among the protesters to help him escape.
