Chapter 53: Raid
*Crack* *Crack*
Hit clacked his neck from side to side as he melded into the shadows of Daedalus' western quarter, the other hand carrying a large sheet of fabric. This was going to be a big day for the detective, and he was certain that the slippery quarry would be within his clutches by the end of the night. 'The trap is set. After observing the scuttling of these insects, I can state with certainty that the majority are hiding within the most southwestern point of Orario.' Hit's plan was simple: by sending Daedalus' criminals into a frenzy, they had hurried to their pre-planned hiding spots. Hit merely had to observe the worms from above to quickly identify their movement patterns and behaviours. These mammalian creatures were simple minded and responded to stress in a similar manner, likely due to their similar physiologies and upbringing. Hit was going to switch tactics today and pursue his victims during the day, thereby hopefully catching them off guard.
Apart from minor gatherings, he had tracked most of the vermin to hollows surrounding the southwestern portion of Daedalus. This elevated density was currently still a mystery to Hit; however, the phenomenon was a query that could be enticed out of his future captives. Hit paused as he removed a familiar notebook from his pocket, containing a sketch of the Daedalus region dotted with numbered points: regions that he tasked himself with probing today. 'I have a hunch that you're skulking here.' Hit tapped the number 5 on his page, a brothel attached to an unmarked building. Hit had noted that exclusively gangs involved in thievery and 'protection' schemes frequented the establishment, with individuals steeped in drug trafficking being steered clear of the site. 'Those five were members an unnamed gang, leading to less data regarding their interactions and movements with other groups. Oh, well. You can run all you want; I will find you.'
Hit scowled as he tapped the number one on his notepad, a joint gang of traffickers. 'Let's get started.'
*Drip*
*Drip*
*Drip*
Dirtied drops of water dripped from a broken pipe, adding to a growing muddy puddle below. Flickering light sources swayed from above, providing little illumination to the dingy space. Rows of cages glistened in the dreary atmosphere, each containing a shivering bundle of cloth and fur. The bundles whined and cried in desperation as they twitched in the coldness of their prisons, stomachs screaming for nourishment. One bundle had been slowly twitching in a specific direction for several hours, towards the sounds of dripping that emanated from just outside its cage.
Closer…
Closer…
Nearly there…
There!
The heap of cloth unravelled to reveal a tiny cat girl, a dishevelled and emaciated child whose cheeks drew inwardly to showcase a gaunt face. The girl vibrated from fear as she extended her face through and out of the bars of her enclosure. She stuck out her rasped tongue and readied for a soothing drink.
"GET THE FUCK BACK, YOU DIRTY WHORE!" A muddied boot kicked at her muzzle, sending the light girl rocketing back into her cage with a dejected whimper of lost hope.
The cages were not alone in the damp basement that we now find ourselves in, as tens of gruff men stood guarding the poor souls. These demi-humans were some of the few remaining orphans of the Daedalus region and were this band of slaver's most recent 'products'.
Unfortunately for the ruffians, they now faced an immovable hurdle in the early stages of their business model: a demonic spectre would almost certainly jump out of the shadows at any moment and draw their souls into his eternal grasp. These common thugs were Orario's most recent band of human traffickers, comprised of the leftovers of multiple prior gangs, organisations that were now defunct. The gang's newest leader, a bulky half-dwarf whose height exceeded even Mama Mia's, leaned over a desk covered in business contracts, biting at his nails in fret. A slimy underling drew closer to him with a desperate expression, eyes wide with worry. "H-How're we gonna get these little shit stains outta here, Borgo?"
'Borgo' stormed to face him and bellowed in a voice that matched that of a Minotaur. "I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, DAMMIT!" The giant stumbled back and pulled at his hair with a contemptuous grin, looking half-crazed as spittle flew from his gaping mouth. "FUCK! Why did this bastard Night Stalker have to show up now of all times!? We were supposed to be big, dammit! I mean, look at all this primo merchandise! Most of 'em are unused!" The filthy man stuck a thick finger towards tens of recently ensnared slaves, souls that they intended to indoctrinate into the darkest industry of all.
Another lackey hung his head, clicking his tongue at their band's misfortune. "It's such a shame… We got past the hardest part: contacting and luring all those noble nonces…" Sighs and tuts accompanied the comment as the dregs pitied themselves, feelings that were not at all reserved for the poor victims of their horrifying scheme.
Borgo gripped his fists in radiant fury, before stamping on the ground with a heavy boom. "YOU KNOW WHAT!? Fuck that shithead! We're getting these whores out to our esteemed clients no matter what! YA HEAR THAT YOU DAMNED DEMON!"
*CRASH* *CRASH* *CRACK*
Sparks and glass shards flew as several magic stone lamps exploded in the centre of the room, sending an ovular region of the space into pitch blackness. The ruffians jumped and whined as the ruckus unfolded, whirring around to face their intruder.
What they saw sent shivers down their spines and drained all colour from their faces.
Deep in the inky darkness, a void that was somehow vacant of every colour in the world, a shadowy figure stood tall. The creature was draped in a dark veil, which somehow furled and unfurled in the breezeless room. Red eyes pierced from within the murk, eyeing each of the slaver's eternally marred souls with an unblinking stare.
"H-Holy shit…"
"I-It's… Him"
"H-He really is a ghost!"
The men shivered and drew back, repulsed by the alien force of nature that somehow materialised directly into their inner sanctum. Some began praying to their Gods, begging them for forgiveness and salvation. Others hyperventilated and shivered in place. Borgo was the only being to maintain a semblance of composure and turned to shout at his servants. Although, his voice emanated as a harsh whisper.
"S-Stop whining, you lot! I-It's just some wannabe hero with a quilt over his head… W-We've got the prick outnumbered twenty to one! An' most of us're level two!" He gulped and turned around robotically, staring directly into the demon's otherworldly eyes. "Y-YA HEAR THAT!? W-We've got your ass surrounded, coward!"
It was now the demon's turn to address his victims, calling to the true monsters in a bloodcurdling timbre that sent the hairs on their necks standing on end.
ゴゴゴゴ "All I am surrounded by is fear and torment." ゴゴゴゴ
*CRASH* *CRASH* *CRASH* *CRASH*
Darkness flooded the house of torture as every lamp in the room burst into shards of stardust.
*BAM*
"GAAAAHHHH!"
*Crack*
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
*CRASH*
"P-PLEASE DON'T…"
*POP*
AAAAAAAHHHH!"
Only bleatings of agony and shattering bones accompanied the Demon's words of finality, ones that the room's inhabitants would never forget.
*Scratch*
A thin stick of charcoal was raked across a number 18 as Hit finalised his most recent raid into Daedalus Street's many festering pits of depravity. The unsalvageable souls within had been tied up, incredibly roughly, and any of their victims were now in the care of Maria's orphanage or the guild's medical facility. Although, many of the criminal's bodies were beyond recognition, with a particularly unfortunate half-dwarf lacking any non-broken bones.
Anyway, any of their would-be victims were now out of harm's way. Their saviour made sure to hide his identity during their gallant rescue, using a purchased grey bedsheet to cover himself. Hit had to admit that he looked a tad silly in broad daylight, but the hasty costume served its purpose, particularly when time skip was used to swish the vestment, making it appear to be a living creature. Hit was quite surprised when his targets were not in hovel number 5; however, he attributed the failure to lacking immense swaths of intel.
The man now marched towards a building marked as '19' on his map, a smog-encrusted chapel whose chimney emanated billowing clouds of smoke and ash. To its side sat an unfortunate pony, which was attached to a ladened cart. The animal sighed and gagged in the poisoned air, shaking its brown fur free of falling dust particles. Hit quickly untied the poor creature, which thanked him with a slobbery lick before galloping away. He then marched towards a greenish metal grate attached to the base of the residence, one that seemed quite out of place compared to the rest. Repetitive sounds of footsteps resounded from below, suggesting that evil skulked underground here.
Looking down, Hit saw that a collection of open oil drums and glass flasks of all shapes and sizes were littered across the basement's floor. Fliers and documents plastered its walls, each possessing a large number '99' written on them. Gut-wrenching scents wafted from behind the galvanized grate, causing Hit to recoil in disgust. 'Ugh… This must act as ventilation for their narcotics manufacture.' Hit had noticed that an increasing number of criminals frequented this establishment as their days and lives became bleaker. The twitchy individuals eagerly collected brown parcels from the door of the chapel and raced away as if a demon was on their heels.
Kneeling once more, Hit cast his keen eyes across the unorganised laboratory and saw that only two individuals were present: a cat person and a dark-skinned human. Looking closer, the cat person was a woman, who was the individual pacing back and forth. Her fur was a striped orange, and she wore bluish-grey baggy clothing. She held her hands to her waist, perpetually pulling up a pair of loose trousers. Rolls of black braids escaped a multicoloured beany atop her head, swishing back and forth as she walked.
Off to the side, a portly gentleman sat on a box, holding his face between his hands. He wore a thin white lab coat across his body, and a pork pie hat rested atop his head, hiding a prominent bald spot. He seemed to be becoming increasingly annoyed as he tapped his polished shoes on the ground with increasing fervency.
"Will you stop that pacing, Jess! I am trying to cook up some ideas here!" Apparently, the man reached his boiling point and spat out venomously at his colleague, raising a snarl to her anxious face. Hit could now see that the man's large nose supported rectangular glasses, whilst a goatee and moustache sprouted from his elderly mien.
'Jess' rose her arms up and slapped them down onto her sides, noisily. "The hell do you expect me to do, Mr Black!? We haven't had a single buyer in two todays, dog! Let's just pack our shit and dip!"
'Mr Black' licked his lips and stomped his feet down, raising two palms upwards to accentuate his desperation. "WE CAN'T. We. Just. Can't. Do you realise how close we are to reaching a purity of 99.99% Dust!? The entire world will know true euphoria once we release our newest product! Wasn't that your dream!?"
Jess stormed up to Mr Black, now pacing directly in front of him. "Bitch, you got me fucked up! We're already at 95%, and word on the street's that our shit's the best, nya!"
Mr Black shot up and scowled at her, ready to murder anyone who would dare disrespect his business. "Which street said that!? 95% is practically dog excrement compared to what we can produce should be maximise our potential here!"
"NYAHAHAHA!" Jess laughed openly at her boss' madness, clawing at her fuzzy face in dismay. "You're crazy, dog! I just can't take this shit no more, man! I'm getting the hell outta here. With or without you. That ghost bastard can have your ass!"
Her colleague inhaled and exhaled, holding a palm to his wrinkled mug. He joined in Jess' pacing and raised his hands in surrender after a few minutes of the routine. "Alright… Alright… You win, Jess." The chemist brought his hands together in prayer, an act that surprised his feline companion greatly. "97 percent. We make 97% pure dust by the end of today, and then we're out of here before nightfall. Our last job. We leave these braindead zombies here and take our produce to the outer cities."
Jess huffed and rolled her eyes, stuffing padded paws in her pockets. "You swear, meow?"
Mr Black nodded his head with a smile. "On my grandad's leg."
*HISS* Jess was not convinced and gaped at her infuriating employer, folding her ears against her head with a hiss. "Your gramps is dead, and I'm pretty sure you said he was a pirate!"
Mr Black brushed her off with a wave of his arm as he strutted back to his workbench. "Just shut up and go around the neighbourhood. All those fools have been captured, so it should be easy pickings. Gather every scrap of metal you can find: washers, bolts, springs... Anything that's galvanized." The crazed man spun around and marched up to Jess, eyes wide and unfocused. "It HAS to be be galvanized… Better yet, get me some solid zinc. Oh, and pencils; collect every pencil you can find for its graphite. Finally, gather some rope… lots and lots of rope.
Jess furrowed her brows at the final ingredient of their mad plan, frantically whipping her tail back and forth. "What're we gonna do, hang ourselves, nya?"
Black grasped his protegee's shoulders and shook her bodily, causing the repeatedly meowing girl to become quite dizzy. "No, you pinheaded neanderthal! We need to power our bioreactor, so I'm making us a makeshift battery! Our fair city's ghostly spectre has made trade so utterly impossible, that I can't import any of my damned materials!"
The mad scientist let a very discombobulated Jess go and darted a hand into his coat pocket. With a triumphant sneer, he pulled out a paper bag, which was quickly raised to his nose and snorted. *Sniff* "Fuck me, that's good Dust." *Cough* *Cough* "I-I'll make my finest work… then we'll leave this wasteland. The rope is for tying everything to our cart. That damned horse you 'borrowed' better live up to your lofty expectations… Smallest damned one I've ever seen…"
"Bat'ry, huh…? An' then we're outta this shithole, meow?" Jess was warming up to Mr Black's plan with increasing gusto, bobbing her head up and down as she danced from side to side. "Hell Yeah, Mr Black! That's why you're the boss!"
Mr Black sighed as he watched the girl nearly knock a pot of nitro-glycerine off its counter. He hastily shooed her off, raising a rolled-up sheet of paper to his parched lips. "Yeah, yeah. Get moving! And bring me a lighter or something flammable; I need a smoke…"
ゴ "Will this do?" ゴ
The pair's shoes squeaked as they whirled around to greet a faceless voice. Only a burning piece of paper met their startled eyes, which was slowly drifting down from their extraction vent towards the open oil drums below.
Jess and Mr Black looked at each other, their mouths and eyes wide as terror filled them.
"Fuck."
"Meow."
*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM*
*Cough* 'Will I ever rid myself of this grime?' Hit patted his smoky coat down for the umpteenth time as he approached his final destination for the day: hovel number 20. The investigator's previous stop had been quite a lot noisier than he would have hoped, but the detonation was worth it simply to see the look on those wretch's faces. Hit was nearly blown to smithereens, despite his quick getaway, as the explosion's blast wave was funnelled directly out of the grate and into the street above. After nearly coughing up his lungs, a smouldering Hit had checked the entire building for his targets; verified that the two chemists below were still alive; tied their charred bodies up; and headed to his next stop.
He now approached an incredibly tiny café or bar: a red brick building that leaned to one side due its disrepair. Its slate roof was cracked in multiple positions and supported the nests of a myriad of pigeons, which cooed to one another in the gloomy afternoon. Overall, it appeared to be a run-of-the mill destitute dive. Hit had initially overlooked the forgettable site; however, it was easily distinguished by the vast quantity of vermin that entered the establishment, never to exit the space.
'Foolish. They are obviously attempting to make themselves appear innocuous, but the effort is pointless if one merely observes the incomings and outgoings here. Yet again, the rats are lurking underground.' Hit slinked from shadow to shadow as he homed in on the establishment, halting at its rear next to a waste disposal drum. He peeked his head up, at a dirtied window, and performed a quick time-skip bob upwards, providing him with a snapshot of the secrets that lay within.
Inside, Hit spotted a cramped bar, with only four seats visible from his position. A short balding man was seated atop one of the faded structures, holding his hands together on the bar table. The impoverished soul wore grey tattered rags, their integrity solely maintained by numerous colourful patches emblazoned across their entire surface. Behind him, at least from Hit's perspective, was a slender barmaid, who stood holding a beer mug in one hand and a cloth in the other. She wore a black vest and trousers, each dotted in cigarette burns. Hit deactivated his technique and closed his eyes, focusing solely on the sounds and vibrations that escaped the tavern.
"…Oh, I'm begging you, Lady Natalia! I-I don't have anyone left to turn to! You've got to help me!" Hit cringed slightly as an incredibly nasal voice echoed from within the bar, sounding as if the utterer was undergoing a manic episode.
"What exactly are you referring to, Mister Applebaum? There are a plethora of drinking establishments in our fair city." This slimy wail was juxtaposed by a melodious warble: a voice that belonged to a woman who was experienced in all matters in life and assured of herself in every aspect.
"Come on, Natalia! Y-you know what I mean!", came the submissive man's reply.
The bartender scoffed, placing her glass on the counter with a clink. "Do I? And that is Lady Natalia to you."
Mister Applebaum grunted, twitching in dismay in his creaky chair. "Must we do this every time… I already paid for my family's passage, and now I simply wish to be by their side! Please, Lady Natalia!"
"How touching. I still do not see how that is my problem", she replied with a distant voice, not caring for her patron's predicament.
"Grrr…" Applebaum growled and flung a heavy object on the table, which clinked noisily as it flopped to one side. "That's it… That's the last of my savings. Now, please. Please! I'm begging you to save me! That Night Stalker's going to get me any day now for my schemes! Take me under-"
A loud commotion buffeted against Hit's ears as several bangs and crashes exploded from the two speaker's position. Finally, Natalia spoke in a harsh raspy hiss as she towered over the man. "Quieten your squeals, pig."
Applebaum's heart rate was now bordering upon tachycardia as he shivered on the bar's wooden desk. His voice came out as a pained whisper due to the firm grip Natalia had on his windpipe. "B-But he only attacks at night!" *Wheeze* "W-We're safe in the day… Right?"
"Obviously not", slunk Natalia's cold reply as she vapourised the man's feeble sense of security. "Anyone with a functioning frontal lobe can ascertain that our huntsman has been planning this little game for quite some time. The days are likely when he observes us… As if we are animals… Pigs for slaughter. So… I would appreciate if you kept your muzzle shut, Mister Applebaum."
The table creaked again as the diminutive man shook his head up and down with electrified vigour, scuttling back to his seat with his tail behind his legs. "Y-Yes Madam…" *Gulp*
"I am quite the admirer of his work, you know. He is a fellow killer. I can tell." Natalia's voice had now risen to a higher pitch, as if a sense of giddiness has possessed her. "Although his victims always arrive at the Ganesha grounds in one piece, I can see that he is holding himself back quite a lot. Those grievous wounds and shattered bones touch upon fatal, barely alighting upon the border. He knows exactly what he's doing. Also, my business has been positively booming since his arrival! The apparition is welcome to a free drink … Should my humble abode be worthy of its presence."
A grinding sound undercut Natalia's fanatical ramblings as Mister Applebaum's temper smouldered uselessly. "How very… fortunate… for you. L-Let's just get this over with, Lady Natalia…"
"Fine, fine. Please accompany me to the back room for a ~private~ session, Mr Applebaum." Several loud clacks betrayed the fall of heels upon wood, suggesting that Natalia was now on the move. The sound was swiftly accompanied by far less elegant footsteps and hushed hyperventilation as her impish customer followed closely behind.
'Now!' Hit hurried into action as he adopted a wraith-like style of movement, twisting and convulsing his body to remain within the darkest spots as he dashed by the inn's front door. As Hit was passing its two front windows, he skipped time, allowing him to view Natalia and Applebaum as they marched towards the western end of the tavern.
Natalia was unnaturally tall, standing at over seven foot in height. Noir stilettos adorned the gangly woman's feet and a pair of crimson gloves wrapped around her thin fingers. On the other hand, Mr Applebaum was less than five foot tall, which included the overly tall top hat that he now wore. The two were in the process of navigating towards a shelving unit, one covered in cooking utensils and intricate pewter tankards. Natalia had risen her closed fist to a metal plaque, which shone in a reddish hue.
Hit rolled into a crouching position, covering his body with the grey bedsheet previously used to disguise his identity. The cloth was now used to make Hit's prone body appear as a sack of refuse, quite a common sight in this impoverished region. As his position was sent through space and time, rumblings began to emanate from within the building.
*/*/*/*/*/*/*
*/*/*/*/*/*/*
*/*/*/*/*/*/*
*/*/*/*/*/*/*
The trembles continued as several metallic clacks joined the cacophony, along with Applebaum's feeble whimpers.
As the grinding finally halted, feminine chuckles broke the silence. "Fufu… Well, Mr Applebaum. Sissies first."
"I-I'll never get used to that… Are my family truly down there?" The weakling ignored the jab, if only to protect his family, and gulped at the unknown that now faced him.
Natalia laughed cruelly. "KAHAHA! Of course they are! I may be a swindler, but I will always tell the truth. Besides, you have no choice but to trust me."
Hit tensed himself as he detected an opportune moment. The detective needed to decide here: he needed to observe the changes that had occurred within the tavern and act swiftly. Hit skipped time and raced into the building, eyes darting at inhuman speeds to every nook and cranny that faced him.
'The shelves! They're a hidden door!' Hit's eyes sparkled as they alighted upon a now ajar shelving unit, which opened up to reveal a dingy staircase, leading who knows where. To the side, Natalia was grinning like a hyena as she stuck a palm towards the pit, willing her helpless customer inside.
Hit's mind raced as he contemplated his next move. 'That ring must act as the key to their basement. I could simply relieve her of it, but who knows what traps or barriers lay in wait inside. Breaking the unit down is also out of the question, since it will alert any pests within. I must head into the unknown.' Mind made up, he picked up the pace and rocketed past Natalia and Applebaum, dashing down the granite steps into the depths of the Earth.
Author's Notes
I just realised that Hit shouldn't be able to move, under time skip, with his clothes on… Technically, his clothes must also skip time with him… If not, he would have to be naked at all times! Also, if it's raining, Hit would also be unable to move since the droplets are temporarily immobile… At least, that's how I have portrayed his power here… Oh well.
In case you were wondering, our two chemist friends are members of the gang called Fixing Good. I hope these OC characters are not too boring for you… I'm having lots of fun coming up with them all. 😊Don't worry, they're just to make the world more 'lived in'.
Hit's appearance is similar to a dementor.