Necromanson (Beta) Chapter 15 (Patreon)

Henry struggled to his feet, a twinge of pain passing through the healing wound on his side as he moved. “What do they look like?” he asked

“Dunno,” Athena said, shaking her head. “They haven’t come out yet.

Henry picked up the staff leaning by the phone and walked out to the lobby, panting. His limp had become less pronounced, and Henry could walk without the staff, but he’d become fond of it. They were on the second floor, and so Henry Descended the stairs, using the handrail to reduce the strain. At the bottom, they opened the door, and looked at the line of limousines outside Zack’s mansion.

“This could be bad,” Henry whispered to Athena beside him. Athena nodded silently. The Driveway was a huge paved circle around a decorative fountain, sitting unused since the night they had come.

Three black limousines parked in a semicircle in front of Zack’s mansion opened their doors as Henry and Athena stepped outside. From the car to the front and back emerged four men each, grim faces adorned each of the thugs dressed in slick black suits. From the center car, a middle aged Japanese man stepped out onto the concrete driveway, taking in the mansion before him before he finally settled his eyes on Henry.

“Mr. Stein, I presume?” Shinichi Nakayama said, his face grim.

Henry nodded, “That’s me,” he said, looking over the men assembling in front of the limos. “You must be Mr. Nakayama.”

Nakayama tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Yes,” he said, taking a step forward as his men formed a wing behind him. “I felt that whatever you wanted to talk about was too sensitive for a phone call. May we come in?”

Athena nodded to Henry and opened the door. “Be my guest,” Henry said, showing them inside. Henry led them to a sitting room while Athena tailed behind them, her gun tucked into a holster beneath her arm and above the ancient sword that rested against her hip. Nakayama’s guards displayed no anxiety at being followed by an armed woman, whether it was confidence, or training, only they knew.

Henry motioned for Nakayama to sit, and then took a seat across from him. Nakayama, for his part idly took in the manor around them. “I never thought I would be invited into this place,” he said, glancing at the ceiling. “storm it like a castle, I suppose, or buy it out from under Mr. Landon in a hostile takeover, but this... far more peaceful.” Nakayama’s eye returned to Henry.

“And where is your master?” Nakayama said, studying Henry’s face.

“Who?” Henry asked, his brows furrowing.

“Your master,” Nakayama said, bristling. “Zacharius Landon. The one you are trying to impress with this childish ambush. Did you think I would not notice the weapons you and that woman have on your person? You are much too young to think that-“

“Zack’s dead,” Henry interrupted before the man in front of him could tear Henry apart.

Nakayama narrowed his eyes. “How?”

“I suffocated him,” Henry said with a shrug. “The reason I called you here was to ask for your help. I have no intention of starting a fight I can’t win.

“You suffocated him,” Nakayama said with a sneer. “My enemy was not a man you could smother with a pillow, Mr. Stein. I have heard enough.” Nakayama began to reach into his vest, and Henry began sealing each of his guards in a bubble, carefully removing the oxygen. Perhaps it was due to his practice, but the air was smoothly and silently rendered unbreathable.

“I can prove it.” Henry said, raising a hand. Nakayama stopped his hand, the fingertips disappearing into his vest. Henry slowly raised his shirt, waiting for the lack of oxygen to take effect. “Zack said my organs were valuable to his work, and so he tried to take them.” Henry turned to show the swollen flesh around his stitches.

“He started with my kidney,” Henry said, lowering the shirt, and settling back down in the chair. “and so, to defend myself, I suffocated him.”

Nakayama narrowed his eyes. “I ask again,” he said, his hand sliding deeper into his coat. “how did you do it?” the guards behind him were beginning to pant.

“I can’t tell you how I did it,” Henry said, before pointing at the men standing behind Nakayama. “But the symptoms looked like that.” The smallest of the guards sank to his knees, while the biggest reached for a weapon with a trembling hand, swaying on his feet. Henry caught his hand with his mind, feeling it struggle against his will like a frightened bird.

Nakayama glanced behind him, and turned to Henry, his face a mask of fury. He withdrew what looked like a marble from his pocket, and with a snarl, a web of snakes shot forward, cinching Henry to the chair. Bursts of pain erupted from his ankles, wrists, shoulders, as their fangs gained purchase in his flesh.

“Stop, or I will fill your blood with enough venom to kill a city.” Nakayama said, coming to a stand.

“How long would it take me to die?” Henry asked, suppressing a moan of pain as the fangs embedded in his skin shifted.

“Seconds,” Nakayama said, his voice low.

“plenty of time for me to do the same to you,” Henry said, as the biggest man collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Henry, not wanting to murder them, undid the bubble, allowing oxygen to enter their lungs again. Henry knew he’d freed them, but the old man didn’t. “All I wanted to do was prove that I’m not a lier.” Henry met Nakayama’s eye. “Do you believe me?”

“Release them,” Nakayama said, causing the snakes to twist around Henry, eliciting a groan.

“I would be happy to,” Henry said, panting. “After all, I said I need your help. If you could just… get rid of these snakes, we can talk about making a deal.”

With a grunt bordering on a growl, Nakayama waved a hand, and the snakes vanished, leaving twin beads of blood welling from bites as the only evidence they had ever been. Henry nodded towards the unconscious men. “Check them,” he said, rubbing his wrists. “They’re breathing easy, just unconscious.”

Nakayama bent down and slapped one of his subordinates awake, then sat back down in front of Henry. “Maybe you did kill the old man,” he said, peering at Henry cautiously. The man behind him began to awaken his comrade, and those two woke up the last two.

Athena walked in with a cart with seven bowls of macaroni and cheese, which Nakayama and his guards accepted with bemused stares. The old man shoveled a mouthful of pasta, his guards watching him chew the peasant food. “It’s good, thank you ma’am,” he said.

His men began eating, as Athena pulled a seat up next to Henry. “So where are we at?” she asked, taking a bottle of cider from the bottom of the tray and cracking it open.

“Nakayama thought we lured him here to attack him on Zack’s behalf,” Henry said, taking a bite of the mac and cheese, which tasted vaguely barbeque. “We cleared that up, and were about to talk about why we called him in the first place.”

“Yes,” Nakayama agreed, eating without taking his eyes off of them.

Henry chose his words carefully. “This might be difficult to believe, but I’ve only just been introduced to the world beyond the mundane,” he said, meeting Nakayama’s eyes. “I would like you to announce me onto the stage, show me who I need to know, and introduce me to people willing to teach me what I need to do in order to not be killed for some faux pas, or taboo punishable by death.”

Nakayama listened carefully. “A mentor? Do you not know the rules of apprenticeship?” Henry shook his head. Nakayama sighed and set down his bowl after scraping the last of the cheese out of it. “I see, you are truly in a delicate situation. You need a patron, a guarantor, until you have come into your own.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “And help with one other thing.” Henry’s mind drifted to sea of people kneeling before Manson.

“And that would be?” Nakayama asked.

“A monster,” Henry said. “Maybe you’ve seen it on the news, preaching to entire stadiums, calling himself the second coming of Jesus?” Nakayama’s face darkened as recognition swept across it.

“I know of him,” Nakayama said, his voice low. “He gathers power at an alarming rate.”

“Zack is responsible, and I need help killing it,” Henry said.

Nakayama leaned back in the seat. “What would be in it for me?” he asked. “I could simply allow the might of the Council to descend on that monster and wash my hands of it. You could too, it’s only a matter of time.”

“I need to make sure he’s dead,” Henry said, shaking his head. “That thing is coming after me, and I won’t know I’m safe until I see him die for myself.” Henry took a breath, gripping the recliner tightly.

“As for what’s in it for you,” Henry said. “Did Zack have a plan on where to divest his wealth, were he to pass away?” Nakayama shook his head. “And who would make that decision on his behalf?”

“The Council,” Nakayama said, his eyes beginning to light up.

“And what if you were to prove that you were capable of taking on the responsibility of cleaning up Zack’s mess?” Henry asked.

“They would be impressed,” Nakayama said, his hand on his chin. It might not guarantee him the right to loot Zack’s mansion, but it would be a major contributing factor when it was revealed the old man was dead, and people started jockeying for the estate. By informing Nakayama, he’d given him time to make his play before other people started scrambling.

“And the miss here?” Nakayama said, nodding to Athena, “What is her role in this?”

“I’m his lawyer.” Athena said, her fingertips stabilizing the sword balanced beside her chair. “I’m probably not employed anymore, but my last duty was defending him,” Athena said, nodding toward Henry. “And I take my job seriously.”

Nakayama leaned back as he took that in. “I see,” he said. Nakayama sat still, his toe quietly tapping against the floor as he weighed his options. “Very well, Mr. Stein, I’m happy to work with you.” Nakayama stood and offered his hand.

Henry stood and shook the proffered hand. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, trading a firm grip with the businessman. Nakayama led his men out the door after trading parting words with Henry. As he and Athena watched the limousines drive away, Henry let loose the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Athena glanced over, an eyebrow cocked.

“Think he’ll betray us?” Athena asked.

“I hope not,” Henry said, turning to go back inside.

“That was intense,” Athena said as they walked back inside, shutting the door after them. “I thought I was gonna have to cut off his head when he wrapped you up in snakes.”

“You were watching?” Henry asked, glancing at the woman walking beside him.

Athena shrugged, “Doesn’t take me that long to cook mac and cheese,” she said. Athena cocked her head to the side, and glanced at Henry “Have you considered a plan B with the Manson problem?”

Henry looked at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Manson’s immortal, right?” she asked. Henry nodded. “but that doesn’t mean you can’t take him out of the game either forever or for a very long time.

“Shoot him into the sun, you mean?” Henry asked.

Athena nodded. “Typically I would go for burying him in a massive concrete slab,” she said, walking through the door to the sitting room beside the phone. “Simple, effective. And even if it doesn’t hold him forever, you’ll have plenty of time to figure something out.”

Henry sat in the couch across from her, and mused. “That sounds like the prologue to a fantasy novel,” he said, leaning against his palm. “He returns a thousand years later to wreak havoc on the mortal world.”

“Besides,” Henry said, shrugging. “Worst case scenario, this Council that Nakayama talked up will kill him before he destroys the world.”

***Nakayama***

Shinichi Nakayama knelt in front of a panel of nine. “I give my respect to the Council,” he said before standing. Nakayama raised his head, and his eye twitched. The council had changed. The weakest member of the council, a blustering, power hungry man with hundreds of years of experience getting what he wanted, was gone.

In his place was a small, lanky man with an angular face and a strong chin, wearing a simple pinstriped long sleeve shirt, with the cuffs loosely hanging around his forearms. He had an amiable grin as he fidgeted in his seat like an overeager child, a stark contrast to the solemn faces of the more prominent members who directed their gaze at Nakayama.

“Who’s the chink?” the man asked, his face showing more puzzlement than malice.

“Mr. Nakayama has worked with the council for many years,” A man on the opposite side of the board said. “And he is Japanese.”

Manson adopted a wide grin and slouched forward. “So is he an accountant, or what?”

The woman in the center of the panel showed no reaction. “What have you learned?” she asked. She was an ancient sorceress, from a time when humanity was at its most isolated, indicated by her exotic face, more strange than lovely. Her name was Nadia, and she was possibly the oldest vertebrate on the planet.

Nakayama focused on his breathing, abiding his training to conceal his tells. He swept his gaze across the council, studying the man he had seen preforming miracles on the morning news. “Zacharius Landon is dead,” he said, gauging their reactions. He saw nodding from a few of them, while the leader showed no reaction.

The man on the far left in the inappropriate attire furrowed his brows and addressed the woman to his left. “Who’s that?” Nakayama saw the man’s hand disappear under the desk, and the ancient sorceress beside him actually blushed. Nakayama could hardly believe his eyes, but he caught the leader of the Council glancing over at the far wing from her position at the center and narrow her eyes in jealousy.

This is very bad. Nakayama thought to himself as Nadia turned back to him. “For the benefit of our junior member, please enlighten us about Mr. Landon,” She said, folding her hands atop each other. The three remaining men in the Council deliberately avoided looking at the man on the far wing of the council as Nakayama watched them while he explained.

“Mr. Landon was a rogue wizard who skirted the edge of our law for sixty years,” Nakayama said, scanning their faces as he spoke. “The man maintained a façade of compliance, while engaging in illicit experiments without the knowledge of the Council. However, there was never enough evidence to bring to bear against him. Eyewitnesses became drooling idiots, or different people entirely, and physical evidence has never been successfully retrieved. The man has apparently survived a few assassination attempts that had been reported successful, and we have no idea why.”

Nadia held up a long-fingered hand, and Nakayama stopped speaking. “I know someone who might have an idea on how that occurred,” She said, making a subtle motion with her hand. A shimmering mirage about the size of a door opened beside Nakayama, and a hulking beast of a man stepped through. “This is Sam Franks, my apprentice, whose task it was to infiltrate Mr. Landon’s home, and bring evidence to bear against him.”

The big man stood straight after entering the portal, his right side covered with light, puckering scars, and his right eye was covered with a spell inscribed eyepatch. He nodded at Nadia. “Ma’am.” He said.

“How’s the eye?” Nadia asked in a motherly tone.

“Still trying to break out of the jar,” Sam said solemnly. Nakayama and Manson’s eyebrows went up as they both stared at the giant with the eyepatch.

“I see,” Nadia said, before making a gesture towards Sam with a flat palm. “Two days ago, Sam reported back that Mr. Landon was dead. Sam, tell us what you know about Zack’s death, and his heretofore resilience to it.”

Nakayama spotted Manson lean toward the council member beside him, and whisper “What does heretofore mean?” Nakayama clenched his jaw, attempting to pay attention to what the giant was saying.

“Zack had an antenna tuned to his soul in his vault,” Sam said, looking at council, his eyes narrowing as they passed over the intruder among them. “He had a text sent to his bodyguard or any gullible friend to retrieve a message from the vault. Zack’s soul was drawn to the antenna and prevented from passing on, preserved, and then sent into the body of whoever opened the message. I dealt with that part easily, But,” Sam tapped his eyepatch. “There was a backup booby trap that made clever use of flash blindness, inscribing a spell circle on my cornea, and drawing my own concentration to fuel it.”

“Wow,” The man in the long-sleeve pinstripe shirt chuckled as he spoke. “This is some crazy shit.

Sam’s gaze flickered up to the man sitting on the far left, and then to Nadia. “I was unaware that Velonte had ceded his seat, May I ask who the newest Council member is, and what qualifies him to sit there,” Sam said, a frown on his face.

“Charles is-“ Nadia began before Manson spoke over her.

“I’ll field this one,” Manson said, waving his hand dismissively. He fished a cell phone out of his front pocket, immaculate and at odds with his worn clothes. Nakayama watched the glow of the cell phone illuminate the sharp angles of his face as he browsed through the phone. A moment later he turned the phone toward Sam and Shinichi. A video sprang to life, difficult to make out from the distance, but it showed a fat man, sobbing.

Not just any fat man, it was Velonte, Shinichi realized. His anguished cries, tinny from the speakers in Manson’s phone, reverberated through the silent room. “I secede from the council,” the fat man’s voice came from the phone, between labored breathing. “I select Charles Milles Manson as my successor.”

A young woman’s giggling came from the phone. “And I’m a fat pig, say that next,” she said, her voice honeyed. The video zoomed out, and Nakayama saw that Velonte was naked, strapped down, and strips of skin along his body were missing. A glimmer of anger rose in the eyes of Velonte as he stared at the camera, and a hand reached out from the other side of the lens and threw a sprinkle of salt over his body.

Manson turned the phone back towards himself as Velonte began to thrash and scream, watching the video with watering eyes, biting his lower lip. The distant screams rang through the room for a while longer before Manson seemed to break out of a trance, reluctantly turning off the video, and raising his gaze to meet Sam’s.

“And there you have it,” Manson said with a grin. “Velonte nominated me, and no one had any objections, so here I am.” Manson leaned forward, digging in some container behind the Council member’s bar, and lifted up Velonte’s disembodied head, make into a mockery of a ventriloquist dummy. “Isn’t that right, Velonte?”

“Sure is, Mr. M,” Manson said in a squeaky voice as he made the teeth rattle and snap. “I was gettin tired of living anyhow! That’s why I came to get your help!” Manson smiled, and casually threw the head over his shoulder, where it landed with a dull thud, rolling to a stop somewhere behind him.

Manson’s eyes returned to Sam. “Any other questions, kid?”

Sam opened his mouth when Nadia spoke, her voice drowning out any retort he may have had. “Sammuel Frank,” she said, her voice grim. “Disrespect to any member of the council is disrespect to all of us.” She raised her empty hand again, and another shimmering door opened behind Sam. Manson whistled in appreciation. A frigid gust of wind blew in from the door, carrying snowflakes that melted on contact with the room’s air.

“Leave, and consider your words more carefully next time,” Nadia said. Sam glanced into the snowy forest beyond the portal, hesitated a moment, and then ducked through, the portal closing behind him.

Manson chuckled, while Nadia returned her gaze to Nakayama. “Do you have anything else to report?” she asked. Nakayama took a deep breath.

“Zacharius left two rather large problems in his wake,” he said, organizing the events in his mind. “The first is an unregistered apprentice, kept to be harvested for dark ends. While currently an outlaw, he seems perfectly willing to come under the wing of the council. He even approached me personally.

“And the other problem?” Nadia asked.

“The second problem is far more serious,” Shinichi said. “A man-made Maculat Mulieres of enormous power.” Several of the council member’s eyes flickered toward Manson, who was whispering into the ear of the woman beside him. Nadia’s gaze remained steady.

“I was under the impression that all Maculat were man-made,” she said, a hint of humor on her lips as she emphasized the word. Nadias smile faded quickly and she steepled her fingers. “Nakayama, under normal circumstances, we would send one of our own to deal with the issue, however the council is currently engaged with more pressing matters. I’m giving you the authority to pursue the solutions to these two problems on your own. And should you exceed my expectations, I will reward you greatly.”

Nakayama bowed and turned to leave when he heard a clicking from Manson’s phone again. “Wow, Maculat Mulieres means ‘It corrupts women’ in latin,” Manson said with a grin. “Sounds like my kinda guy. Can I meet him?”

Nadia glanced over at Manson, and back forward. “No.” she said with an air of finality. “You need to focus on learning your duties.” She turned to Nakayama, who was glancing back at them. “You may leave, Mr. Nakayama.” Shinichi nodded and walked away

As he left, he heard Manson’s voice again. “So about that Henry guy I’ve been looking for, do you wizard types have anything…” Manson’s voice faded to nothing as Nakayama gained distance from the room, his heart pounding wildly, but years practice kept his face neutral. It was tradition to honor a council member’s nominee, even if it was made under duress, so the other members couldn’t directly confront Manson, and from what Shinichi could see, the monster was digging his claws deeper and deeper into those around him. Not a single member on the council would have failed to identify what Manson had become, and Nadia allowing him to pursue the destruction of the Maculat reflected the will of the Council to remove Manson from their ranks.

Nakayama stepped out into the light of day, glancing up at the clouds for a moment, as he liked to do when life became complicated. A shimmering from the corner of his eye turned his head, and Sam stepped out of thin air to stand beside Nakayama. Small icicles had formed around his nose and mouth, but he appeared as comfortable as he had been in the meeting room.

“Nadia says to give you a hand,” Sam said, turning his head to look down at the man beside him.

“You are lucky your master tolerates your careless speech,” Nakayama said, still searching the clouds for any idea to move forward.

Sam rolled his massive shoulders. “I do exactly what she says, and I never lie to her, what more respect does she need?”

Nakayama glanced up at the giant beside him, then back to his limousine. “Follow me, then,” he said, climbing into the vehicle. Sam scrunched down and slipped into the car, causing it to tilt to one side before he scooted towards the center.

“Where to?” Sam asked, his head ducked down as he rode the limousine facing Nakayama.

“The Library.” Nakayama said, reaching for the minibar and pouring himself a glass of sake with trembling fingers. His eyes narrowed, and with an effort of will, his hands stilled as he brought the cup up to his mouth. Sam didn’t seem to have noticed as he watched the world outside speed by like a kid on a field trip.

“Why?” Sam asked, frowning.

“Because that thing that infiltrated the council is like no Maculat I’ve ever heard of. It’s not a mindless killer, it’s smart, and it’s immortal. We need to find out how to get rid of it.”

Sam leaned back in his seat and exhaled. “Fuck, why can’t anything ever be simple?”

***Nick***

“Fuck, why can’t anything ever be simple?” Manson said as he sawed at his steak in agitation. Nick sat across from him, her face sympathetic.

“What is it, boss?” she said, her head cocked to the side as she watched him eat.

“It’s this council business, and that Henry guy,” Manson said, bringing a strip of meat to his mouth. “He’s got the rest of me. I need him, but when I get to that house in the sticks, what do I get instead? A dozen guys with guns!” Manson’s hand pressed a little too hard and a squirt of blood fell in his lap.

“And this!” Manson said, throwing down the napkin and waving angrily at the woman strapped to the table, a chunk of her thigh missing. Her mouth was stuffed with a fancy embroidered napkin that matched Manson’s. Her face was red, and her eyes swam near the back of her head as her labored breathing came in and out through her nose. “This is because of the council, fucking bastards think I can’t be one of them. too good for me. I see it in their eyes.”

“Fucking class warfare is a joke,” Charles said, meeting Nick’s eye. “warfare means either side could win, but this…” Manson hunched over and bowed his head, holding it in his hands.

Nick stepped closer, and put her hand on his shoulder, comforting him. “I thought…” Charles whispered, his voice breaking. “Maybe this time around…” he looked up at Nick, tears in his eyes. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?”

Nick rubbed his shoulder, the only sound was Candy-The-Orphan-Stripper’s breathing, and low moans. “Look, boss,” Nick said, fishing for advice from her short life. “My mom always said be yourself, and my dad always said the people who succeed don’t give a fuck what other people think. They just keep trying until they’re standing at the top. Maybe instead of trying to be like them, you should make the people at the top a little more like you?”

Manson’s shoulder’s stopped shaking, and he looked up at Nick, “That’s...” he said, musing, his eyes wet with tears. “A hell of a thought.”

“Now I’m gonna say something I’ve been thinking for awhile,” Nick said, leaning close to manson’s ear. “Table manners are for chumps.” Nick sported a wide grin as she whispered. Charle’s back went stiff for a moment, then he began to expand.

Manson burst out of the itchy vest he’d been forcing himself to wear, pale bony shoulders emerging from the torn cloth while his mouth widened, grew deeper, and filled with teeth reminiscent of a shark. The monster leaned forward and began to devour the woman strapped to the table, convulsing sensually as raw chunks of homeless stripper slid down his throat.

Nick stood beside Charles and rubbed his back while he ate, relishing the powerful heart beating against her palm, and the feverish heat emanating from him.

The pale thing beneath her palm arched its back in pleasure as it swallowed the girl’s head, spasming as though he were experiencing a near-painful orgasm. After a moment of stillness, it lunged to its feet, and Nick backed away, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists. Charles turned toward Nick, and a thrill went through her heart, the sunken pits of his eyes locked onto her, making her know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was prey standing before him. A glob of blood-reddened saliva dropped from the thing’s mouth, and it lifted a clawed hand that could easily wrap around her waist.

Nick’s heart sang in her chest, beating wildly as Charles took a step forward, and Nick knew she could no longer separate fear from desire. Charles let out a grunt. Then a crick. Slowly, the monster became smaller, less skeletal. A mane of brown hair regrow over the scalp, and a few moments later, Charles stood before her, no longer a god, once again taking the form of a man.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief tinged with disappointment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you, girl,” Charles said, his tattered clothes hanging from him as he stroked her cheek. The blood that had covered his skin was absorbed like a drop of water on desert sand, simply vanishing.

“but if I ever do,” Charles said, shrugging out of his ruined clothes. “I think I’ll let you be free range. Get married, have kids.” He walked to the corner of the room where a fresh pair of jeans and button up shirt had been waiting in a plastic bag. “Gotta leave the best ones in circulation. Hell that’s livestock management rule number one.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Nick said, her eyes burning at the thought.

“I Know,” Charles said gently. “But no one stays young and pretty forever, doll.”

Charles demeanor changed suddenly as he fastened his belt. “Now,” he said, walking toward the door. “You gave me an idea. Let’s go see if we can make the upper crust a little more like me.”