Side Story: Colin 2 (Patreon)

The lurker prowled across the top of the building. It had eaten well that night. The creature it had hunted was succulent, tasty, the faint flicker of mana within making the meal all the more nourishing. It would grow stronger with each kill, wiser, every correct decision another step towards something more than it could comprehend. It was a predator and this dusty, dry, unforgiving land of stone buildings and metal beasts was its domain. It had existed for weeks now, the days of mindlessness a blur to its ever sharpening mind. It had been cautious, avoiding the powerful creatures that wielded strange forces its primitive mind could barely comprehend.

Now it had a pack, six hounds to do its bidding. Soon more would join. It only had to survive.

A scent caught its nostrils, a sweet scent. It raised its head from within the metal cylinder it had found as its new home. Once filled with water, it was now a lair for it and its pack to rest in comfortable seclusion. Here they would recover after every hunt and grow strong as the lifegiving mana in the air slowly strengthened them, healed their wounds, and aided in changing delicious flesh into something more. It clambered to its feet, its body healthy and hale, and glanced at the pack that raised their heads to acknowledge its dominance. With a gesture and a growl it commanded them, it was time to hunt again.

Out through the opening on the roof while the others slipped through the hole it had carved in the bottom. It alighted atop the cylinder and looked down over the vast land beyond. The tall structures were dusted with the sand of the desert beyond it. It sniffed the air again, there, that sweet scent. An alien one to it, not once in its life had it smelled such an odor. Yet beneath the scent was another, tantalizing, a deep well of mana that cried out to it, begging to be consumed. This feast alone could give it such power if only it could have a taste. Perhaps, perhaps it could become more than a mere lurker. Something greater.

It leaped from the top of its lair and alighted on the building in utter silence, a violation of natural laws as its lumbering bulk left not even a crack in the ground. It moved forward and peered over the side of the building. There, walking alone in the darkened street, a single creature with a brown mane. It wore black and carried naught but a box of some kind hanging from its right hand. The lurker tilted its head and sniffed again. Oh that smell, delicious. It ached to taste it, to feast, it needed to more than anything in the world. It was a compulsion, an instinct.

It glanced at its pack and nodded to them. They would bring the feast to it so that it would not have to risk its own life. Their lips pulled back in hungry snarls before they threw themselves off the side, heedless, their simple minds nothing compared to its growing wisdom. They did not understand danger or risk, not like it did. They alighted on the ground behind the creature with barks and snarls, dashing forward to secure its prize while it stepped back to return to its lair.

“Sit.”

The one word was like a command from the heavens above, from within the very core of its being, the word resonated and gripped at something so deep and primal that it could not begin to resist. It, like the others, sat down on the ground. It’s simple mind tried to process it, tried to understand, tried to conceive of what was gripping so tightly at the very deepest parts of its being. Yet the lurker was still a beast, even in its growing wisdom, it did not know. It roared in defiance and pushed itself back to its feet, a command to the others to rise again and kill the small thing that hid its threat so easily. It clambered to the side once more and looked down and a pair of red eyes met it.

“Break.”

The lurker did not understand how it died.

–

Mephisto brushed his hair back and glanced at the twisted corpses of the hounds that had tried to surround him. Every limb had been snapped and bent the wrong way, their heads pulled to the sides and their jaws cracked open, their eyes had burst and their skin had been turned against flesh, partially peeled. He sniffed and shrugged before glancing down at his watch. Barely a few seconds but still a mild inconvenience on his schedule. He shifted his grip on his briefcase and took a few powered steps forward, crossing a few blocks in as many heartbeats. He moved like a ghost, seeming to disappear and reappear with each step, from an outsider his body looked as if it twitched with each landing.

Back on schedule, He thought and resumed his casual walk.

He didn’t stop walking until he arrived at the office building he was looking for. A pair of guards armed with guns stood outside and immediately turned their weapons on him as he approached. He brandished his best smile when he drew near, “I’m here to see the Spice King,” Mephisto said with a small curtsey, “He’s expecting me.”

The two men glanced at one another before pointing their guns at him again. Mephisto’s smile grew wider as he changed languages, “I wouldn’t do that. Your boss would be very upset if you died, I imagine.”

They froze and Mephisto smiled wider, “Tell your boss the dealmaker is here.”

One of them got on his radio and said a few quick words, he tensed and then nodded before stepping aside, quickly opening the doors for Mephisto. The villain winked at him before stepping through, “Thank you, handsome,” He said and proceeded inside. 

Unlike the rather bland exterior, the interior was a place of luxury. Gardens maintained through water pumps and solar lamps built into the light fixtures above made it look like paradise. With the blue ceiling it was hard to even differentiate it from the outside. Ahead of him a gold elevator opened and a man hurried out, he wore a crisp suit and appeared to be in his late teens at best. Perhaps even younger than little Blackrazor. Mephisto stopped and waited for the young man to approach, “Master Mephisto, my father is expecting you,” He said quickly, bowing once.

Mephisto’s lip twitched, “Which one are you?”

“Saleh, Master Mephisto.”

“The youngest, you just came of age, did you awaken?” Mephisto asked, walking past him towards the elevator. 

“I did, Master Mephisto. Heroic, my father is quite proud,” The young man said, falling into step with him.

“He wanted me to see you, your father is such a fun man,” Mephisto quipped as they entered the elevator, “Your brothers must be jealous.”

Saleh cleared his throat, “They have their own concerns, Master Mephisto.”

“I’m sure they do, are there still twenty six of you?” Mephisto asked as the elevator rose.

“Twenty four, Master Mephisto,” Saleh said with a solemn tone, “Such is the way of things in our family.”

“Far be it from me to judge how a man raises his sons,” Mephisto tittered out a laugh as the door opened and they stepped out into what was basically a throne room. A single path stretched out ahead of them made of marble and decorative columns lined it. Between the columns and facing inward were twenty three young men of various ages that looked towards Mephisto with various expressions. Some open disgust, others hatred, a few curiosity. Two, though, had very different looks. One to the left of the thrown showed open lust, and to the right showed nothing at all. Only eyes of steel.

“Your eldest brother might be hard to beat,” Mephisto murmured as the young man moved quickly to stand in line with the others. He turned his attention to the throne and the mountainous man sitting on it.

The Spice King was young, he looked not much older than his sons. Black hair worn almost wet on his head curled in just the right ways and matched his thick black beard well. He had a broad chest and powerful arms that looked as if they could crack cinder blocks with a gesture. His skin glittered slightly, powdered with gold no doubt. He broke out into a wide smile as the dark figure stepped out into his glittering golden domain.

“The Great Dealmaker of Ishtar returns!” He barked, opening his arms wide, “Welcome, Mephisto.”

Mephisto went into a low, playful bow before flicking his head up to make eye contact with the man, “Mistress Isthar sends her warmest greetings to the Spice King.”

“The God-Queen of Villains is a magnanimous one, sending her best all this way,” The Spice King said, sitting back down, “I have a feast and a decadent room prepared for you, as always.”

“You’re too kind,” Mephisto said before standing up straight, “Before all the fun and games, why don’t we get to business?”

The golden-skinned man leaned forward and rest his elbows on his knees, “Yes. I have a few things in mind that I’m sure she will be interested in.”