Demon Card Enforcer 2, Chapter 42 (Patreon)

Chapter Forty-One: The Temple of Corruption

            Wolfe walked across the roof of the temple, heading for the door in the back wall. The roof itself appeared marble—but a marble run through with worm holes and tracks, organic half-dips like whomever had designed it had finger painted into plaster in a continuous, intersecting lime. They didn’t make a pattern that Wolfe could see, and they were made more disturbing by the flickering crimson light filtering through the red stained-glass windows around him, on the inside of a wall that surrounded the top of the building.

            “Who builds stained glass windows on the inside of the building’s walls, where no one could see them?” Wolfe wondered aloud. “Kooky-ass building.”

            There were stairs leading down a bit to a recessed floor that led to the door—a place where water could get trapped. Wolfe supposed it didn’t matter for a magical building, to a degree, but still—why?

            He reached out and took the handle hesitantly, wondering if there would be some trap.

            It opened easily, revealing a hall made of the same worm track riddled marble, with old fashioned candelabra and dark red hangings on the walls, depicting more demons and elder beings doing all kinds of horrible things to humanity.

            “I always hated how open your dad was with his affiliations, Damian,” Wolfe muttered. “Way to one-up your old man. Apparently, shooting him wasn’t enough.”

            Wolfe cautiously made his way to the left, turned a corner left, and continued down a similar hall that would logically be on the outside edge of the building. There were numerous doors to the side, but Wolfe kept going.

            He didn’t encounter anyone, including, fortunately, any thugs from Damian.

            His deck was already out, and he took advantage to switch his cards. He intentionally dismissed Malviere and Cereboo, figuring they wouldn’t be able to reach him where he was.  Seconds later, red energy flowed into him. It would be a few minutes before he could resummon them.

            I have no idea who he has down here—I should be as prepared, myself, as possible.

            Wolfe dismissed his Soul Hunter mantle as well—it was about to go away regardless. He pulled Brimstone, waited a moment, cycled, and pulled Hellfire as well. Two cards down, and plus six to my attack.

            Wolfe was torn between waiting and buffing up, and moving to find Damian before more could go wrong on the roof—he had a buddy, two girls, and his woman up there. He settled on creeping forward slowly.

            At the end of the terrible hall was a smaller room. Inside was spiral staircase, black metal with ornamental human skulls on the knobs at the top of them. Wolfe took it down. He reached a small alcove—still in worm track marble—with two doors out. One was open, looking to a front foyer with a matching door and staircase on the far side of it.

Wolfe tried the other one, behind him, and found it locked. A notification popped up, telling Wolfe that he wasn’t permitted through the door.

            Does Damian know I’m here, or is this just a door no one can go through?

Wolfe swiped his cards. Soul Hunter had popped back up, and he equipped it.

Soul Hunter

Uncommon Tier-1 Persistent(Mantle)

1 Infernal Power

This card grants the Deckbearer 2 Attack, 2 Defense, and 2 Magical Defense. Additionally, the Deckbearer will do an additional 25% damage against Infernal cards, monsters, and Deckbearers.

“Sometimes, the Infernal Realms want their own back. That’s when they send a Soul Hunter to do their dirty work.”

Wolfe stepped into what he was pretty sure was the front Foyer of the Temple of Corruption. The Foyer had a similar but even more grandiose set of decorations to the previous rooms, including a full-on chandelier hanging from an inverted vault ceiling, the bottom of the chandelier a mere seven feet above the ground. A giant double door, covered in a bas relief of void-squid monstrosities, headed into the central portion of the lower floor of the temple, and a slightly smaller one headed out what would be the front.

The door behind him, to the staircase, and the one across from him to a matching alcove and staircase both swung quietly shut, and a click sound told Wolfe they had likely locked.

The evil hobbit definitely knows I’m headed his way.

There were only the doors to flee, and deeper into the lair. Way to really rub in the choices, gods, Wolfe said in the quiet of his own mind.

            Just to check if he did have a choice, Wolfe turned the handle of the door out and gave it a shove. It creaked open.

            A fat man in a huge leather jacket that looked as if a whole cow had died for it stood outside, long white hair and a giant ZZ Top beard adorning his florid face. As the door opened, the thug turned and faced the door—but when he found himself staring down the barrel of Hellfire, he froze.

            “Uh…”

            Wolfe stepped outside, glancing around the warehouse interior. There were an absolute ton of the metal coffins around, including quite a few hooked up to a huge generator, near the front of the warehouse. A few people were working around them, mostly thugs moving stuff, but somehow, none had seen Wolfe. He could see an unguarded side entrance out.

            “Stay still and quiet,” Wolf said to the man, who frantically nodded.

            Wolfe pulled his phone out, took a picture, and awkwardly texted it to the phone number Rhett had given him way back in the day, at the police party with the great beans.

            Well, I never did give him anything on Emmett, but I suspect he’ll consider this desirable.

            Somehow, the thugs working the kidnap victims still hadn’t seen him, and he motioned the ZZ Top thug inside the temple.

            The thug complied, and Wolfe shut the door.

            Then he put his gun back in the waistband of his pants.

            “Thanks, man, I thought you were going to kill me,” the thug replied, wiping his hand across his red and sweaty forehead.

            “If I asked, could you guys get me a little girl?” Wolfe asked. “Do you have any children?”

            “Yeah, we just got two, I can—"

            Wolfe punched him in the side of the head. He caved the thug’s head in entirely, blood and brain squirting from him, sent the body careening into the wall with his single punch.

            Even without the additional damage of the gun, Wolfe’s bonuses stacked to seventeen—and Infernal got fifty percent extra damage against Mortals. That was roughly eighty damage after reduction, or four times what it took to kill most humans. And the body reflected it.

“People that traffic deserve death,” Wolfe said, shaking his hand hard to sling some of the viscera off it. “Especially those that traffic children.”

Wolfe had five of his eight power used, but his own stats were ridiculous. He glanced at the modified stats on his sheet, getting a handle on his capability.

            Health: 16/30

            Attack:  20 ((8 +6 (Infernal Guns) + 3 (Mantle 2 x1.5 for perk)) x1.25 for perk, -1 wounded)

            Magical Attack: 0

            Defense: 13 (8 +3 (Mantle 2 x1.5 for perk) x1.25 for perk -1 wounded)

            Magical Defense: 8 (5 + 3(Mantle x1.5 for perk)

            Wolfe stared at his stats, trying to decide if a frontal charge at Damian was a good idea. Wolfe got a lot of mileage out of being far more aggressive than most people gave him credit for, and his stats were absurd—his attack on par with a mid-rarity, mid-tier power seven or eight card, more against Infernals, and the rest of his stats were roughly that of a power four creature—especially if Damian was wearing his mantle, which would give Wolfe even more damage.

            But he also knew that he would be walking in on multiple deckbearers, most likely, and he already knew Damian’s trick—between his mantle, which Wolfe had seen nine months ago, and the building they were in, Damian would be throwing out creatures at two less power cost. He doubted Damian was as high level as him, or had as much power—but he might. And he had a lot of really good cards.

            If Rhett gets here first, it’s likely that he’ll go to jail, and I won’t get to take him out. And if Rhett doesn’t get here quickly, it’s likely that they’ll ship out a ton of people for sale and simply switch locations.

            Wolfe had three cards in play, and could only have one more out on the field. He had a thought about that, though, and rifled through the cards he had picked up from the dead Hans. He put the Immolate into his deck—it was never ‘in play’ as an immediate. It might be useful.

He had switched enough that Cereboo had returned to his hand, and he tapped his companion’s card.

His doggo appeared, not barking, his hackles raised.

“Yeah, it’s that time,” Wolfe said. “Let’s end this.”

He reached out and pushed open giant doors with both hands, pushing his way into the central hall of the Temple of Corruption.

For a final showdown with his nemesis, the hall didn’t disappoint. It had pews of black basalt stone, with stone spikes on each end leading partway into the main isle, sharp and jagged. Their were multiple chandeliers, their flames an unnatural blood color, and smoke disobeyed the laws of physics, drifting down across the room. At the far end was a raised dais with a throne of flesh melded together, eyes and mouths from multiple people adoring the outside. The eyes snapped to Wolfe as he entered, and mouths cried out for release in a guttural tongue that Wolfe didn’t know.

Three men were on the platform, and all already had their cards out.

To the left of the throne was Caine Velasquez, wearing a white suit similar to the one that Wolfe had seen him in before, and his mantle was already on—fiery wings extended from his back. With his boy band look and fiery wings, he fit the part of angel quite well.

To the right was a man that looked to be of mixed white and Asian descent, dressed in a faux-chinses robe of gold silk with dragons carved on it. Wolfe presumed this was Zack Chang.

Sitting on the throne was what Wolfe presumed was Damian. He was nearly five and a half feet tall now, and probably weighed six hundred pounds. He was covered in a robe as well, and it hung awkwardly, revealing arms so pudgy they were almost two round balls of flesh squished together. His face was also so fat it was hard to make the eyes out, and nearly round, but for two massive rams horns curled on top. His skin was covered in pustules that wept pus, and his robe was already stained in it.

The throne itself had two chains attacked to skulls at the end of the arm rests, and each led to a beautiful woman with a collar around her neck wearing a bikini and nothing else. Each stood just behind Damina, one with a plate of food, and the other with a towel that was already covered in pus.

He went full Jabba. Never go full Jabba.

            He was also wearing his mantle, which Wolfe knew well—it was his ‘Gate of the Underworld’ set.

Duke of the Legion

Unique Tier-5 equivalent Infernal Persistent(Mantle)

2 Infernal Power

Special: the wearer gains +7 Defense

Special: Wearer gains +15 Health

Special: All Infernal Cards cost 1 less power

Special: All Infernal Cards gain +25% to all stats

Special: One of the ‘Gate to the Underworld’ cards. If all 6 are possessed in the same deck, the bearer will gain 7 Legendary Infernal or Beast card pulls. Additionally, the deckbearer may either gain the Mythic ‘Gate to the Underworld’ Building Card or evolve Cereboo. One card is held by each of the crime families of Noimoire, and the sixth is held within the city by another.

“This person has been chosen to lead the demons of the Infernal, and they have been given the power to do so. Demons come extremely cheaply and are far more powerful.”

Damian stood easily and quickly, reminding Wolfe that his hideous appearance was likely the result of the combination of a ton of enhancer cards and his Temple of Corruption, and not a bad lifestyle, per se—and he had the benefits of his Mantle, as well.

I still need to be careful with him.

Damian threw his disgusting arms wide, and Wolfe saw some pus fly out, narrowly missing Caine’s white suit.

Before he could give some grandiose speech, Wolfe said, “Damian no botha’” in his best Star Wars impression.

Damian sneered. “I always hated your sense of humor. So be it.”

Everyone reached for cards except Wolfe, who pulled his gun and fired.