Life: 2. City of the Damned (Patreon)

Chapter 2: City of the Damned

Giovanni Zatara
New York, NY, USA

I frowned as I teleported into my ancestral home. Shadowcrest Manor was one of the most magically potent locations in the world. Its wards had been added to by every generation of Zatara. It was truly a fortress like none other.

Stepping within the bounds of its wards always made me feel as if a warm blanket had been draped over my shoulder. There were few better places to guard the Amulet of Aten.

“Dad? You’re home,” Zatanna said. She was seated at her favorite armchair, a magic book open across her lap. Not a grimoire, just a book on magic tricks and misdirection employed by stage magicians all over.

Zatanna, my only daughter and assistant, was the apple of my eye, my sun and moon. She was the greatest gift my beloved wife gave me before she passed, the spitting image of dear Sindella.

My love had passed without my knowledge while I was away on tour. I didn’t even get to tell her goodbye. I pressed down on the pang of guilt that lanced through my heart.

I hung up my coat and gave my daughter a hug. “I am home, daughter.”

“So, kicked bad guy butt? Wotan, right?”

“Indeed. Wotan is a powerful sorcerer. He attempted to blot out the sun using the Amulet of Aten.”

“Cool!”

“No, not ‘cool,’ Zatanna. Dangerous, more like. Catastrophic, even. Magic is not a toy, nor something to be abused whimsically.”

“I know, dad. You taught me that,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. Then, her look of seriousness vanished like the morning dew, replaced by a devious grin. “But you totally kicked bad guy butt anyway.”

I sighed but could not suppress a smile. “Indeed. The Justice League lent me their assistance.”

“So why the long face? I made spaghetti by the way.”

“Thank you, Zatanna. You didn’t need to wait up for me.”

“I wanted to. You look tired, dad.”

“It is not exhaustion, just… caution.”

“What’s wrong? You have the amulet and Wotan ran like a little girl, right?”

“We were successful…”

We heated up my daughter’s spaghetti and ate together. As perceptive as ever, she left me to my own thoughts.

Wotan was not what had me worried; he was a known quantity, troublesome, but manageable. No, it was the hint of ambient magic surrounding Project Cadmus. The magic had a tinge of the demonic. Not malicious, not all demons were evil, but the overwhelming majority were hostile towards humanity. That, and the name mentioned by the young ones, captured my attention.

Phenex. One of the demons of the Ars Goetia, the Lesser Keys of Solomon. It was a name I’d never encountered outside of musty, old tomes. This “Rigal Phenex” was almost certainly a sorcerer, though that didn’t necessarily make him a demon, perhaps a contractor like Faust.

He was likely a fool, one who felt that he was strong enough to claim the name of a demon lord without consequence. The other option was that a demon lord had manifested onto the mortal plane, and with no forewarning whatsoever. Thankfully, the latter option looked to be rather unlikely.

Robin mentioned that this man called himself “Tweety” on occasion. He joked with Kid Flash, poking fun at his lack of a girlfriend. He seemed easygoing and went out of his way to suppress the fire, saving many lives in the process.

That didn’t sound like a demon lord. Demon lords tended to be immensely prideful and petty even when they weren’t out for blood. They cared not for the lives of mortals and even the slightest perceived insult would be repaid in blood.

I knew too little, and so I’d kept my silence while amongst my friends in the League. Batman likely recognized the name as well, but I hoped he would defer to me in this matter.

If nothing else, this “Rigal” didn’t seem hostile towards the children. He joked with them, assisted them in combat, and then vanished. Robin mentioned that “Tweety,” and wasn’t that a ridiculous name, was out for adventure. I didn’t buy that for a minute.

What he really wanted, I couldn’t say. If we were lucky, he would be someone like Jason Blood or the Blue Devil, a defender of humanity and an expert in the occult. More likely, he’d draw the wrong sort of attention with a name like that. Hopefully, he wouldn’t draw anyone else into his folly.

Regardless, perhaps now would be a good time to reexamine the wards around Shadowcrest Manor.

X

Rigal Phenex
Gotham, NJ, USA

“This place is a shithole,” Max grunted. We stood atop a random skyscraper, overlooking the shittiest city in America.

Gotham was exactly what I expected: gothic architecture, cagey people in overcoats that probably hit any number of small arms, and gray stone that seemed to rebel against all attempts at color. Even the sky was clouded and dull, as if the Presence himself condemned this city.

In a way, it might well be true. Gotham was quite literally built on cursed ground. In the eighteenth century, a bunch of dumbasses summoned a bat-demon named Barbatos, no relation to the Pillar family from my old world. Then, in their moment of brilliance, they decided to trap said demon beneath the city for centuries. Suffice to say, I wouldn’t blame the big man upstairs if he had it out for this city.

I leaned against the rooftop fence and let out a contented sigh. “I don’t see the problem.”

“There’s a guy over there getting shanked,” he said. “I know you have night vision.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t have taken a knife to the kidney if he didn’t push that gal against the wall. Good on her.”

“Point. So we’re not going to do anything?”

“I’m not. What you do is up to you, Max. What do you think you should do?”

“Superman would save him, even if he deserves it.”

“You’re not Superman, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he grunted. The surly bastard pointedly looked away.

“Don’t think about what Superman would do,” I told him. It was good advice in general. Few people could live up to the standard Big Blue set, nor should they try. “We’re devils, Max. People might say we’re evil, but we’re not, not really.”

“Yeah? Then what are we?”

“First and foremost, a devil is a creature of desire. We might lie or cheat, but we’re ultimately honest with our desires. Our hopes, dreams, and ambitions define us, and we chase after them with an eagerness that humans don’t usually share.”

“Do things because it’s what I want?”

“Yup.”

“Then fuck him.”

“Atta boy.”

“And fuck you too, asshole. Don’t ‘atta boy’ me,” he said with a scowl. The corner of his lips twitched upwards. “Hey, wanna race?”

“Race? To where?”

“There,” he pointed at the far end of the harbor, about four miles away. “Touch the sea then fly back.”

“You’re in an energetic mood,” I noted with a knowing smile.

“I don’t know why. I feel pretty wired. Is it the devils being more active at night thing?”

“Partially, but mostly it’s the city itself. Remember what I said about this place being cursed?”

“Yeah, you said a demon was imprisoned here.”

“Yup. Demonic energy floods Gotham. There’s an abundance of it. Honestly? It reminds me of home. You know, with more violent crime and less creature comforts.”

“Goodie, literal Hell is somehow less violent than Gotham,” Max drawled.

“Like you said: Gotham’s a shithole,” I said with a shrug.

“Wait, is that why you wanted to come here? Because you were feeling homesick?”

“Don’t be silly, little brother. The ambient magic in the air will give you a head start on learning magic, especially since it’s all aligned towards the demonic. The boost won’t be large, but a bit of a helping hand is a good thing, what with you being a complete novice.”

“Huh. What can magic do?”

“Eh, I’ll explain over dinner. Food first. Sound good?”

The thought of food made his eyes shine like a puppy’s. “Yeah! You know, I have memories about food, but not any that I’ve enjoyed. Like, I haven’t eaten anything, ever.”

I clenched my heart in phantom pain. “Oh, that’s fucking tragic. Alright, change of plans. We’re going on a pub crawl. I’m going to introduce you to the greasiest, most unhealthy selection of dishes possible, maybe get you drunk while we’re at it. Your first taste will be one you remember or my name isn’t Rigal Phenex!”

“Sure, why not? I mean, I’m pretty sure kryptonians can’t get fat.”

“Good. Ready?”

“For what?”

I punched him on the shoulder and took off towards the pier. “Go!”

X

My baby brother was fucking adorable. There was a marked difference between his regular, surly attitude and the pure, childish delight on his face as he crammed his third fried fish into his mouth. A look of such pure, innocent wonder seemed at odds on the face of an older teen, but it was one I was determined to see as often as possible.

We crawled through every bar, pub, and tavern along the pier, sampling everything from sliders to nachos to a baked potato. It was all so painfully mundane, typical bar food I could find anywhere in the world. But it was all so new to him.

“How are we not drawing attention?” he asked, voice muffled by his second slice of quesadilla. “We’re eating a lot more than other people.”

“You mean you are eating a lot more than other people,” I teased. We were devils, and he, a kryptonian. We didn’t need more calories than a normal human, or any technically, but when we had a mind to, we could really indulge. “You’re not overdoing it so much that you’d out yourself as a meta.”

“Meta? As in ‘metahuman?’ That word’s in my memories. Comes up a lot actually.”

“Right. ‘Metahuman’ is a general word for any sort of powered individual. That, and I hypnotized that cute redhead bartender.”

He looked at me with alarm. “You can do that?”

“So can you. It’s not perfect, but most supernatural beings have some affinity for it. Hypnotism like this is one of the easier spells to learn actually.”

“Huh. How’s it work?”

“For starters, it’s easiest when the target has no idea that it’s happening at all,” I said. This was elementary stuff; I literally learned it as part of my school curriculum. “She wasn’t expecting a devil so I got to slip into her mind without a fight. Second, it works best if the target wouldn’t mind following the suggestion in the first place. She just wants to finish work and get paid, right? She’s not looking for any trouble. She’s happy to ignore anything mildly unusual so long as we tip well. And if there is one thing a Phenex will never lack, it’s cash.”

“I get it. If you told her to shoot someone?”

“Then I’d be pitting my own magical control and power against her strength of will. I’m pretty sure I’d win, but even a normal civilian like her can have unexpectedly strong wills. It’d also be really obvious that her mind’s been tampered with should anyone bother to look.”

“So it’s not perfect?” At my nod, Max visibly relaxed. “Good. I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s… It’s wrong, messing with someone’s mind, controlling someone.”

“Like Cadmus,” I said, filling in what he wasn’t saying. It seemed Max had a bit of a complex when it came to mind control, maybe chains and bonds of any sort. I made a note of it.

“Yeah. I don’t want it. I don’t want to learn to do things like that.”

“It’s very useful.”

“Maybe, but it’s… I don’t know how to put it,” he said with a frustrated growl. “Even when you’re not hurting anyone, it feels… wrong.”

“‘The mind is a man’s final sanctuary, true and inviolable.’ My dad’s bishop told me that when he was teaching me. You don’t mess with someone’s mind, not for fun.”

“Good. Still not learning it.”

“Suit yourself. I won’t force you.”

“So, how’s the whole peerage stuff work?” he asked, clearly changing the subject.

I gave him the full rundown. Devils, peerages, and the powers each piece could grant. There was more he needed to learn, so much more, but for now, simply knowing the basics was enough.

“Basically, your position as the rook is to defend your king and your fellow peerage members,” I told him. “As a kryptonian and now a devil without a weakness to yellow sunlight, you’re uniquely suited for the position.”

“Huh, doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Right? And in exchange, you get training, magical powers that grow with you, and new experiences.”

He nodded, satisfied with his meal. “So now what? I’m down with being a devil, but what’s our next move then?”

“For now? We find a hotel. I hypnotize them to ignore our lack of ID in exchange for copious amounts of cash. And then?” I shot him a wicked grin, the kind bears reserved for fresh salmon. This was something I’d been looking forward to, ever since pops made me accept my fair share. “Then I introduce you to the best and worst part of being a devil.”

“Why are you smiling like that? I don’t like that smile.”

“What? You’re all for new experiences, right? Trust me, you’ll meet some interesting characters this way.”

X

Max glared at me with all the resentment of a soaked poodle. The two of us were in the penthouse of some hotel I didn’t care to remember the name of. After a night of lounging around, I’d presented him with the most basic of all low class devil tasks: contracts.

“This is bullshit,” he groused.

In his hands was a binder full of bookmarks. The bookmarks were a matte, charcoal-gray, with the Phenex house crest embossed in shimmering ink that flickered orange and yellow like dancing flames. Beneath the circle, in script that reminded me of smoldering coals, was the text:

Ye whose heart yearns for more,
Ye who longs for the sky above,
Take this, and see what’s in store,
Take this, and-

Fuck, I suck at poems, alright? Just rip this if you want something and a devil will appear to grant your wishes, for a proportionate price of course.

Cheekily yours,

Tweety

PS: No, we don’t eat souls. Ugh, I don’t know where you’ve been. Seriously, do you have any idea how revolting you taste? 

I sniggered at the look on his face. Ruval Phenex was a responsible man. He was a man of great character, respected across all the world for both his power and integrity. Alas, he was also a rather harsh taskmaster who firmly believed in a bit of tough love.

He’d seen how Uncle Riser turned out, lazy and spoiled, indulging in hedonistic lust until he lost the single greatest opportunity of his life. Oh, Uncle Riser did get better, he eventually pulled his head out of his ass and started training for real, but only after the Titty-Dragon Emperor almost killed him with Balance Breaker and holy water. Father decided that I would not be permitted to make such “youthful mistakes.”

When I was seven years old, he had his bishop, my magic instructor, take me to the human world to pass out devil contracts by hand. I would then spend a sizable chunk of my time fulfilling said contracts with what meager magical skills I possessed at the time. Find a lost cat? Defend some kid from his bullies? Bake a cake for mom? Done, done, and done.

It was tiring. It was dull. It was peasant work.

Of course, my bitching and moaning didn’t stop my father from booting me out of the manor with a quota. “You should learn how other devils increase their power. You will one day be able to better relate to your peerage members this way,” he’d said. And now, that day had come.

All that to say, the schadenfreude was positively delicious.

“This is bullshit,” Max repeated.

“It’s not. It’s tradition.”

“You’re only saying that because your dad made you do this. You just want to watch me suffer.”

“Yes, yes I do. It’s hilarious,” I said with a big smile. I wouldn’t lie to my bro. “But, there are other reasons for you to do this, besides my amusement.”

“Tradition isn’t a good reason.”

“Power. Connections. Fame. Those are better reasons.”

“What power?”

“I keep telling you, Max. Devils are creatures of desire. As it so happens, devils gain a slight increase in magical power when we fulfill the desires of others. It’s usually miniscule, especially since we don’t steal souls anymore, but it’s a good way for a newly reincarnated devil to accumulate demonic power gradually.”

“That… That doesn’t make sense! Then why not work at McDonald’s? Give people a burger! That’s fulfilling a desire, right?”

“Do you want me to get you a job at McDonald’s? That can be arranged, you know.”

“No, you know what I’m saying, Rigal.”

“I do. And that’s where these bookmarks come in. The average person won’t be able to summon anything. Only people with an earnest desire, and a decent amount of magical potential, will be able to call us. When we fulfill a contract, some of that magic comes over to us, see?”

“This is lame.”

“It’s work. And, seeing how we’re new in Gotham, it’s a good way to make a name for ourselves.”

He stood with a huff. “Fine, but I’m not happy.”

“Of course.”

“I just need to pass this out?”

“Yup, you have fun. Go see the town, you know?”

“Well what are you going to be doing then?”

I held up my family grimoire. “I’ll be making a teleportation circle in one of the empty rooms you can use later this evening. Also, I need to get started on the ritual circle to make phoenix tears.”

“The what?”

“Magic medicine that can only be made by someone with the Phenex bloodline. Pops taught me how to make my own before I crossed over.”

“The devil… makes medicine?”

“Yup. The best medicine in fact. It temporarily grants the consumer my own regeneration. Any sickness, any injury, any poison, all gone with a single dose. It’s why my family’s so absurdly rich.”

“Are you going to be selling those?”

“Probably. This world has some phenomenal medical advancements of its own, but I’m willing to bet my bloodline comes out on top there,” I said proudly. “Now get going, brother-mine. Those contracts won’t distribute themselves.”

“Alright, alright, sheesh.”

X

Once he left, I called upon my familiar, a simple, American robin. I could have acquired a more exotic familiar, perhaps a minor elemental or a djinn, but father advised that I should stick to something less conspicuous. Not from mundane sight, plenty of supernatural creatures could transform into mundane animals, but from magical detection.

The robin, having been an utterly normal bird before I’d tied him to me, lacked an active magic signature. Until I channeled a spell through my familiar, he was effectively like any other bird, albeit one that followed instructions.

“Come here, Rick,” I called. He landed atop my palm with a delightful trill. “Take a few contracts and pass them out, won’t you? Keep an eye on Max too, just in case. I know he’s a flying brick, but a brother worries.”

He snagged a few in his claws and flew off.

I didn’t get a robin just to name him Rick Grayson. If anyone asked, the orange breast feathers appealed to me.

That settled, I repurposed one of the penthouse rooms to set up my magic circles, one for teleportation, the other for phoenix tears. Once that was done, I grabbed one of the three artifacts I’d brought with me from my old world, a chalice used for alchemy, and stood inside the circle.

“I hate this ritual so much,” I grumbled.

Phoenix tears were miraculous. They were also a pain in the eye to make. Not ass, eye. Aunt Ravel could explain better, but the Phenex needed to stand inside the magic circle and cry into an enchanted chalice filled with water. That water would then be converted into the most potent medicine in the world, with one caveat: The tear had to be shed with a perfectly empty mind.

To cry “for another,” or with any emotion at all, would ruin the product, rendering the entire ritual worthless. One could not cry for a dead lover or some tragic play. So long as it vaguely had a subject, the ritual failed.

Aunt Ravel could cry on command, something she’d used as a child to get her way in just about anything from gramps. Uncle Riser told me that the first time he did this stupid ritual, Uncle Revel tickled him until he peed himself. Granted, he was drunk when he told me so I had no idea how true that was. Point being, everyone in the family had their own way of getting a “tear meant for no one.”

Resigning myself to this bullshit, I pulled out a vial of hot sauce, an eye dropper, and looked up. Truly, whoever came up with this bullshit was a sadistic bastard.

I cleared my mind, emptying it of all thoughts. At the moment, they were mostly uncharitable thoughts of the original Lucifer. When my mind settled, I allowed a drop of mango-habanero to fall onto my open eye.

“Gah! Fuck!” I hissed. It wasn’t even the pain, I was used to that. It was the sheer frustration of having to do this every fucking time.

It took a few tries, but I managed to pepper myself without feeling a seething hatred for the original devil. A few more rituals followed in which I filled several ornate, crystalline bottles.

Then, in a fit of pique, I emptied out a bottle of antifreeze and filled that to the brim too. If I had to heal people by dosing myself with hot sauce, I sure as shit would find any amusement I could.

Author’s Note

It has been brought to my attention that the wiki lies. The wiki says phoenix tears cannot regenerate missing organs or lost limbs, or replenish blood loss. This is apparently false as Issei’s body was almost entirely disintegrated via True Longinus (DxD superweapon). He got tears and it not only purged all the holy energy, it reconstituted his entire body in a second or so.

I no longer trust the wiki.

The phoenix tear ritual is a thing. I don’t know why either. I imagine this is how most Phenex clan members do it lol.