Chapter Two: Reaching Out With No Hands

The morning was bright, but December in Ohio on the Lake made sure that the wind is bitter and makes a soul feel cold. And lifeless. And grey. And possibly snowy. Hell, I could have lived anywhere I wanted, literally anywhere. Any of the layers, any province - minus Antarctica province, I'm sorta not allowed there anymore - wherever! Yet I'm stuck in this shitty place with no fun and no people. How can I do anything here? Make shit up I guess.

Look, I'm rambling. I got out of the shower feeling only clean. The steam fogged up the mirror, hiding my tattoos that mark me as a not so good man. Itching my balls, I dried off, humming 'Mr. Roboto' by Styx. Trying to keep my head clear, Halina was making breakfast, the smell of waffles from the waffle maker I bought a day ago making me hungry.

Ah! What the, the towel bite me! Holding it up, the red thing was just filthy. Smudges, dried blood, dirt, strings hanging off. It sorta looked like the flayed side of a big fish. Or a fleshy, gross, human chest. A dead chest, of course.

Time to go shopping, again. I bet all my towels and washcloths look like this. No more rough cycles through the washer and dryer. That'll just ruin them more.

Tossing aside the nasty thing, I just stood there, air drying my naked body. The mirror finally cleared up, and my ragged beard was thick like my ragged black hair. And time for a haircut, or at least a trim. I laced my fingers through the thick mass, enjoying the feel. There'll be other feels later, if you catch my drift......

Definitely dry enough, I dressed in basic attire. Walking past the living room and out the door, I had my first journal in hand. The day starting to get brighter out, but the grey clouds would never leave. They'd be there for a very long time.

Heading over to the side of the house, the doors to the cellar sat solemn, quiet. Wooden doors, with strips of metal lined vertically on the surface. They were etched with intricate necro-symbols designed to keep death in, and wandering senses out. I unlocked it. I grabbed one handle.

The door creaked open, which reminds me to oil the damn thing once I get back. A dark abyss greeted me, the smell of air freshener overpowering the stench of graveyard. My hand fumbled around until it touched the light switch. Flipping it, light bulbs flickered to life, revealing stairs that descended down into said abyss.       

Going into the cellar, which was very big open room with a cement floor and cement pillars holding it up, I shivered only a little. I don't ever bring anyone down here, and Halina will never see it, for basically one reason and one reason alone: there are standing zombies filling every square inch of available space. With the exception of the two foot gap in front of the stairwell, leading to multiple tables and a hand painted necro-circle, zombies crowded the room.

You ever seen a horror movie, where the stupid couple or group go into the basement and see it taken over by shrouded dolls all over the place? And the couple is like 'what the fuck?'. Well, it's nothing like that since it's dead people. Hidden and human alike, I've got normal zombies, warhead zombies, or those I've added a little surprise to on the inside, mutations and stitcher zombies, grotesque and not natural at all.

A real necromancer back in the day would have had barns and warehouses full zombies, but since I got limited money and buildings, I've had to be more creative where I stash my cash.

Strutting past the mini-army, I plopped the journal on the main aluminium table. Vials and jars and other books sat atop it, my research and work. I took a velvet bag with some weight to it and removed three mind-wreck stones. Or insanity stones. These bad boys looked like red stars, their sharp points poking my fingertips. Made from last dying thoughts of those insane, they were very difficult to make.

I then took a focus stone, blue and perfect. I crushed both into a fine powder, and put the dust into liquified necro-magic. The jet black substance swished with promise.

Opening my journal, I found the correct page and quickly memorized the spell. Simple enough, something used by all necromancers to guard their fortresses. Again, experimenting and this type of work isn't my best skill, but I make do.

The necro-circle had two bodies lying in it. One shifter, and one magi. The shifter was a little older, the preservation magic starting to wear thin, but the magi was doing good still. I spoke, and the circle glowed. With careful ease, I dumped the concoction over the heads of the dead and onto the circle. The glowing stopped, and now a pulsing light happened.

A few more seconds and words later, the pulsing stopped and the zombies sat up. "Alright, job: protect this house. From: these senses." I mentally connected with them, giving them the distinct emotions of causing harm, worried calm, sneaking around feeling, and destruction.

The shifter shifted to its monkey form, then back to its humanoid form, it's head snarling and looking back and forth at nothing. The magi scratched at nothing, then slapped itself to focus. It's magic started leaking out, so I plugged it with a spell.

One more finishing touch. Going over to another table, I grabbed some scrap metal and a nail gun. This would make some decent armor.

Finished. I motioned with a wave, and the now guards followed me out of the cellar. Quickly locking it back up, I pointed to the forest. "Go. Guard what your master commands. Work alongside the ghosts, and protect what's mine."

The risen ran off, the sounds of the dead covered by the sounds of wind and squirrels. So, one thing taken care of. What else is there?

My stomach growled.

Breakfast it is.

Halina wiped off the counter and handed me a plate with two fluffy waffles. "These look amazing. Like, damn girl."

She beamed, then gave me a fork. "What were you doing outside?"

"Uh, nothing. Precautions is all."

"You're such a bad liar."

"Man, and I thought I was doing good this entire time," I said while biting the food. I flinched in shock. "Holy crap. So good Halina. So good."

She sat down with me, waffles stacked high. She was scrolling through her phone while talking. "I need to go the store for stuff. I don't have any mini soaps or whatever."

"Yeah, sure. I need some things too," I added, running a mental list in my head. "But I can't go. Stuff to do, people to see."

Halina laughed to herself. Then eyed me. "Sorry. Text from Nicki. I'll just take her shopping instead."

"Oh," I said, kinda feeling a sinking drop in my stomach. No, damn it Ditto. Other people are allowed to have friends - well, not in this case - than you. Fuck, you are a bad liar. Jealousy is what you're feeling, you pathetic piece of shit.

Loneliness is how you live. Deal with it.

"Yeah, I'll just drop by her place," Halina said oblivious to my neutral features. "Yeah, might as well in a few. Text me the things you want. I can spot you this time."

"No problem." Drinking my morning juice, we sat in silence for a while more. It's weird you know? It's only been a few months, yet the human has stayed, more or less alive. Notes to add to the human sections in my research; they can withstand horrid endeavours longer than anticipated. Halina can at least. I glanced up. "I'm just running to Lake City. Call me if you need anything."

The woman nodded before gathering her purse and giving me a quick hug, leaving like a woman with a purpose. Spot meowed suddenly, appearing out of nowhere. "Oh, boo hoo Cat. I still love you, so calm down."

"Meow."

"Yes, I'm aware I'm going to die alone. Good thing you won't be here to eat me, huh?"

"Meow."

"Fuck! Let me eat my food."

She licked her paw and wiped at her ear. "Meow."

"Bah!" I stood in a rage. "Fine, if you won't help, then I'm going to leave."

I snugged on my leather jacket, went before the back door for only a moment before taking the plate of waffles with me. You know what they say.

So I'm not going to repeat it.

XXXX

Lake City is a very old city, like most of Hidden civilization. We've learn how to change our appearances in a blink. Times change, so do we. Humans may be annoying, but their sense of fashion is rather appealing. I like it, so I take it.

Going into a darker part of the city, I found the shop I was looking for. Mr. Scotts Swords and Accessories. The bell rang as the door hit it. The shop was pretty enough. Kinda like a jewelry store, except swords and accessories instead. I went up to the glass counter with various blades being illuminated under small lights.

Mr. Scott came out from behind a curtained room. The old warlock tucked back his long braids. A raven was perched on his shoulder, cawing every few seconds, Jack chirped upon seeing me. I hissed.

"Ditto, here for another sword? A dagger? I got some new wares that might catch your interest." He leaned in close, raising one dark brow. "Blue Forged steel knives, straight from the forges of Atlantic Morocco City. Can cut thru the strongest of magical charms."

"No, Mr. Scott." I matched his lean, trying to be nonchalant. "I need to see the back."

He looked over my shoulder, then whispered, "Ah, I see. Well, come on back Mr. Night."

We went into his back room, where piles of boxes and swords lay haphazardly. Mr. Scott went to the only rug not covered in things, and pulled it back. He gently placed his foot on the wood, and pushed. Jack the Crow flew off as the trap door shook open. He waved me forward. "Downwards then Mr. Night."

"Ah, like what my lovers all say," I said, smiling. I went through first, not all that worried if the warlock would stab me in the behind. Mr. Scott asked while we walked, "So, what is it you're looking for?"

"Something to make a sword look different. An illusion of sorts, something to get past the Planar Gate's security."

The stairs ended and the basement began. A very illegal looking place, there were tables with black and white cases, all locked up with magic locks and chains. Mr. Scott dealt with illegal weapons and, uh, accessories. He gave me a curious glance. "Planar Gate level stuff huh? That's a bold request."

"I'm aware. What you got?"

He played with his dirty blonde braid, contemplating his options. "Follow me."

He lead me to a corner with metal containers, some big, some small. Unlocking one with his key looking wand, he removed a white blanket. "Mind-Melt Blanket. Wrap this baby around what you want, think of some design, and it'll shape the covered object to that. Using illusion magic, and eye tricks, it'll pass basic inspection and any eye pieces."

"But the blue-lights?"

Now he stuttered. "Uh, maybe?"

"I need something to get pass the blue-lights Scott. If it can do that, than it can get pass any eyepiece."

He huffed, his wrinkles creasing more than normal. "Alright, how about this?" He picked up a cylinder. Twisting off the top, and turning it upside down, a small metal ball fell out. "A Metal Replacer. Same thing as the blanket, but forms a literal metal copy over the item. Only problem is, uh, it sometimes doesn't come off."

"What makes it blue-light proof?"

"It starts to believe that it's the object that you make it a copy of. Which is why it might not come off."

"Ah. How illegal is it?"

Mr. Scott rubbed his temple, shrugging like any man who dealt with this type of stuff. "Twenty to life. It's banned because it can be used on organic life as well." He rolled it in his hands carefully, making me just slightly nervous. "Things like permanent sword arms, helmets, whatever."

"Torture?"

"Oh, most definitely."

Handy if that ever comes into play. Or if it doesn't get me thrown in prison. "How much?"

"One grand."

"Shit!" I exclaimed, hand on hip. "Fuck. That is quite the price tag."

He chuckled softly, a man who never tires of hearing high numbers. "These are hard to come by. Non negotiable."

Scowling, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a very old looking gold coin. "This is a coin from the treasure Han Kath'ol, the Stealer from the Tiny Age. It's worth exactly two thousand U.S. dollars. This for the Metal Replacer and three Blue Forged knives."

Now it was his turn to act shocked. "Ditto, I do not deal in trades or bargains. I also don't deal in antique coins."

"Dude, you are literally only three stores down from the antique coin store. The three knives are only worth, what, four hundred total? Four fifty? You're making quite the profit in this."

I know his attention was caught, but the old man was stubborn. What is it with old people and being stuck in their old, outdated ways? What's so great about what you could and couldn't do fifty years ago? I don't think much.

"Okay," he said, brown eyes blinking slowly. "Two knives instead of three."

"Fine. Whatever." I shot out my hand. "We got a deal."

The old man smiled, shaking mine in return. We exchanged items, Scott so kindly placing my purchased goods in a fancy bag, and I was on my way, back through the streets of Lake City. With the December winds making it frigid, barely anyone was out, the outdoor vendors no longer set up in the streets. Even though it was the capital of an entire district, Lake City was very boring some in the winter. It almost appeared deserted, empty, lying in waiting.

Good place if you just want to walk in peace.

My phone rang, and I answered. "Oh, hey Buddy, what's up?"

I stopped moving, looking around as if someone was following me. "Yeah, I can meet you at the Singing Goose. I'm in the city now, actually. I'll be there in five."

It actually took seven to get there, but who's counting? Buddy was sitting at our usual table, drinking what looked like an ale. Dark brew. Placing an order with Willy, the bartender, I grabbed my beer and sat down with the shifter and philosopher at the local college. Buddy smiled as I joined him. "There he is. You took seven minutes."

Damnit. "Yes, yes, my bad. Glad to see you friend. I thought you were still up in the forests, spying on our good pals who want to kill us."

"I was," he said, his once short buzzcut starting to get fuller, like a mini afro. "But I have news that I think you need to hear."

Sighing, I took a big gulp of the hard beer, and belched. "Now I'm good. What's happening?"

"Well, we've been trying to figure out what motivation the Witch was going to use to get her soldiers to fight," Buddy said. We've both been looking over how she was planning on doing it. You don't just get people to fight with no reason, at least when it comes to brutally slaughtering the world. "We know she's been using some sort of drug that makes influencing easier. A mind drug. But after what I saw out in the parks and gatherings, I think it does much more."

"Really? I too have my suspicions, thanks to Beauty Jess." I motioned him to continue. "Please, don't let me stop you."

"The Mother, that's what they're calling the Witch. Those who are devout." Buddy seemed scared, fearful. "The blue drug that they're giving recruits, they're using it for a two main purposes besides making them easier to control; they're convincing them that the world is full of flaws and ugliness, and it needs to be cleansed to make way for beauty and flawlessness. Which makes sense since from what I saw the angels are speaking to large groups a lot."

I think I could see what was coming next. "And the other purpose?"

"They're breeding fanatics."

Shit. I didn't want to hear it, but there it is. "That's bad."

"That's very bad. A loyal soldier will fight and die for a cause," Buddy said, muscles tensing. Buddy was never very good at making a poker face. "A fanatic will burn the world for their cause. A fanatic will do anything their leaders say. They'll die in masses. There's nothing more dangerous than a fanatic."

"What did you see out in the gatherings?"

Something not good. His eyes went into a spiraling downcast, one that made me depressed. "It wasn't just shifters out there. Witches, warlocks, magi, fae. Angels. Large camps. It was so hard to stay hidden. But me and the others witnessed rituals for undendings, daily rituals for taking that blue drug, morning speeches. Basically reprogramming and brainwashing people. I'm sure they're sending them back to their homes too, back into their local city guard or whatever. The Mother would free them of all pain, the Mother would give them immortality and power. She would give them a place in the new, beautiful world."

Hmmmm, yes that's the opposite of good. No vampires, again for some strange reason. The angels really want this purge to happen. I shivered at the thought. The angels are monsters, creatures that will make this war a true nightmare. Some real strings are going to have to be pulled to fight them.

"Buddy, did you see Tyrion at all?"

"The King? No."

"You think he might still be in North America?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. Tyrion does what he wants. The King of Shifters can't really be held down."

I drummed on the table, not feeling all that great about our position. An army is one thing, but one that is turned religious? That's a whole different story. "Buddy, don't go back to the wild. Stay here. Fanatics are clearly a problem. No, more than a problem. It'll be the reason why we lose if we do. The Mother.......that's an interesting aspect, making brothers, sisters. Who's father, I wonder?"

"Could it be that Gon, you learned about?"

"Possibly. I don't remember ever meeting a Father back in Mexico. Or a Gon." But maybe I did. That whole debacle wasn't all that pleasant to begin with. Ugh, this was certainly going to be a mess. "The Witch will turn this into a religious war. Again, rather brilliant on her part."

"You compliment an enemy for someone who's been almost killed by said enemy an awful lot."

"What?" I asked, giving a mocking smile. "I've faced plenty of enemies. It helps to be humble."

"You're such a bitch."

"Thanks," I said, patting him in the back. "Truly words to live by."

The shifter laughed, loud and booming. A fighter to the end. "I'm glad to be back. I wish to return to the classroom. I miss my students."

Back to normality, as though that was ever an option. The secrets start to lose their meaning. War as though it matters. What can one do in times like this?

I held up my beer. "Never doubt the truth."

He returned my smile. "And never surrender."