John Scott paced furiously about the room. He was livid. The Warlock was dead, yes, but he had not seen it happen. And worse still, he had led the fake Evil to its doom. The real Evil was still where it had always been. Scott turned to face it.
“You have failed me, necromancer. You must be punished”. The thing flicked what could have been a wrist, and John’s body erupted in pain. Images flashed before his eyes. Two boys standing next to each other, wearing identical robes as their master guided them. Him releasing a female from a cage. Demrin knelt over a body as he laughed from the shadows. Demrin slashing at him with that dagger. His life played out before him.
Just as he thought it was all over, that he was actually going to die, the pain ceased. A dull throbbing remained, a reminder.
“Never fail me again”.
The particles flew in a long stream, intertwining with each other, flowing in and out of intricate patterns. They were free. They could go wherever they wanted.
As the tail of the stream joined the rest, the particles explored the manor house. Several people were there; a vampire and a succubus sharing a bed, a shape-shifter and a human girl sharing another. Maybe the particles had been acquainted with these beings in a previous lifetime, but they could no longer remember.
There was evidence of recent carnage everywhere the particles flew. A battle had taken place. A fierce one at that. Had they been a part of it? The particles didn’t know. All they knew was that they existed, and had done for nearly an hour now.
Leaving the manor, the particles took to the open skies. They floated slowly along on the breeze, uncaring and unfeeling. A demon crouched in a tree somewhere below, a wolf howled in the distance, a woman screamed. The particles took no notice. They were free.
A brilliant white light blossomed in the particles path. They could not avoid it. They were sucked in.
John Scott sat alone in The Pig’s Head. He had to return to Paris, finish what he started. There was also the matter of the vampire, Adder. He still had to pay for his betrayal. John could remove his immorality once they were within touching distance of each other. And that is what he planned to do. He would leave the succubus, Calla to suffer. First she watches Demrin die, next she can watch as her lover crumbles to dust.
John smiled to himself. He had always had a soft spot for succubuses, Stephanie had made it so, all those years ago. He often wondered where she had gone to, the night she had vanished from his life. That was for another time.
Downing his remaining gin, John wrapped his robes about himself, spun on the spot and disappeared in search of new recruits.