Mist from the Rift
The fog pouring from the crack immediately enveloped the madwoman's face. Her pale features mingled with the orange glow spilling from the streetlamp and the purple mist, gleaming in bizarre hues.
“Ah, aaagaaak……!”
The woman who inhaled the fog rolled her eyes back and unleashed a grotesque scream. The spell I'd engraved on the ring must have been a hallucination after all. If it had knocked her out cold, she wouldn't have had time to scream.
“Kahaak, kahak, kuhk, kuhk……!”
For a long stretch, she wailed monstrous sounds—screams or laughter, impossible to tell—stomping her feet in torment, clawing at her hair, until crack. Her neck snapped backward.
Crack, scratch-scratch, crack, riiiip…….
With her neck craned fully back, staring at the starless void of the sky, she raked her arms frantically with her splintered, shredded nails. The trails turned white, swelled red, then split open. Crimson blood dripped from the raw flesh.
Thud. No time to panic or bolt. In a blink, she was upon me, draping her dripping arm over my shoulder. Her head lolled side to side from the broken neck with every twitch, as if neck bones were a myth.
“Cans get scary when dented, metal scraps are dangerous to touch, breaking glass snaps your mind right awake.”
“What're you... hey, get off while we talk—”
“Remember. Cans dent, metal scraps dangerous, glass breaking. Bottles, cans, scraps. Remember. Don't forget. Remember. Don't forget. You absolutely can't forget this……”
Hallucinating and babbling nonsense? No, didn't seem like it. She'd been digging through trash, hurling it everywhere, and now ranting about trash. Her words and actions held a twisted consistency. Not simple madness—something more intricate.
“Can't... forget……”
Thud. She finally crumpled, leaving those words behind. Blood from her arm had smeared black across my shoulder. The stench—acrid, nauseating—clung to my nostrils, wrinkling my nose on reflex. Black tears trickled from her unclosed eyes, pattering to the ground.
[It's a world so chaotic you'd think going mad is the sane response, but this is...]
Legba's lament cut short. A man and woman approached from across the street, steps synced. She wore a white gown emblazoned with a yellow cross; he, black vestments. Paladin and priest, by the look—common pairing for joint ops.
“This lady's pulling her crap here again. Kid, you okay?”
The paladin tsked, hand on hip, eyeing the fallen woman with a scowl. The priest clutched a holy book in his right, fiddling rosary beads with his left, muttering under his breath. Prayer? Muttering to himself? Hard to say.
“On patrol?”
“Huh? Yeah, patrol and...”
She trailed off mid-answer, sizing me up, then flashed a grin and patted my shoulder. Brushing off blood, probably—but it'd dried, stuck fast.
“Florence kid, eh? Explains the sharp tongue. Anyway, she do anything to you? Spill.”
“Just chucked trash, spouted weird shit. That's it. Mental patient or what?”
“Eh, close enough. Lucky she didn't swing. Weird shit—what'd she say?”
Older paladins grilled hard, but this young one was all smiles. Still, with paladins, think three times before opening your mouth.
“Don't really remember. 'Don't forget' or something.”
“Don't forget? Hmm……”
She feigned thought, eyes probing mine. Testing if I blanked for real or dodging.
“Nothing else?”
“Yeah, freaked out, y'know...”
“Fair. Sorry to hold you—head home—”
Her words halted cold. The polite smile vanished; lips sealed tight. Eyes vacant. She bored into me with icy menace. Chills raced my spine, head spun. Heart hammered wild. Pure hostility in her gaze.
Did she clock me as Voodoo boss? Nah—impossible. Inquisitors couldn't sniff me out; some random paladin? No shot.
Slap!
The sharp crack of flesh on flesh shattered my thoughts. She'd backhanded the priest's cheek raw. Same venomous glare she'd fixed on me.
“You, what the...?”
He rubbed the swelling with his knuckles, baffled. Rosary clattered to the pavement.
Gazes locked. She stared red-eyed forever, then tears spilled.
“Why stare at another woman like that……”
“What bullshit? What woman?”
“Here! This one's lying right here!”
Trembling finger jabbed the madwoman. Priest gaped, flicking glances between them.
Heavy silence. His shock ebbed; fury flooded in.
“What's so special about you?”
“Huh?”
“Fawning over some other guy's shoulder. A damn kid, no less.”
“When the hell—”
“All innocent? This fresh-faced brat that great?”
He was crying too. Their tears ran clear... then blackened.
I just stared, dumbfounded. Pace too frantic; brain lagged.
Grab!
“Filthy prick, talking like that...!”
She seized his collar. He stared blankly, black tears streaming. Eyes swirled with rage, grudge, emptiness—all poison.
“Filthy? Who swung first? Figured I'd offer the other cheek?”
“Your snide tone's always the issue. That mocking shit when things sour!”
“No ammo, so nitpick my mouth? Yours 'friendly'?”
Voices escalated. Murderous stares, venomous barbs—but petty as hell. Blind hate, no clue why.
Not my circus; no urge to play referee.
“And you got no hands, no feet? Why I always haul gear?”
“Heavy lifting's paladin turf. Else what's a paladin even for—”
Wheeeeeen—!
Sirens sliced the air. Two paladin vans crammed the narrow alley. Doors flew; armed paladins and priests spilled out.
“What the fuck's this mess! Reports overdue, and you're brawling?!”
“Team lead, zip it.”
“...Which squad's trash is this? Gotta call your boss—”
The team lead's eyes glazed. Not just him—all dozen paladins and priests from the vans. Fury flickered... at each other.
“Field drops bullshit. Desk-jockey priests know jack about streets?”
“Low-rent thugs. Paladins carry you. Mouthy ignoramuses—”
“Cockroaches.”
“What! Strip badges, you'd crumble, scrawny fuck—”
Chaos ballooned. Collars yanked, cheeks slapped, fists cocked. Indiscriminate rage, but paladins vs. priests lines sharpened.
“Grabbing collars now! Priests got no rank?!”
“Rank says paladins low, priests high. Cockroach!”
“Cockroach? Bare knuckles and still dense—”
In the frenzy, a paladin snatched a metal shard from the ground. Wild-eyed, he swung for a priest's forehead—
Thud. He melted to the pavement, foaming, eyes rolled white. Grip-hand blistered red like burns.
Still they scrapped. Slaps cracking, fists thudding jaws, screams howling. Comrade foaming beside 'em, ignored—pure lunacy chilled me. I backed away on instinct.
Crunch!
“……”
“……”
The brawl froze dead after a distant can dent. Hate-twisted faces halted mid-spew. Time stalled. Viscous silence smothered all.
Caw—!Caaaaw—!
[...Crow eyes white as pearls. Sulfur stench too.]
Crow cries pierced the hush, Legba's voice following. I looked up. Two perched on the lamppost, idly spectating the melee. Eyes gleamed ghostly white in shadow.
[Eerily like last time. Satanists. Their game... beats me.]
Amid the Satanist-sparked skirmish, I just listened, stone-faced. Agreed on Satanists—but not clueless motive.
“Cans get scary when dented, metal scraps dangerous to touch, breaking glass snaps your mind right awake.”
The madwoman's parting words. Shard-grabber collapsed. Can-crunch? Instant ceasefire. Too pat for coincidence.
Satanist fed me the clue on purpose. Sparks incident, drops hint, watches me unravel it via crows.
Why keep stirring shit? Entertainment. Giggles at me grinding cases with Florence kids. Superiority high from puppeteering.
I leveled my finger at the lamppost crows.
“Sobo.”
Lightning crashes down!
———!
Lightning speared. Taunting crows plummeted. Lamppost sputtered dark. Alley plunged black.
Crunch. I pulverized a crow's ashen wing. Dry, brittle snap. Eye still glowed white.
Stooped to glare into it. Through it—at the watcher.
Satanist's ID? Faint hunch now.
Crunch! Eye crushed underfoot.
The star winked out.
(To be continued)