They stood, eyes locked in a silent battle understandable by only the two of them. The demon broke the stare, grimacing in disgust at the two wounded demons standing before him, he looked back at D'Inglist and slowly smirked, causing his sharp teeth to bare. D'Inglist watched him down the sights of his gun, the demons smirk unimpressive.
“You haven't changed at all D'Inglist, still just as ridiculous as ever. Do you really think you can take all seven of us?” His smirk widened as the two wounded Leaphon in front of him turned to him, a look of horror on their faces. He grabbed each of them with one hand, smashing their two faces into one another, their blood splattering all over his own. The two bodies went limp, loud shrieks shattered the glasses behind Polk, who didn't even flinch as the shards sliced through his cheek, the bodies exploding into ash. The demon brushed the ash off himself before turning to face Polk, his eyes glimmering with hatred, his hands sarcastically clapping. “So battle worn you didn't even flinch. I'm impressed, human.”
“You haven't changed either Velofice. It's still surprising that even with all your violent tendencies you are still someone's lackey.” Velofice's face darkened at D'Inglist's taunt, even as he took pleasure from licking the blood from his lips.
Polk glanced at the girl crouched to his right, the bits of glass making her hair sparkle. She was trembling and whimpering but she was alertly watching the action, he had seen trained soldiers act less bravely around the Leaphon. He was impressed but knew it was time she went down the stairs.
“Girl, go keep the young ones calm.” Ammablique turned slowly to the man now standing above her. His eyes were focused on D'Inglist's back,.
“Won't you come?” His eyes saddened for a second before the resolve returned.
“I'm going to stay up here and help D'Inglist as much as I can.” She looked down the dark hole at her feet, the small frightened faces of the children peering up at her. She nodded and pulled at her skirts, hooking her foot on the first rung.
“Good luck.”
“Thank you kindly dear, I will need it, I'm sure.” Polk waited till she was standing on the floor and then grabbed the lantern from the bar top and lowered it down to her, he closed the door just as a match flared. He turned back to the room, pulling a short sword from behind the counter, pouring a small amount of liquid like he had a moment ago before smashing the vile on top of the trap door.
“What a brave little human.” The rest of the Leaphon cackled at Velofice's mocking tone.
The room settled into an eerie quiet. Each side sizing up the other, waiting for the one person who would leap forward first. It was imperceptible, the movements of all, happening in the same moment, Velofice stepped back into the shadows of the doorway as the other demons swarmed forward. D'Inglist fired, hitting the demon first in line as Polk jumped once more over the bar, the short sword spraying the liquid over his shoulder and face. Polk hit the ground and ran towards the others ducking under bar stools and tables that flew dangerously close to him. D'Inglist was already fighting hand to hand with a second Leaphon. Polk jumped from the seat of a chair near him, landing agilely on the table next to it before launching into the fray his sword deftly slicing off the head of a Leaphon to the left of him. The shrieks were drowned out by the noise of the fight already raging at hand. The ash exploded about him and he stepped through it, his sword just barely blocking the next attack.
D'Inglist slammed his fist into the face of the demon he was sparing, the bones beneath his hand cracking and smashing inward. The demon stumbled back, his hands covering his face. D'Inglist fired a round into the demons chest, turning as he did to kick back another demon at his side, blocking a third's hand with his own. Between the two he had killed and the one that Polk had already taken out, that left four remaining that they knew of, including Velofice, unless he had abandoned his men.
The five of them side stepped and twisted in a brutally graceful dance, each one grunting from landed blows or over exertion of their individual strength. Polk leaned back on a table top, holding back the demon's blows with the flat of his blade. D'Inglist whistled softly and tossed his gun to the side, Polk caught it with his left hand and put it to the demon's rib, firing off the round at an angle, the round exiting at the demons shoulder. The ash poured over him as he laid back on the table, the squeals from the now deceased demons dying away. Polk sighed heavily before sitting up and tossing the gun back.
“I'm too old for this shit.”
“You know, before, your age was relatively young.”
“It's hard to believe that, no matter how many times you say it. I can't believe he said that was an old piece of junk, it fires beautifully.” Polk dusted himself off and stood up, his face bleeding from a scratch he hadn't noticed till just then. D'Inglist turned a slow circle, his gun held in a ready position. “I cant believe he called that old junk when this sword is probably twice as old as that.” Polk chuckled softly as he wiped the blade on his pants. D'Inglist looked at his friend, lowering his gun slightly. He took a few steps towards Polk before the turning, the dust showering him. He fired a few rounds, each one missing as the target flew past him in a blur.
Polk grunted as his body flew backwards, the sudden stop in midair over the bar knocking the last bit of air from his lungs. His head bobbed slightly, his eyes searching the bar he now hung over, his arm extended farther then his shoulder should be able to allow.
“How's that shoulder, huh?” Polk could smell the vile stench that came from the mouth of the demon now holding him up and he wrenched, pain shooting through his arm and shoulder as his body lurched. His head fell forward, the laughter loudly ringing in his ears. D'Inglist squinted at Velofice, his face twisted with rage. The demon laughed again, pulling on the old man's arm, the loud popping noise of a shoulder dislocating only bring on another fit of laughter. “His arm does look oh so tasty, don't you think, D'Inglist?” Velofice placed his hand on his victims shoulder and hissed, bring it away, his hand burned from the contact with the other mans skin. He looked at his hand, this old man, even as he was half dead was somehow mocking him. He snarled and pulled at the arm in his grasp, the flesh and bone giving way at the joint of the elbow. The wet ripping sound filled the room, the pain bringing Polk out of his comatose state, his agonizing screams filled the room. Velofice let the old man drop to the bar top with a thud, the grotesquely damaged arm hanging limp from the mans torso, his body slumped to the side, his blood spraying everywhere. D'Inglist watched as if the body dropped in slow motion, firing off a single round as Velofice flew from the room, nicking the demon, dust, debris and blood swirling after him as their paths crossed, D'Inglist making his way to his wounded friend.
The noises above quieted, she smiled wearily at the others crowded behind her. Others had also grabbed some forms of weapon, a small boy held a piece of metal pipe, one of the bar patrons had a stool in his hands but she had one that was clearly more revered then theirs and so they stood behind her in the hopes that if all else failed they could depend on her to fight for them. The door creaked slowly open and she wiped her face with her free hand, swallowing slowly before shivering slightly. She waiting, the knife held out in front of her in her shaking hand.
“You wouldn't kill anything holding the knife like that.” She relaxed slightly, her hand dropping just a tiny bit before she pointed it back up. This man had been nothing close to kind to her before and she wasn't about to go trusting him any time soon. He watched her, her face lit by the lantern held up by the little boy next to her, her face a strange mask of shadows and smiled, she had more guts then he had initially assumed, it took a lot to continue to hold a knife to a man who had so easily caused her faint earlier. He turned and climbed back up the steep stairs to the tavern above. The children pushed past her and followed him up. She dropped her hand and stood in the dark for a moment before ascending the stairs, she blinked her eyes adjusting to the light in the room. She coughed, the smell of blood and dust filled the air, the sudden wave of nausea hitting her. D'Inglist knelt in a corner, his back to her.
“Ah my old friend, what am I going to do with you?” Polk coughed, blood running down his chin, his body was beat.
“End it, I'm okay with this being over.” D'Inglist looked down at the weak smile his old friend was giving him, this wasn't how this man should have to go. She walked into his peripheral vision and he clenched his jaw slightly. He snatched at her arm, pulling her towards him.
Ammablique yanked at her arm, her face frozen in shock and fear. His grip was unbreakable and each yank made her forearm throb with pain, his fingers biting into her flesh as he tightened it. She struggled with him, her feet sliding on the floor as she continued to fight. She slipped and fell, tears streaming down her cheeks as she resigned herself to whatever fate she would have. She watched him move his hand gently over the wounds of the man crumpled on the ground before them, the blood slowly coming to a stop as his flesh rebuilt to a stump at the end of his arm. Her eyes widened as the soft gargles quieted to a slow rhythmic breathing. D'Inglist released her and gingerly picked up the man from the floor, stepping over broken tables and turned over chairs as he made his way towards the hole in the wall Velofice had left in his wake.
“Where are you going?” Only the crunching of his boots answered her. “Wait, I asked where you are going.”
“Somewhere safe.” He didn't stop. She scrambled to her feet and ran after him.
“What about me?” she fell inline with him, his large quick stride keeping her jogging.
“What about you.”
“We hadn't finished discussing things.”
“What's there to discuss.”
“You were asking me about my father, how I knew that song, how I knew you.”
“So you were just being coy.” She looked away from him and sighed, she really hadn't been trying to be coy, he scared her, in a way that even the Leaphon didn't seem to manage, there was something about him that made her cringe with terror and yet, after all that, she didn't seem to distrust him, though she couldn't explain why that was.
“I wasn't being coy. I really do need your help.”
“I wasn't offering it.”
“I know, I can pay you.”
“So now you think I'm just a gun for hire?”
“No, my father said that if anything happened I should seek out a man named D'Inglist, that D'Inglist would help me. I'm not sure why he thought you would so readily do that but I know nothing comes for free and so I am willing to pay you. I don't have access to my fathers accounts but I have one of my own with a decent sum, you may have it all.”
“All your money, that's a pretty steep price to pay.” He turned into a dark alley and she stopped short, watching his back slowly recede into the shadows. She squinted and leaned forward, trying to see through the black to the man she had been next to. She ran through the alley, trying to catch up with him, her eyes having trouble adjusting to the dim light. She bumped into his him and fell back, his stance unbroken even by her knocking into him. He reached out and steadied her.
D'Inglist stood at the end of the alleyway, watching the slow procession as it passed them by, the ghostly figures drifting almost listlessly. She looked around his large shoulder into the street before them and then curiously up at him. Why was he just standing there, the street was empty.
“Are we going..” he clamped his hand down over her mouth, her teeth knocking against one another as he did so. She whimpered and struggled for a second before relaxing slightly. He watched as the parade of death passed on by relieved that her noises hadn't perked their interest. He removed his hand from her face and walked into the street, keeping to the very edge of it as they made their way up a small incline. She struggled to keep up with him, her heavy skirt and dainty boots making his pace almost impossible to keep. They walked in silence, their breathing the only noise shared between them, she a steady huff, his a quiet calm. He walked up 6 blocks and then crossed the street to the right. He stopped just inside another alley and put the man in his arms gently down, resting his back against the side of the wall and then crouched.
D'Inglist grunted softly as he pulled at a large metal grating at his feet, a soft scraping noise filling the alley. Ammablique looked around, back into the street and down the alley as best as her eyes could manage, trying to see if the noise had brought out onlookers.
“No one is going to be out at this time of night.” She looked down at the man, he was propping the grate up with a small brick. He stood and looked at her before waving his hand out towards it. “Ladies first.” Her frightened face switched between him and the grate before shaking an unsteady no. She took a step back and he grabbed at her, pulling her towards it. “Get in already.” He shoved her roughly in the direction of the opening, she slowly crouched to her knees as he lifted the grate higher for her to enter. She found footing on a small rung ladder.
Ammablique climbed down, jumping the last foot from the ladder to the ground, hitting the water below with a splash. She covered her mouth and nose with the back of her hand, the smell making her eyes water. The grate falling into place startled her and she looked around, her soft sobs echoing off the walls. She closed her eyes. This was hopeless she had just followed him wherever he had told her to go and now what was she to do? The soft splash next to her brought her back to reality and she stood as still as she could manage, her hands trembling even as she clenched them. A soft scratching sound followed by a burst of light greeted her and D'Inglist was standing next to her, Polk looking like a baby in his arms. She followed the small ball of light as he turned and began to walk forward. He lead on a long winding path through the sewer. Left, right, right, past five openings, left, past two more openings, her head was spinning, she was trying to remember all the turns they were taking but he was going so fast now that she was running to keep up. She could tell he was trying to keep her lost. Left, straight three, right, straight two. She was usually very good at remember things, she rarely got lost but it was dark and he was moving swiftly but more then that, her head felt muddled, as if there was something else keeping her from remembering quite so well. Right, straight three, left, left, straight three, right. He stopped in front of a large metal door, Ammablique coming to a halt behind him.
D'Inglist made a sign across the center of the door, lines emerging in the solid material as if he had scrapped the surface of it when his hand had passed over it. He placed his hand over the symbol a soft green glow radiating from his hand outwards, filling the lines, the symbol disappearing with the sot click of the doors lock. He pushed it forward with his foot, the door easily swinging open for him. He turned and scooted in sideways, careful not to bump the man in his arms. She walked through the door into a dimly light passage way. The floor was of faded brick, worn in its own right, but a distinctly more stable and decorate walkway then the rotting planks in the sewer system. The walls were plastered with sconces every couple of feet. He turned to the right and began to walked down the passage way, the tiny flames in the small sconces flaring as he passed each one, the corridor slowly filling with light. Ammablique followed at his heels, her hands running across the plaster wall, it had been a long time since she had seen such fine work. Most buildings were in a sorry state, rotting and decaying from lack of care.
He opened a door at the end in much the same manner as the one before it and they entered into a large richly furnished stone and tile mudroom. He gently put Polk down on the long couch and began pulling at his cloak. The dried blood flaked onto the floor and he tossed it to the side, removing his boots before undoing his belt.
“Wait a minute sir, you aren't thinking of taking off your clothes with me in here, are you?” he turned to the woman behind him, his hands still working at his belt. “Please sir, I must protest, I am a lady and I would like to assume you are a gentleman.”
“Assuming isn't really the best course of action.” her face flushed a bright red and she mumbled with the rest of her protests. He grabbed a long robe off of a hook and tossed it to her, the robe smacking her in the face. She ripped it off her head, her flush no longer just from bashfulness. He was bending down to pick up Polk from the couch once more, already changed into a dry set of clothes, his other set already hanging on a hook on the wall. “Put that on when you are done changing.” She looked at the robe incredulously,
“You want me to walk around his house in just my underthings? Are you mad? Do you think I'm so shameful?”
“There are no lady clothes for to you change into, they aren't items I keep readily at hand. So you can either change into the robe or leave.” he paused for a moment at the door and looked back at her. “Or you can walk around naked, it's your choice.”
Ammablique growled and threw the robe in the direction he had been moments before, the heavy fabric making it halfway there before fluttering to the ground. “Brute, what sort of manners are those. I would have never expected you to have a lady friend.” She huffed softly, the dirty water from her clothes making soft pinging noises as it dripped onto the floor. She weighed her choices, looking from one end of the lavish room to the other, one door led back to the sewer and out into the world to try and figure this all out on her own, the other lead to god knows what and a man who was so obviously barbaric. She held her face in her hands and sat down, sobbing softly, she needed help, there was no denying that, she needed someone who could face the demons and she had been all over the countryside trying to find this particular one. Her father had sent her to him, something he would not have done lightly, and yet she couldn't see how this man was going to help her in any way. Ammablique wiped the tears from her eyes and began to undo her bodice, she would just have to have faith in her father's decision, she really didn't have much of a choice, there wasn't really anyone else to turn to.
D'Inglist carefully redressed Polk in clean clothes before putting him into the bed in one of his many guest rooms. He threw Polk's old clothes into the fire pit and light a blaze under them. He walked from the room, closing the door quietly and then waving his hand over it. He walked down the stairs into the foyer, making his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a kettle and filled it with water, placing it over a burner before walking back into the foyer. He sighed and walked back to the mudroom door, standing before it, his jaw clenching and unclenching in annoyance as he opened it.
Ammablique shrieked and pulled her bodice up to cover her body. “What are you doing in here?” D'Inglist closed the door most of the way and faced into the foyer.
“I thought you decided to leave, I was going to re-charm the door.” She turned and looked at the door behind her. It was closed now, though she had never heard it shut.
“Well I haven't, lady clothes just take time to remove, I will be out in a moment, will you please leave.” The door clicked shut and she continued removing her clothes, though more slowly and cautiously then before. D'Inglist walked back to the kitchen, the kettle making a soft whistling noise to greet him. He pulled it from the burner at the same time as he grabbed a small pouch from the cabinet, placing both on the counter next to him before retrieving three small cups.
Ammablique held the robe tightly, pushing at the swinging door to the kitchen, peeking around it at the man standing at the far side. He turned and spooned from a small pouch some dried leaves, dropping them into a small tea pot before pouring in a good measure of hot water. He glanced up at her before placing the pouch on the counter, picking up the cups and pot and slowly placing them on a tray. She stepped into the kitchen, staring at him quietly, watching him work.
“I have already instructed Tamia to run a bath for you. You may bathe before or after we speak but you should not remain cold.”
“What about you, aren't you cold?”
“I don't understand you at all, Miss Ammablique, do you really think worrying about anyone other then yourself should be your top priority right now?” She sighed and looked at the floor, his rebuke held more truth then she cared to address.
“I can't help it Mr. D'Inglist, it is just who I am, which I believe is also how you are.” he raised a brow but continued to prep the tray without looking back up at her.
“Is it now?” his tone was mockingly playful and she breathed out, making soft noises with her mouth while considering her answer. He picked up the tray and she followed him from the room as he ascended the stairs.
“Not many would risk themselves for a group of children and a few adults. If you didn't care about others, you would not have done what you did in the tavern.” He pushed on a door with his hip and walked in, placing the tray on the bedside table, the man in the bed looking far older then the years he had spoken of earlier. D'Inglist poured the man a cup of tea and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the mans body up gently before bringing the tea cup to his lips. Polk woke, groggy and disoriented, taking a few sips before turning his head away. D'Inglist placed the cup's saucer on the table before placing the cup down as well. He picked up the tray and walked from the room, waiting patiently for Ammablique to leave the room before swiping his hand over the door once more. He walked down the hallway to another room, pushing open another door and waiting for her to enter the room.
“You have your own private bath, it is in the wash room just past that door.” he nodded in the direction on the other side of the large four poster bed. “When you are done, there will be clothes on your bed waiting for you. Nothing as delicate as what you were wearing, but more appropriate then what you are wearing now. If you need help bathing I can send in Tamia, if not, I shall see you in the drawing room when you are done, we will have our tea there.” She looked at him and then the room, then back at him. “Well?”
“Well?”
“Do you need helping undressing and bathing?”
“Oh, no, I have done all that since I was a child.”
“Then I will see you in the drawing room.” The door closed with a soft click. He seemed so different here, as if his whole manner had changed from the moment he had walked out of the mudroom. She took the small step up to the bed and pressed her hands against the silk duvet on top. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric to the wood, following the curve of the dark reddish wood till she was on the other side of the bed her back to the wash room.
“Cants I help ye miss?” Ammablique swung around to face the voice that had entreated her. A petite dark skinned woman with working clothes made of fine clothes stood behind her. Her eyes were whitened, even to the pupil and yet she stared in Ammablique's direction as if she truly saw her.
“I was just admiring the furniture.” Ammablique's voice quivered and she swallowed trying to push her fright away.
“Ye needst not be 'fraid of me, child. I not harm ya.” Ammablique nodded slowly before shaking her head at the absurdity of nodding to a blind woman.
“I'm alright, thank you, I can do it on my own.”
“If ye needst any, jus ring ze bell.” the woman pointed to the bell on the table next to the armoire before leaving the room. Ammablique pulled the robe from her shoulders and undid her corsets lacing, laying the piece over a chair to the side. She pulled her bloomers off and wrapped herself in the robe once more before walking into the wash room.
The room was larger then she expected it to be, a huge laying bath free stood in the middle of it, a plush seat and grooming table to one side. She walked to the bath, letting the robe drop to the floor in stepped in, the hot water making her cold flesh sting as her temperature rose. She sank down, the water sploshing around her and sighed. She had been going from town to town for almost two months yet, it had been almost a week since she had submerged herself in warm water. She breathed in deep, the perfume oils in the water filling her nose with the scents of rosemary and lavender. She sighed and slid under the water, her eyes closed, letting out a few small bubbles from her mouth. She laid there, her long hair floating around her face in tiny tendrils, holding her breath, letting the bath sooth her. The world around her quieted, the water drowning out sound with silence. She stayed until her lungs hurt and she had to sit up, the water sploshed and she pulled her wet hair back from her face before sinking back under the water. The water was hot, almost too hot and yet the skin on her arm started to prickle. She slowly opened her eyes, the dark figure standing over the edge of the tub startled as she sat up and out of the water, instinctively covering herself.
“Sorry miss.” the dirty face of the small girl looked just as frightened as she felt. “I didn't mean to startle you, miss. I was told to come up and see if you needed anything and I saw you under the water and thought maybe you had hurt yourself while getting in.” the tiny streaks running down her cheeks cleared away the dust and grime from her face.
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