There was something nostalgic about sitting alone on a bench, a newspaper in one hand and vice in the other, savoring the lazy, muggy afternoon weather when most people were holed up indoors and away from the heat. Alex leaned back, a cigarette firmly trapped between his lips as he languidly puffed on it, his pale eyes scanning over the headline of the week: BOSTON BUTCHER APPREHENDED. The front page featured a photo of several officers in uniform surrounding two at the forefront. A shorter, dark-haired man shook hands with a much taller one, tired smiles on both of their faces. It was a stark contrast to the mugshot further down the page, the haunting, sunken eyes of the alleged killer staring out at the reader, lifeless and empty against a hollow shell of a man.
Alex lingered on the image for a moment, his brow furrowed. Long, dark, messy hair, hollow, pale eyes, pronounced cheekbones and sunken cheeks--it was uncomfortably like looking into a mirror. He frowned, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he turned the page. A soft voice whispered in his ear, laughter in its undertones, and the rosary wrapped around his wrist seared anew with a holy heat.
Oh, what one day could be.
Footsteps approached Alex, breaking his thoughts as the sound of heavy shoes headed his way. He exhaled another puff of smoke and folded up the paper, setting it aside as he looked up to the towering figure now before him. Frankly, the photo on the front page hardly did the man justice--Derek was much more imposing in person. Not just tall, but deceptively heavyset with broad shoulders and a solid build, with a neatly trimmed beard and hair that had just begun receding in the past year. His stature was countered by a friendly, rounded face and deep smile lines, broken only by the intensity of his green eyes as he stared down at Alex, his brow furrowed with something the hexen couldn't quite place.
"I need a favor." Derek's deep voice was rough, his tone terse, and his large hands sat in the pockets of his slacks, his blazer just covering the unmistakable bumps of where his badge and weapon were strapped to his belt. There was a tension in his posture, the way he favored one leg with his shoulders drawn back. There was something in his gaze, too. Alex couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it felt . . . urgent. Desperate? No. Desperation wasn't like the detective. But it also wasn't like him to come calling of his own volition.
"You know those are dangerous words around me, detective," Alex said with a smile. Derek didn't return it, his gaze instead flickering to the paper folded up at the hexen's side before glancing back. His frown seemed to deepen, worry wrinkling his brow.
He shifted his weight and glanced around, as if making sure he hadn't been followed here, before taking a seat beside Alex with a sigh. "I need your help on something," he said after a long moment. "An outside perspective."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Just an outside perspective? Or my perspective specifically?"
". . . your perspective," Derek covered his freckled face with one hand, massaging his eyes with another heavy sigh that sounded like it had been shoved out of him. "Something just doesn't . . . feel right, and I can't figure out what. Maybe your insight can put my mind at ease."
Alex picked the newspaper back up, looking at the front page again and the mugshot of the "Boston Butcher" before he waved it in front of Derek. "Not doubting your success, are you?" he teased, still smiling.
The look the detective shot him was all the answer Alex needed. Derek was worried--but why? The hexen's smile faded as he stared. That gentle, friendly face looked so much wearier now, so much more gaunt, as if the other man had skipped a few meals recently. He seemed exhausted, and not just from the usual sleepless demands of his work, either. Twitchy, too. His eyes couldn't stay focused on one thing, his attention and gaze jumping around from thing to Alex and again. The way his hands twitched as he leaned back, the way he kept looking around as if he thought he had been followed--Alex felt the hairs on his neck rise, his own sense of danger heightened by Derek's unusual behavior.
He was paranoid. Fearful. But of what?
After another moment of silence, Alex stood, tucking the paper under his arm as he did so. "Fine," he said. "But I don't do favors for free. Buy me dinner, and then we can talk about this problem of yours. Deal?" He extended his hand towards the detective, a glint in his eyes and a grin on his face that he hoped would put the other at ease.
It was just as Derek reached for it that all hell broke loose. At first it felt like lightning, the slow and steady buildup of a thunderhead rolling in. And just like lightning, it struck, a bright and blinding light beaming down like something right out of a sci-fi flick as it roared toward them. Alex barely heard his own name over the commotion, nor did he see the detective leap up from the bench and try to reach for him just as the light did. For a fleeting second, a heavy hand had Alex by the wrist, his rosary beads sinking into his skin under its weight, and then the next it was gone as a force unseen violently ripped it away.
"DEREK!" Alex's panicked voice vanished into the void, swept away along with the rush of galaxies and stars and impossibilities passing him by. He hurtled towards something he couldn't see, all at once on fire and freezing cold, every nerve agonized and yet numb at the same time.
And just as soon as it had begun, it stopped. The revenant landed in something cold with a hard grunt, the impact jarring him from head to toe, and Alex clamped a hand to his head to make the vibrating of his jaw stop. "What the fuck--?"
But before he could even finish coming to, something moved in his periphery, and the sudden and urgent sense of DANGER kicked in. He rolled to one side just as a spear came down, splitting the ice where his head had been seconds ago. Alex scrambled to his feet in the snow and narrowly dodged another thrust from the weapon--only for a second to slice across his arm. He'd landed right in front of a group of what appeared to be soldiers, and they seemed keen on taking advantage of an easy target.
A genuine panic shot down Alex's spine. But before he or the soldiers could do anything else, something came hurtling towards the ground at them in the middle of the fray. Their surroundings quaked, the ice beneath them splintering with a deafening roar akin to an avalanche. Spikes erupted around them, and Alex stumbled, fighting for his balance amidst the chaos. The soldiers were, too, but one of them seized the hexen by the arm as he almost fell--the spearwielder that had gone for his head.
Alex grit his teeth as his rosary seared hotter than hot in response to the touch. He could feel something foul about his assailant, something dark and sinister, not unlike the force that kept him alive still. With furious desperation, the revenant grabbed his hunting knife from its sheathe and slashed. Hot blood spattered out from the strike, the grip on his arm slackening as Alex staggered back, and a sensation like the satisfaction of a good meal flooded his veins.
Shit.
What the hell was going on? Where was he? What was happening? A million questions and more sprung to Alex's mind, but there wasn't time for them. He was still too close to these "soldiers" for comfort, though the quake had bought him time to put a little distance between himself and them. Finally, he could see what had caused it--and his eyes widened in surprise. At first glance, the figure appeared humanoid, with long white hair obscuring its back. But then he realized what he was seeing were feathers, not hair, with flames erupting from the strange figure's limbs. And as he turned, there were more, even stranger things abound.
A robotic titan tussled with a large, multi-limbed creature wielding more weapons than he could count. To one side, two women stood close to the body of a mass of red that looked like it might be human, and Alex could feel the magic of both--nevermind the one's rabbit ears. Another humanoid-shaped robot was with a strange, round, jester-like creature, which was bizarrely cartoonish against the backdrop of desperate folk of all shapes and sizes fending off an attack. From what he could see, he'd somehow wound up in the middle of an ambush, and given the soldiers were the attack first and sort out the bodies later sort, there was really only one viable side.
"Shit," he hissed. Thank God there was a blizzard, at least. Alex grabbed a handful of snow--cursing more as he did--and pressed it against the wound on his arm as he reached for his patron, blood and power mixing with the icy catalyst. "Well, I suppose now you see us. . . ." Alex muttered, the whites of his eyes darkening as he slung the fistful of snow outwards. ". . . and now you don't." If it worked as intended--and it better, he thought, as he felt the energy from the soldier he just killed funnel back into the illusion--then to their assailants' eyes, the blizzard was a full-on whiteout, too dense and foggy to see even their own feet, let alone their targets. There wasn't much he could do by way of sound, but hopefully it would be enough to disorient them further.
"Could use a little help over here!" the hexen shouted to the band of misfits behind him as he tried to continue to move back from the encroaching force.
