Chapter 6

The house had belonged to a nice-looking family judging by the pictures all over the place.

“Kinda messed up to move into a place and keep the pictures up,” Eron said.

“They’re dead. I don’t think they care,” one of the armed men said.

“You know what happened to them?” Eron was bothered by the lack of respect shown.

“Probably got killed by monsters. Dude looks weak.” Another armed man picked up a photo from a side table. “Wife’s pretty hot though. Damn shame.” He tossed the picture back on the table like trash.

Eron bristled, but he kept his temper in check. He remembered that they were on the trail of some kind of evil entity in Tony form. Or perhaps Tony had been changed by the spires in some terrible way.

“You okay, London?” Mason said.

Wytchraven was paler than normal. She looked sick to her stomach.

“It feels bad in here.”

“Does anyone smell that?” the third armed man said.

Eron sniffed. Come to think of it… now he did. It was the stench of death, bad, really bad. It was like back in the rock formation. How did he miss it? Something was wrong.

“Upstairs,” Eron said.

He didn’t waste anytime. He bounded up the stairs and followed the stench to the master bedroom. Then into the master bathroom.

“God damn it!”

There in the tub was a corpse. Human. Skinless and partially consumed from the look of it.

The rest of the group caught up a few seconds later and promptly ran back downstairs and out of the house to empty the contents of their stomachs.

Wytchraven did the same, but forced herself to stay.

Mason’s face had taken on a similar pale appearance, but his stomach proved to be tougher than the others.

“It’s Tony,” Mason whispered.

“How do you know that?”

“The watch. My Dad gave it to him,” Mason pointed to the raw, red wrist.

Eron’s stomach roiled. Despite all of the horrible things he had seen the past couple of months, he had never seen a skinned human body. The exposed flesh, muscle fibers, fat deposits, everything was almost overwhelming.

“Do you guys have a coroner or a doctor? Someone that can make sense of this?”

Mason shook his head. “Monsters got them.”

“I can try something. I need to grab my things from the truck,” Wytchraven said.

“I’ll go with you,” Mason said quickly. “We shouldn’t move around alone in this place.” He looked at Eron. “Except for you… I guess.”

Eron waved him away. “I’ll keep an eye on this… in case it moves or something.” He dearly hoped that wasn’t a possibility.

He forced himself to take in the details of the skinned body. He searched for the smallest clues that might have revealed what the hell was going on.

It was horrifying, but engrossing.

Perhaps that was why he was slow to react when a cry for help was stifled at the same time as the truck roared away down the street.

Eron cursed. “Idiots!”

He abandoned the body and ran out of the house.

The truck was already out of sight.

What the hell did Mason think he was going to accomplish?

Eron didn’t bother giving chase. He had a good idea where they were going.

He’d simply meet them there.

He gathered his legs underneath him and jumped. Tens of feet in the air and block’s worth of distance at a time. The asphalt cracked when he landed. The two-story tract homes weren’t tall buildings, but he cleared handfuls with every leap.

He reached the long dirt road leading up to the Harris’ massive ranch house. He spotted Mason dragging Wytchraven inside, while a dozen armed men took up defensive positions and sighted their guns on him.

“Wonderful,” Eron sighed. He was wearing one of his favorite shirts out of his dwindling supply. He regretted taking them along. He should’ve just taken random ones from random clothing stores. He came to a decision. He took the shirt off and tucked it into the back of his jeans. He revealed thin, wiry muscles that belied his level of strength.

Eron marched up the dirt road.

Gunshots rang out.

The bullets stung a bit as they struck him. More like plastic airsoft pellets than Nerf darts.

“Someone got their hands on armor piercing ammo,” Eron muttered. He was definitely annoyed. “C’mon, it’s obviously not working!”

His head was rocked back by a bullet to the forehead.

Eron charged into the hail of gunfire, praying that his shirt would make it unscathed. He reached Mason’s truck in a second and flipped it over his back like a bull tossing a matador.

The men using the truck as cover scrambled back and tried to get distance.

Eron knocked them unconscious with careful slaps to the side of their heads. He kept his front to the gunfire to protect his precious t-shirt.

Two men were firing from the front porch. Two slaps.

The rest of the shooters were inside the house.

Eron pushed the door open. The multiple deadbolt locks and reinforced frame resisted for a moment, but gave way.

“You’re just wasting ammo,” Eron stared down a dozen gun barrels waiting for him in the living room.

There was no sign of Raven.

“Did Mason tell you what we found?” Eron addressed old man Harris.

“Yeah, that those illegals on the other side of the freeway killed Tony.”

“The fuck! Is your brain broken? They lost actual people, human beings! You lost cows!” Eron ran out of patience. “So what kind of fantasy did you concoct to fit around your twisted worldview? They killed their own people to frame Tony and then they killed Tony, cause… reasons?”

“C’mon, Dad! Just shoot the fucking beaner!” Brett’s spittle flew like a rabid dog.

“Wrong again, moron,” Eron sighed. “You know I wasn’t sure at first, but now I’m like ninety percent certain that you’ve got an evil entity problem.”

“We can handle monsters,” the old man said.

“This isn’t just a monster or if it is, then it’s something new, different. Monsters can’t go into claimed structures. Not even gremlin alpha’s could do it. So, at a minimum whatever got into Tony’s place and took his skin off is stronger. And, let me tell you, I’ve fought and killed gremlin alphas. You’ve got nothing for them. You’re lucky your town is too small for them to generate here.”

“Please, just leave,” Mason said. A calm voice in a sea of testosterone.

“I will, but not without Raven,” Eron said. “She’s the only one here trying to solve the problem and she deserves the chance to complete the Quest.”

“You have a Quest?” Mason’s eyes lit up.

“Yup. To kill this… thing and to save your community,” Eron sneered. “I’m aiming to do the first, but I don’t know about the second. So, by all means, waste your ammunition and ruin my jeans.”

“Bring her down,” the old man said.

“But Da—”

“Just do it, Brett!” the old man said flatly.

The young man trudged upstairs. It was an odd sight. A bull of a man tromping up the stairs like a kid sent to his room without dinner.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours to bring me whoever or whatever killed Tony,” the old man said.

“It’s cute that you still think you can call the shots,” Eron grinned mirthlessly.

“You’ve all got the same truck,” Eron remarked.

He was shotgun, while Wytchraven drove back to Tony’s.

“I didn’t really have a choice. Everyone gets the same model, obviously I’ve got the newest version out of the three of us. My little brother would’ve gotten the next one when he was old enough, but I guess that’s not happening.”

Wytchraven looked drained.

“You going to be able to cast the spell?”

“What? Yeah… yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I’d suggest taking a break—”

“No, it’s fine. We’re running out of time… I just… my family tried to kill you.”

“Tried. Zero chance of succeeding. Bullets won’t do it. Magic might, if it’s strong enough, but I haven’t encountered anything like that. Come to think of it… how come no one was shooting magic missiles or fireballs?”

“Most of the people that got the ability to do magic died in the early months. They…” Wytchraven fell silent.

“Let me guess. They did most of the work clawing back possession of the city from the initial monster rush.”

Wytchraven nodded. “We didn’t take care of them right. Dad pushed them hard. That’s why the other side of town has more magic users. Mrs. Valencia… she cared, cares more about their people. My Dad cares too, but…”

“I get it,” Eron said. “Results and bottom line kind of guy.”

“You’d think my dad would be able to see the long-term issues of not having magic-capable people since running a ranch and farm takes long-term planning.”

“Trusts his guns,” Eron shook his head, “probably won’t cut it as time goes on and stronger monsters show up.”

“We’re lucky we’ve got a couple people that can do re-loads otherwise we’d be completely screwed. And I’ve seen a couple of those drakes flying around.”

“You should see a wyvern. If the drakes are like sports cars then a wyvern is like an SUV. It’s lucky that they don’t cross city boundaries.”

The conversation seemed to bring some life back to Wytchraven.

They discussed their own personal theories on what the spires did and what their presence could’ve meant. They talked about classes, why some people simply picked up the same class as their careers from the pre-spires world. Wytchraven’s father, for example, was a Rancher, with Skills that reflected that. While others gained classes straight from games and other fictional sources.

Wytchraven was mum on her specific class.

Eron didn’t pry. He wasn’t about to share details about himself and the fact that he didn’t have a class. That he was essentially a comic book superhero.

It didn’t take them long to get back to Tony’s.

The sun was already dipping down over the horizon. The gloom slowly crept across the asphalt as shadowy fingers reached for Eron’s feet.

Eron spun suddenly.

He scanned the other side of the street. He couldn’t detect anything with his superior senses. Not even a mouse.

The houses looked abandoned. Broken windows revealed dark, dirty interiors.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Felt like someone was breathing or watching?” Eron was confused. “That’s… weird.”

Wytchraven followed Eron’s eyes. “I don’t think anyone lives in that entire block.”

Eron shivered. He didn’t like the unsettling feeling. Fear was something he had taken efforts to push into the far corners of his mind. It returned at an inauspicious time.

He strained his ears again, still nothing. He was almost certain it was nothing, but he couldn’t shake the idea that someone was watching him as he followed Wytchraven into the house.

“Here,” Wytchraven handed him a kerosene lantern and a box of matches. “You’re in charge of the light. Oh and keeping me alive. That should probably be your number one priority.”

“I will do my best,” Eron said as he lit the lantern.

“No, no, no. Actually do it. Keep me safe or I will curse you to your dying days,” Wytchraven said.

Eron blinked and took a step back. There was something in the way Wytchraven had said that. He felt a tingle run up his bare arms and back.

Her voice held the promise of power.

Eron wouldn’t discount it. He reminded himself yet again that anything was possible in a world of magic and superpowers.

Curses were probably on the table.

“Oh and why are you still topless?” Wytchraven said.

“Look at my jeans,” Eron gestured. “I don’t want my shirt turned into Swiss cheese.”

“Whatever.”

Eron took the lead.

The growing darkness made the interior of the house even more eerie. It didn’t help that they knew what awaited them in the master bathroom.

The smell was just as bad as earlier.

Eron shined the light on the bathtub.

It was empty.

The skinned body was gone.

Only smeared blood remained.

“Oh my god!”

Eron spun around.

Wytchraven pointed to the floor.

He shined light on the carpet.

He hadn’t noticed on the way up, but bloody footprints led away from the tub and back out into the hallway, down the stairs, to the sliding doors into the backyard.

“Um… what does this look like to you?”

Wytchraven was pale-faced as she stood very close to Eron’s back. “Like, Tony’s body got up and walked away.”