Seeker: Demon Killers [Fantasy/Action | Complete]

Chapter 35: Darkest Thoughts

Damien was relieved, sort of, that it occurred in Braverley at this time of night. Being the city capital, there were plenty of strange people and dangerous characters lurking about at unsociable hours. No normal human would hang around, unless they were some poor soul who had a night shift. The last time they were there a few drunks had seen them, but considering their level of inebriation he didn't even bother erasing their memories – not that he was in any fit state to do so at the time, anyway.

The night stretched on. Vagrants snuffled in their sleep on the pavement, huddled against the wall in an effort to keep warm. Night taxis zoomed by, lighting the street up for a brief moment with their yellow lights. Stars glittered down. It was such a façade of peace. Damien peered over the main bridge that ran over the railway. The glass ceiling – who the hell had the bright idea to make a ceiling made of a few thousand panes of glass?! – displayed no indications of anything untoward. It was pitch black underneath.

Everything sounds reassuring enough, he projected to the rest of the team. They rounded the corner at the end of the bridge and began the rapid descent into the train station. Closed shops stared at them with their blank front windows, the mannequins frozen in their uncanny imitations of the living.

Their footsteps echoed, hollow, as they descended onto the platform levels. The temperature had dropped. Damien could only make out about three, four metres ahead of him before everything was sucked into the shadows. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He couldn't see any of the shadow creatures yet, but the precarious balance between as-yet unable to detect them and being floored by them without warning was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

He kept his telepathy sharp, probing around the nearby areas in hopes of having an early warning.

Nothing yet.

They spread out in their usual position, minus Tora. Two of Ross's copies headed front with the real Ross. Two copies followed Damien and two followed Carlos, giving an illusion of a bigger team. Markl brought up the rear, his head continuously checking behind them.

Every footstep, every breath was loud in Damien's ear. The big electronic board indicating boarding times and platforms was shut for the night, as were the bookshop and convenience store to its either sides. Empty benches lined the outside of the shop windows. Pigeons trotted by, cooing, oblivious to what was to occur.

Damn, it's quiet... too quiet... Carlos thought to Damien. And then he chuckled. I always wanted to say that!

Damien hid a grin.

They fanned out further. Ross stood at the far side, checking out the first few platforms. Carlos vanished from view, heading for the ticket offices. Damien spread his senses to the platforms beyond the board. Markl watched the last of the platforms. His neck prickled, but not because of a demon rip. Still nothing yet – that was what gave him shivers. Something was terribly wrong. The computer wouldn't give false alarms, and with it being so quiet...

A slight movement behind him caught his attention.

Damien turned. A shout died in his throat.

The nausea hit him like a ten tonne truck at the same time as the bottomless despair. His knees gave way. His breath froze in his lungs as his kneecaps hit the concrete floor.

A large gash hovered in the air, at the same level as his head when standing. The edges pulsed like a living creature. Beyond it stretched pitch darkness.

A skeletal hand reached from the blackness and carefully clasped the edge of the opening. The wrist disappeared into a floaty sleeve.

Damien's vision swam.