~August 19th, 1954~
"Operative Phenex, reporting for duty."
His words reverberated around the semi-spherical chamber, echoing between the four levels that separated the dais he stood on from the apex, and toward the three tiers where the council took up residence. The lowermost tier—that of the Third Echelon—was the only one occupied, the Second and First curiously absent, leaving the chiselled box seats and gilded thrones they usually occupied dull by comparison.
Moonstone glinted on all sides, making up the vast majority of the chamber's composition, the curved walls reflecting the glow of the globular chunk of amethyst at the ceiling's apex in a kaleidoscope of lavender and dusky pink, where sunstone ringed it.
Casting a surreptitious glance around the dais, where Terran, commander of the Regulations Force's First Unit stood with a handful of high-ranking operatives, Phenex rose from his single-knee bow. As an operative of the same unit—though registered as special ops, allowing him privileges the other operatives weren't privy to—he was still subject to disciplinary action from the unit's commander.
And given his latest (and explosive) actions of late, reproach was something he'd expected the moment he'd received the council's summons.
To his surprise, Terran didn't appear the least bit angry. Thin, white eyebrows were contracted in worry, the usual bright green of his eyes dim as he gestured toward the strategy table, where an ethereal construct of some earthen city or other was projected. The soft, violet glow of the projection brought the two, jagged scars on Terran's left cheek into sharp relief, luminous white against his deep brown complexion.
"I apologize for having you summoned so soon after your last mission," he began, fingers tapping the keys of the console port before him, "but given the circumstances, we couldn't afford to call in anyone else."
Phenex strode forward, eyeing the image with wary interest. "What am I looking at, here?"
"New Orleans. There have been some...goings-on, particularly surrounding one of the cemeteries there; a prestigious lot where only the oldest, wealthiest of the families find their final resting place. But New Orleans isn't the only place that's been recently flagged." Terran tapped several more keys, banishing the image to bring up a world-wide map. "Cities across the globe have come under investigation, from municipalities to mega cities. Missing person reports, random acts of violence, unexplained phenomena...it's happening all over."
Phenex narrowed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest with a barely contained snort. "How is this different from any other time?" he asked. "You know as well as I do that humans are a violent bunch. Gangland killings and robberies are nothing new."
"It goes beyond the typical level of violence we've come to expect in overly-populated human settlements."
Artemis descended the steps leading down from the third tier, the ruff of her white blouse poking out above a burgundy waistcoat trimmed with gold. Knee-high boots clicked with each step, her faded jeans and wild, golden hair seeming out of place on a respected member of the High Council.
"How so?" he asked her, inclining his head in a show of respect, though it was more to conceal the smirk that had begun tugging at the corners of his mouth. Millennia old, and still rebellious to the last. It was one of the things Phenex liked best about her. In spite of her station, she was still the same wild, huntress goddess she'd always been.
"Well, there have been the demon sightings, for one." She returned his smirk with one of her own, hazel eyes gleaming knowingly. Just as quickly the smile faded, her expression growing somber. "But more peculiar still are the killings. None on the council will deny the...imaginative tendencies of humanity's most brutal murderers." She made a face at this, indicating just what she thought of that particular brand of imagination. "But the evidence gathered by the Third Unit suggests something of a more feral nature."
"We suspect a criminal organization is at work." Apollo joined his sister at the strategy table, his usually carefree demeanour absent. A seriousness Phenex seldom witnessed was etched across his face, eyes of emerald green steely when they came to rest on him. "Until we can gather more definitive information, however, we won't know for certain. That's where you come in."
"Espionage?" Phenex stared back at him, heat prickling at the back of his neck. "You want me to play the part of a common spy, is that it?"
"Phenex—"
"After all of the cases I've cracked, all of the criminals I've had thrown into Nowhere and the Underworld in the last fifteen years...this is what you'd have me do?" He turned toward Terran, not bothering to hide his disgust. "This your idea, Commander? C'mon, you all should know me better than that. Send me to the front lines, or send me to check up on those idiotic humans from time to time, I don't care. But playing undercover agent within a criminal organization? You must be joking."
"Remember your place." Though her expression remained inscrutable, there was no mistaking the edge in Venus's voice, wheat-blonde hair falling around her shoulders in shimmering waves, catching hints of white and lavender from the wall behind her. "If the council decides you are to undertake an espionage role, then that is precisely what you'll do. Or do you intend to quit the Regulations Force?"
Phenex ground his teeth together, averting his gaze. "No."
"Then we're in agreement," she declared, passing her gaze from Apollo to Terran, and then finally, back to him. "You may not believe me when I say this, but out of all of the operatives, you are the best suited to the task. Your knowledge of the current goings-on in the mortal world are an asset, as is your ability to remain incongruous in your investigations."
By this time, Venus and the rest of the Third Echelon had deigned to gather round the strategy table, murmuring their agreement. No matter Phenex's wishes, it seemed his course had already been decided. In spite of the vibrancy of his eyes—the one thing that caused most people to take a second look, even made them nervous when he locked gazes with them—his ability to blend in was uncanny. Whether it was thanks to Ra, Horus, or Apollo's efforts, it didn't matter. One way or another, Phenex had developed the skills necessary to blend in with the rest of society, and more than that, the know-how to be one of them. Even if his eyes and physique drew attention to him, it was no more than the slightly higher-than-average human male.
Women peered at him coyly from beneath their lashes, and men stared at him with a mixture of jealousy and longing; the desire to either be him or be with him written across their faces. The whole thing was absurd.
"Phenex? Are you listening?"
Shaking himself from his reverie, Phenex nodded. "All right, I'll do it. I'll infiltrate this organization, find out who's pulling the strings and what their end game is." When the others merely stared at him in shocked silence, surprised by his sudden cooperation, he added, "So, anyone planning on giving me the full skinny on this mission, or am I going to have to do some guesswork?"
***
Subject: Reeves
Subject I.D. Number: 6-R4T68F9-0
Entity Type: Shade, Caste level unknown.
Powers: Irregular, possessing great cunning, strength, and ethereal reserve. Not only able to merge with the shadows in his surroundings, but able to animate and control them. Uncommon among other Shades, Reeves is rumoured to possess greater strength during the new moon: greater still when a specific rite is performed in the location where he first emerged into the mortal world, coinciding with the exact time. If said new moon and rite occur on the exact date as well, powers will increase tenfold. For more data, read the secondary file.
Phenex's gaze skimmed over the words a second time, his right index finger depressing the button on the side of the console, urging the projection to scroll down to the next section. The humming and beeping of the various ethereal consoles stationed throughout the room had faded from his notice long ago, so focused was he on the subject of his upcoming mission. Still, after a full hour of cross referencing the various reports in the archive's main log, his eyes were beginning to hurt, his back aching from hunching over the various keys, knobs, and symbols lining the console's gleaming crystal surface.
More than once, he'd had to get up from the stiff-backed chair, stretching the kinks from his shoulders and rubbing sensation back into his calf muscles, cramped from curling his legs under the seat. This is what Phenex did now, rising from his chair with an agitated sigh and running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end.
Rolling his shoulders and then his neck, he settled back into the chair, sighing again, this time in resignation. No matter how many times he went over the information, it wasn't enough. Too little was known about the Shade, and for a mission of this caliber, a little information was a dangerous thing. There were too many cracks, too many blanks to be filled in. Without more information, it would take only one misstep for the whole mission to go up in flames—and not the kind Phenex himself was renowned for.
He rubbed at his eyes, and giving a few quick, light smacks to his cheeks, leaned forward until only the report filled his vision, blocking out the various coloured lights coming from the consoles to the left and right of him. Focus, he reprimanded himself. The sooner you go over this again, the sooner you can leave.
Phenex scrolled back up to the first page, the image revolving slowly until he pressed another key, stilling it. When he was satisfied that he had gleaned as much as he was going to from it, he switched back to the second page. It popped up from the bottom of the console, where the main projector was, revolving until he calibrated the lateral projectors with yet another tap to the console's various keys, stopping so that the report was facing him.
First Known Sighting: While there are conflicting reports—some claiming Reeves first set foot on mortal soil in 1914, while others claim it was 20 years later in 1934—both reports agree on one thing: that whichever of the two dates, it was March 22nd in the city of New Orleans, State of Louisiana; United States of America. The time documented on both counts is between 1:05 and 1:15 A.M. Exact coordinates within the city limits are unknown, though the general consensus is that Reeves first appeared somewhere within Metairie Cemetery's main plot.
Other: No other data collected at this time. Elite operatives are encouraged to approach subject with extreme caution. Junior operatives are prohibited from engaging the subject in any way, shape, or form. Should junior operatives find the subject, they are to report his whereabouts to their commanding officers.
When further attempts to access other file reports containing information on Reeves failed, Phenex commanded, "Archive, compile all relevant data on subject 6-R4T68F9-0, name: Reeves."
Words flickered over top of the current report page, bright green and translucent: COMPILING DATA NOW. INFORMATION BUFFERING... PLEASE WAIT UNTIL COMPILATION IS COMPLETE. ESTIMATED TIME: 3 MINUTES.
Phenex leaned back in his seat with an impatient huff, crossing his arms over his chest. As the counter ticked down—2 minutes, 39 seconds, 2 minutes, 38 seconds—he recalled Apollo's words before he'd left the council chamber.
"There's more to this mission than bagging the Shade."
Phenex turned around, fixing Apollo with a quizzical stare. "What do you mean?"
"I mean there's more to it than just this Reeves demon running around, causing mayhem." Apollo paused, licking his lips and casting a furtive glance over his shoulder toward the other Third Echelon council members. None were paying the least bit of attention, too deeply engrossed in other matters revolving around the strategy table. "He's powerful, that much is true—but we suspect there's someone bigger pulling the strings on this whole operation."
"So what you're saying is, he's just the fall guy?"
Apollo shook his head. "With that kind of power? He's more than just your typical fall guy, but I guess you could say that's one of his functions. He's the public face, orchestrating every move we see. But it is the council's belief that there's someone more powerful calling the shots. There's no doubt about it, the guy has power beyond your typical shadow demon—but power enough to orchestrate multiple attacks in over fifty major cities simultaneously? No, that smells of a much bigger fish."
Giving his head a shake, Phenex focused his attention on the ethereal projection, watching it count down the remaining time before a plethora of images and recordings popped into view, each one fitting together like a collage of brilliant, colourful snapshots. Reaching out, he lightly tapped one of the images with the tip of his finger, watching its border flash from blue to green before the recording began to play.
From the first building toppling over in Nanjing, China, to the horde of hellhounds converging on countless innocents in Cairo, Egypt, Phenex couldn't turn his gaze away from the various broadcasts, no matter how disturbing. Screams, as clear as if he were there himself, flooded the console room, filling his ears with the fear and anguish of those dying under the bulk of demonic forces. Whole city blocks were decimated, one building at a time; people clogged the streets, abandoning their vehicles and homes in their desperate bid for survival—a survival short-lived as hellhounds, basilisks, and all manner of demonic beast fell upon them.
Blood ran thick between the cracks in the concrete, and as a child came into view of the recording, no more than six or seven years of age, Phenex forced himself to look away. He might have been able to block out the gruesome sight, but nothing could block out the child's inhuman shrieks, or the disgusting, squelching sound as flesh was torn from bone.
Oh gods, Phenex thought, swallowing back the despair clawing up the back of his throat. This isn't a war...this is a massacre.
"Archive, exit!" When the screams and roars finally cut off, Phenex slumped forward in his seat, head in his hands, his shoulders trembling with barely contained fury. It was several more minutes before he was calm enough to get up, his vision blurring red as the images played through his mind over and over again; screams of terror, children crying in the street for their parents, the roar of a manticore as it pounced on an elderly man, the man's garbled cries as his throat was torn out... It all played through his mind with sickening clarity, a knot forming in his stomach.
Taking a steadying breath, Phenex exited the console room. His footfalls were quick and decisive as he descended the Spectrum's many crystalline walkways to emerge on the other side of the Central Junction, ascending a spiralling staircase into the upper levels where his quarters were waiting, quiet and inviting.
All the way there, only one thing went through his mind: Make no mistake, whoever you are; when I find you, I will take you down—and every last son-of-a-bitch demon-spawn you command with you.
***
~August 23rd, 1954~
It had taken the better part of an Earth week to decide on his stake-out point. Before dealing with the infamous Shade he'd read about in the archives, Phenex required a more in-depth investigation; one done by someone other than the rank-and-file operatives in the Third Unit.
If you want a thing done right, you gotta do it yourself.
And that was what Phenex had done. He had needed to pick a location close enough to Reeves' assumed base of operations, but also one far enough away to remain inconspicuous. It was this that found him in the French Quarter of New Orleans, idly watching passersby carrying out their day-to-day lives. The city was a swell of noise; the latest models of Ford, Chevrolet, and for the wealthier denizens of the city, Mercedes coupes rambling up and down the busy intersection, belching blackened exhaust into the air and choking Phenex with its foul stench. Where there weren't motorized vehicles, there were bicyclists and streetcars, their bells rending the air with high, clarion calls before releasing their occupants in droves.
Men and women rushed to and fro, dressed in everything from business suits to the most gaudy of dresses and jewellery. Children dodged in and out of traffic without a thought for the frazzled nerves of their mothers or the Canal Street motorists, while farther along the strip, a young boy handed out the day's edition of The New Orleans Times.
Among the men and women, the children and the elderly, Phenex had already marked several non-humans in the crowd, their unmistakable stench reaching his nostrils in spite of their convincing glamours. Even without the taint of demon blood, he would have known what they were, would have been able to distinguish their loping gaits from the hurried steps of the mortals. An aura of malice seemed to envelope them, making the air shimmer—even more so than it already did from the sun-baked blacktop.
Phenex retreated a couple of steps, keeping hidden in the alley wall between F.W. Woolworth & Co. and Rubenstein's, his gaze tracking the nearest demon's every movement. In spite of his disguise, several of the humans passing by gave him a wide berth, casting furtive looks over their shoulders when they passed, brows drawn together and the corners of their mouths pulled into severe frowns as if trying to figure out just what it was about the otherwise unassuming gentleman that made them so uneasy. At least three human men doffed their hats in a show of cordiality, nodding at the disguised demon before hurrying on their way, their smart dress shoes clacking as they crossed over to the other side of the cobbled street.
Idiots, Phenex thought, shaking his head. Even as their instincts tell them to retreat, they still feel the need to maintain appearances. What will it take for these people to wake up and smell the danger around them?
Shifting the brim of his fedora so that it hid his eyes, Phenex turned his focus toward where the six or seven marks he'd spotted seemed to be converging: Maison Blanche.
The department store? Not exactly an inconspicuous front, he mused, slowly sliding away from the safety of the alley and merging with the foot traffic heading farther along Canal Street. As he walked, careful to hang back so as to remain unnoticed, but not so far as to earn the agitated mutters of those behind him who were late for work, Phenex tried to determine just where the demons had come from. The streetcar three of them had come in on could have come from any part of the French Quarter, and the others still anywhere throughout the entire city.
Knowing where they were headed was one thing; finding where they'd come from, and thus, where their boss was holed up, was quite another. He doubted that their base of operations and their current destination were one and the same. At the very most, the Maison Blanche served as a front for their less reserved business; at the very most, it was just one of many safe-houses scattered throughout the city.
By this time, Phenex had crossed to the other side of the street, deliberately passing one of the marks as they strode in the opposite direction; this one under the guise of a middle-aged man with a slight paunch and thinning brown hair streaked with grey. Only the slight flicker of his eyes as they adjusted from red to green gave him away, though Phenex relaxed his expression into a perfunctory smile in greeting.
The demon's gaze locked with his for a split second, a cold fist forming in the pit of Phenex's stomach when he saw the nearly imperceptible twitch at the right corner of his mouth. Of the two of them, the demon seemed to have a much better handle on disguising himself than Phenex did, his eyes appearing far more human. But if luck was on his side—which, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't holding out for—then the golden-amber colour of his eyes would mark him as just another demon horning in on the action.
If the demon suspected him of being anything other, he made no sign of it. Phenex felt not the slightest prickle at the nape of his neck, saw not even a backward glance from the demon as he made his way toward Jax's Brewery. It was only when there was about twenty feet or more between them that Phenex expelled the breath he'd been holding, his fingers instantly seeking out the comforting silken lining of his long coat's pockets.
Sensing the subtle tingle of yet more demonic energy—the barest whiff of something pungent reaching his nostrils—Phenex squared his shoulders, and merged with the foot traffic heading down toward Bourbon Street. There he sighted ten more marks making their way through the crowd; only the subtle gleam in a too-bright eye or the sinister curl of a lip revealing their hunger for the flesh of their hapless prey.
And that makes twenty-nine. He stopped in front of a pawn shop, feigning interest in the wares beyond the thick-paned window, though his gaze didn't take in more than the glimmer of brass from an old-fashioned phonograph; the curved, glassy screen of a new coloured TV. Phenex's gaze went up and to the right, catching the reflection of the last few demons he'd spotted in the crowd, none the wiser that he was watching them as they huddled together, casting furtive glances over their shoulders and passing on bits of paper and pouches of the gods only knew what to one another before going their separate ways.
A warning prickle went down his spine almost at the same instant one of the demons glanced over its shoulder, sliding its gaze in his direction. Though he was faced away from it, Phenex could swear their eyes had locked in the storefront window's reflection for the briefest of seconds, flickering an eerie, preternatural blue. The instant passed, the demon returning its attention to its fellows. Its raspy, rumbling voice reached Phenex's ears across the distance, though the words were too faint for him to hear.
Time to go. Phenex peeled away from the pawn shop, fluidly merging with the handful of pedestrians chatting noisily as they passed by, and skirted down a side alley to vault himself onto the nearest roof with the help of the metal dumpster sitting there. From behind the exhaust duct protruding along the right-hand corner, he was able to make out the demons still standing huddled in a semicircle, all three pairs of eyes looking toward where he'd been standing in front of the pawn shop window barely a moment ago. There was no doubt about it; he'd been made. Though how made, he wouldn't know until he returned later that night.
What's life without risk? he mused, a slow grin curling the corners of his mouth. Still, he would have to play it carefully, come up with a convincing excuse if he hoped to fulfill his mission as the council intended.
Satisfied that he had seen as much as the daylight hours had to offer him, Phenex retreated from his hiding place among the exhaust vents and rooftop lights, and with a litheness no human would have been able to duplicate, he descended into the myriad maze-like alleyways making up the better majority of the French Quarter's side streets, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck at the sudden, chill wind that had kicked up around him.
Tonight, he promised himself. Whatever the outcome—whether he won their trust or not—someone would be answering for their crimes at the end of his flames.
***
No sooner had Phenex returned, taking in the leaden sky overhead, when he found himself under attack. One minute, it was just him standing on the corner of Bourbon and St. Louis, the neon glow of a nearby bar casting a checkered pattern of bright blue on the glistening cobbles between the iron bars fitted into the windows, the air smelling of recent rainfall. The next, a meaty hand came down on his right shoulder, whirling him around to face a large, scowling figure taking up nearly the full breadth of the alley he had emerged from.
The figure wasn't alone. Another hand clamped down on the opposite shoulder, the figure it belonged to bearing an even larger frame than his companion. The first one to have grabbed him—bearing tusks that protruded from his lower jaw and sagging jowls—spoke, his voice like rocks in a gravel chipper.
"What's your business, here?" he demanded, hot, fetid breath brushing Phenex's face as he hauled him closer.
It was all Phenex could do not to gag. Heat pulsed beneath the surface of his skin, spreading upward from the soles of his feet and outward from his chest into the tips of his fingers. Gazing steadily back at the demon facing him, he willed the flames not to come, forcing the blistering desire deep down into his core until only an uncomfortable tingling remained. Much as he wanted to thrash these two drooling thugs, it wouldn't help the mission in the slightest.
Instead, he tilted his head back, allowing his lip to curl ever-so-slightly in disdain. "Remove your hands, or I'll remove them for you."
The demon next to him let out a low chuckle, his large, protruding forehead—not unlike a gorilla's—crinkling further in his mirth. "You hear that, Arkas? This 'un's got some pluck." The words ended on a sibilant hiss, and it was then that Phenex noticed, aside from the rather ape-like appearance of his forehead and his massive, dragging arms, the rest of the demon seemed to be of a more reptilian nature; his scaled snout tapering off to a long point with sharp, predatory teeth jutting from the upper and lower jaws.
A krypdyr? No, not with those arms. Not a Gygas either, though; Gygas don't have scales. Must be a hybrid, then.
He was dragged from his musing when the one named Arkas spoke. "That he does." His leering grin faded into an expression bordering on thoughtful. "Think we should take him to the boss, Mereth?"
"You're welcome to try," Phenex declared, the words ending on a growl.
A scuffle ensued, Phenex pulling his punches enough not to render either of his opponents senseless, but putting up enough of a fight so that it didn't seem as if he were letting them win. Pain him though it did, he let the one named Mereth get in a lucky punch, sending him toppling backward onto the damp cobbles, stars bursting in his vision when the back of his head smacked against the rough stone.
And that one, he thought, stifling a groan, is most definitely a full-blooded Gygas.
His vision had only just cleared when he felt a pair of large, meaty hands grip his upper arms again, hauling him to his feet from behind.
"What d'ya reckon he is?" asked Mereth, forked tongue poking from between his teeth.
"Whatever he is, he ain't human," Arkas replied, his jowls wobbling as he took a deep, noisy breath. "Nope, definitely not human. Doesn't smell it."
"I'm surprised you can smell anything past your own stench." The gibe earned Phenex a solid blow to the stomach, knocking the breath from him.
"Let's see if you still feel like cracking wise when the boss is through with you."
Perfect. If not for the ache in the pit of his stomach, he might have had trouble preventing the victorious grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Phenex only vaguely took notice of the buildings as they passed. The flicker of neon light and the sound of bawdy conversation and laughter drifting from the various nighttime establishments faded in the background in the wake of one, irrefutable fact; phase one of his mission was a success.
Now onto phase two.
***