Breathing heavily, Vidar clicked the Velo bike into a free dock. A green light flashed in his face. He could have been sitting comfortably in his chair, shouting at the TV that the producers of 'Vikings' got it all wrong, then falling asleep just before the episode reached its climax. But no, tonight, his duty was to crawl through Antwerp's sewers, searching for a creature that didn't want to be found.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Mo had offered to join, but the Ifrit was more useful leading the police on a goose chase than getting his webbed feet wet. Besides, Kludde and strangers were a match made in hell. He would rather attack Mo from the back and toy with him than listen to an explanation.
Flash. Flash. Flash.
This was a task Vidar had to do alone.
He blinked, his gaze fixated on the dock. A few seconds passed before he realised the green light no longer flickered.
On the console, he typed the number 35698 and his pin code.
'An error has occurred.'
He glanced back at the bike number: 35689 instead of 35698.
Sleep, beer, a good steak—the order didn't matter. He entered the codes again. His hand slipped from 4 to 5 as he entered the pin code.
'An error has occurred.'
"I know," he grumbled.
He typed extra slowly.
'The bike has been returned correctly.'
After pocketing his card, he headed for Kievit Square. Night or day, sunshine or rain, a biting wind worthy of Frost Giants raged through the alley connecting the railway station to the square. Between the hours of eight in the morning and six in the evening, the place was bustling with people rushing in and out of the tall buildings, always in a hurry, always on their phone.
Now, there was nobody here. Abandoned.
The neon light of the corporate logos reflected on the road bricks. A rusty steel baobab tree stood at the heart of the square, the surrounding stones tainted with a dirty orange-brown residue. The city could have planted a real tree but opted for this monstrosity.
Modern art...
He passed the entrance of the Lindner Hotel, then turned the corner. High up in the Sky Lounge, people in expensive suits sipped champagne and ate oysters while signing million euro contracts. Not much had changed since the middle ages in that regard. Castles replaced by skyscrapers, suits instead of tunics and breeches, yet the rich feasted blind to the struggles of the rest.
A taxi passed in the Van Immerseel Street. Vidar waited for the car to disappear into the distance. Tires screeched as the driver far exceeded the speed limit of thirty kilometres. The sound of the engine faded. All was quiet. No human (or creature) in sight.
With a precise stomp, Vidar loosened the manhole cover. He shoved it aside, far enough for him to access the sewer. Holding his breath, he jumped in.
Cold water seeped through his shoes and into his socks. Slippery mud at the bottom gurgled and slurped as he lifted a foot, releasing rotting chemical fumes. He could have been at home, a blanket wrapped around him, a giant pint of mead on the coffee table. If the paranormals didn't wreak havoc, there was always some egghead who had to ruin his quiet evenings.
He slid the cover back onto the hole. A dull, deep clunk reverberated off the walls as the last whiff of fresh air faded. The stench sharpened. By Odin, the streets had become so clean he had forgotten just how bad humanity smelled.
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The Last Werewolf (Vidar #1) | ONC2021 Grand Winner
Fantasy[ONC 2021 Grand Winner] After the events of Ragnarök, the God Vidar has settled in the nice and quiet city of Antwerp where he keeps an eye on the local paranormal community. Nearly a millennium later, Vidar is a grumbling bookstore owner by day and...
