From out of the shadows slinks a creature smaller than the last one I faced before dying. Except this one isn't canine like the vṛkaḥ. It's very distinctly feline. Just as grotesque as the mutt from hell, this cat is horribly disfigured by missing patches of fur and slightly stretched skin. But where the vṛkaḥ was huge, this thing is the size of a typical house-cat. What lets me know this cat-creature isn't just a normal cat who's had a rough time on the streets, however, is the thing's eyes.
They're not sharp and cunning like normal cat eyes always seem to be. Not haughty and pompous either. There's a distinct opaque film over it's eyes, making the cat look like it's blind, and yet the thing seems to have no trouble knowing it's not alone in this alley. It's ears are the only normal things about it. Twitching towards the sound of my bare feet scraping against the rough pavement of the street, it lets out a yowl, what's left of it's fur standing on end as it's back twists into an overly-defined arc.
The sound it makes sends shivers along my spine and I almost think I hear something in the distant corner of the alley behind it, but the shadows are too thick back there to see clearly. Wait...it's the middle of the day. Why are there so much shadows in this place when the sun's overhead? I rub at my eyes, blinking hard. Are my eyes still messed up?
"Rule number one when dealing with biḍālaḥ on your own," Asher glances at me briefly. "Where there is one: run." I blink at my mentor. He referred to the cat thing as a biḍālaḥ, confirming my original thought that the creature isn't normal. Then I comprehend what he's saying and feel my pursed lips twist in annoyance.
"The fuck does that mean?" I hiss under my breath, looking at him, dumbfounded. I'd been hoping for some cool rule to help me, not some stupid rhyme like I'm a kid in nursery school. Asher narrows his eyes at me for a long second before turning back to look at the creepy thing stalking towards us.
"This is why I hate being a mentor." He growls under his breath and plucks something from his pant's pocket. A long, curved blade engraved with glowing symbols. Symbols that look a lot like the tattoos I'd spotted on his spine. He gives the thing a little flip and catches the pointy end, holding the handle out to me. "Use this to defend yourself, and don't let it scratch you."
"The cat or the knife?" I try to clarify, grabbing the hilt and holding the weapon in my hand for a minute as it's weight settles in my slightly-unfeeling-palm. My fingers twitch over the smooth grip, flexing and unflexing over the familiar feel of a knife in my hand. Muscle memory has my messed-up hands give the thing an experimental toss in the air, catching it once, as it relaxes me. I may not have used a knife in a fight in a while, not since being on probation, but that doesn't mean the thing feels foreign in my hand. In fact, I can feel some of the fear and nausea in my stomach fading as I wait for my instructor to answer my question. He's been watching me this whole time, eyes locked on my hands over my grip on the weapon.
"Both." Asher finally rasps - an is it my imagination or did his voice get a little airy? I give him a curt nod to show I understand as an overwhelming calm floods through me. He then turns away from me to look back at the still approaching cat-from-hell, a new and almost identical looking blade in his left hand.
Only...now there are three of the cat-things. I blink again, wondering if I'm seeing things as the three suddenly turn to nine. Then I realize the shadows in the back of the alley are receding, exposing more and more of what seems to be a whole clowder of them. In seconds their numbers triple, and over and over until the whole back of the alley is exposed. The huge mass of the disfigured beasties staring blankly into the air.
Suddenly the 'where there is one: run' rule makes sense.
"Brace yourself," Asher tells me, his body tensing as the first biḍālaḥ comes within spitting distance, it's patchy tail twitching furiously as it lifts it's nose into the air and takes an audible sniff. The arched back of the cat curves into an impossible arc and the thing lets out a hiss that sound more like nails against a chalkboard. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the weird compression in my brain turns into a pulsing force.
I'm about to ask my mentor what I should do when the rest of the lanky mass of unseeing biḍālaḥ rise to their feet. The mark on my forehead suddenly warms again, but unlike the first time, the heat from it doesn't fade - it shoots down my neck to my right hand where I'm holding my knife. Suddenly, the silvery blade engraved with the weird symbols begins to glow an eerie, nuclear-green. I don't have time to stare at the thing, as the first line of possessed cats reach my instructor.
Asher's eyes flare bright, the reddish gleam making the brown fade almost completely away, and his face suddenly...warps. The once smooth and chiseled features twist into something downright sinful and deadly. His tanned, olive skin dulls with an almost white glow, and as he bares his teeth at the I note his canines have filed down to sharp points. Black ink flares up along his exposed arms and neck, coating almost every inch of his skin with swirling, archaic lines.
I just about drop my knife as this happens in the span of a heartbeat. The weird heat that had gripped me when we first met also flares back to life in me. Tingles spread through me as a pulsing throb starts up in my core. I shudder, both in pleasure and revulsion at my reaction to whatever the hell's happening. There's no time to think gutter-thoughts, Nia! I mentally chastise myself, but the thought's followed up by another as I note the rest of horde of cats is still advancing on us. Is it too late to run from this alley and try that whole 'running from Death' thing?
It feels like the mark on my forehead's got an invisible tether to my right hand as I grip the knife tighter, reminding me of my promise to Blair. I grit my teeth and brace myself as the first line of cat overshadow my sexy-as-sin mentor in a swarm of grotesque fur and too-sharp claws. The next line has no problem fluttering around their mass and heading right for me. Time rolls slower, as it used to when I would fight, my mind whirling with options and bones singing with a familiar rage.
I launch forward, my body moving on autopilot to sweep low in order to reach the biḍālaḥ. Their stench hits me as the hand with the knife makes contact on the bubbly skin of the first cat. The smell of unwashed skin and feral life burn in my nose, followed by the wrongness I'd sensed earlier. The scent of corruption. The cold blood of the beastie sprays from the wound as my knife gouges out a chunk from it's neck. I fight a gag as the foul stuff manages to get in my mouth and feel the smack of time surging back to normal as I wretch.
The few seconds I give myself to spit up the tiny amount of the rotten liquid costs me. If you've ever been clawed by a house cat, you know the kind of pain a scratch brings...now multiply that feeling by ten and add in lime juice. That's what the biḍālaḥ clawing up my leg feels like.
Curses bubble from my mouth like a foul stream of word-vomit as I reach down and grab the offending thing and throw it. My muscles strain from the weight of the oddly well-muscled creature before I manage to hurl it away from me. The next cats don't give me the curtesy of attacking me one-on-one like their friends had. Claws dig into my back and I feel the unmistakable gouging of a second's grip on my already scratched up legs - resuming the assault. While a third and fourth of the unseeing creatures launch at me from the ground in horribly accurate arcs for my chest and face.
An overwhelming mesh of pain signals spike through me from my spine and legs, distracting me from attempting to protect my torso and face as the two use their oddly agile bodies to begin to shred through my jumpsuit and skin. In the back of my head, I briefly wonder if Reapers can die if they're already dead. Luckily, I don't get the chance to find out.
YOU ARE READING
Reaper Society
خيال (فانتازيا)You've probably heard of Grim Reapers before, but even I never thought there was more to the typical 'harvesters of souls' until a week ago...
