What Crawls Below

19 § Baptism by Fire

Several days later, Cyrus stared in dread at the suit hanging in his closet. He'd been demoted to a human Ken doll, shoved into one dressing room after another at a mall in Brooklyn until Tuesday deemed his appearance acceptable. Staring at the product of his agony, Cyrus did not see the intrigue.

But if it meant getting out of the house to do something other than sulking in the shadows and staking out more victims, he was on board. The constant high he rode on wasn't a negative by far, but Cyrus would be lying if he claimed it didn't get tedious.

He felt a dark presence fill the room and turned to see Acheron regarding him and the suit with distaste.

"I still cannot comprehend how you think this is a good use of your time," he scoffed. "You're getting soft."

The image of Delilah suddenly thrust itself into the forefront of Cyrus's mind, and he asked quietly, "Did you mean for me to fail?"

Acheron's eyes narrowed, but he responded, "Failure is a useful teaching. You cannot have everything handed to you."

Cyrus mulled on this for several moments, thoughts always skipping back to the demon's comment: You're getting soft. Working his jaw, Cyrus said, "If I prove you wrong on that..." Then he sent a meaningful gaze to the suit, letting the question hang in his mind.

The demon's ensuing laugh was as cold and hard as steel. "And just what do you think you can do to fix that mess you started?"

Cyrus didn't respond, crossing his arms and waiting.

Acheron exhaled sharply, glancing up at the ceiling as if God himself were watching and he wanted to express his annoyance. "Have it your way." He stalked back out the room, leaving Cyrus with the task at hand.

When the answer came to mind, his first response was to recoil away from it. Cyrus was beginning to acclimate to the feeling the blood of the dark and twisted gave him, but spilling that of an innocent was becoming foreign to him. He steeled himself, knowing he had to prove his worth. Now or never; if he backed down now, he may never get the courage again.

He had to show Acheron he could still do what he needed to, no matter how unsavory.

Remembering not so long ago, though it felt like lifetimes back, when some members of Second Advent had complained about Cyrus scaring them, he meditated on this. When his mind had cleared, it didn't stay empty for long; just as he'd been taught, he let the voice he was searching for come to him, and it transformed from an unintelligible hum to actual words.

It seemed though weeks had passed, Delilah was still on some of the members' minds. Cyrus heard his name and latched onto it, letting the images and thoughts follow. Clearly in his mind's eye he could see two members huddled together in a room of the compound, whispering.

"...still can't believe he let her die."

"Are you kidding? He didn't 'let' anything happen, he's a fraud!"

Cyrus let go of the scene, rising from the ground. He'd heard enough.

He had his general course of action in mind but let no plan form; they'd never been much use to Cyrus. Whatever was meant to happen always seemed to be spawned by emotion, in the moment--he knew there was no way to prepare for this. As such, he didn't attempt to, not even arming himself with his ceremonial knife. They'd already seen that weapon in action; it would not hold the same effect this second time around.

In the hall, Bune was leaning against the wall. There always seemed to be a reaper around as of late, never straying far from Cyrus, so this did not come as a surprise.

"Tell Acheron to meet me at the compound," Cyrus said to him. "He won't want to miss this."

Then he stepped out of the house with nothing to his name but the energy coursing through his veins, more excitable than an adrenaline rush.