The chaos, the cries for help, had clearly attracted more than just the attention of media and law enforcement. No, it had brought forth all that is good, and all that is evil.
I had no doubt that some people took advantage of the chaos to loot, steal, kill, and burn. Yet, some stood up, did their part. Some couldn't do much, but a select few had been given the power to do more.
From the television back in the safehouse, I knew that this attack was blamed on mutants, yet I knew better. Mutants might be able to bring down a bridge, they might be able to burn Lyon to the ground, but they didn't deal with demons.
This was clearly not the work of mutants, but I doubted those in charge cared much, the mutants were a far easier target than cults, often because said cults offered promises of immortality and power to those that followed them.
False promises, empty words, curses disguised as gifts, yet still plenty of people fell for it.
"Come, Mordred, if we continue lingering, those behind this attack will slip away; we wouldn't want our time here to be wasted, would you?" I urged her onward.
Mordred cocked her head, eyes narrowing against the rising smoke. "Wasted?" she muttered, tightening her grip on Clarent II. "No, Father. I want it earned. Every scream. Every broken building. I want it to cost them something."
"Then let's collect," I said, and stepped forward.
The street ahead had grown quieter — not safe, just watched. I could feel it in the pressure of the air, the tension of a dozen hidden gazes. The smell of sulfur and scorched meat still lingered, but beneath it, something darker.
Colder.
Rot.
The foul odor of darkness festered, of dark powers gotten out of control, taking control, unrestrained.
This attack seemed to work on an amateur, someone who overstepped, and paid the price for their foolishness, and we… we would ensure that price was beyond what they could afford to pay.
More demons continued to attack us, attracted by Mordred's overflowing bloodlust. My divine nature also played no small role, I was deadly to them sure, but that also meant greater reward should they kill me.
These demons were but beasts, mindless and driven purely by instinct; they couldn't judge the truth of things, they knew we were strong, but that only drove them to attack us harder.
In a way, it was likely that by not trying to help the people in need, by staying away from them, we ended up drawing a large part of the demons away, allowing more lives to be saved by firefighters since they didn't have to worry about getting eaten.
Mordred had pretty bad luck at rank D, yet apparently it was enough for her action to be the right choice, or at least one that wasn't overly bad and selfish.
Mordred didn't hesitate.
Clarent II roared to life with the fury of a storm cannon, spitting bolts of searing crimson through the gloom. Free from stray thoughts and distractions, she ended the demons before they had a chance to get close.
One had its head vaporized before it could even screech, and another was torn in half mid-pounce.
By the time the third fell to the ground, I too moved. My own gun wasn't quite as rapid fire as Mordred's, packing instead far more power. So for every demon I took down, she downed three or four.
Mordred cackled. "Come on Father! You are falling behind!"
"Never!"
Another wave came, attracted by the deaths of their companions. Their screams overlapped like static, like nails dragged across broken bones.
Clarent II sang again.
A storm of red filled the air as Mordred joined in. She wasn't just someone who fought from afar. She moved like a red blur, entering the fray, punching, kicking and shooting to her heart's content.
She was wild, while I, with my great bellowing coat, was cool.
The fire continued to spread as demons covered in hellfire, or entirely made of it, ran wild. Yet, one building seemed particularly hard hit, and demons seemed to rush out of it without break, far more than should have fit inside such a small place.
That building was our target, so we opened a bloody path through the demons, one particular brave demon lunged towards me from above.
Yet I just calmly raised Secace Morgan up, held it against my shoulder, took aim, and fired.
The shot from Secace Morgan split the sky with a scream.
The demon detonated mid-air — not simply killed, but annihilated. Its charred limbs scattered like leaves in a storm. Mordred let out a low whistle, even as she spun and slammed her boot into another charging beast.
"Show-off," she muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
"No need to be jealous, you look good enough to get your own admirers like it is," I said lightly as we continued towards the building.
Getting inside wasn't easy, with a constant stream of demons rushing out, so it was with guns blazing that we forced our way inside, demons blocking us every step of the way, and them dying as fast as they came.
"So many damned demons here!" Mordred complained as we had to dig our way through a mountain of dead demons as we made our way down the basement.
There was indeed a surprising amount of them. Or rather, a suspicious amount of demons. A demon presence this overwhelming was something only the Ancient One or her followers could manage, far beyond what ordinary people could endure.
This gateway to the demon world that had been opened had to be pretty large for this number of demons, yet… why wasn't it stopped?
Either the Ancient One was blocking the big guy, some Lord of Hell trying to come through, or she knew that the problem would be dealt with, so she didn't bother herself.
Knowing her, either was entirely possible.
There was no grand ritual in the basement, no hole in space, no tear in reality. The demons were coming out of a broken section of the wall, leading into some old tunnels.
France was well known for its catacombs, and while those under Paris were the most well-known, that didn't mean that other old cities didn't have their own underground networks.
It was clear that here, the ritual had been done inside those, and the demons came out of every entrance, allowing them to spread through the city.
Something that had to stop.
"Damn, not much room in there." Mordred said, clicking her tongue as she blasted yet another demon in the head as soon as it poked its ugly mug through the hole.
"Indeed, it will be far more difficult to move in there, far more likely the tunnels get filled with dead demons." I concurred. For while demon corpses did slowly fall apart on their own, it did take a little while before they turned to ash.
More than enough time to pile up and block our progress.
I could blast my way through them, bring out Excalibur or Rhongomyniad, and clear the path in one clean strike. Yet that would go against the whole theme. "What do you say, Mordred? Afraid of getting your hands dirty?"
Mordred's grin turned savage. "Please. I live for dirty." She kicked the half-melted remains of a demon aside with a wet crunch and spun Clarent II with a flourish that would've looked cocky if it hadn't been so smooth.
I stepped aside, letting her lead. "Then after you."
We pushed in.
The catacombs were worse than expected.
Narrow. Low. Twisting.
A maze of rot and ancient bone reeked with old death and fresh ichor. The walls were decorated with skulls — not placed, but grown into the stone. Some turned to watch us as we passed. Others whispered prayers to gods that had never existed.
This place had once been a resting place, but now, after who knows how long of being twisted into something much darker, it had become a lair of raw corruption.
Every step we took, we earned through demon blood. Smashing demon bodies into paste, ripping arms and wings off, and stomping them down to force our way through the narrow passages.
It wasn't clean, but at least these low-level demons offered no real challenge.
As we turned and twisted our way through the maze of tunnels, I felt it in the air, the scent of brimstone, the air heavy with death and decay, we were getting closer.
Mordred was a storm, and thankfully, she was able to deal with every demon, because in this tight space, I couldn't really swing around Secace Morgan. It was also a good thing we didn't use swords down here. No room to swing them.
A gun faced no such problems.
I was honestly starting to question if Mordred's Luck was truly just a D, or if my own Luck was playing a role in making us be this lucky.
Luck or not, we pressed on, carving our way through the filth and heat, step by bloodied step. The air thickened the deeper we went — not just in smell, but in presence. It clung to the skin like oil and hummed with malevolent pressure, as if the tunnels themselves were alive and resented our intrusion.
Clarent II barked again, the sharp whine of energy discharges bouncing off bone walls. Mordred took a tight corner at a sprint, gunning down two demons mid-dash, then shouldered another into a wall so hard it burst like rotten fruit.
"You know," she panted, already lining up her next shot, "for a death cult, these guys have terrible taste in real estate."
"Not everyone can summon demons into Versailles," I replied dryly, blasting another demon as it slithered down from the ceiling like a mantis made of knives.
"Pity. That'd at least be scenic."
The next chamber opened suddenly — not grand, but wide enough for us both to move side by side. Bones crunched underfoot, and the walls were slathered with sigils etched in blood and bile. At the far end stood an altar of fused flesh and rusted iron, pulsing like a diseased heart.
Above the altar, the source of the demons was. A large rip in space, a portal leading into a hellish realm. From which poured a sea of demons, all crawling through the countless passages and tunnels that connected this room with the rest of the catacombs.
Those demons weren't happy to see us there, not at all.
But the most unhappy, was no doubt the cause of everything, the summoner.
Or what remained of him.
He had once been human — perhaps — but no longer. His limbs were stretched unnaturally long, skin peeled back and replaced by black chitin. Horns spiraled from his skull, and his eyes were burning pits of red.
He turned toward us with a twitching, jerking motion, arms outstretched like a mockery of benediction.
"Fools," the creature rasped. "I have been granted power beyond mortality! I shall rule this world in his name! I am the future god of this pitiful realm!"
"You gained horns and a skin condition," Mordred muttered, unimpressed. "You look like a dollar store Diablo."
He ignored her. His gaze fixed on me, burning with fevered ambition.
"You… you are something more," he hissed. "A god? No… a usurper. But even gods kneel to power. You will kneel to me."
I stepped forward slowly, Secace Morgan lowered but ready. "And who, exactly, do you think gave you this power?"
He laughed — the hollow, gurgling kind that suggested vocal cords weren't quite where they used to be. "A servant of the true order. A lord of flame and teeth. He gave freely, and I accepted gladly. Unlike your kind… I do not question gifts."
"Then you are more fool than villain," I said. "You don't even know his name, do you?"
He faltered for the briefest second — just enough for his grin to twitch. Mordred saw it too.
"Oof," she said, fake-pitying. "Didn't even read the fine print, huh?"
"You dare mock me?!" he howled, voice flaring with demonic echoes. "I command legions! I have reshaped death itself! This city will be my cradle, and from it I shall rise as a god!"
The portal behind him pulsed, roaring like a heartbeat made of fire and screaming. More demons surged toward the tunnel entrances, some beginning to claw their way toward us.
Mordred rolled her neck and chambered a round with a hiss of plasma. "So, are we killing him now or giving him time for another speech?"
"Let him talk," I said softly, raising my gun. "I want the demon listening through him to hear every second of what happens next."
Mordred grinned. "That's cold. I like it."
The summoner raised his hands, shrieking in fury, summoning power — but it was raw, unstable. The price he'd paid, the corruption in his flesh, was already breaking him. His spine twisted. His skin began to smoke. He didn't even notice.
"I! AM! INVINCIBLE!"
Clarent II fired.
The shot hit him in the chest — and instead of blood, a gout of molten black ichor exploded outward. He stumbled, arms flailing, roaring in confusion more than pain.
I followed with a precise blast to the leg, blowing it clean off. He collapsed with a shriek, clawing at the ground.
"No!" he cried. "You don't understand! He chose me! I was promised—"
"Then take it up with him," I said, and aimed at his head.
One last scream. One final shot.
And silence, save for the crackle of the portal.
Mordred stepped over the body, sneering. "Promised power. Got wrecked in a basement. Tragic."
I stepped beside her, eyes fixed on the swirling tear in reality. It pulsed like a heartbeat, shuddering like it knew we were there.
"Let's show this upstart why messing with Earth was a mistake." I said as I jumped, right into the portal, Mordred half a beat behind.
(End of chapter)
A later chapter today, my editor decided to take a break, so I had to wait on that.