The precipitation, above London's docklands wasn't just weather; it was a continual oozing, a collection of disregard and abandoned freight. It trickled along the corrugated metal rooftops of warehouse H-17 during the early morning hours causing the solitary wavering sodium lamp outside to appear like a suffocating eye.
Within the atmosphere was dense with the odors of rust, aged fish oil and an additional note—an elusive metallic and faint aroma, reminiscent of a star long gone out. Edgar Walker positioned himself in the heart of the deserted area the crimson satin of his tailcoat a lone streak of color amid the shadows. His gloves remained black leather. The angular tattoo close, to his temple faintly seen in the light appeared to throb with a shadowy pattern uniquely its own.
He did not stand by himself. Flanking a shaking man clad in a soiled waxed jacket were two of his "Shadows," agents whose faces were hidden behind onyx masks and long overcoats. Positioned on the ground, between them was a containment device. It wasn't crafted from A.G.L. Crystal or E.L.F. Polished timber. Instead it was a chunk of matte black metal marked with worn Cyrillic caution symbols and marred by what appeared to be arc-weld marks. It buzzed, a tone deep it was sensed in the teeth rather than heard.
"The payment " murmured the man clad in the jacket his gaze flickering among the expressionless visages of the Shadows. "As, per our deal. Untraceable bonds, Cayman account."
Edgar avoided looking at him. His eyes remained locked on the box. "The origin, Mr. Hewitt. Once again.. Please attempt to be… poetic. The ordinary facts tire me."
Hewitt gulped, his Adams apple moving up and down. "It originates from the Koschei Dig. The deep-location anomaly in the Tunguska region. The Russians initially believed it was a meteorite shard. Their biological scans revealed… something alive.. Not exactly alive. Somewhere in, between. They termed it 'void-touched.' Their Project Svarog aimed to control it. That… ended badly. The site was cleared documents erased. This is the sample that survived. It consumes data, Chairman Walker. EMF waves, transmissions. It generates quiet."
Edgar at last swiveled his head, a deliberate hunting motion. "It generates quiet " he said again his tone filled with satisfaction. "How wonderfully sacrilegious. In a universe roaring with information an enclave of 'no.'" He advanced toward the box. ". What, about the biological element?"
"Integrated " Hewitt exhaled. "The shard… merged with the remaining biomass of a Svarog technician. It isn't a demon, sir. Not, like yours. It's something that… dons biology. Like a garment."
Edgar's smile was a white slash in the shadows. "Perfect."
He motioned with a hand. One of the Shadows placed a device against Hewitt's neck. A quiet hiss sounded. The man's eyes rolled upwards. He fell, seized and hauled roughly into the shadowy depths of the warehouse. He would awaken without recollection and, with a controlled bank balance. Disposal was amateurish; Edgar favored editing.
Now solitary with his trophy Edgar paced around the containment chamber. He sensed it despite the muffling metal. A tug, not from gravity. From void. A craving for order. It was disorder taking on a murmuring shape. It opposed Felicya's crafted melodies and Arthur's cosmic balance. It was the flaw, in the world's focus.
His encrypted comm-link buzzed. He pressed the gadget in his ear. "Walker."
"Edgar." Valerius spoke with a deliberate voice; he was the head of Acquisitions and a former Oxford philosophy professor who had become the procuror of the profane. "The Windsor sensors detected the acquisition pulse. The board is… uneasy. The Koschei specimen represents a category-zero threat. Our current demonkin strains originate, at least from mythology, a recognized measure of anguish. This one is an enigma. Incorporating it might unsettle the system."
Edgar ceased his pacing. "Valerius, my companion are you aware of why our D.M.N. Forerunners selected Windsor Castle? It wasn't merely for its magnificence. It was, for its legacy. It stands as a symbol of kingship. Of control maintained through power, lineage and spectacle.. What supports every throne?" He allowed the question to linger in the silence filled with static.
"Chaos," Valerius exhaled wearily familiar, with the scenario.
"Exactly. A turbulent stunning disorder. We have devoted years perfecting that disorder shaping it with horns and forked tongues and charming titles.. We may have been, possibly overly conventional. Arthur gazes upward. Alexa toward the soil. Felicya toward the dream-woods. They each engage with fragments of this realm." He rested a hand on the chilled metal. It was immediately disconcertingly warmer than the air, around it. "This… this is an outsider's visitor. This is a color for our collection. Picture a demon not born of flame or darkness. Of obliteration. A creature capable of unraveling the DNA of an angel muting the melody of an elf and reducing an orc's formidable endurance, to a vanished reflex.
"The risks are incalculable."
"The prize is control " Edgar amended, his tone lowering to a murmur. "The rest grasp for edges. Minor gains in steadiness in power. They are sharpening their blades. I have been granted the power to eliminate the idea of the 'blade' itself. This is far from a step. This is a revolution, in thinking."
At the Windsor laboratories they would be tracking his signs, his brain activity. They would notice the increased dopamine, the concentrated theta wave patterns. They would label it obsession. He referred to it as vision.
"And what about the Quadrumvirate?" Valerius urged. "If they have any doubts—"
"Let them have their doubts " Edgar laughed. "Let Arthur's angels shiver, in their comfort. Let Alexa's orcs detect a void where their determination ought to be. Let Felicya's elves catch a tone in the melody of existence. Fear of what's unfamiliar surpasses fear of a familiar foe. This " he tapped the crate "represents the essence of the unknown."
He gestured to his Shadows. They advanced carrying a custom anti-gravity sled skillfully positioning the device onto it with expert precision. The drone grew louder as it was shifted a noise of resistance or expectation.
"Get the Black Sanctum ready " Edgar ordered Valerius his voice turning icy with authority. "Implement the quarantine procedures. Establish a link to Subject Cain-9. If this 'void-touched' entity desires biomass we'll provide it with a chat alongside our convincing demon. An exchange, between the cursed and the void."
"Cain-9 is volatile. The interaction could be catastrophic."
"Engagement is the key Valerius. Disaster is merely an intense form of information." He ended the connection.
As the sled moved toward a locked transport vehicle Edgar cast one final glance at the warehouse at the exact place where Hewitt had been standing. The rules had just shifted. The others were engaged in chess on a set board. He had just placed a piece that devoured the squares.
He climbed into the armored vehicle after his prize. As it pulled away into the bleeding dawn, the rain finally extinguishing the sickly yellow light of the warehouse, Edgar Walker leaned back, a conductor savoring the first, discordant note of a devastating new symphony. Arthur sought to create the highest race. But Edgar, with a void-touched secret humming at his side, was now playing with the possibility of being the last.