Without A Heartbeat

Huntmaster Solignis tore through the filthy alleyways of Old Nichol, cursing his bad luck. His target – an Ifrit - was a few yards in front of him, flaming hair streaming behind him like a meteor trail.

“Stop you blasted creature!”

The hunting party had been planning a raid on an illegal organ-harvesting ring operating out of the slum for several weeks. Unsuspecting drunks and the homeless were vanishing from the streets and re-appearing on the Red Market as barrels of liquid or small packages wrapped in newspaper. The Huntmaster and his team had gone in loud and they had gone in hard. The stench inside the organ factory had been dizzying, and even with his years spent as a Guardian, he had been appalled by what he had seen.

There had been twenty-two of Pandemonia’s worst working in the factory. After thirty seconds, only five of them were still breathing. The Huntmaster and his fellow Guardians had the remaining few backed into a corner, ready to part their wretched souls from their bodies. However, as was always the way with such things, fate had decided on a different course of action. The current victim – a balding tramp, strapped down to a sawing table and about to lose a kidney - had chosen that exact moment to wake from his sedation and start screaming. It had taken a split second of distraction for order to give way to chaos, and the remaining five Pandemonians had taken to the wind. They all ran in different directions of course, no doubt each of them with a destination that would spell bad fortune for anyone following.

But Huntmaster Solignis had a job to do, and he would not fail.

The Ifrit turned and unhinged his jaw like a snake. His throat made a high-pitched whine and a jet of searing flame spewed from his mouth. The Huntmaster leapt to the left, using a foot to push off the grimy wall and vaulted over the blistering stream of fire. Landing without a sound, he rolled and in a movement so fast it was a blur, tucked a hand inside his cloak and threw a disc-shaped blade at the target.

The razor sharp metal ripped through the Ifrit’s shoulder, severing tendons and opening a wound that gushed thick, lava-like blood. His scream echoed through Old Nichol and was followed by the sounds of doors and windows slamming shut. Cradling his useless arm, the Ifrit launched himself up the side of a narrow house, scrambling onto the ramshackle roof. The Huntmaster growled in frustration and pounced into the air, taking to the sky on gossamer-light wings that had sprouted from slits in his cloak. The curling wind lifted the Guardian like a leaf and he landed on the roof only a few feet behind his target.

Pigeons scattered and ragged clothes were torn from washing lines as the Ifrit dashed as fast as he could across the rooftops, hopping over cramped alleyways and hurling fireballs from his now boiling hot hands. The Huntmaster sprinted close behind, never letting his target slip from his sight, waiting for the perfect moment.

The Ifrit spun his head around to check his pursuer. As he did, his foot connected with the crumbling bricks of a chimney stack and he stumbled. It was only for a moment, but it was enough. Huntmaster Solignis vaulted back into the air and arched his wings, gaining speed. He closed the distance like a bullet, colliding with the Ifrit and sending them both crashing through the ground-floor window of a building below. The target landed on his back, with the Huntmaster on top. Opening his mouth wide, the Ifrit sent a streaming pillar of flame rushing upwards. The Guardian jerked his head to the side, feeling the tremendous heat blister his skin. He unleashed a flurry of punches to the side of the Ifrit’s head, which shut him up.

“What do we ’ave ’ere then?”

The gruff voice came from behind the Huntmaster. “There is no need to concern yourself good sir,” he said as he climbed to his feet. “Might I advise you to…” his words faded away as he turned and saw the group standing in front of him.

They were not human.

The Huntmaster did not see in the same way as others. His vision took the form of light and colours, which manifested in his mind as tangible shapes. What he saw now were two Imprinted Skinshifters, an Imp and a Bloodseeker Vampire.

“Well this is unfortunate,” he sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. The Ifrit scrambled past him and joined the other Pandemonians. He winked at the Huntmaster, his burning eye sending out a shower of embers and a puff of smoke, as if someone had snuffed out a pipe.

“Welcome to my home. You could’ve just used the front door.” He gestured around him at the grimy hovel, which was filled with filthy mattresses and a single, filthy table supporting several sealed boxes.

The Huntmaster gave a pleasant smile and ran a hand through his silvery hair. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the new arrivals. “The Alliance has no current interest in you. As far as we are aware, none of you have committed any crimes.” He extended a finger towards the Ifrit. “However, this one has been harming humans for profit, and we cannot allow that to stand. So I kindly ask you to exit the premises and allow me to do my job.”

One of the Skinshifters, who had adopted the form of a stocky man covered in sailor tattoos, gave a heavy laugh. “Not gonna happen, mate. There’s one of you an’ five of us.”

“Exactly. Which is why I suggested you leave.”

The Bloodseeker stepped forward, his dark eyes studying the Huntmaster. He pulled his thin, pale mouth back into a snarl. “You are some type of Luminar.” The malice in his voice was palpable, and he practically spat the words. “Your kind sickens me. Refusing to surrender to the more powerful races and attacking my kin.” He stabbed a bony finger towards the Huntmaster. “And now you come to this world and pledge your allegiance to the Chosen like a cowering dog. Joining an organisation run by nothing more than freak humans. You are a disgrace to our homeworld!”

Huntmaster Solignis gave a sigh. “I take no pleasure in excessive violence. Therefore, I strongly urge you to ignore your personal grievances and leave now. This is your final warning.”

The group did not move. “Your precious Alliance killed all of my siblings,” hissed the Bloodseeker. “I would rather die than let you live to harm another Pandemonian for your corrupt masters.”

“As you wish.”

The Huntmaster slipped both hands inside his cloak and drew out two identical red swords. He threw one with expert precision. It whirled through the air like a sycamore seed, slicing right through the neck of the Bloodseeker. His decapitated head thumped to the floor as the blade came to rest in the far wall.

Huntmaster Solignis rushed forwards as the Skinshifters began to revert to their canine forms, unleashing a kick that sent one catapulting into another wall, which crumbled and collapsed around him.

A blade came streaking through the air. The knife was clutched in the hand of the furious Ifrit. The Huntmaster jerked his head from side to side, ducking and pivoting, each attack missing by inches. He reached out and broke the Ifrit’s other arm. With both his limbs rendered practically useless, the Pandemonian backed away with a howl, allowing the snarling Imp to take charge. He attacked with clawed hands, swiping out with deadly force. The Huntmaster flipped onto his back and the Imp sliced nothing but air. Using his hands to press against the ground, the Guardian launched himself back up, planting both feet firmly into the Imp’s chest. The Pandemonian flew across the room and crashed into the rotten door - which caved in and sent fragments of wood scattering into the alleyway outside.

The Huntmaster went to confirm the kill, but was butted to the side with tremendous force. A second later he was lying on his back on one of the putrid mattresses. The second Skinshifter had completed his transformation into a colossal, black dog. He bore down on the Guardian, snarling and exposing teeth the size of daggers.

The beast tilted his head and attacked. The Huntmaster rolled backwards to avoid the jaws, which snapped together in a deafening chomp. He stood up and used the wall to flip over the shifter. As he did, he extended an arm and used the sword to slice the hound from the top of his skull all the way to his tail. The beast let out an ungodly howl as smoke and blood poured from the massive wound. Huntmaster Solignis used his momentum to grab onto either side of the beast’s flank and tucked himself under the Fera’s giant legs, using his blade to finish the job from the opposite side. Guts splashed over the Guardian, covering him from head to toe in ichor. He stood up, blade in hand, looking like some awful creature raised from the depths of Hell.

“Don’t kill me!” pleaded the Imp by the door. He stood up and tried to escape through the door. Huntmaster Solignis’ hand twitched at his side for a moment, contemplating his next action.

They attacked a Huntmaster.

With a sigh, he reached his bloodstained hand into his robe and produced a small iron dagger, which he unleashed with a flick of his wrist. It carved through the air and thudded into the Imp’s neck, nestling between two vertebrae and severing the spinal chord. The Imp became a statue. A few seconds later he toppled over and lay motionless on the ground, his open eyes staring at the exit. The Huntmaster used his wings to float over the mess of destruction that had become the floor, towards the rubble where the other, dazed Skinshifter was coming back to his senses. The Guardian clamped his hand around the back of the Fera’s neck, and positioned the point of the blade against his throat.

“Why could you not just do as I asked?”

“Cos’ the bastard Alliance is no better than us, yet they treat those who don’t join em’ like animals.”

“But why harm humans in such a cruel way just for a few pennies?”

The Skinshifter gave a laugh. “Survival of the fittest.”

He seized the Huntmaster’s arm and pulled the blade into his own throat. A loud hissing escaped the wound and his eyes went blank as he died.

Huntmaster Solignis shook his head in dismay. He pressed a hand onto the wall above the dead Skinshifter and freed his other sword. Placing a hand on his knee he stood up, flicking the blood from both blades and sheathing them. From inside the cloak, he retrieved another of the circular blades. There was a catch on the side, which shed layers with every push of his thumb, exposing blades of differing materials. He kept pressing the button until it exposed its core magnesium layer. If used on the right creature it could produce a white light bright enough to illuminate a four-mile radius and reduce the target to nothing.

He had the right creature.

The Ifrit was cowering on the floor, whimpering as Huntmaster Solignis strode towards him. “Please no, you don’t understand, I have to do this. There was no other option…the Alliance turned me away.”

Huntmaster Solignis hoisted him up by the lapels of his jacket, which was sodden with a mixture of bloods. “Good, then you can explain your actions to them, and they can decide on your fate. I have had more than my fill of death for one evening.” He dragged the whimpering creature over to the table, and ripped open one of the boxes. They were full of human meat, packed in salt.

As I thought.

The Huntmaster motioned to leave the carnage of the hovel and rejoin his fellow Guardians, when he felt a tickle in the back of his mind. It evolved until it became words, scattering across his brain like streaks of lightning.

Huntmaster Solignis. I need to speak with you.

The Huntmaster’s jaw tightened from discomfort as he forced his mind to answer, sending his reply mentally across miles.

Of course Sage Blackwood, I shall make your attendance now.

He glared down at the Ifrit. “I would advise against any threatening behavior if you value your life.” Releasing him, he placed his fingers to his own temples and his form wavered. In his mind, he travelled to the base of operations, where his leader sat in the grand chair in his office, waiting with an impatient expression on his scarred face.

“How may I help sir?”

“How goes the handling of the mission?” asked the Sage.

The Huntmaster cast a look through the wavering portal that showed where his physical body still stood, down at the Ifrit cowering at his feet.

“Handled.”

“Good. I have an urgent new task for you. I have recently learned that Sciath Outpost in Ireland is dealing with several disappearances and deaths they believe to be within our wheelhouse. They have been trying to handle it themselves, but the time has come for our intervention.”

“That is unfortunate news. How can I be of assistance?”

“Head up there and find the cause. Handle things…quickly.”

“As you wish, Sage Blackwood.”

“I would also ask that-”

“One moment sir,” interrupted the Huntmaster.

He jerked his arm to the right, which was followed by a blinding white light so intense; it ricocheted into his telepathic meeting.

“Good lord, what happened?” asked the Sage.

“I told my prisoner not make any threatening moves. I consider a fireball to my side a threat.”

“Are you alright?”

“I will be Sage, thank you for asking.”

“Good. I cannot afford to lose my best Huntmaster.”

Your compassion is overwhelming, he thought to himself.

“Gather your Guardians, you depart this evening. I have faith you will not let me down.”

“Of course not sir. I will come back to the Warren as soon as I am able. Please send a Scrub team in the meantime. There is a lot of cleanup to be done here.”

“I will.”

The Huntmaster removed his hands from his temples and the vision wavered. Before the connection was cut, the Sage’s parting words floated through to him.

“Thank you, Faru.”