Life was a series of highs and lows. It moved like the tide. No matter how well things were going, sooner or later something rough rolled in. Even before I ended up with this ridiculous power that apparently thrived on chaotic "bumps," I had always believed that much.
Hell, part of me even welcomed it. I had seen too many people, rich and poor alike, get drunk on the good parts of life until they forgot how to deal with problems. Life was boring without something to solve.
But when I thought about bumps, I meant things like fighting for a job or trying to get over your social anxiety.
Not… whatever the hell this was.
"So… let me get this straight." I pinched the bridge of my nose while staring at the various robed and unrobed cultists gathered in my office. "You went and tried to summon the god of crime because you thought it would enhance my god-given crime powers?"
A wave of rapid nods rolled through the robed cultists.
I let out a long sigh, which only made things worse. Several grown adults suddenly looked like they were about to cry because their religious figure sounded disappointed in them, like some kind of scolding parent.
"Who decided this was a good idea?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
The robed cultists glanced at one another, clearly having a silent war over who would answer. Finally, a gothic girl who wasn't wearing a robe spoke up.
"It was, uh… Todd, sir."
"And where is he…?"
"Well…" She twisted her fingers together while several of the robed cultists shot her extremely unsubtle looks.
Oh god. They had cliques. What was this, high school?
"You won't be punished," I said, rubbing my face with both hands. "Just tell me. It can't be that bad—"
"Well, he kinda got eaten by a demon," she squeaked out in a rush.
I just stared at her.
For several long seconds, I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.
Apparently, my silence made things worse because several of the cultists immediately started shouting over one another.
"We're not sure if it was a demon exactly!"
"Of course it was a demon, it had fucking horns, Jerry!" another woman snapped while pointing a finger at him.
"This never would've happened if we didn't substitute the human blood with rat blood!"
"I was willing to do anything for the cause, but fucking needles scare me, man!"
The argument grew louder and more chaotic by the second.
Deep breaths. Calm. I was calm.
"SHUT UP!"
My fist slammed down onto the desk hard enough to rattle everything on it.
"Lord almighty, you are all grown adults. Act like it!"
Every cultist froze instantly, their heads lowering in collective shame.
I pointed directly at the gothic girl.
"Explain. Now."
She gulped and nodded quickly. "Todd was the only one who knew the magic stuff. He kept saying the stars had aligned, that the flow of magic in Gotham was perfect tonight, and that he was really lucky to get his hands on the materials for a summoning."
…Fuck. That was probably my luck at work, wasn't it?
"Well, he called the rest of us up," she continued nervously. "We followed what the Crime Bible said and did the ritual, but then…"
"Then the demon showed up," I finished.
She nodded quickly.
Still, the question burned in my head. "Why would you think I wanted that in the first place? Did it occur to any of you to ask me?"
"I mean… you didn't tell us not to," one of the cultists muttered.
I felt something in my brain twitch.
Because that was common fucking sense!
"Gary," I said flatly. "Give this guy the swirly."
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. The double doors slammed open as Gary forced his massive gargoyle frame through them, crouching to squeeze into the office.
The idiot barely had time to scream before Gary grabbed him and sprinted back down the hall.
They could move surprisingly fast when they wanted to.
I looked back at the remaining cultists.
"Anyone else?"
That earned me a chorus of frantic headshakes.
Right…
This was what I got for trusting cultists' common sense.
Noted for next time.
"Okay. First things first. As the Son of Crime, I'm ordering you all to run these kinds of ideas by me first. Got it?"
More rapid nodding.
"Good." I rubbed my temples and sighed again. "Next, someone give me the address where—"
—
Magic was something I had found myself becoming painfully familiar with over the past few days. Alchemy was obviously intertwined with it. The strange mechanism that let me develop technology related to potions and similar concoctions worked just fine, but it never actually explained how magic itself functioned.
I had a vague sense of it, an abstract understanding of what it might be doing behind the scenes, though nothing that could be called practical 'magic' knowledge.
Because of that, I started to read up on it. If I could understand the magical side of things, maybe I could improve the potions I was already making. They were good, but good could always become better. Minor healing was useful, sure, but what if one day I could brew something that regrew arms and legs? Regenerating metahumans existed, so I was hopeful about the possibility.
Unfortunately, my attempts to learn had gone about as well as you would expect in Gotham.
Most of what I found was either complete nonsense or some conman trying to trick me out of my money with "ancient mystical secrets." The most useful information I had managed to gather came from an old priest who ran a rundown church in the slums.
Even then, the bulk of what he taught me focused on how to avoid magic entirely and why I should stop digging into it.
Which, to be fair, I could respect as a point of view.
It just was not particularly helpful.
Still, he had given me a few things that might come in handy.
I was currently decked out with several bottles of holy water and enough crosses strapped across my body to make a vampire nervous.
While I would have loved to send a few of my men to handle this situation, the Union was still painfully light on superhuman muscle. At the moment, it was mostly just me and my gargoyles.
Which meant I would have to deal with this personally.
Well, mostly alone, if you ignored the two literal monsters tucked away in my metaphysical pocket. Figuring out I had a pocket dimension where I could store the big guys had been a pretty fantastic discovery.
With that comforting thought in mind, I strode toward the small warehouse near the docks. At least the idiots had the sense to keep their ritual site away from the general population.
I kept one hand near my belt as I stepped into the warehouse they had described.
The place was a mess. Blood circles and crude symbols painted across the floor told me I was definitely in the right place.
But…
I tilted my head and listened carefully.
I heard absolutely nothing.
"Well… that's a problem," I muttered.
I scanned the warehouse again. Aside from the ritual site and a few scattered bloodstains, there was no demon anywhere in sight.
…Was I supposed to just walk around and hope for the best?
I was about to step back outside and check another building when I suddenly heard the shattering of glass somewhere deeper in the warehouse.
Or maybe I could just get lucky.
Trusting my luck, I moved toward the noise.
As I rounded the corner, I came to a stop.
The creature matched the description the cultists had given. It had horns, red skin, and goat legs, though it was fairly short, barely reaching my chest. Its face was something only a mother could love.
The supposed demon was gripping a black, shriveled hand and trying to yank it toward itself.
Another pair of hands was fighting it for the same prize.
The second participant was a dirty blond man with stubble, wearing a trench coat and looking like the most exhausted, homeless bastard I had ever seen. The guy was currently locked in a desperate wrestling match with the demon.
As if that were not bad enough, both of them were tangled together with what looked like thick latex ropes, binding them into a bizarre and deeply disgusting wrestling position while they fought over the black, emaciated hand.
I stared at the scene, completely stunned by the horrific sight.
"Oy! Kid!" the blond man shouted. "Be a good lad and help a hero out, will ya!"
I did what any sane man would do in that situation.
I pulled out the high-tech LexCorp water gun I had bought specifically for this.
Setting it to the highest pressure, I raised the gun and just started blasting
"GYAHHHH!" the goat-horned demon screamed in agony.
"Ow! Ow! Ow Ow Ow!" the blond man shouted. "Stop hitting me, too!"
I responded by throwing a bottle of holy water directly at his face.
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices. If you want more, please comment your thoughts and ideas.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.