BT IV - Chapter 23

The madame, a sixty year old woman with gray hair and crafty eyes, ushered the two of them into a sitting room.

Micah frowned, he couldn’t remember having ever been in a better furnished room than he was right now, but at the same time, everything seemed… tawdry?  The couches were overstuffed, the colors were too bright, and most of the artwork had uneven brush strokes here or there.  Somehow, he could just tell that they were reproductions, works made by apprentices as mimicry of more skilled artists while they learned their trades.

“It’s my brother’s eighteenth birthday!”  Trevor said excitedly, flopping down on one of the overly soft lounges.  “We’re here so that he can become a man.  I’ll buy him whatever girl he wants.”

“But, you know,” Trevor continued, hesitating slightly, “Not too expensive.  I uh, might have spent more attunement on drinks before we came here than I thought.”

Micah rolled his eyes as the madame nodded knowingly.

“The finest girls available for the discerning young gentleman on a budget,” she replied, clapping her hands twice.  “I know just the array of women for him to choose from.”

A door opened and women began to file in.  They weren’t wearing much, and most of what they were wearing was made from translucent silk, but that seemed to be the point.  Micah gulped.

“Allow me to introduce these beauties,” she continued, as the girls took seats around the room, “but in the meantime, Drekt, if you could get us some wine.”

A large man, dark skin pulled taught over his exposed and bulging chest muscles nodded from the corner before turning and leaving the room.  Micah squinted at the bouncer, his headache returning.  He was sure he knew the man from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I didn’t want a big hunk of meat like Drekt in here while you got comfortable with the girls,” the madame whispered with a wink, “a lot of virgins can feel a bit… eclipsed by him.  He tends to make their swords feel like daggers if you know what I mean.”

Micah opened his mouth to tell the woman that he wasn’t a virgin, but caught himself.  He’d never had time to experiment and flirt with girls.  Why wouldn’t he be a virgin?  Where had that thought even come from?

“Now without further ado,” she said, using a cupped motion with her right hand to call two slim girls with similar features to stand up and turn a pirouette in the center of the room.  “I’d like to introduce the Redflower sisters.  Sarah and Josephine are beauties, but better than that they come as a pair.  I don’t know what young man doesn’t want to bed sisters at the same time, and now is your chance.”

The women looked strangely familiar, despite being clad more in smiles than gauzy silk.  But micah couldn’t place them.  As much as he wracked his memory, the steadily increasing headache robbed him of his faculties.  Somehow, Micah knew that they were important.  That their presence meant something.  He just didn’t know what and that lack of knowledge was driving him mad.

“Maybe not the sisters then?”  The madame asked slyly.  “Maybe you like your women, bigger and more commanding?  Perhaps a bit more muscular than demure?  There’s no shame in it, men from all walks of life come here, traveling far and wide to ask Leeka to step on them.”

A tall woman, her skin as orange as a sunset smiled at him, and Micah felt his headache double.  Maybe it was the sharp pain, but Micah didn’t feel a single iota of attraction toward any of the women.  They were all pretty, but in the same way as a painting or a vase.

“Ah,” the old woman continued knowingly.  “You aren’t here for the youthful twins, or the strong and dominating.  Maybe your type is our Gwendolyn here?  Soft and elegant, but mo-”

Her words seemed to blur together, losing all definition and becoming a meaningless blend of sound.  The room was practically spinning as Micah’s headache hit a fever pitch.  Everything, from Trevor to the walls around him seemed surreal.  Bits and pieces of the situation rang true, but when added together as a whole it just felt wrong.

Like a dream.

He blinked.  The dreamlike sensation was still there, and now that he looked closerThere was a woman standing behind the madame, but the old lady didn’t seem to notice.  She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.

Micah didn’t recognize her.  She was about his height with dark hair beneath a simple crown, but she didn’t look like any princess or queen that Micah had ever read of.  Her eyes twinkled with cruel mischief as she stared at the Madame’s back, and somehow the brothel manager was completely unaware of her presence.

Come to think of it, until a second ago, Micah hadn’t noticed the woman either. She was both familiar and wasn’t.  His mind whirred as he tried to think of who she was and where he had seen her only to come up empty. He could swear that he had never seen her face before, but her presence was familiar to the point that he felt like he had known her his entire life.

“Now young boy,” the Madame leaned close, rubbing her wrinkled hands together.  “Tell me, which of my girls do you want first.  After all, you have a doting brother.  I’m sure if you wanted more than one of the girls, he wouldn’t have a problem funding a bit of a marathon.”

Her face went slack, drawing a confused look from Micah as Trevor replied.

“Of course Micah!  You’re a physical fighter after all.  I’m sure your body attribute is high enough that you could keep going for hours.  After all, my little brother only turns 18 once.”

This wasn’t like a dream, it was an illusion.  None of it was real.

The women, his current and former friends sat unmoving, their appearances only approximations of the real thing, missing vital but minor details such as eye color or the way that they shifted their balance when they walked.  Their faces were slack and blank, meat puppets without any animating force.

An immediate feeling of revulsion welled up in his gut followed only a second later by rage.  It was a daemon.  It must be.  It DARED to take the faces of his friends and twist them into…

He let out a slow, shuddering breath as he stood up.  Micah’s eyes were clear and his head didn’t hurt anymore.  Now that he knew what to look for, the only things real in the room were the madame and the crowned woman standing behind her.

The old woman’s face twisted into a sinister leer.  She cocked her head to the side, letting it droop unnaturally far.

“You’re awake,” her voice rasped, raking itself across his ears like a monster’s talons.  “A shame.  The absorption process works a lot better if you go along willingly.”

“I’m not the one that’s going to be absorbed,” Micah replied, glaring at her.  Behind her, the other woman brought her finger to her lips again.  “You aren’t the first daemon that’s invaded my soul, but you’ll notice that I’m still here and they aren’t.”

“Are you sure you want to fight?” The brothel mistress asked.  “I’m not sure where you’re getting your misplaced optimism, but there’s only one way this will end.  With me absorbing your soul and controlling your body.”

“We can do this one of two ways,” she continued.  “You have a good night and fade into oblivion.  Or you fight and I rip your soul apart and eat it bit by screaming and agonizing bit.”

“Die”

That was all the response that the daemon needed.  Before Micah could even move, the crowned woman grabbed the madame from behind, her fingers sinking into the crone’s flesh like they were claws.

Micah’s fist slammed into her face.  He wasn’t a trained martial artist, and even if he was, they were all spirits.  His body and experience meant nothing.  All that mattered was the mental energy and willpower invested into his actions.  Instead, Micah put every erg of hatred, rage, and violation into the blow.

His fist burned red, crushing her cheek and leaving an ugly screaming hole in her flesh.  It was like cracking open a lantern.  The woman’s body was hard and brittle, shattering under his attack and cutting open his hand and arm on the jagged edges of her skin.  The wound itself was as inhuman as the creature he was fighting.  Rather than sinew and meat, there was only the red, pulsing glow of the angry energy that made up the beast wearing the old woman’s face.

Her flesh squirmed, transforming into tentacles into a half dozen or so narrow tentacles that flailed outward from her restrained body.  None of them seemed able to touch the strange woman holding her tight, instead they sharpened into an array of needles and scalpels that spun in the air of their own volition, still covered in the wrinkled old flesh of the Madame as they oriented themselves toward Micah.

“Who!?”  She shrieked.  “We are in your soul!  Only you and I should exist here!”

“Her heart Micah!”  The crowned woman shouted back.  “You need to consume its heart.  Until you absorb the daemon it will keep reviving itself and win a war of attrition.  You need to strike now while we have the advantage.”

“How!!”

Micah ignored the Madame’s shout, channeling all of his anger into his right hand.  The tendrils of the daemon’s flesh sprang toward him, punching through Micah’s skin and beginning to wriggle and worm their way toward his heart.

It hurt.  He’d been stabbed and bludgeoned, buffeted by spells and even killed only to be saved by his time magic.  This wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it was certainly up there.  What was worse than the pain however, was the sensation.  The feeling of something alien, snaking its ice cold way through his muscle and veins made Micah’s skin crawl.

Then his hand plunged downward, fingers piercing through her sternum and into the scalding hot substance beneath.  There wasn’t flesh or bone, just unbearable eyeball watering heat before Micah’s fingers closed around the creature’s core.

He yanked his hand free, letting the Madame’s corpse droop downward, only held aloft by the other woman and the strings of flesh stretching from her limbs to Micah’s torso.  In his grip sat an angry pulsing sphere of black and green.

“Devour it!”  The remaining woman yelled.  “It will only find a new host if you don’t.”

Micah didn’t wait or question.  It could have been a trap, but he trusted her.  Micah didn’t know how or why, but her help had been instrumental in securing his victory.

The core tasted vile.  The consistency and taste both reminded him of some sort of viscous rubber, but Micah plowed ahead, forcing it down in one gulp.

A moment later, the burning began.  His right arm was scalded from shoving it into the daemon’s chest, but compared to the rumbling tidal wave of pain that consumed Micah, that was nothing.  He fell to his knees as his body was wracked by spasms, eyes closed and his hands curled into talons as he clawed fruitlessly at his face.

The only spots on Micah’s body that felt anything but heat and agony were the spots where the monster’s tendrils had tried to invade his body.  Each of those wounds pulsed with a glacial cold that threatened to break his perception and drive Micah entirely mad.

The world pulsed around him.  Micah’s eyes were closed, but he could feel the outside world both expanding and holding firm at the same time.  It was something he couldn’t properly put into words, like the space he was in had doubled in size all while every object in it remained exactly proportional in both position and size.

A soft, feminine hand touched down on his shoulder, and cool energy began to flow into Micah’s body.  The chaos and conflicting impressions did disappear, but they faded enough that he no longer felt like he was tumbling madly through a blizzard.

Everything pulsed a second time, but this time Micah felt more in control.  The heat in his body was abating from its previously unbearable levels, and Micah finally felt comfortable cracking his eyes open.

Unsurprisingly, the crowned woman was kneeling over him, her hands on each of his shoulders.  They were still in the brothel, but they were alone.  The puppets and phantasms created by the daemon had disappeared along with most of the room’s color and decoration.  It wasn’t quite an empty room, but there were barely any hints as to its former purpose.

He blinked at the woman, trying one final time to place her as he forced words out of his parched throat.

“Who?”

“Karin Dakkora,” she replied, still infusing Micah with her cool energy.  “But on some level, you already knew that.  After all, we’re the same, you and I.”

“Do you mean divine candidates?”  Micah asked with a cough.  “By the Sixteen you’re familiar.  How do I feel like I’ve known you my whole life when you died centuries before I was born.”

She snorted and removed her hands from Micah’s shoulders.  Pain began to creep back in as she stood up and crossed her arms.

“Come on Micah Silver.  We’re smarter than that.”