The building was a microcosm of the town itself. It had once been grand, which was clear from the building’s fa?ade. Constructed with sweeping white pillars that lined its entrance, now stained and grimy with time. Just as decrepit scaffolding lined the exterior of the building, evincing abandoned patch-up jobs abandoned by contractors, so did wooden boards haphazardly fill the gaps in the walls and ceiling of the interior.
Outside, a thin crowd of people were gathered with makeshift signs. There weren’t many reasons compelling enough to get people in the slums on the streets when their time was monopolised by the thankless dregs of jobs that they slaved away at.
“Evantra!”
Drawn out of her thoughts, Evantra crouched to receive Lucas just as he barrelled into her. She ruffled his hair as the boy buried his face into her shoulder. Lucas’ wavy brown hair was a mess, his face also marred by tears and snot that trailed down his face at the sight of her.
It only made Evantra want to hug him all the more tightly.
“You did it. You’re ok? You’re not hurt? I was…”
A shadow flickered over a face for a moment. She had done all she could to shove the darker thoughts out of her mind, as she worked her way through the lab. Still, it had hung over her like a spectre.
“I’m sorry,” the words emerged as a whisper from Lucas’s lips, “you told me to leave, but a teethling snuck under the stage. Taco killed it. But by the time he had… the teethlings came back.”
“Don’t apologise, you did great, Lucas. Besides… Taco again huh?”
Evantra grinned at the orange cat trailing behind Lucas, his soft orange fur as lustrous as ever. No one would have guessed that the cat had just strolled out of a Veilsurge.
“There’ll be plenty of treats for you. You’re going to be such a fat cat once I’m done with you. Well… even more than you already are.”
Taco responded with a soft meow, brushing up against her leg.
“But Lucas.”
Evantra dropped to one knee, taking the boy’s face in her hands.
“You hid and took care of Taco while the teethlings were around. You were a very brave boy, you know that? Braver than me.”
Lucas' eyes were downcast as he bit his lip. Evantra let out a soft sigh as she run her fingers through his curls.
She recognised the look in his eyes.
The feeling didn’t disappear easily, once it was instilled in you.
She knew that the scars of the experience would remain with him. It was what birthed generations of Ghostslayers. Those intent to overcome the feeling that burned in their chests once instilled, never to leave again.
The helplessness of being at a Veilsurge’s mercy.
At being at the mercy of creatures of the veil, or most of all…
At the mercy of ghosts.
She recognised it, because she saw herself in little Lucas’ expression. In his downturned lips, the way tears lined his dark brown eyes, equally lined with determination. His clenched fists at his side, nails biting into his palm.
Evantra poked him in the cheek, as she spoke to him softly.
“But you know what?”
Lucas turned to her, his intrusive thoughts subordinated to his curiosity.
“We’re going to have a sleepover. Many of them. Wanna play Project Elsecaller Racing 2 with me? You don’t stand a chance.”
Lucas laughed, brightening as he hugged her.
“Evantra!”
Carmen Alvarez emerged from the entrance to City Hall, followed by a familiar officer behind her. The woman’s tanned face was ragged, even more so than it had been at dinner. Her hazel eyes were underlined by dark rings, and her brown hair was a mess that framed her tear-stained face.
Carmen ran towards her, enveloping Evantra in a tight grip. She could feel Carmen's shivers, as if afraid that Evantra would somehow slip away from her. It seemed she would have no problems relating to both mother and son today.
Evantra silently returned her hug, as the woman sobbed.
“I can never repay you for thi—”
“I won’t have another word from you, abuela,” Evantra replied gently.
She whispered under her breath as she hugged her, her voice lowering.
“You already have, a hundredfold.”
Eventually, Evantra gently pried the distraught woman away from her, giving her a reassuring smile, even as Carmen’s expression darkened, lingering on her face.
Evantra averted her eyes.
“A-ahem. Evantra Blair? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m officer Trevor Foster.”
The police officer who had braved the Veilsurge to rescue Lucas was standing with his cap in his hands, behind Carmen. The edges of her lips tugged upwards, when she watched the woman cast an adoring gaze in his direction.
“Let’s get you ho—”
Officer Trevor broke off, his eyes latching on to something behind her. The high-pitched whine of an aerial vehicle touching down. Evantra watched as the crowd of protestors scrambled as the transport began to descend, heedless of their presence underneath it.
The transport bore some similarity to the Uriel III, in that it was sleek and comprised of a clean, glossy-black finish. It’s VTOL systems operated with unparalleled precision as it descended in the small clearing in front of the building. Four engines independently swivelled as it smoothly positioned itself for landing.
Must be bespoke… It certainly isn’t a model that I recognise.
What Evantra did recognise, as did the protestors a short distance away, was what was emblazoned on the side of the transport.
The symbol of a golden sword.
A narrow arc, a short distance from the tip of the blade, with three straight lines emitting outwards at regular intervals.
Caliburn Mining Industries.
Evantra watched as the door to the transport silently swivelled open to reveal a lush interior complete with organic leather seats with a dark, golden hue. As tempted as she was to continue perusing and admiring its interior, her attention was ripped away to the figures that were revealed.
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“Clear.”
A voice rang out, clinical in its delivery.
The lead individual was a towering man, who stood at least seven feet tall. His armour was a combination of black fabric, with interlocking hexagonal grey plates covering the exterior. It looked like a modern rendition of medieval plate armour. Crystal blue eyes shone in the streetlights illuminating the square, as he looked over them.
Ghostslayer escort.
“No threats detected, my lady.”
“Oh? No threats, Lancelot? Unless my optics are failing me, that young lady over there has a weapon. Two of them, in fact.”
A woman trailed after the lead Ghostslayer, speaking in a similar distinguished British accent as the Ghostslayer. Long, silken black hair trailed over her shoulders, and she sported a sheer, shimmering black gown that left barely anything to the imagination. It was immaculate, and it made Evantra feel like a filthy rodent in comparison – even if she weren’t covered by the dirt and grime of the Lost Territories.
However, her garb was her least interesting feature. The woman’s ears were sharpened to elegant points, and she mimicked, no, embodied, the appearance of ethereal elves in stories of fantasy. Frankly, they bore a strange resemblance to the teethlings she had encountered. Similarly pointed, dark red eyes betrayed the hand of an experienced skinsculptor who had no doubt brought the woman’s vision of her visage to life.
Blood red lips twisted into a smile as her lightly glowing burgundy eyes fixed on Evantra.
“She possesses a Remington Ghoulkiller and Colt Python. Both incapable of penetrating your subdermals, my lady.”
“Would you consider selling them to me, girl? I was in the market for a new massage gun.”
The woman’s high, tinkling laugh induced a visceral chill which ran down Evantra’s spine.
She was a corpo.
Not the wealth of middle managers that scrambled at the feet of the megacorporations, begging for scraps. She was the real deal, likely from a family with some degree of ownership. From the cybernetics and bionetics on display, Evantra wouldn’t be surprised if she was from the main line.
Evantra kept silent, mastering her expression. A second man stepped out from behind the woman, firmly gripping her forearm.
“Play nice, Elaine.”
Evantra watched as he stepped forward with a soft smile, brown eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“You’ll have to forgive my sister, she can tend to get a bit cheeky when she’s restless. The Remington Ghoulkiller is a classic. Great eye, much better than what I picked up as my first.”
The man was slightly shorter than the Ghostslayer, but no less impressive than either of the previous entrants, though undoubtedly, humbler and more mundane. He had a barrel of a chest, with a few buttons undone, revealing thick, curling hair which paired with a full, brown beard. He let out a hearty laugh.
“Clark Hallewell, we’re from Caliburn. My apologies for the interruption. Shall we, dear sister?”
The woman scoffed at her brother, tugging her arm from his grasp as she walked past, Evantra and the onlookers forgotten in an instant. The man shot her one last placating smile before he strode past.
“Welcome to Wisptown, honoured guests. The Mayor is expecting you.”
An attendant received them at the door to City Hall. As Evantra’s eyes lingered on her back, she felt an odd sensation – like a light gust of wind – and she flinched.
What was that?
“Come on Evantra, we’d better go.”
Carmen gestured to her, swallowing as she cast furtive glances in the direction the Caliburn detatchment had headed, and back towards the crowd of protestors that had been dispersed by their entrance.
---
“You should have seen her, ma! She was like ‘AHHH’! Then she slammed the door, and all of the teethlings went straight for her!”
“Lucas…”
Evantra smiled serenely, and the boy looked at her in confusion. He wasn’t at the age where he was capable of discerning danger in a lady’s expression. Officer Foster, on the other hand, had no such trouble.
“L-lucas, are you certain that was how it sounded?” The man tried desperately to communicate his intentions to the boy through his eye contact. Evantra could glimpse beads of sweat surfacing on his forehead. Lucas had his hand on his chin, his brows furrowed as he seriously considered Foster’s question.
“Hmm… perhaps it was a bit more high-pitched, like EEEE—”
Officer Foster flinched as Evantra’s serene gaze shifted to him, causing the hovervan to lurch for a split second in its flight above the neighbourhood back to her church. The beads of sweat that had begun to form on his forehead started to trickle downwards.
Carmen gave her a nudge, jumping in to cease the poor man’s torment.
“O-officer Foster. I never got the chance to properly thank you, for what you did,” Carmen restlessly fiddled with her hands in her lap.
A smirk began to form of Evantra’s face as she watched Carmen’s cheeks heat.
“It’s no problem at all Miss Alvarez.”
The man coughed into his palm.
“Just doing my job.”
Evantra let out a sigh as she watched Carmen continue to fiddle with her hands, doing everything she could to avoid meeting the officer’s gaze in his rear-view mirror.
“Officer Foster, would you be able to leave us with your… contact details? Just on the off-chance that we encounter any remnants that slip through from the Veiltear.” Evantra smiled at him, and watched as the man swallowed, casting a glance towards Carmen.
“But Evantra, couldn’t you just call the poli—mmfmmf.”
Her serene smile didn’t waver as she clasped her hand over Lucas’ mouth.
“O-of course. Feel free to give me a call, and I’ll be right on over.”
Evantra’s lips formed into a small smirk as she felt Carmen pinch her side. Then she frowned, as her attention was drawn to the view outside.
Beyond the slums and the junkyards was a military encampment. Turrets the size of apartment buildings rose at regular intervals, which marked a boundary, beyond which lay the ruins of Los Angeles. Lost Territory, now fallen to ghosts and creatures of the veil.
That, however, was a familiar sight. It was not what had drawn Evantra’s attention.
A titanic mining barge now hovered over Juno’s Junkyard. Space flight was probably well within its competence. She could glimpse six engines, each nearing the size of a small house, that burned a molten orange, afterburners holding the ship aloft, and casting vast shadows that fell over rows of streets below it.
Then, she noticed the familiar logo emblazoned on its side.
A golden sword, with an arc above the blade, with three lines emitted outwards at regular intervals.
Caliburn Mining Industries.
As the hovercar curved in its trajectory, she tried to bury the sense of foreboding, recalling Uriel’s warning to her. Evantra gazed out of the opposite window.
Elsecaller city lay in the far distance.
The church’s veranda gave her a good view of it, but it was nothing compared to what you glimpsed from a police hovervan with clearance to sail high above the slum streets.
Wisptown was situated at the very edge of the slums, bordering the ruins of Los Angeles. Beyond it were the continental greenhouses and plantations. Scattered within were sweeping solar farms and gigantic wind turbines that towered above them. The property of Demeteria, an Agriculture megacorporation, aptly named after the Greek goddess of spring.
Past the plantations were the outskirts – streets packed noticeably more densely than Wisptown’s own, still featuring suburban residences. A handful of older megabuildings rose at its centre. The newer developments in Elsecaller City boasted bunkers where you could take refuge from the sudden appearance of Veilsurges and doors that could lock and rapidly partition off sections of the habitat if a Veilsurge happened to appear within.
Then finally, Elsecaller city itself.
The city of hope and horror.
Towering skyscrapers and habitats that catered to every economic class. The megacorporations’ headquarters matched, and in some cases, eclipsed them in size, scale and grandeur. The megacorps had taken care to ensure that their logos and titles were emblazoned on the buildings, a reminder of the true rulers of the Ghouldark future. It was no surprise that many adopted the same naming convention as Demeteria, likening themselves to the divine.
Seraphim.
Elysium.
Panacea.
Nezha Conglomerate.
Mangekyou Interactive.
Santa Muerte Defence Industries.
Tsukuyomi.
Hephaestus Robotics.
They were just a few of the many, many others that had carved out their monopolies and empires from all over the globe. Despite the advent of the Veilsurges, humanity had persisted. Even if the superficial gilding of the corporations merely concealed the blood over which they had built their empires, Evantra felt a degree of reassurance.
There were monsters that could match the worst of ghosts, the Veil…
And even the eldritch.
Evantra turned her eyes to the spot where the moon used to hang in the night sky.
Now absent.
Her view of the night sky and horizon was interrupted, as familiar words blinked into existence right before her eyes, just as the hovervan flew over the murky brown river that carved through the slums.
DARKSTALKER QUEST: OFFERING DETECTED
Difficulty: Level 2 [Fairy]
Description: Slay the teethling
With a slight smile, Evantra Wraithmarked brought up her interface.
Ghostslayer Rank: Fairy (Level 2)
Catalyst: [Darkstalker] (Level 1)
Darkstalker skills:
- [Razor claws]
- [Skill locked]
- [Skill locked]
Veilsouls: 7
Rituals:
- [Ritual of consumption]
Words, which reminded her of the gift that she had been granted. Irrespective of whether it was one that was forced upon her. What she would use to carve a path out of the slums, straight into the heart of the city of horrors.
But first, she had text messages to respond to.
Rad-cliffe: Hey flaker. I heard you ran into a Veilsurge because you have a deathwish. That all checks out. Please text your bestie back, because if you don’t, I’ll be demoting you from flaker to GHOST. Because of all the ghosting you’re doing. Get it? TEXT. ME. BACK.
Evantra groaned.