Light blue sky was fading, the eastern horizon was already nearing black. A pin-prick of light shined across tall buildings that made up the downtown area of Ashur City. A murmur filled the city, a combination of vehicles, people talking, radios, foot falls on pavement, the list goes on. The tiniest ray of light remained, coloring everything facing the west and not in shadows, orange.
Skaree woke up as the sun was lost to view behind the horizon. Having never in his life seen the sun, he would always look through the barred windows when he woke to catch the last remaining light blue sky. His muscles were stiff as only a death-like sleep could beget. All around the cavernous store room others woke and stretched, causing armour to creak and fabric to rustle. They eventually settled, facing him. Sighing with resignation, he raised his arms so that the person who always was at his back could slip a robe around him.
Looking to those assembled he tied the robe shut with deft fingers. “Good night everyone,” were the words spoken first, every night. “Our hunt resumes tonight as it does every night. Sometimes with fewer people than the night before,” this time the ceremonial words rang true as they had lost someone, “and sometimes we come back with the same number. Perhaps tonight we will uncover more brothers and sisters who are in hiding, and recruit them to our cause.”
The crowd writhed as a shiver ran through the crowed, dominoes, starting from his right. “They are awake and about, as we are,” the words were not part of the ceremony. Everyone was already moving about with purpose, not needing him to say anything more. “The hunt begins,” the mutter brought a few comforting smiles, from faces too hard to make the look anything other than a sneer, but he knew they meant well.
A space opened as people moved to accommodate him, leading to the next room. What was known as the armoury, was a wide hall way that lead to their sleeping chamber, lined with mannequins wearing every variety of armour and racks filled with bladed weapons, long and short. One of two doors at the end would be unlocked, leading to the roof. There was already a guard at the door, waiting to open it when commanded.
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The last person finally left the church, leaving Father Markus to his nightly duties. Night had fallen, and all of the stained glass windows were dark mockeries of their day time selves. After locking the front doors, he went to the front pew to kneel and say his prayers.
“Dear God, please help everyone who has been in all of these recent natural disasters of late…” A soft squeak interrupted his thoughts, looking up he saw nothing and assumed it was just a mouse. Smiling he continued his prayers, “let any creature, know that it may take sanctuary in Your home…” Another squeak penetrated his thoughts but was transformed into wood grating against wood, creaking as though being twisted and distorted. Above the altar, Jesus was pulling himself down from the cross, one hand already free, spike sticking out the back.
His rosary hit the floor, having slid between shaking hands. Wood shrieked as the mouth peeled itself open and the other hand wrenched free. Father Markus stood there in shock, not knowing what in the world was going on. The carving that was the churches prized possession, a life sized Jesus nailed to the cross, plummeted to the floor, leaving the cross on the wall, skewed by the struggle.
Lost to view, Father Markus was released from imaginary bonds that held him, he ran forward to see if this apparition of God needed his help. With both hands on the altar he leaned forward to see if He was alright, but saw Him swing a backhand, as though swatting a fly, spike soaring toward his temple.
The last thought Father Markus had, was that this was no Son of God, but a truly evil thing. It radiated pure hate from those empty, eyeless wooden sockets. Unbeknownst to him, this is what Skaree’s gathering felt awaken.
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The air was cool, as it almost always was during the night. Having doffed the robe for armour, he felt almost warm. There was an impression of something not right in the city, his city.
The sense of a spirit, which caused the domino effect, came from not too far away. “Two miles at the most,” he did not really intended to say that out loud. He kept his eyes forward, looking over the roof tops, planning a route across them.
“Hopefully there is only one tonight.” Vael’s soft words floated from behind him, where she always was. Since he recruited her, and then become their leader, she decided that he would need a constant guard against whatever might come their way. Every time he looked at her, he knew his eyes filled with pity and sorrow. She was missing an arm, broken off halfway between elbow and shoulder, and her face was little more than half there, missing one eye, an ear and some of the top of her head. Yet she was one of the strongest amongst them.
When first they met he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and now he could barely even bring himself to look at her. He hated himself for such shallow feelings. “There are two,” the knowledge came from nowhere, but he knew it to be true. There was a sense of unseen eyes in the dark, staring, beckoning him to chase. A motion of his hand said to move forward. Wings beat furiously as Lkaro flew overhead, followed by his scouts, while more were on foot around Skaree leaping from roof to roof.
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