Darkness Girl: Trickster God

Chapter Six: Theatre of the Grotesque

A gob of something dark and yellow exploded out of Lewis's mouth and hit the girl in black in the face. The stench made Regan gag even from where she was standing. It smelled like vomit that had been left to ferment in the sun. The sticky goo clung to the girl's face and stuck to her hands as she tried to wipe it away. Lewis threw her off and got to his feet, letting out several short burps. 

'You can't touch me!' he yelled. 

The girl in black was struggling frantically with the goo as it blocked off her nose and mouth. The girl who'd been watching from the upper level ran to help her and tried to hack it away with her knife, but the sickly liquid closed around the cuts as she made them and splattered across her clothes. She made sobbing, retching noises as she desperately tried to cut away the viscous mucus. 

The boy cursed and ran towards Lewis. Regan saw his hand dart to the small of his back and draw out a second throwing knife. He threw it underhand in one smooth, practised motion. 

Lewis took a deep breath and spat two gobs of goo in quick succession. There was a splat as one of them caught the knife mid-air, and the other struck the boy on the arm. It hit him with enough force to stagger him and splattered across his side, sticking his right arm to his body. He struggled to free his arm without touching the vile substance with his other hand. 

'Ugh,' he gagged. 'Disgusting.' 

'You call it disgusting,' said Lewis in a stretched sibilant voice. 'I call it a defence mechanism. Some people have crafts that give them stronger eyes or faster muscles; my craft is an over active bile duct!' He laughed. 'It doesn't sound like much, but that bile will harden like concrete. It'll take hours to free yourself.' 

The boy tried to rip his arm free, but the bile was already tacky and elastic. It sprung back, locking his arm to his side. Before he could move, another gob splattered across his face and drove him to his knees. 

On the ground, the girl in black had stopped moving. Regan suspected she had suffocated under the goo. Her friend's arms had been anchored to her face, stuck to the substance in her frantic attempts to save her life. 

'You think you're the first idiots to come after me?' Lewis yelled. 'My bile lets me take out punks like you whenever I feel like it!' 

'Interesting,' said a voice behind him. 

Lewis's eyes widened. 

Just behind him stood the boy in glasses, pressing the point of a knife lightly into the side of Lewis's neck. He was holding a piece of cloth over his nose to block out the stench. There was none of the playfulness from earlier in his voice. It was deeper now, and more threatening. Regan placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. 

'It's been magnificent fun watching this theatre of the grotesque,' the boy said. 'But now you're going to come with me.' 

Regan was in a position to see the emotions crossing Lewis's face. His expression of surprise was quickly followed by a calculating look. She saw him shift his weight almost imperceptibly. 

'Don't,' said the boy behind him. 'I'd hate to have to kill you after all this.' 

Lewis's muscles relaxed and he seemed to reduce in stature a little, slouching back to his normal self. 

Regan pounced. She sprang out of the crowd, drawing her sword as she jumped. The boy's eyes widened in surprise, but Regan had picked her moment perfectly. Her sword slashed down in a diagonal cut through Lewis's collarbone that sunk down into his chest. Blood fountained out of the deep gash and covered the boy's face in blood as Regan neatly separated Lewis's head and arm from the rest of his body. Lewis's corpse fell aside with a mangled splat, still pulsing blood. The boy staggered back. 

'Where did you spring from, my frosty angel?' he said curiously. 

'You don't look as happy to see me as you did earlier,' said Regan. 

'You interrupted something important.' 

A brief look of anger crossed his face as he looked at Lewis's body, but his expression snapped back almost instantly. He gave her a smile. 

'I was sent here to collect Lewis,' he said. 'Thanks to you, I've failed in that task.' 

'You don't seem too upset about it.' 

'Quite the contrary. I'm absolutely livid.' 

Regan gave a harsh laugh and pointed her sword at him. Lewis's blood dripped from the blade. 

'You're not a silencer,' she said. 'You're an infiltrator.' 

'You are correct,' said the boy. 

'I have some questions, infiltrator.' 

'It's Trevellian,' he introduced himself. 'And I have no intention of answering them.' 

He slipped a hand into the pocket of his coat. He was still casually holding a knife in his other hand. He looked relaxed, as if they were two old friends who happened to have met on the street. He seemed oblivious to the screams around them or the blood splattered across his body. 

'I've seen that symbol on the back of your coat before,' said Regan. 'Tell me about it.' 

Trevellian's eyes went hard. 'No.' 

'I kill people. You play dress up games and chat people up in bars. I'm not going to give you a choice.' 

Regan darted forward and felt something whip past her cheek. Her sword slashed through the air and hit nothing. Trevellian danced backwards until his back was against a power pole. 

'Close one,' he said. 'I knew you were fast, but that still almost got me.' 

He looked down. There was a cut in the fabric of his shirt. He touched the line of blood running straight across his chest and looked at Regan speculatively. She glared back and raised a hand to the side of her face. There was a thin cut running along her cheek, no deeper than a paper cut. 

'I think we'll call this one your victory,' said Trevellian. 'Enjoy it while you can. You've just made yourself an enemy, my frosty angel.' 

'Not for long.' 

Regan threw her sword overarm and rolled out of the way as Trevellian's knife whipped over her head. She looked up as the sword hit the power pole with enough force to drive the blade through to other side. 

Trevellian was nowhere to be seen.