Ikken Hissatsu
One blow, one kill
This is the driving belief of every Deadeye.
Utilizing more than one shot to accomplish a mission, is failure.
Deadeye Operational Manual
I sat in the kitchen and took a long pull from my mug.
The aroma of intensely strong coffee surrounded me, caressing my lungs while gently punching me in the nose.
There was no better smell on the planet.
As far as inventions went, Death Wish was right up there with the discovery of quantum mechanics and harnessing electricity—except it was more important than either.
It was 3 am.
The silence of the hour had always appealed to me. My city was the city that never slept, except that at certain hours of the night it definitely dozed off.
It was never entirely still; even at this hour, you could find people roaming the streets. Some were looking for trouble and some were avoiding it. Some were doing a bit of both, but there was a certain stillness at this hour that was hard to describe.
There was a reason it was called the witching hour.
Having met an actual witch, I could safely say it was the right name. This hour of the night was filled with an undercurrent of raw, primal power. It didn’t surprise me in the least that I could feel currents of energy outside.
I was sure some of it had to do with my growing in power, but I think most of it was due to the fact that at this hour of the night, the veil felt thin and accessible, as if it was easier to move it aside, and step into the ambient supernatural energy.
Or it could simply be I had way too much Death Wish.
I was working on my third mug of the night, and sleep was a Mission Impossible at this point. Seeing sounds and smelling colors weren’t exactly off the table with this much Death Wish in my system.
I placed my mug down and took in the silence of the kitchen.
I was thankful to be home.
For once, in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t running for my life or planning how to avoid the newest member of the ‘Obliterate Monty and Simon’ fan club trying to make a name for themselves.
We had gotten back a few days ago from Germany and my brain was still somewhat lagged. My body, not so much—in fact I had been realizing that many of the things I took for granted as normal, like sleep, eating, and exhaustion, were not as pronounced as they had been in the past.
Not that I was claiming to be normal.
I had never been normal; even before meeting Kali, there was something off about me. I knew and accepted it. This new me was so far from normal I had stepped radically into strange, but there were still some questions.
How much was I changing? What was I changing into? Could these changes be stopped or reversed? Would I ever want to change back to who or what I was before I met an insane Death Goddess?
I made a mental note to ask Kali about this transformation—except the whole insane Death Goddess part—the next time we spoke, if she was in a speaking mood. The odds of that happening were slim.
She was usually into the ‘teaching through torture’ method of conversation and honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to another conversation with her anytime soon. I was still recovering from our last conversation. Maybe Monty would have some insights, or at the very least Dex.
I briefly considered Ezra, but shot that idea down almost instantly. Ezra was the direct opposite of what I was. He was amazing to speak to in small—very small—doses.
I had a feeling a prolonged conversation with the personification of death would be detrimental to my mental health and physical well-being.
So that was a hard pass.
Still, I was beginning to notice the changes, and if I was noticing them, that meant those close to me would be noticing them too.
Monty hadn’t said anything, at least not recently, but he was a mage and they were masters of the understatement.
If I did ask him, he’d probably respond with some typical Montyism like: It’s only natural, given your evolution, to exhibit pronounced changes due to the transformation you’ve undergone, not to mention the influence of your goddess on your physiology. These changes you are exhibiting are the most logical outcome, considering the process of what you are undergoing.
Plenty of words, a little light on the meaning.
Not that I would answer him that way, of course. I’d be more educated about it and Bard him, accusing him of being full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
I’d skip the whole—tale told by an idiot part—mages are touchy about their intellect.
On second thought, maybe asking Monty wasn’t a great idea.
I held my hand out flat in front of me—three mugs of liquid lightning javambrosia—and my hand remained steady as a rock.
There was no way three mugs of coffee goodness would leave me unaffected unless my body had adapted.
I was still considering if that was a good or bad thing when my hellhound chainsawed through the silence with one of his snores.
He was sprawled out on the floor next to me in the kitchen. It didn’t matter that he had a perfectly comfortable bed in my room; wherever I was, he was nearby.
At some point, I expected him to blink into my bed one night as I slept. The easiest way to tell he was asleep was to wait for the chainsaw snores that mimic a squadron of lumberjacks working a forest.
His silence was probably his most fearsome trait.
I mean, aside from the glowing eyes, the omega beams that he shot out from said glowing eyes, the growls, the flamethrower breath, being able to increase his density and physical size to immense proportions, while managing to blink in and out of existence at a whim.
Other than all of that, his silence was frightening.
He could move around without making a sound and get close enough that I would only notice him when his gargantuan head would bump into my side, in an effort to relocate a hip.
I was looking down at him, still lost in my thoughts when I heard the knock.
Peaches’ ears perked as I turned to the door.
Usually, he slept through anything, like a hellhound-shaped granite block, but this time, he moved with me and rumbled as I headed for the door.
I stopped a few feet away from the door as his rumbling increased. There was rumbling and then there was rumbling. This version of his low rumble was setting me on edge.
<What is it, boy?>
<It smells bad.>
<Are you trying to say I smell?>
<No, outside. The smell is outside. It’s not good.>
<The smell is outside? Can you be a bit more specific?>
<It smells like darkness.>
It could’ve been a product of the hour, but if my hellhound smelled darkness, it could mean trouble.
There was also the distinct possibility my hellhound was lagged too, though I doubted it. I had yet to find something that affected him as it would any other non-infernal creature.
He was a hellhound after all.
I had no way of knowing what darkness smelled like and was about to ask him, when I heard another knock.
“Mr. Stronk,” said a voice from the other side of the door. “You have package.”
It was Andrei.
I looked at the time and shook my head.
No one delivered packages at three in the morning, not unless that package was death.
“Andrei, just leave it downstairs,” I said, wary. “I’ll get it later. Do you realize what time it is?”
“This is very important package for you,” he said. Something about the way he sounded set off all my alarms. “You must take now.”
The sense of urgency in his voice ratcheted up the alarms. What could be so urgent he would need to deliver it now?
“Andrei?” I asked, keeping the door closed as Monty walked into the reception area, holding a steaming cup of Earl Grey. It didn’t surprise me he was awake, he slept about as much as I did. “You okay?”
“I…I am okay, Mr. Stronk,” he answered, his voice under strain. “Please…open door and take package.”
I glanced at Monty who raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“A package?” Monty asked. “Are you expecting an urgent delivery? At this hour?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t normally get packages at three in the morning.”
“Please, Mr. Stronk,” Andrei said. “You must take now.”
I gave Monty another look and he nodded.
“Be right there,” I called out as I approached the door. Before I placed my hand on the door, I formed a tight dawnward around my body. Peaches, who was right next to me, entered ‘rend and shred’ mode, as the runes along his flanks pulsed a dull red. I placed my hand on the door handle. I caught Monty gesturing out of the corner of my eye as I opened the door. “What is so urgent? What kind of package needs to be delivered in the middle of the night?”
Andrei stood frozen in front of the door.
It was clear something was wrong.
His face was covered in sweat. His pale face was drawn and in one of his hands, which trembled slightly, he held a small rune-covered copper box.
“This…this is package for you, Mr. Stronk.”
I glanced down at the box and took a step back from the energy signature it gave off. The box began to glow a subtle orange.
“Andrei, what is—?”
“Simon…” Monty started. “Get back…now!”
Andrei took a step forward and extended his arm.
A soft thump escaped the box in his hand, and the world exploded.
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