Chapter Fourteen: Voodoo Sorcery

I swallowed the poison and, in the untamed jungle, became the hunter.

Betty was in a small shack just fifty meters away—a young girl, about the same age as Lamia, with golden hair, wounded but resilient and unbroken. She and Salvador clung to each other, weeping.

Inside the shack was food scavenged by Kira’s gang, mostly canned goods. The preservation technology from the last century was impressive; the contents still tasted decent.

Lamia divided up the weapons she’d found among us. “Each gun is loaded with six Divine Sword rounds,” she said, “as always, don’t waste a shot.”

I said, “While the effects of the poison last, I’ll track Kira. If there’s even the faintest trace, he won’t escape.”

Lamia replied, “That man is more cunning and agile than the Red Devil, and his injuries won’t hinder him.”

“He’s a dire threat,” I said. “As long as he lives, there will be another attack. He’s betrayed the Skyscraper—why would he let us return to report?”

“You’re right,” Lamia agreed. She turned to Salvador. “Protect her.”

“I promise,” Salvador replied.

Lamia and I set out. Kira had a half-hour head start. At first, I followed blood traces, then footprints, then the residual warmth in the air.

He was hiding among the ruins of a commercial street in a park, knowing we would come. He had changed again, even more frantic and furious. A single horn now protruded from the left side of his head.

He shouted, “Lamia! If you were me, you’d do the same!”

Lamia responded, “Yune is the common wealth of all who possess the Black Coffin. I have the greater good in mind. I would never stoop to your baseness.”

“Common wealth? Easy for you to say!” Kira sneered. “You think the Consul’s power is unshakable? No! He can’t control our laboratory—he only has authority over your Valkyrie Strike Team!”

“Did Sir Maizong put you up to this?” Lamia asked.

Kira burst out laughing. “This has nothing to do with Sir Maizong. I just can’t stand the Valkyrie Strike Team’s growing influence.”

“We all fight for the Black Coffin, for humanity’s survivors,” Lamia insisted. “Why must you see us as enemies?”

“You know better than anyone,” Kira barked, “that we are fundamentally different. Our ideologies diverge. We are not the same! You’re a machine; I am a demon.”

With a roar, he charged at us. Lamia and I fired in unison. The Divine Sword rounds were devastating; after a single volley, he fell before us, all signs of life gone, never to return to human form.

Lamia took out her Vaga-brand headset. I saw the red light blinking. I asked, “Are you recording? This thing has a recording function?”

Lamia shut off the recording. “It’s the best evidence,” she explained, “so there’s no dispute later.” Into the headset, she said, “Vaga, did you get all that?”

“Received,” the headset replied. “Night is falling; you must return quickly.”

“We’ll return as fast as we can, and bring supplies,” Lamia said. After a pause, she added, “Kill Old Wei.”

“Understood.”

I’d gotten along well with Old Wei. He was probably just a pitiful pawn used by Kira. But who can say? If he tampered with Yune, or tried to take Vaga down with him once things were exposed, we’d regret it forever.

Salvador was a traitor, just like Old Wei, and yet their fates could not be more different. The Black Coffin was riddled with betrayal and deceit, favoritism and injustice. One misstep could spell death. Old Wei, you had your skills, but you were a small man. The weak cannot protect themselves. Your bloody lesson will not be forgotten. Thank you, and farewell.

We returned to Salvador and the others. Suddenly, a storm erupted—thunder flashed, lightning split the sky, and a torrential rain fell. The rain was pure and drinkable. I hurried to fill any bottle or jar I could, but Lamia warned, “Don't bother. Be careful you don’t get swept away by the storm.”

Our signal with Vaga was lost. I worried about Vaga, and even more about the account she promised me. Still, as long as Old Wei was dead, Yune was nearly as safe as in the Black Coffin.

Betty took Salvador’s hand and walked to Lamia. “Sister Lamia, once again I apologize on Sami’s behalf,” she said, using Salvador’s nickname. “He only did what he did out of concern for me. Otherwise, he’d rather die than betray you.”

I snorted. I’m not one to press my advantage, but her words were laughable.

Betty glanced at me, then looked back at Lamia. Lamia smiled. “I almost thought I’d never see you again, but you’re alive, and that’s enough for me.”

Those were words I envied. Had she ever said such a thing to me? Salvador was her own brother, but what had he done to deserve to be compared with me, a comrade who’d fought by her side?

One day, Commander, you will admire me. You will treat me with respect. You will follow me loyally, and obey my every command from the depths of your heart.

I was in low spirits. From my pocket, I pulled a hair I’d plucked from Salvador’s head and placed it inside a little doll I’d just made. I took a nail and drove it into the doll’s head.

“Commander, I swear, there won't be a next time,” Salvador said.

Lamia stood up, kissed Salvador on the cheek. “Don’t take it to heart. It’s all in the past.”

I hammered at the doll’s head with a small mallet, but it seemed to have no effect—Salvador was unharmed. This voodoo was something I’d read about in a magazine; such superstitions are unreliable.

Lamia pointed to me. “His name is Fishbone. He’s a reliable, admirable warrior. He saved you both. You can trust him completely.”

Salvador and Betty shook my hand, thanking me for what I’d done. I smiled courteously but did not abandon the many schemes churning in my mind.

Better I wrong the world than let the world wrong me. That was Old Wei’s final lesson.

The storm showed no sign of stopping, so we had to spend the night in the shack. During a storm, there was no need to fear bandits or demons. Lamia started a fire with gasoline. The flames smelled faintly of fuel, but I didn’t care.

As I drove nails into the doll, I asked, “Commander, what is the laboratory?”

“Officially, it’s the Maizong Sorcery Laboratory,” Lamia explained. “Among us rangers, there are three divisions. Salvador, Betty, and I belong to the Valkyrie Assault Team. Kira was with the Maizong Sorcery Laboratory. Then there’s the Militiamen’s Hunting Group—they’re neutral.”

“Maizong Sorcery Laboratory?” I said. “Sounds like a mess—nothing reputable.”

“The Assault Team specializes in technology; we’re enhanced to some degree and armed with advanced equipment. The Maizong Lab also does human augmentation, but focuses on the supernatural—demons and sorcery,” Lamia explained.

“So, you and Kira are examples—you’re augmented with machines, he with demons?”

“Exactly. I’m a semi-cybernetic, he’s a half-demon.”

“Commander is the most successful of us,” Salvador added. “Betty and I had minor surgeries to speed up metabolism and boost stamina, but we’re nothing compared to her.”

I’d seen Lamia unleash monstrous strength, greater even than the Red Devil’s, and her reflexes and unerring aim were astonishing.

“Fishbone is special, too,” Lamia said. “He can become invisible, sense things at a distance, and his venom can severely wound demons.”

Salvador’s eyes widened. Betty laughed. “Really? That sounds just like something out of Maizong’s lab!”

I wore a smug smile. Being respected and feared is always delightful.

I quoted, “When power surges, I move like lightning; I draw strength from the earth; I can become as hard as stone. These things come as naturally to me as breathing.”

Lamia nodded. “From the Nordic Codex.”

From deep in his chest, Salvador sighed. “The world outside the Black Coffin… it’s so dangerous. I often feel powerless, unable to protect those I love. Instead, I bring them harm.”

“Don’t,” Lamia said.

“Do you remember that night ten years ago?” Salvador pressed. “It was just like this—hiding from the storm in a dark shack, hiding from… them. I hated my weakness, just as I do now. I missed Mom, I missed… Dad.”

Betty hugged him, kissing his forehead and lips, comforting him. Lamia took his hand. “Foolish child. Be patient.”

I despised this boy; I despised this sentimental world. Why do women always love the weaklings? Why does a feeble milksop end up with a woman on each arm? I too have a tragic past—one that could bring these women to tears. But do I mention it? Not a word, because that would draw the fish.

This cruel age needs strong men, but women still prefer these coddled pretty boys. It’s absurd.

There’s no hope for the world.

I asked, “Commander, what happened ten years ago?”

“Our parents died,” Lamia said.

“How?”

It was an impertinent question, and I knew I was tempting fate.

“My father killed my mother. I killed my father.”

Salvador shuddered. “It wasn’t your fault, sister…”

“I know,” Lamia replied, releasing his hand.

I opened a bottle of liquor and handed it to Lamia. “Commander, tell us. I want to hear.”

“Why should she?” Betty protested. “You think the commander wants to revisit those memories?”

“Lamia isn’t your precious Sami,” I replied. “What secrets could she have? You think she’s afraid to face her past?”

Lamia raised the bottle, drank, and began. “That year, I was eight, Sami was six. We lived in a small house outside the Black Coffin, near the city wall—my parents, me, little Sami. Betty was our neighbor.

“My father was an auxiliary in the Militiamen’s Hunting Group, patrolling our sector. Even inside the Black Coffin, there was theft and murder. Everyone called him Sheriff. He tried his best, hoping that one day our family could move into the Black Coffin. Space was tight inside, I’d heard, and we would be crowded, but it would be like living in the zoo’s cages—we could drink clean water, stay clean, and never fear the storms again.

“He was a good father—until the day he changed.”