Chapter 5-121: Deadly Decisions (1/2)
“Boxer does that so well,” The Mick pointed, getting to his feet. “Shall we?”
“Oh, by all means.” The Mick tossed down a twenty to cover the bill, but probably didn’t have to pay at all, given how they were treating him. He led the way out the door.
One of the werewolves growled when they saw him come out, and they all looked over at him. Their faces were only partially furry, they hadn’t fully transformed... probably because if they did, they were dead.
I had the Eyes of Heaven now, too. I couldn’t see quite as deeply as Master Fred yet, but the purple writhing over three of them, and stamped in hard on the fourth, was clearly apparent to me. Just the fading wisps from the smoking carcasses in the back of the truck were worse than that number four, too.
Yeah, Master Fred pretty much wanted to waste them all.
“You got that soul-piercing gaze going on you,” The Mick half-whispered, half-cheerfully announced to me.
“These arseholes probably don’t see Auras the way we do,” I replied to him in my best lofty accent and voice, which I did very well, thank you, and the weres heard me just fine. “There’s thinking evil thoughts, sinister plans, and wicked intentions... and then there’s actually doing stuff.” My eyes fixed on the darker-furred wolf opposite me. “That bastard there has done some wicked nasty stuff, the stuff that clings to your aura and hardens your soul like freezing ice.”
The Mick looked at me, back at the four werewolves who’d come here for him thoughtfully. “The wolves?” he asked, perhaps just a bit teasingly. The weres bridled for some reason.
“There are tipping points. They passed them. They were basically murder machines looking for blood. This guy has probably eaten someone and enjoyed it, and is planning on doing it again... and has been trying to convince his friends to join in, with some success, I think.”
All three weres looked at me, then back at the darker-furred one. I noticed The Mick had an oddly contemplative look on his face, glancing at me and Master Fred curiously.
“Ach, no, we can’t show them proper Detroit hospitality that way,” The Mick stepped up calmly as whatever he was thinking crystallized. “I think you were looking for me? Well, here I am.” He waved nonchalantly at the back of the truck. “Don’t worry about the dogs there, they weren’t interested in talking, anyways.”
All four growled again, but they subsided quickly as jet and silver Shards trailing a rainbow between them cycled up around my arm, looking like crystallized obsidian teardrops as they spun about my hand. Yeah, do that quick count; yep, that’s a bunch of them...
“You are The Mick!” the nearest were growled, stepping forwards and pointing a clawed hand.
Wiiiiist. There was an arc of scintillating ruby and grey going up and coming back suddenly, and the werewolf blinked as he noticed it was going through his neck.
That would be Bane/Monstrous Humanoids for the uninformed. One of the three different Banes you could make out a werewolf’s skull. Shapechangers and Magical Beasts were the other two... although technically, you could make Bane/Human if you got their skull in a human form, but it was largely useless if they morphed. Shapechanger would key off The Mick himself, as he could also intrinsically go gaseous or become a swarm of bats or rats, or turn into a wolf himself, so he couldn’t use it.
Blooded with full racial abilities were extremely dangerous individuals...
The Mick politely reached out with the scabbard of his milk-and-scarlet Blade and pushed the werewolf over backwards. Jetting blood did the rest to his head, and a little agape, it tumbled free, forever frozen in half-transition to hybrid form.
“Whoops, sorry, been practicing that iajitsu draw at the advice of my senpai, and when rabid over-emotional furry puppy-headed rubes with mad complexes advance on me, me reflexes, they just go off,” The Mick shrugged very cheerfully indeed, even as a lot of shirts tore away as the other three werewolves went full hybrid in a half-panic. Clearly, they hadn’t expected a mere Blooded to be able to one-shot one of them.
Niiiice iajitsu One Strike. The weres hadn’t seen it coming...
“Ah, the talking’s done, and it’s time to die?” The Mick asked, tilting his head slightly in the direction of a very large gun burning with Wrath, now raised and pointed. This naturally drew attention away from me, but I could kill two of these guys easy-peezy, I’d just step behind The Mick just in case...
“Four members of our pack were last seen with you in Oto when the Owl Woman woke up! What happened to them, and what did you have to do with those who woke the Owl Woman? Where is her new Shaman? Where is the Golden Hag?” demanded the next one, his voice rather growly and broken, clearly fighting his rage and fear.
The Mick held up four fingers leisurely. “Oh, THAT matter back then. Let’s see... in reverse order... who the fuck is the Golden Hag? That’s not a subspecies of them I know. They don’t even have a proper iron or stone hag that I know of, and they suddenly have a golden one, now? Where the fuck did that come in?”
“You were seen at her shop! The Sword you wield comes from her!” the one in the back blurted out, eyes bulging red.
“What, you mean Sama Rantha? The smith? You’re calling her the Golden Hag?” The Mick grinned widely, turned to look at me. “Aren’t these guys precious? I think she’d be so tickled!”
I could indeed picture her cackling with glee over the appellation.
“No, I hae no damn idea where Sama Rantha is. Why don’t you inbred curs go track down everyone else she made a Weapon fer? I’m sure someone will be able to give ye an answer, if ye’r reason that customers raptly follow makers around and are informed by them wherever they go somewhere makes fine sense. I’m sure ye tell all the people yer Pack sells information to where yar at all times, too.” Nope, no contempt for their intelligence in his voice at all, as his accent kept fighting to come back and mispronounce English... because these werewolves probably didn’t understand Human very well, no more than a Hag would without learning it like any other non-native language.
“Third question, I ken no idea where the Owl Woman’s ‘new’ Shaman be, but me nae thanks for telling me she be having one! Me bosses will be interested if she’s amenable to some special agreements, I’m be thinking.”
Now the werewolves were getting madder at their own idiocy. The last thing they wanted was the Clans of the Tomb talking with Nature Spirits!
“Two, I arrived in that little armpit of a town and dinnae even ha’ time to go in an’ get a proper pint when someone with helicopters, mortars, automatic weapons, and a FINE sense o’ theatrics be starting all the excitement out in the distance. I dinnae own a goddamn attack helicopter or mortars.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Pardon me cussing.”