#etmn

This wasn’t what she wanted.

There have been so many deaths tonight. It’s nothing new. Death has this annoying habit of literally following her around, an unfortunate price of the road she walks. She knew very few people would escape this night, but Dirk was different. He was smarter than most of the other sheep led into this slaughter. Sure he was compassionate and caring, but beneath the surface there burned a fire that so few of humanity carry around any more. A willingness to fight tooth and nail for what he believed in. To die for it.

Safiya loosens her grip, straightening up. Her face is still as marble, and she exudes a terrifying level of calm as she turns without a word to Calliope, raising her blood-stained fingers towards the bitch. Within her eyes burns a rage unbridled, fingers twitching, gripping seemingly at nothing. Calliope starts to choke, seemingly on  nothing.

The arm raises and so does the woman, feet dangling, airway closing.  Safiya merely watches, as though she’s done this a thousand times before. The life of this creature means nothing, and ending it will bring no closure, but still, it no longer deserves to breathe.

“Always with the rage.” Says a calm familiar voice behind her.

It’s one she knows, though it’s not enough to draw her focus until Calliope stops twitching. The body drops and Safiya turns.

A soft-faced gentleman with short brown hair, round black-rimmed glasses and a brown cardigan over a white shirt and pink tie stands a short distance away. He regards her with a solemn sadness, though even now a slight smile tugs at  his lips.

“Emile.” she greets him. “What an unwarranted surprise.”

“I thought you were looking for Henrik?” he tilts his head with that insufferable kicked puppy dog look he always wears. She ignores it though, glancing to the air around them

“Does that mean she’s here?”

Lady Fate. Judgemental bitch. Floats around like nothing can touch her. Like she’s so much better than the rest of existence. They say hate is a strong word, but for Safiya when it comes to the Lady, it’s not strong enough.

“Something came up. It’s just us.”

Safiya looks to Emile. It’s been a while, a couple of decades at least, since they last shared the same space. Back in the good old days when the four of them worked together in relative harmony. An impossible feat these days, what with Henrik’s disappearance and the oncoming dangers.

“How did you find this place?”

“This little polyp of greed, and death? We’ve known about it for years.” Emile looks almost impressed as he glances at the world around them. “A single frozen second of time stretched out like a rubber band to span months creating an almost unending moment of non-time in a temporary pocket universe.” he smiles, “Sometimes the mortals really are quite remarkable.

“You’re a bit late.” she gestures to the bodies behind her.

Emile shakes his head. “I’m not here to intervene.”

Of course not. There’s a time and place for things like that. Very specific times that are never clearly explained. Far more important things to focus on like the balance that doesn’t exist, and other bullshit like that. There’s a reason Safiya doesn’t listen to the Universe. Often, it acts like it’s drunk.

“Then why are you here?”

“There’s a new Deity,” he holds his arms to his side, “and I’m the Welcome Wagon.”

“Oh?” Safiya scoffs. “I didn’t realise one of your kids was here.”

“Oof.” Emile holds a hand to his chest and pretends to wince. “That one hurt.”

Safiya raises her hand and shoos at him.

“Go on. Welcome your precious little Deity. None of them will be any help in the end. I’ll just grab what I came here for and get back to looking for Henrik.”

“We know about your army.” he calls out as she turns to leave. “And you can’t take the ink grunt.”

“Says the Lady?” she calls over her shoulder.

“The Universe has a plan.”

“The Universe always has a plan, Emile.” Safiya walks to Calliope’s body and proceeds to pat her down. You never know. Joey isn’t a complete and utter moron. It’s likely there may be something valuable on the gypsy woman’s corpse. “Usually something cryptic and convoluted that it never tells us. We’re supposed to maintain balance and it keeps secrets. I bet,” she pauses, raising a finger to jab in Emile’s direction, “the universe already knows where Henrik is and just isn’t telling us. Instead lining up the dominoes to fall at just the right moment, while we’re running out of time.” Nothing. Maybe she overestimated the blond bimbo. She stands and glares at Emile. “And you can’t stop me.”

“The ink grunt is the Deity’s challenge.”

That stops her in her tracks.

Every Deity, every single one since the dawn of the early eons to the last ever syllable of recorded time must face a test of adversity. A dilemma that prompts a decision that will guide them into their role, or remove them from the path forever. A decree from the Universe itself. No one, not even Lady Fate can change that path. If Emile isn’t lying, and she’s never known him to, then the ink grunt is beyond her grasp.

“Come back to us, Safiya.” Emile steps forward, purposefully avoiding the bodies, a hand reached out towards her, “We can work together to find Henrik, and-”

“I’m doing my job,” Safiya isn’t crying. She isn’t some bratty teenage girl who’s been told she can’t go to the dance. She’s not some weak little bitch who needs validation. She isn’t crying. She isn’t! Safiya steps away and glares at Emile. “Like you should be.” That fatherly tone may win over everyone else, but Safiya is not some basic bitch mortal who can be coddled by some loving father act. “I hope your son does it better.”

Emile frowns in confusion. “What do yo-?”

The air crackles and pops, Emile’s entire body convulsing as vibrant chaotic pink sparks dance and jitter across his entire body, burning and scarring as it goes. Just as you think it might stop, it goes on, dragging on for minutes before it stops and Emile finally drops to the floor. Dead.

A person stands over him. A striped long sleeved undershirt, half covering their extended hands, hooked over their thumb, beneath a bright yellow set of dungarees with each pocket topped by a thick black line. The weird outfit is finished with a neon pink crop hoodie, the hood of which is pulled half-way over their curly brown hair. Yet none of this outfit comes near to the level of creepy that their bright, wide unnatural smile does. It strains at the edges of their mouth, almost as though it’s about to split their face in half, and the longer you look, the less it seems that the smile reaches the bright pink irises.

“There. Wasn’t that fun?” Bending down, they gently jab the body in the ribs. Straightening up, they spin in a complete circle, dusting their hands off. “And the job is done.”

“Smiler.” Safiya barks.

The unnatural smile turns to the Investigative Journalist, eager and awaiting instruction, and looking even creepier opposite the obvious anger.

“Search for survivors,” Safiya gestures to the town, “Avoid anyone near the Deity. Understand?”

“Got it boss.” Smiler gives a huge wink and enthusiastic finger guns before dashing away, still smiling. Recruitment is always the best part of the job.

Safiya steels herself as she watches Smiler run. This may not be how things were supposed to go, but she’s nothing if she’s not resourceful. It may be a set-back, but there’s much still for her to do.