Chương 44: Chapter 43: Doppelgangers Beware!

In all of his wisdom, Micheal decided to walk back home. It was a good way to clear one's mind.

"I'm hungry, Micheal. We didn't get lunch." Marco groaned.

"I'll cook something up when we get home, boy." Micheal took a shortcut and went into one of the nearby alleyways. Lovel was notorious for its maze-like alleys, but he grew up here and knew every nook and cranny like the back of his hand. The walls were so high they nearly blotted out the sun, and in the depths, not even screams could reach the main streets. It was an entirely different world. The hairs on Micheal's arm stood up. He sensed three demihumans appear behind them. Inquisitors? Did they follow me?

Then he heard the clicks of revolvers being cocked.

"Mi—""Get down, boy!" Micheal yanked Marco into his arms and buckled down, lowering his own head to his chest. A barrage of gunfire roared out. A violent scream escaped Micheal's throat as he felt lead and silver smash against his hide coat. Fuck! Thank the Goddess this is made of monster hide! But it still hurts like hell! When the shooting stopped, he pushed Marco deeper into the alleyway.

"Go right, boy! Don't look back!" Marco sprinted down the alleyway and took a right turn, vanishing within seconds. There we go. Just keep on running. Micheal turned around just in time to fall flat on his back. Can't stand up! Fuck, it's too painful. He groaned in pain and began crawling backward, his eyes glued to the three figures clad in black coats at the end of the alley. There was an old, balding man, and another much younger one with brown hair that reached his shoulders.

The third was a blonde woman with a face caked in heavy makeup. Not Inquisitors… who are they? Micheal groaned in pain as he crawled past the right turn.

"Go after the boy," the younger man said. The balding man broke into a mad dash and turned right, running at a pace uncanny for his age. Shit… he runs like me. He's quick for an old man, but Marco should be fine. The man and the woman walked toward Micheal, lowering their revolvers.

"Wait, there's no blood. We didn't get him." The woman opened her mouth, but a man's voice came out.

"His coat must be bulletproof. Doesn't matter. I bet he's in a world of agony right now. Can't even stand up." The man reached into his pocket, pulling out a lead bullet.

"I'll put him out of his misery." The woman also mimicked the man, reaching out to reload her revolver. You think you can kill me this easily?! Micheal unfurled his right palm, pointing it toward them. He let out a scream and a spiritual blast of his worst memories. On that dreary night, a fog of poison gas swept down into the trenches. His brothers shrieked as their skin melted off and their bones turned to mush.

They could do nothing as they crumpled into mounds of wailing flesh, their limbs folding in on themselves, and their flesh filling into their eyes like melting wax.

"What the fuck!" The man stumbled backward, his face contorting in horror.

"It's him!" The woman fumbled with the revolver's cylinder, struggling to put in the bullet. Micheal twisted to the left and yanked out his revolver with an agonized groan. He cocked the hammer with one hand and took aim. With a loud bang, he shot a massive hole through the woman's forehead. The man dropped his revolver as his companion's corpse crumpled to the ground. Micheal flicked his hand and shot the man dead as well. Fucking amateurs. Guess I'm lucky.

Micheal grabbed the edge of a dumpster and pulled himself to his feet. He heaved, feeling that burning pain swell up in his back. Need to stand… it's already starting to heal, but I don't have time to be sitting around. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the right alley. Marco! Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Micheal gritted his teeth and followed after the boy.

A man drenched in fire was sprinting toward him, his arms flailing around as he wailed at the top of his lungs. Micheal stopped in his tracks and raised his revolver. What in Gods' name… The man crashed into the ground and thrashed around, his hands swiping against the flames to no avail. His flesh was quickly turning black, and his screams devolved into agonized wheezes, then to whimpers and silent sobs. Micheal pulled the trigger and shot the man in the head. The man went limp, silenced for eternity.

Marco emerged from the other end of the alleyway, his arms and legs trembling as he approached. He's safe. Thank the Lady. Marco stared at the burning corpse with wide, gaping eyes. His pupils went so large they nearly ate up the blues of his irises. The fires burned on, using the corpse as fuel to grow bigger and bigger.

"Boy, extinguish the flames," Micheal said.

"Ri… right…" Marco snapped his fingers, and the flames went up in a poof of black smoke.

"It's alright, boy. You did well." Micheal walked around the corpse, patting the back of his head.

"He didn't die from it…" Marco murmured.

"It worked good enough for me. Come on, let's see who these bastards are." Micheal turned back around and checked on the two other bodies. He gritted his teeth, trying to hide the pain he was in. He gazed over the bodies, each with a fist-sized hole peering into their foreheads. Micheal frowned and crouched down beside the woman for a better look. The edges of her face were liquefying, like wax being melted off.

"Did you do that?"

"The bullet hole. Not this." Micheal pinched her cheek, only for the skin to crumble into fine ash at his touch. When she spoke, she used a man's voice. Don't tell me… Micheal gulped as their faces fell off, revealing a red face of flesh covered in dozens of deep scars and gashes that went as far as cutting into bone.

"By the Lady…" Micheal looked at the man, and all but the red flesh of his face remained.

"Who… what are they?" Marco said.

"Shapeshifters." Micheal reached into the woman's pockets, pulling out a thin leather wallet. He did the same to the man, grabbing a black wallet. Marco looked at him with a disapproving look, but Micheal didn't care.

"Let's hurry home. I don't sense any more of these bastards, but let's not wait to find out." They ran out of the alleys, back into Lovel proper. The sun was already setting behind the city walls, and darkness was slowly spilling out into the open streets. Those who were still outside hurried into the safety of their homes, locking the doors and closing the windows. They were afraid of the night; for others were not.

Micheal's eyes darted about as they went down the avenue, every noise, every critter sending sparks of danger through his spine. Their house came into view in the distance, the lights still off, and the doorknob the same angle as he had left it. He went up the porch and unlocked the front door, revealing the pitch-black hall. The scent of blood in the air made him take a step back.

"What do you smell, boy?" Micheal pulled out his revolver again, slamming four bullets inside the cylinder in quick succession.

"Blood and… ammonia," Marco said. Micheal drew in a cold breath and focused his senses, but he couldn't sense a living soul inside.

"Stay behind me." He stepped forth and flicked the switches by the door. The lights went on with a soft whir. Everything was as he left it, save for the door to the living room, which was wide open. It was pitch black, and he couldn't see in the dark. He never could.

"Did you leave that door open, boy?"

"No." Marco shook his head. Micheal raised his revolver to his chest and crept toward the living room. The stench of blood intensified with every step, and by the time he reached the doorway, he could also smell the light scent of ammonia wafting from inside. I don't sense anything, but that doesn't mean nothing's there. The stench is strong… did something die there? Micheal reached for the switch around the doorway with his left hand, keeping his gun trained in the darkness.

Marco stood behind him, his fingers a snap away from unleashing hellfire. He flicked the lights on, and his eyes widened in shock. A corpse lay stomach-first on the floor, its head reduced to a pile of purplish goo. His eyes wandered to the right, where another corpse was curled up in a deep pool of its own blood. The wall above it was covered in cracks, as if he had been violently thrown against it. I'd garner these folk are the same ones that attacked us. But who killed them?

"Stay here, boy." Micheal stepped inside and approached the first corpse. The stench of ammonia rose from the pile of goo, and he could still see chunks of bone and brain matter sizzling within. This is the work of a Death demihuman. No gunshots, the room looks untouched apart from the bodies. They didn't even have a chance to fight back. Who did this? Micheal went over to the second body. Just as he thought, its face had completely melted off, leaving a blank, skinned slate in its place.

Its stomach was completely caved in, with shards of bones and ribs sticking out of mangled chunks of flesh. He could even see a portion of the demi-heart inside, still slightly beating against all odds. Fucking hell, did he get hit by a train or something? Looks like he flew right across the room, hit that wall, and died.

"Marco, can you get the—" Micheal looked back, his eyes widening in fear.

"The what?" Marco furrowed his brows. A towering figure stood behind Marco, clad in black and white garb with a long red overcoat. It wore pants stained in blood, and its large gloved hand swooshed up and landed on Marco's shoulder like he was a small doll. Marco shuddered—"Don't move." Micheal lifted his head, trailing the figure's upper body, then up its neck. The face of a pale woman stared back at him from above with a beautiful mane of golden hair. She was so tall that her head nearly touched the high ceiling.

Close to eight feet, Micheal garnered. The woman tilted her head and cast a faint smirk. That's a fucking Giant. She… she kicked that poor bastard to death. In the corners of his eyes, a familiar elderly man walked out of the kitchen with a black cane in hand. His hair was old and gray, his skin wrinkled, and his dark blue eyes spoke of something inhuman. He pushed up his round glasses, and he tapped the floor with the end of his cane.

"Good evening, Mr. Staten. You've had a very bad day, I reckon."