Second Blood
It gets easier
This story was written for The Halls of Pandemonium by Bradley Ramsey.
This story is a continuation of Rite of Passage.
Content warnings:
Blood ritual
Murder
Bodily fluids, including in sexual context
If you want to read more of my writings, please read my published books: The Seekers: Soul-Ties, Kirin, and Perrin Peters. And if you don’t want to buy my books but still want to support me, I’m on Patreon. And if you prefer one-time payments, you can Buy Me A Pizza or a Coffee.
Cold snow refuses to melt on my eyelashes, making them heavy and weird. No matter. My body feels like an icicle after hours of standing on the fire escape stairs under a heavy nighttime snowfall. No matter. Memories of Dad and the realization of my new life prospects still haunt me every second. No matter, for the snow is finally crunching under someone’s feet down below.
I carefully make sure I’m still in the shadows and watch the person below. A lamppost momentarily sheds light on his face, and my heart begins to race. Finally! What kept him so long?
The sound of crunching snow travels around the building. A door squeaks, then squeaks again. Light vibrations travel through reinforced concrete, coming closer and closer to me. A door is shut. Dim light appears out of the closet window. Then, the light suddenly becomes brighter and closer. I wait. I listen. I grip the handle of my sword, hoping not to use it today.
The sound of a running shower pulls me into action. A shiv between the plastic window and its frame, and some force do the job. The air inside is positively boiling. I close the window and the blinds, then slowly move across the unfamiliar living room in silence, warming up one frozen hand at a time.
A tall cabinet in the corner, a pile of magazines on the coffee table, art posters on the walls, a modern TV, and a not-so-modern sofa — the room looks completely ordinary, and it bothers me. No matter. Eventually, I’ll grow out of it.
The sound of the shower is close now, but I still freeze next to the living room’s threshold, listening. The water isn’t just running constantly, falling on the shower’s walls and floor — something is moving and interrupting its path. The front door is locked, but I quietly open it and pop my head out just for a second. Then, I lock the door again and sneak into the kitchen. Deserted, just as I hoped. The bedroom is the last room, and it’s also empty and dark. He isn’t hiding in a closet or anywhere else while pretending to shower. He truly has no idea I’m inside.
~*~
The water finally stops falling. Barefoot footsteps come rather lazily, and they move not towards the bedroom, but towards the living room where I wait next to the door. My heart is pounding as he comes closer, enters the room, and continues to walk towards the sofa. A bit of water drops from his muscular body, but I’m not complaining since how much snow has melted from me?
He leans towards the sofa to pick up the remote, turns around to sit down—
My hand jerks forward, emptying a tin can of white powder right into his face. His eyes don’t have the time to widen in surprise, for he’s already slumped unconscious.
I freeze and wait, listening to the faintest of sounds beside my racing heart. Seconds pass, and I finally walk around the sofa, lean over the sleeping man, trying to stop staring at his huge cock, and shove a big needle into his biceps. No retaliation comes. He isn’t pretending. The powder worked.
I empty the contents of my syringe into his bloodstream just in case the powder won’t work for as long as I need, throw it into a corner, fetch a kitchen chair, then struggle for a while to force all of this amazing flesh into that chair. After finally succeeding, I tie him down with a steel wire using the best shibari techniques and gag the man using a proper tool. Shit. Sometimes, work and pleasure can meet after all!
Time is of the essence. I get a small mason jar from my pocket, kneel next to the sleeping beauty, and start fiercely milking his impressive, neatly trimmed member, trying not to drool too much. When the jar is no longer empty, I wait, and then repeat the process until the last drop of my future potion is in the jar. The closet conveniently has a nice, big hammer. Holding it ready, I empty a second syringe into the man’s flesh.
The reaction is almost immediate. The face contorts, relaxes, and then the eyes open. Beautiful, green eyes, framed by messy, black hair. There’s no thought in his gaze at first, but after a few seconds, they finally focus on me. The muscles, wrapped in steel wire, tense under the skin, as well as his face, but when no action comes, he glances down at his body, then back at me. Confusion and anger on his face are replaced with something else, yet he doesn’t relax.
The tip of my sword meets his powerful neck. “It won’t work. I’ve tied your arms and legs together, so breaking the chair won’t really help you, nightbringer.”
His pupils narrow.
KLAM!
A quick swing of my sword repels something metallic. It dings against the floor, and I finally see that it’s a nice throwing knife.
“Heh…” I smirk, carefully pushing it away. “It’s too bad your telepathy can only pull things straight towards you, telling me exactly from which direction an attack may come.”
The hatred in his gaze is almost palpable. Yet, nightbringers can’t harm you with their thoughts alone. At least, such cases have never been documented.
“It can go two ways,” I explain, making a small cut on his neck. “You can whisper to me what I need to know, and then your death will be quick. Alternatively…” I raise my hand with the hammer. “You can make a noise, and then I’ll knock you out, gag you again, wait for you to wake up, and give you a slow, gruesome death.”
~*~
Somehow, the choice isn’t obvious for the fool. Soon, it will be time to leave, and yet he’s still just—
“Mmmm!” he whispers from the other side of the gag.
Rejoicing, I approach, gazing into those green eyes.
He looks away momentarily, then moves his head and says something.
“Will you be quiet?”
He nods. I approach, glide the cold steel of the hammer’s head against his head, and then carefully remove the gag.
“Just… get this over with.” The defeat in his voice awakens something in me, but only for a moment.
I can no longer see his face. Both my hands are busy, ready to cause harm and death. But I can still speak.
“Who’s on the top?” The question sounds weak and maybe childish, but I ignore the way it came out. “We know that you have a hierarchy and a power system. Who’s above everyone, and how do I find them?”
“Wow!” The man’s voice is surprisingly pleasant. “I did think that you’re as green as my tea, and this question just confirmed it again. Lemme give you advice, girl. Leave now and never look back. It ain’t worth it. None of this is.”
I sigh, carefully shedding a little bit of his blood, trying to ignore the empty feeling in my stomach.
“Do you know what kind of rite of passage I went through?” I ask, seeing flashes of what happened just recently. Feeling that smell. Hearing those sounds. Sensing blood and all sorts of bodily liquids on my hands.
The answer doesn’t come.
“Well, then you’ve got no idea why I can’t turn back.”
AAARGH!!!
I use his momentary cry to shove the gag back into his mouth. Maybe my hammer broke his shoulder, maybe not, but the muffled curses coming from behind the gag tell me that he’s in great pain.
“Now, you can continue to waste my time…” I show him the hammer, making his head recoil. “Or you can tell me what I need to know.”
His heavy breathing eventually subsides, and he nods.
“I can’t tell you much.” Now, his voice is not only defeated, but is also a little weepy. “We’ve been divided into cells a few years ago, and so only cell heads know about other cells. And I suspect that if we have a leader, only the heads of some cells know who that is.”
Exactly as I feared. The fuckers are smart and careful. No wonder we’ve been hunting them for thousands of years.
“And the leader of your cell is?”
“Anne Marceline Smith. She works as an accountant somewhere. There was no reason for me to know any details.”
I nod, repeating the information in my head again and again. “Who else do you know? I’ll just ask them if you’re so oblivious.”
The fucker actually sobs, now forcing words out of his mouth! “Jakob Caspian Green is a c-cashier at LittleGreen’s.” With each new word, strength leaves the man, making the wire into the only support he has. “M-Megan Isabel P-Price is an engineer at a p-power plant.” He starts to shake, and I assume he’s crying heavily. “Ralf K-Kane Elliott is a magician at the local circus.”
The man is totally hunched down, unable to support his body or stop shaking and sobbing. I feel the sword’s handle at my waist, remembering another man who was about to die. Remembering his completely different reaction. Yet, that man didn’t betray his people. In fact, he’d just taught his daughter the most important lesson of her life.
The cold steel entered the back of the man’s neck like it was warm butter. Hot blood gushes onto the floor, mesmerizing me. Or maybe it’s what I just did? Or what I’m going to do to all those people and many more like them?
Unwilling to find the answer today, I get to work. My blade opens the nightbringer’s belly like it’s a big flower, setting the organs free. I stretch out the intestines all across the floor, making the right patterns. I open the chest cavity, revealing the black ribs. Carefully sliced bits and pieces of the lungs and the heart end up in the correct corners of the already bloodied room. Finally, I grab a different, bigger mason jar filled with my blood and start drawing and quietly chanting the spell.
Blood symbols cover most surfaces of the entire room, making their way around the body parts, alongside the stretched intestines, climb up the walls, and even reach the ceiling. And the more I draw with my blood, the more of the room is filled with white shimmer. And when the final word of the spell is chanted, and when the final symbol is drawn, the shimmer is no more. The ribs of the man are now white, and there’s no way to say that he wasn’t human.
I leave the gruesome room through the same window and don’t look back until I sit in a metro cart. In some ways, this second time felt easier. Or at least, I don’t seem to feel as strong an aftermath. Yet, my vision is veiled by black fear. Three more targets, and each of them can be the end of me. One more mutilated corpse, continuing a lie of mass murderers and terrifying the planet. Yet, I must do it!
I slowly breathe in and out, containing my shaking and not thinking about the other people in the cart.
I’ve got this! Eventually, I’ll find their leader and end their life. Eventually, I’ll stop the coming of the Endless Night once and for all. Or at least, I’ll pave the way towards this feature with my blood, tears, and bones. I’ve got this! It will be okay. And the sperm of the nightbringer in my pocket will help me achieve all this.
The End
Anton Anderson, 2026
Aside from Rite of Passage, you can find Kira in Tea for Us.
