The ear piece was all static, though it cut in and out, as if it was, perhaps, extremely distorted speech. Nothing ever was perfectly operational when it came to Aberrant magic and seals, but these were supposed to be hot off the presses at the Alchemist’s development unit and be able withstand at least some of the distortion.
One would assume they could at least deal with one vaulted ceiling's worth of separation.
“Uh I’m just gonna assume you’re getting this.” More static. “Main hall was bait. There’s probably concealed rooms branching off the main hallway. Use my ID beacon for positioning, and confirm outside.”
The ear piece was silent. He peered through the circular skylights in the Radix room, willing to see a mop of blunt-cropped snow-blond hair, but all he got was an eyefull of the sickly moonlight.
Well at least these levels of interference told them that there was definitely some rotten power afoot, and somewhere very close by.
He leaned against the doorway, hoping that it looked casual enough to avoid giving away the shaking in his left leg. Noir Detective made eye-contact with him, positioned at the rear of a crowd of Human Law policemen as they fanned around the closest painting. One of the officers had a baton out, ready to tap the uneven surface of the canvas, the paint strokes resembling scales. The ugly, gaunt fucker in the painting stared back at all of them with his dead fish eyes.
Vincent nodded, the Detective nodded back - first at him, then at the officer with the baton. Baton guy sucked in a breath of air, then reached the baton gently to the canvas.
He didn’t get to finish the tap.
The painting burst, like a boil, trails of smoke that looked like tentacles spreading out all over the hallway. It wrapped itself around the Noir Detective, sinking into his clothes and skin, as the rest of the squad yelled - mixed in with the screeches and cries of children. Someone actually fired their gun at the trails of smoke. The bullet splintered the wall a few feet away from Vincent.
“Hold your fucking fire!” His shoes felt like they were heeled with lead, but he forced his body into a run. Five steps. He sucked in a breath, forced his tired mind to trace its path through his body, until he was centered at his heart. Traced the path of oxygen from his lungs, through the heart, towards the fingers gripping the warm metal of his staff.
The smokey tentacles flailed and Vincent ran through a rapid mental appraisal. Non-corporeal, non-sentient - a malignant apparition of a lower demon in its most vulnerable and desperate state.
Just about any prayer would do.
The tip of his staff sizzled with a spark gathering aether.
“O Heavenly Father,” Three steps, “Lend your strength,” two steps, “to your children in the Light.”
Step, step, swing.
The tiny spark of aether buried itself in the plumes of tentacle smoke. For a split second, it was gone; then it roiled, like a raging star, washing away the tendrils of the malignant apparition, spreading light across the surfaces of the hallway.
Its light fizzled into nothingness as Vincent stared into the darkness behind the painting - but the sounds coming from that darkness were unmistakable, shaky breaths of scared children.
“Form up behind me,” Vincent said to the policemen over his shoulder. They flattened against the walls on both sides, as Miriam scurried on all fours to check on the Noir Detective shaking on the ground behind Vincent.
First experiences with demonic possessions were always a bitch.
The malignant apparition coalesced at the foot of the hidden entryway, smoke tendrils swirling.
“Exxorcissst,” it hissed, the sound ugly like leaking sewage. A mouthpiece, for the witch inside.
“Yeah, that’s me.” The aether at the tip of Vincent’s staff sparkled, again. “Going for round two?”
“Sssspeak with exxorcissst.” The smoke replied.
“Well, you kind of already are.”
“Inssside.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow, looked at the policeman immediately to his left. To his distaste, he saw Manfred’s terrified wide eyes.
“Yeah sure thing, not a problem—” He nodded his head to his right, trying to direct the police squad to fan out.
The tentacles roiled, then settled.
“Only exxorcissst,” they hissed.
Of-fucking-course.
He didn’t particularly fancy having to step through the veil of a malignant apparition into a room that undoubtedly held more headaches than he could possibly conceive. But it was the best way to ensure that they did, in fact, find the kidnapped children.
He looked back and made eye-contact with Miriam; tapped his earpiece once, twice. It set the frequency to open broadcast, and she paused, listening — then nodded.
“Walking in the door now, so keep your pet octopus at bay.”
He took a step forward, gingerly, keeping the hold on his staff casual. As casual as he could, anyways, while maintaining some semblance of battle readiness. The tentacles roiled again, forming spikes like iron shavings in a magnetic field.
“No sssstaff.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. The staff was convenient, sure, but it wasn’t like it was the weapon, when it came to Aberrants.
He was.
“Okay, fine.” He swung his arm out with melodrama, releasing his grip on the staff. It hit the ground with a loud and crystal ping, bouncing tip to tip before finally quietly rolling away. “Happy now?”
The tentacles swirled, then drew back, creating an opening that, while dark, showed outlines of the room on the other end. Vincent drew in a breath between his teeth.
This part always sucked.
“Alright, I’m coming through.”
Then he stepped into the darkness.
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