Chapter 22: Electric

The rain grew harsher outside as I phased back into the church. I landed with steady steps, my feet brushing over the wet blood-slick stone floor as I made my way toward Eric. He couldn’t seen me coming. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and in a blink, I entered him.

The sword-and-shield wielder was still alive. His mouth gaped open, gulping for air through a ragged windpipe, blood pouring like syrup across the wood. He clawed at the floor, dragging himself pitifully. I walked over and nudged him onto his back. His eyes flickered with confusion and terror. I twisted the bolt lodged in his throat and pulled it free. He convulsed once and then stilled. I felt dizzy for a moment.

Abruptly, I felt a surge of strength after I killed him. It wasn’t an illusion. The clarity returned to my head, and with it came a grim realization.

“I see, so that’s what is happening…”

I was getting stronger with every life I took.

As I approached Nira, the children parted like a tide, unsure whether to cry or scream. Among them, Pips stepped forward despite the fear trembling in his voice. “What do you want? Aren’t you afraid to go to hell?” His words had no edge, only desperation.

I didn’t reply. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound cruel.

Lara added, with the same defiance but less certainty, “We’re members of the Twinfist Gang. You should go away!” That made me pause, just for a breath, then I waved them off. The kids were trying to scare me, but of course, it would never work.

“Go find Sister Lydia,” I said, glancing briefly at the door. “She might be hurt.”

They hesitated, shifting their weight between doubt and duty. It was Nira who calmed them.

“He’s a friend,” she murmured, her voice small and raw.

John, one of the orphans, chewed on his bottom lip. “We should look for Sister Lydia… but…”

Nira, sniffling now, whispered between clenched teeth, “I’ll be fine… please, look for Big Sis Lydia…”

That finally did it. The children scattered, darting out through the rain, their tiny feet slapping against the stone as they went looking for the one adult they still trusted.

With the room cleared, I knelt beside Nira. She was gripping her arm tightly, her face slick with tears. The bolt had gone clean through her shoulder, buried deep, too deep to pull without risk.

“Ren… it hurts so much…” she sobbed.

She didn’t call me ‘Dad.’ I’d thought I wanted, thinking that at least I could pretend her mind was healed. But hearing her drop the word didn’t make me feel any happier. It made the silence between us feel colder.

I eased her from the pew carefully, pulling the bolt from the wood and supporting her weight without jostling the embedded shaft.

“You can’t pull it out,” I murmured. “You’ll bleed too fast. We need to keep it in until someone better can treat it.”

She whimpered when I moved her, but didn’t fight. I set her gently on the frontmost pew, cradling her side with one arm. With the other, I reached toward the wristband still strapped to Eric’s now-dead arm.

“It’s done,” I said into it. “I have the witchspawn.”

Several minutes passed. Rain drummed louder. The windows rattled. Eventually, two figures stepped into the church, their silhouettes framed in the open doorway like actors in some macabre play.

Irene walked in first, her steps calm and without rush. Beside her was a man with dark hair and flamboyant clothing, twirling a saber like he thought the whole scene was beneath him.

“Eric, oh Eric,” he drawled, eyes flitting to the bloodied body on the floor. “What happened to Jan?”

“Marco betrayed us,” I replied without hesitation, still maintaining the lie.

Irene tilted her head toward her companion. “What do you think, Jaime?”

Jaime smiled without warmth. “We should kill the rat, post haste.”

“And you, Eric?” she asked.

I kept my voice steady. “I agree with Jaime. We should do it now.”

Jaime beamed. “Ah, great minds think alike.”

There was no more pretense. The moment snapped like a brittle bone.

Jaime moved first, lunging forward in a blur of trained violence. I blocked his saber with the palm of my hand, gritting my teeth as the blade pierced flesh and scraped bone. His follow-through was fast, a flick of the wrist aimed to decapitate me.

I tilted my head just in time. The blade missed, but not entirely. A burning sting flared as it clipped my ear, shearing off the top in a sharp line. Blood splattered the floor.

I grabbed the saber firmly with the stabbed hand by the blade and the guard. Jaime tried to pull back, but I held firm. His eyes widened as I raised the mace and slammed it down, full force, onto his face.

There was a crunch, and Jaime’s body crumpled at my feet with a thud, and the only thing that remained of his smugness was a smear of red on the tiles.

Irene stared at me, with a strange glint in her eye, like she’d been puzzling over something and had just found the missing piece. “You’re not Eric,” she said calmly, but with certainty.

I tilted Eric’s head slightly and smirked. “Way to say the obvious. What gave it away?”

Her lips curved, faintly amused. “The witchspawn called you Ren.”

Ah. That would do it. The wristband betrayed me, unintentionally. A slip of the tongue and my cover was undone. I should’ve expected it. Things never went easy for me.

Irene tilted her head, tone unchanged. “So then, who are you?”

With Eric’s half-useless body, I clumsily bent down and bit onto Jaime’s saber, yanking it from my palm with my teeth. I took hold of the hilt using my injured hand, forcing stiff, cold fingers to wrap around it. Blood smeared the steel.

“You already know who I am,” I said, dragging the saber up and letting it hang at my side. “I’m Ren… but I prefer to be called Renzo. You heard the girl call me that, remember? Ren? Or did you have the brain of a goldfish?”

“Hmmm…” She touched her chin with a single, ungloved finger. “Curious. I’ve never heard of a Renzo with shapeshifting abilities. But I suppose it’s equally likely you’ve always been Renzo, and Eric was the disguise. What about Marco then? Was he part of the act from the start, or did you just flip him recently?”

She was stalling.

Her gaze flicked to the far side of the room at the cracked window, exactly where Marco would’ve been peeking with his crossbow ready. “Most curious,” she mused. “Why hasn’t Marco made his shot yet? Jaime was open. There was no need to sacrifice your hand.”

I tightened my grip around the saber’s hilt, the nerves in Eric’s fingers screaming.

“Do you think it’s wise,” I said slowly, “to narrate your deductions out loud?”

“That depends,” she replied, her eyes narrowing just a hair. “Let’s say… like buying time.”

That was when I noticed the shift. The air had grown colder. A thin mist escaped my mouth, curling in the air before it vanished. I hadn’t realized how quickly the temperature had dropped. The windows frosted at the corners. The floor beneath me groaned.

Irene raised her hand and flicked it upward. The ground frosted quickly with a hiss, and a jagged ice spike lunged for my gut. I threw myself back, leaning on Eric’s remaining agility. The spike barely missed, but ice lashed out around my foot. It clamped onto my ankle like a vice.

I snarled and yanked hard, wrenching the leg free, but that moment of delay was all she needed. A second spike shot from the first, this time horizontally, and buried itself deep into my chest with a nauseating crunch. Eric’s lungs spasmed.

Irene stepped forward, watching me bleed.

“And here I thought you had experience fighting magic,” she said, folding her arms with a sigh. “But perhaps I expected too much.”

I coughed. The taste of iron filled my mouth, sticky and wet.

“You’re not the only one…” I managed through clenched teeth, “buying time.”

The pain in my chest was growing unbearable, but I forced my left arm to move. My muscles twitched as I gathered the last of the charge I had been building. I funneled the energy down into the limb, through the saber, and then hurled the weapon straight at her.

The blade spun midair, cloaked in furious arcs of lightning. My left arm gave way instantly, skin blistering, and nerves burned out from the current.

Irene reacted swiftly. With a simple sweep of her hand, a block of ice shot up from the floor, shielding herself. The saber struck, sparks crackling on impact, but didn’t pierce through. It ricocheted off, embedding itself in the wall behind her.

She turned her head slightly, following the clatter.

I was already moving. I smashed the ice spike still lodged in my chest using the mace, shattering it to slush. Blood gushed, but I had no time to be careful. I staggered to the side, dragging Eric’s battered frame in a lunge. I raised my right hand, my last working limb, and funneled everything into it.

The rain outside roared. Lightning crackled from my fingertips.

With one hand holding the mace overhead, I aimed it forward, just as the charge burst from me, crackling and dancing across the room.

The electricity jumped in a jagged arc, connecting with the embedded saber behind her.

In the middle stood Irene.

She barely had time to react. Her arms jerked upward, then locked. Her whole body tensed, every muscle seizing. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the current surged through her spine, lighting up every nerve like a lantern in the dark.

Her body convulsed for three long seconds before she dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. Smoke curled from her sleeves. Her eyes were blank. One last spark popped from the corner of her collar.

"You shouldn’t have targeted Nira…”

That was rather, electric… pun intended.