Black Rain, page 27
The inky tendrils spread their reach, pulsating with a rhythm that mirrored the beating of my heart. It was a wild, untamed sensation, like holding onto a storm just before it broke. I could feel its hunger, its yearning to engage, to confront the malevolence that had summoned us here. It danced and writhed under my skin, eager to engage, a black tempest waiting to be unleashed.
Casting my gaze around, I discerned no trace of Giordano. He was either absent from the room, or he was hidden in its shadowy recesses, surveying us like a predatory beast. The reality, it seemed, echoed the latter scenario.
Luna, pulling away from our group, invoked Giordano's name. “Don Vito,” she uttered with a seasoned tone of submission. “I have delivered the vigilante and the cop per your command.”
“Your service is acknowledged, Luna, my sweet,” a voice, shrouded in the room's darkness, responded. The voice was a deep, gravelly growl, imbued with an unnerving aura of dominance and unmasked threat. “Just as I was beginning to question your fidelity.”
“My allegiance is unwavering, Don Vito,” Luna replied. “My loyalty remains steadfastly yours… my father.”
“Just as it should. It would've been a regrettable affair to have extinguished the life of my paramount assassin and enforcer.” He allowed his words to linger for a moment. “To have ended the life of the one who is akin to a daughter for me.”
Sick fuck, I thought, wishing the crime boss would hurry up and show himself so we could get on with killing the bastard.
Scroteface?
Yes, Boss. I’m here.
Get ready. Tell Hannah and the others to stand by.
Will do, Boss.
After a moment’s tense silence, Giordano finally showed himself, stepping out of the shadows like a malevolent specter, his imposing figure materializing as if conjured by the eerie ambiance of the room. Dressed in a finely tailored black Italian suit, he was a daunting monolith of a man, with an imposing breadth of shoulders that spoke of a raw, physical power. His bald head, gleaming under the mystical light, lent him an almost uncanny look, as though he'd been carved from the same obsidian as his surroundings.
His walk was a calculated, predatory saunter, the deliberate stride of a man accustomed to owning every room he stepped into. There was an aura of latent danger that seemed to ripple around him, an unmistakable reminder of the power he wielded and the fear he instilled. An invisible wave of his uniquely rich cologne, a blend of musk and sandalwood, filled the air, mingling with the scent of ancient parchment and incense.
As he neared, the cruel lines of his face came into sharp focus. His features were harsh, hewn from the same ruthless mold as his personality. Eyes as cold and pitiless as a winter storm bore into us, a predator sizing up its prey. Yet, there was an insidious charm about him, a stark charisma that belied the cruel twist of his lips and the predatory gleam in his eyes.
Giordano’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening like a dagger, its cold steel slicing through the layers of determination we'd mustered. A low, guttural growl began in the depths of his throat, a sonorous hum that grew steadily, enveloping the room with an icy dread. Kendra, usually composed and unflappable, began to falter. Her breath hitched, her eyes widened, and she was gripped by a visceral terror that made her knees buckle slightly. It was like watching a deer suddenly realizing it was trapped by a hungry predator, raw and instinctual.
The cold shroud of fear didn’t spare me either. It clawed at the edges of my consciousness, attempting to seep into my bones. My heart pounded in my chest, each thump echoing the icy dread that Giordano exuded.
But then, a familiar sensation stirred within me. The ink. It pulsed beneath my skin, an undercurrent of power that thrummed against my nerves. It was like a live wire, crackling and sparking, its energetic buzz countering the cold dread. I focused on that sensation, the vitality of the ink, drawing from it like a bulwark against the crippling fear Giordano was manipulating.
I could feel the ink respond to my will, tendrils of its dark substance snaking through my veins, coursing with a defiant energy. The fear was still there, but it was now tempered by a powerful determination that was fueled by the ink. It filled me with a strange warmth, like a light pushing back against the enveloping darkness.
I stood taller, my spine straightening, and stared directly into Giordano’s icy gaze. The ink worked like an antidote, negating the paralyzing effect of Giordano’s fear-manipulation power. I saw a flicker of surprise pass over the mob boss's face. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless, and it bolstered my determination.
Giordano’s gaze traveled between Kendra and me, a wolf studying its cornered prey, before unexpectedly settling onto Luna with an inscrutable expression. Then, with a speed that belied his bulk, he shot out an arm and gripped Luna by the throat, pulling her toward him.
Seeing this, Kendra cried out, and from the look in Giordano’s eyes, I knew her cry had confirmed something to him. His gaze fell upon Kendra as he stepped up his manipulation of her fear, driving her to her knees this time.
As for me, I didn’t move. Not yet. It wasn’t time.
Get ready, Scroteface.
Yes, Boss.
"My treasured Luna," Giordano's voice rolled out, deep and measured as he grasped Luna tenderly, yet menacingly by the throat. His mammoth hand seemed like an iron vise. "Could you really imagine yourself duping me? Concealing secrets within your own mind? You've neglected to remember your roots, my dear. I molded you, sculpted you into what you are today. I can perceive your every thought, every intention, just like an open book. I was cognizant of your little clandestine meetings with your sister, your twisted little plan with this Drake character."
As Kendra rose, driven by a sudden wave of anger and desperation, Giordano simply tightened his grip on Luna, "Advance any further and you'll hear the sound of her neck snapping, clean and crisp."
“Leave her alone,” Kendra implored, her voice shaky, not from physical strain but the lingering vestiges of Giordano's fear manipulation. "You want me, not Luna. I damaged your operations, wiped out your men. Leave her out of this."
“Don’t worry, Kendra Blackwood," Giordano said, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Your turn will come, rest assured. It's quite amusing really, your father uttered similar pleas when I was about to execute your dear mother. Appeals and pleas fell on deaf ears then, as they will now."
“You fucking monster,” Kendra spat, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“It’s quite impressive how you survived,” the crime boss said. “Given everything, I thought you would die on the street like an injured dog. But you managed to survive, didn’t you? And not just survive, but thrive. You used your hate for me to turn yourself into what you are today. But alas, it has all been for nought, hasn’t it? Revenge is off the table. Indeed, it was never on the table to begin with. You would’ve been better off dying after I shot you.”
With a derisive chuckle, Giordano pivoted toward me, "And then we have Drake. Quite the annoying pebble in my shoe you've turned out to be, ever since you disrupted my operations in Miller's Square. You took Delphina from me, shoved one of my most trusted lieutenants into the jaws of death. Yet, here you are, throwing yourself into the lion's den. At one point, I even considered recruiting you. Your little display at the motel was commendable, yet… irritatingly fucking meddlesome." His gaze hardened, cutting into me like a blade, "You fancied yourself a hero, didn't you? Dreamed of swooping in here to end my reign? Do you genuinely believe that you can slay me, Drake?" A thick silence hung in the air, each passing second ticking away like a time bomb. “Answer me!” His demand echoed off the stone walls, an ominous challenge hanging between us.
Giordano's words hung in the air, heavy and fraught with tension. His gaze was unyielding, a palpable pressure that sought to squeeze out any hint of defiance within me. The room seemed to grow colder, as though the very stones were anticipating my response.
A brief flicker of uncertainty crossed Luna's face, as she watched the face-off from her precarious position. Giordano, the monstrous lion holding court in his den, had thrown down the gauntlet, expecting me to falter, to crumble under his intimidating presence.
But he would be disappointed.
"I've battled far worse monsters than you, Giordano," I said, my voice steady, "and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that no matter how invincible you think you are, there’s always someone or something that will take you down.” I allowed myself a slight smile. “Someone like me.”
"Arrogant words, Drake," Giordano said, his voice low and dangerous. "But words are just wind. Let's see if you can back them up."
"I thought you'd never ask.”
Scroteface! Tell everyone to move in. Now!
As I gave the command to Scroteface, Giordano lifted Luna off her feet and slammed his palm into her chest. His grip on Luna tightened, his knuckles whitening as the veins on his hands began to pulse with an ominous energy. The air around him seemed to thicken, filled with an unspoken dread as his dark eyes bored into Luna's. Her eyes widened, a spark of terror flashing within them before her body began to tremble uncontrollably.
A sickening crunch echoed throughout the room. Luna's eyes rolled back in her head, a pained gurgle escaping her lips as she slumped lifelessly in Giordano's vise-like grip. The look on his face was impassive, a predator watching its prey die without a shred of mercy or regret.
Just as quickly as he had tightened his grip, Giordano released Luna. Her limp body flew across the room, crashing into a large stone pillar with a hollow thud before slumping to the floor. A horrifying silence descended upon the room, broken only by the echo of Luna's body colliding with the pillar. Giordano straightened his tie, brushing invisible dust off his suit as if he hadn't just potentially killed his most trusted assassin and enforcer.
Kendra and I watched, frozen in shock and disbelief, as Luna lay unmoving on the cold stone floor. We didn't know if Luna was dead or merely unconscious, but the predatory smile on Giordano's face told us that he believed he had just taken another pawn off the chessboard.
“Bastard!” Kendra’s scream of rage echoed around the room. With a guttural cry, she sprang into action. Her fear and grief fueled a desperate rage that seemed to give her supernatural speed and strength. She flew at Giordano, her fists connecting with the crime boss's broad chest in a flurry of punishing blows. Each hit echoed through the sanctum, yet the crime boss barely budged. His cruel smile didn't waver for a second as he absorbed her onslaught, his gaze cold and amused.
Then, just as quickly as her assault had begun, it came to a grinding halt. Giordano's large hand snaked out, gripping Kendra's wrist with an iron-clad grip. His other hand shot out, landing on her shoulder. His fingers seemed to dig into her flesh as a pulsating glow started to spread from where he was touching her. Kendra's bravado waned, replaced by a look of sheer terror as her body began to shake.
Her complexion paled almost instantly, her once vibrant eyes dimming as if a switch had been flipped. It was as though Giordano was literally sucking the life from her, each passing second sapping her of her vitality. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight as her strength was stolen away, and she crumpled in Giordano's grip.
"No!" I roared, the sheer force of my denial rippling through the cavernous room. The ink within me surged in response to my emotion, churning like a violent storm beneath my skin. It moved with a purpose, answering my call in a way it never had before, drawn by the urgency of the situation.
Drawing on the power it offered, I pushed off the ground, propelling myself at Giordano. The ink swirled around my fists, glowing a bright silver as it coalesced into hardened gauntlets. It wasn’t just ink anymore—it was a weapon, a savior, a piece of my very soul manifested. The air around me seemed to crackle with the sheer intensity of the power I was wielding.
In a matter of moments, I closed the distance, my ink-armored fist swinging towards Giordano with every ounce of energy I could channel. The impact of the punch was less about causing pain and more about creating a window of opportunity. It landed, causing Giordano to flinch slightly, a grimace flickering briefly on his stoic face. More importantly, it achieved its true goal—it provided the crucial distraction, making him momentarily lose focus, and his grip on Kendra slackened..
Kendra pulled away and crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Her skin was sickly pale, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to recover from the trauma of having her life force drained.
Giordano’s surprise gave way to a slow, grudging admiration. "Impressive," he murmured, eyeing the ink around my fists. "But let's see how long you can keep this up."
“I don’t need to,” I said, moving toward Kendra, allowing her time to get up and lurch over to where her sister still lay, unmoving.
Giordano’s eyes narrowed as he saw something in mine. “Meaning what?”
“You’re about to find out.”
A smile stretched across my face as, without any warning, the windows of the sanctum exploded inward, showering shards of glass everywhere. A gust of wind swept in, carrying the distinct scent of an impending storm. It was a sudden, violent interruption, and even Giordano seemed taken aback.
Silhouetted against the night sky, six figures hovered in mid-air, their wings shimmering in the soft moonlight. They wore armors of silver and gold, glowing ethereally, their beauty belying their deadly intent. The angels had arrived.
The Elohim.
Including Hannah, now resplendent as Adrielis.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the Elohim swooped into the room, their wings folding elegantly behind them as they landed. They drew their swords, the blades gleaming with a supernatural light. Each of them moved with an unearthly grace, their eyes focused on Giordano, unblinking and intense.
There was no time for Giordano to react. The angels advanced, their movements synchronized as if they had rehearsed this dance a thousand times. They launched themselves at him, their swords slashing through the air with lethal precision.
The Elohim, thanks to the Dark God’s machinations, were not as powerful as they once were. It was clear in the strain of their attacks, in the fatigue that crept into their movements, that they were not the invincible angels of the heavens anymore. Yet, they fought valiantly, their swords clashing against an ornate spear that Giordano had snatched from somewhere. The echo of metal against metal rang through the sanctum, an ominous symphony of the battle unfolding.
Giordano fought with an impressive agility and strength, defying his bulky form. His movements were fluid and swift, his strikes precise and deadly. But, his true power lay not in his physical prowess, but in the power he gained from being a Mytholite. And it was a power he was about to unleash in full force.
Suddenly, his form began to change, his body contorting in grotesque ways. His suit ripped apart as his flesh morphed and shifted. There was a sickening sound of cracking bones and tearing flesh, and then, where once stood a man, a godly entity towered.
Giordano was no longer a man. He was Osiris, the god of the underworld. His skin had turned an eerie green, and his eyes blazed like emeralds. He was dressed in ancient Egyptian attire, a lavish white kilt adorned with golden and turquoise embellishments. Around his neck hung a large pectoral, encrusted with precious stones and bearing the symbol of power and life, the Ankh. His head was adorned with the Atef crown, a white headdress flanked by two ostrich feathers. In his hand, he held a ceremonial crook and flail, the symbols of divine authority in ancient Egypt.
His transformation was met with gasps and silent horror. The sanctum, once a place of dread, had transformed into an eerie battlefield from an age long forgotten. The air crackled with palpable tension as Osiris stared down the Elohim, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
As Osiris, Giordano radiated an overpowering sense of raw and unchecked power. He moved with inhuman agility, his movements punctuated by deadly grace as he turned to face the Elohim. The smile on his lips grew wider, more devilish, as he raised his flail and crook, the air around them shimmering with an unearthly energy.
With a swift movement, he slammed the crook against the ground. A powerful shockwave rippled outward, the ground beneath our feet trembling. The Elohim, caught off guard, were thrown backward. One of the angels was hurled against a nearby pillar. With a sickening crunch, the angel slumped to the ground, his silver armor stained red with celestial blood.
"In your arrogance, you thought to challenge me?" Giordano's voice, cold and menacing, echoed through the chaos. "You forget that it's I who wields the power here."
In the blink of an eye, Osiris was upon another. The flail in his hand swirled into a blur, striking a female Elohim across the chest. The Elohim let out a cry as she was flung across the room, her armor shattering upon impact with the wall. Her body, now limp, crumbled to the ground, the once vibrant glow of her ethereal form fading into a dim flicker.
Giordano's harsh laughter resonated in the aftermath. "Your pathetic celestial light is nothing compared to the power I wield," he sneered.
The remaining Elohim regrouped, their weapons at the ready once more. However, before they could even launch their attack, Osiris was already upon them. His movements were nothing more than a blur as he descended upon the Elohim. With one swift motion, the crook came down, slicing through another angel’s defenses and cutting deep into their celestial form. The angel let out a cry as he fell, his form disintegrating into a fading burst of light.
The room was silent, save for the harsh breathing of the remaining Elohim and the cruel laughter of Osiris.
Gazing around at the devastation wrought by Osiris, I knew it was time for me to do what I had come here to do.
First, I summoned the Hellbastards to back up the Elohim. The demons appeared beside me and then immediately ran over to where Hannah was to join the stand off.
“More grist for the mill,” Giordano said with a sinister chuckle. He stretched out his hands, his fingers twisting as if drawing something from the ether. The room darkened inexplicably, the light seeming to recede, and a cold wind swept across the space.
