Angel's Creed, three

[theguindo]

Wooow chapter 3 is like way short comparatively. I think it ends at the best place it could end though, so hm. 3,895 words.

FEEDBACK IS AWESOME. I would like to know:
- What you like
- What you dislike
- Whether anything pulls you out of the reading (poor phrasing, something happens that you have to stop to puzzle out, a world-specific thing is ill-defined enough to stop your reading inertia, can't tell who's speaking for a certain line or set of lines, etc)
- Is the mood appropriately conveyed?
- Impressions of the characters/world/setting/story thus far?
- Anything you think needs to be expanded upon or described in more detail?
- Other thoughts, comments, or concerns

Chapter 3

The Summoner's Bogeyman didn't look like an unrepentant killer. He looked like a perfectly charming beastman with perfect hair and a perfect smile. He had green eyes and cream-coloured fur and white hair that fell in waves down his back, and he wore black trousers and a long black coat which was open to show his bare chest. There was a large patch of fur missing over his left breast - what looked like a very old burn scar. And even as he stood there, casually holding a wicked-looking knife, he still looked like a perfect gentleman.

"Oh, don't look like that, love, it's nothing personal," he said, as if that would reassure her. "Summoners just go against the natural order of things, is all. World's better off without them, don't you think?"

"N...no! I don't think!" she shouted back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that she should be running, but she wasn't quite conscious of the reality of her situation. This was the sort of thing that only happened to other people.

"Well, that's obvious, love."

She glared at him.

He grinned, flipping the knife around in his hand. "I'm glad you've decided to make this easy on me. I'll return the favour and make yours quick."

If he killed her projection, she'd die on the Mortal Plane too. When he took that first step toward her, she realized just how serious this situation was. Her self-preservation instinct finally kicked in.

She drew her revolver and took up a forward-facing shooting stance, just like Uncle Esteban had shown her. "Don't come any closer, I'll shoot." (Her voice wavered, which made her sound less threatening than she looked.)

He didn't stop. He kept walking right up to her until the gun's barrel pressed against the fur-less patch on his chest. "Will you? Have you ever killed anybody?"

Of course she hadn't. She lived at a church. It wasn't like she ever had cause to defend herself against certain death. She was certain she could pull the trigger if she had to, though.

But there he was, with his chest against the barrel of the gun, and there she was, not firing it.

He smiled; it was deceptively pleasant. "How much do you know about guns, I wonder?"

Projecting form was easy, but if a summoner didn't know substance then projected items wouldn't work right. She didn't know enough about the inside of her gun to have projected it right. If she pulled the trigger, it wasn't going to fire.

Her realization must have been obvious, because his smile turned very smug.
But she took a deep breath and cocked the gun, shifting her weight to her left leg as she did. She looked him straight in the eye...and then slammed her right foot up between his legs as hard as she could.

He crumpled instantly with a strangled cry, and she took off running.

This was ridiculous. They were only a day out of Almsland. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen at the beginning of a story!

She slowed to a stop, leaning against a tree and panting. What she needed to do was run back to her body and wake up from her trance. As long as she was here, he could corner her alone. If he confronted her on the Mortal Plane, he'd have to go through Matt, Joel, and the bird. Not to mention her gun would actually work out there.

But she didn't know how far she'd run, and while she knew the general direction of her body, she didn't know how far it was. It was also back toward the crazy, and she didn't know how long he would stay down.

She shoved the gun back into its holster and buried her face in her hands, letting out a quiet whine. This was bad.

"Okay, Amelia," she told herself, squaring her shoulders. "There has to be something you can do. You can't just stand around like a damsel in distress while some crazy beastman tries to kill you - aaahhh somebody is really trying to kill me!" She cupped her hands over her mouth and forced a couple deep breaths to try to contain her panic.

Maybe if she could find Bernard, he'd help her. Where was he, though? Probably back at the camp with Matt and Joel and her body - which was back in the direction of the killer. "Augh!" She froze, listening for signs that she'd been heard.

Running back to camp was really her only option, wasn't it? If she concentrated, she could feel the pull back toward her physical form, but going straight for it was a bad idea. She knew that it was across the road, though, so she tried to use that pull to find the shortest path back to the road.

Uncle Esteban had always told her that when faced with a problem, she needed to face it back and take action. And Uncle Esteban had been in plenty of life and death situations, so he definitely knew what he was talking about.

So what would Uncle Esteban do, if his gun didn't work and he couldn't just punch the guy out? (She was pretty sure she couldn't do that, and the kick was the sort of trick that would only work once.) The answer was that Uncle Esteban would run down that road and find his body and come back with a vengeance once his gun did work. (This metaphor had broken down somewhere.)

She started toward where she thought the road was, jogging through the forest.

Bernard's voice, full-volume and not the tinny little voice that accompanied his miniature projection, came right next to her ear. "What's the rush, doll?"

She barely held back a scream, nearly twisting her ankle as the shock tripped her up. She stared up at him from the ground, hands pressed over her mouth.

He hovered beside her, arms folded over his chest, one green eyebrow arched.

Her hands came away from her mouth. "Bernard I need your help," came out as a single word.

"I ain't obligated to help you," he responded, jabbing a thumb in the direction her body pulled from. "Only the princess."

"Bernard!" she pleaded.

He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "I could help you, I guess, but you owe me."

"Bernard, the Summoner's Bogeyman is trying to kill me!"

"Saving your life, huh? What's that worth to you?"

"You-!" She scowled at him, tears blurring her vision. "You are a horrible person! Can you stop being petty for one minute to help somebody out?"

"When it's you?"

She climbed to her feet and punched him in the chest. She wasn't particularly strong and didn't know how to punch the way Joel did, but it at least made him stumble back a few steps. "Fine! I don't need your help!" She ran past him, swiping tears out of her eyes so she could see.

She could handle this herself. She didn't need some jerk of a faerie to do things for her. She wasn't some helpless waif who caught the vapors and fainted anytime something remotely dangerous happened.

"Khim's wings," came Bernard's voice from beside her. She ignored it and kept running. "Alright, kid, you got spirit. I'll help you out. What do you want me to do for you?"

That was unexpected. She stumbled to a stop, but caught herself from actually falling this time. He hovered in front of her, waiting. "Um. Wake me up?" It was the first thing that came to mind. "If you hit me in the head, that should work. Just, not too hard." It was a tactic she'd been told to use only in emergencies. Come to think of it, she probably should have told Matt about it.

A smirk appeared on his face. "Whack you upside the head? Not a problem."

She glared.

He flew off without another word, up through the trees.

That wasn't something she wanted to rely on, though. Who knew if he'd actually do it, or do it in time? She kept running.

She stepped out of the trees onto the road, turned toward the direction of her body, and right into the cream-furred chest of the very man she was trying to avoid.

He grabbed her before she had time to react, his fingers digging into the fabric of her collar. "Forget what I said about making it quick."

One shove and she hit the ground. She tried to crawl to her feet, scurry away, something, but he shoved her head down into the dirt and straddled her back, pinning her under his weight. She choked out a cry. This was not fair.

"I was going to be civil about it, you know. No need to make things any worse than they've got to be. But I must say I feel rather justified in taking things down a level, don't you think?"

"I don't think!" she screamed. Her vision blurred with tears again. If Bernard didn't wake her up, she was going to die.

"We've already established that, love."

She sobbed. She didn't want to rely on that stupid, petty, mean little man. Her Uncle Esteban would be so disappointed in her if she just gave up now and waited to be saved. But she couldn't hit him, she was pinned on her stomach, and she couldn't struggle out from underneath the full weight of a beastman well over six feet tall.

She buried her face in her arms and tried desperately to keep from openly sobbing. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Once she went still, he asked, "What's your name, love?"

She wanted to spit out a vitriolic reply, but in one of her rare moments of better judgment she realized that insulting somebody who was intent on killing her and already angry was not the best of ideas. The longer she kept him talking, the better her chances of staying alive until Bernard pulled her out of her trance. She sniffled, and muttered, "Amelia."

"Amelia, hm? Lovely name. Always liked it. They call me Slay. Bit theatric, don't you think?"

The fact that he sounded so cordial about it made her furious. "Yeah," she replied, barely holding back the urge to scream something obscene. Slay was a stupid name. Top of the list of melodramatic villain names. Somehow it didn't surprise her.

"I like it though. It fits. I've always wanted to be the sort of bloke what's got a cheesy pseudonym telling you exactly what to expect."

She didn't respond.

"Well. Now that we've got our pleasantries out of the way, Amelia, it's time to get this done with. I know I said this was nothing personal, but to tell the truth, it is now. I'm sure you understand."

"I don't understand!" she cried.

"No," he said. She felt his weight shift as he leaned forward to speak beside her ear. "I get the feeling you don't understand much, do you? It's alright, love. It's an issue that needn't trouble you anymore after today."

* * *

Joel's head snapped up. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear wh-" Something barreled into Matt's back with all the force of an avalanche, knocking him off his feet and throwing the rifle out of his hands.

He was ashamed of himself for that before he ever considered what hit him. Soldiers were not supposed to drop their weapons when potential dangers slammed into them from behind; they were supposed to tighten their hold so that they didn't end up completely defenseless with some unseen assailant hauling them up and twisting an arm behind their backs and pressing an axe-blade against their throats. See, if he hadn't dropped his rifle, he could've done something about that.

"Khim's wings," he muttered, holding his free hand up in surrender.

On the bright side, at least his scarf kept the axe away from his skin, so he didn't need to suffer with his painful metal allergy in addition to being held hostage. Damn, where the hell was Bernard? This was exactly the sort of thing he was supposed to watch out for.

Yvonne was at the end of her rope, feathers flared and lips drawn back to show her needle-sharp teeth. Matt cursed that he'd forgotten to untie her. Nothing gets a guy to rethink attacking an ANGEL like a charging thurgia.

Joel, unfortunately several feet away, had for once lost his constant smile. Instead he was staring with a look of wide-eyed surprise that seemed much more appropriate for his young face than that priestly wisdom he usually wore.

Matt tried to see what he could of his assailant, but he couldn't exactly get a good look with the axe-blade against his throat. The most he could glimpse was the large hand holding the axe in place. Four fingers. Beastman. The fur beyond the confines of the fingerless green glove was red-brown and grimy looking.

The voice confirmed his race with the harsh accent characteristic of the Guram region and thus the Gura beastmen. "Don' nobody move. I'll take 'is 'ead clean off."

Yvonne let out a low hiss. Joel's eyes darted to her but he remained otherwise still.

"Call off your bird," said the (presumed) Gura.

"She's not a bird," Matt deadpanned back.

"I've got an axe on your neck. Don't get smart with me."

He sighed and barked out an order. "Yvonne! Stand down!"

Reluctantly, she stepped back and straightened, stopped baring her teeth, but never took her eyes off of Matt's captor and kept her hackles raised.

Joel's smile found its way back into place, though a bit anxious. "Is there anything we can do for you, sir?"

"Yeah, you can keep quiet an' gimme your money."

Joel's smile hardened. Matt suddenly got the feeling that was the wrong thing to ask him for. Great. He was going to die.

"Are you so destitute that you must resort to theft? Are you so desperate for money that you must steal from a holy man?"

"Er..." He sounded shockingly hesitant. "Not exactly..."

"There are better ways to handle financial troubles, sir. The church can assist you in finding work, if you need it. Would you really endanger the fate of your ghost for a material thing like money? Would you buy your way to Hell with stolen drachma?"

"Er...well it ain't exactly... That is..." He seemed to grow frustrated and unfortunately that made him twist Matt's arm painfully. "Oi, shut it, don't lecture me."

"Don't lecture him, Father," Matt echoed, wincing. Why wasn't Bernard here? It was his job to keep Matt from suffering grievous bodily harm and right now it looked like he was failing.

Joel's eyes flickered past the Gura for the briefest of moments before returning to him. He said nothing, and his face remained set in its hard, mirthless smile.

"Hi," came a completely unfamiliar voice from somewhere behind the Gura. "You might want to let him go." That L sounded a little thick - sign of an elven accent, though the other signs were very faint.

The things you notice when pinned in a deadly situation.

But he wasn't pinned much longer; the axe came away from his throat and the pressure on his arm disappeared. The instant he was free, he darted forward and snatched up his rifle. He was not taking any chances on anybody changing their minds. He took up a kneeling position, aiming at the beastman that had held him hostage, and only then, once he was confident of his control over the situation, did he take the time to notice what he was looking at.

The beastman was indeed a Gura, and a pretty stereotypical one at that. He had the hunched posture and hulking physique, tusks, matted red-brown fur, and grungy moss-green dreadlocks held back by a red bandana. Overall the sort of big dumb brute that you don't want to meet in a dark alley.

His look was very much at odds with the slim, graceful elf who held a longsword at his throat.

The elf was wearing a goblin mask. That was something you don't see every day.

"Maybe you'd better leave," the elf said.

The Gura took a step back, and another step, and then turned and ran, shoving the axe in his belt and dropping to all fours.

Matt stood, lowering his rifle (but not completely) as the elf turned to them, shouldering the sword. "Convenient timing," he muttered.

"You're welcome," was the too-cheerful reply. It dropped to a more serious tone. "I saw him from the road, figured he wasn't up to any good. Looks like I got here just in time."

"Thank you," Joel said, but it was stiffly polite.

That made Matt arch an eyebrow.

The masked elf slid the sword into its sheath and then set a gloved hand beside the mask's painted mouth to call out, "Qiver, Oriole! Get over here!"

Seconds later, a goblin and the half-beastman kid Matt had given his autograph to stepped out of the trees and stopped beside the elf. Oriole seemed nervous and tried to avoid looking at Matt; his eyes settled on Amelia's unconscious form instead.

That made Matt arch the other eyebrow alongside the first. "Were you following us?"

"Heaven forbid, sir." The elf made an exaggerated sort of wave, as if sweeping the suggestion aside. "We're just some traveling mages from the Nenakret who happened to leave from Alrael the same day you did."

"Right." He didn't buy it.

Bernard appeared on Matt's shoulder; he knew because he heard the sudden, "Khim's wings, there's too many people here. Think you can get 'em gone so I can clock the broad in the head?"

Matt made an enormous effort of will to contain his response.

The masked elf nodded toward Amelia. "Maybe you guys should wake up your summoner and get moving, just in case that Gura comes back."

"Oh, sure, steal my thunder."

"Even if he did come back, we could beat him," Oriole said, with the sort of nonchalant confidence that comes with youth. "There's too many of us here now."

"And if he came back with backup?"

That made Oriole go quiet.

"It's right," Joel agreed quietly.

The masked elf nodded, arms folding, as if to say, "You bet I'm right."

Joel moved to Amelia and knelt before her. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself, and then very calmly hit her upside the head with the flat of his forearm.

Oriole took a step back, eyes wide, one hand over his mouth. He looked like he very much wanted to say something, but at the same time absolutely did not.

Matt took note. Amelia lent herself to that tactic rather well.

"Ugh and I don't even get the satisfaction," complained Bernard.

Amelia's eyes fluttered open. As soon as they fell on Joel, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank Alm," she said.

"Amelia?" He put his arms around her like he was trying uncertainly to comfort a younger sibling.

"It was the Summoner's Bogeyman."

"What?" Matt's sense of urgency carried over to his tone.

That urgency was apparently lost on certain others present, because Oriole just tilted his head and responded, "The huh?"

The masked elf slipped a hand under his long hair to grab him by the collar and start hauling him off. The goblin followed silently in their wake. "The big bad monster who kills summoners. Stop asking questions and get moving."

Oriole's frustrated protests fell on deaf ears.

"We need to leave, Amelia," Joel told her.

She pulled back, sniffling and nodding. He helped her to her feet and led her toward the road.

Matt untied Yvonne and followed, throwing a final glance back at the trees for anything suspicious. "Did you see what happened?" he asked Bernard under his breath.

"Nah. She just punched me and told me to wake her up."

He blinked. "She what?"

"She punches like a girl."

He choked back a laugh.

That wasn't helpful, though. He'd have to get the full story from her later. He ran to catch up and emerged onto the road where the others were waiting.

The mages had stayed. Oriole looked surly and petulant, and the other two looked as unreadable as goblins always did when they didn't want to be read. Matt spared them a cursory glance before heading to his party and handing out orders. "We're walking until we hit Rodale. Keep your eyes out. We've got at least one bandit and the killer to look out for. Move."

Joel led Amelia by the hand. She stayed close.

Matt climbed into Yvonne's saddle to follow. When he looked up, he saw the trio of mages walking along behind Joel and Amelia. He urged his thurgia forward to fall into pace alongside their group. "Who in Alm's name are you people?"

Amelia slowed, falling back to listen, pulling Joel with her. He glanced over his shoulder, but otherwise didn't react.

"Like I said, just some mages from the Nenakret. I'm Zahn, the quiet one's Qiver, and I hear you've already met Oriole. He wouldn't stop talking about it. 'Major Richards gave me his autograph!' 'Major Richards is such a cool guy!' 'When I grow up I want to be just like Major Richards!' Kids." An exaggerated shrug. "You know how they are."

Oriole, meanwhile, glared at Zahn with the sort of passion that precedes strangulation.

"The elf's alright, princess," Bernard supplied from Matt's shoulder. "It ain't gonna turn around and stab you or anything."

He grudgingly accepted Bernard's word. He was still suspicious, of course, but that was more a healthy survival instinct than anything else. If Bernard said these mages weren't out to do them any harm, he could be fairly certain of it.

"Well, Zahn," he said, "if you're going to accompany us to Rodale, I expect you to help."

"The sword's not for show, Major," was the confident reply.

Satisfied with that, he turned to Amelia, who was listening in but trying to be discreet about it and failing. "Varista, what happened?"

She jumped, startled. "What?"

"The killer. What happened?"

"Um, he tried to kill me." Matt gave her a flat look, which was lost on her since she wasn't facing him. She continued, nonetheless. "He was a beastman, the kind with the horn - Wyule. And he said his name was Slay. He seemed really polite until he tried to kill me..."

"And he cornered you on the Spirit Plane?"

"Uh huh."

Which meant he was either a Spirit or a summoner.

...Which also meant he was a potential candidate, in either case, for the one who had petrified those ANGELs at Lyndas. And if he was the culprit, and was trying to break the Seals, then he would be headed for Wey too.

"No more trancing until we figure this out, Varista," he said. If the guy was going to be heading there way, best not to take any chances.

She didn't argue. She just pulled closer to Joel and answered with a subdued, "Alright."

This mission was shaping up to be a lot more trouble than it was worth.