The Primordial Predator And His Harem Of Monsters. Chapter 35: Now Slam Your Head Against The Window

The only light in the world (it seed) was the cherry-red glow of Leo’s weed-roll and the dim yellow beams of his headlights cutting a narrow path through the absolute black.

He drove a Lingo-354, a boxy, colorful bus in the past, now faded to the colour of bruised plums and rust.

It was his ho; the ornants, cooking materials, and pieces of clothing scattered all over the back proved it.

But tonight this vehicle seed less like a ho and more like a shield protecting him from the dark woods; everyone knew not to go near this place at night.

On both sides of the winding, narrow road, the woods of pine and skeletal birch leaned in, almost covering the road, their shadows so deep that they seed to swallow light itself.

"Fuck this," Leo muttered and turned to his radio, an off-colored device on his dashboard that buzzed slightly, increasing the unsettling nature of his drive.

With that, he resolved to change the channel, and when he did, a newscaster’s voice (crisp and unnervingly calm) filled the cab.

[...reiterating their statent that the so-called ’Binland Incident’ involving the missing Dr. Carla Harrison was the result of a stolen, classified bio-weapon. Officials are urging the public to disregard speculation of a... supernatural nature, calling such claims a ’dangerous fantasy.’]

As Leo listened, he took a long, slow drag of his blunt, the smoke burning his lungs.

’A bio-weapon, huh? They settled on that? Nah, it’s gotta be demons and shit,’ he suddenly shook his head, trying not to think negatively in a place like this.

He rembered the footage floating online, how she easily changed floors with that tail, ’If it is a bio-weapon, that shit is cool, but now it’s not as interesting anymore. Let’s see if anything else is on,’ he thought as he switched the radio station.

With a crackle of static, a different voice rang out, this one more frantic, a talk-radio host: [a high-tech bio-weapon? Co on! A survivor described things that literally defy physics, biology-]

Leo scoffed at those words, a low, gravelly sound lost in the rumble of the engine, ’fucking talk-show host,’ he thought as he twisted the dial again, cutting off the man’s desperate rationale.

The radio scanned through the night for signals, catching snippets of a pop song, a preacher raging about end tis, and then, a cool, detached report of a murder case in a District he’d never visited.

Furrowing his brows, Leo twisted the knob again, and heard talk of murder; he twisted the nob again and heard talk of another murder.

Next? Murder!

Next? Murder!

Murder!

Murder!

Murder!

Murder! Each one more grueso than the last, the notion of people dying had beco such an everyday occurrence that he almost felt desensitized to it.

There was nothing he could do.

His eyes (heavy-lidded and dim) looked up to the windshield, and through the grimy glass, he saw the moon floating fat and full in the sky.

But it was wrong.

It was a lurid, burnt orange, a sickly pumpkin hue that stained the blackened clouds and bled a malevolent light over the twisted road.

It was an ill moon, a liar’s moon, but he was sure of it, ’The moon has always been orange...’

He looked back to the road at this thought and suddenly caught sight of a woman (or the glimpse of a woman) standing in the dead center of his lane, her form a shadow in the orange gloom... It was too sudden.

"Scree!"

"FUCCCCXK!" Left with little ti to react, a guttural curse tore through Leo’s throat as he turned his steering wheel and stomped on the brakes.

The bus scread in response, its tires skidding on the damp asphalt, the entire world lurching violently to the side.

"Argh," the man groaned as the seatbelt bit into his shoulder, the loose contents of his life clattering and crashing around him.

When the bus finally slewed to a stop, half on the road, half in the woods, the silence that rushed in was deafening.

"It would seem we have scared you," a familiar voice spoke from his window soon after, noting the obvious.

The voice was strange to hear for the first ti in the sense that it bore no friendliness, worry, care nor hostility, it was just plain, almost robotic.

Leo was forced to turn and saw a man with ssy dark hair, pale skin, and deep, deep black eyes, and he wasn’t sure, but they seed to spin.

There was sothing uncanny about him, and in the next mont, Leo shifted gears to reverse and stepped on it, his car shooting backwards away from this unfamiliar man.

"Bam!"

A loud crash rang out as his left-side door was flung open, almost ripped out from its tal hinges.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Leo scread in terror as he slamd the brakes again. His eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest, his pupils dilating.

"Is that the only word in your lexicon?" Mr. Valen’s voice sounded out again as he let himself into the now-opened bus.

"Scoot!" A A woman’s voice, mature and commanding, sounded out soon after, forcing Mr. Valen to indeed scoot.

’Who the fuck are these people?’ Leo thought as he sat there, frozen as the woman closed the door (or what was left of the door) with a forced bang.

"What is your na?" Mr. Valen then spoke as he turned to him, his large form folded in the middle (between him and this strange woman).

"I-I’m Leo," Leo responded, resolving not to put up a fight.

"Good. Now, where are we, Leo?" Mr. Valen then asked, spreading his arms, his fingers caressing the back of Leo’s neck, digging into his flesh.

"We’re on Vinuz freeway," Leo responded instantly, his voice strained, his heartbeat increasing once more.

"The one that leads to the Forty-third district?" Mr. Valen muttered, his tone deliberate. "Take us back to the Forty-second district, and who knows, you might just live. AND LEO!" He suddenly raised his voice.

"YES!" Leo responded in shock, his face pale.

"Pick up your cannabis from the carpet; it is a fire hazard," Mr. Valen suggested.

"Yes sir," Leo complied and slowly picked up his weed, throwing it out the window as he started the engine.

With that, he turned the vehicle around and resud his journey on the open road.

"Now, onto more important matters," Mr. Valen turned to Carla, "Tell what you know about my mother, Athyst, and the nature of her powers," he commanded, prompting a purple glow on Carla’s chest.

"Ha, you think it’d be that easy," Carla giggled slightly, her voice as though she’d been waiting for this exact mont, "I know almost nothing about Athyst or your mother. All I rember is you stabbing your birth mother when she was tied to a tree. I rember that I was there, but I don’t know how. I don’t even rember the faces of the other people that were there!"

’The fuck?’ Leo thought, his eyes glued to the road, fearing death in the face of any unnecessary movent.

anwhile, "How is that possible?" Mr. Valen spoke, knowing that she was not lying by the rit of the compulsion mark.

"You never asked what Athyst’s powers are," Carla whispered to him, forcing him to narrow his eyes at her, as if warning her to stop the back and forth.

Taking a breath, the smile left Carla’s face and, as though heeding Mr. Valen’s warning, she asked, "Do you rember what Athyst looks like?"

"Yes. She is a black woman with blue eyes and silver hair," Mr. Valen spoke, a strange look in his eyes as he watched Carla as though she was crazy.

"I rember her as a blind Asian woman with black hair," Carla simply spoke, turning to Mr. Valen as she asked, "Do you understand what this ans?"

Mr. Valen was quiet at her words. He understood what she was implying, but he just couldn’t believe it. He trusted his mind wholly, but then he rembered what Carla herself was able to do.

"So I am to assu this is the reason for your fragnted mory? That Athyst has tampered with your mind?" Mr. Valen asked.

"I don’t rember anything relating to her. I feel like I know more of your childhood from sowhere other than that single mory but I can’t rember; huge chunks of my mories are missing, Valen, and I don’t know why," Carla spoke, her eyes widening slightly, her gaze peering into his void-like eyes looking for so kind of clue, emotion, sothing...

But there was nothing.

Mr. Valen then began to speak, narrating the events that happened in the club while Carla was unconscious.

Leo just drove, his ears rattling with all he heard, ’Dr. Carla, superhumans, gods, The Artist... They’re gonna kill , they’re gonna kill , they’re gonna kill ,’ he thought as he looked around for an escape of so sort.

When Mr. Valen finished speaking, Carla went quiet, her eyes narrowing as she spoke, "That exploding head thing, that must be one of Athyst’s minions... do you rember what the agent was talking about before he died? 82."

"Hmm. He spoke of a god nad Ly-" just when Mr. Valen wanted to speak that na, he felt an oppressive chill lock onto him instantly, the sa chill he’d felt at the bar when the NIU hellspawn uttered the sa words.

Simultaneously, his avatar (the shadowy humanoid) popped out its head from the dashboard and smiled at him, the sa terrifying smile that it had given him many tis before.

"What? Don’t you rember the na?" Carla swallowed and spoke, prompting Mr. Valen to slowly turn and look at her, his heart pounding against his chest as a small smile blood on his face. "This is why I like you with claws, now slam your head against the window!"