Overly cautious, he remained completely still as the minutes ticked by slowly. The mind below soon lost interest and moved on to other things. He breathed out slowly, silently, in relief and stood upright. Raising himself onto his toes, he reached up and retrieved his swords from the window ledge. With quick, deft movements, he strapped them back on, only then feeling whole. Without his swords, he felt like a part of him was missing and it was only rare moments like this one when he was actually parted from them. Truth to tell, he sometimes felt like they were his only friends.
At a snail’s pace so as to not make any more unnecessary noise, he edged his way towards the walkway railing and peered over. Forty feet below, it was as he remembered. The uncertain, flickering light of a handful of storm lanterns gave the vista more of a welcoming appeal than he would have thought possible, like the light shed by a roaring fireplace in a cabin in the woods. The image was reinforced by the sleeping forms of several humans directly below him, comfortable, warm and relaxed on their filthy mattresses. The main floor of the warehouse was divided up by makeshift barriers, mostly comprised of dirty sheets and blankets. The sleeping area was but one. Other areas were clearly designated as food preparation and storage. From his vantage point, he could see two rumpled and disheveled cooks in dirty aprons sweating over a very large steaming cauldron. Sam could smell the contents but he was careful not to inhale too deeply. One section was obviously an armory; an improvised table had been made and on it rested several weapons, more than one in its component pieces, with at least three men working on them.
But the most interesting and disturbing section from his perspective was the massive cage hulking in one corner of the warehouse. Steel girders, mostly held together and tied by steel cable, rope and in some cases, wields, formed the basic structure. A solid-looking metal door, cannibalized from what had probably been a bank, enabled entry and egress from the structure. Trapped inside the improvised prison were about twenty miserable, emaciated humans. At least half of them lay on the bare floor while the other half stood listlessly at the bars, staring with blank eyes, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Two armed men stood guard outside.
Sam tore his eyes away from them, aware that he was breathing more heavily. He felt the onset of what he now considered his ‘blood fury’ mode; a time when his irises went from black to red and his anger took complete control of his body. His suppressed it with an effort. The time would come when he would welcome the anger with open arms, but not quite yet.
A part of his mind detached itself from his emotions as he scanned the rest of the area with a practiced warrior’s eye. Not counting the prisoners but including the two guards outside, there were about ten humans currently up and about within the walls of the warehouse. All up, there were probably thirty people he would have to contend with if or when it came to a fight. Too many, even for him.
In order to get to the cage, he’d have to descend through the sleeping area of the warehouse. The walkway ran along the entire inner wall but unfortunately had only one access point. That point was a metal ladder fixed to the side of the wall which just happened to be right next to a mattress that was currently covered by a human occupant. Sneaking through those sleeping forms without being noticed — that was doable. He was rather adept by now at clinging to the shadows, and the uncertain light in the warehouse was an incredible bonus. This, combined with his exceptional senses, meant he had an advantage. Was it enough, though, to balance their strength of numbers? Perhaps. Providing of course that he didn’t wake anyone up. If he could take out the ten humans currently awake without any of the others noticing, he had a chance. If he slipped up, his chances of survival were remote. And that was just against the humans. If some demons decided to join the fray, he truly was doomed.
Inwardly sighing, he crept along the walkway, his footsteps incredibly light, ensuring that he shifted his weight subtly to compensate for the movement of the wood beneath his feet. He made absolutely no sound. When he reached the ladder, Sam paused momentarily to reassess. He looked beneath him. Still no one had noticed him; the sleepers slept on and the others carried on completely oblivious to the danger that floated above them.
He took the ladder two steps at a time, his long legs easily able to stretch the distance. Within moments, Sam was down, hugging the wall and the shadows. The nearest cot was so close he could have stretched out and touched the human occupant. It was a man, lying on his side with his back to him, covered in a grimy blanket.
Sam was about to move again when the man coughed and rolled over. For whatever reason — maybe his sixth sense alerted him, maybe it was a completely random reflex; it hardly mattered — the man opened his eyes, his stare finding Sam as if deliberate. Time seemed to stretch. It was possibly no more than a couple of seconds, but in that time, Sam saw a number of emotions in those eyes: denial, realization and stunned shock. The man’s eyes widened, his mouth began to open. Without realizing that he had moved, Sam was next to him, one of his hands clamped over the stranger’s mouth. His Wakizashi was already out. In a controlled, thrifty movement, the blade moved out and then quickly in, straight through the man’s throat.
Sam held him down until his death throes were finished. It was only then that he looked up — straight into the pupils of the person in the next cot along. He was sitting up, staring with horror at the scene unfolding next to him.
Before Sam had time to react, the man screamed out an alarm.
Chapter Eight
“ They sacrificed to demons, which are not God- gods they had not known, gods that recently appeared, gods your fathers did not fear.”
C ursing under his breath, Sam darted through the dirty sheet that marked off the sleeping area from the rest of the warehouse. It fluttered about him like washing in a fierce wind, and he used the momentary distraction to draw his other sword — the long to the Wakizashi’s short. His Katana. His most treasured possession and an object that was closer to him than any brother. Sam’s instincts told him that another man, fully awake with adrenaline coursing through his body, was just past the sheet.
Sam knew exactly where the man was; knew with absolute certainty that the man had a shotgun that was even now being swiveled in his direction. He could even smell the iron pellets that the shotgun was loaded with. Sam could take no risks. A shotgun with iron shells at close range could seriously incapacitate even him.
Both swords emerged out of the sheet even before Sam had, looking like a silvery extension of the material. The man armed with the shotgun probably wasn’t even aware that death was upon him, only that something vaguely man-shaped was moving through the sheet. His finger was on the trigger and he’d almost rotated the barrel of his gun in Sam’s direction, ready to fire, when the blades punctured him. The man up at the figure that suddenly hulked over him, flinching from the fiery eyes; glancing down at the two blades protruding from his chest, he coughed once and then promptly died.
Sam didn’t give the man a second look. Kicking the body off his swords, he sprinted in the direction of the cage. He gave into his anger, unleashing it, using it to make him faster, stronger. He would need it now. His senses told him that every human within the warehouse was now awake and alert to the danger. Even now, he could hear others raising the alarm. Despite the confusion and uncertainty, they’d pick up weapons with every intention of using them, and shotguns and rifles, all loaded with the dreaded iron, were being cocked right now.