Neon Shadows #9 Part 1 - Shadows Ascend

General Summary

Part 1 - Interlude in the Performance Hall

11AM, Friday 2/18/2022.
Deucalion spent the end of the night and part of the morning in a grimy motel room in New Mexico City. After a quiet breakfast with the team, they drove back to the city. Jay, driving a stolen sedan, dropped Deucalion off at the Mezzanine.
As Deucalion walked through the dusty halls towards the library, he felt a strange force pulling him towards the main concert hall. It was as if many unseen hands were gripping and tugging on his cloak. The pull wasn't strong enough to force him, but it was palpable.
He paused, gathered his gear, including a few charms, and then returned to grab Wyatt's medal, pocketing it before allowing the compulsion to guide him towards the concert hall.
The concert hall loomed like a massive, gaping maw. The angled ornamentation along the stage arch resembled the open mouth of a shark. The stage surface, along with most of the chairs in the auditorium, was barely visible through the rolling black miasma.
A voice echoed from the darkness. "You were once a shadow - to be heard, pondered but hidden. Neither alive nor dead and hardly even anything between."
The miasma rose, taking the shape of, or covering, a massive, bulbous head that spanned the entire chamber. It rose just enough to reveal two crimson orbs looking Deucalion's way, as if a giant stood below the room with just its head tilted up.
"But now we see you. Some already know your name."
Deucalion stopped resisting the compulsion but still walked as close as the force pulled him. He faced the dark monstrosity with a straight back and a luminous glint in his eye. In a powerful and commanding voice, he spoke, "I am born of shadow, that is true, but also of the light that bolsters them and defines them, gives them substance, if only for a moment. My existence is not that of any mere shadow, powerless but to precede or recede behind its caster. I am the Shadow that casts itself to supersede its creator! And I would have my name known!"
The crimson eyes remained constant and unmoving. "A shadow which creates itself. A light behind a shadow. A living thing that is not living. A husk infected with life or a life infected with unlife. Few have seen such kind. But I have, and I know your kind is not often... tolerated. A side of the mirror must be chosen."
The pulling sensation faded. "For all your posturing, I alone can smell the decision you have made, the doors you have opened."
"Death."
After a beat, Deucalion nodded slowly. He had suspected this. "And what, pray, does such a choice concern the miasma in my house?"
"The spider hiding in the attic is now running across the floor. Some will want to crush it, others put it in a jar. And everyone is looking. I do not want eyes on this place. When they come, lead them elsewhere to declare your allegiance."
Deucalion's eyes widened slightly then narrowed once more. He was not expecting the entity to be so forthright. He may have an advantage, though he suspected it could be a trap. "And how will I know who 'they' are when 'they' arrive? Tell me this, demon. And I will leave you to your brooding. We are momentarily aligned in that we both wish our sanctuary to remain sacrosanct."
"They must announce themselves, as is the ritual. You are the door. We are indeed aligned in our desire for secrecy. I am not ready to speak to our master, Mictlantecuhtli."
Deucalion nodded. "Until my vengeance is complete, I shall serve no other master. But I shall heed your counsel and keep our domicile from prying eyes. But I consider this something of a favor, which I will collect on in the form of a question at a later time. Until next time, demon."
Deucalion backed away from the specter one, two, three measured steps before breaking eye contact and spinning on his heel to march from the performance hall. There was only silence and a cold breeze as he walked away.

Part 2 - Meditations

11:30AM, Friday 2/18/2022.
Deucalion checked for deliveries and messages upon returning to the Mezzanine. There were at least a day's worth of deliveries stacked up, requiring his careful attention. As he sorted through them, he also perused the news for any updates on the chaos at Gina's apartment. The gang war from Tuesday had overshadowed everything else, pushing the city's civil services to their limit. Citizens demanded action, calling for the police or even lawbringers to restore order.
It was a cycle Deucalion had seen before. Alternative news sources lamented that the uproar would fade when the next big event captured public attention—a parade, a celebration, or a new celebrity Simsense movie. The displaced and homeless would be ignored until they faded into the background despair of garbage-filled alleys. But maybe this time it would be different. Maybe the police would step up.
"But who are we kidding?" the sources cynically concluded. "Of course it is going to get worse."
In his library, Deucalion noticed a transparent, unlabeled cassette tape left on his desk. Jocko had left these in the past when he was feeling particularly paranoid. Deucalion retrieved the cassette player from a drawer, popped the tape in, and fitted the headphones to his ears before pressing play.
Jocko's voice came through, quiet and wheezy. "Okay, I tracked whatever went down in that observation room and found nothing, but something found me. Don't worry, I'm alright." He paused, catching his breath. "About an hour or so after I dug around, the poor saps in the apartment next to me got a phone call. I couldn't hear much, but it scared the absolute piss out of the tenants. Poor fuckers. There was a lot of 'How do you know that!?' and 'Don't tell my wife! I'll do anything!'"
Jocko grunted, and Deucalion heard a shuffling squelch. "At that point, I got bored and scanned some networks... until that crazy fucker started jamming a power drill through the wall. So, sorry I haven't gotten back to you, but I'm in the process of moving somewhere a bit more... posh. I'll be up and running in a few days. Watch your ass on the net until then. If you need to get a hold of me, play a familiar tune on the piano in the lobby of Gina's apartment complex. I know you won't, but that's how you would get a hold of me. Hah!"
There was a click, and the recorded message suddenly switched to the Eagles. "...ooOH, ooOH, witchEEE wOOOMAN!...."
Deucalion pondered Jocko's message while continuing to check the news. By 1:00 PM, he had decided to take some time to meditate and consider ways to remove himself from the web while disguising his use of the Mezzanine.
Settling comfortably in his study, Deucalion welcomed the familiar flames of his candles flickering in the soft breeze of the overcast, drizzly afternoon. He thought of ways to erase his records from digital storage but concluded he would need assistance from a competent friend. Hiding his activities at the Mezzanine from mundane observation had been successful for ages, but supernatural scrutiny was another matter.
Further research into the ritual applied to James Wyatt's door seemed promising, as it might be effective against all forms of discovery. Considering the demon's interest, Deucalion thought it might be wise to ask for its advice.
He brushed up on everything related to the spell before heading back to the performance hall. He began thinking about whom he knew whose death might serve another purpose.

Part 3 - Shadows Deepen

Deucalion gathered his notebooks and returned to the performance hall. The miasma was low and shifting slowly. A dark, lumbering shape wandered in its depths, a familiar entity, formidable yet ambivalent to him.
Approaching to a respectful distance, Deucalion announced himself. "I came across a powerful spell which I believe would effectively hide our dwelling place. Are you familiar with the spells taught to the Aztec priests by your kind?"
The shape continued to amble aimlessly, but Deucalion heard a voice in his mind. His vision darkened as it spoke, as if his eyes were filling with oil. "I am."
Deucalion focused intently on the details of the spell, describing it and its components to the best of his ability. "Is this a warding I could be capable of performing? Are there any components or aspects to the ritual that are missing from my description?"
"Details. Details. You have all the details. What do you believe the details are for?"
"Speak plainly. I am not a pupil to be tested and probed. Give me the ability to protect our home from intrusion, and I will leave you to your solitude."
Deucalion's vision darkened completely, rendering him blind. "ARE YOU NOT A PUPIL? HAVE YOU NOT COME TO LEARN?"
Deucalion took on a hostile stance, both mentally and physically. "If simply knowing the words to your answer would give you the ability, I would have you memorize rote."
"Release your hold on my sight. If I must learn, then I shall. But do not take from me that which is mine."
"Your mind recoils at that which it cannot understand. I am keeping you from dying."
"Give me a reason to trust your words are true."
"It will become clear. Do not deny yourself the honor of honesty. You come to me to learn. I am here to show you the path to knowledge, as giving it does not impart ability. This is not science. Now, what do you believe is the purpose of the ritual? Not the function, but the purpose. If the question is too below your stature, begone, for such necessary realizations will not take hold. You can be wrong. I will not punish."
Still on guard, Deucalion shifted into a more neutral disposition, thinking for a moment. "From my studies of the occult, the purpose of the ritual is to rearrange the form of reality, so that the spell cast becomes integral to the place rather than some force acting upon it."
"Yes, this must change. There is no combination of meaty human hand waving which will change the nature of your reality. The ritual you seek is to draw attention. It is to beg a pittance from true powers. The ritual is communion with those that walk behind."
"Then would performing the ritual not defeat the purpose of doing so? Surely begging aid of the gods to attempt to conceal knowledge from the gods would be a mistake."
"It very much depends on to whom you wish to speak. Such a ritual should not occur until you have a thought, image, and name. You are the door, do not open it carelessly."
Deucalion nodded. The gods were not a monolith. "You say I am the door. Tell me why."
"One's rightful place is on one side of the mirror, with connections, like constellations, between."
Deucalion's blind vision was speckled with tiny pips of light. It took a moment for him to realize the specks were where he could see pinpoints of the performance hall again. Between them, the darkness parted in tiny gashes, connecting the points.
"And so we exist, casting light and shadow. Except you."
A tiny, shredded sky tapestry overlaid his view of the world.
"You returned not as one side of the mirror or the other. But as the mirror."
"Through you, great works can be done."
"By whom?" Deucalion wondered who might use him as a tool and resolved to shatter the mirror himself if necessary.
"Whomever you choose. Or no one."
Deucalion nodded. "I am the mirror; thus I choose whom to reflect. Now then, whose name, image, and thought do you suggest for this ritual?"
"It cannot be forced. Though some will try to persuade. No matter the case, do not fear violence. That, our lord would not allow."
Deucalion's eyes widened. "I am under protection? But as a resource, not as a personage." His lip curled in an involuntary snarl.
"There are too many ancient pacts, I will not divulge brethren. That journey you must walk yourself. I suggest starting small. I long ago stopped guessing our lord's intentions. You touched something very close to him; it may be your personage he is curious about. If he were enraged, you would be on his altar. Few would force you and risk his ire, until intentions were made clear."
"Be warned. The further you journey, the further you will be taken from this side of the mirror. It is blood that binds us here."
Deucalion's mind wandered for one indulgent moment, contemplating resuming the life of an occult scholar, forsaking his revenge to live a life of his choosing. But a flash of searing, painful memory cut through the moment of reverie—a memory of fire, of death, of a heart torn in half and boundless blinding rage. Deucalion's mind locked down, and his intellect became icy, focused. "Nothing shall take me from this realm until my vengeance is complete."
With the icy focus of his mind, the ephemeral visions of miasmic rivers, black starless skies, and primordial shadow faded. His sight returned.
"You are not the first to reject the purpose. Those who come will understand vengeance."
Deucalion nodded. "I will find us a patron. Do you have any specific enemies I should not ask? Or any gods that would be too much trouble to be worth our while?"
"Only the servants of Mictlantecuhtli will approach or hear you, as you have the shadow of Death. Most are my allies. Speak with them as you will, simply do not bring them to my torpor."
"Are you suggesting this spell is more than our situation requires?"
"The ritual you have discovered will draw powerful attention. The usefulness of the binding would depend on your dedication with the brother. You are confident, I believe you would thrive. But you would be swimming far from shore and have no choice but to learn to swim... all the way back... changed."
"Such is the price for protections. I would not dissuade someone from paying the price for me."
Deucalion knew that Helios somehow had enough of him to literally upload it to his new creations and that upgrading his defenses was a necessity. Hearing this, understanding what it meant, Deucalion said, "Tell me how to proceed. But as you say, this benefits you as well. I will again hold a favor."
"You are visible to light and shadow, yet only shadow can hear. They live within; speak, and they may listen."
Deucalion nodded, taking the customary reverse steps and turning to leave.
He gathered his occult gear and headed to a rooftop he knew on the far side of West Western from the Mezzanine.

Part 4 - The Summoning

5PM, Friday 2/18/2022.
Deucalion traveled to the furthest edge of West Western, where the neon heavens gave way to rusted, worn-out blocks. It took about two hours to reach his destination. The sky became overcast as sunset approached. A constant, chilly drizzle began, soaking his clothes. Through wet, matted hair, he watched darkness devour the scarlet strip of horizon.
He spent thirty minutes setting up a circle with items of power and foci, including Wyatt's medal. Centering himself within the circle, Deucalion began his meditation. He modified it, thinking of the one Aztec god he might share a connection with—one who might not have qualms about keeping secrets. Disfigured like himself, with dominion over an aspect of lightning. A messenger, a trickster. He pictured a giant, hairless, and warped dog. Summoning the icy determination fed by his rage, he brought the name to mind and spoke, "Xolot."
Deucalion figured Xolot to be a god known for involvement in mortal affairs. The supernatural connection to lightning gave Deucalion reason to know more about him. As a lesser deity with reasons to keep his own counsel, Xolot seemed the most neutral of deities in Deucalion's mind, governing aspects of life and death, and transitions between worlds.
Rather than start small with a lesser demon, Deucalion's mind went straight to a god. Considering the people looking for him—Helios and his god complex, the god of the dead, and others—Deucalion wasn't one for partial measures. He wasn't the type to waste time with anyone who might not be able to do the job.
The vision of a giant, twisted, hairless dog locked in his mind. Specifically, IT locked in HIS mind. He was unable to tear his focus away as it unfurled, lounged, and stretched into an emaciated dog resembling a cross between a pit bull and a greyhound.
He struggled to understand its relative size; there must have been light, as he could see, or imagine, the thing, but his senses screamed shadow on shadow. Sharp, stabbing pain wracked his body as his skin tried to open its eyes. Lesions wept and bled in the wind. He tightened his body and screamed, but muscles he didn't understand clenched and ground.
"Oh, ho, ho." The sound was more felt than heard, like wire over bleached bone. "Done so soon, little thing?"
His eyes felt light pressure, then intense pain as a wide, scouring surface shredded the skin of his face. His features gone, eyes destroyed, the pain faded, and the creature addressed him. It was chewing.
"Can you hear me now?" It said, then laughed a nightmare to itself. "Where, my treat, did you find this?" It said, balancing James Wyatt's medal on its nose.
Deucalion balked at the ferocity of the nightmarish sensations and let out a choked groan. "Within a room protected by a ritual warding, the like of which I seek your aid to create," he pushed out through the pain, hoping desperately it was a nightmare and not true injury he would need to heal from. He attempted to summon his lightning to aid his petition.
He tried to summon his power but was unable to find it. All he felt was pain and emotion. "A place protected for good reason then. Tell me, where is James Wyatt?"
Deucalion pictured himself standing on the building within the circle in the rain, whole, unsavaged. He focused on the idea, even as the monster dog loomed before him. "I... I do not know. I captured him under his alias Brutus, leader of the... gang... nnngh. He disappeared after we turned him over to police custody!" He shouted the last, trying to force it past the pain.
The faintest sliver of his desired vision appeared along the edge of his mind before it evaporated. Infinite oozing tar drooled down, submerging him leagues below his subconscious.
"Oh, no, no. Where is it? I can smell it."
His skin was peeled and peeled and peeled. Bones cracked, spilling marrow on an obsidian altar. With each layer, the pain grew more distant, further away, along a distant abandoned civilization.
"Ah, here it is, my treat."
The core of his vengeance burst through the darkness in a supernova. The infinite expansion detonated memories of Helios—experimentation, hatred, betrayal, jealousy. The force then turned on itself, too dense to exist. The black hole plunged inward, devouring and pushing infinite emotion in a brilliant black and gold hourglass.
"Oh, ho ho. Now we know each other, Mr. Mirror."
Deucalion was stunned as the battle within him was made manifest.
The chaotic tapestry of cosmic soul manifest remained brilliant and faded to darkness, continuing to blind him through primordial black clouds. But he could feel breath. The flesh of lungs. Rivulets of blood.
"Was it good for you, treat?"
Deucalion attempted to steady himself, remembering his purpose. "Will you aid me?"
"How could I refuse? Even if you were not so interesting, I want you because others do."
Maintaining his confidence, whether attempted or feigned, he pushed out, "For this, I thank you." He thought about the outside of the Mezzanine.
"Pish, posh. Don't overcomplicate things, treat. What do you want? And feel free to flatter me."
"Ho, ho."
Deucalion answered directly, blurting out his wishes rather than a more roundabout method. The intensity of the experience had left him near exhausted. "I wish for my home to be obscured from all but myself and my allies. I wish that those seeking me find difficulty locating me. I wish that my enemy no longer be able to steal myself from myself, or barring that, that what he can take bring him only pain and consternation! Surely a being who has tasted my rage would grant me that! I know your power to be beyond anything I could have known to suspect!" His yelling fueled itself, ending in a rage-driven outburst. "Grant me this succor, Xolot! Greatest and Keenest of Beasts!"
"Such a long list on the first greeting is rude, Mr. Mirror, but I will acquiesce for you are so, so bright."
The sickening visions causing his senses to revolt began to drain from his mind. Roiling cosmic chaos and shadow duality gave way to the Neo Tlamanih sunrise.
"Your hall will be hidden, thieves will be cursed.... when you place a trophy of vengeful murder in your library. A heart or head. Openly. It must be hung or wrapped in the pure skin of purgatory—from a self-death. This, would please you, treat?"
Deucalion slowly came back to himself, realizing the implications of the instructions. "Does the murdered need to be fully human? Or would the hearts of one of my lesser brethren suffice?" He looked at his body in a mixture of relief that he was not a blind, bloody skeleton and horror that he was covered in lesions.
"Vengeance is fickle but cannot be cheated. I give sway to your heart."
There was a thick cough. "I apologize, mystique gets caught in my throat. You must feel strongly about the kill. The stronger, hotter, the better. I am rewarding you for following your heart in a meaningful way. If you weasel your way to your desire with a technicality, you are only disappointing yourself."
Deucalion focused his eyes from his wounds back to the god. "They are made to be an extension of him with abilities stolen from my own body. They are my subjugation once removed. My heart will burn bright with vengeance."
"Whatever." The creature's grin stretched impossibly wide, to the horizons. "I know your motivations. Your small wind words of repetition mean little. You and your vengeance can worry about the small details. Move, so I may take your offering."
The voice grew faint. The grin twisted to a canine skeletal yawn.
Deucalion took a step back, out of the circle.
A four-foot-wide section of the rooftop around his circle was suddenly wrenched forward, ripping loose the top several inches of stone. His pooled blood within evaporated.
Deucalion gathered the items left and made his way back to the Mezzanine, mostly to rest.
He arrived back at the Mezzanine around 9:30 AM on Saturday 2/19/2022, with the sun having risen at 7:00 AM. Hundreds of extended, eye-socket-shaped lesions covered his body, arms, and legs, burning at even the smallest hint of wind or touch. They had stopped bleeding and now oozed a brackish black liquid—his blood, but very thin. He was exhausted.
Deucalion took a long shower, cleaning each lesion to the best of his ability. He wrapped a towel loosely around himself and stumbled to his sleeping couch, losing consciousness almost immediately.

Report Date

20 May 2024

Primary Location

The Mezzanine

Related Characters

• Deucalion
• XOLOT - Aztec God