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TEMPLE OF THE DEAD
SJ SANDERS
I am Marie Simone,and I am a reclamations specialist for the great court of the underworld. That would be the land of the dead, not a crime syndicate, but at times I wonder if there is really much difference. And if dealing with that isn’t bad enough, I am dead, or perhaps a special classification of dead—damned maybe? Who knows. All I know is that my afterlife didn’t get spared the double D breasts and wide ass that constantly encumber me as I track my prey through the endless cities and wilderness that make up the immeasurable expanse of the land of the dead—so much so that portals have long been designed to transport residents and officials alike between establishedquadrants. The wild lands—that is another story. There is little one can do but take the nearest portal and pray for luck that you won’t get lost—or eaten.
There is death after death and that sort of dead makes even me shiver.
At least with this particular case, I am in one of the greater cities of the dead, Lithera. It is not without its danger, but it is at least the predictable sort. It certainly beats what is going on topside on Earth from what I understand. I bit the big one during the ravening—had my heart torn out and eaten by a wulkwos—and apparently the world went straight to hell in result when some of the upper spirit worlds were forced to merge with the terrestrial plane. The ruins of some of the great cities are said to make cities like Lithera look like vacation resorts. It is depressing to think about how everything I once knew is gone but on the other hand there is a certain relief knowing that I’m not missing out on much being dead, damned, whatever.
There is also the bonus of being able to target practice at wulkwos if I happen to catch one of the mother fuckers trying to escape their containment area.
A flutter of wings descends just behind me, but I give it little attention and don’t even flinch when a noticeable weight drops on my shoulder. Small, hooked claws serving as fingers along the joint of the wing scrape over my gear as Jugong, my Giwung companion and scout, or hellbat in simple speech, secures his perch on the narrow slope of the roof behind me. He grasps my shoulder beneath the iron grip of his wing claws as his hands and feet drop to either side of me. I probably should have chosen a better location, especially if I wanted to avoid the tingle of illicit interest shooting through me, but I tamp that down and ignore it as usual. This is all about the hunt and the roof,as inconvenient as it is in these matters, is providing my best vantage point for this part of the city.
Hellbat is a vague descriptor at best. Giwungs bear only a small resemblance to bats in their build and features, if one can ignore that they possess a set of a set of arms in addition to their massive wings and their keen intellect that makes them difficult companions. Really, just twist their appearance enough to look like a monster ready to attack you from one of the pits of torment, and that would be a little closer There are plenty of stories around of people who have tried to turn them into pets or trained beasts and suffered for their folly—most notably among the Filli Giwungs. These possess the most adorable phenotype and possess the most batlike appearance and size. Because of that and the soft pastel color of their fur, every now and then there is someone who thinks it would be a cute companion for their hellspawn.
And yes, hellspawn among the damned is a thing. As I said, we really aren’t dead in the strictest sense and are generally agreed be something of an “elevated human” in that we are given a form base more similar to that of the demons and various denizens who occupy the underworld. I guess, if it comes right down to it, we are our own special classification of monster not unlike the Giwungs, but undeniably still very much human. As such we lack the rights of the civilians—aka the dead—but also lack the advantages of the infernal races. I can’t even say it is because of any sort of punishment system because of some faults or sins committed. Nope, if you possess a skill that is useful to one of the various offices of the underworld, then you get recruited into it and no peaceful afterlife for you.
It really makes one think of their place in the cosmos, huh? Actually, Giwungs are considered a minor demon race, sotechnically they are in a more advanced position if they gave fuck all about the great court. The damned only get the small advantage because we at least play by the rules and won’t try to eat the demonic citizens and ghostly civilians alike.
It also makes a lot of the interrelationships and working relationships between the damned service recruits and the various beings inhabiting the underworld a bit odd at times. A pit ogre needs little provocation to hit on anyone with an etheric pulse for instance. But even among the less humanoid creatures there have been odd and unexpected pairings.
“What is our target?” Jugong hisses behind my ears, his breath tickling the inner canal.
I thump his broad chest with my elbow when his groin jabs me like a third forearm against my lower back. Another hot spark flares in my belly, distracting me.
“You’re poking me,” I hiss and his hips ease back, the heat of his sheath making light contact now in a manner that is unavoidable given our current position hunting stance.
Truthfully, we both barely fit on this small ledge. I chose a Giwung because I wanted a fierce working partner among the monstrous races, but I have to admit that his particular subspecies isn’t the most convenient for size.
Maybe I should have chosen a Cashi Giwung who would be more midsize like a badger. Or even a slightly larger Niwi Giwung, though they are notorious for possessing foul tempers and quickly turning on those they agree to partner with. Regardless of subspecies, there is a reason that not many keep Giwungs as companions, and even fewer train them to be scouts. Some of the wealthier and more elite dead do havecolonies in contract and trained as what essentially amounts to attack dogs.
And honestly, I’ve always felt a little sorry for anyone stupid enough to break into one of the spectral mansions.
That said, Jugong belongs to the massive Gigung subspecies of Giwungs, the most elusive and terrifying of the species. Two years ago, I went into the Galthrie pit for that reason alone. My odds had been terrible since they are notoriously picky with who they bond with, but to my surprise Jugong answered my summons. Huge even among the larger males to the point of being only slight taller than me, his body is thick with muscle and his wingspan massive. Unfortunately, he also often possesses a deadly outlook on others who are not me which runs to the carnivorous end which means I really have to fucking watch him at times. Having him around is something like having a loaded weapon on hand, and I’m always aware of it. A loaded weapon with something of an attitude. And one that I have quickly developed an odd attraction to, if truth be told.
Who may also want to fuck me—but the jury is still out on that because Giwung are hard to read, which is perhaps a good thing because I could just possibly be warped enough over the years from being one of the damned to be eagerly take what he’s offering. I have been curious enough to search the hell-systems to get a look at what a mature male Giwung has packing and the possibility of being stretched and filled with all of that is admittedly intriguing. Of course, even speculating on it could be considered a little sick if it became known among fellow reclamation specialists—not because he is a monster but because most don’t fuck their familiar partners. There is also the fact that I’m not sure if he just wants to fuck me or if he would also end up eating me in the non-sexy way afterward.
He nudges me with his wing, tucking me protectively against his chest as I lean forward over the edge of the roof, inadvertently making my ass bump his sheath. His soft grunt is not missed but he growls and shakes his head, refocusing on the job. And this is why I still have a contract with him… because above else, Jugong enjoys the hunt as much as I do.
“The prey?” he prods again, and I clear my throat as I refocus on the streets below us.
“Wraith. One Nygohl Vasheer by name. He broke free of his containment zone and accessed the portal without a travel pass,” I reply as I run another check on my weapon.
“A wraith, hmmm,” Jugong rumbles and I tip my head back to look up at him as his glowing green eyes narrow with interest.
I roll my eyes at him. “His file has been designated for recapture and transport. Not for eating.”
I suppress a smile as I feel Jugong’s reluctant sigh vibrate through his body. “You speak as if I am always trying to eat our prey,” he grumbles.
“Probably because you would if our superiors didn’t have it locked down on his file,” I retort with a chuckle.
Jugong grunts, unamused and shifts his weight behind me. “Wraiths are not good eating anyway. Shadow spirits have a strange taste. Even if you catch them before they revert to their shadow form, they always have a slight ashy flavor to them that is unappealing.” His nose wrinkles with disgust. “I can resist the urge to nibble.”
“I knew I could count on you,” I tease and immediately drop backward against his hard body when his head drops to peer at me upside down, his large fox-like ears tipped toward me.
Although he possesses downy fur on his face and his face is shape with something of an abbreviated muzzle with his flat, horned snout and he has a mouth full of sharp teeth, his expression has a fluidity to it so much like a human’s that I can easily see the sly humor flash across it.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I warn. “This capture is a code C. Apparently, he is a valuable asset for the capital investigation unit. Some sort of informant I’m guessing. Regardless, they want him captured.”
