Black Sigil - The Moonbound Series

Velcrith’s velvet lounge was half flame, half shadow. The blood-chandeliers dripped red light onto pale dancers scantily clad in corsets and silks, while the back rooms pulsed with old money and even older hunger. No one looked up when the Faralai brothers entered. You didn’t look at the wolves—not unless you had a reason. Reik led the way. His boots hit the marble like war drums—quick, hard, careless. The yellow in his eyes burned. His jacket was half-unzipped, revealing the armored mesh beneath, and the brass of his knuckle-daggers glinted under the lowlight. His grin was a thing with teeth. “Two ahead,” he muttered. Munez walked behind, silent and clean. No weapon drawn. No scent of urgency. They passed the threshold into the back salon, dispatching the two guards swiftly who stood watch at the door. Once inside, the two brothers could see two of their targets. The vampire brothers stood at the center—Arlan Vex, tall and dressed in shimmering bloodweave, and his younger brother Theris, shirtless, was covered in glowing runes. Clearly he had been inscribed with Hex-ink. Behind them on the stone altar lay a pinned girl, her splayed arms led to drains where her slit wrists spilled her life essence. Her body was battered, half-clothed, and on her bare chest Munez could see they had even branded her. She was alive during their torture, as evident by the blood under her nails that even the brothers could smell from here, but she wasn’t moving anymore. “Step away,” Munez said. Theris turned first, licking blood from his thumb like it was wine. “Ah. The Faralai mutts. Should we kneel, Beg for our lives?” Reik answered with his fist, moving faster than Theris could react to cover the distance between them. The punch cracked across Theris’s jaw and sent him careening into the nearby wall. Before he could recover, Reik was on him, driving him into the stonework with a flurry of blows—a knee to the gut, a heavy kick to the chest, then a thundering punch aimed towards the vamps face which Theris caught in his hand. Theris hissed, his tattoos glowing brighter as his wounds stitched closed he jumped forward lashing out with claws and teeth aimed for Reik’s throat. Reik side stepped, grabbed a bottle off the nearby table, shattered it against the vampire’s face, and used the jagged neck to open his cheek from ear to jaw. Theris screamed, gripping his face. Munez moved without breaking stride. Arlan had drawn a blade—serrated, ceremonial, forged for ritual duels. He lunged at Munez, fast, but not fast enough. Munez dodged sideways, spun, and drove his elbow into Arlan’s throat. The vampire staggered, gasping. Munez caught his wrist mid-s***h, twisted until bones cracked, and kneed him in the chest hard enough to snap ribs. Theris surged up again toward Reik, blood pouring down his face as the wound started to close, snarling with desperation. Reik pivoted on the ball of his foot and sent his heel across theris’s face, Breaking his jaw. Reik then drove his blessed knuckle-daggers into Theris—twice, three times, until there was nothing left of him but a twitching burnt corpse. Blood soaked the marble floor, turning it into a slippery mess. Arlan cried out for his brother, distracted enough for Munez to grab him firmly by the back of his neck. Munez began dragging him across the marble floor, his strength superior to that of his target. His sharp nails acted as anchors as they sunk into Arlan’s flesh. Arlan for his part attempted to wrench himself free but could not muster the power to. He saw what was coming but could not stop it as they neared the stone altar. Munez growled and slammed Arlan into the altar, his head bouncing off of it with a sickening crack. “Last chance,” Munez said as he took a step back. Arlan spat blood, his head was gashed open and his right eye bulged from its socket. Munez drew his sidearm and pressed it to Arlan’s temple. “Name,” Munez said. The vampire choked, pressing a trembling hand to the ragged crack in his head. His voice caught between a laugh and a plea as blood dribbled from his lips. “You know who I am. I’m a Vex. Blood-bound to two houses. I’ve got favor in—” “Name.” Munez interrupted, unamused with Arlan’s response. “You can’t do this—” Munez adjusted the gun just slightly. “You pissed off the wrong house this time, Arlan. Maybe you and your brother,” Munez looked over to the broken body on the floor a few feet away, the wounds on his body still smoking. “Maybe you both could have lived if you hadn’t turned that mageblood, hadn’t branded her with your house sigil, and hadn't drained her of her life essence for your own sick indulgence. You’re a mosquito Arlan, a parasite not worth another breath.” Munez crouched so his voice came in level with Arlan's ruined face. “Your name’s not what saves you anymore. Your name is what makes this a message.” Behind them, Reik leaned against the wall with his arms folded. The soft red glow bathed his sharp jawline, the s***h of his quiff already damp from sweat and violence. Yellow eyes tracked the exchange like a cat watching a mouse try to argue with the trap. “Let me make this right,” Arlan begged. “You want relics? Artifacts? I know where they buried the sigil-keepers—old mage vaults. Stuff even the Vintners won’t touch.” “I think he’s offering you a bribe, big brother,” Reik said, voice bright with mockery. Munez never took his eyes off the vampire. “I don’t want artifacts.” Munez drew his weapon and c****d the hammer of his revolver. He stood, slow and deliberate, raising the gun again. “You turned her, had your fun, and then tried to dispose of her. Now die quietly.” The vampire reached up, his hands moving to cover his face. Munez pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through Arlan’s hand, and then his left eye and into the altar behind him. There was no scream. Just the meaty slap of his body hitting the ground. Munez holstered his gun and exhaled through his nose. “Final target neutralized.” Reik stepped forward and gave Arlan's corpse a casual kick. “Damn. That coat was nice. Shame he got his blood all over it.” He turned toward the bar, picked up a bottle of unopened bloodwine, sniffed it, then tossed it aside. “You know, for a secret elite vampire speakeasy, their vintage game’s kind of mid.” Munez didn’t answer, instead he tapped his earpiece. “Salef. Report.” The voice that came through was soft, calm, and laced with static from underground interference. “Third target down. Confirmed throat tear and marrow damage. He tried to hex me with a phasing glyph.” “You alright?” Munez asked. “I redirected it.” Reik snorted. “Of course he did.” Salef ignored him. “Meet at the Burn Room?” “Affirmative,” Munez said. Outside, rain was already dripping from the rafters of the broken skyline over Chicago. Rain fell sideways through sheets of rising steam, thick with the scent of old stone and sulfur warding. The three-story drop to street level was nothing for the Faralai brothers; they moved through shadow the way water moves through cracks. By the time they reached the alley, Salef was already waiting—leaning back against the wall beside the runed sewer grate, arms crossed, breath misting in the light drizzle. He was the youngest, but at that moment, he looked older than either of them. Blue eyes cold. Pale hair pulled back into a perfect knot, not a strand out of place. There was blood drying along the edge of his jaw, faint but noticeable. “I tagged the third one before he hit the water,” he said. “Sample’s still warm.” “You’re not turning this into another sigil test, are you?” Reik asked. “I already did.” Munez nodded once. “Good work.” Salef said nothing, but there was the faintest glint of satisfaction behind his stillness. Reik stretched, his neck popping. “Can we get out of the rain now, or are you waiting for an applause?” “Is that jealousy I'm hearing?” Munez said, a smile on his face as he patted Reik on the shoulder. “Let's go.” Quickly they vanished into shadow, leaving three bodies and a completed contract behind them.