“With Boris Tvarlato’s recent acquittal, the future of organized crime in Diveky remains uncertain,” the newsperson said, his tone dry and dull even as he reported the most terrible of tragedies. “The crime rate has been steadily increasing over the past month. Yesterday evening, there had been an attack on a warehouse in the northern Historical District. Two dead, three wounded. Identities are unknown. Authorities claim that this was not related to the mob, instead attributing it to the mysterious string of murders which—”

  Ema shut the box off. “That’s enough of that…”

  Derik nodded. He had had more than his fair share of darkness over the past few days. His apartment felt cold and lonely, even more so than it had previously. Thoughts of that demon still festered in Derik’s mind. At times, it seemed a nightmare, but Derik still had the wound to prove otherwise. That horrid thing was out there somewhere, stalking victims, killing innocents. And it wore armor that had been repaired by him. That was the most terrifying part of all.

  Ema sat back down beside him on the tattered couch. She put her hand just over his bandaged wound. “Does it feel better?”

  “A little,” Derik said. “Not much.”

  “You need an assistant,” Ema said. She nestled up close, leaning her weight on him. “That metal is heavy. And all that heat. Oh I can’t imagine, what with you working inside all day. It’s no wonder you lost focus. You’re lucky the chain only slashed your ankle.”

  “I had a brief lapse,” Derik said. “But I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “Still, could you look into it?”

  “I will,” Derik said, even though he had no intention of doing so. An assistant would be far too expensive considering current economic trends. With a groan, he sat upright. “Say, maybe we should turn the box back on. Isn’t your part coming up soon?”

  “It is,” Ema said, and she shrugged. “But I won’t be on for an hour. It’s only fifteen seconds anyway.”

  Derik smiled. “It’ll be the best fifteen seconds of the entire night.”

  “Maybe,” she leaned back, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. “I’m just talking about the new Blackwell dog shelter. It’s not exactly two dead in a warehouse or anything.”

  “We all could use a happy story now,” Derik said with a chuckle. “At least I think so. You’re doing great work, Ema. And someday, the whole world will see it.” This made Ema smile, and she snuggled up even closer to Derik. The two touched heads, and Ema peered into Derik’s eyes. They leaned in close.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Ema glanced at the clock. “My word, nine already?” She hopped off the couch, then grabbed her purse from a nearby coffee table. “I’m sorry to run like this. It’s just, I've got some reports due soon and I’ve barely started…”

  “It’s fine,” Derik said. His ankle flared as he sat up, which prevented Derik from getting off the couch. “Are we still on for that date in the diner tomorrow?”

  Ema smiled as she ran past him. “Certainly.”

  “Then I’ll see you then,” Derik waved. He blew a kiss her way. “‘Till then.”

  Ema caught the kiss and blew one back. “‘Till then.”

  Ema ran for the exit. There were some footsteps, a slam of a door, then nothing but the ticking of the clock. Derik leaned back on the couch, hands over his head. That had been a good stay-home date. Short, but good. And tomorrow they were going to go out again for even longer. Derik nestled further into his couch. Maybe he should just sleep now, and wake up tomorrow. He’d already finished his work for the day. Yes… that would be perfect. He deserved a rest after all that has happened…

  But sleep would not come to him. Derik’s breaths took in bitter air. Foul air. Tangy, like copper. But there was also something rotten. Had the bananas gone bad? No, Derik thought, sitting up. This omen was far worse…

  “What was that motion?”

  Derik stood. There was something in the doorway to the dining room. The demon turned to face him. Its eyes were aglow. Derik backed away. He hit his bad foot wrong and fell to the floor. This thing… here… but there were only so many ways in. Through the window, maybe? Terran could have been here awhile. In that doorway even…it…here…. watching them. “What are you doing here?”

  Derik paled. That was far too demeaning. He’d surely be in for it now. The demon advanced, his steps shaking the apartment. A photograph from a distant shelf fell. Terran became a blur. He caught the photo, then stared at it for a moment before putting it back on the shelf.

  The demon limped into the good light. Holes littered his body. So many bullet holes. They were in his legs, a few spread across his torso. Even one by his heart. Any ordinary man would be dead from that many gunshot wounds. “Th-The warehouse attack,” Derik stammared, getting back to his feet. “The one they talked about on the news. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Five Diveky officers and the great Raven Blackwell. That should’ve made quick work of anyone, yet here Terran was. Alive, stealthy and deadly. Two were dead. Derik was complicit in that, because he had fixed this beast’s armor.

  “That was me,” Terran said, glee so obvious that Derik could almost hear the thing smile. It had no remorse nor fear. Derik curled in on himself. Were other lives really so insignificant to Terran? I mean, of course they weren’t significant. Why would a demon care about anyone?

  “I made a mistake, blacksmith,” Terran said, rounding past him. “That Raven girl surprised me. There is much I do not know about the modern world. I’ve gotten so focused on instilling fear. So focused on making my followers come to me. I didn’t even consider how things have changed. That they might have been hunted down….defeated. Gone. I’m alone Derik. There is only me… and you.”

  Derik tensed up, “What are you suggesting?”

  “I cannot learn about the modern world while stalking from the rooftops,” he said. “Is the Library of Aperio still open?”

  “The library?” Derik sat up. “Oh yes, yes. The library. Just a few blocks northwest of here. You can’t miss it. Why, it’s still as grand as it was in your day.” It indeed was. Flocked with tourists too. If Terran went there, the cops would surely see. There’d be a lot more. Maybe they’d kill him this time. That was the hope, anyway.

  Terran laughed. His low guttural laugh shook the entire room. Again, he advanced to Derik and backed him into a bookshelf. “As if I could go to a library in this state,” Terran said. “No, you shall rent out the books for me and then I shall read them as you make repairs to my armor.”

  Terran placed a hand on Derik’s shoulder, then guided him to the couch. The demon forced him to sit. Each of his claws pricked at Derik’s skin. So close to death, he thought. He could kill me right now if he wanted. One slash, that’s all it would take. Yet he hasn’t. Because I haven’t given him a reason…

  Terran looked off. Derik didn’t say anything. He seemed deep in thought. “I just realized. You haven’t answered my first question.”

  “What?”

  “The girl,” he said. “Why did you do that motion to her?” He didn’t enact the motion, but Derik knew what he was talking about. It was a strange question for a demon to ask. Derik racked his mind trying to come up with a suitable explanation. He must’ve taken too long, for Terran began to squeeze at his shoulder. Something wet drizzled down his left. Blood.

  “Okay okay,” Derik said. “I was blowing a kiss. It’s just a loving gesture, that’s all.”

  Derik expected Terran to berate him. Call their love foolish. But, after a pause, all he said was: “That’s a very special connection. Be sure to cherish it.”

  There it was. More blackmail. But what could Derik do? Ema would return at some point, at which point Terran could easily follow her home. She’d be easy prey then. That could not come to pass, which meant Derik was now at this thing's mercy. But it wasn’t the worst situation. No. All Derik had to do was rent some books and repair some armor. It wasn’t like he was the one going out and murdering people. “I’ll do it,” he said. Derik started for the door. “I’ll go right away…”

  Terran held Derik back. “Wait.”

  Derik gulped. The demon wanted something more. Of course he did. “What is it?’

  “Your girlfriend’s address,” Terran said. “I need it as assurance.” Derik stayed there, shaking his head. He wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t give in. But then Terran brought a claw to his throat. He pressed against it. One slice. That’s all it would take. Death had never been closer. Hating himself, Derik pointed to the yellow pages in the living room. Terran was in the book in a moment. He flipped through to the bookmark, and smiled. “Renzov. That’s her last name, correct?”

  Derik lowered his head in shame. That had been a betrayal of the highest order. He’d given Ema up so fast. There hadn’t even been an interrogation. He was pathetic. Weak. But he had to push on. No harm would come to her if he pushed on. “I’ll go to the library,” he said, voice flat. “I figure you want it done right away…”

  Another burst of speed, then Terran leaned over Derik. His eyes were aglow, beady orbs filled with hatred and bloodlust. The slightest smirk was visible though the monster’s rusted bevor. “I like you, blacksmith.”

  ***

  The order was simple. Track down volumes that contained information about modern technology, cultural reform, new age history, and many other topics. Even something on that “Blackwell brat” if he could get away with it. Terran desired large books, encyclopedias preferably, so that his knowledge could be complete. Even then, the requests were so varied that Derik would have to rent out twenty books. Tracking these tomes took an eternity. The library of Aperio still used the old complex organizational system, which could confuse even the best scholars. To the ignorant Derik, it was noise. There were cookbooks next to fantasy novels next to history encyclopedias, all housed in cramped bookshelves which were smushed too close for comfort. Derik walked sideways, his hefty backpack brushing against the shelf behind him. He carried the books that wouldn’t fit, but that meant he could hardly see the shelves in front of him. These narrow halls weren’t designed for someone as broad as him.

  Derik’s limp further slowed progress, and each step had to be considered to avoid flaring the wound. When pain flared, he’d stumble and drop all the books. Picking them up again somehow took longer than finding them. To make matters worse, the library seemed to have been designed by the world’s most obsessed mazemaker. Bookshelves wrapped back in on themselves, lead to dead ends, the works. Derik came across the same book about hedges next to the one about snowy owls four different times. Hope came when Derik found an arrow painted on the side of a bookshelf. He would’ve missed it if he hadn’t stumbled into it, for most of its paint had chipped away. But here it was. A marker of salvation. But would the arrow lead him back to the entrance? Or did it go on to more books?

  Derik decided to take his chances. He made his way through, then immediately tripped on an unseen notch in the floor. He stumbled, pain flaring through his leg. The tomes flew through the air. Derik ducked and covered to save his head. He waited for the thud. None came.

  Someone said, “Hey. Are you alright?”

  A young woman appearing to be in her early twenties approached Derik. She picked up his five dropped encyclopedias, holding them all in one hand. Her silver eyes radiated, even in this dingy lighting. “Are you alright?”

  “I-I-I’m fine.” Derik stood tall. Pain flared in his bad ankle, and he held his leg up to rub the wound. The pain did not go away. Soot spilled off his pants, getting everywhere. Both he and the silver-eyed woman coughed. Derik scratched the back of his head. “S-sorry about that. I injured my leg so I’m a bit clumsy.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “It’s alright,” the girl said. She handed the books back to Derik, listing them off as she did so. “Economics of Island City States. Second Millennium History. Modern Energy: Production, Conversion and Storage. My, that’s a scattershot collection if you don’t mind me saying. What are you researching?”

  “J-just general study.” Derik said. “Yes, I’m quite the scholar.”

  The woman held up the final book, looking at its dusted cover with a mild mix of confusion and scorn. “The Blackwells: A History of the Most Influential Family in Modern History?”

  “Yes,” Derik said. “They are so influential. You really can’t understand where we are today without understanding their dynamics.” It was the truth, even if it was rarely said. Half the city was named after them for a reason.

  The woman seemed poised to say something, but then stopped herself. “I suppose that’s true,” she said. The woman put the heavy tome under her other arm. Her footing did not waver. “You have quite the load, you know. I can carry this one back if you’d like.”

  Derik shook his head. “You really don’t have to—”

  “It’s not a problem,” she said. “I have my book, so I’m heading back as well.” It was only then that Derik saw the blackened tomb she carried beneath her other arm. It was far thicker than any book he had picked out. He accepted her generous offer, for refusing would have been suspicious. The woman brushed past Derik, heading in the opposite direction. Derik followed. They marched single file, though it was a struggle for Derik to keep up with his limp.

  The woman must have noticed because she soon slowed. They kept in pace. Neither spoke a word to each other. It grew quiet. Soul-crushingly quiet. The silence was torture in its own way. Derik decided to risk conversation, “What book are you renting?”

  The woman flinched. Derik briefly feared he offended her somehow, but then she turned back with a smile. “This,” she asked, glancing casually at her tome. “It’s a volume on the Terranic Wars. I thought I studied up enough on it, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” They passed beneath a light. Only now did Derik see the scrapes that littered her body. Before him was none other than Raven Blackwell.

  Oh, how terrible his luck was. First Terran chooses him of all people to be the errand boy, and now that Derik was working for that demon he stumbled across the one person who had been charged with hunting him down. No. This was a good thing. He could tell her about Terran. Maybe he could do it right now. He tried, but the words refused to come out. It didn’t matter how hard he tried. Because if he talked, then he was dead. He and everyone he knew.

  “Is something wrong?” Raven frowned. “You seem…pale.”

  “It’s… a lot of things,” Derik said, scratching his head. “The library, for one. I’m not used to being in such a claustrophobic space. Plus we’re nearing the main light fixtures so it’s getting hotter. Not to mention my wound makes walking difficult. And just, general stress.” That was too much, yet Raven accepted the over-explanation without thought. They continued on in silence.

  “Say,” Raven said. “Have you seen anything suspicious as of late?”

  “Suspicious?”

  They turned a corner into a thin hall. Raven’s face became obstructed by shadow. “It’s nothing to be wary of,” she said. “I’m asking everyone, in fact. You never know who could have case breaking information.”

  Again, the urge to confess came upon Derik. But then he thought of Ema, face down in a pool of her own blood, and a prideful Terran standing over her, laughing at his great act of spite. “I don’t go out at night,” Derik said. “I haven’t seen anything. Sorry.”

  “I see,” Raven said. “Well, I’d avoid going out at night for a while. Never know what could happen.” Her fist clenched. Derik gulped. Was she making a threat? Or was Raven simply thinking about Terran? It was hard to tell.

  They escaped the maze of bookshelves for the wide opened lobby. Raven handed Derik his book. The brunt of the weight returned. His bad leg flared in protest. Derik groaned as the pain returned. “Here you go,” Raven said with a smile. “Have fun reading. Though if you have any specific questions about the Blackwells, you can always just ask me, seeing as I am one.”

  Derik said, “I-I don’t have questions.”

  “Really?” Raven asked. “A scholar like you?”

  She crossed her arms, clearly suspicious. Because of course she would be. Many scholars out there would sell their first born to interview a Blackwell. Derik needed a question. Fast. Though the pain made it hard to think. He said the first thing which came to mind. “The Fallen Nine. Could you tell me about them?”

  “What about them?” Raven asked, leaning back. “I’m sorry but you must be more specific with these things. People ask me about them all the time.” She crossed her arms. The air got stuffy again. Far too stuffy for Derik’s liking. Oh, he had to get out of here and fast.

  “It’s just a big change,” Derik said. He backed away as he explained. “I mean, nine Blackwells just gone. Even your father. Surely that’s had an effect on you. Both as a person and family. I mean, your influence—” Deirk stopped himself there. He had almost said your influence had surely lessened but such a thing was surely rude to mention. Especially with how personal that disaster had been.

  “On second thought, maybe you could flip through the book. They are bound to have a lot on the Fallen Nine.” Derik stammered out some vague reply. That had been too sensitive a topic, especially the part about her father. But it was a question, if vague. Raven had no reason to be suspicious.

  So why was her stare so keen?

  “Ms.Blackwell! Ms.Blackwell!” A dust covered kid ran their way. A librarian shushed him as he neared, but went ignored as the starry-eyed kid ran on. “Ms.Blackwell! Ms.Blackwell!”

  “Slow your roll, kiddo. I see you.” Her tone was chipper. She passed her hand through her hair, which ruffled it up. She slouched slightly. Not so bad as to be called out, but just enough to seem approachable. She put her hand on her hip and grinned. Derik was amazed. With these simple changes to her body language, Raven had transformed into a different person.

  The boy skidded to a stop, slamming into Derik, who he ignored. “I thought that was you,” he said. “My mom said it wasn’t you, because you can never tell as the picture is always black and white. But it is you. It is you.” He stopped jumping. “It is you, right?”

  The librarian came up to shush them, but upon seeing that the boy was speaking with a Blackwell, she retreated back to the front desk. Raven didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, it is me,” she said to the kid. “What can I do for you?”

  The kid held up a book. “Can you sign this?”

  “A book from the library?”

  “Oh,” the kid fished around in his pocket and got out a gently used napkin. “Will you sign my official Vanek’s Diner napkin?”

  “Vanek’s Diner, you say?” Raven smiled. She did a quick finger gun.“‘Happy Folks, happy memories and best milkshakes on the block!’”

  The kid gasped. “You go there?”

  “On occasion.”

  “Wow,” the kid said. “How often?”

  “When I can,” said Raven. “So not very often.”

  The kid bounced from one foot to the other, holding his hands close to his chest. “My friend Ivan McSurely told me that you fought a demon. That you split him clean in two. Is that true? Tell me if it's true or not!”

  Raven crossed her arms, looked to the ceiling and tapped her foot, as if in deep thought. Derik awaited the answer. If Terran was to be believed, she had been soundly beaten. It hadn't even been a contest. That demon didn’t strike him as a reliable source. She hadn’t killed him at the very least.

  Yet Raven nodded. “Yes absolutely.”

  “Woah!”

  Raven then went on, bragging at length about the difficult fight she had. She detailed Terran’s zombified form at length, and boasted on how she was victorious in her slaying. Her movements were dramatic, her words clear, and though she was practically shouting in the middle of the library nobody came to confront her. The kid and Raven were lost in their own world. Derik soon realized that to them, he might as well have not existed. So he just left. He booked it for the counter, in fact, before rushing home with no deviation. It was difficult while carrying twenty books, but somehow he managed.

  This would all be behind him soon. All would be fine if he kept his head in the sand. These books may be Terran’s final order. Hopefully, that demon wouldn’t stick around in his place to read them all.

  ***

  “So this electricity works through tiny particles passing through a wire,” Terran said, before turning the page. “So it isn’t magic. Just another trick.” Tricks he could work with. Magic was something beyond him, at least for now. Terran tried to hide this relief from Derik. No one could know of his weaknesses, however hypothetical. Though he doubted that Derik was paying attention. He sat in front of Terran, but a plate covered his face as the blacksmith welded metal to cover the bullet holes littering the armor. Terran had decided against removing the bullets. He would not allow Derik to go digging around inside of him. No one should have that power over him. Besides, the bullets would never be a serious threat thanks to the armor. They would join the warped jumble of flesh and metal that was now his body.

  Terran would adapt to the pain.

  The Dark Lord put the electricity book down. All he really needed to know about the topic were energy sources and their uses. The intricacies of the art were not a concern. Time for the next book in the stack. This next one was dull, gray with a faded title. Terran would have tossed the poor thing aside if his name weren't on the cover. He ripped it open, and flipped through the pages. He had to know. What did the world think of him?

  Nothing good it seemed. The waste of paper was littered with lies. Gratia was deemed a nobel hero. Terran’s great deeds were portrayed as tyrannical acts and his followers were deemed cultists. Cultist! The book reaffirmed Raven’s remarks. His followers were indeed eradicated mere centuries after Terran’s death. The book treated this as a nobel good, as if they were just a mass of unassuming crazies. People like Maer weren't even mentioned. Indeed, the followers were regulated to a footnote. The book’s focus seemed to be Terran’s campaign against magic users. It detailed every deed, every glorious act that he committed. But his greatest acts went unmentioned. No mentions of worship. Nor of the great awe he inspired. They had brushed aside his work with orphanages. This was defamation of the highest order.

  And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Far worse than the attack on his reputation was the book’s disgusting length. Eight hundred pages. The encyclopedia on trade networks was twice the size. Twice the size! Was Terran really less important than trade networks to these people? “Blacksmith,” Terran yelled. “Was this really the longest book you got about me?”

  Derik jolted back. His torch sliced across Terran’s knee, burning him unnecessarily. Terrnan hoisted the blacksmith up by his shirt. “Careful, you!”

  “I-I’m sorry.” Deirik removed his face covering. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” The blacksmith seemed on the verge of tears. Thankfully, he didn’t cry or that really would have been the end of him.

  “Answer my question.”

  Derik stepped back. He leaned against a far counter, though his trembling arms seemed just able to support him.“There was a longer book,” he said. “But Raven Blackwell had it. I couldn’t get it.”

  “Raven Blackwell,” Terran snickered. “So, she recovered already?” Not even a day from their fight, yet the girl already was back to hunting him down. That was impressive. Sickeningly so. She’d be a gnat at his side for as long as she lived. “Tell me. Did you find anything on the Blackwell brat?”

  Derik pointed to a book near the bottom of the stack. Terran ripped it out, sending the others crashing down. An image of Gratia was on the book’s cover. It was a silhouette but he recognized it all the same. She was posed the same as that horrid statue outside. “So,” Terran said. “There’s a whole tome on the Blackwells?”

  “They used to be the royal family,” Derik said. “Until the monarchy got abolished.”

  Terran sat upright. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked,” he said. The man shook like a guilty dog, as if he expected Terran to slit him just for this. Honestly, the Dark Lord may be tempted if in a worse mood. Not that he’d ever do it. Like it or not, Terran needed his blacksmith. And he was his lone follower, at least for now. Losing him would be a waste on so many letters.

  “You didn’t try to hide things from me,” Terran said. “I’m not going to hurt you. But tell me everything you know about the Blackwells.”

  “They descended from the hero,” Derik said. The blacksmith hobbled away from Terran. His bad foot still made him limp. “They have hands in everything from the police to the city council. Some say the monarchy hasn’t even been abolished. But we still have a free mayor and the news is free and safe. So I don’t know about that…”

  “How many are there?”

  “Only five,” Derik said, cringing back even further. He was on the opposite end of the end of the room now, as if he thought distance would make him safer. Derik sighed. “Most died in the Great War. The Fallen Nine we call them. Their fight was… a bloodbath to say the least.”

  “Great war?” Terran had been involved in a lot of wars. It seemed presumptuous to single one out as great. That implied it was better than the rest. Than his. Terran eradicated most forms of magic. The books here affirmed that. Nothing could outclass such a feat.

  …right?

  “It was a world spanning conflict,” Derik said. “Lot of the Blackwells were in the military. They had a battle to defend the island. It was a slaughter. The whole navy got destroyed, and uh… I’m sure the books have more about it.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Terran said. “I will continue to read. You get back to welding.” Derik approached, but shuffled his feet. He sprinted when Terran raised his hand. Terran chuckled. Fear. It worked wonders. Perhaps it worked too well. While Derik worked, he kept one hand on his throbbing heart. It beat so fast even Terran could hear. The blacksmith hadn’t made a mistake yet, but would soon if Terran scared him again. Terran left Derik to his welding, and got back to reading.

  Little of the reading proved useful. The Blackwell book affirmed the family’s importance. They lived in the richest manor, and the adult members held multiple esteemed positions. Police, government. The Blackwells had their hands in it. Indeed, there seemed to be a few keys to power. Raven was one of them. If he could take out the Blackwells, instability would surely follow. That was easier said than done. While not the smartest, the brat had good strength. Raven may even be stronger, considering she had no handicaps tying her down. With no followers, Terran was limited in what he could do. Getting more would be tricky. He couldn’t blackmail an entire city. No, Terran would have to convince them. And that would be an uphill battle, considering his decayed form. He may have a chance in a destabilized city. He worked best when people were crippled by confusion. Lost souls could be swayed to his side. Better yet, his opponent would be destabilized too. Bringing the city to its knees wouldn’t even be a challenge. Diveky now ran on electricity. Cars, lights, everything was infested with electricity. If its source were destroyed, instability would follow. The Blackwells could be picked off real easy thenThe plan was clear now. He just needed to know one thing.

  “Blacksmith,” Terran said. “One final question.”

  Derik stopped welding to meet his glare. “Y-yes?”

  “Where can I find the power plants?”