As Langa lay totally unconscious in the middle of the still and silent alley, both the stillness and the silence were broken by approaching footsteps. The footsteps were accompanied by the tap of a cane or walking stick and soon enough, a pair of knee-high leather boots stood next to the unconscious Detective’s head.


    “Well I do say, you seem to be in a spot of bother, my dear Detective.” Sam said in his customarily thick accent. “The question is, did you stumble into our little world by mistake, or by design? And just what did that pitiful child see when you spoke to him, hmm? Did he see what I see, or did you show him something different?”


    The ‘regal crackhead’ then crouched down next to Langa and leaned in close, first observing his face and his skin, before getting down on one knee and inhaling deeply.


    “Oh, how I long to take you back to the lab and give you a deep and thorough scrying, Sir.”


    As Sam inhaled deeply once again, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine and simply floated to his feet. As he did this, the two robed figures from earlier in the night materialised before the barman, who simply looked at them both and smiled.


    “Good evening to the both of you. Is there something I can do for you two?”


    “You can start by knowing your place.” One of the robed figures sneered. “How dare you speak to us directly, you—”


    “Silence.” The other scolded. “Or do you need to be disciplined again?”


    The first figure immediately fell silent, and even took a few steps back, leaving the other one to handle things.


    “I have no idea who you two are, or what business you have with me, but I am in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind…”


    “We have no business with you, Rogue – just as you have no business with that unconscious man over there. I would suggest that you walk away now, while we are being civil.”


    Sam looked at the robed figure before him and just smirked before taking his hat off and reaching inside of it. He then pulled out a rather long staff that was wrapped in paper which was absolutely adorned with strange symbols. Even though it was wrapped in paper, the overall shape of the staff was clear for all to see, with a multitude of peaks, edges and smooth round shapes all protruding from the staff. It seemed as though it took an age for the staff to actually come out due to its length, but once it finally had, the barman tapped it lightly on the ground, producing a gust of wind which absolutely tore through the alley.


    “I do not fear you, my good man… or the woman behind you. The Detective and I have some business, so allow me to give you just a single word of advice: leave.”


    Sam’s eyes had started to glow purple as he spoke, and he started to levitate ever so slightly. Meanwhile, those clad in robes, who had been outed as a man and a woman, looked on quietly as Sam readied himself for a confrontation. The man he had been speaking to simply raised his right arm, before an untold number of tentacles shot out of the robe sleeve. They were so fast that Sam didn’t even have time to react, and he was soon engulfed in a sea of black tendrils. He had absolutely no idea what was going on as all he could see was darkness, but he felt immense pain from every single part of his body, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He was then slammed against a wall while having absolutely no idea when he had even been thrown back. After he had been smashed into the wall, his field of vision was completely filled by something that in and of itself drove infinitely more fear into the depths of his soul than whatever it was he saw when he looked at Langa. A bright white light filled his consciousness and Sam heard a plethora of screaming voices that he couldn’t identify. He had no idea how long the torment and pain lasted, but eventually it all went back as his consciousness completely faded.


    Meanwhile back in the alley, the sound of Sam screaming in the distance echoed through the night sky, and the one who had driven Sam off lowered his arm and looked down at Langa. His companion walked up to and stood next to him, before looking into the distance.


    “…what did you show him?” She asked.


    “Only what one of his station is permitted to see.” The man responded. “Anyway… during the exchange of… words between the Beast and… the Detective, what did you see?”


    “Two screaming fools.”


    “…what?”


    “You asked me what I saw, and that’s what I saw! Punishing me won’t make me see things differently!”


    “No, I mean you didn’t see… anything floating above his head?”


    “No, not at all.”


    “That’s unfortunate.” The man said before turning around and walking off. “Let us depart.”


    The man then disappeared into the darkness, followed promptly by the woman and they left Detective Langa alone in the alley. Quite a few hours later, Langa’s eyes shot open and he sat up with lightning speed. Immediately afterwards, he was hit with blinding pain that almost made the Detective cry out. His entire body hurt, and it took everything he had not to pass out again. He spent a few moments focusing on his breathing, calming himself and lowering the pain in the process. Once he was able to think and function like a normal human being, Langa reached inside his coat for his phone, but all he retrieved were the shattered remains that USED to be his phone.


    “…well fuck.” He muttered to himself before gingerly forcing himself to his feet and stumbling against the wall.


    He had his left arm pressed against his side when he noticed that there was something in his left hand which was revealed to be a rather sizeable piece of the creature’s shirt. The material was caked in dry blood, and Langa grimaced and smiled at the same time at the turn of events. He took a few more deep breaths before stumbling down the alley in an effort to head back to his car – which was a simple enough task due to the fact that he wasn’t drunk when he followed the creature to where he eventually passed out. Once he got to the car and hopped in, he opened a storage compartment inside the car and pulled out one of many spare phones which were identical to the one he had on his person. He swapped sims and was back in business. Immediately, alerts of missed calls and messages all came flooding in, with most of them coming from the Chief. There had been another murder and apparently, it differed from the previous ones. Langa, who had received the location in one of the texts began the trip to the crime scene. It was much later in the day than he thought it was, so luckily, there was no traffic and he was able to belt it right to his destination. Along the way, Langa realised that there was dry blood on his face, mainly around his mouth and nostrils, and it was likely due to the number of times he was smashed around. Having always been durable, he was usually able to stomach far more physical punishment than most, yet considering what happened last night and considering just how much his entire body ached, Langa suspected he suffered more than a few injuries. When he was close to arriving at the crime scene, Langa stopped the car and opened a storage container and pulled out a series of grooming items, namely wet wipes and face cloths. He cleaned himself up as well as he could, and continued the commute once he was done.


    Once he arrived, the number of media people who were present was almost double the amount from the previous day, and the Detective slid right past them and over the tape without so much as giving them a chance to ask him questions. He didn’t even bother with the usual practice of going around the back of the alley or something, and just walked right to the remains.


    “Sanibonani.” He greeted without looking at anybody as he stopped and looked at the corpse.


    There was the usual barking about him having arrived late, looking rough and the like. Much like all the other occasions, the Detective pretty much ignored everybody and focused rather intensely on the body before him. A few things jumped out at him immediately, and Langa started to move about and carefully observe all the details. Talking to him was even more pointless than usual, with some even commenting on how absorbed he appeared to be. Around ten minutes later, Langa, who was standing in the middle of the alley with his eyes fixed on a point on the wall suddenly felt a hand hit his back, causing him his jolt and grimace. The pain seemingly snapped him out of his bubble, because he could now hear what his colleagues were all saying. All of them had been calling him because Chief Freeman had not only arrived, but he too was bellowing Langa’s name in an effort to get his attention.


    “Detective Langa! Do you have any idea just how long we’ve all been calling out to you?!”


    Langa quietly regained his composure as he ignored the pain before looking at the Chief.


    “Tell me Detective, has that weird murder sixth sense of yours kicked in yet? You’re usually so good with this kind of shit, it’s actually creepy.”


    “…the body is in better shape this time.”


    “…well no shit!” Almost everybody boomed in frustration and unison.


    “Tell us something we don’t know!” Freeman said as he shook his head.


    “I was getting there. The body is in better shape because the killer is evolving and changing the way he does things on the fly. He also has access to better tools, so instead of pulling the victim apart to get to what he truly desires, he’s targeting the spots that house the bits he wants. The abdomen and chest house the organs he prefers to consume, so this time, this is where the brunt of the damage is. If we look at the walls and the area around the body, there is far less blood spatter than in previous instances, so he’s even becoming more adept at landing a killing blow.”


    “So, what you’re saying is, the killer is getting better, while we’re still chasing after our own asses?”


    “Not necessarily.” Langa said as he looked around. “Are there any members of the forensics department present that don’t view me the way most of my peers do?”


    “Why do you ask?”


    “I need to have two things tested asap.”


    “You there – forensics girl. Come here.” The Chief barked while pointing a cigar at a young looking female.


    She scurried over as Freeman’s gruff voice made almost everybody jittery. Once she reached the two men, Langa looked at her before digging in his pockets and pulling out two items – one in each hand. He then held said hands out and opened them, revealing the torn, bloody material and the tooth. Both the Chief and the forensic investigator alternated their gazes between the hands and the Detective’s face, not knowing what exactly they were looking at.


    “Take them.” Langa said looking completely serious.


    “Take th… what are these?!” The forensics lady asked.


    “Evidence. They belong to the killer.”


    “Wait, what?!” Almost everybody present boomed.


    “How the hell did you get THESE?!” Freeman then asked.


    “Last night. I did some investigating, found him, and then tried asking him some questions.”


    “Then what happened?!” One of the Detectives asked.


    “I got my ass kicked.” Langa answered as he grimaced and rubbed his ribs. “Anyway, run DNA tests on both the blood and the tooth, and I’m positive you’ll that the blood belongs to one of the victims, while the tooth will reveal the identity of—”


    “Whoa whoa whoa, slow the fuck down!” Freeman interrupted. “You can’t just gloss over something like that! How did you know where to find him? How sure are you that you didn’t find a random ass drunk and beat him down in a drunken stupor?”


    “Just run the tests, okay?” Langa said as he rolled his eyes and palmed the evidence onto the lady, looked equal parts flustered and grossed out.


    Langa looked at the body one last time before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking off. A few calls and murmurs followed but Langa simply disappeared out of the alley, before being accosted by the media. After a few grimaces, a number of no comments and a nasty glare, the Detective eventually gave an official statement.


    “The killer likes alleys.”


    He then forcefully pushed his way through the crowd before hopping in his car and driving off. In the alley, there was a period in which everybody just looked at each other in silence.


    “Excuse me sir, but what exactly am I supposed to do with these?”


    “What do you mean? Didn’t you hear what Detective Langa said? Go back to the lab and run the damn tests – and be quick about it.”


    “That man just shoved this stuff in my hands, and I’m supposed to jump?”


    “Ah… you must be new here or something to not know about Langa. I’ll give you the short version – there is nobody as brilliant at closing cases yet as reviled as Detective Langa. Him finding obscure and innocuous clues that lead to the closing of cases is something has happened so frequently, it’s almost unfair to the other officers and detectives we have. Yet he’s also such a monumental fuck up of a human being that he has created enemies for himself at the station. His excessive drinking, his attitude, the way he communicates with people, it’s all led to him being disliked. What’s led to him being reviled however is the fact that all of his partners have died.”


    “Excuse me?”


    “You heard me. All of the men and women he has been partnered with in his career have died – to the point where most give him a wide berth for fear of succumbing to his ‘curse’ or whatever they call it.”


    “…just how many partners has he lost?”


    “Enough that he’s been investigated by I.A more times than I care to count. He always checks out clean and is allowed to keep working. Despite him being a total disaster, he closes cases, so he continues to work – especially in this city which has been going to shit in recent decades. Anyway, get back to the lab and run the damn tests that Langa told you to! In the future, any crime related directives given to you by that man are to be followed to the letter, understood?”


    “Yes sir.”


    As things began wrapping up in the alley, Langa went home for a quick shower and changed into another suit, mainly due to the one he had been wearing the night before reeking of his surroundings the night before. He did not sleep this time, and he practically flew out of his apartment and went to the grocery store. After that he drove to a hospital for a checkup, which was performed, finding him to have bruised his ribs, injured his back and a few more internal injuries. After being bandaged up, the Detective went back to his car, picked up a platter of food consisting of fruits, vegetables, nuts and other foods. He then made the short commute to a section of the hospital that he visited at least once a week. The Nurture Home, a psychiatric ward in the hospital was the destination, and Langa walked in before being recognised instantly by the older nurse at the reception area.


    “Detective Langa, good… afternoon.”


    “Good afternoon.” Langa greeted with a nod. “I’m here for my usual visit.”


    “Of course. Please follow me.”


    Langa simply nodded before following the woman into the facility. Her attempts at small talk were rebuffed yet she didn’t seem to care and continued asking him a bunch of questions he was loathe to answer. After bumping into another nurse and confirming the location of the patient Langa was there to visit, the two went to the common area. A bunch of patients were doing a whole bunch of activities, with some playing, others being read to, others watching television, painting, and so on. Meanwhile, a pale, long haired woman was seated in a secluded corner, staring out of the window. Next to her was a man around her age, speaking to her somewhat desperately and trying to get her attention.


    “…ah. Ewan is here.” Langa said with a sigh and a grimace.


    “Oh my, I had no idea he was still here. He’s been coming quite frequently in recent weeks, but he’s never really come to see her at the same time as you.”


    “Alright, you take the platter, and I’ll leave.”


    “Unfortunately, Detective, that won’t work. She has to see that the food came from you, otherwise…”


    “Very well.”


    The pair started walking towards the pair seated at the table, and the closer they got, as if by coincidence, the more frustrated the man became until he slammed his hands on the table and stood up.


    “Eat, Stacey! Eat the food that I have brought for you!”


    “Mr. Connor!” The Nurse said as she rushed towards him.


    Ewan looked back at the nurse with a look of absolute desperation and frustration on his face. Clearly, he had been trying to feed Stacey, but was not making any progress. When he saw that Langa was present as well, all remorse immediately melted away and was replaced with pure, face morphing and blood boiling abhorrence and anger.


    “YOU!!!” Ewan spat as he turned his body and charged Langa without warning.


    The big burly men who usually monitored and policed the patients were required to move quickly in order to stop the onrushing civilian from attacking an officer of the law. In spite of their heft, they managed to intervene rather swiftly and just at the right time, while Ewan did nothing but struggle and try to free himself.


    “You piece of shit! You bastard! How dare you come here! It’s your fault that Stacey is even in this fucking loony bin! Get out! Fuck off! Your last partner wasn’t enough for you, so tried to kill my wife too – my fucking wife! You’re not welcome here!”


    Ewan continued to hurl expletives at Langa, whilst becoming increasingly annoyed at just how blasé and unbothered the Detective was by the entire thing. He became so animated in fact that it clearly started to bother the other patients, who started crying, howling, becoming aggressive, and more. The only patient who seemingly didn’t care about the entire thing was the man’s own wife, who just stared out of the window the whole time. After some firm ‘persuasion’ Ewan finally calmed down enough for the rest of the staff to come in and tend to the patients. Meanwhile, the Detective simply walked to the table that Stacey was seated at, and sat down across from her. He placed the platter on the table next to the food that Ewan had been trying to feed her and just spent a few moments looking at the woman.


    “…hello, Doc.” He said in a virtual whisper. “How are you feeling? Are the nurses and doctors taking care of you?”


    Langa neither got an answer nor a response in any way, shape or form. Instead, the woman continued to stare out of the window without blinking. He then placed the platter in front of her and opened it, prompting a staff member who was free to approach before being waved off by Langa.


    “I’ve also brought you some food, so let’s eat, yeah?”


    The Detective sanitised his hands using a dispenser on the wall and then held a skewer of halved and quartered fruits to the woman’s mouth. Much to the chagrin of her Husband, she opened her mouth and ate without a lick of hesitation. Ewan struggled internally and looked as though he was fighting back tears, but he eventually broke free from the chokehold he was in and dejectedly sauntered off. Things calmed down to the point where everybody went back to doing whatever it was, they were before Ewan caused a scene, while the Detective fed Stacey until she no longer opened her mouth to accept the food. This was all done in silence, and the Detective watched Stacey quietly long after she finished eating.


    “Doc… something happened, last night.” Langa said as he stammered uncharacteristically. “I’ve been trying to reconcile it in my head from the moment I awoke, and I just… the things… the things that have plagued me – haunted me – for my entire life, the things from my visions, my nightmares, the things that ended my marriage, that have fucking ruined my life… they’re real.”


    Langa, whose voice had started cracking as he spoke, did his best to maintain his composure and keep speaking.


    “They aren’t just hallucinations… I know this because I actually fought against one of those fucking things last night. I got completely ripped to shreds, but I still fought against it. It was a weird creature, with –”


    Langa suddenly stopped talking before looking up at Stacey and sighing.


    “The last time I described what I saw to you, you ended up in here, so… anyway, those weird instincts that I have that lead me to death, I don’t know what they are, but I might be able to actually find some fucking answers.”


    The Detective had clearly become emotional, and quickly excused himself after saying his goodbyes. He left the hospital and as the caregivers started to clean up and package the food that Langa brought over, one of them looked at Stacey and smiled.


    “It’s sweet that the Detective keeps coming to see you and bring you food, isn’t it, Dr. Connor?”


    Stacey turned to looked at the man who had spoken to her and the corners of her mouth curled into a rather sweet smile. This lasted only for a brief moment before she went to staring out the window blankly, but it was long enough that those who usually care for her almost fell to the floor in shock.


    “…h-how long has it been since she reacted to anything?!” The man asked.


    “In the year and a half that she’s been in this institution, this is the very first time.” A pudgy lady answered, as she tried to get up off the floor.


    The two spent some time completely silent as they alternated their gazes between each other and Stacey before the male attendee looked at the woman and gulped.


    “Should we tell Mr. Connor about this?”


    The two just stared at each other, looking equally confused and conflicted. Meanwhile, Langa sat in his car looking particularly uncomfortable. He sat with an almost fatally firm grip on his phone, staring at it in silence. He was genuinely in emotional pain, as the only person who was actually able to see what he sees was also the person he couldn’t confide in, purely because the last time he did so in earnest, she couldn’t even handle a fraction of what he saw on a daily basis. His greatest fear was that if he told her about what happened in full, she would actually die, and that would rob him of the only person in his life who knew what he went through. He continued to stare at his phone, before navigating to his contacts and staring at Samke’s contact until he pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and simply let out a frustrated and broken sigh. He remained like that for a while, before recovering, closing his contacts and driving off, making his way back to the station. From the moment he walked into the building, the glares and the sneers he was usually so adept at ignoring felt as though they were increasingly effective. The defenses and mental shields he had put up were uncharacteristically flimsy that day, and he heard every single slur, each time somebody spat when he walked past, people murmuring things such as ‘cursed’, ‘cop killer’, ‘filth’ and the like. The words practically bounced around the Detective’s head, and despite his efforts to block out all the noise, he simply couldn’t focus properly. By the end of the day, Langa had reached his limit and left as quickly as possible. His world and his head were spinning, but he managed to drive to the gym successfully. In spite of the pain he was in, Langa changed and worked out, maxing out every single machine and free weight that he used in the process. He was actually an extremely fit and well-built man, and his physical strength was nothing to look down one’s nose at. Yet he was still handled so easily by that creature from the previous night, and that in and of itself proved that he entered a completely new world that night.


    After his workout and picking up some food along the way to his destination, Langa ate in the parking lot outside of Club Foot. At some point during his meal, the Detective received a phone call which he picked up, but didn’t answer.


    “…Langa?” Didi tentatively called out after an uncomfortable silence.


    “…yeah?”


    “Did you… did you drink last night?”


    “…I promised you that I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”


    Didi didn’t respond to the question, and after a significant amount of time was spent in silence, Langa spoke.


    “If there’s nothing else—”


    “Didintle, letha ucingo la*” (Didintle, give me the phone.) Samke said, cutting Langa off before switching over from loud speaker to the regular one.


    “Samke.”


    “Pious… what happened?”


    “What do you mean?”


    “You only get like this when something significant has happened. You’re never short with the children unless… look, you’re no longer on loud speaker, and I’ve left the lounge, so we can talk. Tell me what happened.”


    Langa said absolutely nothing and left Samke hanging on the line. She could hear him breathing, and just by the way he was drawing breath, she could tell he was deep in contemplation. She could practically hear the gears grinding in both his head and his heart, and she knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of him if she just waited for him to speak.


    “Pious… is this a work-related issue?”


    “…kinda.”


    “So, it happened while you were on the job. So, something happened last night… did you find the suspect you were pursuing?”


    “I did.”


    “Considering how there was another victim last night, it’s safe to assume that you couldn’t stop him.”


    “Correct.”


    “Why not?”


    “Because he kicked my ass.”


    There was a sharp intake of breath by Samke which was followed by yet another pause, as the woman was taken by complete surprise at what Langa had just said.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    “H-How did that happen?!” She practically squeaked into the phone. “Were you jumped? Did they gang up on you? Were you drugged? No, that doesn’t usually have an effect on your ridiculous strength. How many of them were there? Did they use weapons? Did they—”


    “It was just one guy, Sam. Just stop.”


    “But… how?? You don’t lose fights – especially one-on-one—”


    “It happened, so just let it go already. Of all the things that happened last night, getting my ass kicked was literally the least notable.”


    “What? Something else happened?!”


    “Yes… I finally received confirmation that… that…”


    Langa, whose voice had even started cracking, suddenly fell silent. All that could be heard was the sound of his breathing as he actively tried to calm himself. He succeeded, but didn’t resume what he was saying previously, much to Samke’s chagrin.


    “Well? What did you confirm, Pious?” She asked impatiently.


    “Nothing. Forget I said anything. I have to go, anyway.”


    “No – you cannot just run off and not finish what you were saying! Tell me what you confirmed!”


    “I can’t.”


    “Bullshit!”


    “I said I can’t!” Langa snapped, raising his voice for the first time.


    “Why not?!” Samke snapped right back.


    “Because the last person I tried to make understand how I see the world now stares out of a window, drooling all over herself.” Langa said, sounding far more composed than before, but still with a slightly shaky voice.


    “Oh please, are you talking about that Stacey woman? I’ve been dealing with the way you ‘see the world’ for more than half of our fucking lives! I was the one present for the screaming, the sweating, the violent dream induced episodes, the tears! I’ve strapped you to a bed, I’ve held you down, I’ve spent countless nights awake with you! So, don’t you dare compare me to some nosy, two-bit psychiatrist who fried her own damn mind after being unable to handle ten seconds of what I spent practically all my life dealing with, alright?! I’m not some high-priced yet ultimately useless doctor, I’m your fucking wi-—”


    “No, you aren’t – not anymore.”


    Samke, who had been growing progressively impassioned during her rant suddenly fell silent, and both her and Langa stayed on the line, yet said nothing to each other. After close to a full minute of absolute silence, Langa took the initiative and broke it.


    “Like I said, I have to go.”


    “Pious…”


    “…what?”


    “If you can’t even talk to me about stuff like this, then who do you have that you can?”


    Yet another bout of silence persisted, before the Detective spoke again.


    “…nobody.” He practically whispered before hanging up.


    Samke, who had moved outside to the patio at the start of the phone call did her best to blink back tears while the Detective simply left the car and went inside the bar – dumping his badge, pistol and all the other important stuff on the counter in front of Lorenzo without saying a word to either him, or any of the staff that tried to greet him. Instead, he just grabbed a bottle from a shelf that exclusively stocked his liquor, made his way to a table which was pretty much known as his, sat down and began drinking straight from that bottle without so much as a second thought, thus starting his usual cycle anew.


    Langa then spent the vast majority of the next few days repeating his usual loop of getting black out drunk, waking up in some junk heap, freshening up just enough that he didn’t look like a corpse, going to work, going home to shower, and then heading back to the bar. There weren’t any murders during those days, so his being tardy wasn’t even an issue. Even if it was, considering how he was virtually reviled within the station, nobody was getting on his case due to his being absent for large portions of the day. On the morning of the fourth day, as an absolutely retched looking, damn near zombified Langa stumbled into work and fell on to his chair. His desk was pretty much isolated from the rest, so it was always quiet around his area – which meant he was always made aware of the incoming presence of somebody pretty early due to footsteps. The Detective, who had been staring at the ceiling in silence looked down once the footsteps stopped.


    “Forensics girl.” He said, his voice sounding rough as all Hell. “Finally.” He remarked before clearing his chest.


    “Excuse me Detective, but that isn’t my name.” She retorted.


    “I’m sure it isn’t. Do you have the results I have been waiting for?”


    “I do. I apologise for the delay – there was something of an issue with our—”


    “Save it.” Langa interrupted as he held out his right hand. “The issue was that you were stopped from conducting the tests yourself, and those who did perform them decided to make me wait for as long as humanly possible to receive the results. I already know how it goes.”


    “What… I don’t understand, how can you be so hated? How can you be okay with being so hated??”


    “I don’t care about any of that – there are only two things I can do with absolute confidence in this life; kill, and solve murder cases. The rest doesn’t matter.”


    Langa glared at the woman, who was still holding on to the test results, which caused her to actually flinch and panic a bit. She handed the file over, speaking as she did.


    “The blood on that shirt fragment belonged to one of the victims – Kievan Pada—”


    “I know who he was… he was one of the early victims, and was torn to absolute shreds… he was barely recognisable.”


    Langa said all this as he skimmed through the results, before seeing the information he had actually been waiting for.


    “Damian Nyanga…” Langa said to himself as he not only focused on the name, but also the face of the man who had completely brutalised him only days prior.


    Evidently, he was looking at the paper in his hands with a bit too much intensity, as after a few moments, he noticed how the one who had handed him the paper was looking at him. The Detective simply cleared his throat and set the paper down on the desk in front of him before getting on the computer. He pulled up Damian’s record and after studying it rather quickly, Langa then pulled out a notebook from his desk and began writing. Once he was done, he printed out a large copy of Damian’s picture, and as the Detective stood up and grabbed his coat, he saw that the forensics girl was still standing there, looking at him with unblinking eyes.


    “Why are you still here?” Langa queried as he put his coat on. “Do want a gold star and a chocolate or something?”


    “No.” She replied simply. “I’m just trying to see why you’re so reviled.”


    “Didn’t Freeman tell you about me? Considering how he was the one who called you over the other day, I’m surprised he didn’t.”


    “Oh, you mean the whole ‘cursed partner killer’ thing? Yeah, he told me all about that – as did my supervisor and a lot more people.”


    “Then why are you still pursuing the matter?”


    “Because I haven’t seen you kill anybody. I haven’t seen you cause the death of a cop; I haven’t seen you close cases others can’t. I haven’t seen any of the things that make you equal parts unwanted and indispensable.”


    “Look at my desk.” Langa stated simply as he fixed himself up. “All of the graffiti, the damage, hate messages, all of this shit, was done before my last partner died in the field. After he died, the people in here stepped up their efforts to drive me out through what they called ‘harmless pranks and joking around’. I hospitalised most, if not all of the cops who were responsible for all of the hazing. When they came back, desks were moved, schedules were changed and I was given a wide berth. I’m not isolated because I’m reviled Forensics Girl, I’m avoided because I’m feared, but I’m also tolerated because I’m good at what I do.”


    While he was speaking, the Detective continued to get ready to leave and by the time he was finished talking, he had all but started to walk away. To him, the conversation had ended and he made his way out the building and to his car. Just as he was about to climb into his car, he found that he had been followed.


    “What do you want? I thought we were finished.”


    “How do you honestly think that? You didn’t finish the story.”


    “You were wondering why I am hated and avoided, I told you why in my own words. What do you mean I didn’t finish, Forensics Girl?”


    “…my name is Elaheh.”


    “Excuse me?”


    “I said my name is Elaheh, not Forensics Girl.”


    “Well then Elaheh, I’m leaving now to go find Damian. Please get out of the way before I drive over you like a speed bump.”


    The Detective jumped into his beat-up car and drove off so quickly, it was as if he was actually trying to run Elaheh over. He had written down a number of addresses that had been listen under Damien’s last known addresses, but had no faith in Damian being at any of them. While they were all in close proximity to one another, they were entirely too far from where they had fought the other night, and considering how Damian was a regular at Sam’s bar, Langa didn’t think he would find the other man at any of those addresses. His search brought him deep into the slums once again, but this time, owing to the higher light levels, the levels of muck and filth were far clearer for all to see. Everything had a distinctly wet look to it, with items and surfaces covered in a glossy film that made them glisten uncomfortably. Along with home addresses, there was also that of his last known place of employment, so Langa decided to start there, and then work his way through the home addresses. As it turned out, Damian was a dock worker, and as Langa stepped out of his car, he was hit by a smell so foul and so… moist, he actually recoiled a tad – as if he had been slapped across the face. He took a moment to steel himself before making his way to the first person he saw that looked like a dock worker. He then stood in front of the man and held up two things; his badge and the picture of Damian Nyanga. The dock worker looked at both items, before pointing towards a rather fat man who appeared to be barking out instructions and pointing towards various stockpiles. The Detective walked off after nodding his appreciation and approached the fat man who had noticed him approaching.


    “What you want down here, officer?” The fat man asked, coming across as slightly hostile.


    “When last did you see Damian Nyanga?” Langa asked, seemingly unfazed by the hostility.


    “Why the fuck do you think I’d tell you that?”


    “Because I have gun and more than enough bullets to shoot you, and the rest of you filthy motherfuckers.”


    The Detective pulled his pistol and very quickly pointed it at the fat man, even pressing it against the burly man’s forehead while glaring directly into his eyes. He even switched the safety off to emphasise his point, and while the fat man kept his composure incredibly well, his skin was covered in goose skin and he broke out into a cold a sweat.


    “…we haven’t seen Damian in weeks.” The fat man said as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “The last time he came to work, his hands were covered in blood and he reeked of cheap booze. He was acting all weird, talking about being hungry and shit the whole fuckin’ day… then he just up and left in the middle of the day and never came back.”


    Langa listened quietly until the story was finished, before he held the notepad up to the fat man’s face.


    “Which of these three addresses is his current home address?”


    “I don’t fuckin’ know – none of us do! We weren’t all that close, we just worked together and occasionally had a drink!”


    The Detective just stared into the fat man’s eyes and it felt as though he was forcefully gazing directly into his soul. After a few uncomfortable moments passed, Langa lowered both his gun and his notepad, before putting both away. He then turned around and walked off without saying another word, hopped into his car and drove off. The fat man, who stood perfectly still in the same spot, suddenly let out a massive breath and even crumbled to the floor. A few of the dockworkers who had glared at and flipped Langa off as he drove off approached their superior.


    “What the fuck, what are you doing?” One asked.


    “Why are you on the floor, Boss?” Another asked.


    The fat man just continued to mutter something under his breath that most of them couldn’t hear, which prompted one of them to kneel down next to him and listen.


    “…I almost died.” He mouthed before looking at the others who had surrounded the fat man. “He’s saying he almost died.”


    “Oh please, that pig was just bluffing. Do you think he was really going to shoot one of us in broad daylight, with all of us around as fuckin’ witnesses?”


    “The Boss certainly seems to think so…”


    As the dockworkers continued to ponder the probability of the Detective shooting them, said Detective made his way towards the first address. As if it was possible, things became progressively more grey and filthy, and as he got closer to the first address, Langa took note of the sheer number of children running around in the streets, climbing up filth piles, rolling around in whatever ooze-like substances that blanketed the streets and pavements, and just how nobody seemed to care about this. Drugs were being sold and taken in clear view of anybody and everybody that cared to look, and as he reached the first apartment building, Langa parked in the street and stepped out of the car. He was immediately hit with a smell that was just as and as the one from the docks, but due to having acclimated rather quickly, he just strode towards the building. He entered, and immediately looked for the stairs, knowing that the probability of the lift working was as low as it could get. He navigated his away around the piles of garbage on the floor and ascended the stairs. He got to the third floor and made his way over to the apartment number written in the notepad and knocked.


    “This is the police – open up.”


    There wasn’t even a lick of hesitation as the door swung right open. Music blared from within the apartment and a half naked man with cornrows stood in the doorway.


    “Good afternoon officer, how may I help you?” He asked, sounding awfully polite.


    “My name is Detective Langa, I am looking for Damian Nyanga. This address was listed as his, so I was wondering if he was home.”


    “Nah Dawg – I mean Officer – we don’t know no Damian, and we sure as hell don’t live with one.”


    “Is that so?”


    “Yeah man, it is. You’re welcome to come inside and look for him.”


    Detective Langa just looked at the man, before peering behind him and seeing a rather large amount of men within, and three naked women in various positions – none of them flattering.


    “No thanks. Just do me a favour and take a look at this picture.”


    The man took the picture and looked at it intensely, before walking into the apartment and showing the picture to everybody inside – including the women. The all shook their heads and once the picture made its way back to Langa, he carefully inspected it to make sure no fluids had gotten on to it.


    “Sorry man, we don’t know this dude.”


    “Understood. Apologies for disturbing you, and enjoy the rest of your day.”


    “No sweat, Officer. Say, you sure you don’t want to come inside and join us?”


    “Nah, I’m good – thanks.”


    Langa nodded and quickly made his way back to his car which he wasn’t surprised to find a bunch of street urchins trying to break into. All he did was flash his gun, and that was more than enough to drive them off. He then made his way to the second address, in which the second encounter was awfully similar to the first except this time, the current tenants of the apartment actually asked Langa for ten bucks – which he surprisingly gave them. He then went to the third address, and after knocking for a considerable amount of time, it became clear to Langa that there was nobody home. He then tried to see if the door was unlocked – which it was, and after drawing his weapon, he slowly made his way in. The door squeaked rather annoyingly, however unlike the exterior of the apartment; the interior was surprisingly clean. The Detective did his best to keep his steps silent, however the creaky floorboards gave him away with every step. He kept his gun at the ready as he thoroughly went through the entire apartment looking for traces of Damian, or the man himself, yet all he got was confirmation that he wasn’t home. Things were also terribly stuffy inside, which told the Detective that nobody had been in or out of the apartment in weeks – which not only coincided with what the fat man said, but also with the start of the murders. Langa was particularly frustrated by this, especially due to the fact that as much as he tried, he couldn’t even rely on his ‘sixth sense’ to help him out due to how devoid of traces the apartment was. As Langa eventually stepped out into the hall, the door of an apartment that was a little further down said hall. As Langa approached the door, it opened ever further and the head of an elderly woman poked out.


    “Ma’am.” Langa greeted with a nod.


    “Good afternoon, Detective.” The old woman greeted back. “I see you’ve come here looking to find Damian… unfortunately for you, I don’t think he’ll ever come back here.”


    “Wait, you know Damian? Might you know where he went, or if he has any associates or friends that would know?”


    “I’m sorry Detective, but if you wish for me to answer those questions of yours, you will have to indulge me for a little bit and join me for a cup of tea.”


    “I beg your pardon?”


    “You heard me, young man. Cone on in.”


    The old woman stepped away from the door, which she had pulled open completely, and walked deeper into the apartment. Some kind of energy seemed to flow out from the apartment, and it made the Detective’s skin crawl and senses kick into overdrive. There was only a moment of hesitation from his side, but knowing that this lady could have information that he needed was more than enough to spur him on and have him enter. He did just that and as he walked in, he looked around as if expecting to see signs of whatever it was that made him feel the way he did. Instead all he saw was a regular looking old lady’s apartment.


    “You seem surprised, Detective.” She chuckled as she shuffled around in the kitchen. “What were you expecting to find?”


    “I don’t quite know, but how did you even know I was even searching for something?”


    “Never mind that right now, tea or coffee?”


    “Uh, coffee – no milk, no sugar.”


    “Goodness me…” The old woman quipped as she fixed the coffee.


    After a few minutes, she called for Langa to take a seat in the lounge and joined him soon after, setting the mug down in front of him. Langa took a sip of coffee and just looked at the old woman expectantly.


    “My, what an intense gaze… to answer your questions, I do in fact know Mr. Nyanga. He used to work down at the docks. I know not where he went, who he associates with, or who might put him up. What I do know for sure, is that the reason behind his sudden disappearance is neither simple to understand, nor simple to resolve.”


    “Wait, you mean to say you know what happened to him?”


    “Of course not, Detective. I’m just saying I know he changed. Did you know Detective, that souls all have colours?”


    “Colours?”


    “That’s right. The clearer and purer the colour of the soul, the stronger the willpower and mindset of the one it belongs to. There is clarity of thought, emotional strength, and it just produces all round good results. A murky, muddy colour to the soul screams of internal discord, weakness, a disconnect between intentions and actions… for example, somebody who intends not to gamble or drink, yet despite trying their hardest, they succumb to that desire within themselves to do the very thing they would rather die than do.”


    The old woman spoke in a knowing voice, and Langa swore that she was even looking at him directly when she said it all. The Detective and the elderly woman looked at each other, and that was when Langa realised something about the woman. Clearly, she noticed him realising it and chuckled as she raised her cup to her lips.


    “So, you finally noticed… took you long enough. Some detective you are.”


    “…you’re blind.”


    “In one sense, I most certainly am. But then, I can see in so many ways that I don’t even miss regular eyesight.”


    “…can you see in a way that allows you to differentiate between a coffee can and an urn filled with your late husband’s ashes?”


    The old woman cackled rather boisterously before taking another sip of her tea. Meanwhile Langa, who was actually being dead serious when he asked her that question, looked at the coffee suspiciously before downing the entire thing, steaming hot as it was. When he didn’t react or flinch, the old lady shook her head incredulously.


    “You do know that was still burning hot, right? What if that really was just my beloved’s ashes mixed with hot water?!”


    “I drink worse almost every single day… I doubt the old man would even give me indigestion.”


    Langa bullishly mad the declaration as he stood up after having set the mug down on the table.


    “Forgive me, but I really don’t have the time to hang around. I have to find Damian as quickly as possible.”


    “I understand, Detective. Thank you for humouring an old woman.”


    “Not at all, thank you for the Mkhulu Juice. (Old Man Juice)”


    Langa saw himself out, wondering why he had even bothered with that pointless diversion, while in the apartment, the old woman stood by the window which had direct line of sight to the street.


    “Never have a seen a soul so bright and pure, yet in so much pain and turmoil. I don’t know what that man is, but he is definitely not normal.”


    The abnormal man sat in his car for what felt like an age, trying to contemplate his next move. While conducting his research on Damian earlier that day, Langa found that he neither had a phone, nor family in the city. He had literally dropped off the grid, and it seemed as though the only way Langa would be able to find him was by finding something at the next crime scene, which wasn’t ideal. Just as he started his car and got ready to drive off, Langa’s phone started ringing. An unfamiliar number appeared on screen, which was and wasn’t odd because even though he barely had ten contacts saved, the Detective also didn’t give his phone number out to anybody, so he was confused as to who it was that was calling. After spending time deliberating as to whether or not he should answer, Langa eventually did pick up and was shocked to hear the voice of somebody he only just met the other day.


    “Well, good afternoon my dear Detective – how have you been?” Sam asked with his distinctive drawl.


    “…Sam? What the? How did you get my number?”


    “I called the police department asking for you, but was told you were not in, so after quite a bit of convincing, a sweet-sounding female gave me this number.”


    “…alright, now why did you feel the need to call me? Is it because of the crack I owe you?”


    “Well, partially, but that isn’t even important. The reason I’m calling you is because I wanted to find out how things went the other night. Were able to successfully follow our dear friend Damian?”


    “I was, but it didn’t really lead anywhere good. I wasn’t able to – wait a minute, you told me you didn’t fucking know his name!”


    “That’s because at that time, I most definitely didn’t. But I know a few things now, like his name, his address…”


    “I already know that shit. In fact, I’m outside his apartment right now – he wasn’t been here for weeks.”


    “Yes, well that’s to be expected. But along with what I’ve just mentioned, I also know a few more things, but most importantly for you, I know where Damian lays his head at night.”


    “I already told you, I’m outside his—”


    “I said I know where he lays his head at night… currently.”


    Langa quickly grabbed his notepad and a pen from the glove box before virtually barking at his phone.


    “Speak!”


    Sam then gave the Detective the information he sought with a chuckle, before Langa roared his appreciation, along with a commitment to buy the man at least double the crack he had already promised him, before absolutely tearing away and flying out of the slum he was in. According to the GPS, the slum he was headed to was on the complete opposite end of the city, which in itself was closer to Sam’s establishment. The drive was long enough that by the time he arrived in the area, the late afternoon had become late evening, and the trademark Kusa darkness was in full swing. Langa parked his car in a lot that was close to the address he was given, due to the fact that there was no vehicle access available due to the infrastructure having deteriorated to such a point that no cars could make it through.


    Unlike the last time though, Langa wasn’t going in unprepared. In the boot of his car, he had a flashlight, a baton and a lot of extra bullets. He slid the baton and torch into their individual slots in the holster, before taking as much ammunition as he could, before taking a deep breath and walking towards the high-rise apartment buildings. He looked up towards the sky as he approached the buildings, and instinctively tightened his grip on his weapon.


    “Who the fuck are all of you, and why have you gathered here?”


    He asked this question as if the things he was seeing were going to answer him. He even stopped for a second, as if they actually were going to answer, but when they didn’t, he continued walking. Meanwhile, on the roof of one of those buildings, the robed man and woman who had chased Sam off the other night stood on the edge of a rooftop, looking down at the Detective as he entered the shared courtyard.


    “So… do you think he’s going to survive this encounter?” The woman asked.


    “The future of our House, and of our Dimension depend on it.” The man answered succinctly.


    Back on the ground, Langa, whose skin immediately began to crawl as he entered the property, reached for and grabbed his torch. There was a really powerful stench that filled the entire property. It was a mixture of blood, of death, of desperation and a few more things that the Detective couldn’t identify. That same stench was also practically guiding Langa, as he walked in in the direction that seemed to lead to the source of it. He switched the torch on as he walked, and much to his surprise, he saw a number of bodies strewn all over the place. After checking to see if a few of them were bodies and not corpses, he moved on. A few of the people who were on the floor started moaning and groaning, and these were accompanied by all the ambient sounds such as the wind blowing in the distance, running and dripping water, birds off and flapping away and more. One thing that couldn’t be heard was the Detective’s footsteps, as he practically moved in complete silence. The torch was only switched on briefly to give him time to look around and plot a course, before being switched off and as Langa approached the building from which the stench originated, it actually got stronger and more concentrated. The moment the Detective reached the entrance to the building, his skin felt like it was on actual fire. It got to the point where it got to be almost unbearably uncomfortable, and without even doing so consciously, Langa activated that sixth sense of his, with vision from his right eye turning completely red.


    “…something in this place is horribly wrong.” Langa whispered to himself as his skin continued to burn.


    As if ignoring all the warnings his instincts were giving him about entering the building, the Detective crossed the threshold and entered, with one hand tucked beneath his coat with a firm grip on his gun. The immediate sense that he got after stepping in was that he was most definitely not alone. The odd rattle and squeak echoed through the ground floor which Langa was on, and as he slowly and tentatively walked through the pitch-black foyer, he would occasionally flick the torch on. Doing this multiple time allowed him to build a mental image of the room in his head, which in turn enabled him to navigate his way through the room without tripping, stumbling or bumping into anything. The stench, which was not only strong but possessed a tangible quality was both suffocating and painful to breathe in – making it feel like Langa was wading through cheese curds. Cables and pipes hung out from holes in the ceiling, as if they were being birthed, the floor tiles were cracked and, in many cases, missing, which meant walking silently would prove to be a challenge. All this, coupled with the fact that the Detective was pursuing something that had not only bested him one before, but had done so quite easily only served to ramp up the tension. Langa moved towards a pair of doors he had saw during his torch lighting moments, looking to see if Damian was hiding in there.


    He pulled his gun from its holster and held it in his main hand, while holding the torch in his supporting hand and crossing it under his weapon holding hand. Langa then opened the door as quietly as possible and stepped in, holding the gun in front of him and turning the torch on. His hands darted around the room and after a few seconds, the light fell on a pair of bodies that were sitting upright against the wall. Langa went over to confirm that both of them were still alive, which they were. Their pulses were slow, but there and that was enough for the Detective.


    “All of these people look to be high out of their fucking minds.” He remarked to himself before standing up and switching the torch off.


    The moment he did that, he heard the squeaking once more, but this time it was accompanied by the sound of scurrying feet. The footsteps were numerous, and heavy enough that they gave Langa pause.


    “What kind of rats infest these buildings? Are they the cause of the smell?”


    Langa made his way out of the first bathroom and into the second, looking to see if either Damian, or more bugged out crack fiends were in there. There were more moaning and groaning bodies laid out on the floor, but once again, as the torch was switched off, the pitter-patter of scurrying feet echoed in the bathroom. Langa stepped out of the bathroom and began walking again, only this time with the torch on for longer periods than before as he tried to find more doors, be they for the lift or the stairs. Each time he would turn the torch off though, the scurrying feet would return. It also seemed as though the number of ‘rats’ would increase every time the torch was switched off, as if more and more were crawling out from the multiple holes in the walls, floor and ceiling. Eventually, it sounded like at least twenty pairs of feet were scurrying all around him, with the squeaks becoming more frequent and a lot louder. All of a sudden, the Detective turned around with blinding speed and turned the torch on to find one of the rats standing right behind him – only, this wasn’t a rodent. A massive, pulsating eye that was bloodshot and covered in throbbing veins sat atop six legs that jutted out directly from underneath said eye, had knees that bent at perfect right angles and then shot down to the floor and in the place of feet, six giant human hands adorned the ankle-free legs. This thing stood at around 3 feet in height, and the eye was continuously looking around while squeaking until the pupil settled on Langa. The moment it did that, it leapt into the air, revealing a circular mouth full of multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth and let out a shriek of ear shattering proportions as it went straight for the Detective’s face.


    “WHAT THE?!”


    Langa absolutely boomed that as he leapt to his right, evading the incoming mouth in the nick of time before raising his gun and firing off a shot at the creature. It shrieked again and actually dodged the first shot. The Detective fired off two more shots in quick succession, yet they two were also avoided before the creature leapt into the air again and went straight for his face once more. The six legs then wrapped themselves around his upper torso, neck and head, before the fingers interlocked, creating a vice like grip. The mouth shrieked yet again, and the… mouth, opened about as wide as it could, with hot and foul-smelling steam hitting Langa directly in the face; almost causing him to lose consciousness. Luckily though, he had already positioned his arm in such a way that he was able to position the gun directly beneath the creature and shoot, which he did. He fired three shots directly into the creature, causing it to shriek and squeak, before releasing him from its grip and falling to the floor with a wet squelch. Thick, syrupy blood oozed from the bullet holes and pooled around the corpse, and the Detective spent a few moments breathing heavily and trying to catch his breath.


    “Holy shit!” He said between breaths. “What fuck was that?!”


    Langa’s head snapped around in multiple directions as he looked to see if any more of them were about to attack him. He decided to act quickly, tossing the torch into his mouth quickly and biting down, while simultaneously pulling his police baton out from its holster as well. He kept the flashlight on and proceeded to walk once again, constantly turning around and looking up towards the ceiling. He was indeed followed by the sound of multiple… hands following him from above, behind, and along the walls, but the light seemed to be something kept them at bay. The Detective would occasionally catch a glimpse of one of them darting across somewhere, but that was only caught by his right eye. After what felt like entirely too long, Langa reached the lift doors and checked to see if they were working. They weren’t, which then meant his next target was the stairs. The Detective walked while having his back pressed to the wall and constantly looking around, and this actually kept the ‘rats’ off of him, yet he could hear how more and more were joining the herd so to speak. Soon enough, the squeaks, rattles and all the other noises became too numerous for Langa to distinguish, so he knew he either had to find Damian Nyanga fast, or get the hell out of there.


    The Detective finally reached the stairwell after having carefully played this nerve-wracking game of cat and mouse. Although the stairwell provided temporary respite, it didn’t provide what Langa was looking for as the roof had caved in, and there was no was of ascending the stairs. What had actually happened was that the Detective had unknowingly boxed himself in, and the chittering became ever more exited and louder due to this development. It was getting to be such that the sheer number of the things was slowly becoming more than what the meagre light provided by the torch could keep at bay, and Langa had to move and act quickly. He decided to go back out, and make his way to the exit. He continued to walk with his back pressed against the wall, but even that tactic was becoming increasingly ineffective and it was only a matter of time before he was going to be swarmed. Langa realised that and spent a few moments deliberating between sticking to this plan and riding it out for as long as possible, or just making a break for it. Unfortunately for him, one of the creatures made the decision for him as it jumped towards him while shrieking. Whilst they were in the air, they were actually sitting ducks and gave Langa more than enough time to shoot. He shot the one that had leapt towards him, and this seemed to signal the beginning of the free-for-all, with the things now all launching themselves at the Detective. To his credit, he actually kept his cool and started shooting and swinging his baton for dear life, blasting and bashing the living shit out of all the creatures that came his way. As much as it took a single well-placed bullet to kill them, it took two or three hits with the baton to kill them, and unless they were actually airborne, Langa wasn’t scoring any hits – be they with the gun or the baton. Luckily for him, all of the things appeared to be pretty stupid, and they continued to leap at him. No matter how many were killed though, their numbers only seemed to increase, and the more the swarm grew, the louder the shrieks became until Langa was sure his eardrums had burst. He was a flurry of gunshots, baton swings, and falling cartridges as he reloaded so quickly, his hand was a blur. It looked like it was only a matter of time until he was going to run out of bullets and energy, so Langa was still thinking of an exit strategy when all of a sudden, the ground shook beneath his feet. It felt like something that was underground was trying to get out after two successive thumps, something did indeed burst out from the floor, creating a rather large hole.


    From said hole emerged a creature with six arms and it let out a roar so familiar it caused not only the weird six-handed eye creatures to shiver in fear, but Detective Langa to shake in anger. Damian Nyanga, who had undergone further metamorphosis, stood there and let out a series of roars. He turned his attention to the eye creatures and began to absolutely rip them to shreds with his arms, each of them extending and whipping the creatures to pieces. Detective Langa stood there and watched as this mutated serial killer was handily dealing with these things that had forced him into a corner and caused him to break out into a monumental sweat. This only served to further enrage the Detective, and once the murderer had dealt with most of the creatures, while the rest and fled, the two… men stood across from each other, staring directly into one another’s eyes.


    “…why… are you… here?” Damian stammered out, his voice sounding as though his throat had been cut.


    “I should be here to arrest you, but seeing what you’ve become, I have to fucking end you.”


    “I… am just trying… to… live. I did… not mean to… hurt… them… or… y-you.”


    “Yeah, well your continued existence means that people will continue to be consumed and destroyed… I can’t allow that to happen in the city in which my family lives. So, for their sakes, you must die.”


    As Langa spoke, not only did his eye begin to glow brighter, something appeared above his head. Half of a small crown hovered around six inches above his head, and the prongs of the crown were actually a multitude of sharp teeth which varied in size and length. As said crown became clearer and more solid in appearance, so too did an aura like substance begin to flow and pulse out not only from Langa’s eye, but from the entire right side of his body. Damian Nyanga, as if trying not to be left out, let out yet another earth-shaking roar as all six of his arms tensed and flexed, while the tendrils from the other night snaked out of his giant mouth again. Detective Langa let out a roar of his own, but his was less primal and more methodical and menacing, before pointing his gun towards Damian and letting off a series of shots. They all hit their target, but appeared to bounce off of the killer as he had quickly wrapped his arms around his body to shield himself from the bullets. Detective Langa quickly pushed off from the wall he was standing against and absolutely sprinted towards his adversary. Before Damian could unfurl his arms, he was absolutely tackled by the Detective, who launched them both into the air. They flew back and ended up falling through the hole that Damian had created when he jumped through the floor. They hit the floor with incredible force, mostly due to just how heavy Damian had become, and it sounded as though they were close to smashing through the floor below itself. Wasting absolutely no time at all, Langa began to pound away at the man beneath him using his baton, trying to aim between the gaps in his arms and also go for the head. Instead, the baton broke in half after the third or fourth hit, and the second Langa took to look at his broken weapon was all Damian needed as one arm smacked the Detective in the face and launched him directly off of him. Langa smashed into the ceiling back first, before dropping to the ground, managing to land on his feet and jumping back to create separation. The two were currently on the basement level, with a number supporting pillars holding the floor up. At some point, Langa had lost his torch, but with the ramped-up powers of his sixth sense, he was able to see perfectly with his right eye.


    He pointed the gun at Damian, bellowed and began firing again. The six-armed killer began leaping from pillar, to post, to wall, evading the bullets in the process. The Detective ended up chasing after him and running between pillars to try and get a clear shot, but the cannibalistic serial killer was just too quick. Bullets were rapidly depleting, and even with the extra cartridges that Langa had brought with him, if one considers how he fought against the weird eye things as well, he was really running low on ammo. Damian, for his extra size and weight, was incredibly nimble and no matter how hard an excellent marksman such as Langa tried, he just couldn’t land a shot. Clearly, the bullets had hurt when he blocked them earlier, so Damian was doing his best to avoid them. Less than half a minute later, the dreaded clicking of an empty firearm echoed throughout the basement, and this caused Damian to stop jumping around and land in plain sight.


    “Bastard… you think that because I’m out of bullets, that I’m useless? Well come on then!” Langa boomed as he banged his chest. “Let’s see if you can toss me around like you did the other fucking night!”


    The Detective then spat on the ground began running towards Damian, who had remained oddly calm and quiet. Instead of charging or running towards the Detective, all he did was raise his top right hand and absolutely launch something in Langa’s direction and before the Detective knew what had hit him, he was launched off of his feet and driven back in the direction he had initially come from. Something pierced Langa’s abdomen and almost immediately afterwards, pierced the wall behind him, pinning him to it in the process. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he bellowed in pain and Langa looked down to see a rusted metal construction rod jutting out from his stomach. Damian, who wasted little time in approaching the Detective, zipped towards the impaled man and stood before him. The tendrils that snaked out from his mouth began to move towards Langa, but then the glare he received from him made Damian actually jump back and create distance between the both of them. As if ashamed by this act, the killer then let out a roar and motioned as if he was about to leap towards Langa, which caused the Detective to instinctively raise his right hand, which was still enveloped in the aura thing, purse his index and forefinger together and point them towards Damian’s head. The red aura suddenly intensified around Langa’s hand and gathered around the two fingers, and after letting out an intense yell of effort, the aura shot out in the form of a beam and zooming towards Damian’s head. Whether it was due to his form falling away, or Damian’s head instinctively evading, the blood red beam hit the hand that had thrown the rod, exploding it instantly in a giant, bloody and gruesome way. Blood and bone fragments flew all over the place, and Damian, who’s entire hand and forearm had been destroyed, clutched at his elbow and roared in crippling pain. The blood curdling screams filled the basement, before Damian looked into Langa’s eyes once again. The glare was not only more intense than before, but showed Damian something far more intimidating than what he saw the other night that made run away in fear. This actually resulted in the same thing happening again, as Damian clutched at his bleeding arm and jumped out of the hole in the ceiling, before disappearing into the night. The eye creatures which had all run away and hidden in various places in the building all followed after him, and the sound of them scurrying after him only served to alert Langa of just how there were far more of them than he had actually come across.


    Once the entire thing was over with, including the mass exodus of the eye things, Detective Langa looked at his hand which was still glowing red. He reached down and grabbed the exposed part of the rod, yanking on it forcefully while groaning in both effort and pain. After a few seconds, he successfully pulled it out of the wall and freed himself from his bondage, before collapsing on the floor and crying out in pain again. He realised quickly however that he didn’t have time to lay about and after pounding the floor with his fist a few times, the Detective rose to his feet, ran towards the hole in the ceiling and quickly leapt up and through said hole, doing so just as the energy boost provided by his ‘sixth sense’ seemed to run out. Langa shuffled up to his feet and then stumbled and hobbled his way out of the building. Soon enough, he was also off the property in its entirety, and after figuring out the logistics of getting into the car and laying the seatback all the way down, Detective Langa – who was still impaled by a metal rod – managed to stave off unconsciousness and drove away from the buildings.


    Up on the rooftop of one of the buildings, the two robed people were feeling completely contrasting emotions. The woman was about as unimpressed and underwhelmed as a person could possibly be, while the man was practically blinking back tears of joy.


    “I’m sorry, but I see absolutely no potential in that man, Senior Noah. Did you see how he not only struggled against that Infant, but he couldn’t even deal with the Ojos… fucking OJOS!”


    “…tell me Skye… how many teeth did you count in the Crown? Surely, you were able to see it this time.”


    “Of course I saw it… there were what, 48 teeth or something? Prince Alcyon has at least 30 more prongs in his Crown.”


    “Yes, you are correct, Skye. But it seems there’s one thing you aren’t realising.”


    “Oh? And what exactly is that, Senior?”


    “What we saw, was at the very least, half of the Detective’s Crown – his is not yet complete.”


    The one referred to as Skye suddenly fell silent as she realised what could potentially mean, while the one called Noah simply chuckled, before they both disappeared. Sometime later, the beat-up police car belonging to Langa drove right up to a spot at the hospital entrance – a zone usually reserved for ambulances. The driver’s door swung open and the Detective literally flopped out of the car and onto the tarmac below in a bloody heap. He had bled all over the seat and his clothes, and by the time hospital security had arrived to at first admonish Langa, they realised that he was practically bleeding to death right there on the floor.


    “Holy shit, somebody come help me! We’ve got a situation here!”


    Another of the guards helped him pick the Detective up, yet once they dragged him into the hospital, the nurses that were on duty suddenly started panicking scolding the men for simply dragging Langa in instead of getting a stretcher – which was rather rapidly brought over. Within a matter of minutes, Detective Langa was admitted into surgery after not only was the procedure a success, with them removing the rod and closing the wounds, Langa also managed to avoid losing a fatal amount of blood – much to the surprise of everybody who was on duty that night. As the nurses went through Langa’s medical details, they realised that there was nobody listed as an emergency contact, so there was nobody to call an alert of his brush with death.


    “We will either have to ask him when he wakes up, or call the various police stations in the city to see which one he belongs to.” The head nurse simply suggested with a shrug of her shoulders.


    To the absolute shock and awe of all those who were close to finishing the night shift and clocking out, Detective Pious Langa was not only conscious, but he was getting dressed in his bloody clothes and getting ready to discharge himself from the hospital The doctors, nurses and even the cleaning staff all tried and failed to convince him to stay, yet he rebuffed everything by saying ‘you can’t keep me here’ and ‘I feel fine.’ He defiantly said all that while looking as though he was seconds away from collapsing or even dying, yet nothing and nobody could stop him from leaving. A young nurse eventually took a different approach, cornering him at the reception area as he was filling out the forms to discharge himself.


    “Excuse me Detective—”


    “I feel fine, you can’t keep me here.” Langa repeated in a monotone voice.


    “Yes, we know; you’ve said that enough times for us to get it. But please understand, it’s barely been six hours since you arrived here with a rod in your stomach. The blood on your clothes isn’t even dry yet, so please just give us the number of your emergency contact so we know somebody will come for and take care of you when you get home.”


    “Emergency contact?” Langa asked as he looked at the nurse.


    “Yes, somebody for us to call in case of emergencies. We saw that you forgot add one to your medical details, and you were in no position to tell us who they were.”


    “I know what one is, nurse. I just find it amusing that you assumed I had one.”


    “Wait… what do you mean?”


    “I mean that I don’t have one of those, nurse. Have yourself a lovely day.”


    Detective Langa grimaced as he made his way out of hospital with his coat slung over his slumped shoulders, cutting an incredibly lonely figure which brought the nurse who had been speaking to him to tears before she even knew what was going on.