Hall Of Power

Chase strode between the rows of clinking, pinging slot machines, unphased by the brightly colored neon signs or the mass of dulled patrons filling the room. He reached the main bar in the center of the casino, sidled up to the counter, and rapped his knuckles on its surface while scanning the crowd impatiently.

Upon seeing Chase, the bartender promptly slid a glass of amber liquid into his expectant hand. Catching it, Chase dropped cash on the counter and walked away without a word, having spotted who he was after.

 He crossed the floor to the card tables where players were gathered, shouting in excitement. Chase joined the exuberant throng, peering over their heads at the figure seated in the center.

Ryan gathered up another set of poker chips to a round of applause, adding to a large pile in front of him.

"It's like the poker gods are looking out for me or something," he laughed to another player next to him.

Chase pushed through the crowd of onlookers and tapped the back of Ryan's head with his glass. Ryan flinched and whirled around, his anger faltering when he saw who it was.

Chase jerked his head, beckoning Ryan to follow. Ryan sighed, eyeing the table with longing. He waved off the dealer before she dealt the next hand, swapped his chips for a card, and reluctantly got up from his seat to follow Chase. Instantly, several people began fighting for his now-vacated hot seat. 

"Way to bust a streak man," Ryan said as they walked, the ruckus of squabbling players fading away behind them. "That was my sixth winning hand." He pulled out his lucky poker chip, rolling it between his fingers, looking about conspicuously. "Aljashae has had my back all night," he told Chase gleefully.

Chase stopped in his tracks, sucked in through his teeth, and smacked Ryan upside the head, "not so loud idiot!" he chastised.

Ryan lowered his eyes bashfully and fell behind Chase as they resumed their way across the Casino to the high-stakes room.

The two wove between dealers, players, and managers, all nodding respectfully to the duo as they passed until they reached a booth in the back corner, bared by a velvet rope, and enforced by a pair of large, suited men. One of the guards lifted the rope on Chase's approach and they entered, stopping in front of a wide luxurious couch set behind a marble table. 

Waylon lay back on the couch, feet up on the marble, framed between two scantily clad women. He paid his cohort's arrival no mind, chewing the ear of one giggling girl, while absentmindedly fondling the other. Chase cleared his throat, garnering Waylon's grudging attention.

"What," he snapped.

Chase tapped his wristwatch, getting Waylon to check his own.

He rolled his eyes and stood up, dropping a keycard on the table, "Wait for me upstairs," he told the women without a backward glance. 

The trio exited their private booth and went to the other end of the room, passing another set of guards and ascending a private staircase. At the top of the landing, a set of wide double doors stood open. The trio entered at a nod from the doorman and joined the formidable assembly of men within. 

It was a large drawing room, with a long, polished oak table set in the middle. More than a dozen men were scattered throughout the place, some wearing suits while others wore various uniforms of prominence.

To one side, a priest and a rough-looking bearded man wearing a leather vest emblazoned with a patch proclaiming him "president", sat on a pair of regal armchairs in deep conversation.

At the back of the room, standing before a small round table holding an obsidian stone pyramid, were Assistant Chief Enzo and Mayor Gambal, accompanied by his tall blond wife.

Others were gathered, smoking by a cigar display, or picking at the catering tables. All were drinking and laughing amongst themselves. 

Upon the trio's arrival, Gambal looked up and took notice. He nodded to the doorman, who responded by closing the double doors behind them. Gambal held up a glass and clinked it with his wedding ring. All eyes turned towards him.

"I believe we are all in attendance," he said, "let's be seated."

There was a brief shuffle as the attendees found their seats, Gambal taking his place at the head, with Enzo to his right, and his wife on his left. The trio sat at the furthest end, and a hush fell over the group, their gathered attention fixed on Gambal. 

Once everyone had settled, Gambal pulled out a set of files, laying them on the table.

"First, I would like to congratulate our three best enforcers for their good work in protecting our assets," Gambal said, lifting a hand to the trio.

A polite applause ensued. Waylon nodded to the group, Chase lifted his glass and Ryan waived nervously. Gambal continued.

"Polls are showing favorable results for the new task force and their arrests are helping to dissuade prying eye." 

At this, the large, bearded biker, seated near the middle, spat on the table toward the trio.

Gambal stopped and turned his attention to the man, his expression void of emotion.

"You disagree, Perkins?" he asked calmly. 

Perkins rounded his shoulders, leaning forward in his seat, and glared at Gambal, "hell yeah I do," he said, scowling. "I don't give a rat's ass about your polls. My bar was raided a week ago. One of mine is locked up and I got four others dead, not to mention what happened last night. How the fuck is that favorable?" he said, turning angry eyes to the trio. "Ain't you three supposed to be keeping the pigs off our backs?" 

Enzo interrupted, "The officers involved in the incident at your bar have been removed. Once things quiet down, if you want them, you can have them. Hell, I'll give you their addresses myself." he said, with a pinched smile.

Perkins slammed his hand on the table, "That ain't gonna cut it. My men want blood now." he turned back to Gambal. "Supply stops until this debt gets settled," he said hotly.

Gambal's cool demeanor never wavered. "You would renege on our deal? Break your vow and risk exposure for your vendetta?" he asked quietly.

Perkins straightened his back, staring into Gambal's dispassionate eyes. "I'll do whatever the fuck I please," he growled. "My men's lives are worth more than-" 

A sickly wet slicing sound rend the air. Perkins' words were suddenly stifled and replaced with a gurgling noise, bubbling up from his throat. His face strained, eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed. Within seconds He let out a strangled cry and spat out a mouthful of blood before slumping over the table, falling deathly silent.

Gambal turned to face the man seated to Perkins' right. "Congratulations vice-president, I believe you have just been promoted," he said.

The muscular biker wearing sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt sat in stoic silence, looking down at his fallen president.

Gambal stood up, turning his back on the room, facing the black pyramid's shrine. "Every man here swore an oath," he said quietly, "your deepest desires are yours as long as you do the Masters' will." He glanced back over his shoulder to the table. "Does anyone else think their whims are above the covenant of the Order?"

The group shook their heads in silent consent, ignoring the pool of blood gathering in the center of the table.

"Good," Gambal said, returning to his seat. "Now, as I was saying." Gambal resumed, flipping through the reports before him, "The trio's efforts have been fruitful. The issue of renegade police is being handled, however, as our departed comrade Perkins has addressed, a new issue has arisen that demands our attention."

He picked up a remote and flicked on the TV to his right.

A shaky cell phone recording of a dark alley played, showing a masked man in a long blue coat and bowler hat, squared off against a biker armed with a gun. The masked man threw a wooden baton, ricocheting it off a wall, and striking the biker down before jumping an unnatural distance to kick the biker across the alley.

The recording became warped with static, then transitioned to a selfie video of a dark-haired young woman sitting in the cab of a car. Her face was bruised, and tear streaked.

"I can't explain everything that happened tonight," she said between sobs, "but I do know those men who attacked me were going to take me and do god knows what to me. That guy in the mask stopped them, he saved me." she wiped her face smearing her ruined makeup, "if you're out there, whoever you are, thank you. You are my knight."

Gambal paused the video and switched to a blurry still shot of the masked man.

"The girl posted this morning and garnered an unfortunate amount of attention." Gambal informed the assembly, "Several commenters identified Jeb as an Acolyte, and my office has been getting a stream of press inquiries." He looked to the newly promoted Acolyte president "We do not need more attention right now," he said sternly.

The burly biker nodded in understanding.

"More distressingly," Gambal continued," I have it on good authority that this masked man, this disruptor... has somehow banished two of the Dark Ones." 

Gambal's revelation shocked the room. Several men rocked back in their seats, and a low hiss of nervous whispers broke out around the table.

Ryan leaned towards Waylon, "how the hell is that possible?' he asked anxiously.

Waylon ignored him, his jaw tightening as he stared at the photo of the masked man.

Gambal cleared his throat, "This nuisance threatens the balance of things," he said. "It has upset our Master's plans, and he is not… Forgiving. Penance will, of course, be paid."

Gambal's wife's face suddenly turned stoney and he gently touched her shoulder.

"Many are calling this man a hero, saying he is doing what the police cannot. His public favor complicates things further." He turned to the trio. "We believe he is drawn to the Dark Ones. lure him out and put an end to this."

Ryan let out a breath and Chase took a drink. Waylon nodded, "we'll handle it."

Gambal looked up at the blurry image imposed on the screen, the faintest glint of silver visible on the figure's chest.

"Waylon," Gambal added, "I don't just want him dead. People see hope in this man. Kill it, before the Master demands another price…"

The group adjourned and slowly filtered out of the room while a pair of servers began to clean up Perkin's remains.

As others departed, the three detectives huddled in a corner near the hour d'oeuvres.

Ryan fidgeted, wiping his face compulsively. "How the hell does someone banish a Dark One? That shits not supposed to be possible!"

Waylon rolled his shoulder back and cricked his neck in agitation. He closed his eyes and suddenly tensed, his body shivering. Without warning his face elongated, his mouth widened unnaturally, and he opened blood-red eyes, as a low growl escaped his lips. Shaking off the spasm, Waylon's features returned to normal. 

"Sakhr is pissed off," he said, panting slightly.

Chase picked up a glass of champagne and downed it, "So is Bal-Zabul. I'm going to have to drink this place dry to shut him up," he said, looking around for another bottle.

Waylon grunted, "This masked guy wants to fuck with the Dark Ones? I say we show him what the heavy hitters can do." He said as he started toward the door.

Ryan laughed nervously as the three moved out the double doors and down the stairs.

"We'll meet up tomorrow and figure out the details," Waylon said. "Tonight, Sakhr needs to vent," he cast a sideways glance at Ryan. "Put a clean-up crew on standby. My room is going to be a mess when I'm done."

Ryan stopped walking, swallowing his nerves while the other two continued across the high-stakes room.

Ryan watched from the landing as Waylon strode to the elevator, knowing what was about to happen to the unsuspecting women in the room above.

He shook his head and went to the nearest table, eager to distract himself and forget the horrible appetites of his companion.

As the cards were dealt, Ryan felt Aljashae purr inside his chest. In no time, the Watchers' influence dulled Ryan's unease and he forgot to be repulsed by the gruesome nature of his evil pact.

All that mattered now was the thrill of the win.