Chapter Text
In retrospect, he shouldn’t be nearly as surprised that it happens as he is.
After all, one of his coworkers is a literal half demon, another one got superpowers from an actual witch, and his boss has a magical amulet that makes her super strong and lets her fly. In the year and a quarter they’d been working together, they had encountered all sorts of odd things. From a resurrected mummy, to the continuous recurrence of the Cult of Cha-ad(or whatever), he had begun to get used to magic.
They had even discovered a blessed bracelet buried in the desert that finally put an end to Chase’s rapid aging and degradation.
Spellbooks were the least of the weird shit he’d seen.
Yet, when he responded to an alarm at Miskonitik University and walked in on a group of yellow-hooded figures circled around a table with a huge glowing golden book, he took a half minute to stare at it. The air was thick with the smell of heavy perfumes and incense, although he didn’t see any of them smoking.
It’s about the most stereotypical thing he’s ever seen. Complete with candles lit in the middle of a room full of paper, an ornate knife, an amphora and a bowl of salt on an altar along with-
Was that a tied up lamb?
Shit.
The poor thing was stiff on the table, tied up and terrified. Its eyes were rolling and its thick white fur was matted with sweat. Its tail was weirdly long for a sheep.
He should have brought Malevola along, but it was her day off and he could handle this himself. He still considered calling her in and asking her for advice, but he didn’t have time and he needed to keep quiet.
Robert slipped down the stairs silently, keeping to the shadows. His suit is waiting for him outside, ready to explode through the wall at the touch of a button. It was a small comfort.
He would rather do as little damage to the college as possible, but if it came down to it he’d choose his life over the books.
The stacks of books, study tables, and high shelves gave him plenty of cover, but it also did the same for the cultists. He had to knock out three as he circled the main group of twelve. A thirteenth, the leader, was reading from a book at a pulpit. His voice was too low for Robert to hear.
“Please,” a voice hissed.
Robert jumped and his head snapped around. Trying to find the source.
No one was near enough for him to hear, and he was sure that none of the cultists had seen him or they would have sounded the alarm.
His gaze landed on the sheep, and he realized with horror that its mouth was opening and closing. Its brown eyes were locked on him.
“Please,” the voice hissed again. It was not in the air, but instead echoing somewhere in his skull. Terror inflected every letter. The voice sounded terribly, horribly young.
Robert couldn’t tell if it was a human with some kind of power, or a sentient lamb.
Either way, when the knife came out of the cult leader's robes, he knew he couldn’t take any risks.
Even if it was a regular lamb, he still would have tried to save it. This just upped the ante.
Voices rose and chanted. Robert finally heard, “-With a Crystal Howl of Summer’s Death, The Susurration Of Shattered Light, The Garden of The End Doth Blossom and The Watching Trees See All The Seas of Lost Carco-”.
Robert bolted out of the shadows and slammed his fist into the back of the leader’s head.
He dropped like a rock and the knife was sent skittering across the oak wood floor.
Robert didn’t give the other robed people a chance to respond before he was moving, sweeping low to knock one person's knees out from under them and punching them in the stomach. The next he blocked a cross punch and jabbed them in the throat.
Someone got an arm around his neck and he grabbed the elbow and heaved forwards, pressing his hip sideways to throw the heavy person over his shoulder. He twisted the arm he was holding and snapped it.
A book slammed into his head and he stumbled, his vision flickering, before looking for the attacker. A woman’s hood had fallen back, and her hands were outstretched. Books floated around her and with a wave of her hand they flew viciously at him.
Great. Telekinetic.
Robert ducked and grabbed someone running for him. The books banked like a flock of birds and arrowed down at him. He threw the person he’d grabbed in front of them, using them as a human shield, and lunged for the woman.
She shrieked, and flicked her wrist, sending the knife off the floor and straight at him.
Robert dodged it and grabbed her. His vambrace’s lit up and she howled as electricity shot into her.
He let her unconscious form fall to the ground and started mentally counting down the recharge time on his tasers.
That was six down. Seven to go.
Two people ran at him from opposite sides, and he stepped back, letting them slam together. They stumbled, and for good measure he grabbed their heads and smacked them together. Hard.
Five.
Five became four when a man tripped over one of his companions and Robert took the opportunity to kick him right in the head.
The most sensible person looked at the gathering pile of bodies on the floor and just ran out the door.
Robert’s head was aching when he was tackled from the side and slammed into the alter table. The amphora wobbled and knocked over, splashing on his head and leaving him sputtering and half blind. It tasted like basil, coconut water, and perfume. He barely blocked a punch to his face, and felt his arm fracture from the force.
He drove his other fist into his stomach and a half-charge of electricity made the person spasm. He clocked him in the jaw and pain lanced up his fractured arm. Robert ignored the pain with practiced ease and shoved his attacker off. He wiped the perfume off his face and tried to clear his eyes.
Only his armor saved him from the knife in his back. It sunk an inch past the armor all the same and blood wet the back of his shirt, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.
Robert spun and kicked up, slamming his boot between two legs.
A high pitched squeal cut off when he punched forwards. They dropped against the table and their arm knocked the salt bowl off. Robert stepped through it and circled around to face the final cultist.
The last person, a man a good six inches taller than Robert, had his fists up. And they were glowing.
Joy.
The boxing match was short and harsh. Robert’s head rang like a bell, but the full charge from his second vambrace burned the arm that blocked it and dropped the man into a spasming mess on the ground.
Robert kicked his head, just to be safe.
He reached back and pulled the knife out of his back. The tip was smeared pink, but it was sharp enough for him to saw through the ropes binding the little lamb-thing and free it. The skin under the ropes was raw and bloody even with all the fur. Even through the gloves Robert could tell the ropes were made of something weird. The texture was too rough for normal cord. More like some kind of fiberglass shards all spun into a needle-sharp rope.
“There you go. Now let’s get you-” He cut off when he realized that the lamb was shaking harder than ever and staring over his shoulder.
He spun, and the tome the leader had been reading from was floating five feet in the air, completely on its own. It was open, and a mostly see-through figure in tattered yellow robes was floating there, staring at him.
The liquid that had dripped off of Robert onto the floor spread out, until the small droplets formed puddles, and the puddles became a lake as dark as the deepest ocean. It rippled and something floated to the surface, moving and shifting.
A twisted question mark bloomed into three fragmented parts and the lamb began to sob and scream.
Robert held it in his arms, and angled himself to guard the little thing from the yellow figure watching them. A pale, porcelain mask watched them from under the hood. It betrayed not a single feature. A crown of starlight gleamed above the figure’s head.
The ringing in Robert’s head became singing in a tongue he did not know.
Words became color, and colors he could taste, the smell of perfume and sweat sounded like drum beats and the screaming was yellow and red and white and-
The world dropped out from under his feet.
Water surged around him, slamming past his teeth, over his tongue and into his throat.
Blood tasted like chanting and drum beats and a screaming, screaming lamb.
{Annihilate}
{Break}
{Cull}
{ D a n c e }
Robert inhaled cold, blessed air and sat bolt upright.
His lungs crackled and rattled before he was rolling over and coughing out liquid gold into a bucket. His nails bit into cracked wooden floor boards and he clung to the sting of splinters in the delicate tissue as he hacked out as much of the liquid in his lungs as he could.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped. He stared down at the convinent bucket. Tools were coated in- in whatever he’d coughed up. His vision swam and the drum beat in his skull started to fade into his normal pulse pounding in his temple.
At last, he sat back on his heels and looked around.
He paused.
He knew this place.
He knew it well.
It was missing lamps. And a futon. And all the pictures that he’d lined the walls with ever since that horrible, wonderful house warming party that his team had thrown for him before the world went to shit.
The walls were cracked in places he had repaired months ago. The shitty plastic chair that Flambae had lit on fire was sitting right next to him, lonely in the center of the room.
A puffy pillow held a familiar black and white ball of love and fur.
Beef looked at Robert with his ears pricked. He whined and licked his lips.
Sitting next to him was the lamb.
Its fur was no longer pale white above bloody legs. It was golden and glossy, but still soft looking.
The lamb stared at Robert. It blinked placidly at him, and folded its legs under its body.
“Are you- Are you gonna say anything?” he asked. His voice sounded horribly hoarse.
It didn’t respond. The intelligent fear in its eyes was gone too. It was just docile and cute.
“Great.”
Robert groped around for his phone and nearly shouted when pain shot through his left arm. His whole body ached, and each inch of pain was starting to be felt separately.
It was horribly familiar.
He used his right hand, the one he’d sworn he’d broken only minutes ago, and picked his phone up off the floor where it was plugged in.
He stared at the date.
It had been October seventh. They’d been getting ready for Halloween!
That was not the date displayed on his phone.