Chapter 11: Intermission Two

Jackal growled as the Blood Mother stitched him up, her delicate fingers dancing along his skin where the detective’s bullet had grazed him. 

“Relax, my dear, it is but a scratch.” Her voice lilted as she worked, her red robes fluttering over strong arms. “You did excellent work today.” 

Jackal harrumphed, throat rumbling, claws flexing. “I should’ve... killed him.” 

The Blood Mother giggled, every part of her perfect, even needle and thread playing to her song between half-webbed fingers. “I know, the detective will be troublesome, but it’s better that they stay alive until we’re ready. We wouldn’t want the suits sending down a militia and stirring up the Enforcers before the Great One is ready for us.” Smiling up at him, she finished the stich, patting Jackal’s arm. “Now off you go. And be more careful next time, hm?” 

Jackal nodded, pushing himself up. His stitched arm dragged across the floor, enjoying the rough concrete against his leathery skin. A barrel fire lit up the sewer as he left the Blood Mother’s chamber, several initiates loitering about throughout the wider chamber. Each wore red, whether full robes like the Blood Mother, or more subtle apparel like Jackal’s half cloak that draped his shoulders. 

Though, to say that Jackal was subtle was a take at irony, his canine face poking out from beneath his hood, his right side considerably larger than his left. His right arm drug across the ground, longer than his whole body, the left only slightly longer than a normal human’s. His right leg was constantly bent and in pain, a time and a half longer than the left, which was stunted, the foot a blob of flesh and muscle with a set of toes the size of peas poking out. 

Most of his life he had been looked at with terror and disgust, but as he passed a gaggle of initiates, he felt powerful. Adoration and idolization filled the eyes and hearts of the other Children, his mutations looked at as something to covet. Most of the Blood Mother’s brood carried the Great One’s blood but lacked any serious signs of their blessing, only a select few passing the trial to ascend past a simple novitiate. 

Few besides Jackal, who lacked the Great One’s blood, but was accepted, nonetheless. His physical gifts were beyond even the Blood Mother’s, though she was the one chosen to lead, Jackal her first and greatest child. This never bothered him, as he was not designed to lead, but to kill. To butcher. And to do so for a greater purpose was all he had ever wanted, the dried remnants of his latest piece flaking from his hand, spotting the ground in red. 

Raising his left arm, he rubbed at the stitch, still itching. He would kill the suit that had harmed his sacred flesh and offer their corpse to the Great One. Jackal cackled, glancing over his shoulder as he left the holy chamber. 

Once, it had been empty, devoid of life. Now it was a hub of life for the chosen, and a place of worship. A crude shrine sat in the center of the chamber, wood and metal piled up and wrapped together in whatever could be scavenged. One piece stuck out from the side, a wooden arm with claws beaten from old street signs. A poor idol, Jackal thought, unworthy of the Great One’s majesty. One that will need replacement when the world above the clouds is retaken. He turned from the holy chamber, walking to the nearest ladder. 

His meat supply was low after the last failed initiation, and there were many candidates left to test before the Great One’s coming. The unworthy would feed the blood. 

Tonight, Jackal would hunt. 

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