The huge spires of Santa Somabra loomed ahead, titans of steel and glass against a bleak midnight sky. The distant murmur of traffic mingled with the heavy baselines of guttural club music, drifting on the night-time air.
The Canoness stood with her horde of horrors, poised elegantly, dressed in a long crimson riding coat and trousers as black as coal, which tightly hugged her muscular legs. An exquisite violin was tucked firmly into her sculpted neck, which she played with a short wooden bow, basking in the sweet music as she scratched away at her instrument. Claurus stood beside her, the ogre’s ginormous muscular body clad in a formfitting black suite, one hand clutching the dark umbrella he was using to shield the Canoness from the steady downpour of rain.
Behind her, the Disciples of the Forlorn swayed restlessly, long braids of hair plastered to their foreheads by the rain, like bloodhounds at the end of their masters leash. They snapped and snarled impatiently, twitching with anticipation of the oncoming bloodshed.
She gently stroked the bow against one of the strings, relishing in the last drawn out note of her self-composed piece, whilst the Disciples jerked about behind her.
The Canoness was undead, but her graceful features were devoid of rot and decay. Her deathly pale skin had a tinge of grey to it, dark marks –like spiders legs- leered from beneath her piercing blue eyes, and a long braid of fair blonde hair tumbled down her elegant slopping shoulders like water over a broken cliff-face.
Savouring the gentle pitter-pattering of rain against the soil upon which she stood, the Canoness gently lowered her violin, letting it hang loosely in her lithe fingers.
Claurus turned to her, a questioning look plastered across his enormous tusked face. She met his gaze with her shimmering blue eyes, speaking in a voice that was no louder than the soft droplets of rain splashing against the blades of grass.
“Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.”
The Ogre pulled back his gigantic head and loosed a ground-shaking roar, which rung out for miles around. The Disciples bellowed their feral replies, before tearing past the pair, careful to avoid brushing against the Canoness, and lurching towards the city that lay before them. A tidal wave built of the bodies of the damned, the beasts streamed forth from the confines of the dimly-lit park, and went howling into the streets of Santa Somabra, bringing death and destruction with them.
The Canoness watched, untouched by the rain, from beneath the safety of Claurus’ umbrella, as the first Molotov’s were thrown, the first shop windows were smashed, and the first cars were pried open.
Turning on her heel, she slipped back into the ring of trees that ran around the outskirts of the park, vanishing into the darkness.
Ruzghul Elfchewer had been swimming when he’d heard the news that his favourite jazz club had been burnt down in last night’s ‘riot’. He pulled himself reluctantly out of the huge marble-rimmed pool that had once belonged to Porfiro Martovanni, snatching up an ogre-seized towel from the outstretched arm of his pool boy and wrapping it around his broad waist, droplets of chlorinated water dripping off of his colossal form and breaking on the tiled floor.
He stomped gruffly into the adjoining changing rooms, and was showered and dressed within a matter of minutes. Catching his reflection in the great glass mirror, Ruzghul contemplated shaving the unkempt stubble than clung to the hammer-like jaw of his first head, but thought better of it. Tolavoil, his Sardinian bodyguard, was quick to fall in next to Ruzghul as he burst out of the changing room, wordlessly joining him as the behemoth made his way to the front of the Martovanni estate.
Ruzghul’s first head turned to face Tolavoil, regarding the smaller man with its single lizard-like eye, addressing him in fluent Italian.
“Any word from the family?” He asked in his usual gruff manner.
“Vincent thinks it’s the Nyctari; reckons they’re hitting back after he started moving his people into the red lights district. He wants blood.” The suit-clad man replied, the heels of his polished black shoes clicking in time with his rapid footsteps.
“Fucking inbred,” Seethed his second head, speaking in heavily accented english, a great purple vein on its muscular neck bulging in frustration “The Nyctari lost two strip clubs and a whorehouse. If they’d lost one then that could’ve just been ‘em tryin’ to throw us off of the scent, but they’d be crazier than a cave troll on smack to do themselves that much damage. The Nyctari ain’t behind this.”
“It seems unlikely,” Talavoil agreed “Perhaps it’s the Pendleton girl?” he suggested uncertainly “she certainly has the motive.”
Ruzghul’s twin heads snorted in unison, but it was the scratchy voice of the second who spoke “That little puttana knows her fuckin’ place. She wouldn’t do this.” Ruzghul’s first head regarded his second with a look of mild distaste, and they spent the rest of the walk in silence.
The great marble staircase that led to the front door was built for elves, so Ruzghul took the steps three at a time as he made his way down to the great mahogany entrance, a long line of men dressed in the same hand tailored suits as Talavoil awaiting him in a militaristic line.
“Bring the big car around.” His first head instructed, as he came off of the stairs “not that prissy fuckin’ elf-mobile!” his second head barked, prompting one of the suit-clad men to break away from the line and vanish out the great mahogany doors.
The armoured car was brought around, and Ruzghul and his men filled inside with military-style quickness. Soon they’d pulled out of the Martovanni estate and were tearing down the streets of Santa Somabra, indiscriminately passing through red lights. All of Ruzghul’s vehicles were registered on the SSPD database, and the police were under strict instructions to turn a blind eye to any speeding laws broken by the mob boss of the Martovanni family.
The tank-like vehicle, built to accommodate the ogre’s vast girth, came to a screeching halt outside an unassuming butchers shop, and the procession quickly clambered out of the vehicle.
“Wait here.” Ruzghul’s second head firmly instructed the squad of suit-clad men. “Talavoil, you’re with me.” added his first head, gesturing for the Sardinian to come with him.
A portly bald man in an apron stood vigilantly behind the counter, opening up the great metal doors that led to the backroom as soon as Ruzghul and Talavoil stepped into the shop, hastily ushering them through.
Long metal rails spanned the width of the room, with various fine cuts of meat strung from curved hooks, swaying ever-so-slightly. At the far end of the room, a rapid looking man with greasy dread-locks and a scraggily beard was handcuffed to the rail, his feet absently swiping at the space between him and floor. Something feral and irrepressible darted across his wild eyes, which reminded Ruzghul of a rapid dog.
“I ain’t sayin’ –SHIT-!” The wild man spat as the pair approached, before letting out a little fit of unhinged giggling, swinging back and forth on the rail, kicking madly at the air.
“You’d be surprised how quickly men in your predicament change their stance after a little persuasion.” Ruzghul said calmly as he eyed up the figure that was suspended before him, one rough eyebrow arched with curiosity.
“I’m gonna fuck you like I fucked your mum!” Hissed the wild man, flecks of spit landing on Ruzghul’s chest.
“Firstly, I’d like to congratulate you on being the first man in the history of the earth to be attracted to my mother,” Ruzghul’s first head said coolly, placing one muscular hand gently on the side of the man’s head, causing him to recoil slightly.
“And secondly I’d like to inform you that, whilst I am completely level-headed and rational,” the first head continue, running one giant finger down the side of the wild man’s cheek, pushing the pale flesh inwards.
“My associate is not.” The first head said coldly, nodding to the second, who bared his teeth, snarling like a crazed wolf.
“The sun is setting on the world of-“The wild man began to babble, but was cut off as Ruzghul began to forcibly press one giant yellow finger nail into his eye. The wild man screamed shrilly, his face contorted in horror, as a thread-like trail of dark red began to seep down his cheek.
“No riddles!” snapped the second head.
“Your co-operation will make this a great deal easier.” Said the first head.
“The Canoness, the mistress, she said, -promised us- , a reckoning!” wailed the wild man, blood oozing out of his eye socket.
Ruzghul released his grip, his interest adequately aroused.
“She? That’s interesting.” He placed a muscular hand beneath the chin of his first head, before turning to Talavoil, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
“I can’t imagine there are many female gang leaders in Santa Somabra…or in general really.”
Talavoil nodded “Women tend to be more composed and rational in regards to crime. If a woman is running a gang, chances are she knows what she’s doing, and it’s not just a dick-swinging contest. However that also means she’ll likely be a fuck tonne harder to track down.”
“You will never find the Canoness!” The wild man vowed, thrashing about madly. “She will wash over the city in a tide of blood, and all who-“
Ruzghul’s hand short forwards, tightening around the left side of the wild man’s face and crushing it in a deathly grip. Blood and brains splattered the humongous man, drenching his face and upper body in a smattering of fluid and chunks.
“I can’t stand this cryptic nonsense,” Ruzghul said with a heavy sigh “whatever happened to good, old fashioned organized crime?”
