"The dead...don't...lose."
Panting and perspiring on the sweat-covered canvas, Deadboy Daemian looked up into the eyes of his conqueror. The light ringing turned him into a silhoutte of burning, white fury. Eyes flashing like diamonds, and a cunning sneer cutting across his handsome, White Tiger held up the red rope.
"You lost. You know what happens now..."
Somewhere in Sydney, in the loft of a repurposed theme park attraction, Deadboy Daemian (real name Lachlan Jago) snapped back into the waking world. Eyes opened onto a crack of light coming through the iron bars of his gothic, arched window. Groggy, groaning, and hung over, Daemian turned over onto his 'living pillow', the chest of a massive demon.
Brax always woke up the same time as he did. One of the quirks of a 'soul pact', Daemian had come to understand. His obsidian black eyes stared back at him, softly.
Daemian winced. "Brax. You ever have a nightmare that's more like a dream?"
The massive monster searched his eyes for a moment, before he tossed off the blankets and left the lopsided, sunken bed. "Demons do not dream."
Floorboards creaked. Somewhere outside, the whir of a roller coaster and the screams of excited patrons cut through the quiet.
"Er...right. Well, never mind, yeah? Ugh. What time is it?" Perennially pale, Daemian clutched his sore, throbbing head. "I feel like death warmed over. And not in the good way."
Deadboy has neglected to join the rest of the GSA in their Yuletide festivities, choosing instead a drunken, Aussie summertime Yule, full of beer and bad behavior. He could barely recall a fugue of alcohol and flirty boys, and hitting the goon sack one too many times...clearly.
The living Deadboy scratched at his black briefs and wandered over to the kitchen nook, a cross between a witch's laboratory and the unwashed counter space of a hoarder. Cracking his back, rippling with muscle, Deadboy stretched--looking not unlike a vampire turned underwear model turned prize fighter. Daemian slathered Vegemite on a piece of burnt toast, then cracked two eggs into the frying pan, tossing the shells to Brax, who greedily snapped them up.
Toast in hand, and chewing with his mouth open, Daemian pried his fingers beneath the blinds and peered out into the theme park below. It was a bright, blue day in the capital of dark magick. Boxing Day. Families were frolicking in Horror Land, which had been turned into a dark, Yuletide fairytale (a terrible marketing decision, Daemian thought). Everyone looked happy, even the ghoulish theme park employees.
"Wow," Daemian sniffed. "Get a look at that, yeah? Sun's shining. The temperature is nice. Not a cloud in the sky." He growled. "How disgusting."
Annoyed with...well...everything, Daemian looked down into the courtyard near the closed off fence. Due to an arrangement between Southern Cross Spellbreaking (sXs) and the theme park, Deadboy has been given his own cut of real-estate in the closed off Gravesend Manor, a defunct haunted house attraction. Nobody really bothered him. Or got too close to the property. Just how he liked it.
That is, except for this curious little girl in overalls, carrying a balloon with a jack-o-lantern face.
"Hmmm." Daemian's smile grew long and wicked. He pointed to the girl's shadow. A long, spiked tendril appeared from the two dimensional space, and shot out at her balloon, popping it and startling her. She burst into tears.
Music to my ears, Daemian thought. "That's much better."
Suddenly, the crying stopped. Daemian's ears perked up at a familiar, strong, and gentlemanly voice.
"Don't worry, little girl! I'll buy you two new ones."
This must still be a nightmare. It can't be....
But it was! Standing there in a tight fitting onesie (what the Yanks called a tank-top) with his arms bursting out of the fabric, White Tiger guided the little girl back to her concerned parents.
Of course, the bloody idiot was wearing his own merchandise!
Wisps of dark energy sprouted from Daemian's head as he snapped the window shut. "Not...HIM."
The nerve! The cheek! Daemian knew White Tiger could only be here for one reason. Colt had sent every worker who had a remotely good relationship with Daemian after him (and there weren't many). Iggy had tried to sweet talk him. Then Spike. Even Buck almost convinced him (he could be strangely persuasive). Deadboy refused to play nice with those losers. They had humiliated him and kicked him to the curb. Why should he go back and help them?
And now they had sent in the big guns. And Joseph's guns were quite big...and delicious.
"Naur!" Deadboy screamed out loud, clutching his head. "I won't let him get to me this time. Brax!"
The demon, sitting in the overstuffed, red velvet arm chair, looked up from his copy of Australian Women's Weekly Cooking Magazing. "Yes, my mortal kindrid?" he said calmly.
"We gotta' get the bloody hell out of here, mate! We need to get somewhere safer. Like..." Deadboy considered his options. "Hell."
Brax growled, non-plussed. "But the new episode of Housemates is on and we're going to find out of Bruce knows he's been sleeping with Jenny's evil twin."
"We can record it. We gotta--"
A knock at the door cut Daemian off.
The dark magi put his finger to his lips. Brax didn't seem to notice.
The muffled, enthusiastic voice of Joseph Haw seeped through the skull-shaped front door. "Hello, Lachlan? I can hear you in there!"
Daemian winced. He turned to Brax. "Okay, I'll just open a portal and-"
"By the way, I've placed a spell on your haunted house that prevents you from creating dark corridors. I hope you don't mind."
This was quite enough! Enraged, eyes glowing red and an aura of pure evil smoking off his body, Deadboy Daemian stomped over to the door. Shadows scattered fearfully, like cockroaches, in his path. "Oh, I do bloody mind!"
He swung open the door. Joseph stood there, heroically, smiling. "G'day, as you say in these parts."
Ugh, he was so handsome--Deadoy wanted to puke. "Well, you got some BLOODY nerve, showing up on my doorstep with your cute haircut, looking adorable--I mean, HIDEOUS."
"Thanks?"
"NOT HAPPY, JOSEPH!" Deadboy went to slam the door in his face, but White Tiger's reflexes were a hell of a lot quicker. "Well, what do you want. More gear of mine? Or...maybe you want to tie me up again?" Deadboy bit his lip. "And...hear me submit? Again. And again? You know, because I WOULD HATE THAT!"
What scared Daemian the most was that he was afraid he wouldn't hate it at all, actually.
"That sounds fun, but no time. I came here on a matter of business. John Henry needs you for an assignment."
"TELL HIM HE'S DREAMIN'!"
"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that, Lachlan--er--Daemian. Much to my chagrin, I think we really do need your help getting this next Chalice..."
"OHHHHH REALLLLY? Wow, that sure is interesting, mate. Remember when I got the last Chalice and you all yelled at me?"
"Remember when you tried to turn us all into zombies?" Joseph blinked. "Twice?"
"Grrr...and I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that meddling, himbo luchador!" Daemian crossed his arms and pouted like a punished child.
Swallowing, Joseph looked behind his formal rival and ex lover. "Oh, hiya Brax."
The demon nodded plitely. "Joseph."
"Hey, mate, don't look at me demon! And anyways, getting you a Chalice don't do me no favors now, does it?"
Joseph rolled his eyes. "Only you could wear out my patience like this. Look, oh shadowy one, Spike says he misses you." He quickly added: "I don't."
But Daemian had already zeroed in on Joseph's insecurity. "I think you do," he said, smiling with ill intent. Then, he remembered Spike's cheerful face and suddenly felt sick with sweetness. "Ugh, the damn twink's been askin' about me?."
"Were you...really his boyfriend?"
"What?" Daemian suddenly felt naked, and in front of Joseph, it wouldn't be the first time. "Ha! No way. I just said that to--"
"To what?" Joseph narrowed his eys. "Get...back at me?"
He was always so frustratingly in-the-know. Daemain laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly hurling himself through the window looked a lot more appealing than continuing this conversation.
"Well, gee, I dunno...that would be dumb!"
"That...would be you, Deadboy."
"Well, I don't work for the GSA no more, anyway!" Deadboy sighed and nodded for Joseph to come in. He grabbed a cold can of beer from the fridge and craked it open. "Back to sXs. Good ol' Aussie spellbreaking. I gotta' match with Swooper comin' up ya know. Hey, you want a coldie?"
Ugh, I can't believe I'm doing...hospitality with the enemy.
"No thank you." Joseph tried very hard not to turn his nose up at the odd...smell of the place. "Huh. The dude with the Magpie head? Well, that's...awesome, actually. I'm glad you're happy."
Daemian chugged back his beer (it was 11 AM) and then belched loudly. "I doubt it."
Joseph looked around the dark, dingy room briefly, before he decided he was better off standing. He forced himself to assume an open posture, even though every cell comprising his being told him he was here strictly for business. "Look, Lachy."
"DAEMIAN!" Deadboy snapped, crushing the beer can against his head and flattening it. "You don't GET to call me Lachy no more."
Goddess, he's cute when he's feisty, Joseph thought. "Ok, Deadboy. I know we've had our ups and downs. But when I defeated you--and you really did put up a great fight (kind of)--taking your gear is just...well...it's my thing."
Daemain smirked. He had him now. "You mean...your kink?"
"I mean..." Joseph blushed and looked away.
"Hahaha! You're terrrrible, Joseph. That's the problem with you babyfaces!" Daemian marched forward and circled his red-faced rival, playfully. "You can't even give in to your base desires without coming up with some bloody justification. I think you want to know what it's like to be bad, don't you?"
Joseph shrugged, brushing him away and putting distance between them. He travelled to the window and opened it...in sore need of fresher air. "Darkness and light exist within all of us."
"Oh, save it, fortune cookie."
"Was...that a racist joke?"
"WHAT!?" Daemian balked. "I may be demonic, but never racist, and certainly not towards you..."
From across the room, the two men stared at each other. No sound save the turning of the magazine page from Brax, and a half-muttered, "Oh, look at that pavlova..."
Joseph rolled his eyes. "So who admits it first?" He motioned for Daemian to come closer.
And much to his own irritation, Daemian did just that. His arms remained folded; fastened to his large chest. "Who admits WHAT first?" He looked into Joseph's eyes, reminded of their stare down before the fateful match when White Tiger dethroned Deadboy as GSA champion and kicked off this whole stupid mess.
Joseph sighed. "Oh for fucks sake."
Daemian flinched. "You...just swore--"
But that's all he got out before he found Joseph's mouth against his. Those soft kisses. Gentle. Addicting.
Deadboy's eyes went into the back of his head. This was better than any drug. And probably worse. He snapped to his senses and pushed away before he could let his tongue wander where it shouldn't.
"Ugh! Here? In front of my demon?"
Brax grunted. "Don't mind me."
"Damn it!" Daemian growled. He launched himself towards Joseph and kissed him in his own way, clumsy and rough, digging his fingers into his rippling back. "You got bigger, you arsehole."
Joseph pulled away, shaking his head. "No, this is..." He was embaressed. What a rare thing it was to see the champion of the GSA blush. "No, look, I can leave. I shouldn't have..."
Daemian smirked. "See? Isn't it more fun to give into your dark desires?" Biting his lip, Daemian tugged at the bulge in his underwear. "And we all know I'm your darkest."
Joseph pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, you...yes. Look. Maybe. Let's not go so fast. Besides, we know you're going to just distract me with sex to get our of a tough conversation."
Brax chuckled to himself. "Mortal kindred...the Tiger has, as you humans say, your number."
"Enough of the peanut gallery," Daemian shouted. This was worse than losing to Joseph the first tine. Daemian grit his teeth, and forced his darkness down. "I am..."
"Yes?"
"I am...willing to...ugh I'm gonna be sick."
"Go on...you can do it."
"OKAY! Ugh. I am willing to talk things through and maybe..."
"Yeah?"
"Stop doing that!" Despite himself, Daemian laughed. "Ugh, I love how much you piss me off."
"The feeling is mutual." He knew his former rival, lover, whatever this weird, sexy man was, had gone as far as he could go. "Okay. Daemian. Lachlan. Man with many names. I admit that...perhaps I let our spellbreaking rivalry get in the way of..." He tripped over his words.
Daemian cocked his head. "YEAH?"
"What...could have been." Joseph looked away, and then, blushing resumed eye contact. "Or...what...could be?"
This was more satisfying than kicking his ass, Deadboy though. He looked at Joseph, smugly. "I been on your mind, eh?"
"You...do have a tendency to...linger."
"Linger?" Daemian made a face. "Gross. Farts linger, Joseph."
"Well, you do smell bad sometimes."
They laughed.
"I mean, when it's that light post-workout B.O....I kinda like it."
"Dirty boy," Daemian laughed. Fuck, am I...smiling? He looked over at Brax. Even though he was pretending not to listen, he could see the subtle, satisfied grin on his demon's face.
Joseph took a deep breath (which was very hard to do inside this garbage heap of an apartment). "Well. Will you help us?"
Daemian's shoulders slunk. This was worse than pulling teeth. Like a frog spalsh from the top rope, he threw himself into the void. "...Maybe I can be convinced. Where would we be going, anyway?"
Joseph forced himself not to look relieved, or otherwise make Daemian think he had the upper hand in this situation (he did). "A place of darkness and very bad feng-shui."
The dark magi's eyes lit up. "Sexy as! Okay. Tell me more."
The wind through the window rattled the shutters, and the shadows inside the grim apartment resumed their normal position. Joseph looked towards the light.
"Okay. What do you know about the Kowloon Walled City?"
To Be Continued
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