"I WILL DEVOUR YOU WHOLE!" the buff werewolf in the black fighting trunks roared, as Spike flipped over his head and landed (with gymnastic expertise) in front of him.
Spike gasped, covered his mouth, and blushed--an eye on the audience full of ghoulish figures, and the macabre theme park scenery around them. "Sir, there are CHILDREN here." The stalwart sailor bit his lip and looked the wolf up and down. "Save that talk for the hotel, big boy."
At ringside, Deadboy Damien rolled his eyes. "Yeah nah, he said he wants to devour you WHOLE."
"Oh!" Spike squeaked, just as the buff werewolf snatched him by the waist and lifted him high, aglow against the full moon and the Sydney Harbor Bridge's spidery silhouette. "Eeep. Not good."
"SO PRETTY! SO TASTY!"
"GROSS," Spike cringed. "You need a mint." And I need a miracle! Spike was strong, but the werewolf's power absorbing moonlight, and Sailorboy had no defense against that kind of magick.
"Come on, Spikey!" Daemain shouted from the post, his mouth practically frothing over. "You ain't here to fuck spiders, mate!"
In the audience, two human-sized spiders in attendance looked at each other with great concern between their many eyes, before turning back to watch the battle, fangs clicking with excitement.
Next to Daemian, Brax growled under his breath, claws tensing on the rope. "I must get in there, my kindred. I do not wish to see another monster consume the pretty human before I do. I have...as you humans say...'dibs' on that."
"Nah," Daemian whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "We gotta' let Spike take the blows. He can handle it. Kid's tough."
"True. He did beat you."
Daemian threw his demon friend a glare. "Are you...smirking?"
Brax turned away and giggled, demonically. "No. Of course not. Demons do not smirk."
Just as Spike's opponent, the werewolf, opened his jaws, a dart of light cut across his face.
"RAAAARRGGH!" the wolf dropped Spike, who bumped onto his back, absorbing the shock and righting himself for the go. He looked over at the object, made of pure, crystalline light, that had embedded itself into the mat.
"What? Is that...a rose?"
The ringside announcer, a skeletal figure in a top hat known to the local as Big Bones Jones, shook his skull in disbelief. "Would ya look at that! Interference!?"
Spike looked up a the figure perched on the low hanging roof of a car on the spider-web shaped Ferris wheel. Their pink cape billowed in the wind around their shoulders. "Hah!" they called out, arrogantly, flipping back their pink hair and adjusting their blue-neon domino mask.
"Who is that!?" Spike gasped.
Deadboy rolled his eyes. "It's obviously Iggy Astro, mate." He whispered under his breath. "So much for you doing this on your own..."
The figure in pink blew the audience a kiss. "Me? Just a They/Them causing mayHEM!" The tall fighter threw off their cape and mask, revealing their star-studded, muscular body. Their gear lit up with glow-in-the-dark UV paint, just for the occasion.
"It's Iggy Astro!" Spike squealed.
"I BLOODY JUST SAID THAT!" Deadboy sighed. "Whatever. Nice interference, Ig!"
The werewolf snarled at the interloper. "WHO DARES INTERRUPT MY FEAST."
"Trust me, I've already eaten that twunk enough times," Iggy laughed, flipping in the air and delivering a stardust dive kick to the werewolf's face. Midair, Iggy did a somersault and landed--woth rainbow- colored flair--in front of Spike. "You'll get diabetes!"
Spike groaned. "Iggy, I can handle this! Besides, I thought you were still on medical leave?"
"Consider this coming out of my retirement," the pink-haired spellbreaker said, with a spectacular flex.
In the audience, a goat-horned demon swooned into their summoner friend's arms. "I love a baaaadie!"
Spike drooled in agreement. "Mmm. Same, here, lambchop."
The werewolf recovered just as the ref dove in to try and kick Iggy out of the ring. But the pink-haired heel wouldn't have it. "You have something in your eyes!" they said to the handsome, bearded Aussie bloke.
"What?" the ref rubbed their eyes. "No, I don't."
"Oh, yes you do, kitten. You have...stars!" With that, Iggy held their hand out and blew a cloud of sparkling, luminous dust right into the ref's face, blinding them.
"GAHHH! IT'S SO BRIGHT!"
At the ring post, Deadboy snickered and high-fived his demonic tag partner, Brax. "I take back what I said about light magi. Damn it, Ig, you're looking evil and tasty tonight, mate."
"But of course, my demonic delight," Iggy said, winking at their villainous counterpart. "Okay, sailor slut, let's put this bad doggy down!"
"You got it!" Spike said, charging off the ropes, while Iggy did the same at the opposite end. "Hey, what's the big idea callin' me a slut!? Ugh, you're so MEAN!"
"You know it, bicha." Iggy sprung up and kicked the werewolf in the head, just as Spike did the same on the other side--a vicious double attach.
"Awrrf!"
The werewolf fell backwards, flat on to its back, crescent moons circling above its dazed head.
"We got this!" Spike said, high fiving Iggy and trading places with them on the opposite end of the ring. He climbed up the ropes and gave the cheering audience his flex. "Australia, this is for you!"
"Quit showing off!" Iggy spat, from the other post. With a smirk, he conjured up a neon light construct of a star crossing over an anchor, combining Spike and their logos together. "Ready?"
"DOUBLE MOONSAULT!"
The two lithe and athletic spellbreakers flipped back into the air, coordinating their timing with mathemetic precision. They slammed their buff bodies down across the werewolf's head and torso, sending off fireworks of magical light.
The big, bad wolf let out a final howl, before the darkness took them.
Iggy and Spike planted a boot each on their defeated opponent. "Okay, ref, you're up!"
Miraculously, the ref could suddenly see again. "Oh, weird." He shook his head, and immediately dropped to his knee for the count out.
Then, the bell!
"I don't believe it!" Bones Jones said, their teeth chattering in their skull. He joined the crowd in celebration. "Only half a year ago, Iggy bested Spike in Vegas...now it seems the cosmic crusher has come in clutch to help out his former opponent! Could this be...a face turn?"
Jones' question was answered by a thrown steel chair that knocked their skull off their body, rolling to the ground. "Gah!" the skull shouted. "What's the big idea, mate?"
Iggy whistled innocently, while Spike rolled his eyes in disappointment. "What?" Iggy sang. "Can't let the audience think I've grown soft. I'm just here to pay you back for saving my life, Spike. And now? We're even." They blew Spike a kiss of light: a heart-shaped skull. "Next time, I'll be the big, bad wolf you have to worry about."
Groaning, the werewolf reverted back to human shape. A scrawny, tall boy with dark hair twitched on the mat. "Last time I play with my food..." he moaned.
Outside the ring, Deadboy jumped with glee. "This is fuckin' awesome! Gah! I love spellbreaking. What a show!!"
"You can say that again, old mate."
"Huh?" Daemian and Brax tilted their heads towards the rather average looking man (compared to the rest of the monstrous crowd, anyway) in the suit and gloves, standing near them. He had a warm face and a nice smile, with skin turned ruddy red from the intense Australian sun.
Deadboy grinned. "Oi! If ain't Bruce Hasselti. Get over here, you shitc*** and give us a hug."
With some reservation, the publicist for sXs spellbreaking league gave their old ward an embrace. "Didn't think you'd ever be back, D! Thought you'd left us for bigger and better things. Ice Cream Man is around here if you want to say hi."
"Ah, that evil clown?" Deadboy scratched his head, looking over his shoulder and Spike and Iggy showing off some more for the crowd. He frowned. "Those idiots."
"Looks like your friends were pretty over tonight," Bruce said, satisfied. Deadboy could practically see his eyes turn into dollar signs. "You GSA boys really are a big draw. But we know you still bleed sXs blood, don't ya, Lachie?"
"You know it!" Deadboy said, giving him the devil horns. He looked around his old haunt, and at all the old haunters he used to perform alongside. A crowd of demons, humans, and monsters all rubbing shoulders together, setting aside differences (and species) to enjoy some good ol' fashioned bloodshead together.
"I really missed Sydney," Daemian said, genuinely. "Bright days. Dark nights. Can't beat it."
"Heh. You almost sounded sweet there," Bruce said. "Come on, yous. I'll buy you two bad boys a pint...and your popular friends up in the ring, too."
Deadboy thought it best to give Spike and Iggy their moment. They knew how to manage crowds anyway. Daemian was just happy to reminisce. Even though he staid at the theme park regularly while at the GSA (it was the location of his apartment, and only a dark corridor teleportation away) tonight had gotten him all nostalgic. sXs wasn't as popular as the GSA--and indeed, spellbreaking was slow to catch on in the antipodes--but his old fed knew how to put on a good show. A mix of monsters and men was always recipe for camp and carnage, two of Daemian's favorite delights.
"By the way," Bruce said, lowering his voice as the men (and demons) ducked behind a candy apple stand, "I looked into that Chalice situation for you."
Daemian's mouth twitched. Behind him, Brax growled, softly. "Yeah, so did we."
"Word on the street is it's at the Museum of Enchanted Art," Bruce said, thumbing towards one of the more modern buildings across the harbour, not far from the Opera House. "I've had some of the sXs crew looking into it."
Daemian stared ahead in the direction of Circular Quay, eying the modern-looking MoEA building. Modern art was a bit too fancy for his tastes (though he suspected Joseph would love a date there). Was this where Uncle Daniel had hidden the Chalice, under the security of a museum? It would make sense.
He felt lousy about mentioning anything Uncle Daniel had said to him about the Chalice, but he'd known Bruce for years. He was a publicist, which meant he got around in the muck, but he had a good heart. "From what I know from my sources," Daemian said, "You're probably right. But...if it's safe there, then I say we don't fuck with it, yeah? If we can't get to it, Firebird can't get to neither."
Bruce nodded, solemnly. "Right you are. Well, Lachie, let's get you to the pub. It's good to have you back, mate."
---
Spike lazily brushed his teeth and tried to ignore the aches and pains all over his body. I'm too young to feel this old, he said, spitting into the sink. In the background of the hotel, the TV blared news footage. Cian lounged in the chair, in his boxer briefs sipping from a mug of warm tea, and doing his best to seem informed.
"Get a load of this crazy lady on TV," he sniffed.
Spike, bare chested and in his pajama pants, poked his head around the corner and narrowed his eyes at the talking head on TV. Some woman with noxiously, red-dyed hair and entirely too much blue eyeshadow was screaming at a room full of officials in formal attire.
The eloquent, female news anchor set the scene. "Today, MP for New Insmouth, Ilene Lansdowne, reignited support for the Demonic Registration Act--leading to this fiery confrontation in parliament."
"Mr. Speaker, we have a disease in this country--a literal illness from the depths of Hell. And the disease in question is the wave of demons coming into our nation, summoned by Goddess-knows-what kind of deranged magi, and taking jobs from battling Australians like you and me."
The shrewish woman was drowned out by objections and jeers from the ministers around her. Cian, frowning, turned the TV volume down. "Crazy hag," he sighed.
Spike felt a pang in his heart for Brax. When he'd first met him, he thought he was a big, scary monster. And while that hadn't changed, exactly, Spike also knew he had a big heart. It hurt him to see these terrible politicians demonizing...well...demons.
It also scared Spike. He had seen what the alchemists were doing in Italy, aligning themselves with political parties seeking to harm people like him, and whatever other minorities they deemed 'threatening'. He had thought the Australians, at least, would be more sensible.
"I can only freakin' imagine what someone like Deadboy would say about that harpy on TV," Spike said, jumping into the bed.
Cian shrugged. "I mean, how many times can you use the 'c' word in a single sentence, boyo?" He stretched and yawned. "By the way, your grappling techniques need work."
Sitting up, he tugged his basketball shorts around his giant thighs, before stretching and climbing into the hotel bed.
Spike climbed in next to him, giving him a hard look. "I'll show you my grappling skills, you putz."
He grabbed Cian by the arms before he could say anything and pulled him tightly for a kiss.
Cian indulged him, between smile and laugh, before pulling away. "Someone's handsy tonight."
Spike was feeling more than that. Riding high off his victory, and having managed to get on Cian's good side, he'd agreed to take the Irish stud back to his hotel with him. "Well, I'm just in a good mood. And so are you. For once."
"I'm content to put our bad blood aside," Cian said. He flicked Spike in the nose. "Doesn't mean I'll go easy on you when we square off again though, lad."
Spike took a deep breath, but maintained his confident, coy look. "Speaking of going hard..." He kissed Cian again, harder this time, and let his hands travel down the front of his shirt. "Damn, Cian, I hate to admit it but your body...it's incredible."
"You're very attractive, Spike," Cian said. He blushed, and held Spike's hands at his waist, preventing them from going forward. "So...look. This is embarrassing but...I'm not used to this yet."
Spike blinked. "Huh?"
"You know. Uh...with guys." Cian coughed. "Or girls...or...y'know...anyone..."
Oh, he's a virgin, Spike thought, in a panic. But not for himself. He knew Cian's background and his struggles. He wasn't exactly surprised. But he didn't want to fuck this up.
"I mean, I've done some stuff," Cian said, blushing. "But like...not full on stuff. Intimate stuff. Does that make sense?"
Spike narrowed his eyes. That little hike with Gio--yeah, we know. But he didn't want to go poking that bear (the only type of bear Spike wouldn't want to poke). What a mismatch. The sweet faced, virgin jock, and the literal porn star prize fighter.
"That's okay..." Spike said, slowly. "We could...er...cuddle?"
Cian's face lit up. "Yeah, I'd love that." He turned over onto his side. "Er...you don't mind being big spoon, do ya?"
Damn his ass his THICK and JUICY. Spike gulped. "Nope!" True to his word, he vowed not to so much graze Cian below the beltline until he was ready. "How about this?"
"Oh, that's nice. It's I...I dunno, weird, still. Thinking about doing this with guys. But it's nice."
"Yeah. You're warm. And very cuddly."
"I'm a bulky boyo," Cian said, laughing.
"I like this side of you, Cian. Sweet Cian is nice."
"Well, it's authentic Cian. Maybe authentic Cian is sweet." He narrowed his eyes, looking out at the window over the harbor. "But he can still kick your ass, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah." Spike sighed. This was weird. He didn't think he'd ever arrive at this point with Cian. And not in Australia, either. "So...like...how do you feel about me?"
The pause that followed did not exactly instil Spike with confidence.
"Uh...what's that supposed to mean?" Cian laughed, nervously.
It cut Spike like a knife. Crap. By now, Spike had gotten a sense for how these conversation would go. He really shouldn't have expected anything different. "Like, do you...know what you want?"
"No," Cian said, confidently. He turned over. "Do you?"
"Well, I've never really had a boyfriend."
"El Amante said guys who say that are red flags and I should stay away from them," Cian said.
Fuckin' masked prettyboy, Spike thought, annoyed. "I mean, I was kinda' seeing this guy when I was stationed in Hawaii for a hot second, but..." Spike cringed.
Cian searched his face. "What happened?"
"I had to move on. And like...I...dunno. I was really excited about being with him, right? But then once everything set in and I realized..." Spike trailed off. "I guess I got...ahead of myself?"
"Mmm." Cian turned over.
Spike hadn't see the night going like this. At all. "Well...I'd like to maybe get to know you better."
Cian sighed. "Something tells me you say that to a lot of guys."
That a hit a nerve. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You're hot, Spike."
"Thank you. I know. So are you."
"Which means you can have any guy you want. Your personality isn't shit either...though it took me awhile to realize it. I don't think you know what you want either, lad. But you seem to like men fawning over you. And I think you have the potential to mess with a lot of hearts that way if you aren't careful about it."
Shit, Cian, are we spellbreaking right now? Spike felt called out. "I dunno. Things just don't ever seem to work out for me. So like, hey...we're both hot, right? Why don't we take the plunge, Cian?"
Cian sighed. "Because I don't want to get hurt. Spike. You barely know me."
"We've known each other for almost a year!"
"Okay, but how many conversations have we had? We only just stopped hating each other, lad."
"Okay. Fine. I guess I do have trouble sometimes going steady with guys. But..."
"I really don't want to get hurt," Cian said, curtly. Spike noted the pain in his voice. "I didn't have a good childhood. You know this. And it's hard for me to trust people. I'm just not ready to date. And I don't want to hurt you either." Cian thought about his words. "Emotionally, anyway. Physically is another story."
Spike turned towards the wall, on the off chance Cian looked over and saw the frustrated tears forming in his eyes. "And what about Robbie?"
"What about Robbie?"
"Wolfie is mad about you, duh." Spike had tried to make a pass at Icewolf himself, but they had fallen into the fuckbuddy pattern, and there was no chance of any relationship growth there. He rolled back around, facing Cian's back. He more annoyed than saddened now.
"Well, good for him." Cian grunted, and fastened Spike's hands around his stomach tighter, like a seatbelt. "I get worried about 'forward' guys like Robbie. Hot men like that. They go through men like candy bars."
Spike sighed again, deeper. "Are you calling Robbie and I sluts?"
"Geez, you're whiny tonight. Spike, there's nothin' wrong with being a slut. Not that I would know, meself. But that's a different league than I'm in right now." He sighed. "I just want...security."
Spike frowned. "My logo is literally a freakin' anchor, Cian."
Laughing, Cian turned around and looked into Spike's eyes. "You're a good guy, Spike," he said, giving him a quick kiss. "And...I like this. Whatever 'this' is. But right now? The cuddling and hanging out is what I'm comfortable with. That's my limit. If you want to see how things go--and I'm not saying they may go anywhere--then let's take it slow. Ok?"
But Spike didn't want to take it slow, and to him, it sounded like Cian was already setting him up for disappointment. His mind immediately turned on the other man he had his eyes on: Buck. He had said he was coming to Sydney. Maybe he'd reach out tomorrow...
"Anyways," Cian said, turning around towards the window, "I'm just excited to be here in Sydney. I mean, look at the beautiful harbor, boyo. The Opera House. The Harbor Bridge. The giant, eldritch abomination rising up from the bay...."
Cian and Spike both bolted up and looked at each other, and then out the window.
"GIANT ELDRITCH ABOMINATION RISING UP FROM THE BAYYYY!!!???"
A blare of static turned Spike and Cian's eyes from the eerie sight in the distance, back to the TV set. In a grainy, dimly lit room, a man in a black mask addressed the camera.
"Good evening, people of Sydney. You may have noticed my friend out in the middle of the Harbor. Now, he's pretty upset at being wrenched from his dimension. Lucky for yous that I got him on short leash. And if you want him to remain on that leash, you good folks at the Museum of Enchanted Art might want to hang up on me again. I'm a patient man. But my patience goes so far. Bring the Chalice to the Customs House within an hour or..."
A flash from outside, accompanied by an otherworldly, low cry--midway between a blue whale and the howl of a pack of wolves. The giant in the bay thrashed, sending a giant wave towards The Rocks. Spike thought he could hear people screaming outside. Emergency sirens followed.
The TV cut back to an unsettling children's show of a creepy-eyed cat puppet singing an unsettling song about the 'dirty hand monster' coming to eat you if you don't wash your hands before dinner.
Before Cian and Spike--both of them with mouths open wide--could speak, a crackle of electricity and a sudden black shape in the room stunned them into further silence.
Through the shadow doorway in the wall, Deadboy--wearing black, torn jeans and a leather jacket--wobbled out of the portal, clutching a tall, brown battled wrapped up in a paper bag. "Oi! Issss me. Debbohy Demmneinnan."
Spike bolted out of bed, embaressed. "D-DDAEMIAN! You can't just--"
"Bahhhhh!" The wobbly punk pointed his nailpolished fingers at Spike and Cian. "Were you two pashing?"
Spike blinked. "Are you drunk?"
"No."
Brax walked casually out of the dark portal, closing it behind him. "Yes."
"Okay, whatever." Deadboy rolled his eyes, and nearly tripped over Spike's jeans, on the hotel carpet. He pointed, roughly, at the direction of the window. "Did you...did you you two sexy fucks see that big green willy in the harbor?"
"YES." Cian and Spike said in unison. Spike took the lead. "Dude! Some scary guy appeared on TV and--"
"Yeah, that's Redback." Daemian belched, loudly. "He's a c**t. He also summoned that damn thing out in the harbour, likely with some spooky shit from the Black Library." Daemian winced, holding his head. "Uhm too blitzed for this. Look. LOOK. I know..I know Icanbeabit ofa mess. I did try to take over the GSA. This is my...this is my bloody redempshon arc, y'know?"
Cian laid down back on the bed, resigning himself to getting eaten. "So...in other words...we're fecked."
After another burp, Deadboy chucked the empty bottle at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces, and waking Spike and Cian right the hell up.
Deadboy pointed at Spike, accusingly. "You can lift things ten times your weight, and you can..." He blanked. "Cause illusions. I dunno, mates, but we gotta' do somethin' so stop your whinging and get in the fuckin' portal. We got eldritch arse to kick!"
---
Searchlights from boats illuminated the grotesque colossus from underneath, adding to its horror. The green fog over the harbour only added to the macabre, horror scene. Two, enormous oculars pierced the mist, zeroing in on the modern building on the harbor promenade, set among more gothic and Victorian facades. The creature's head resembled the bell of a squid, and two giant tentacles hanging off its side only added to this. Beneath, however, it was a ball of squirming, worm-like appendages. It floated above the waves with an eerie power.
Yet, it didn't move. True to his word, Redback--lurking in the shadows--had kept the beast sedate.
The police had already barricaded curious and frightened onlookers who had ignored evacuation orders. The state sanctioned dark magi took to protecting their city. Black figures in robes, wearing long-beaked masks, positioned themselves on rooftops around the harbour, drawing strange hand symbols in the sky. Portals of purple light, dark corridors, appeared in front of them--from which armoured, wing demons, crow-like in appearance, emerged to answer the call of their summoner kindred. Joining them on shores across the harbour, in the cemetery sanctioned for necromancers--were the virtuous dead had consented in life to have their bones used for the greater good--scarlet clad necromancers woke their discarnate sentry from their slumber. The dead shambled to the shore, whilst the demonic took to the skies.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Spike said, tugging on his navy hoody and following Deadboy down the dark alley side-passage leading to the front of the Museum of Enchanted Art. In the distance, Spike noted the opera house and used it as a size comparison for the abomination. The monster was several stories larger.
"I can," Deadboy sniffed, sobering up. He tapped the handsome police man guarding the alleyway exit.
"Huh?" the short haired officer turned around. "Hey, you can't be here!"
Daemian smiled at him, wickedly, his eyes going pure black. "Give us a kiss, handsome."
Confused, the office could barely react--or reach for his side-arm--before Daemian had him in a front choke, forcing his mouth on his. The officer blushed, enjoying the taste of the handsome punk tonguing his mouth. Then, his eyes widened with fear. A trickle of purple travelled down the corner of his lips, and he moaned, struggling to pull away as Daemian infused him with his evil venom. The cop's eyes rolled back into his head, and then shifted into a purple glow.
"Unnngggg...." the zombified office said.
"Blech!" Daemian spat onto the ground. "Can't believe I kissed a cop. The things I do for my city..."
Cian covered his mouth in horror, checking to make sure the officer was okay. "Is he...dead?"
"Huh?" Deadboy barely noticed. "Yeah nah, he's just going to be a zombie for awhile. Sadly, they don't make very convincing puppets when they're under my spell like this. Whaddya say, corn beef--can you take his form?"
Cian was already on top of it, transforming into the officer's double. "And don't call me corn beef," he said, taking a deep breath. "Er...g'day moites, it's me, offissuh Kenneh--yer favrit bloke!"
"STOP!" Cian and Spike said in unison. Deadboy took the reigns. "Just talk normally, man!"
Cian (as officer Kenny) nodded, leading Spike and Deadboy past the police barricades and questioning officers, towards the front of the museum. As they made their way towards the courtyard, the group found themselves suddenly look into the moonlit desert. Or, rather, a 'door' looking onto the outback landscape, had appeared in front of them.
Clad in koala pajamas, Uncle Daniel stepped out, a cup of tea in hand. "Good Goodess, Lachie, what did you do now!?" He snapped his fingers, and the door to the outback blinked out of existence behind him.
"He's family," Daemain quickly said to a very confused Cian. "Uncle Daniel, what the bloody hell are you doing here!?"
The bearded man with the white hair glared at Deadboy and pointed to the giant monstrosity in the harbour behind them. "You do that, boy?"
"NO!" Daemian growled. But before he could say anything, a group of very official (and very serious) looking men and women appeared behind the interlopers.
A middle-aged woman with great hair and an expensive pantsuit stared them down. "You're obviously not police or shadow-unit. Are you with the terrorist?"
"For once, no," Deadboy said. "Who the hell are you?"
The woman crossed her arms. "Margaret Moore. Director of the Museum of Enchanted Art. And I'm wondering why a man in a balaclava has hijacked our news station asking us to hand over an artefact that we've been looking to acquire for some time now, but absolutely do not have."
Uncle Daniel stared blankly Deadboy. "Ah. Yep. Knew this was gonna happen. Of course you don't have the Chalice, Mrs. Moore." He sighed. "Because I do."
Uncle Daniel had it all along! Spike thought, gasping.
The woman with the sharp bob looked at the man up an down. "Are those...koalas?"
Uncle Daniel stared at the ground, demurely. "My wife bought them for my birthday and she...gets mad when I don't wear her gifts. But that's not the issue at hand here, loves." He pointed to the creature in the harbour. "Old mate is looking for a Chalice you don't bloody well have, and that thing is gonna eat Sydney. My boy here--and his friend--are here to help you, and they're probably the last defence yous got besides your magi."
Deadboy looked at Uncle Daniel. "I...thank you."
The museum director sighed. After a moment's consideration, and a few furtive glances at her entourage--which appeared to include staff from the mayor's office, judging by their lanyards--the woman reached into her breast pocket. "MoEA is a subsidiary of Aradia. Ten minutes ago I received a call from Mr. Salim Netjeer telling me I needed to give you lot something that the public does not know we have in our collection."
Spike's face lit up. "Salim!"
Margarete withdrew a small object--a peculiar, metallic, dodecahedron with a pyramid structure embedded into the top and bottom. The structure was inscribed with strange runes.
Deadboy carefully took it into his hands. "This is...a Configuration of Martense." He continued, before anybody could ask further. "It opens portals to other dimensions, but way, way worse-off places than the Faewild. Deeper places. More importantly, it brings things over, or sends them back."
"I assume that if an established patron like Mr. Netjeer is leasing this out, it means you know what to do with it?" Mrs. Moore asked. She then winced. "Also, you reek of cheap alcohol."
Deadboy bit his lip, and ignored the second remark. "Er...more or less I know how to work it? It's going to need to take heavy summoning power. I mean, I'm a pretty damn great demon summoner, but not that great."
Cian and Spike looked at Deadboy. Spike mouthed the words, 'redemption arc.'
Deadboy nodded. "Right." He pointed to the harbour. "You mob work for the city, yeah? Tell the port agents that I need five of your best summoners on boats at least ten meters apart in the shape of a pentacle, with that big, smelly c**t in the middle."
The weedy mayoral staff blanched at the crudeness, but otherwise nodded their heads.
While Uncle Daniel looked on, with a ghost of a smile across his lips, Daemian turned to Spike and Cian. "I sent Brax up ahead onto the bridge. Spike, I need you to join him there and act as a distraction, as this ritual is going to take a few minutes"
Spike bit his lip. "And do...what?"
"Think of something! Cian, I need you to search Customs House with the cops and see if you can find Redback. I promise you they can't deal with him on their own, but you might stand a chance.
"Understood." Cian wasn't so sure, but he wasn't going to argue now.
Uncle Daniel smiled at Daemian, but it was Spike who drew his focus. "Okay, Yank, I can teleport you onto the bridge." He looked quickly at Daemian. "Safely and accurately. You ready?"
Spike had fought some sizable opponents before...but this one was a bit bigger than his usual. Hell, this thing couldn't even fit into a ring. He looked at the monster, still entranced and bond to his summoner's magicks, and then up at the bridge a few meters away from its bulbous head.
"You know," Spike started, "Last year, I thought becoming a spellbreaker would be sort of routine and cushy after awhile." He sighed. "I miss when I was naive."
"You still are, mate," Daemian said, slapping Spike on the back. Suddenly, he went pale. "Oh Goddess, I think all that swill just hit me...BLEGH!"
He turned around and threw up, all over Margaret's very expensive shoes.
Cian nodded in resignation. "Yep. We're fecked."
To Be Continued
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