A walk in the Nightside

Chapter 22: The Path of Fire

The red emergency lights bathed the hallway in an eerie glow, illuminating the chaos Michael left in his wake. His breathing was labored, every muscle screaming for rest, but he didn't stop. The swarm buzzed around him like a protective shroud, their sharp movements feeding him information about his surroundings. His hands, one still trembling with pain from the earlier injury, clutched the stun baton and his revolver, the latter a comforting weight in his palm.

A door ahead burst open, and two guards charged through, one wielding a blade glinting with an unnatural sheen and the other holding a shotgun loaded with enchanted rounds. Michael's swarm surged forward, blinding them with a torrent of biting flies and stinging wasps. The shotgun boomed, the shot scattering harmlessly into the ceiling as the guard flailed, his hands swatting uselessly at the insects.

Michael raised his revolver, the silvered rounds within gleaming faintly. He fired twice, the shots echoing down the hall. The first guard crumpled, the bullet piercing his shoulder and forcing him to drop his blade. The second guard swung his shotgun wildly, but Michael's baton crackled to life, a streak of electricity arcing as he drove it into the guard's ribs. The man convulsed, collapsing in a heap.

He didn't wait to catch his breath. Another door swung open, and this time a hulking creature lumbered through—a patchwork abomination of flesh and magic. Its multiple eyes glowed red, and its gnarled hands ended in wicked claws. The Bennetts' twisted creations.

"Of course," Michael muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and grim determination. He holstered his revolver, extending his free hand as he whispered a spell under his breath. Fire roared to life in his palm, a spell he'd practiced with Molly Metcalf. He hurled the flame at the creature, the fireball colliding with its chest and igniting its patchwork skin.

The beast roared, swinging its claws wildly as the fire consumed it. Michael sidestepped its charge, the swarm disorienting it further as wasps burrowed into its many eyes. It crashed into the wall, flailing as the flames reduced it to smoldering ruin.

He kept moving, the swarm clearing his path and alerting him to more incoming threats. He turned a corner, only to be met by a trio of vampires with predatory grins. They moved like shadows, darting toward him with supernatural speed.

Michael didn't flinch. He raised his revolver and fired, the blessed rounds finding their marks. One vampire screamed, its chest exploding into ash, while the second reeled back, clutching at its ruined face. The third leaped at him, claws outstretched, but his swarm intercepted it mid-air. Tarantula hawks swarmed over its body, their stings eliciting guttural cries of pain. Michael finished it with a silvered knife, the blade sinking into its chest as it disintegrated.

The swarm's hum grew louder, a signal that he was getting close. He could feel the pull, the faint connection that told him Jonathan and Victoria were near.

The next door opened into a grand chamber, starkly different from the sterile halls he'd just fought through. It was ornate, with high ceilings and walls lined with gilded mirrors. A massive chandelier hung above, its crystals reflecting the flickering light of the flames spreading behind him.

Jonathan and Victoria stood at the far end, flanked by more guards. Jonathan's frail figure sat in his wheelchair, his sunken eyes sharp and calculating. Victoria was armed with a silver-tipped rapier, its blade glowing faintly with enchantment.

"Well," Victoria said, her voice cutting through the crackle of flames. "It seems you've made quite the mess, Michael."

Jonathan's lips curled into a faint smile. "But you've come so far. It would be a shame to end it now."

Michael raised his revolver, his swarm buzzing around him like a living shield. "Let's skip the monologue," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "We all know how this ends."

Victoria lunged first, her blade a streak of silver as she closed the distance between them. Michael sidestepped, firing a shot that she deflected with a flick of her wrist. She was fast, faster than any human had a right to be.

Jonathan raised his hand, muttering an incantation that sent a bolt of dark energy crackling toward Michael. He dove to the side, the spell colliding with a mirror and shattering it into shards.

Michael rolled to his feet, raising his hand as he cast a fireball. The flames roared toward Jonathan, but Victoria intercepted it, her rapier slashing through the spell and dispersing it into harmless embers.

The guards flanked him, forcing Michael to split his focus. He directed his swarm, the insects swarming over the guards and driving them back. He fired again, the blessed rounds tearing through their armor and reducing them to ash.

Victoria pressed her attack, her blade a blur as it sliced through the air. Michael barely managed to block with his baton, the impact sending jolts of pain through his already battered body.

Jonathan watched with a detached interest, his skeletal hands weaving another spell. "You're tenacious, Michael," he said, his voice almost admiring. "But tenacity only takes you so far."

Michael's swarm surged toward Jonathan, forcing him to break his concentration and shield himself. The momentary distraction gave Michael an opening. He feinted left, dodging Victoria's blade, and slammed the stun baton into her side. The crackling energy sent her stumbling back, her face twisted in rage.

The flames behind him grew, licking at the edges of the chamber. Smoke filled the air, making it harder to see, harder to breathe. But Michael pressed on, his swarm and his determination the only things keeping him going.

He turned his focus to Jonathan, who was already preparing another spell. Michael raised his revolver, aiming for the frail man's chest.

Jonathan smiled faintly, his voice calm despite the chaos. "Do it," he said, his tone almost daring.

Michael fired, the shot echoing through the chamber.

The shot rang out, and for a moment, everything froze. Jonathan's smile faltered as the bullet tore into his chest, the blessed silver burning through his frail body. He let out a low, guttural groan before collapsing forward in his wheelchair, his hand clawing weakly at the air. The force of the impact knocked the chair back, toppling him onto the ground.

Victoria screamed, her voice cutting through the roar of flames. Her face twisted in pure rage as she lunged at Michael, her rapier slicing toward his throat. Michael barely ducked in time, the blade grazing his shoulder and leaving a searing line of pain.

The fire had spread now, consuming the gilded walls and the ornate furnishings. The air was thick with smoke, each breath burning his lungs. The chandelier above creaked ominously, its crystals catching the firelight as the structure strained under the heat.

Michael stumbled back, his swarm flaring around him in a protective cloud. "You're done, Victoria," he said, his voice hoarse. "This whole place is coming down."

Victoria didn't respond, her only answer the deadly arc of her rapier. Michael blocked with his stun baton, the clash sending vibrations up his arm. His injured hand screamed in protest, but he grit his teeth and pushed through the pain.

"You killed him!" she shrieked, her strikes coming faster, fueled by blind fury.

Michael parried and dodged, each movement costing him precious energy. Behind him, part of the ceiling collapsed, sending a shower of burning debris crashing down. The heat was unbearable now, the smoke thick enough to blur the edges of his vision.

"I warned you," he spat, finally landing a solid blow with the baton. The crackling energy sent Victoria reeling, her grip on the rapier faltering.

Michael didn't wait for her to recover. He turned and ran, his swarm scouting the hallways ahead as he made his way back through the mansion. The fire roared all around him, licking at the walls and floors, consuming everything in its path. The ornate carpets burned away to reveal blackened wood, and the gilded mirrors shattered under the heat.

Guards emerged from side rooms, their shouts drowned out by the chaos. Michael didn't hesitate. He directed his swarm toward them, the insects overwhelming the guards with bites and stings. He fired his revolver, the blessed bullets finding their marks in the few who resisted the swarm's fury.

The hallway ahead was blocked by a wall of flames, the heat forcing Michael to stop in his tracks. He glanced around, his mind racing. There—a window. Without thinking, he smashed through the glass with his baton, the shards cutting into his skin as he climbed through.

The smoke outside was only marginally better, but at least the fresh air hit his lungs, giving him a momentary reprieve. He landed on a balcony, the ground far below illuminated by the flickering glow of the fire.

Michael's swarm buzzed urgently in his mind, warning him of more guards approaching. He spotted a drainpipe leading down the side of the building and grabbed hold of it, his hands burning from the heat still radiating from the structure. The metal groaned under his weight, but it held as he slid down, landing hard on the scorched grass below.

He stumbled forward, his body screaming in protest. The fire had consumed most of the mansion now, the flames reaching high into the night sky. Shouts and alarms echoed from the surrounding grounds as more guards scrambled to contain the blaze.

Michael didn't stop. His swarm swirled around him, guiding him toward the perimeter. He sprinted through the chaos, dodging debris and avoiding the guards distracted by the inferno. His lungs burned, his legs felt like lead, but he kept going, driven by sheer determination.

When he finally reached the tree line, he collapsed against a trunk, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The distant sound of the mansion's collapse rumbled through the air, a final, deafening roar as the structure succumbed to the flames.

Michael wiped the sweat and soot from his face, his hands shaking. His coat was singed, his body battered and bruised, but he was alive. He glanced back at the burning wreckage, his mind reeling from everything that had happened.

The Bennetts had fallen—at least, most of them. He didn't know if Victoria had made it out, and he didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd survived, once again defying the odds in a place where survival was never guaranteed.

The swarm buzzed softly in his mind, their presence a steady reassurance as he pushed himself to his feet. He had made it out. But he knew this was far from over.

Michael moved through the shadowed streets of the Nightside, his every step a struggle. His body was battered and bruised, his bare chest smeared with soot and blood, his pants torn and sticking to his skin where they'd been soaked with sweat. The distant glow of the burning mansion still lit up the horizon behind him, a silent reminder of the chaos he'd just escaped.

He tried to make his way back toward his apartment, slipping through side alleys and hugging the walls of abandoned buildings. But as he neared the block, his swarm picked up the unmistakable shapes of parked cars—sleek, black, and humming with something unnatural. The air around them shimmered faintly, a telltale sign of enchantments layered over the vehicles.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, crouching behind a dumpster. He could feel the presences inside the cars, predatory and patient, waiting for him to make a move.

His heart sank. Returning to his apartment was out of the question. The Bennetts—or whoever was left of them—weren't going to let this go. And now, half-naked, covered in blood, and clearly wounded, he was starting to attract attention.

The Nightside wasn't a place for the weak or vulnerable, and his current state made him a beacon for trouble. He caught sight of figures lingering at the edges of the streets, their eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. Some looked human—too human—but their predatory gazes betrayed their true nature. Others didn't even bother with the pretense of humanity, their forms twisted and monstrous, drawn by the scent of his blood.

Michael pulled his coat tighter around him, its tattered edges barely covering his chest. His swarm was restless, buzzing at the edges of his awareness, their agitation feeding into his own. He directed a handful of flies to scout ahead, their tiny bodies darting through the gloom as they searched for a safe path.

As he made his way toward Strangefellows, he hoped for sanctuary. The old bar had always been a refuge, a place where even the worst of the Nightside followed Alex's unspoken rules. But as he approached, something felt... wrong.

Figures loitered near the entrance—figures that didn't belong. Their movements were too stiff, their eyes too sharp as they scanned the streets. Michael's swarm confirmed what his gut already knew: they were watching for someone. Watching for him.

He cursed under his breath, ducking into an alley and leaning against the cold brick wall. The exertion was catching up to him now, his legs trembling as his vision swam. His swarm pulsed in his mind, urging him to move, but his options were running out.

He couldn't go back to his apartment. Strangefellows wasn't safe, at least not right now. And the rest of the Nightside? It was filled with predators, each one eager to take a bite out of someone in his condition.

Think, Michael. Think.

He racked his brain, trying to come up with a place to lay low. Somewhere off the radar, somewhere the Bennetts—or whoever was working for them—wouldn't think to look. He couldn't risk reaching out to anyone he knew; doing so would only paint a target on their backs.

The swarm buzzed insistently, their movements erratic as they picked up more signs of activity nearby. He didn't have much time. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to move, his body protesting with every step.

There was an old shelter he remembered passing once, a ramshackle building on the edge of the Nightside that catered to the desperate and the forgotten. It wasn't much, but it was obscure—exactly the kind of place he needed.

With no better options, Michael set his sights on the shelter, his swarm scouting ahead as he slipped through the darkened streets, his every nerve on edge. He just needed to stay one step ahead, long enough to regroup and figure out his next move.