through the crack in the door, I
couldn't see any wires, hinges, or other devices that would spring
a trap.
Although that didn't mean there weren't any. "Step back,” I advised Crash as I pushed him out of the way with my arm. "What's up, Seeker?” the Raze Demon asked curiously. Standing out of the doorway, I pushed the door open. I heard a pop, and it was over before I even knew what happened. I stared at the heavy steel bar now embedded in the open door. It had been mounted to the right of the door, and somehow I triggered it. "What the bloody hell is that?” Crashed asked, his mouth open in awe. "Security measure,” I answered. Ducking beneath the bar, I stepped inside the house. "Can't they just buy an alarm like normal blokes?” Crash said, shaking his head as he followed me in. The stench of death crashed into me like a tsunami. Decaying Werewolves were heaped in the front room while a nearly solid black cloud of flies buzzed angrily overhead. The tan carpet seemed to be undulating beneath my feet. Looking down, I realized it was a sheet of maggots. Clenching my teeth, I wrestled against the urge to retch.
"That's a lot of friggin’ maggots,” Crash stated soberly. "Patrick,” I gasped, pulling my hand away from my mouth just long enough to speak. "Who?” Crash asked coolly, seemingly unaffected by the stench. "Cleaner,” I answered as professionally as I could. Captain Patrick Peterson's body was bent angrily backward over a dead Werewolf. A long, ornate stake that looked like it used to be a table leg was driven cleanly though his chest and out his back. His stern blue eyes were still wide with the final horror he saw. I thought of the raid he led on the Vampire nest that started all of this, then a thought occurred. “He shouldn't be here,” I said, turning to Crash. “Patrick isn't dead. He signed off on the reports after this den was cleansed."
"Sounds like we've got a Patrick doppelganger running loose,” Crash summarized. That would certainly explain why he was acting so strangely that night. Over Crash's shoulder, I watched a pair of stony claws curl around the top of the doorframe. I didn't have time to mourn. I knew exactly what it was and sighed. “Crash,” I said quietly, “you might want to armor up.” I pointed behind him as I drew my Beretta.
"What the hell are you...” Crash stopped as he turned. Immediately his dark flesh melted away revealing the bony, red armor plates beneath.
The Gargoyle licked its toothy muzzle as it hung upside down in the doorway. Eyeing us with its horrible black and red eyes, it spread its wings and started to slowly crawl into the house. Saliva ran over its reptilian muzzle and dripped down into the maggots below. As the saliva hit, the maggots sizzled and died beneath the potent acid. If we moved, it would attack. If we didn't move, it would attack. Either way, we were boned.
Although that didn't mean there weren't any. "Step back,” I advised Crash as I pushed him out of the way with my arm. "What's up, Seeker?” the Raze Demon asked curiously. Standing out of the doorway, I pushed the door open. I heard a pop, and it was over before I even knew what happened. I stared at the heavy steel bar now embedded in the open door. It had been mounted to the right of the door, and somehow I triggered it. "What the bloody hell is that?” Crashed asked, his mouth open in awe. "Security measure,” I answered. Ducking beneath the bar, I stepped inside the house. "Can't they just buy an alarm like normal blokes?” Crash said, shaking his head as he followed me in. The stench of death crashed into me like a tsunami. Decaying Werewolves were heaped in the front room while a nearly solid black cloud of flies buzzed angrily overhead. The tan carpet seemed to be undulating beneath my feet. Looking down, I realized it was a sheet of maggots. Clenching my teeth, I wrestled against the urge to retch.
"That's a lot of friggin’ maggots,” Crash stated soberly. "Patrick,” I gasped, pulling my hand away from my mouth just long enough to speak. "Who?” Crash asked coolly, seemingly unaffected by the stench. "Cleaner,” I answered as professionally as I could. Captain Patrick Peterson's body was bent angrily backward over a dead Werewolf. A long, ornate stake that looked like it used to be a table leg was driven cleanly though his chest and out his back. His stern blue eyes were still wide with the final horror he saw. I thought of the raid he led on the Vampire nest that started all of this, then a thought occurred. “He shouldn't be here,” I said, turning to Crash. “Patrick isn't dead. He signed off on the reports after this den was cleansed."
"Sounds like we've got a Patrick doppelganger running loose,” Crash summarized. That would certainly explain why he was acting so strangely that night. Over Crash's shoulder, I watched a pair of stony claws curl around the top of the doorframe. I didn't have time to mourn. I knew exactly what it was and sighed. “Crash,” I said quietly, “you might want to armor up.” I pointed behind him as I drew my Beretta.
"What the hell are you...” Crash stopped as he turned. Immediately his dark flesh melted away revealing the bony, red armor plates beneath.
The Gargoyle licked its toothy muzzle as it hung upside down in the doorway. Eyeing us with its horrible black and red eyes, it spread its wings and started to slowly crawl into the house. Saliva ran over its reptilian muzzle and dripped down into the maggots below. As the saliva hit, the maggots sizzled and died beneath the potent acid. If we moved, it would attack. If we didn't move, it would attack. Either way, we were boned.