All Hunters possessed innate abilities extraordinary to other humans. Dubbed “edges” by the HunterNet community, they were granted by the Messengers as soon as or shortly after each was called to join the ranks, meant as aids in combating beasts such as the ghast. Some Hunters were able to fire bolts of energy from their hands, stunning many creatures and destroying more; other could bind the creatures’ bodies with their will, or mark elusive ones so that nearby allies could sense their location; still others could penetrate the disguises that many of the monsters wore, showing them for who or what they truly were. A few could even engulf their weapons in flame, an ability that Nicholas found flashy and intimidating but otherwise fairly useless.
Nicholas possessed no such skills. Instead he was made to rely on his own talents, and when necessary he was provided with power from Above, from whence the Messengers came. He prepared to use one form of it now.
“Videlicet,” he murmured, closing his eyes to focus as he tapped into the Sight. Aside from a fleeting warm sensation at the back of his mind, he felt no different, but he knew it was there. It would speak when it was ready.
Such was the extent of his control over his gift. The Sight was a tool of the Messengers, and his visions came when the Messengers willed it. Even directly using it, which had taken months to even begin learning to do, yielded little more than hints and whispers and quick flashes. His ability amounted to little more than asking for help—the phrase he used to activate it translated roughly to “let me see”. But it was more than nothing, and it had always shown up when he had needed it. Nicholas had faith.
He opened his eyes. The other two were downstairs, it had informed him: downstairs, where the ceiling was low and the walls seemed closer.
Nicholas had a very sarcastic faith.
Three shots left. He took the spiral staircase to the lower concourse, wary for ghast clinging to the underside of the upper level. More bodies littered the thoroughfare, and broken glass and merchandise were strewn everywhere. The ghast had probably taken over this level first and been attracted upstairs by the panicking mob. Nicholas paced slowly past the shops, checking all sides for lurking beasts.
A no-longer human head poked out of the Aeropostale near the intersection, a mangled corpse dangling from its maw. Nicholas eyed it, then abruptly noticed his earlier target skulking across the far end of the concourse. Half a dozen quips about two-for-one sales shot through Nicholas’ head. He crushed them all.
He kept walking, his stride measured and deliberate. A sudden movement would draw both beasts instantly, and his best bet was for one to attack first—but showing obvious caution would only make them unpredictable. The trick, he had learned on previous encounters with them, was to balance them between uncertainty and aggression. Looking like a threat but not acting like one allowed him to control the distance between himself and the creatures long enough to prepare for their lunge.
As he reached the clothing store, the ghast inside dropped its bloody chew toy and gathered itself; Nicholas spun and planted, fanning the revolver like a hired gun in a spaghetti western. Bullets ripped into the beast’s torso and neck, turning its deadly spring into a clumsy stagger, and it collapsed awkwardly to the floor.
Nicholas didn’t wait to see if he had killed it. The last one was charging, spurred on by the action, dirt and merchandise scattering wildly in its wake as kiosks and fake shrubs flew from its path. Retreating a step, he dropped the spent pistol, and his sword rang as he drew it from the sheath.
He had no time for a proper grip. The ghast was already leaping at him, its twisted, powerful haunches driving it forward with frightening speed; snarling, he thrust his blade out flat across his body, bracing it with his left hand. The creature’s claws raked at the sword, and Nicholas fell back another step and turned, punching his hilt hard into the beast’s skull.
