A Resplendent Era (6)

There are occasions where an overwhelming influx of information temporarily overwhelms one’s mental processing capacities, are there not?

That precisely encapsulated my current predicament.

While theatrical entertainments featuring costumed performers remain prevalent in this era, few enthusiasts choose to impersonate the Demonic Tribe.

With myriad other potential subjects, why purposefully adopt the guise of adversaries humanity had bitterly battled mere decades prior?

Certainly, no legal repercussions would ensue. Yet such conduct would undoubtedly invite police scrutiny – a needless provocation.

Moreover, harsher penalties could apply in Antrim, having recently endured unrest while apprehending the Demonic Tribe infiltrators. The backlash would only intensify here, not dissipate.

Only after such ruminations could I finally conclude that the individuals before me were, in fact, the Demonic Tribe.

Surely they had not ventured forth seeking autographs, enamored by my renown that had even permeated their realm? Their demeanor unmistakably betrayed lethal – or at the very least, abductive – intentions.

Yet I am no oblivious fool, blankly gawking at oncoming headlights until struck like a dazed woodland creature.

Deliberating the ‘whys’ and ‘wherefores’ would prove fruitless, so I shelved such futile musings for later.

“Seize him!”

“Preposterous.”

I immediately distanced myself from the charging Demonic Tribe members.

Simultaneously, a crackling sound emanated as I infused the cumbersome, recently acquired hospital umbrella with mana.

Had my finances been more constrained, I would have opted for a wooden variant. A more extravagant indulgence could have yielded baleen ribs.

But this iron-framed compromise, at least, possessed sufficient conductivity to emit sparks – temporarily storing the imbued magic, if nothing else.

‘Heating up rather rapidly.’

Of course, a randomly procured hospital umbrella would lack any specialized enchantments for spellcasting.

The handle grew uncomfortably hot – prolonged gripping would inevitably result in burns.

Hence:

“Aarrgghh!!”

“Can’t the Demonic Tribe speak? For a moment, allow me to-“

“Seize hiiimm!!”

“Gyaaarrgghh!!”

Whether they had imbibed some concoction beforehand or such unhinged behavior typified Demonic Tribe combat protocols, I could not discern.

Regardless, outpacing them indefinitely proved unfeasible. So after confirming no civilian bystanders, I turned to face the incoherently raving adversaries.

With a forceful overhand throw akin to hurling a javelin, I flung the umbrella I had been extending behind my shoulder.

Never having received formal combat training, my aim proved underwhelming – the umbrella harmlessly splashing into a nearby puddle.

While some Demonic Tribe members charged unabated, momentarily perplexed by my errant toss, their continued approach rendered accuracy superfluous.

“Can’t even hit that?! Pathetic-“

-BANG!

-CRACKLE-CRACKLE-CRACKLE!!

“YAAARRGHH?!”

“GAAAAHHHH……”

If unable to strike a precise target, area-of-effect tactics would suffice.

The detonating umbrella unleashed arcing tendrils of lightning, indiscriminately engulfing the nearby Demonic Tribe members.

Caught unawares and unguarded, the electrocuted Demonic Tribe convulsed upon the ground.

Exploiting their momentary distraction by the dazzling display, I resumed my retreat. Causing such unrest within the capital would undoubtedly prompt police – if not military – intervention before long.

I had perused Antrim’s police commissioner boasting of eradicating the city’s Demonic Tribe presence.

While well-versed in Londinium’s propensity for embellished propagandist accounts, I had assumed at least a modicum of vigilance within the capital itself.

Naturally, I lacked any weaponry – blades, bludgeons, or firearms.

Bearing arms so brazenly in a foreign capital would have proven diplomatically untenable.

The very fact that I was being assailed by the Demonic Tribe within the capital already constituted ample grounds for an international incident. But nonetheless.

-Thud

“Haah……”

“You there, halt!”

As I attempted to flee through an alleyway, another Demonic Tribe contingent emerged, physically obstructing my path.

No confirmation was required – while concealing their wings, their cumbersome headgear made no attempts to disguise their horns.

Catching my breath as they slowly encircled me, one of the Demonic Tribe spoke:

“The Dark Lord has a message for you.”

“The Dark Lord…?”

“Indeed. A proposal.”

In fluent Belfast dialect suggesting local origins, he continued:

“The Lord holds your talents in high esteem.”

Should I consider that an honor amid these circumstances?

Furrowing my brow as I failed to discern the relevance, the Demonic Tribe appended:

“Surely you are aware that war looms imminently. Hence, we propose your surrender.”

“Pardon?”

“No need to even swear fealty to the Dark Lord. Mere nominal acquiescence would suffice.”

“Merely abstain from aiding the humans, and you shall be granted clemency – your life and well-being preserved.”

I had never anticipated receiving such an offer.

Perhaps the Freugne from the increasingly hazy [Londinium Survival Chronicle] had once confronted a similar proposition?

“And if I decline?”

“Well, in that case…”

The Demonic Tribe shrugged nonchalantly.

“War shall inevitably erupt, and you, among all others, shall perish.”

“A threat?”

“You could perceive it as such. So, do you accept or not?”

I nodded slowly.

A smirk crept across the lead Demonic Tribe member’s face.

“Excellent. While our initial overtures may have been somewhat forceful, let us disregard such trifling past grievan-“

“Enough drivel.”

Seizing the proffered hand, ostensibly for a handshake, I channeled maximum voltage through it.

-CRACKLE-CRACKLE-CRACKLE!!

“GYAAARRGHH?!”

You expect me to acquiesce while fully aware of your genocidal intentions against humanity?

---

-ZZZZZAP!

-AAAARRRGGGHHHH!!

The cacophony from outside roused Freugne.

Clearly, she had only recently drifted off – the lingering grogginess indicated mere moments had elapsed since closing her eyes.

She had anticipated an uninterrupted slumber, but some disturbance had intervened. Too raucous for drunken revelry or celebratory cheering… instead, the indistinct sounds resembled shattering debris intermingled with agonized screams.

While ordinarily capable of sleeping through rainfall, Freugne harbored an inexplicable sensitivity towards such jarring noises.

Checking the time revealed barely an hour had passed since she had lost consciousness. Yet attempting to disregard the commotion proved futile, a nagging disquiet persisting. Perhaps side-effects from the psychic magic, manifesting as auditory hallucinations?

Midnight was imminent, but vigilance remained prudent in anticipation of any contingencies.

Waking only to discover someone had succumbed to a seizure, choking on their own foam, would be unacceptable.

Gesturing to a passing staff member, Freugne inquired:

“Is there some disturbance occurring outside?”

“Now that you mention it, I do hear some unusual noises.”

The physicians and staff had received assurances from the director that an esteemed guest would be staying overnight.

Though unaware of the precise identity or significance, the director’s stance had prompted deferential treatment, even towards this youthful patient occupying the premium suite.

“Shall I investigate the source?”

“No need. Merely confirming I am not the only one discerning it suffices.”

In truth, what calamity could befall one capable of foreseeing the future? An overreaction, perhaps.

Preparations to apprehend the troublemaking Demonic Tribe members in Antrim had been proceeding smoothly.

Or rather, ‘troublemaking’ was an understatement – their objective involved assaulting key figures. But as that future had been averted, the details hardly mattered now.

Some Demonic Tribe had already been captured, to be interrogated for their comrades’ whereabouts.

Even now, the local organization under Carno would be mobilizing, swiftly eliminating the remaining threats.

Above all, had she not foreseen her and Edan’s safe return to Londinium?

Hence, a passive vigil would suffice. Reckless interventions could inadvertently alter that future.

‘As I have done thus far.’

Exhaling lightly, Freugne reclined once more. Yet the lingering grogginess impeded slumber’s return.

Closing her eyes, anticipating sleep’s eventual reclamation, she was instead met with:

-CRACKLE-BOOM!

-RUMBLE-RUMBLE…

-AAAARRGGHH!!

“…Seriously, what is that?”

The disturbance only escalated in intensity and proximity –

not merely increasing in volume, but converging upon the hospital itself.

At this juncture, verification became imperative. Ringing for the staff, that same attendant promptly entered.

“Is something amiss?”

“My apologies for retracting my earlier words, but could you please ascertain the source of that external disturbance?”

“Certainly. One moment, please.”

As the attendant departed, Freugne strained to discern the sounds’ origins.

Far beyond the scope of a mere brawl, the escalating tumult seemed to be nearing the hospital premises.

‘I should investigate directly.’

Extending her arm to open the window slightly, Freugne’s drowsy eyes widened in alarm.

Intermittent flashes of brilliant light – not the wavering, iridescent illumination of conventional flame magic, but the surging radiance of electric sorcery. A luminosity instantly revealing the caster’s formidable prowess.

Had that been the extent, she might have dismissed it as some deranged electrician’s drenched meltdown. But with the obstructing window’s removal, a hauntingly familiar voice intermingled with the tumult:

‘…Uncle?’