Iron-stained concrete walls. Scissors reverberated, tiny wavelength bouncing in their heads. Her wrists bruised, bound in chain and two men, skin burnt, dragged her ragged soul out of the chambers. Rats trailed her, chewing on the lumps of flesh fallen, scraped away, teeth punching wet holes. Between the chains and wet chewing, at last, not an echo of screaming.
A tall, thin man dressed in stained-white lipped the men. “The Beldame would like some rest, belligerent fools.”
“Oh, hush, Victor.” Soft but piercing, her voice rose above the haul. “Have them lay down a carpet if it bothers you. Or have them use ropes.”
“Beldame.”
She took a seat, allowing her roving red hair to drape over the side of a mangled cotton-cushion chair. “But do hurry. She’s leaking.”
The men forced the body through the room. Victor followed behind and closed the door. He ripped the shirt from one of the draggers and tore the fabric into thin strips, attempting to stop the blood from leaving the body before sending the lifeless off to the factory. Satisfied, he rapped his fist on the heavy door, meaning to rejoin his lady.
“Begone, Victor!” Her voice had lost the softness.
He followed the men to the factory.
Conveyors moved thousands of pale-blue bottles about the vast space. Only centimeters apart, the workers tore skin and bone from bodies and emptied blood into the jars. When the carcass dried, the roving workers in the hive stacked them into a pile continually set aflame. Victor’s nostrils flared at the entrance of the factory, but he crossed the barrier and inspected a conveyor for any breaks to report to the Beldame.
Satisfied, he held one of the heart-shaped bottles up to the sky and gazed lovingly into murky, ruby depths.
The Beldame dragged her palms across the floor, coating them in blood. Finger by finger she sucked. The mounted skulls feasted their eyes as she covered her entirety with the residues of the captive.
She stepped foot onto the factory floor and called for the assistant. A dark spot in the sea bobbed forward until he stood direct her.
“You called, Beldame?”
“Where was the missus’ body placed?” She said, scraping a nail against his dark suit, leaving a stain. “An excellent product, hers.” She smiled.
Victor did his best to ignore the putrid smell. “She was placed in lane 9S, Beldame.”
“Have her moved to 2B. They’ll pay a premium for that.”
One of the men who’d dragged the woman off rose to the Beldame’s position. In his blocky hand, withering parchment. No words exchanged, he unfolded the letter and placed the words gently into her delicate fingers.
Backdoor
The lady sighed, hands temples. “If you would, Victor. Bring Flint and Silas with you as well. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Wings fanned, Victor opened the door to a red-eyed leafy shadow. Held the note out toward him. “Is this yours?”
His mouth flowered miasmatic, but his body offered no movement. “I’m here on behalf of the St. Martinsland Company. I have to ask you to vacate this building.”
Victor took a step back and the two men took a step forward, fists raised to their chests.
Haunting heels on concrete scissored the tension. Hair slashed below ears. A ruff around the neck extending shadow. A beast approaches.
“Welcome to the Bluemoon factory!” She exclaimed, mock delight. “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow just anybody inside. The formula of our anti-aging cream is a secret, after all! Although I can certainly offer a sample to someone who has ventured so far out of the city to visit us.”
Leaf trembled. “I’m here to demand your factory on behalf of the St. Ma—”
The woman smiled and extended her arm to the cold interior. “Oh, yes, yes. Come inside and we can discuss terms.”
The leaf hesitated, but could see no other option other than to follow the four into the building.
The Beldame took him by the neck and nailed him to the corrugated wall. His bones cracked on impact. Slumped to the ground. A razor nail cut into his throat. Flint held him still. She bled him dry.
Blood-spit. “Nothing special. L-grade at most. Silas, bring him out back.”
Silas bowed low.
“Thanks, dear.” The Beldame finished, turning back into the factory’s main production line with a small curtsy.
Leaves rustled in the wind. Green, orange, red, burnt yellow, stood at the step of the factory. The shouting overtook the sounds of production. The crunching of old bones. The spilling of new blood. One shot fired into a blocked-off window began the melee.
Streams burst through the unlocked doors, falling into a clash of opposing currents. The frontlines of both companies decimated the other immediately. The spark of blade on blade threatened fire to all of the dead plants in the area, but it was off-centre bolt-fire that ignited the flames. The Beldame watched the battle from above, surrounded by impaled corpses and a living donor, sent Deer to guard the elevator.
The steel cage elevator suddenly dropped, called down to the ground floor. Deer turned and watched the floor creak into nothing, pushed the Beldame back and forced her into hiding.
A staff, unnoticed, forced a hole through the back of his head. The giant’s fall slowed by clenched fists. His uniform stripped. He lay naked in oil and grease.
The Beldame, too slow to notice what had happened to Deer, was taken by surprise by the disguised form approaching her. He locked her arms behind her back and thrust the thrashing lady into a window overlooking the battle. With his staff, the man holding her captive knocked the glass onto the armies below and called out.
“Cease the fighting and relinquish the factory!”
Waves of recognition washed over the battle until every eye locked on to the horizon. Once their attention had been broken from battle, he held his captive out the window. The woman’s feet on glass, her blood ran the side of the building.
His victory established further by the stomping of boots.
“Kaine! Kaine! Kaine!”
Victor made the next move, flowing through the dead ocean and shouting until he stood beneath the neon Bluemoon sign. He raised his hands to the air, shouted. “I’m coming up! Alone.”
One last eye to the mercenaries behind him, Victor slipped through the door.
The elevator cranked slow up the shaft. Creaked, threatened to come apart at every crack in the concrete decorated with blood-graffiti portraying a ritual scene as he ascended. Inhuman forms crimson visible still to the dark. Iron flames. Figure of a woman devouring. Devouring and bathing in the remains. Invisible smile panic.
Victor had never ascended the tower. Only the Beldame’s authorized could ever ascend. Allowed to lay their eyes upon the massacre rooms. Rooms with purpose obscure. Rooms padlocked and guarded. Rooms, he saw at the opening of the cage, of feast.
A long darkwood table stretched the length of the room. Blood-smeared. A body writhed, cried silently for absolution from his own body. Chunks of him plated on every seat of the table. The extent of the damage wasn’t fully unveiled even in the crimson red aura of the room. The knowledge of how the product moved from manufacturing to the cabinets never bothered him. The blood only congealed the ingredients. To taste blood wasn’t the purpose. Yet here, his Beldame shared meals of human flesh.
Victor didn’t have time to process his surroundings before Kaine cried out to him, still holding the Beldame by the ruff over towerfall.
Kaine didn’t turn to face him. “Look at this! This is the monster Bluemoon supports!”
Victor stuttered.
“It is her craving for blood that fuels her reign, not of profit… Beauty!” He knocked a piece of glass from the window and ran the sharp along her back. Coated in blood, brought glass to her tongue.
“Have you tasted this?” He asked her.
Neither of the Bluemoon answered him.
“We can end her reign here. You can rule at my side.” He forced the glass into the lady’s throat. “Taste it!”
The Beldame’s mouth dribbled of blood. Smeared on a white sleeve, she forced herself to speak through the ichor. “It is beautiful!” She cried. “Beautiful!”
Her hand now raised to the glass-break window and she cut herself over and over until blood poured from her arm and she could sip at no expense.
Victor fell to his knees. His lady laughed, gored herself against the window.
The sight from below echoed a chaos. The Bluemoon mercenaries immediately fell to their knees and raised their arms in surrender. Payment annulled.
Kaine, towering above the madness, gave voice to their fears.
“The Lady of Bluemoon Incorporated is dead! Her headquarters and mercenaries now belong to St. Martinsland! Do any dare oppose?”
Not a wave disrupted the sea.
Arms thrust into the air, Kaine declared, “Then Bluemoon Incorporated is no more!”
Kaine took a seat at the table, called Victor to him. “We’ll continue to sell the rest of the product,” he told him casually, “as though nothing has happened. We’ll shutter the company when stock is dry.”
Victor grabbed a knife from the table and slit the mangled throat still suffering quiet.
Stripped-down mercenaries crowded every corner of the building, buckets or mops in hand, scrubbing away the iron stains.
Kaine stood on a podium overlooking the sea of men, new and old. His voice echoed throughout the room. “With this building, the continuing expansion of the St. Martinsland Company!” He flourished his arms to his left. “I introduce you all now to your new commander!”
Victor entered, and the room erupted.