Chapter 82: Hunting

The Caretaker did not sleep.

He could…

Technically.

The room Gene had given him contained a bed.

A dresser.

A window.

A bookshelf.

Several decorations Jesse Belle had insisted on adding.

The bed however had never been used.

Instead, the towering monster spent most nights wandering.

Watching.

Protecting.

Waiting.

Tonight was no different.

The Nightmare Hotel rested peacefully beneath a blanket of stars.

Children slept in their rooms.

Guests occupied the upper floors.

The giant sheep Mary and Bo had brought over snored loudly from their newly built pasture.

The Caretaker stood atop the hotel roof and watched the horizon.

Something felt wrong.

A familiar feeling.

The same instinct that had kept him alive for so long.

The same instinct that had helped him find Prince Cassian.

The same instinct that told him danger was nearby.

His head slowly turned.

Far away.

Near the Summoner’s Market.

Movement.

A shadow slipped between buildings.

Then another.

Then another.

The Caretaker’s glowing eyes narrowed.

Cultists.

He knew them well.

The scent alone was enough.

Fear.

Blood.

Rot.

Fanaticism.

The smell clung to them.

Without a sound he stepped forward.

The darkness beneath him twisted.

The shadows swallowed him whole.

⸻

An hour later.

The Summoner’s Market night time scene looked fairly bare.

Most merchants had already closed their shops.

The streets sat nearly empty.

Only a few lanterns illuminated the winding roads.

The Caretaker crouched atop a rooftop.

Below him six figures moved through an alley.

Black robes.

Hidden faces.

Cultists.

They clearly believed themselves unnoticed.

The Caretaker followed.

Patient.

Silent.

A hunter.

The group eventually reached a large house near the edge of the district.

An old noble estate that appeared abandoned.

One by one they entered.

The Caretaker remained still.

Watching.

Waiting.

Listening.

Several minutes passed.

Then he heard it.

Voices.

Dozens.

His grip tightened around his knife.

The cultists had a nest.

Good.

This made things easier.

——

The front door never opened.

The Caretaker simply appeared inside.

One moment the foyer sat empty.

The next moment he emerged from out of the shadows.

He stood there, Silent, Watching, waiting.

The house smelled afoul.

Blood.

Mold.

Old candle wax dried on a scorched television.

His glowing eyes drifted across the room.

Cult symbols covered the walls.

Black banners hung from the ceiling.

A staircase led upward.

Voices echoed from deeper inside.

The Caretaker moved.

A shadow among shadows.

The first cultist never saw him.

The man exited a side room carrying papers.

He froze.

The Caretaker stood directly in front of him.

The cultist opened his mouth.

The Caretaker grabbed him by the face.

The man’s quiet scream rapidly became a wet crunch.

Brain matter splattered against the wall.

Blood ruined the rather tacky orange carpet.

The body slid downward.

Dead before they hit the floor.

The Caretaker continued forward.

⸻

The second cultist heard something.

It was such a strange noise.

Like a sack of meat hitting the ground.

He stepped into the hallway.

Confused.

“What was-”

A neon pink knife punched through the side of  his throat.

The blade exited out the side of the man’s jaw.

The cultist gurgled.

The Caretaker lifted him off the floor.

The blade groaned as the man’s neck muscles fought to stay connected.

With a press of a button, the Caretaker pulled out a second knife from the base on the bottom of the blade.

The second knife blade shot forwards, slamming into the opposite wall.

The cultist felt their weight shift as the connecting blade caused them to be pulled through the air and was slammed into the wall.

The blade ends connected and began spinning.

The cultists head was ripped free from their body as the blades spun faster.

The knife spun until it had enough power to hover in the air.

The cultist vision faded as they experienced the joy of flight. 

Another cultist came inside, just as the second hidden function began.

The new cultists cried out as they watched a propeller flown head fly above them.

Bones shattered as the propeller flown head smashed into the cultist’s nose.

The cultist body folded unnaturally as the knife began to spark violently. 

A small pop sounded.

The blood splash resembled a large heart.

Somehow the two cult members laid together in a gruesome yet artful final embrace. 

The Caretaker looked down at the scene.

It seemed to him like the weapon machine produced another unique one. 

The random weapons anre actually a nice break from the normal weapons, he used.

Sometimes it even had him wince by how gruesome a death from a crazy weapon like this would be, but he would never let anyone see that side of him.

The support beam, that had already been stressed to the maximum, decided to fall at that moment.

Part of the ceiling crashed down.

Several distant voices shouted.

The hunt was no longer going to be silent.

Good, The caretaker preferred the direct route.

⸻

The house erupted into chaos.

Cultists rushed through hallways.

Weapons appeared.

Spells ignited.

The Caretaker welcomed them.

The first three charged together.

A mistake.

The Caretaker ripped a wooden table from the floor.

Then swung it.

The heavy furniture smashed into the group like a battering ram.

Two shattered bodies exploded through a wall.

The third disappeared beneath falling debris.

The Caretaker advanced.

One cultist unleashed fire.

Flames engulfed the hallway.

The Caretaker walked through it.

The cultist’s confidence vanished.

The Caretaker grabbed the man’s arm.

Then pulled.

The arm came free.

The cultist screamed.

The Caretaker hit him with it.

Repeatedly.

Until neither the arm nor its former owner remained recognizable.

⸻

The survivors of the first group retreated toward the basement.

Bad decision.

The basement had no exits.

The Caretaker followed.

Blood dripped from his knife.

His boots.

His gloves.

The walls.

The stairs.

The entire house had become a slaughterhouse.

The basement door slammed shut.

Locks clicked.

A duck quacked.

Chains rattled.

Wards activated.

The Caretaker kicked the door down.

The reinforced metal exploded inward.

Several cultists immediately regretted being behind it.

The basement beyond looked more like a chapel.

Rows of benches.

Dark symbols.

Candles.

A black altar.

Nearly twenty cultists waited.

The Caretaker stepped forward.

Silence.

Then someone screamed.

“Kill him!”

Everything exploded..

⸻

Spells flew.

Bolts of energy filled the room.

The Caretaker vanished within a cloud of dust.

Cultists looked around wildly.

Too late.

He emerged from the shadows behind them.

A knife flashed.

A head rolled.

Another cultist disappeared as the Caretaker hurled an pew across the room.

Bones snapped.

Someone attempted to summon a monster.

The Caretaker reached the summoning circle first.

He grabbed the partially formed creature by the face.

Then drove it back into the fading portal.

The portal exploded violently.

Two nearby cultists had their eyes pop out as their bodies suffered from the backlash of the rejected summoning.

Blood leaked out ever  hole as they’re energy veins exploded from within.

The room descended into panic.

The Caretaker thrived in panic.

One cultist swung a sword.

The Caretaker caught the blade.

Bent it.

Then drove the twisted metal through the man’s chest.

Another attempted to flee.

The Caretaker threw a candlestick.

The heavy iron object struck the man’s spine.

He folded backward with an ugly crunch.

The candlestick chimed melodically as it rapidly drained the man of his magic and juices.

Two new inches of candle wax appeared on the bottom of the candle.

The remaining cultists broke from formation 

Some tried fighting.

Some tried hiding.

Some simply prayed.

None of it helped.

⸻

Ten minutes later.

The basement fell silent.

Bodies covered the floor.

Blood dripped from walls.

Broken furniture floated in crimson puddles.

The Caretaker stood alone.

His glowing eyes slowly scanned the room.

One heartbeat remained.

He turned.

A hidden passage stood partially open.

The final survivor.

The Caretaker entered.

⸻

The tunnel led beneath a house.

Far below.

Eventually it opened into a private chamber.

A luxurious office.

Bookshelves.

Maps.

Documents.

A large desk.

Behind it sat an elderly man.

The Head Priest.

Unlike the others.

He wasn’t afraid.

He did however, look  very tired.

The old man sighed.

“You are the monster from the hotel.”

The Caretaker remained silent.

The priest nodded.

“I expected someone eventually.”

His hand rested upon a black box sitting atop the desk.

The Caretaker noticed immediately.

Seemed I mportant.

Very important.

The priest followed his gaze.

“Looking for this?”

The Caretaker took one step forward.

The old man smiled sadly.

“You have no idea what’s coming.”

The Caretaker took another.

“The Hollow King awakens.”

Another.

“Your summoner cannot stop him.”

Another.

“And your worlds will burn.”

The Caretaker reached the desk.

The priest cried out as he activated a spell.

Dark energy erupted.

The blast shook the entire house.

Windows shattered.

Walls cracked.

Dust filled the air.

When it cleared.

The priest smiled.

Then stopped smiling.

The Caretaker still stood there.

Mostly unharmed.

The caretaker looked genuinely disappointed.

“Ah.”

The Caretaker tilted his head.

The priest nodded.

“Fair enough.”

The old man reached for a dagger.

The Caretaker reached the desk first.

The priest disappeared beneath the desk.

The desk disappeared through the wall.

The wall disappeared into the next room.

The priest’s legs eventually stopped moving.

The Caretaker looked down.

Then picked up the black box off the floor.

⸻

Hours later.

The sun began to rise.

The Caretaker returned home.

The Nightmare Hotel stood proudly in the morning light.

Safe.

Protected.

As it should be.

He entered through the lobby.

Hank looked up.

Then immediately looked away.

The Caretaker was covered in blood.

Again.

Hank had learned not to ask questions.

⸻

The Caretaker headed upstairs.

Toward someone far more important.

Jesse Belle.

He found her sitting on the porch outside their room.

Rocking gently in a chair.

A mug of coffee rested beside her.

She smiled the moment she saw him.

The smile immediately widened.

“Well hey there, handsome.”

The Caretaker froze.

The only one thing that made his blackened heart flutter .

Every single time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Jesse Belle slowly stood.

Her eyes drifted to the black box.

“What’d ya find?”

The Caretaker handed it over.

She opened it carefully.

Inside rested stacks of documents.

Maps.

Names.

Locations.

Correspondence.

Information.

A lot of information.

Jesse Belle’s expression slowly changed.

“Well I’ll be.”

She looked impressed.

“That’s a mighty important find.”

The Caretaker nodded.

Jesse Belle closed the box.

Then looked up at him.

Pride filled her eyes.

“You did good baby.”

The Caretaker glanced away.

Embarrassed.

Jesse Belle laughed.

Then stepped forward.

And kissed his cheek.

The reaction was immediate.

His face slowly turned bright red beneath his mask.

Jesse Belle laughed harder.

“You are absolutely adorable.”

The seven-foot monster capable of tearing armies apart looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

Jesse Belle wrapped an arm around him.

“Come on.”

She smiled warmly.

“Let’s go give Moira these papers. I do believe we just might be goin out on a little date night sooner than we thought.”

The Caretaker nodded and gave her a loving wink.

Together they headed toward the hotel.

Toward their family.

And toward whatever new trouble the documents would reveal.

Behind them, the sunrise painted Mystic Blood Valley gold.

For the moment, the hotel remained safe.

For the moment, the monsters had won.

And for the Caretaker, that was enough.