Darkness

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Pencil note, dated 10/2/2009, written in a messy, shaky scrawl
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Three things, all connected, all feedin off each other, all separate. Havin one, is bad, each time ya add another, it makes both worse.

Tha Messenger is beset by Darkness, tha Devourer that she struggled with in her dreams has broken free, after weeks of personal battlin, it broke free. We had been seein tha wounds she woke with, tha haggard looks, tha drinkin ta passin out, all tha signs, and there was so little we could do. I made her a dream-shield, kinda spiritual armour fer her, but, too little, too late. It came through, and weíve all but lonst hope that we can bring tha Messenger back. Tha Devourer ambushed Featherpants, and took his white wing, and left him fer dead.

Tha Spook, Dee and tha Tonkster were there in a jiffy ta medi-evac him outta tha hot zone, and leter on, it was on them that it Dropped his gnawed on wing as a psych shock. Good tactic, that, but they had me ta turn to, and I donít take layin down.

Thing is, if it could down Featherpants, millennia old Angel, Darkstorm and ya ya ya . . . what tha fuck was I gunna do ta beat it. That worried me tha most. How ta fight a monster of tha Darkness. How ta gain tha tactical advantage. That was my best hope. I went to tha weapons locker and checked my options.

Now, tha Library donít approve of weapons, firearms tha least, so we keep them under lock and key. I had ta keep in mind what we knew. It was an ephemeral thing, but could go solid. It was made up of darkness, but hungered for tha physical worldís pain. It held tha Messenger within it, and was usin her as a gateway, but it couldnít do it without her. Alive, I figured, but weak. Non-lethal means then. I settled on tha Telsa Mace, a lightin caster, bright, pure, ephemeral and if used right, non-lethal. I backed that up with some flare-torches I rigged up takin apart magnesium flares, tracer rounds and tha like. Wanted ta leave tha Willy Peteís fer last line of defence work. Ordered some spares, just in case.

I patrolled and made it always out front oi Fishco before I got contact. I was makin tactical advances on alley ways, havin reports thatís where it hit most often. I've seen it in a few too. There's a long tunnel alley between tha arena and Fishco, wrecked residential on one side, tha old Vet Clinic on tha other. It was in there, chitterin away. Feedin on some poor bastard. It knew I was there, so I unslung tha lightnin rod.

Alley-Furf and tha Spook happened by and I gave them each a flare. It hates light, Scale Lady worked that out with her M-38 flare rounds. Tactical advantage. We harried it, I challenged it ta come to us, no way I was gunna get riled inta chargin inta its home ground if I didn't need ta. Thatís a green move. Folks get dead in war if they take it personal. Tha mission, always tha mission. Our tactical advantage seemed sound, and we put it to good test. Tha combined effects of tha pure brightness of tha lightnin, my magnesium and tracer round phosphorus torch, and tha flares tha gals had seemed ta work good.

We had waited till it had decided we were too cowardly ta come in after it, and it sure wasn't comin out in a hurry. So it laughed and turned its back on us and went back ta savage tha faceless wonder it had snagged. Thatís when we hit it, when it wasn't lookin and had discounted us. In war, there aint no honour. Honour is fer after. Durrin, ya do what ever ya gotta ta win. It really didn't like tha lightnin. My prayers and such didn't amuse it much neither. Tha combination of sparks and fire, well, we almost broke it, but it did somethin tellin. Somethin usefull ta know.

It grabbed my lightnin rod and held on as I zapped it. I was doin it harm, and I let it, till it faded out, but it took tha shock. Why? Ta hurt tha Messenger, I expect. Maybe test my nerve. Well, I might not have done tha same with a auto-shotgun, or a chainsaw, but tha lightnin stick I knew what I was dishin out. It needed her hurt, weak, but not dead.

Small victory on tha field, big victory fer tha intel. Job well done.