Raynard sat in John's office, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled loosely as the voices washed over him.
Words.
Endless, pointless words.
The PR team kept talking about numbers, polls, optics, damage control. All insignificant chattering of animals barking at one another, believing the noise mattered. Raynard didn't bother looking at them. He simply closed his eyes and listened, not to the sound, but to the smallness of it.
Why did they even make them?
Humanity.
Oh, they had their uses. Yes, they did. They were created to serve, born when the gods grew bored, shaped with intention and cruelty wrapped neatly in necessity. Their existence was permitted by the Elder Ones, the true architects. The ones who had seen everything worth seeing and retreated beyond the cosmos and beyond consequence.
'Lucky bastards.'
They hadn't just left, no. They had gifted the gods something before they vanished.A toy. And then they proceeded to give said toys a spark, an indulgence called magic.
And humans, unsatisfied, grasping monkeys that they were had leapt at it like starving harpies.
That was the beginning of it.
Defiance.
The toys meant for entertainment began to think. Began to ask questions. What ifs. Whys. How comes. All because of a spark that should never have burned in their hands. A spark meant to illuminate obedience, not ignite ambition.
They strayed from their preordained roles. Developed thoughts of their own.
'Utter nonsense.' For an ant to believe it could withstand a boot, for a fish to think it could soar through the sky without wings.
Raynard's lip curled slightly.
And it only grew worse with those who could use the spark.
Magicians.
'Heh. What a load of minotaur waste.'
'Just because they could touch what they were never meant to, they thought they mattered. Thought themselves relevant. Thought themselves dangerous.'
No.
They did not matter.
Not now and not ever.
And yet, Raynard opened his eyes.
He looked at the humans in front of him, the toys, the insects. Still talking, still believing and still clinging to that spark like it made them something more than dust waiting to be stepped on.
And somehow, somehow they kept pushing back against the gods.
Against him.
The Elder Ones had left behind more than a gift. They had left behind a mess,a problem,a festering idea lodged inside creatures that should have known fear instead of hope.
They made insects believe they could challenge forces of nature.
Raynard's gaze drifted lazily around the office. Expensive furniture. Artificial lighting. Walls meant to impress other insects. They spoke of polls. Bills. Approval ratings.
Who cares?
Such infinitesimally unimportant things, problems they manufactured for themselves and then worshipped as if suffering gave them meaning. Lives spent worrying over nothing, chasing nothing, becoming nothing.
How degraded they had become.
And yet—
SHE still loved them.
Raynard's jaw tightened, 'That arrogant, self-absorbed, self-righteous bitch.'
Believing some of these animals were better than gods. Better than him.
The thought made something dark coil inside his chest.
No.
If she truly believed that… then perhaps it was time to remind the toys and HER of what they were made for.
"Where's my son?"
The question landed softly, almost politely even and yet it froze the room solid.
Raynard stood at the head of the conference table, hands clasped behind his back, his posture became relaxed. His eyes moved across the faces of the people gathered there, waiting.
No one spoke.
He tilted his head slightly.
"He hasn't been in since yesterday." A pause. "So… can any of you tell me where he might be?"
The room exchanged nervous glances. Finally, one woman cleared her throat.
"We, we can't reach him, sir. We believed he was still away on his trip to see Senator Bracken."
Raynard nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
"I see."
Then, casually, "And where is Cindy?"
There we silence again.
"We… we can't find her either, sir."
Raynard exhaled, smiling faintly.
"Oh. So in short you've all lost track of the person you work for and his wife."
He straightened, the air in the room tightening.
"Who's in charge of his schedule?"
A woman flinched and raised her hand up.
"Uh—I am, sir."
Raynard turned to her. "Oh? And your name?"
"S-Sandra."
"Sandra," he repeated warmly. "That's a beautiful name." Several people exchanged uneasy looks as Raynard stepped closer to her, his smile never fading.
"Tell me, Sandra… how is it that the one thing you are meant to do, the single task entrusted to you… you are failing at so spectacularly?"
She swallowed hard. "I—I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't—"
He laughed lightly, cutting her off.
"Oh no, no. This isn't your fault." His tone was almost comforting. "It's not anyone's fault that John decided to take a little break without telling anyone."
He turned, addressing the room now.
"But that does make me wonder… what exactly do I need all of you for, if you can't complete a simple task?"
A man spoke up shakily. "S-sir—"
Raynard turned.
His eyes changed.
The man blinked in confusion then shock as he looked back at Sandra who is gasping and gurgling, there was blood blooming at her lips. She looked down once, confused, before collapsing to the floor.
A perfect, silent hole appeared where her heart used to be soaking her blouse in red.
For half a second, no one reacted.
Then the room exploded into screams.
Raynard sighed, satisfied.
"Oh… that was nice."
He looked around calmly.
"Alright. Next." Panic erupted and before anyone could move, Raynard was suddenly behind a man near the door. There was a dull, sickening crack as he punched his hand into his back and gripped his spine and then pulled up so viciously that he ripped the man's head along with the spine. The body crumpled instantly. A woman screamed so loudly it echoed in Raynard's ears.
He laughed, delighted.
"Ohhh. That face. Yes. That one one person ."
"Come on," he added cheerfully, "at least wait until I'm finished."
He disappeared again and grabbed another man by the leg and pulled hard enough that he ripped his leg with a scream from the man. He then move towards the down man with a little chuckle. He then did something that made one of the last remaining ladies scream and throw up, he unwrapped the man's skin inside out.
'ARRRGGGGGGUHRRRRLL…'
In the corner, a woman clawed at the door as the demon tortured and killed all around her, pulling and pounding, screaming until her voice broke and yet the handle wouldn't turn. The door wouldn't open.
Nothing answered her cries.
Raynard, his hands stained with the warm blood of his victims brought his hand up and sucked on the blood with delight appearing on his face. slowly turned his head toward her.
"Oh, hello my dear what are you doing over there?" he said pleasantly. "And where do you think you're going?"
He tilted his head, smiling wide at her and took in her form. Her beautiful figure and he licked his lips.
"There's still so much fun to be had."
Outside the room, guards stood at ease.
They heard nothing, no screams or shouts for help. But if they had they would have heard the terrible sounds of desperation from inside, the sound of someone struggling to breathe and the sound of grunts and forced moans, they would have heard a tearing sound and a quiet laughter as the grunts turned into painful whimper and finally…
CRACK…SKRNNCH
The door finally opened after a few minutes of the tearing sounds.
The reinforced steel buckled inward with a low groan. Two guards on the other side barely had time to register what they were seeing. Raynard stepped through casually, hands in his pockets with his suit stained and drenched in blood, he looked at them both with a head tilt.
"Oh," he said mildly, looking around. "This isn't ominous at all."
The guards snapped to attention, weapons raised.
"Sir, get on the ground!" one shouted.
Raynard blinked. Then smiled.
"Actually," he said, lifting a finger, "on second thought no."
The air shifted suddenly as the first guard was slammed into the far wall so hard the concrete fractured and he broke his neck. The second never even hit the ground as his body twisting unnaturally as an invisible force crushed him mid-air before dropping him in a limp heap of bloody pulp. The funny joke was the fact that the pulp was still breathing and groaning quietly.
Raynard sighed happily. "Ahhh. That's better."
What followed wasn't a fight.
It was a culling.
The next door was ripped from its frame just as the hallway collapsed inward killing a man with a briefcase by cutting him in half. The rest in the waiting room ran, screamed, begged only to be yanked back by unseen hands. Some were flung aside like broken dolls. Others were pulled into the walls themselves, leaving deep, human-shaped bleeding cracks behind.
Raynard strolled through the chaos, humming under his breath as bodies hit floors, ceilings, anything but safety. A group tried to corner him on the stairwell, he lifted his hand once and the entire staircase folded in on itself, dumping them into darkness below.
"See," he muttered, stepping over debris, "this is why mortals shouldn't build up. It encourages hope."
Minutes passed.
Then silence.
The building now looked like it just went through renovation but with organs and severed limbs decorating its walls and ceiling.
The tiles and walls were painted blood red… literally.
Raynard found himself back on the first floor, shoes crunching softly over shattered glass and fallen equipment leaving bloody footprints.
Near the reception desk, a secretary lay on her back, dragging herself away with trembling arms, leaving a bloody trail behind her as she struggled to get away. Her eyes were wide with desperation and tears, locked on him as if staring at a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
Raynard crouched in front of her, resting his chin in his palm.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said lightly. "You've had a front-row seat."
She whimpered, trying to crawl faster.
He chuckled. "I forgot how fun this is. Messy, sure but fun."
He stood, stretching his arms. "But I really should finish things up here."
He glanced toward the exit, eyes glowing faintly.
"My little boy is wandering around without supervision. Can't have that."
Raynard turned back toward the secretary, fingers flexing and about to do something incredibly nauseating to her when suddenly… a voice cut through the smoke.
"Wow," it said calmly. "This is a terrible sight. Even for you."
Raynard froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
From the far end of the lobby, leaning casually against a scorched pillar, stood Marina.
Her expression was filled with disgust and a well concealed repulsion.
Raynard's smile thinned.
"…Marina," he muttered.