The Infera


“Quiet, the Infera, She comes!” Old Thom hissed as he bounded from his door lookout back to his stool. The patrons of Hellsgate Bar&Grill went silent, except for one guy and the jukebox that he leaned on.  They watched the door while pretending to look down at  their drinks, slowly warmed by nervous fingers. The barkeep stood with one hand under the bar, those who sat there looked even more nervous than those at the table.

The door swung open, revealing a petite woman in an unbuttoned priests cassock of black leather. Her stark white hair flowed glacially around her torso as she examined the room. Her black eyes met the eyes of each patron, their gaze compelled to peer into those bottomless pools. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, The soul of the Infera is a long way from its home.

The man at the juke box continued to have his one sided, drunken conversation. While the machine belted out Inxs’  “The Devil Inside”. As the song kicked on the bartender broke and pulled out his shotgun with super human speed. Only to find that the Infera was already holding a revolver aimed at his head. A sweat broke out across his forehead, he was sure her arm had never moved. She smiled, an almost saintly look upon a face of deathless white porcelain, as she thumbed back the hammer.

The pistol was too large for such a small body, but she held it steady in one hand with no effort. Crimson runes writhed down the length of the barrel, a very quiet chittering giggle seemed to emanate from the weapon. The barkeep saw that the chambers were empty.

Noticing his gaze, the Infera inclined her chin at the pistol. “Sometimes he has a mind of his own. The ammo appears, or it doesn’t, for reasons I can’t even guess at. I do know that the more Demkin I kill, the more ammo I have. As you can see, I am kinda low at the moment.”

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