“Alright, Chris,” Alex said. “Two more reps, and that’s it for today.”

  Chris's face was tense and red as the bar rested on his shoulder blades. Three hundred and fifteen pounds. Alexander “Alex" Dee was spotting, watching Chris struggle through the next rep of his squat.

  “Don't forget to breathe, man,” Alexander said. “You've got this.”

  Chris gritted his teeth, as he inhaled, grunted a little, and rounded out the last rep, squatting as low as possible, then back up. Once he was up, he racked the weight with a sigh and clang that echoed through the gym.

  “Damn,” Chris wheezed, sitting up on the bench. “Were you trying to kill me?”

  Alex snickered. “If I wanted you dead, I'd program German Volume Training,” he mumbled, handing him a towel. “But you're getting stronger, man. Three months ago, you'd never have dreamed of five reps with this weight.”

  Chris nodded, resting his hands on the bench and breathing in.

  The gym, Alexander's Iron Temple, though the sign outside just said “Dee's Fitness,” was on the first floor of a mixed-use building in Seattle's First Hill neighborhood. The second floor was his own apartment. Squat racks lined one wall. Olympic platforms covered the floor, treadmills and a heavy bag hung in the corner.

  Alexander had bought the building five years ago with money from his grandmother's estate.

  Grandma Jane... she had been quite a character.

  She'd kept the family grimoires locked in her attic. She had insisted, right up until the dementia took her, that their ancestor John Dee had really spoken with angels, or demons. Or whatever they were.

  “What about you?” Chris asked, catching his breath. “Are you hitting squats today?”

  “I already did them in the morning,” Alexander glanced at the wall clock. It was 8:47 PM. “Closing early today. You're my last client. Then I've got paperwork.”

  The lie came easily. In fact, he had no paperwork. What he had was a translated section of the Steganographia by the 15th century polymath Johannes Trytemious sitting on his apartment desk upstairs, and four cans of Monster to help him get through it.

  His grandma had not been the only occultism enthusiast in the family. In a way, it was like a thread that ran through his family tree.

  He wouldn't call himself a practitioner. He was more of a scholar. So much so that he had gotten a degree in Anthropology, and his master's thesis had been on Enochian magic and the Elizabethan occult revival.

  It didn’t pay the bills, though. If he hadn’t gotten a Personal Trainer certification, he’d probably still be an underpaid bouncer or serving cheeseburgers somewhere. That estate had given him a home and a few rare books, but there was not much of it left.

  Magic... He had no proof, but he had a feeling that it was much more than superstition and metaphor. He prided himself in learning about it and trying to uncover its mysteries. It was just too interesting to pass.

  There was much that couldn’t be explained, and myriad perspectives to it, whether psychology, quantum reality or a deeper truth that humans could barely grasp. He wanted to know why.

  And at that very moment, the lights began to flicker.

  Chris looked up. “Is it the power grid?”

  “Huh, weird,” Alex muttered.

  The lights steadied and flickered again.

  Suddenly, Alex's phone buzzed. He raised an eyebrow and pulled it from his pocket.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Unknown number.

  He declined the call and slid it back in.

  “Anyway,” Chris said, standing and stretching, “Thanks for the session. Same time Thursday?”

  “Yeah. Bring your—”

  And suddenly, the sky outside the windows went dark, as if a black cloud of coal had enveloped the last glimpses of the sun.

  Both men exchanged glances.

  “What the hell?” Chris said. Alexander walked toward the windows and narrowed his eyes.

  The street was suddenly empty. Something echoed far away. A woman's panicked scream.

  And glass breaking in the distance.

  Alexander's phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

  Then, it began to beep loudly. And Chris’s did too. A dozen notifications flared in rapid succession. An automatic message flared about power outages. Another urged neighbors to remain indoors. Alex could barely read through it all.

  Then, the lights died completely. Emergency exit signs cast the gym in poisonous green.

  “Okay,” Alex mumbled.

  “Terrorist attack?” Chris said through his teeth.

  Before Alex could reply, the screams outside multiplied. Car alarms shrieked, and broken glass echoed around the neighborhood, along with the sound of guns going off and horrified screams.

  And a strange, inhuman roar, like a high pitched roar that bit deep into his mind.

  “What the hell is going on?” Chris's voice caught as he stared at the emergency notifications on his own phone, its light cast across his face, as if searching for a fleeting answer.

  He began dialing.

  “My wife was supposed to be at the mall!” Chris exclaimed, placing the phone to his ear. He waited, fists clenched, but no answer came. Then, he tried to call again.

  Alex leaned into the window.

  Suddenly, the other front windows exploded inward, glass splattering on the floor tiles.

  Their eyes shifted toward it. Alex took a fighting stance, stepping forward, with an instinct to defend his friend.

  A dark, amorphous figure, like a shadow at first, crawled through the window.

  Alexander's brain refused to process it at first. It was dog-sized, but that was the farthest thing from a dog. Dogs didn't have... six legs, all at the wrong angles, nor did they have hairless, slick skin like raw meat, not to mention the dozens of blood-red eyes that reflected the emergency light.

  The lights flickered again, revealing its monstrous shape. Its mouth opened, revealing rings of teeth like a lamprey and letting out a horrible shriek, like a malfunctioning siren.

  What the hell was that thing?

  The creature's eyes fixed on Chris, who was moving back toward the wall, and like a hungry cat, leapt toward him.

  Chris gasped and backpedaled, tripped over a kettlebell, and fell on his back. The thing scuttled forward with horrible speed, making a sound like grease popping in a hot pan.

  Alex twisted, by instinct, grabbing a dumbbell and hurling it at the creature.

  The creature's six feet shifted, dodging. The weight slammed into the mat with a thud. Rows of eyes twisted, fixing on Alex.

  Despite no distinguishable features, Alexander knew that this thing was angry. It shifted forward, scudding toward him at full speed.

  He backed toward the wall. His hand found the fire axe mounted beside the extinguisher. He tore it free, the metal bracket snapping.

  At that very moment, the creature leapt toward him.

  Alexander twisted. The axe’s blade punched into its neck, biting through rubbery flesh. It made a wet sound as black blood splattered across Alexander's shirt and burned like acid against his skin.

  The thing fell on the mat and shrieked, six legs whipping out in every direction.

  “What the hell!” Chris was screaming behind him, his voice cracking apart into panic.

  Alex's vision narrowed. The monster wasn't dying. Its flesh rippled around the axe wound, trying to pull itself back together. It turned toward Chris again, dragging itself across the torn mats.

  Alex wouldn't let it touch Chris.

  He dropped the axe, grabbed a 45-pound weight plate from the lowest rack, and chased after it. The creature seemed stunned, or hurt after the axe attack, reacting slower than before. Alex lifted the plate and snapped it against the creature's head, letting it crash into its skull with a crack he felt in his elbows and shoulders. Black fluid sprayed in arcs until the monster went rigid, then bucked, limbs smacking the floor.

  Alexander lifted the plate and slammed it down again and again, splitting flesh and cracking bones until the head collapsed into a spreading smear. The plate slipped from his hands and clanged against the floor, dripping with black residue.

  Its body sagged, collapsed inward, and began dissolving into a tar-like slurry that bubbled and steamed. It stank like rotten flesh.

  And then, letters appeared in front of him, hanging in the air like reality had been overwritten.

  CONGRATULATIONS

  YOU NOW HAVE ACCESS TO THE AKASHIC SYSTEM

  BLOODLINE DETECTED: DEE