Souljack: Into the Jaws of Evil, Part Two

Nevermet Press is currently in development of a role playing game called Souljack. In the game, the players act as characters in a Faustian tale of consequence, redemption, and conspiracy. These characters, referred to as the Soulless, have made a deal with a supernatural force known as the Adversaries. The bargain has been completed and the character got what he wished for. Now cursed, they have to experience life without a “soul” and struggle to get back what they foolishly wished away.

Large groups of Soulless have formed organizations throughout the world with the intent of helping out their brethren. The Illuminati is the largest of them. The Illuminati employs Soulless to locate new and lost Soulless, document new contracts, keeping information on summoning Adversaries out of human hands, and prevent those who have gained their deepest desire from making a dramatic shift in the world.

Using the game of Blackjack as it’s rule system, we are looking for community interaction in the form of feedback and play-testers. If you are interested or have an opinion, please comment on this and other Souljack articles.

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“We have the place surrounded, release your hostages or we will use deadly force.” Red said. The cultist leader dove for Jessica, shoving his detached mouth outward towards her neck. Seeing this through the front window, Red took a couple of steps backwards and gathered as much momentum as she could muster.

Sport was surprised at the amount of force that Red could produce. Striking the door with her foot, it flung open and crashed into the opposite wall, embedding the doorknob into the plaster. Red didn’t have time to think, only to act. Two shots flashed from her 9mm hand gun and struck the cultist leader in the chest. Spinning from the force of the impacts, an unearthly screech slipped from his detached jaw. Cultists ran frantically around the house, ducking through halls and doorways, bouncing off one another like excited molecules. The two robed men clutching the teenagers looked around frantically for an escape route, but Sarge stood in the kitchen, preventing it. They held the teens tightly with both arms, causing their own mouths to dangle across their captive’s chests, snapping viciously.

“Last chance, let go of the kids…” Sarge ordered. “…and you’ll live.”  The two cultists saw that one of their brothers had been sneaking up to Sarge, holding a large metal chair above his head. Connecting furnature to head, Sarge yelled out in pain as he collapsed on the ground. Ole’, witnessing his squad leader get taken out, holstered his gun and quickly threw off his pair of black gloves, revealing the leathery burn marks that covered them. “

“You asshole, now you’re going to get it.”  Ole’ said as his fists burst into balls of flame. Wincing through the pain, he positioned his body as if he was pushing against a heavy wall causing an accelerated stream of fire to shoot from his outstretched hands, towards the cultist. Trying to block with the metal chair, the cultist instead burned his own hands as the metal became too hot to hold. “Yeah, that’s right you little pendejo, now you  burn for your sins!”

The cultist knelt over his injury as Ole’ walked slowly towards him, the orange light from his hands flickering on his face. Staring at the Soulless agent with wide eyes, the cultist considered begging to be spared future burns, but the look on his thin and tired face spoke what the answer would be. Ole’ was about to roast the man, starting from his legs up,  when Sarge stood behind his target.

“He’s incapacitated, hothead. Stand down.” Sarge ordered. Ole’ studied his leader for a moment and sighed softly, extinguishing his fists.

“You’re the boss…” Ole’ said, voice heavy with agitation. He kissed the silver cross around his neck out of habit, while whispering a small prayer in Spanish. The two hostage takers released the teenagers upon seeing the flames come from the Hispanic agent. Sport ordered the fleeing teens and the cultists to the ground, the phrase tumbling awkwardly from his lips. Red handcuffed the remaining zealots as Sarge did the same with his attacker. Ole’ slipped his black gloves back on and hid behind his aviators, not wanting to be bothered; the last thing he wanted to hear was a repetitious comment on his anger issues.

“It’s all over guys. You can relax, you’re safe with us.” Sport said, walking over to the teenagers putting a fake smile on his face. Jessica, who had been allowing herself a moment to cry over the stress of the situation, half smiled back at him. Marcus stared at the body of the cultist leader, strangely fascinated by their appearance now that he was out of danger.

“Are they mutants?” he asked, trying to rationalize the elongated tube that extended from the men’s chins. Leaning closer to the face of the leader, Marcus tried his best to commit every detail of the fantastic to memory.

“Kid, you really shouldn’t get that close…” Sport said. He never learned how to talk to children.

“Yeah, back the hell up.” Jessica demanded. Marcus knew he shouldn’t be so close, but something inside his head urged him forward. Something dark whispered promises of knowledge and power. Before Marcus could recoil back, the tentacled mouth leaped off of the cultists face and snatched on to Marcus’s mouth. Grabbing it around the writhing intestine-like cord, Marcus tried to yank it off, but his strength faded as a fleshy wet tube forced it’s way in his own mouth and down his throat. Jessica saw the bulge descend down his neck and screamed. Sport called for his squad mates for help frantically, unsure at what to do next…