🩸Redcap Bastards – The Storm Hits 1 May

Some villains whisper. These ones snarl.

Apr 30, 2025

The recaps of The Three Faces of Fate are tired of sneaking through the shadows. They’re ready to break the door down, bite off your face, and dye their hats in your blood. It’s right there in the name.

Who Are the Redcaps?

Redcaps are Morgana Ó Stina’s personal attack dogs.

They look like humans who never skip leg day and double-down on jaw upgrades. Sharp teeth. Savage strength. Bloodstained hats. And a gleeful hunger for chaos.

They’re huge, strong, fast, and hard to kill.

And they’re not even close to the worst thing out there.

🎧 Their Track: Redcap Bastards

This isn’t a gentle ballad. It’s war drums, cracked bone, and teeth on pavement.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

“Redcap bastards, vicious and wild, Tearing through the dark with a savage smile.”

Let it play while you get re-acquainted with the enemy. This is Astra’s second encounter, and this time… she’s got a frenemy along for the ride.

📖 Preview: Bad Teeth and Worse Ideas

Chapter 4 ain’t subtle.

There are monsters in Valhaven. You’ll meet the rest of them when the book launches 1st May.

But tonight? Let’s re-introduce the enemy’s front line.

📢 Praise from Early Reviews:

“[Parry] works with fully-rendered characters that the reader can invest in, satisfaction guaranteed. Dialog is seasoned with wit and irony. A delight to behold.” — Walter.
“[The characters] each have their own torment and trigger and struggle and pain - and determination and bravery and self-sacrifice.” – Lili.
“…a great blend of action with several different mythologies thrown in too. Celtic Irish? Yup. Ancient Geek? Covered. Judeo-Christian? Of course… This book features several of my favourite elements in writing (Urban Magic; Druids; the Fae; Explosions), all blended together in an interesting storyline.” — James.
“You become invested in the characters and want them to succeed.“ — Ricky.
“A total page-turner! The plot twists are delicious and unexpected.” – Darrell.
“This returns Parry to his best with ancient forces working within the modern world with unusual motivations as a city is under siege.” — Scott.
“Oh what a great story. The characters were awesome. Has a lot of action, adventure and unworldly things going on. Had a hard time putting it down.” — T.

Chapter 4

The journey back to her… other’s place was uneventful. No one dared to make eye contact with her on the metro. Her attire hid her in plain sight. Nobody wants a close encounter with death.

She made it to Bastion Towers. The lobby was wide and open, a once grand sight before hard times hit. A large chandelier hung from above, with a bank of mailboxes to the right. A derelict reception desk took up most of the back wall, with a corridor breaking up the vast expanse of ruddy oak. Down that way lived the super. She’d seen him a couple of times.

No mail in her box, as expected. No one wrote to her. They were all dead.

She tried the elevator in vain. The elevator was a cage design, with a horizontally sliding door that would have screamed retro cool when this place was first minted. The door rattled open, but the flickering light inside didn’t encourage optimism. She tried the button for her floor, which did nothing at all. She hit it another thirty times in about two seconds, but it didn’t care about her frustration.

The super appeared right beside her, somehow creeping up on her in broad daylight. “It’s busted.”

I must maintain focus. “I can see that. Say, you know anyone around here who’s supposed to fix all the busted shit in this place?” She leaned insouciantly against the elevator wall.

“I see what you did there.” The super was a middle-aged guy, hair mostly grey, but he was fit with it. He must have been quite the himbo back in his day. He wore a too-tight T-shirt. It might have been white once, but the rigours of the job stole that principle away. His jeans were light blue, faded by time, not fashion, and he wore workmanlike boots, a little like the imbecile’s from the waterfront. “It’s on The List.”

Astra heard the capital letters in The and List. Like it was an honour registry for tasks in the highest regard. She gave him a blank stare. “What number?”

“What?”

“On the list. What number is fixing the broken fucking elevator, man? I have to climb like fifty floors!”

He breathed in and out, totally unconcerned with her frustration. “The building doesn’t have fifty floors.”

“I was just checking you knew which building you were in. You know, the one you’re supposed to fix shit in?” Astra wished she was in her armour. People did not give her this kind of shit in her armour. They gave her… different shit. Her other was a disguise to keep Astra safe. Or was Astra the disguise? Who kept who safe?

He waved a hand before her face. “I said, you got anything you need a hand taking up?”

“Sorry.” She looked down and bit her lip. “I must have zoned out.”

“Trouble sleeping?” He nodded, as if sleep deprivation was the hidden devil inside all humanity. “I try to get at least seven a night. Sometimes more, but the building manager’s a real hard ass, you know what I mean?”

Astra looked up at him. “Building manager?”

“Yeah. You know her. About so high,” his hand jabbed out at roughly Astra’s head height, “and easily recognisable by the hardness of her ass.” He looked at Astra, then his hand, lips moving soundlessly. “That came out wrong.”

Astra smiled despite herself. “Thanks for the offer. You know, to take anything up? I can make it on my own.”

“Yeah, okay, but let me know if that changes.” The himbo smiled, easy going and relaxed, his teeth white and perfect. “Fifty floors is a lot.”

* * *

He’s not wrong. Astra knew she needed more sleep. She was out during the day, and both nights past she’d been down to the waterfront. Tonight was going to be exactly the same—three for three—because the stormwater drain hadn’t held the secrets she needed. She leaned her forehead against her door for a moment. Twenty-eight flights up. Her legs had a gentle burn, but she’d trained for far worse than flights of stairs.

She set her key in the lock, turned it, and slid into her apartment. Astra closed the door behind her, then listened. She was sure there was no one here except for her, but she needed to canvass the apartment anyway. The place was nice, if you were into nice things. Her other decorated it. She started her sweep in the small lounge area that shared air with the tiny kitchen. Black drapes kept the light out when she needed sleep during the day. She had candles dotted about the room, because she liked them. The old overstuffed couch was comfortable enough to sleep on and sat in front of a TV that rarely saw use. Who has time for TV?

Her tiny bedroom had an elaborate four-poster bed complete with black hessian drapes. It was thematic for her other, but was also cheap. She ducked back out and checked the bathroom. Empty. Her home was secure. Time to get to the sanctum.

She swung out onto the fire escape, then monkeyed up the outside of the building. While she climbed, she wondered about the drifter in her environmental studies lecture. He was all tough guy exterior, but she knew he’d seen shit. He had the same look she saw in the mirror. She reached the roof, checking for anyone else, but the only things waiting for her were pigeons. She kept low, because there was no need to draw the eye of anyone in nearby buildings. Astra snuck between the various solar panels, antennas, generators, pumps, air conditioners, and the old furnace, eventually shoring up against her water tower.

It was a ruin, of course. That’s why she chose it. The ladder to the top had died a long time ago, but she didn’t need a ladder. The main roof access door lived in a small bunker with a cooling tower on top; it was close to the water tower. Astra wall-ran up the bunker’s side, grabbed onto the cooling tower, shimmied higher, and launched herself across to the water tower. Her fingers found purchase on the top lip of the water tower and she muscled herself atop it, then slipped inside through the service hatch in the roof and eased herself to the floor.

The interior of the water tower was spacious enough. She ignored the rest of what was here, heading straight for the armour. The light from the service hatch was minimal, but she knew the armour better than her own face. She’d been wearing it for eight years now. Astra donned it, feeling stronger, safer as she became who she was supposed to be. Not the other.

She was Astra Invicta. She was the Night Guardian.

* * *

The waterfront had fog again. Streetlights barely pierced the haze as ocean wavelets echoed in the stillness.

The monsters she’d killed last night were gone, but their comrades were still here, hidden and watching. She could feel it—an itch under her skin, and only stamping them out would scratch it.

Astra ghosted along the low buildings, looking out over the ocean. It was peaceful here, if you didn’t think too much about what was under it. She perched, a gargoyle in metal, waiting and watching. She held her position for hours. Commuters turned into evening exercisers, then faded away to nothing, leaving the waterfront deserted aside from the odd stray car.

There.

It was hokey as fuck, but a figure Astra could only describe as ‘shadowy’ seethed along the cycleway. Nothing says ‘sus’ in quite the same way as someone afraid of the light. It was moving like a man, but who knew for sure if it was human after the freaks she’d met the last two nights? It was hard to make out. The whatever-it-was-but-let’s-hope-it’s-human headed toward the stairs in the breakwater wall.

Astra broke her gargoyle pose and headed for her roof’s fire escape and shimmied down. She’d chosen this building because the streetlights were out on the road beside it. She scampered across the street, headed for the breakwater, and made the sand. Astra headed for the sewer pipe, then waited outside for a few heartbeats, listening. Nothing. She slipped inside. Someone—or something—had cleaned up the bodies from last night. There wasn’t even a spent casing from the pistol the monster had tried to shoot her with.

The tunnel network was far more complicated than a stormwater system should be. It had cavernous areas, other large tunnels, and plenty of locked doors and stairs to the living world above. Astra had paced along some parts of it last night, but found no evidence of an underworld of monsters in residence. Until, of course, the shadowy fuck headed in.

But did he come in here? I don’t remember seeing him since I was across the street. Astra recalled her loss of focus earlier in the day when speaking to the super, and tried to get herself back together. This is just like day two of a three-day tournament. I’m tired. I’ve been tired before.

She slipped through a few patches of water. It was dark in here, very little light making its way down through the gratings above. She’d turned back last night because she had no light. Tonight, she’d brought a glow stick. She snapped it in the middle. While its light was a meagre greenish yellow, it had the advantage of being impossible to douse in water, difficult to break like a flashlight, and worked for a long time. Astra hung it from her belt and continued on, counting the turns she made, mapping the tunnels in her mind. Even the shadowy fuck had escaped tonight. She’d be ready next time.

She paused. There was a voice ahead. Or, more of a low growl with words mixed in like vegetables floating in a stew. She placed her feet with care, and rounded a corner to find the shadowy fuck right there in one of the cavernous areas. The centrepiece of the cavern was the inverse dais of a recessed concrete depression. At least two stories above her, a grating let in a little starlight. Mist filled the depression, and it looked like it really liked the shadowy fuck. It curled around him, flowing about his feet like a collection of eager smoke puppies. The shadowy fuck himself was more shadowy up close. He had a full on cloak made of shadow, and a dark hood made of the same wispy, otherworldly material pulled over his head.

The creature was the thing growl-speaking. To itself, it seemed, because it was alone. “Difficult to know. Could she have tricked me? Plants, plants… there are no plants.”

“Asshole,” Astra said. “Tell your creatures to get out of town. Humans are not for killing. Not while I’m here.”

The creature didn’t whip about. It turned nice and slow to glare at her from under the hood. Its eyes glowed molten red, and its—his? Yeah, this one’s a dude—his mouth was full of glistening teeth. A ridged brow spoke of a bestial ancestry. He faced her. “Little mortal. You think that armour can save you?”

“Come find out.”

He surged at her, the cloak of shadows trailing in tatters, his arms outstretched, clawed fingers extended. It was a basic rookie move, the thing you’d do if you thought you were above everyone you were about to murder. Astra timed her counter offensive, slamming a yoko geri right into the creature’s face. The crunch echoed in the tunnel as her sidekick landed. It staggered back, gagging, and she followed her counter with six punches to its midsection, then smashed him with an elbow strike to the side of the head so hard he went down.

He slammed to the concrete, and the mist swallowed him. Astra crouched, looking around and listening. Crouched, she was half-submerged in mist. She felt about for her opponent, but he wasn’t there. Her fingers came away tacky, and she lifted them up. They were glistening, but not with the dark of blood. The yellow-green of the glow stick was useless for telling what colour it was, but this thing didn’t bleed red.

“What are you?” She kept her tone light. “You’re far from home, aren’t you? Not the rank and file. No, you’re in charge. Something more divine than mythical, am I right?”

Nothing. The fucker had fled.

Astra stood, then headed further through the tunnels. A flickering light drew her from ahead. She found a banged-up door hanging loosely on its hinges below an old maintenance bulb. The door was metal, and the lock had taken a massive impact to pop it open. She reached for the door, and under the Edison glow of the light, gold stained her fingers. This thing bleeds gold. Actual gold. She breathed, “Fuck.”

It didn’t matter what colour or material it bled, of course. That it could bleed was the point. She opened the door, hustling along the passage. Large pipes lined the walls, and she kept a weather eye out for hiding spots. She passed a fallen monster, just like the kind she’d killed last night, and paused by the body. Massive blunt force trauma to the chest had killed it. She touched its throat. Still warm.

The tunnel led her on, and she emerged into a small maintenance chamber. Tools lined one wall, and a metal door barred one end. The shadowy fuck faced two of the monster things. They guarded the door.

Everyone looked at each other. No one moved. Astra cleared her throat. “Do you want me to go first? I can go first.”

“No, I’ve got—” Whatever the shadowy fuck had was lost to history—tears in rain style—as one monster gave a blood-curdling yell and launched itself at the golden-blooded creature. He turned, his shadow cape flowing like smoke, and punched the creature in the face so hard its skull popped like a gourd. “Where is she? Tell me!”

The remaining monster looked at him, then at Astra, pulled out a sidearm, and shot the man in the chest. Bang bang bang, three shots centre mass. The man hissed, flowed forward, then… collapsed on himself, like his entire being was smoke and water. The cape dissolved into mist, seething and hissing as it dissipated.

While this happened, Astra closed the distance to the monster, slipped under its arm as it tried to orient the weapon on her, grabbed his wrist, and rose quickly, snapping its elbow against her shoulder. The monster screamed, so she elbowed it in the face to shut it the hell up, then used its arm in a savage throw. It hit the concrete face-first with a crunch and lay still.

Astra steadied her breathing. The smokey fuck was just gone, like he’d never been. Not even a drop of golden blood remained; her fingers were clean of it.

Golden blood. Moves like smoke. How’s that for a warning label?

Astra had thought he might have been in charge of the monsters. They’d tussled; he’d not won that encounter, but as she looked at the monster whose skull he’d pulped with the same effort she’d need to do that to an apple, she wondered if his heart had been in it.

Gold for blood. A monster that kills monsters. Friend or enemy? Is Valhaven in some kind of monster gang turf war?

She breathed out. “Fuuuuck.”

🔁 Writer’s Note

You can’t introduce a Big Bad without giving them teeth.

The redcaps are Morgana’s claws. They’re quick, cruel, and ever so happy to carve a message into the heroes’ flesh.

This isn’t the big fight.

But it’s where the blood starts flowing.

📘 Preorder The Three Faces of Fate, launching 1 May.

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