“Lincoln!” she cries.
What happens next only takes seconds. Even so, every aspect of Myla gets seared into my memory. I watch as the floor crumbles beneath her feet. A pit opens. Myla sinks into the ground.
I reach for her.
Our fingertips almost touch.
Then she is gone.
43
Lincoln
Colossus focuses on me once again. “Three archdemons have rejoined me. Four more remain.”
The archdemon king grins. I’ve seen this smile before. It’s the kind that happens right before the a major demon goes in for the kill. Colossus enjoys annihilation. The more beautiful the target of his destruction, the happier Colossus becomes.
Behind me, fresh voices echo through the chamber.
“We are Envy and Pride. Our magic is second to none.”
Turning around, I find two new figures standing before the white seal. Both wear long cloaks with the hoods drawn low. The fabric of these robes appears to be molten steel. For envy, that metal is tinged green. Meanwhile, Pride’s cloak shines golden.
For a long moment, I can only stare at the pair. Two archdemons at once. Makes sense. After all, envy and pride are dual sides of the same emotion. We envy that which hurts our pride; we take pride in being greater than those we might envy. Still, fighting one archdemon at a time was tough enough.
Pain spikes into my side. It’s the wound I received from the Archdemon of Wrath. Blood still seeps from the cut.
My thoughts spin through this next battle. Once again, I must delay these two archdemons from reaching Colossus … all without getting myself killed.
That won’t be easy.
Before me, the archdemons speak in unison again. “We shall enter the seal of Colossus, add our power, and set our master free.”
I reignite my baculum as a pair of short-swords. With two foes coming at me, I’ll need the extra weapon. Setting my legs shoulder-width apart, I angle my body toward my opponents. Battle stance.
Seconds pass. Envy and Pride do not attack.
Instead, the pair raise their arms. Red smoke surrounds them. Magic. Light flickers as their metallic cloaks expand and billow with an invisible wind. Colored steel winds toward me, then elongates into tall panels. One second, I stand on the golden path between the archdemons and Colossus. The next?
I’m in a maze of mirrors, all of which show different versions of me.
The spell is cast.
Spinning about, my attention is caught by a younger incarnation of myself. I wear my royal best as a prince: dark tunic, leather pants, and matching boots. Within the reflection, I stand inside a cabin made from rough-hewn wood—and it’s one place I’ll never forget. This building is part of the camp where my people stayed when we first visited Purgatory.
This is all before I met Myla.
The unmistakable twinge of green colors the image. It’s the same hue as the Archdemon of Envy. A sinking feeling moves inside me. I’ve a suspicion who this mirror image really represents.
An envious version of me.
“I was raised to wed for political gain,” says Envy-Me. “My parents don’t believe in love, yet they share a bone-deep connection. It isn’t fair.”
Emotions flood through my soul. That version of me feels so foreign, and yet I still carry that man’s envy. For years, I was taught that marriage was nothing more than a signature on paper. I almost missed out on the most important part of my life.
My Myla.
Another mirror image arrests my gaze. It’s a different version of me from this same era. This time, the mirror is tinged red.
Pride-Me.
“Demons are all evil,” proclaims Pride-Me. “Females included. Thrax are superior in every way.”
Hearing my own words again sends a foul taste into my mouth. I said these things before I met Myla. How I wish I could erase them now.
Still, I can’t help but reply to this prideful version of my own soul. “Before living in Purgatory, we’d never met a quasi demon. Once we saw Myla, things changed. We changed.”
Pride-Me frowns. “Yet you still hurt the demon girl.”
“Her name is Myla. And whatever I did, it was only to protect her.”
Yet even as I speak the words, they ring hollow. Back then, I pretended to loathe Myla in order to keep her safe. But I’ll never forgive myself for causing her pain. There should have been a way to keep my girl safe without hurting her.
Smash!
Both versions of me break through the mirrors. Each carries a long sword made from white flame. I’ve fought many adversaries, but never myself.
Let alone myself twice over.
I reignite my own baculum as a pair of short swords. Fresh pain digs into my side. My gash from the Archdemon of Wrath is still open and seeping blood. Normally, I’d have put on a field dressing by now. But here, I’ve no charms or med kits.
That said, this might not be too bleak. These versions of me may know about battle in general, but not my particular fighting style.
Long story short, there’s still a chance to stall them.
Envy- and Pride-Me both move right into attack. One goes for a high strike; the other low. I block both thrusts.
Sadly, those are some of my best battle moves. It seems Pride- and Envy-me aren’t only conjured to resemble my appearance. They fight in my style as well.
That makes this tougher.
Crouching down, I try sliding past the two versions of me at a low angle. With any luck, I’ll get behind them both, where I can cut their Achilles’ tendons. That’ll slow them down.
The other versions of me see this move coming. One kicks at my ankles. The other punches my throat. Within seconds, I’m flat on my back. Bits of broken mirror slice into my skin. All the breath is knocked from my lungs.
Envy- and Pride-Me raise their longswords, holding their baculum pointed down. They’re ready to strike.
I’ve no choice now. There’s no more time that I can buy here. It’s kill or be killed.
Still gasping for breath, I reignite my baculum as two small daggers. Flicking my wrists, I toss the fiery blades into their chests. The other versions of me transform from three-dimensional figures into two-sided mirrors. Those metal reflections then shatter into small pieces.
The archdemons are down.
The mirror shards dissolve into red mist. It’s happening. Again. The colored haze flies over to opposite wall.
Into the seal.
Joining with Colossus.
Once more, the King of the Archdemons changes. This time, Colossus steps right out of the seal. My breath catches. Colossus turns, pulling at the heavy cord that still connects him to the wall behind him.
He isn’t free yet. But it’s close.
44
Myla
I was almost-not-quite touching Lincoln’s hand. That’s when I saw it: the bloom of blood along his leather armor.
My poor Lincoln.
Then I get yanked into this dark tumbling situation again.
As I fall through black and empty space, images flicker through my mind. I see my parents … Cissy … my sweet baby Maxon … and Lincoln, bleeding.
My heart thuds so hard, I’m shocked I don’t crack a rib.
At last, the darkness vanishes. Once again, I stand by Pendragon lake. Nimue, Merlin, and Dragon-Ximena all wait nearby. Huh.
“That was speedy,” says Merlin.
“Really?” I ask. “It felt like I was tumbling for hours.”
Merlin grips the Opus Magica against his chest.“Twas only a matter of minutes.”
“What happened?” asks Nimue.
“I saw Lincoln. He isn’t well.” I shake my head. “Any news here?”
Dragon-Ximena drums her claws against the grass. “Your disappearance gave us all a chance to think.”
A spark of hope lights in my chest. I just finished that speech about what the Pendragon would really want. At the time, I thought it was a little meh. But maybe combinin
g those words with a quick disappearing act made a difference.
“And?” I prompt.
“My sister and I will help you,” says Merlin.
“Yes,” I punch my fist in the air before turning to Dragon-Ximena. “You’re still in, right?”
“A dragon never breaks her word,” says Dragon-Ximena. “Unless it suits her.”
“Cryptic,” I comment. “But I’ll still take that for a yes.”
Merlin fiddles with the end of his long braid. “What’s your plan to defeat Colossus?”
“I’ll tell you.” I fold my arms over my chest in what I hope is a confident pose. “Once I think of something.”
Nimue gasps. “You don’t have a plan?”
I hold up my arms, palms forward. “Hey, now. Give me two minutes here. I was just pit-sucked into almost playing tonsil hockey with a fake husband, okay?”
Fluff materializes nearby. He hovers in the air, his own little mousey-arms folded across his chest.
“Wait, wait,” squeaks Fluff.
Even my tail gets in the act, arcing over my shoulder. The arrowhead-shaped end points ominously between Nimue, Merlin, and Dragon-Ximena. Appreciate the support.
No one says anything else, so I figure I’ve bought myself a little time. Turning away, I head toward a nearby line of forest.
The Great Scala needs to focus.
Pacing under the pines, I start a little internal inventory. Here’s what I have on the plus column.
Merlin.
Nimue.
Fluff.
Dragon-Ximena.
An empty and useless magic book.
An injured Lincoln.
Honestly, the good stuff here is a mixed bag. I segue to the negative side of the equation.
Seven archdemons.
Their king.
Remy the traitor.
Sleeping archangels, including my father.
All the humans Colossus can possess when he escapes.
I stop cold. Not only is this second list hella depressing, the word possess rings through my soul in curious ways. Locations spin through my mind. In this era, Antrum isn’t even founded yet. The Dark Lands and Purgatory won’t have anything useful for me, either.
But Earth? That’s another story.
A plan forms. It’s a long shot, but it still exists.
Energy and hope charge through my body. I launch into an internal debate about how best to hand out marching orders when that smooth female voice sounds inside my head.
Make a circle.
For once, I get what this loony voice is saying. It isn’t enough for me to order people around here. A new approach is needed. With that realization, something snaps inside me. Connections form. Ideas spark. I feel as if I could sprout wings and fly.
Racing back to the group, I raise my arms. “Field goal!”
“What?” asks Dragon-Ximena.
“It’s a human saying from my time,” I explain. “It means I have a scheme for how to re-imprison all the archdemons. Colossus included.”
Merlin twists his braid in more complex knots. “Verily?”
“So verily,” I confirm. “Let me show you.” I step to a clear patch of ground and wave the group over. Soon Merlin and Nimue stand before me. Fluff hovers above. Dragon-Ximena plunks her massive head closer.
We’re ready to begin.
“Here’s the deal,” I say. “We need to get Colossus back in his forever-prison. But to do that, we must release him first.”
Merlin frowns. “We can put Colossus back into prison … without the Opus Magica?”
“I’ll get to that,” I counter. Picking up a stick, I draw circle into the brown earth before me. “This is our round table. All five of us sit about it as equals.”
“Me, me,” squeaks Fluff.
“Yup, you too, Fluff.” I tap the circle. “King Arthur turned the idea of Pendragon’s round table into nothing but a song. Now I want to make it real.”
I get another round of nods. Progress.
That serene voice fills my head once more.
Circles include and envelop.
In a shocking turn of events, that’s some decent advice.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I state. “I’ll go through my plan, then we’ll go around our virtual table, and each one of us will make it better. How’s that?”
A long pause hangs in the air. This time, I didn’t shove the proverbial map-quilt onto someone’s hands and run away. We’re now a team of equals that battle problems together … like the fellowship of the ring or the Bangtan Boys.
Still no answer from my team of awesome.
I clear my throat. “Honestly, what do you think?”
“Annihilation awaits us,” sighs Merlin.
“I shall die a virgin,” adds Nimue.
“And Colossus will flay me once he finds out I helped you,” intones Dragon-Ximena.
“Danger, danger,” chirps Fluff.
Then again, maybe team of awesome is a stretch.
45
Lincoln
Colossus rounds on me. The archdemon looms nine feet tall with hefty limbs and skin like polished red stone. His two sets of extra-long arms hang loosely at his sides.
“Only two seals remain,” announces the archdemon king. “How I’ll enjoy watching you die.”
Behind me, new voices sound once more. I force myself to turn, but it isn’t easy. My back sears with pain, adding to the hurt from my hip wound. On reflex, I check my pockets. Normally, on demon patrol we have charms for times like these. Some heal. Others stop the pain.
But I’m wearing strange armor. There are still no healing charms here.
Gritting my teeth against the agony, I face my enemy. Across the long space there stand a pair of skeletons: Skyn and Bone, the Archdemons of Gluttony and Greed. For gluttony, Skyn is a dried-out dusk whose papery flesh stretches over his skeletal frame. No matter how much he eats, Skyn is never filled. As for greed, Bone is a bare skeleton covered in gold. In other words, Bone is the poster child for the concept of, what can the dead do with money?
“We are Skyn and Bone,” they say in unison. “We shall enter the seal of Colossus, add our power, and set our master free.”
Two foes at once.
I can delay them.
At least, I must try.
The towering skeletons march toward me. Their rasping voices call out a low chant. “Desire. Tear. Own. Destroy.”
Scooping up my baculum, I ignite them into short swords again. The skeletons close in. Both hold bone blade daggers.
Snap!
Great cracks form in the golden path beneath my feet. Skeletal arms reach up from breaks, gripping my ankles. I kick those off, but more fissures appear. Massive skeletal arms burst through the ceiling and walls. All the many undead hands have one goal.
Me.
I fight back, slashing my blades in every direction. My pulse races. All around me, skeletal hands shatter and break. Skyn and Bone screech with an otherworldly rage. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. All thoughts of hurt move aside as I keep slashing through skeleton after skeleton.
Yet there are too many of them.
Bony hands clutch at my arms, legs and neck. Their grip turns fierce as they pull me to the floor. I writhe against the broken marble. It’s no use. I’m held too firmly.
Bone looms over me, raising his curved dagger high. “You are my kill,” says the archdemon.
I stop thrashing. If the end is all there is, I won’t have it come while I’m twisting away. Instead, I hold still and focus on the empty, golden eye sockets in the archdemon’s skeletal head. “Then do it.”
Bone lowers his long blade.
I grit my teeth, steel my spine, and prepare for the end.
Crash!
The ceiling implodes with a flash of blue light and magic. Through the new hole above me, a figure drops onto the nearby floor. I exhale. It’s Myla. And she embodies the concept of pissed off.
“Back off, skeleton bitches!�
�� cries Myla.
I grin. Things are looking up, quite literally.
46
Myla
Oh my freaking Hell.
About a kabillion nasty skeleton arms press my guy down. That golden greed skeleton holds a bone dagger above Lincoln’s head, ready to cut his throat.
Not happening.
My inner wrath demon goes berserk. Power charges through my limbs. My eyes flare bright red with demonic energy. Suddenly, the world narrows to nothing but the skeletons and what must happen here.
Slice.
Break.
Crush.
So that’s what I do. My body becomes a flurry of rage and action until my guy is free. And sure enough, the moment Lincoln is loose, he leaps into the battle. His baculum short swords become a flurry of white fire as my guy slices through more of the skeleton horde.
Not sure how long it lasts, but soon we’re standing back to back with a pile of shattered bones around us. My first instinct is to twist about and wrap my guy in a hug, but something else happens first.
Skyn and Bone have held back all this time. Now the archdemons stomp closer. A shock of awareness skitters across my skin. The pair speak in unison. “Desire. Tear. Own. Destroy.”
Lincoln and I move to stand side by side. My guy reignites his baculum as a long sword. I arc my tail over my shoulder.
Bring it on.
The two step forward. I look to Lincoln. “Spears?” I ask.
“Spears,” he states.
We reignite our baculum into long spears and chuck the weapons at the archdemons’ heads. Both get skewered and fall over. I’m surprised they’re so easy to down, but then again, the Pendragon said his prison-crypt was filled with failsafes. Maybe easy archdemon deaths are one of them.
Spinning about, I frame Lincoln’s face with my hands. “Are you all right?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Nothing a few healing charms can’t cure.”
The Brutal Time Special Edition Page 18