The Infernal Games

by Reed Logan Westgate

  Xlina dove into a side tackle, taking Amber down around the waist with a heavy thud just as a missile of searing green venom shot overhead. It struck the door with a glopping thud and a sizzle that sounded like bacon in a frying pan.

  “Ow!” protested Amber as her butt struck the floor. Her protests were silenced immediately as Xlina’s full weight came crashing down on top of her. The cobra-like assailant merely cursed and stalked closer, his fingers changing into two long snake fangs as he stalked his prey.

  “Snakes,” Xlina spat in disgust, rolling off of Amber and into a standing position. The smell of burning wood filled her nostrils as she measured up the man closing in before her. From the foyer, she could hear the frantic screams of Penny, followed by the sound of clanging pots and pans. The Burnished Rose had come to Heart’s Hearth, just as Valeria had warned.

  The snake-fisted fighter waded in cautiously, obviously tempered by the deaths of his former companions, with his lead hand’s magical hooked fangs and his other hand clenched tightly guarding his face. His eyes locked with hers intently; the reptilian nature of his pupils was unsettling. The fangs were the immediate threat but also the most predictable attack. Xlina’s fists flared to life, the familiar blue flames of energy crackling with raw power. The snake fist lunged forward in a series of quick thrusts, stabbing alternately at Xlina’s face and torso. She deftly slipped back in response, staying just out of reach of the fanged fist.

  The snake witch smiled cruelly as he advanced, brimming with confidence. A shriek of agony echoed up from the foyer, and Xlina knew time was not on her side against the dangerous adversary. She countered with a thrust kick, her heel landing on the snake witch’s hip and pushing him back a step, keeping the deadly magical fangs far from her body. He shrugged the hit off and waded into striking range again, stabbing at her arms with a slashing motion. She quickly backed away from the first swipe, but the return swing clipped her lead arm, drawing a large scratch just above the elbow. It was a minor surface nick, but it seared in a hot, burning agony. She swallowed hard, feeling her pulse race as the deadly venom began its work.

  “It’s only a matter of time now,” the snake witch hissed with a cruel smile accented by another shrill of pain from the foyer. “You couldn’t protect your master, you couldn’t protect your necromancer, and you can’t protect yourself.”

  The words struck her hard in the chest at the mention of Oxivius, who had been absent the last two weeks. She had callously assumed he was off doing more investigating. He could take care of himself after all. She shook her head, refusing to accept that Oxivius was gone.

  “Shut your lying mouth, viper,” she spat back defiantly.

  “Hit a chord?” he hissed, more than willing to stall the Baku and let the poison work its way through her body.

  “I’ll rip that forked tongue from your bloody mouth,” Xlina promised flatly. Her skin burned, her heartbeat quickened. Perhaps this snake witch could have beaten her on any normal day, but she had seen just a glimpse of Hell in that moment of anguish when Valeria’s dream had collapsed. The nightmare energy pulsed in her stomach, boiling over with her rage, and her body tingled with the raw power of it.

  The snake witch lunged forward, stabbing and swiping with his fanged hand. Entirely predictable, he ignored his other weapons in favor of the deadly magical venom. His eyes went wide as Xlina relaxed, giving into the rage swirling within. Her lead hand, dripping with a trickle of blood from the poisoned scratch on her elbow, came up reflexively, grabbing the stabbing fangs in midair as the nightmare energy flared to be released. With a moment of concentration, the energy unleashed in her crushing grip, shattering the fangs, his knuckles, and his wrist in a single powerful counter. He wailed in agony as he tried to pull away from the Baku’s grip but failed to overpower her.

  His retreat prevented by her iron grip, he swung with his free hand with all his might, but Xlina picked it out of the air, slapping it away with her free hand as she looked on him coldly. He stared back into empty voids, the nightmare energy swirling in her eyes in a black and blue vortex. Fear, unadulterated fear, appeared on his face as he looked into the true form of a Baku that had seen hell.

  Xlina extended her free hand and placed her palm on his face, her touch as delicate as a caress. His free hand grabbed at her forearm, his skin sizzled and burnt away from the flares of nightmare energy sheathing her arm as he kicked at her body, trying to break free. Her face only a mask of hate, she unleashed the nightmare energy in a resounding crack from her palm. His head burst like a water balloon under the powerful force, splattering the room behind him with a torrent of gore as his lifeless body fell to the floor in a dull thump. Another scream from Penny caused Xlina’s head to snap in the direction of the door, now burnt and scarred by the poison missile. She screamed a guttural scream of pain and anguish, and the nightmare energy surged forth from the very core of her body in violet blue waves that blew the door clean from its hinges. Amber gasped as she struggled to get to her feet. Her eyes were wide like saucers and her jaw hung slack at the sight of her friend unleashing such primal power. All attempts at stealth were gone as Xlina, fully embracing her Baku powers, lunged forward onto the balcony and vaulted over. She landed in a heavy crash on top of a sturdy wooden table and eyed the scene before her.

  A pair of witches were downed by the kitchen door before the massive man that was Burglecut, who wielded dual butcher knives. Two more female witches stood opposite him before the hearth; they looked identical, with pixie-cut black hair and liquid-paper-white skin. They wore black makeup heavy around the eyes and lips, with matching skintight black leotards. Their hands worked feverishly in unison as they chanted spells in a heavy, thundering cadence. Climbing the stairway was another witch, no doubt the snake witch’s back up. He stood a massive hulk of a man with skin that looked like stone. The stairs buckled under his weight as he turned to stare down Xlina. Penny was nowhere to be seen.

  “What have you done to Oxivius?” Xlina bellowed, her voice amplified by the raw energy surging through her. Valeria had been right: A mere second of exposure to the demon’s memories had filled her reserves with so much nightmare energy that she struggled to contain it. She could feel the energy burning the poison from her blood; she could feel it swirling and gathering in her eyes, the raw power intoxicating as it coursed through her veins. If she had been of sound mind, she might have been worried that she would be consumed by the power she was channeling, but her heart ached at the thought of Oxivius dead or suffering as she played roommates and cowered in hiding. The anger drove her to push her limits, to allow the nightmare energy to run wild; she embraced her Baku spirit, fully leaving behind the human and welcoming the Otherworldly side of herself.

  The pair of gothic witches flung their hands out in unison, and streams of black ink shot forth, wrapping around Xlina’s arms and legs like tendrils. They continued their chanting as the black, inky cords lifted her from the table and suspended her in the air, squeezing and tightening. Xlina struggled against the magic tendrils, and the blue flames seared in protest, but all her strength was useless against the magic working against her. The mountain of a man stomped down the stairs, and they cracked and groaned in protest. Xlina eyed the approaching stone giant, helpless to defend herself while caught in the black, inky energy smothering her arms and legs. Her feet and hands grew numb from the squeezing of the tendrils, and her heart sagged as the nightmare energy built to a crescendo within.

  The stone giant of a man approached, drawing back his cinder-block-sized fist, lining up for a punch that would snuff out the dangerous Baku in one powerful strike. Xlina pictured her head being crushed under the weight of the behemoth’s blow, and her last thought was of her failure to protect Oxivius and Amber. The giant let loose a feral yell, but his arm stayed in place, and a look of surprise filled his eyes as he looked at his powerful arm that had betrayed him. Thick white spider webbing coated the arm, pulling on it from above. His look of betrayal shifted to horro
r as he looked up at the ceiling to see the massive spider perched there. More webbing shot down, clipping his back and other arm, and he wailed in terror. A final glob of webbing snuffed out his cries, engulfing his head before he began ascending, being pulled to the waiting maw of the massive spider. Xlina could see the struggling witch reflected in the many black faceted eyes of the spider as its fangs found his chest and plunged greedily into him.

  Xlina looked back to the pair of gothic witches, whose chanting and focus intensified, sending waves of black lighting down the tendrils that shot into Xlina, causing her body to convulse violently against the tendrils holding her in place. She could smell her flesh searing, but she was helpless against the combined might of the pair. Burglecut waded forward, waving his knives menacingly, but he was blindsided from behind by yet another assailant. A powerful shock wave threw the brutish chef to the floor, sending both knives skittering across the dining hall. In his place, standing in front of the kitchen door, was a man dressed in a blue suit and a wicked smile.

  “That’s enough of the Burgle,” he cooed devilishly. His skin was alabaster, and he had ghost-white trimmed hair and glowing red eyes. The smell of brimstone hung heavy in the air as he stepped forward with a low, formal bow. Xlina could almost feel the demonic energy from the newcomer. The massive spider screeched in protest and leapt at the newcomer, but with a wave of his hand, the spider shrunk to normal size in midair, and he slapped it away effortlessly. The spider landed on a table nearby, and with another wave of his hand, an overturned glass appeared, capturing the spider in one fell swoop.

  “Impossible,” Xlina gasped. “Holy ground.”

  “My dear Baku,” the man nearly purred with a grin. “Warlock, not demon.”

  He pulled his white collar to the side to reveal a demon mark of his own. It was bright red, as if it constantly burned. He turned callously to Burglecut, who was struggling to get to his feet, his senses scattered from the prior blast. With a infernal word, flames sprung to life around Burglecut, trapping him in a burning circle of fire.

  “The Burnished Rose has always shown you and your establishment deference, my poor Burgle,” He stated with authority. “Until you threw in with the necromancer, that is. Did you really think we wouldn’t come for the girl?”

  “Didn’t think you were stupid,” Burglecut muttered. “But I ‘ave been wrong before.”

  “Stupid?” The man scoffed. “I’ll burn this place to the ground, Burgle.”

  “Not the first time,” Burglecut retorted. “Oxivius will have your head, Morticae the Damned. When did the Burnished Rose start accepting warlocks among their ranks?”

  “Foolish Burgle,” Morticae replied mockingly. “Puc controls the Rose. They don’t decide anything. Ole Puc has a cherry of a deal with my patron. ‘Twas all roses before that damned succubi showed up meddling.”

  “That’s what this is about?” Burglecut barked in reply. “Damn demon pissing contest marking their turf? You’re going to kill that poor girl.”

  “Pawns are eliminated,” Morticae shrugged. “It’s just part of the infernal game, Burgle; you know that.”

  “Oxivius will eat your heart,” Burglecut snapped. “An I’ll ‘elp him cook it, you accursed bastard. She didn’t choose the mark for power; she’s just a pup who was tricked.”

  “It matters not to my patron,” Morticae said absently, looking back at Xlina struggling in vain against the black tendrils. “She is a threat. A piece to be removed from the table, nothing more. I care not how she was put into play—only how she’ll be taken out.”

  With an evil glare, Morticae turned on Xlina, staring up at her suspended in midair over the foyer. Her blue flames flickered as the nightmare energy burned out, her fingers and toes a deep purple and swelling from the constricting pressure of the tendrils. He turned his glare to the two gothic witches, the sole surviving duo of attackers from the Burnished Rose’s death squad.

  “Tear them off,” he barked callously. “Pile her limbs at my feet.”

  Xlina gasped as the tendrils pulled on her limbs. Her joints ached, her muscles stretched, and she struggled in vain for something, anything to free herself from the wicked magical attack. Burglecut cried and collapsed to his knees, his frustration matched by his helplessness.

  “That’s Ma Penny,” Burglecut lamented his hearty baritone voice voice cracking as he point to the spider. He looked at his poor Penny, trapped under the glass in her spider form, shrunken down to the size of a household spider, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. He loosed a soft whistle at a slow cadence like a funeral march as his head sank and he stared absently at the flames of the hearth, whistling his dirge.

  “Take a breather,” Amber called in her bravest voice as she popped out from beside the hearth. Hot poker from the fire in hand, she swung with all her might at the closer of the two gothic witches. They were so focused on their spell that Amber’s soft footfalls down the stairs had gone unnoticed, and now the hot poker connected with the side of the gothic witch’s face. The crunching sound of bone matched with the searing sizzle of skin as the witch’s eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the ground in a heap. The remaining gothic witch glanced nervously at Amber, standing in her cute pink camisole with matching shorts, wielding the hot poker like a baseball bat, but she dared not interrupt her spell.

  “Enough,” Morticae howled in rage. Drawing a ball of fire out of thin air, he flung the burning missile at Amber, who shrieked and huddled reflexively before being engulfed in a fiery cataclysm. Xlina’s rage exploded as a swirling torrent of fire raged before the hearth. She could only imagine poor Amber charred to a cinder beneath the flare of flames that swirled like a living mass where the huddled girl once stood. The last of her nightmare energy rose to meet her call, and she focused on the tendrils, on the space around her, and pushed the nightmare energy out in all directions. With a feral scream, she unleashed it all: the pain, the torment, the loss. The nightmare energy surged from her core, extending into a sphere of blue flames that encompassed her entire body and burned away the weakened tendrils. The remaining gothic witch shrieked in pain as if her very limbs were incinerated in the blast. Her energy spent, Xlina crashed to the floor, the final flickers of nightmare energy fading, leaving her bare fisted and sweating profusely. It had taken all she had, but she was free.

  “You don’t have anything left, pup,” Morticae taunted. “How do you plan on beating me?”

  A long drawn-out howl snapped everyone’s attention back to the blazing wall of fire where Amber had stood. It moved as if it were alive, dancing and swirling. The fire died down, taking the form of an oversized wolf made entirely of flame standing before an unscathed Amber, who looked as shocked as Morticae. Burglecut’s dirge stopped.

  “She won’t,” Burglecut smiled knowingly. “Meet me pup, Brick.”

  The blazing wolf howled again, drawing the flames from the hearth to surge up in a violent blast, as if the Brick’s very howl fed the flames. He stood nearly tall enough to be eye to eye with the warlock and issued a low warning growl.

  “An elemental spirit,” Morticae whispered in shock.

  “The Heart’s Hearth isn’t neutral ground just cause o’ the lines,” Burglecut added, calling to the warlock as the circle of flame imprisoning him died to embers in the presence of the wolf. “It’s because the ghost of fire itself takes residence here. Elementals. Oxivius knows that. Pity you second-rate amateurs take the expedient road to power rather than the learned.”

  Almost on cue, the hearth itself began to move and reform. Stones rearranged and rolled about until the hearth stood in a humanoid shape with arms and legs. The firebox remained in the hearth’s center, where the chest cavity would be, and smoke puffed out from what might be considered the hearth’s head, where the two metallic vents had shifted to resemble eyes.

  “That there is Mortar,” Burglecut chuckled. “Brick and Mortar have protected the hearth since the founding. You poor bastard. Didn’t Puc warn you �
�bout them, or wasn’t that part of ye master’s deal?”

  Morticae retreated back in a defensive crouch, for the first time appearing threatened. He uttered an infernal command, and his blue suit shimmered with energy. Brick lunged forth, pouncing on Morticae, biting and scratching at the shimmering suit while Mortar lumbered forth, the massive stone spirit following the fire elemental. Morticae cursed, his arms flailing to fend off the blazing wolf as Brick gnashed and gnawed at the magical suit. It held remarkably well at first, but under Brick’s relentless and powerful flaming teeth, it could not hold forever. Brick latched onto Morticae’s left forearm and his flaming jowls locked, gnawing on the suit, which tore and gave way. With a shake of his head, Brick ripped the sleeve of the magical suit clean from the shoulder with the warlock’s arm still inside.

  Mortar wasted no time swinging with a stone fist over the flaming wolf and striking Morticae in the face, sending the warlock sprawling on the floor. Blood gushed from his shoulder and covered the floor in a puddle, staining the warlock’s suit. Morticae looked at the puddle and smiled, placing his remaining hand in the pool and uttering something infernal.

  “Blood magic,” Burglecut warned, and despite not having any idea what that meant, Xlina sprinted in Amber’s direction, scooping the poor girl, frozen in fear, up in her arms and making a direct line for cover behind the stairs. The pool of blood on the floor thinned and spread in all directions until it had enlarged enough to be under the two elementals. With a final command, spikes of red blood shot up from the floor, impaling Brick and Mortar on solidified blood skewers.

  Morticae rose to his feet, with the twin elemental spirits restrained by dozens of blood skewers, he cast a glare at Burglecut before uttering something else in his cursed infernal tongue. With a blinding flash and the smell of brimstone, Morticae was gone. The skewers fell to the floor with a splash, having turned to blood once more. Mortar lumbered back to its place on the wall and laid down, reforming into the hearth once more. Brick on the other hand danced around Burglecut like an excited puppy, bringing a smile to the brutish man’s face even as the close proximity of the flaming wolf singed the ends of his handlebar mustache.