The Twelfth Monster of Chaos

by J. Leigh Bailey

the frontline of scorpions. The rotating glass projectiles mowed through the enemy like bullets from a machine gun. Unfortunately, like the lightning and the serpents, it wasn’t nearly enough. Mutant grey scorpions crawled over their slain comrades, making their way closer to him.

  “Oh, god,” Lia gasped. “It’s not a dream, is it?”

  Omar didn’t answer. What could he say? She began to struggle in his arms.

  “Stay still,” he said, not bothering to hide the growl in his voice.

  “Put me down. I can help.”

  The sound of cold laughter rose above the deafening noise of the room. “The little human thinks it can help? Marduk’s spawn are weak, no more than insects on this land. When I am fully risen, those creatures born from the blood of the slain Kingu will be exterminated.”

  With a noise like a whale breaching the ocean’s surface, a large form began to emerge from the noxious mud pit in the center of the room. The building shuddered around them, and even Tiamat’s minions seemed to pause in their approach. Higher and higher it rose, muck dripping to reveal the head and arched neck of a dragon. Not a dragon as the western world recognized it—no, nothing like Smaug or Puff. A horse-like head—roughly the size of a large man’s torso—with the broad, curled horns of a goat topped a serpentine neck. A wild mane of tentacles billowed out around the head, each flange glossy with slime. Omar desperately hoped that the rest of the body would be slow to surface.

  Large green eyes stared out of the equine head and peered closely at Omar and Lia. The monster’s head cocked slightly to the side and a long, forked tongue darted out to taste the air. “You care for this creature? Is this why you defy me?” There was disdainful curiosity in Tiamat’s disembodied voice.

  “I defy you,” he said, knocking aside a plastic drying rack that passed in front of his face, “because petty jealousy and revenge led you to try and destroy the very world you created. I defy you because you’re a psychotic bitch that should have stayed destroyed.” With a violent curse, he kicked at another scorpion that got too close.

  “You say you will not return to me, and the possibility of your death does not sway you. However, if you return, I will spare your toy. Return, bring with you the Tablets of Destiny, and your toy will go free. Should you refuse, I will destroy it even as you hold it to you.”

  “You will not touch her!” he roared. He felt his bones and skin thicken, and felt the pinch of pain in his head that always heralded the appearance of his horns. The colors of the room shifted until he saw everything in black and white. His breathing grew harsh as he tried to beat back the rage that threatened to expose him.

  A distant part of him wondered why he tried so hard to hold it back. After everything that Lia already saw, what was one more shock? Because, a soft voice whispered in his mind, so far you have battled the monsters. If you change, you will be the monster. It was ridiculous, this need he had to be the hero, and it was going to get him killed. Unless he manifested, there was no chance that either he or Lia would survive this encounter with the newly released, yet apparently still mortal, Tiamat.

  The dragon roared in challenge, and the velocity of the movement of flying objects increased still more.

  Lia’s scream had him turning. The jukebox, the centerpiece to their daily interaction, came careening through the air. Omar barely ducked in time to avoid a collision. He could not avoid, however, the thick cord that whipped around behind it. The plug, nearly as large as Lia’s fist, struck her across the temple. He watched in horror as her eyes rolled and she fell limp in his arms.

  The scent of her blood was his undoing. He bellowed in outrage even as his body swelled. Within seconds, he had fully manifested into his true storm demon form. He stood eight feet tall, with thick, armored skin colored in a mottled blend of fog grey and midnight black, heavy shoulder plates, and massive claws at the end of each heavily muscled arm. Sharp spikes trailed down the center of his back and along his hips and thighs. Thick, slightly curling horns grew from the crown of his head. He knew his eyes were blazing, shining with the white-yellow glow of lightning. Fog rolled around his feet.

  He cradled Lia’s wilted form to his chest and glared around the room. His rage, and the sudden manifestation, seemed to have made the other creatures pause. He gave one prolonged exhalation, creating a blanket of fog to cradle Lia. He released her body and sent a soft, warm wind to carry her to the small office behind the bar. Using a stronger, more violent wind, he gripped a heavy metal filing cabinet, sending it to block the only access to the alcove, further protecting Lia from the melee of flying items, mutant scorpions and poisonous serpents.

  Exalting in the freedom of his true form, and exploiting the rage contained within himself, he turned back to Tiamat. He threw up his hands, sending gale force winds outwards, pushing creatures, debris and all, towards the edges of the bar. He then circled one hand in the air. Half a dozen dust devils, unaffected by the force of the winds, swept the room, collecting the shards of broken glass. The small whirlwinds deposited the glass into a neat pile at Omar’s feet.

  He held his hand, palm down, over the pile. Heat, hotter than the noonday sun in the desert, melted the glass, reforming the pieces into hundreds of needle-sharp arrows. With a broad sweeping gesture, he sent the arrows flying into the host of scorpions, each projectile piercing through the outer armor, stabbing into their hearts. Unlike his earlier efforts, the sheer volume of glass pieces, tempered and strengthened by his ability, allowed him to destroy them all.

  Without pausing, he faced the serpents. Conjuring a cold wind, he blasted them with an arctic chill. Like any reptile would, they slowed in the freezing temperatures. He called forth scores of lightning bolts, directing them to the wriggling mass of serpents, frying each vile creature in its place. He laughed at the ease with which he destroyed his enemies. It felt wonderful, the rush of power, the collapse of barrier’s he’d held in too long. He stood facing Tiamat, back straight, arms hanging loose at his sides. A confidence and pride he hadn’t felt in a long time—maybe never—settled over his ready form.

  “An impressive show, my son. But your little tricks will not hinder me. I created this world and I created you. I am Ummu-Hubur, she who formed all things. I cannot be destroyed by your little storm tricks. Give me the Tablets and I will not destroy you. And because I am a forgiving mother, if you do as I ask, I will spare your human toy.”

  “You were vanquished before.” The power coursing through him made him feel invincible. “And that was when you were significantly more powerful than you are now. I don’t think it will be so hard this time.”

  “Ah,” she said, “but Marduk, the conniving traitor, is not here to battle me. Soon I will destroy you and collect the Tablets of Destiny for myself. My followers will ensnare Marduk as he chases shadows in the desert, and I will destroy him once and for all. I will once again reign above all.”

  Omar concentrated. He visualized the biggest, most destructive lightning bolt he could imagine. He made sure to define every jagged edge and sharp point in exquisite detail. Once the image was perfect, he kept feeding energy into it. Creating the A-Bomb of lightning strikes was his goal. His body vibrated from the sheer concentration of power.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched the pool from which Tiamat emerged. Every moment he delayed, she freed herself a bit more. He had no idea how much of her body remained hidden. In her current form she could be anywhere from fifteen to fifty feet long.

  The tip of her snake-like tail whipped out, striking at him. At the same instant, he released the bolt. The acrid scent of ozone filled the air, electricity skittered across his skin. With dawning horror, Omar watched as Tiamat opened her maw and swallowed the lighting. The mud pit roiled and her tail twitched, but she shook it off and watched him the way a wolf watched a rabbit—confident that at any moment, dinner would be served.

  A deep, thundering growl erupted from Omar’s chest. That bolt was the most destructive tool in his arsenal. If it cou
ldn’t destroy her—gods, it didn’t even phase her!—he was completely fucked.

  Desperately he thought back to the day he and Marduk had executed Tiamat. His role in the whole affair had been to snare and trap her. Ultimately, it was Marduk who killed her. How had he done it? He sent his mind back, reliving every moment he’d spent millennia trying to forget. Arrows of the winds. A net. A club. An invisible spear.

  “I created you. Nothing you can invoke can harm me. Imhullu, my son, give up this foolish plan. Return to me, bring me the Tablets of Destiny and be honored at my side.”

  Though her words were warm and conciliatory, her voice was anything but. Chills ran the length of his spine. Suddenly an idea bloomed in his mind.

  “Hey, Mom, guess what. This isn’t Sumeria anymore. We’re in Wisconsin. A lot has changed over the years, and Wisconsin has some things you’ve never experienced before: snow and ice. Ask any of the locals, winter’s a bitch.”

  Tiamat she snarled at him. “I will teach you respect.”

  “You can try.” Bending down, he snatched up a stool and flung it towards the main window. It crashed through the glass pane, taking the metal blinds with it. The winter wind blew in, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes. The shock of the