“Whatever you do, do not allow your genes to mix with theirs. That’s what they do. Do not negotiate with them. Do not speak with them. Do not interact with them. Only… find a way to kill them. That’s your only hope of survival. Kill them all.
“I don’t have time to explain everything. I have to leave for my bunker in the south before they find it and destroy it. If you’re hearing this…” The man looked away, then smiled strangely. “If you’re hearing this, then you’re like me. Remember that you are something more than human. You are the dream of man’s highest aspirations. The old limits don’t apply to you. I made you. You are… my son.” The man stared ahead for a moment, then rose from his seat and said, “End recording.”
Wodan heard the superbeing speak in his foreign language, then the hologram disappeared. In a panic, Wodan stared about the empty chamber. “Bring him back!” Wodan shouted, desperate to know his creator. “Please bring him back!”
The room shook and filled with harsh white light.
THERE IS NO TIME
“I have to know more about him!” Wodan cried. The voice ignored him. When Wodan’s body first changed, he’d suspected that the Engels of the east were similar to himself, but they were younger than Wodan, confused about their place in the world and perhaps little more than puppets of a power-hungry state. But now, finally, Wodan had glimpsed someone like himself, but older and seemingly powerful despite his circumstances – someone who could give him much-needed direction.
But that recording is so old, thought Wodan, heart sinking. Whoever he was, he must surely be dead by now. If not by old age, then at the hands of flesh demons who finally hunted him down… which means I’m alone. No one can do this but me.
At one end of the chamber’s curved wall, Wodan saw a fat, transparent sphere which must have appeared while he was distracted by the recording. The sphere filled itself with a glowing yellow liquid. Stifling his urge to cry out for the recording once again, he watched the fat sphere grow heavy as it filled with liquid. It seemed to be alive, a womb, an embryonic forge.
He felt the floor rumbling ominously beneath him.
ASK YOUR GIFT
MAKE HASTE
ALREADY I AM FALLING APART
A DEVIL IS INSIDE OF ME
Holograms flickered and Wodan saw Didi and Childriss. They stood in a blue chamber different from this one, but before them stood embryonic spheres much like the one before Wodan.
Didi looked down into the amber depths of the glowing egg, and his voice croaked slightly as he said, “I want wisdom, no matter how terrible.” A small sphere appeared in the amber chamber – it was the device that led to the creation of Didi’s NeuSen Array, the full functioning of which Didi could only guess at.
The image of Childriss glared down into the embryonic sack, and his voice hissed as he said, “I want power, no matter the cost.” A series of pages formed in the forge: The blueprint for the superbeing, the instructions for the creation of Wodan’s unnatural body.
The images disappeared. Wodan looked into the yellow lights flowing beneath the transparent skin of the living forge.
“I want what will save my people,” said Wodan. “I want to kill a demon named Zamael.”
I KNOW THAT DEMON
FOR ALL HIS WEAKNESSES
HE IS INVULNERABLE
ON ATTACK, ON DEFENSE: PERFECT
“There must be a way to destroy him!” Wodan shouted. “I know you can give me the means to do it!”
ANCIENT ZAMAEL HAS AN IMPENETRABLE SHIELD
WITH A GIFT, YOU COULD BREAK IT
THAT BLIND KING CAN ATTACK THE MIND ITSELF
WITH A GIFT, YOU COULD DEFEND YOURSELF
... BUT THE PROGRAM WILL ALLOW ONLY ONE GIFT
So I have to choose between a shield and a weapon? Wodan thought.
“Give me a weapon,” Wodan said. “I’ll worry about my own defense.”
The room shook and Wodan fought for balance. Even as the living forge swirled with activity, he knew that the chamber beneath him was collapsing. He hoped that the invisible, sneaking demon was already crushed beneath the rubble.
Wodan knelt over the amber stew and saw segments of something form within the liquid. He did not understand the process, but millions of nanomachines were racing to complete the weapon.
“Hurry,” Wodan muttered. “Hurry!”
A great crash sounded below as thousands of tons of rubble collapsed on the hall of the Ancients. The thing began to take form before Wodan’s eyes: A long handle full of strange, complicated mechanisms and a slender line of glowing steel filled with tiny crystalline structures that were covered over before he could guess anything about their function.
There was a flash of green light and Wodan fell back. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a long, slender sword floating in the embryonic forge. It was made of shimmering green steel with a long blue handle so dark that it was almost black, with a curved handguard. Green light danced along its single, curving edge, and the voice of the thunder shouted:
BEHOLD THE SWORD OF THE ANCIENTS!
EATER OF LIGHT, DESTROYER OF SHIELDS
LEAF OF STEEL, SWORD OF THE VALLEY
DEATH-DEALER AND MONSTER-SLAYER
NEWLY-FORGED ARTIFACT
REBORN FROM THE FALL OF AQUARIUS
USE IT TO BRING HOPE TO THIS AGE
AND CARVE OUT A KINGDOM
TAKE UP THE SWORD CALLED CAPRICORNUS!
Instantly Wodan plunged his hand into the yellow sack, bursting its sides so that warm liquid gushed all around him, and he seized the handle of the great sword. It was heavy, immensely heavy, and his body bulged and strained to lift it up from the wet forge. But as he lifted it, the blade absorbed the light in the room, and soon glowed with bright green light. As the long blade drank its fill of light, it generated some kind of power that flowed into Wodan’s arm and through his body, filling him with strength. The sword felt as light as air as he lifted it overhead.
Green lights danced along the edge of the dark blade. The thing felt alive in his hands, a true manifestation of the green valley, drinking light, producing power, and promising death to those that threatened the land. “The sword of the Ancients,” Wodan said, overcome with a sense of incredible, burning power. “Capricornus!”
The room shook again, then tilted sideways. Amber liquid tossed and turned about Wodan’s feet, as slick as blood. A slit formed in one wall and the voice of the thunder shouted:
NO TIME LEFT!
RUN, FRIEND!
I AM DYING
AND PROGRAMMED TO TAKE A DEVIL WITH ME!
Wodan ran to the exit and saw that it led to a small chamber bathed in white light. He knew that it was some sort of elevator to the surface. But as he knelt to enter, something slammed into his back and crushed him against the far wall, something writhing and hissing and alive. It was the invisible, demonic stalker. The door shut, sealing Wodan inside with the monster. He could feel the elevator rising rapidly. He rose to his knee and whirled about. He saw nothing, but could hear the stalking demon breathing, hissing. Wodan raised the sword, and shouted, “Where are you!?”
The white light in the elevator flickered on and off rapidly, and Wodan knew immediately that the sentient program of the cave was helping him once more, for as the room shifted from darkness to light, the perfect camouflage of the flesh demon was always a split-second too slow to accommodate, revealing his reptilian form first black, then white, then black again. Unable to hide, the monster hissed in frustration.
Wodan raised the sword, but the elevator was too small to wield it effectively. The demon flew at him and smashed him against the side of the chamber. It was immensely powerful and drove the air from his lungs. By great effort Wodan forced his left forearm against the monster and pushed it back. The light of Capricornus shone on the monster’s snapping fangs and horrid, slitted eyes. Wodan ignored the flurry of blows smacking his head about. The elevator shook wildly as if the entire lifting tube was falling to pieces, but th
e demon’s wild blows threw it off balance such that Wodan was able to slam the monster against the far wall.
Without hesitation he lifted Capricornus and drove it through the chest of the monster point-first.
The demon shrieked in rage as Wodan forced the point into and through the monster’s heart, impaling it against the wall. The elevator bucked wildly but Wodan kept his hands on the hilt, holding the demon trapped as it kicked about in its death throes.
“I’ll do the same to you, Zamael!” Wodan said into the demon’s eyes. “I’m coming for you.”
Then the elevator grinded against something, fell sideways, and thousands of pounds of earth fell into the thing as it flew off track and crashed deep within the earth. The flashing lights died suddenly as Wodan was buried within the rubble.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Burial Ground
Wodan woke in the green glow of Capricornus in his coffin of earth and steel. A wide strip of metal hung over his nose, the ruins of part of the elevator shaft. Otherwise there was only the close press of dirt on all sides, near, too near, with little room to move around. He grasped the blue-black hilt of the sword, pulled, and felt it slide out of the flesh of the demon buried nearby. The glow of the sword was small comfort against the stifling, warm air and the feeling that the earth could collapse at any moment.
For a long time he laid down with his frustration. There was so much he needed to do – and now he was trapped just when he’d found a new answer, a new way to help his people. The unfairness of it was galling. He relaxed and remembered the powerful violet eyes of the strange superhuman being. It made little sense, but he was struck by the idea that that being might still somehow be alive. Perhaps even watching him, hoping for his survival… or even judging him for his failure. If he was alive, Wodan wondered if that being would be disappointed in him.
But even he had to hide from the flesh demons, thought Wodan. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy when I first set out. There’s still so much to do… but I have to get out of here to do any of those things.
Wodan released his frustration and began to dig.
He squirmed past the strip of metal and clawed his hands overhead. He was rewarded with a cascade of dirt that fell in his mouth and eyes. He rolled about until he was on his belly and, unable to dig directly upwards, dug into the side of his soft coffin. He dug out handfuls of wet earth, pushed the piles down to his belly, then squirmed ahead. Hours passed, and he narrowed the intent of his focus to minimize frustration and weariness. His tunnel became narrower, the air hot and difficult to breathe. And all the while, there was an insistent voice in the back of his mind that said, “Perhaps you are only a few inches below the surface. Fight to go upwards!” But he knew that if he tore upwards, he risked caving-in the soft earth. He angled only slightly upwards as he dug and shifted the earth.
Perhaps one day passed, and Wodan slept for a few hours. When he woke the glow from Capricornus was noticeably dimmer. His heart ached as he saw the sword, so recently earned, already falling to decay in his ownership. But as he stretched and rubbed the soreness from his limbs, he noticed that the air was noticeably cooler and easier to breathe. He could even hear the faint hum of some kind of generator somewhere. He wondered if perhaps a part of the cave still lived, and was somehow pumping fresh air into his narrow tunnel. The thought gave him hope, so he continued to dig.
Some hours later, Wodan had a visitor. Part of the ground shifted under him, and he jerked about in fear and scuttled away from the creature. A small, bulbous, white thing broke through the surface, quivering and alive. The closeness of the tunnel and the sudden break in his single-minded endeavor caused him to freak out. He screamed, grasped the wiggling sack in both hands, and tore it in half, spilling white liquid everywhere. Once the thing stopped moving he backpedaled and maneuvered about Capricornus so that he could lift it in defense. Nothing happened, so he crawled back to the thing. He smelled the broken skin and the liquid, and realized in horror that part of the cave was still functioning, and still trying to help him, for he smelled something like warm milk in the torn remains of the sack. Wodan quickly lapped up the remaining droplets, then examined the bag itself. It was some kind of plastic-organic sack, with a few tubes that trailed back down into the earth, and which most likely provided tunneling locomotion. Characteristic of the sentient program, on the torn sack he read:
TAKE HEART COUSIN
Wodan laughed bitterly and continued digging, chastising himself for misunderstanding the visitor’s intentions.
He dug through the cold earth. When he encountered worms, slimy bugs, or anything squishy, he ate. When he was exhausted, he slept again. When he woke, the glow of Capricornus was only a dim green afterthought. The sword was noticeably heavier, a dead weight that he stubbornly dragged with him as he moved forward in his grave inch by inch. He heard clicking far beneath him, and he knew that the generator that pumped fresh air to him was struggling against its own mortality.
Hours passed in timeless darkness as he continued digging, inching forward and upward, pushing earth behind himself, dragging the heavy weight of the sword with him. The repetition was broken by yet another visitor who came digging toward him; this time Wodan stopped, caught his breath, and watched the wriggling bag break through the surface. It moved slower than the first, and when it finally peeked through, Wodan held it gingerly and pulled it free. He bit into one corner of the living thing and sipped the warm milk. Once he had drained the bag, he flattened it out and read the next message from the sentient cave:
EYES GROW DARK
DONT STOP
It’s dying, Wodan thought, clutching the remains of the bag. It’s been alone for no telling how long, and now it’s using the last of its strength to help me. I can’t stop now!
Wodan fought off sleep and exhaustion and pushed himself further. In growing darkness he remembered being pushed through hundreds of miles of wasteland by the Ugly. His body was far weaker then, and he told himself that he was stronger now, and needed to travel far, far less than he did in those days. A terrible moment came when he could hear the generator turning off deep within the earth. Within minutes the air became stale and uncomfortably hot. An hour or so later the generator kicked on once again, but Wodan could feel it grinding unnaturally.
“Don’t give up on me, my friend,” Wodan muttered, “and I won’t give up, either.”
Beside him, the dim light of Capricornus flashed and sputtered.
When he was sure that another day had passed, or perhaps more than a day, he slept for just a few minutes. He woke in a haze and felt something stirring nearby, weakly pushing against the earth. He uncovered the thing and pulled out another living bag sent by the sentient program. It was less warm than the others. Wodan bit into a corner but immediately retched up what little he had drunk. He dropped the thing and a thick, yellow, viscous fluid bubbled out. Wodan pulled Capricornus near, but by the dim light he could see no words printed on the bag, only a few random marks.
No more sleeping, thought Wodan. Have to keep moving.
Wodan dug. His body ached, his mind lagged. In a few hours the light of Capricornus faded into complete darkness. Wodan grasped its hilt, barely able to shift it, much less lift it.
Have to dig straight up, he thought. Not much time or strength left. I’ll have to risk a cave-in. If I go to sleep again, that will be the end of it.
So Wodan dug straight up. Dirt fell in all around him. He closed his eyes and pushed the debris away. Hours passed, perhaps another day, and he was standing and was able to kick the debris away with his feet, though he rarely opened his eyes anymore.
Below him, the generator died. There was silence, save for Wodan’s panting as his body ate up what little oxygen remained in his tomb. He pushed himself higher, and it took a great force of effort to lift Capricornus into the tunnel with him. He propped it sideways beside him, and even as he kept it close he wondered if the thing might be completely dead. He pushed away the thought th
at the amazing weapon had degenerated into a slab of steel too heavy to lift, much less use in battle.
Wodan dug and climbed high up into his shaft of earth, propping himself up on his knees as he went. The air became close, so close that he could not catch his breath even if he stopped to rest, and just as the idea of the cave’s death struck him as the omen of his own demise, he clawed out a slab of dirt overhead and grasped the slender roots of a tree.
The tree! he thought. It’s the tree at the top of the hill!
He dug upward until his mind, starved of oxygen, could grasp only the simple idea of breaking free. He reached down to pull the Sword of the Ancients up toward him and nearly fell down to the bottom of the shaft. It had become so heavy, and he was so weak. With terrible effort he hauled it overhead, jammed it in between earth and root, and continued digging.
The roots became thicker as he went, a tangled web, and he tore at them and held himself up with them. He dug, hissing long hot breaths that held only traces of oxygen.
Overhead the earth became soft and springy. A great cascade of dirt fell on him and filled his eyes, but he had become too dumb to blink. He held on, jammed his hand overhead, and pulled another great torrent of earth down around him. He held on despite the shower. When the cascade ended, he jammed his hand overhead and felt air as cold as ice. He pulled still more earth down, then felt cold air fill his lungs, and saw darkness and stars overhead.
Wodan had broken through his coffin.
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 33