They charged, and the rooms on either side opened up with yet more ghouls that hemmed in around them, spitting and stabbing. Yarek was crushed against a wall in the press, and Magog vaulted over them all, fell on top of ghoul heads and shoulders, and brought his heavy sword down over and over as he slipped about until he and a pile of corpses fell at the feet of the red devil. Desperate to help him, Yarek held his blades together and pushed at the wall of shrieking ghouls while his dogs hacked at them. Yarek caught one glimpse of Magog’s sword shearing sparks along the red monster, seemingly unfazed, before the ghouls pressed harder against them and sent Yarek to the floor with several of his loyal dogmen on top of him.
Choking on smoke, stumbling to his knees, Yarek dragged himself free of the fighters. He heard boots stomping nearby, whirled about, and saw Chris Kenny hauling ass down the stairs.
“Chris!”
Chris stopped and turned. “Well, I ran outta bullets, so I thought, uh-”
“Get back up there and escort those wounded out of here!”
“Well, I-”
Yarek unholstered Teufelmorder, the legendary gun of Haven, aimed it at him, and said, “Do it, Kenny.”
Chris Kenny nodded, pulled his shirt around his nose, and returned to the third floor. Yarek hauled himself to his feet and saw the last of his dying guards and the ghouls slipping in one another’s blood. Yarek ran past them, following the sound of steel ringing against scale. He turned a corner and, in a burning corridor, he saw Magog, hunched over and exhausted as the red devil danced around him, swinging fists like hammers that Magog parried, each slower than the last. Magog fell to one knee, the red devil grasped his hair in one fist and raised another, then Yarek aimed Teufelmorder, fired, and the demon’s arm shattered in a cloud of red jewels and mist and clattered along the ground, severed near the shoulder.
If the demon felt any pain, it did not show it. In an instant the monster was in front of Yarek, then all over him, hundreds of pounds slamming into him. Yarek felt some wall touch his back for a moment before it splintered apart, scattering dust into his eyes, then another wall came down before them, then another, until Yarek was hanging over empty space, his back grinding into splintered wood with the devil bearing down on him. Smoke poured out through the wall on either side of them as they hung over empty sky. While Yarek fought to get his gun before him, the monster’s thick blood dribbled onto his face and neck - then a steel fist closed around both his hand and gun, and he heard a terrible crunch an instant before the agony of broken bone reached him. He forced his eyes open, trying desperately to ward off the pain, but all he saw was the single merciless eye staring into him.
The demon pressed its body into Yarek, straining the wood around them, and raised its fist to punch through his entire head. A heavy metal object whirled through the air, then rang against the demon’s head, knocking it away from Yarek. Yarek fell backwards through empty space, then crashed into the ground outside the burning fort. He clutched his ruined hand to his chest and looked about.
Naarwulf crouched beside him and picked up the large axe he’d thrown. Yarek saw that the fighting had spread inside the fort as dogmen and ghouls poured through the shattered wall, overwhelming the defenders. The archers sent a constant stream of arrows over the lumbering crystal demon and into the horde behind it. Just then Maena staggered by them, hauling Zach with her; he was covered in blood, and his eyes were dull with shock. Yarek saw Amiza signaling to the human archers, screaming at them to withdraw to the foothills.
“Naarwulf,” said Yarek, hating the cracking in his voice, “get your best guard dogs... we have to...”
“They’re either dead or busy,” said Naarwulf. “And you’re hurt.”
“Yeah,” muttered Yarek, forcing himself up, black tears streaming down his face. “Come on!”
The two ran back inside the fort, choking on smoke as they ran up the stairs, passing wounded men and dogs limping their way down. The second floor was a ruins of blasted walls, the halls soaked in black blood and intestines, the walls shimmering with heat and fire that licked at the rafters.
“MAAAA - GOG!” Yarek screamed.
In answer, a section of wall burst into splinters. Magog, his fur black with soot and blood, crashed into the floor. His eyes rolled about loosely, but his hand clung stubbornly to the chipped Magog Sword. The large head of the red devil swung through the splintered hole beside them, and Naarwulf hefted his axe in his hand and swung it, hard, into the scaled face. Sparks showered down and the thing fell back, screeching in frustration. Immediately the three dove forward and, like Hell’s own comedy troupe, became hung up against one another in the narrow hole before falling through to the other side.
The room’s four walls were in flames, and the reptile was hunkered down to avoid the smoke. Its mouth opened slowly, its fangs glinted in the dancing light, and as it growled long and deep Naarwulf swung his axe down and up in a wide arc that brought it home in the roof of the monster’s mouth. Yarek picked up a flaming stick of wood from the floor and ran at the writhing devil while Naarwulf hung onto his axe. Just as Yarek brought the flaming brand down into the devil’s eye it swung out with its arm and Yarek’s ribs buckled under the sledgehammer blow. The air fled from him, and only a terrible dull ache found any purchase in his battered lungs. But Naarwulf braced his feet against the floor, hefted the weight of his body against the embedded axe, and brought the whirling devil crashing to the ground. Magog leaped atop the monster, brought the sword of his people high overhead, and slammed the point of it down into the back of the monster’s throat. It skewered tongue, blasted through bone, then impaled the monster to the floor. The two backed away from the devil and covered Yarek while the demon shook and groaned its last.
The three rested in the middle of the flames and choked on smoke while they watched the devil die.
“Can you move?” said Naarwulf.
Yarek nodded, but laid still. Magog fell down beside him.
Naarwulf laid his arms across them both and hauled them up.
“Naarwulf,” said Yarek.
“I know. I’ll make sure the people get to the foothills. I’ll command what’s left of Nook to defend them to the last.”
Magog laughed bitterly, then said, “Look at you, Naarwulf! Not so afraid to lead now that the battle’s lost, eh?”
“Hush, pup,” said Naarwulf. “The tribe of Nook doesn’t take criticism from the tribe of Magog.”
* * *
Wodan cut a line of unbelievable violence all the way to the dragging tail of the crystal demon and, dancing around the arrows that fell as slowly as leaves, and unmindful of the horde screaming behind and around him, he leaped onto the tail and ran on light feet up the smooth back of the beast. It turned beneath him and, as he slipped, he thrust green-shining Capricornus into its surface and held on. When the beast finished its rotation he pulled it free and moved on.
Wodan was high above the battle when he stood beneath the towers on the back of the beast. As the great demon shifted its weight, a Reaver helm clattered past him. Through the dim sound of battle, he heard a slicing, angry hiss. Wodan saw the reptilian head of a green stormtrooper glaring at him from around a tower. Turning, he saw more of them skulking about. He saw one drop the body of a Reaver who had somehow climbed onto the beast only to die there. The reptilian demons charged at him, loping on all fours. Furious, Wodan slashed, rolled, slashed again and again, until the loose limbs and heads and ruined torsos of the reptiles slid down the sides of the crystal devil. Wodan ran to another prone Reaver, yanked off his helm, and yelled, “Are you badly hurt?”
The Reaver stared up at him, the light fading in his eyes.
“Failed,” he muttered. “We failed.” Then he rested, his eyes open and dim.
Wodan stood slowly and a cold wind blew his wet hair about his face. He was covered in black blood drying and cracking, and his mind was empty of all distraction. Capricornus pulsed in his hands. Wodan lashed out at one tower, sliced clean
through it, then turned on another. A flash of green, then sparks of red. Wodan cried out, pure and hard, then ran and sliced through a third tower. The towers teetered, then fell slowly, and since the tail of the beast hung lower than its head, the towers crashed painfully onto its back and then rolled down onto the horde below, crushing them by the dozens. Blood sprayed like thick rain all about him from the sheared stumps, covering him, and he walked slowly to the front of the monster.
He saw the burning fort straight ahead as the beast lumbered towards it. Below, dogmen and ghouls tore through the last of the defending dogmen, who fought bravely despite being overwhelmed. Wodan saw the human archers, so small from this distance, firing as they ran to the rear of the battleground, near the wooded foothills. Wodan continued on until he stood over the wide head of the beast.
Wodan raised Capricornus and brought it crashing down onto the hard crystal at the neck. Again and again he slashed through crystal and flesh until the air was covered in a fine mist of sharp diamond-spray. Then the head drooped suddenly, the unsupported weight of it tore through strips of flesh and shattered crystal at the bottom of the neck, then broke free and fell through empty air – and finally crashed tremendously on top of attacking dogs and ghouls, slicing and crushing them mercilessly. The beast stood still.
All eyes turned upward and Wodan raised the green Sword of the Ancients high into the night sky. Dim, but clear, he heard the cry rise through the black skies - he heard, “Wodan! Wodan has returned! Wodan!”
Then the thousand tons of the demon fell, its limbs cracking and breaking on either side of it, and the thing crashed into the ground, crushing hundreds of attackers under its weight. Wodan fell limp through the sky, then landed heavily on the thing and slid backwards along its surface, unable to grip anything. Shards of crystal lashed him as he slid, slicing open skin and bashing against him, and he thought the nauseating trip would never end. Finally he flew from the edge of the tail and, nauseous and rolling end over end, crashed into the wet ground back on the battlefield.
Even as he almost drifted into unconsciousness, Wodan rose back on his feet. The sword burning in his hands, the blood of the unnatural body, and the will he had carried with him his whole life, all of them pushed him on, crying out for more and overshadowing any pain he felt.
Then Wodan felt something calling out to him, something old and malevolent, something waiting far from the front of the battle.
* * *
While his brothers were fazed by the sight of the returning superhuman and the fall of the crystal demon, Jago was not. He was drenched in the blood of dozens of enemies, but still he was not sated. He knew that he would never have his fill of blood until he was lord and master of all that he saw. He could see the glowing green sword swinging and biting in the distance. At first he had to press against others to get near it, then finally it seemed that the dogmen – and even the fearless ghouls – were only trying to get away from the sword and thus opened a path for him. Jago crouched and maneuvered behind the glowing monster. Usurper rang in his hands, and he flexed his hands along its bloody hilt.
The battlefield cleared around him. He saw Wodan stalking through the fields of blood, staring ahead, unmindful of his environment. Like a hunter Jago stalked, biding his time. Then, finally, he saw his opportunity.
The small blue reptilian demon, the last of the three specialized reptiles and the scout for their army, bounded towards Wodan headlong, mouth full of fangs, hissing wildly. It was unlikely that the little creature could kill its prey, but it would provide a distraction. Jago ran, then leaped toward Wodan’s back, Usurper raised for a killing thrust. He and the devil prepared to close on Wodan at the same instant -
Wodan sprang to life. He swung Capricornus behind himself, only thinking to bring it around and swing it at the blue devil. But, as if in a nightmare, Jago saw the green sword slap into the Usurper sword - then through it, shattering it into pieces. Time slowed and Jago thought Oh, no, no, as Wodan brought the sword around, slicing through the top of Jago’s head before continuing on to cleave through the torso of the blue scout, sending two demonic halves crashing to the floor. Jago fell to the ground, desperate to pick up the pieces of his brain with hands that no longer obeyed his will. The last thing he saw was Wodan moving on, never having seen him at all.
* * *
A gap in the battlefield opened and Wodan saw Chess Bear in the distance. The great bear was covered in spears such that its body was barely visible. Its muzzle and paws dribbled blood in thick streams, that of his enemies and his own, and the bear was surrounded on all sides by hundreds of steaming corpses.
The Chess Bear looked at Wodan, then shook its flanks and sent hundreds of spears falling to the ground. It stared at him, wondering if Wodan would command it to keep fighting, to die for his cause. The Chess Bear knew that Wodan needed him if he had any hope of winning his war - and, feeling sick to its core, the bear knew that it would obey.
“Bear!” shouted Wodan, voice ragged and weary. “Get out of here before you get killed, while you’ve got the chance!”
The Chess Bear moaned horribly.
“Go!” said Wodan. “You’ve given more help than I deserved. And maybe I’ll see you... in better times.”
Aching in every muscle, staggering from loss of blood, the Chess Bear turned and lumbered into the forest.
Wodan dug the glowing sword into the ground and rested during the lull. He realized that he was exhausted. Then, tickling at the back of his mind, he heard a coal black voice whisper, Insignificant, bothersome gnat. Looks like I’ll have to kill you myself.
A herd of ghouls scampered in a wide circle around Wodan and knelt. They did not move, but stared at him. Wodan knew that they would act as the eyes for something blind and old and far more powerful than themselves.
From out of the darkness, Zamael came forth. It was no wonder that no human had ever seen more than a glimpse of him, for he was nauseatingly repulsive. Thick black tentacles as thick as tree trunks and covered in writhing muscle tissue held up the great beast. The tentacles churned up dirt in a violent wake as the monstrous god moved forward with incredible speed. The bloated sack of Zamael’s body was oily black and deathly gray, coated in dripping mucus and shooting out steam from quivering nostrils. The flesh demon had no face, only a feeding tube that shook obscenely, sucking and coughing out gobs of thick saliva. The thought of touching the creature, or being touched by it, was horrifying beyond belief. Two great curving horns crowned the huge devil, proclaiming him lord of all.
But most terrifying of all was that, in the back of his mind, Wodan could hear the chorus of tortured souls trapped within the demon, the brains of victims forced to live beyond their time of death, somehow calling out in desperate hatred for all things alive and free. The toxic psychic aura was so powerful that it was difficult to look directly at the monstrous demon-god, much less face it head-on, as it entered the circle of ghouls that crouched around the arena.
Wodan forced himself not to run. The air hummed between them, then the dirt on the battleground hopped about as Zamael wielded his invisible Cognati weapon. Wodan felt the air constrict in his lungs as the monster prepared to devastate every molecule around him and within him, without even touching him.
“No,” Wodan hissed. He stepped forward and lifted the glowing Sword of the Ancients, and with a wide sweep he tore through the invisible curtain of power that surrounded Zamael. The hum was broken off with a grinding shriek. A wind of freed molecules of air blew throughout the circle, and Zamael darted backwards on his tentacles.
The shield! How!?
Wodan continued forward. The terrible singing of the damn heightened to a mind-shattering pitch.
Upstart child of a dead race! Do you think that’s the only weapon I have?!
“I know your weapons and I know your kind!” Wodan shouted, stalking forward. “I’ve been fighting your kind my whole life! You use others to bolster your own bloated, weak ego, sucking blood like a paras
ite instead of finding your own path! But it’s over now, demon! Your kind no longer have any place in my world!”
Zamael spat the force of his mind into the air, radiating darkness, and Wodan felt the thousand voices of that inner hell crawling into his skull. Against this attack he knew he had no defense.
“You want inside my mind, just like before?” said Wodan. “Then come inside, if you can!”
Terrible screaming filled his mind. As in a dream he saw his knees crash into the ground. Every cell in his body was lashed with agony, captive audience to the hateful cries of the damned. Ghouls, animals, humans, even Nilem he saw thrust into burning fire and bitter ice. Wodan fell into the darkness of the blind king and felt complete agony for one timeless second. He wanted only to cry out in anger and plead for mercy and rush away from those tortured souls, and he could feel a dark presence kneeling before him, fangs clattering, a tongue licking lips and waiting for him to do so. Again Wodan saw Nilem and felt her hatred pouring out, but instead of hating her in turn, Wodan grasped her hand and shouted, to all those hated-filled souls, that he understood – and that he would soon end all of their agony, no matter the cost to himself.
Zamael rocked backward, shaken by the force of Wodan’s will. The self-doubting loner who had bitten off more than he could chew was gone, replaced by someone who would go any distance and endure any pain to help his people.
Freed from the psychic scam, Wodan blinked, and his vision cleared and he realized that the bloated demon had been inching forward the entire time, intent on crushing his body and eating his mind. Only his confusion at Wodan’s response had made him pause. Wodan ignored his exhaustion and forced himself to his feet. Zamael shot forward and to the side, flinging out one great tentacle as he moved. Still staggered and weary from his battle, Wodan moved too slowly and took the full brunt of the gesture. He heard something shatter at his side, hit the ground rolling, then realized his left arm was broken in several places. The terrible pain was nothing compared to the hell of the chorus he’d faced, but as he moved to rise, he only fell back down into the dust. Zamael moved about the arena of ghouls, growling in frustration.
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 35