“You’re moving yourself, one piece at a time, to Transalpina to hide? To wait out the flood?”
“Your words are crude, Gorias La Gaul, but not unwarranted. In time, the place will be ready for me to sleep and I shall be able to be all together, safe, and then slide my essence from this self-made prison of rock.”
“Why are we here?”
“You are going to help me further, these little squids with you and all. They will make excellent carriers. You see, the conflicts of men, the passions of the Admiral and all the rest mean nothing to me.”
“I doubted they did. Why is someone using dragonfire in Qesot?”
Again, Pergamus paused. “Perhaps our benefactor is siphoning off power for their own use. It’s of little matter as soon, I will be complete there.”
“It looks like you have a ways to go on the tree here.”
“I have time. There’s no great rush.” Many limbs of the tree stated to move, to bend and snake like serpents. “Long have I wanted to add Gorias La Gaul unto myself.”
Gorias drew his swords. “Ya know that ain’t gonna be easy.”
“Of course. I truly expect trouble from you and your group. It is of little matter. I’m immortal and even if you cause trouble here, you cannot destroy the tree. Can you stab a forest and kill it?”
“Maybe I can chip the bark a little.”
“You rail on me, La Gaul, at what I’d doing. In your mind, it may be petty, infantile or useless to your little lives. I have eternity to play my games as you say. So do you all, really, as you all carry an eternal spirit, yet are shackled by a material life. But a life in flesh is not a complete life. You may understand the range of a thousand years, but you cannot conceive of a hundred thousand years or a million. Once a million years passes, not the first moment of eternity has gone by, thus, I have plenty of time to scheme against you. I have no doubt the Creator’s homunculi will pass away in time, but he’ll do it again. It’s his nature, like it’s in my nature, now, to be away from his ethereal presence.”
Gorias shouted, “It wasn’t always as such, was it? You could’ve stayed on the side of the angels.”
The rocky floor quaked under them. “You speak of angels, a man standing there with the shards of angelic wings as your swords. Can’t you appreciate my stealth, avoiding them so long in my prison?”
Nykia hissed, “What does he mean?”
Gorias said, “Pergamus fell to earth like the other defeated members of the heavenly host. A third of all angels did but many were cast into the abyss by the victors.”
The voice roared, casting many of the pirates to their backsides. Nykia fell to a knee, grabbing Gorias to hold herself up. Alena snapped into a defensive stance, erect still, but near to a fallen Allard.
“Your words and understanding mean nothing. Can’t you see how pointless it all is now? You are doomed and there is no escape from my course. You have come unto this place because of my will. I have allowed these pirates, each time, to come unto my self and take out the dragonfire.” The tree of lights and its slithering limbs glowed brighter at the words. “I have sent the souls of the dragons into the world again to be made manifest by my servants. I live in every point of dragonfire. Soon, their father will follow.”
Gorias said, “I know ya bred with saurian beasts here and created the dragons, unlike yer fallen brothers who mounted up real women, creating the Nephilum giants. You want a cookie?”
Pergamus replied in a modest voice, “We all have our desires fostered by the imperfection sin brings. Some became desirous of the Creator’s puppet women, others saw greater icons rise in the dusk abroad. My mind saw the images our master took on, the serpent, the eternal dragon, and thus, I have worked to create more of the same.” His conceited tone fell. “Until you slew them all.”
“I had help.”
“You had guts for an ungodly man. Your ego is such that it wasn’t about doing good, but fostering your own legend. My compliments. You could be demon material if not for the stench of the heavenly host on you.”
“Thanks.” Gorias slid his blades across each other.
Nykia whispered, “Can you kill him with those?”
Gorias looked at the swords. “I can piss him off, but no, I can’t kill him.”
Pergamus chuckled. “So young, so silly, no? You cannot kill that which isn’t really alive.”
Alena said, “Pergamus is a demon and has no material life.”
“Ah, the girl with the thighs speaks. My brethren would love one like you.” Pergamus’ humor faded and he snarled, “I have eternal life.”
Gorias added, “In the pit, though. Not much life to be had in the abyss, once you’re there, huh? Ya can’t even reach out and screw with humanity then, or a lizard as the case was here.”
Nykia grabbed the dew nail on Gorias’ forearm. “He’s fallen from heaven, but not damned, not yet, so…”
Gorias said, “So he skulks about the ocean, pretending to be an island, dreaming up schemes to destroy more human souls to Hell? Yeah, that’s it.”
Nykia gasped. “Why doesn’t he just fly across the world and burn them all?”
“He can’t,” Gorias affirmed. “Can you?”
Silence reigned about them.
Gorias said, “Ya see, if he comes out and plays like that, the heavenly host will sense him, find him and then send him to the abyss.”
“How has he got by so long?”
“Angels aren’t everywhere.”
Nykia frowned. “That’s crazy. If there is a God and he knows all, why leave him running amok?”
Gorias smirked. “Good question. All a part of personal choice inflicted on humanity.” Gorias raised his voice. “That Creator you hate so much, ya exist at his leisure and ya keep pissing up his leg!”
Pergamus spoke calmly. “It’s a game, but you wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand plenty,” Gorias replied as he pulled from Nykia and started to jog toward the tree. He snapped the handles of his swords together, making one double-bladed staff. “I understand that deliverance will come.”
Gorias pulled on his helmet and dropped the visor, moving up fast, preparing to strike at the base of the tree.
A limb of the tree, black and naked, slithered out like a snake and snapped at Gorias. Blades spinning, Gorias twisted and sliced through the slapping tendril, sending the piece of the tree soaring over the heads of the pirates.
Gorias swung his joined blades about and swept his other arm about the room. “Defend yourselves and kill them all! They can’t be much more than dupes as servants!” After he spoke, he swung the blade hard, striking the base of the tree like a lumberjack at work. Gorias’ blade went in only an inch and popped back out, but the tree surged brighter than before.
In this new light, the others saw the hooded men drawing back with their globes of fire. The Cytaur wasted no time, attacking the nearest hooded figure with his horns. His fast moves sent the ball of dragonfire flying off to the right, crashing and causing a burn near one of the servants who’d already flung his ball at the pirates. The Cytaur’s pointed horns passed through the body of the hooded figure, and pulled out, covered in black fluid. The Cytaur watched the figure next to the one that he dropped, the fire consuming it, the form of a man melting away like so much candle wax. Under the hood, no distinct features existed on the faces, yet each was different in a subtle way.
Although Nykia ran to attack the nearest hooded man, she felt a hand grip her collar. Before she could react, she was flung sideways, head over heels, and rolled out of the gut of the fight. In the very moment Alena threw her out of the way, the hooded man threw his ball of fire. Once Nykia got clear, Alena shoulder rolled on the floor under the flying ball of flame. The move, at her size, appeared near to impossible, yet Alena executed it with grace, her long legs flying up, boots boxing the ears on either side of the hood of the thrower. Stunned, the man moved a few steps to his right, but Alena was up, dagger in her left hand buried in the kid
neys of her target, pig sticker out and quickly inserted into her enemy’s sternum. Choking, the man fell, his hood off. Nykia stood by Alena when she rose, looking at the face of the fallen man.
“By the gods,” Nykia said. “It’s Vallen, one of our spies.”
Alena eyed the conflict. “It was.”
Many of the pirates faired worse, but they didn’t have Alena to guard them. A half dozen of the robed men threw their balls of fire and killed just as many of the pirates. The Cytaur waded into the conflict, butchered two more of the hooded men, impaling them and pulling out their guts with the horns, making a lurid, ropy knot before kicking them down. The Cytaur turned and one of them reared back, threw a ball and got him, dead to rights in the chest. His one eye blinked as the ball bounced off his chest and never broke. He immediately backpedaled with his hooves as the ball dropped and flamed up between him and the hooded man.
Gorias continued hacking on either side of the tree, looking up at the slithering forms on the branches and seeing that these shapes started to take on humanoid forms. He also could hear Pergamus’ voice give out a loud sigh, bored by it all.
Alena went to work, using her sword with two hands on the pommel, deftly avoiding the thrown balls, chopping the head from one hooded man and nearly cutting another one in two at the waist.
“You bore me, La Gaul,” Pergamus said. “You came all this way to cut my tree down? You make me laugh.”
From the branches, figures started to fall, all covered in black liquid, all landing, sliding but soon standing fast again. They were men, rubbing the blackness from their eyes, but not awakening into confusion. Clearly all of one accord, they started to surround the survivors.
One of the glass balls of fire on the tree fell and landed near Gorias, shattering, bathing him in dragonfire. Like before, the fire churned and gained in mass, writhing about Gorias like serpents. Gorias turned from the tree and faced Alena.
The tall girl reached into her pouch and pulled the vial from Gorias’ belt. She jogged toward the tree a few paces, reared back and flung the vial into the air.
Gorias fell to the stone floor, rolled, came up with his swords spinning, whipping the dragonfire into a malleable tiny vortex with his left hand. His right reached out, but didn’t catch the vial. It flew past his grip and dropped near his boots. Gorias flipped over, casting the dragonfire back at the tree, and let his blades fall to the floor, still joined. He sprawled out, cursing, extending his left arm and smashed his forearm into the vial.
He faced up, seeing the tree tremble as another ball of dragonfire fell. He flipped over, cursing himself, knowing that as a youth he’d have turned about four or five times, but he only managed one roll and that was to avoid the glass ball. Again, fresh fire bathed the scene, but when Gorias stood up, he wasn’t alone in the flames.
Allard stabbed at one of the inky figures attacking but soon shouted out, “There’s another in the fire with him!”
Gorias saw what they all did, a humanoid shape rising up in the flames, tiny at first, like a dwarf, but soon gaining the stature of a full-grown man. Lean, almost feminine in a way, the hairless silhouette in the fire took on features, bearing slanted eyes and an almost serpentine quality to the mouth and nose.
Pergamus growled all around them. “You damned worm! Delight in your trickery, La Gaul. You’ve brought the god who thinks himself a goddess, Rhiannon, unto my realm. What of it?”
While the fire dissipated, Gorias moved away from the lithe form of Rhiannon. Staring up at the tree, Rhiannon spread out skinny arms.
Pergamus rumbled, “Bah, go to Hell.”
Rhiannon’s voice, high pitched but oily, echoed all around them, saying, “Oh, dear, you along with me.”
From the tree fell more objects, but none of the dragonfire. This time dozens more bodies bathed in inky blackness dropped. Gorias recognized Admiral Rosman, but he was no longer himself. All of the original bodies that Pergamus harvested souls from wore empty stares, blank, devoid of their selves. However, they moved fluidly and encircled Rhiannon.
Hands clapped together, a dozen profiles appeared and surrounded Rhiannon. Each new image pulsed in emerald hues, each a different height, but all wearing the robes of Rhiannon’s priests, but close to being transparent of mass.
Backing up and hacking his way through a few bodies from the tree, Gorias joined Nykia and Alena. “Pergamus ain’t the only one who can take a body, use its soul and have the energy left to use later.”
Nykia fought off one of the servants, striking a blow to the heart and wrenching her sword around. “What are those things with Rhiannon?”
“Probably his priests, many suicidal martyrs to follow their god into his final mission before eternity.” Gorias took a knee, slashed the knees from two of the attackers and allowing Alena to use him as an obstacle. She flipped across his back, her boots striking the chest of an attacker before landing to strike another with her sword.
The priests fought well, too, striking out with their arms made of energy, evaporating the reanimated bodies seeking a closer grip on Rhiannon. The inky shapes fell to dust as if struck by lightning.
Alena grabbed at Gorias, but he pulled away, armor still smoking from the dragonfire. “Look! One of the bodies!”
Gorias gestured for them all to get back. “Yeah, I see him.”
Alena stood frozen, seeing the form of Prince Vincent trying to attack the priests of Rhiannon.
The stone base under them lurched, sending all tumbling, even Rhiannon. The mountains of rock overhead burst the ceiling of the cavern, flying in all directions, letting the sunshine in fast, but soon this light was partially obscured by the massive form of Pergamus.
Although hundreds of feet high, dwarfing even the tree, the spectacle made Gorias recall gargoyle statues seen outside Nineveh: both thick limbed and finned at the joints, covered in a scaled, reptilian hide. In proportion to a human shape, Pergamus’ frame ran twice as thick as standard size.
Gorias saw the father of dragons and understood their faces as they resembled the avatar above, savage teeth, protruding nostrils, finned ears and spikes over his head (probably snaking down his back, but Gorias couldn’t see). His manhood swung between his stout legs like a great, limbless trunk.
The silence broke as Gorias heard Alena remark, “He doesn’t have any balls.”
“Why do you think demons are so pissed?” Gorias said, from a push-up position.
“How did he…” Alena wondered but Pergamus’ roar at Rhiannon muted her words.
Gorias got back to his feet, figuring her wonder came at how Pergamus bred the dragons…but she understood little of magicks and the desires of the demonic horde in one-upping their Creator.
Rhiannon’s chin turned up, taking in the spectacular sight of Pergamus towering over his form. “You’re such a braggart,” Rhiannon said, delicate features drawing but into a wicked grin.
The last of the hooded servants of Pergamus fell along with the bodies fallen out of the tree. The dozen forms surrounding Rhiannon snapped around like a bowman notching an arrow, their arms up and aimed at the towering Pergamus. Rhiannon raised his arms just as each priest started to glow red. Their arms shot beams of light up and at an angle, all forming like rain off an awning over Rhiannon, who let go beams of focused power that gushed like spouting water. Their beams congealed and shot at Pergamus’ midsection.
Pergamus shuddered, and a layer of stony rock peeled away; however, he didn’t fall or cry out in pain. Right fist balled up, Pergamus swung down, striking atop Rhiannon.
Nykia gasped and the rest drew back some, save for Gorias. “Rhiannon’s gone!” She declared as Pergamus’ fist arose, showing no more priests or god.
Gorias waved at them to retreat. “Go back. This isn’t over yet.”
Pergamus stood up and focused his glowing eyes on Gorias. The moment of focus lasted just that long, for Rhiannon erupted from his chest, hands ripping open the stone covering like an earthquake splitting the ground.
Rhiannon somersaulted to the floor and swung about, catching a hunk of the falling cover and throwing it back, kneecapping Pergamus. His leg near to collapsing, Pergamus limped and then roared with fury.
Like a dog shaking off water, Pergamus shuddered all over, shards of rock flying off and falling in fine pieces like a blizzard, his mass diminishing to nearly ten feet tall. His body was now sleek and muscular and more akin to a large man, but sporting long wings flapping like a wind-disturbed tent.
Rhiannon’s bare back suddenly sprouted twin appendages, uncoiling like leather and fluttering fast like a hummingbird. When Pergamus struck out again with his fists, Rhiannon elevated and flew past him, leaving his strike to fall on the polished floor. Rhiannon turned, kicked Pergamus in the head and came near to wearing a smile.
“It’s time to go,” Rhiannon told Pergamus. “Our time is at an end.” Rhiannon swung about again, clocking Pergamus’ face with his other foot. “I won’t go unto the abyss alone.”
Pergamus turned about, grabbed Rhiannon’s ankles and extended his own wings. A fast spin, he threw Rhiannon into the mountainside. Rhiannon fell hard to the stone surface, an avalanche crashing on his head, but only making him shake off the dust and debris. Airborne, Pergamus flew at his demonic brother and never paused when the images of the twelve priests appeared, all joined at the head like spokes in a wheel. When Pergamus flew through the tangible images, a golden glow rippled across his form, tearing apart more of it, reducing him to the same size as Rhiannon, sending him off his intended path. Pergamus crashed into the wall at near to the same spot as Rhiannon. He also fell, but was met in the air by Rhiannon, who seized his legs and twisted them across each other, clearly breaking the limbs.
This move drew another gasps from the crowd, but Gorias shouted, “Its all crap, their bodies aren’t real.”
Overkill Page 24