With my mind racing and chest heaving with unrestrained power, I growled in an unfamiliar guttural voice, “Now.”
Taking one last wanting look at my mortal friends, I focused on that son of a bitch Tiny, and took three heavy steps. Instantly appearing in the sanctuary, in a state of unadulterated fury, I ripped the sword in a deadly arc toward the loathsome neck of the downed nephilim.
Chapter 12
As the blade lashed into the bare wooden floor in the precise spot where Tiny’s big-ass head should have been, I snapped out of my frenzied state and looked up in complete confusion. There was a slight problem.
The giant wasn’t there.
Standing upright and forcefully yanking the blade from the floor, I slowly gazed around in mild astonishment.
The sanctuary was restored to a state of immaculate perfection. The horror movie scene was completely erased. The blood — the carnage — the cribs — the freakish junior giants — the hospital beds — the dead women — the mammoth hole in the floor — the pile of half devoured body parts — the thousands of creepy candles — gone.
Replaced by row upon row of perfectly aligned pews leading up to the pristine altar. What the hell? Spinning around in disbelief, I dropped the sword to my side in an attempt to rationalize what I was seeing. Hearing what sounded like the flutter of massive wings, I felt a brisk rush of air sweep against my back accompanied by a mocking voice.
“Ah, the power of the left hand. Such a fickle beast. And to bestow such greatness upon a tempestuous mind such as yours. How terribly irresponsible.”
Slowly turning, I found myself face to face with a very content and clearly recovered Petrovich, grinning at me with a roguish smile. Fixing him with an intense squint, I growled, “What the hell happened?”
“That is quite simple. You proved your true nature — Unworthy,” he quipped. “Wielding the Wrath with malice in your heart, Tsk, Tsk. So much more is expected from a Deacon, after all.”
Circling to my rear he happily looked around the church, and declared, “Gaze upon the consequence of the Balance disrupted. Well done. Straying from the light, you have veiled the darkness. Or haven’t you received that lesson yet?”
Spinning around to follow him, I felt my face curl into a brooding scowl. Shooting him a fervent glare, I snapped, “Shut Up, asshole.”
Still thoroughly confused as to what was happening, I felt the unbridled Wrath rearing in the deep recess of my soul. It felt different now. Calculating. Like a shrewd predator — waiting in the dark shadows of a cage. Biding its time. To free itself.
As if he could also sense it, Petrovich continued with his smug commentary as he paced around me.
“You know, Captain, I must admit to being truly startled by your ascension to the ranks of Father’s noble huntsmen. Perhaps I should have been a bit more persuasive in my offer of employ. Had I realized that your dark aura was in fact the Wrathful touch, I would have taken a completely different tact.”
“I Said — Shut Up, asshole,” I snarled feeling my grip tighten on the hilt of the spatha.
“Like the others, you are weak,” he snidely replied truly enjoying my frustration. “It is your unfortunate nature. The great human condition. However, I realize now that your master must be of a truly dire circumstance with his ranks thinning so quickly.”
Stopping and fixing me intently with his wretched crimson eyes, he coldly said, “You will be undone by the Wrath. It is corrupting. Unyielding. Wicked and marvelous. You will be crushed in its wake. It is only a matter of time. And when that time comes — You will become the very abomination you have vowed to smite.”
So that did it.
As his taunting words struck my ears, I felt like a damn bomb detonated in my head. A primal scream bellowed from my mouth and my eyes narrowed into a predatory squint as I felt the Wrath take over. Like it was trying to rip free from my body, the cloak defiantly burst into white flame as Gehenna fire encased my barzel gauntlets and sword. As my back locked into an unnatural arch, steady streams of apocalyptic white flame poured out of me and slammed Petrovich like a continuous wave of molten lava. Falling to my knees under the otherworldly force, my entire body constricted as my vision blurred to the point of surreal obscurity.
I have no memory of how long this went on. The unbridled rage fed the unfathomable power until it was no more.
Gone.
All of it.
As I felt my mind slip back into active consciousness, I willed the cloak into retreat and it vanished in a spectral flash as did the gauntlets encasing my hands. Struggling to breathe, I dropped the sword and doubled over in pain. As my vision snapped back into focus, I realized that I’d set the entire church aflame. Horrific pillars of infernal white fire shot clear through the vaulted ceiling and uncontrollably ripped through the sanctuary devouring everything in their path.
Slowly raising my head, I viewed a very satisfied and clearly unsmited Petrovich strolling toward me through the raging firestorm.
“Well done,” he casually said in passing. “We shall be the best of enemies. I just know it. And please do give my very best to your brethren. They should be along any moment now.”
He then turned and vanished as a powerful whoosh of air passed over me, accompanied by the flutter of massive wings. I really fucking hate that guy.
Leveraging all my remaining strength, I pushed off the floor and awkwardly staggered to my feet. Turning toward the vestibule, I painfully gazed through the sea of fire for any sign that Erin and the First Sergeant had made it out. Not able to see a frigg’n thing, I launched into an immediate state of panic and instinctively started moving in their direction. I managed to get two clumsy steps underway when I was promptly jerked to a halt by a powerful hand on my right shoulder, accompanied by a burly voice speaking in what sounded like a thick Scottish brogue.
“Steady, laddie. Ye don’t need to be going in there. The sergeant and the wee lassie are safe. Your men carried them away. Not to worry.”
Not understanding a frigg’n thing he’d said, I spun around to see the hulking silhouette of a man standing opposite me amidst the towering flame. With a somewhat friendly smile on his face, he just stood there gawking at me with his right hand still wrapped around my shoulder. Confused as all hell as to where he came from and whether or not he was friend or foe, I made a feeble attempt to swat his hand away as I executed one of my less impressive combat rolls toward my sword, still lying where I’d dropped it earlier. As I plummeted to the floor in a pathetic heap, a solid three feet from the spatha, I realized I had nothing left. All my strength was gone. I didn’t even get my hands out to brace the fall.
It was ugly. Adding insult to clear injury, I heard the Scottish ape start laughing. Goddamn it. This mission had effectively gone to shit. For the second time. A failure of epic proportions. The Greeks wrote poems about shit like this.
“He’s a feisty one, Aye?” I heard him mutter, as I lay completely defenseless with my face planted firmly on a floorboard. “Bit daft - but feisty. I like him.”
Feeling two meaty hands wrap around my torso, he effortlessly lifted me up to a standing position and placed one of my arms over his broad shoulder to keep me steady. Guessing at this point that he was more friend than foe, and recognizing that I wasn’t in much of a position to do anything about it even if he wasn’t, I painfully turned my head and muttered, “Are you … from the Guild?”
“Aye, lad. We are.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I managed to blurt out. “There’s more than one of you?”
As the flames continued to rip through the church, a second figure stepped into my quickly blurring line of sight. While not quite as bulky as the steroid version of Sir William Wallace, he was almost as tall. Bit more on the lanky side though. Amidst the smoke and fiery carnage, the only thing I could really make out was his hair. It was red. Insanely red. Like a goddamn red crayon exploded on the poor bastard’s head.
“New Guy!” He excitedly said holding out
his hand. “Great to finally meet you. I’m Rooster.”
“Rooster?” I scoffed, quickly starting to fade. “Really?”
Realizing I didn’t have it in me to actually raise my arm in response, he reached down and awkwardly shook my limp hand.
“This is Abernethy,” he said pointing at Braveheart. “You can call him Big A. He’s Scottish.”
“No shit? I would’ve guessed French.”
Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself at that one. You can’t beat the classics.
“What the hell did he say to me a minute ago?” I asked fighting to keep my eyes open.
“He said that your friends, First Sergeant Coates and Doctor Kelly, are quite safe. Your team pulled them out before you set off the fireworks display. And we took care of Father Watson’s remains. Not to worry. He’s one of us.”
Turning his attention from me to the large, apparently Scottish, fellow holding me up, he said, “Time to go Big A. We need to get him back to the Quartermaster. He’s fading fast.”
As he finished speaking, a large door emblazoned with illuminated angelic glyphs manifested directly behind him. Sliding my free arm over one of his shoulders, he and ‘Big A’ proceeded to carry me to the portal. No longer able to keep my eyes open, I felt my head drop stiffly against my chest as they dragged me along.
“Where are we going?” I asked in a slurred speech.
“Home, laddie. We’re going home. There’s a storm coming.”
As everything faded to black, I muttered, “Home?”
Chapter 13
Darkness yielded to a brief flash of swirling light followed by voices. Several voices. Unfamiliar. Except for the Scottish guy.
“What the hell was his name? He was a big son of a bitch. That’s it — Big something or other. And his buddy Chicken. No, that’s not right. Crazy fucking hair. Red. Wait — was it Rooster? Rooster — What the hell kind of name is that anyway?”
More light. Glimpse of people standing over me. Blurry. Darkness again. Chatter. Splash of water.
“Am I floating? Damn, this actually feels pretty good.”
Sinking. Good feelings gone.
“Swim.”
Under water.
“Can’t swim. No strength.”
Silence.
Emptiness.
Struggling to catch my breath, I determinedly stomped my way up a winding, narrow path carefully cut into the side of a mountain.
“Goddamn — it’s cold.”
At least a solid foot of heavy snow made every step a labored effort. A persistent burning ache in both of my legs indicated I was rapidly nearing muscle failure.
“Don’t even think about stopping. Pick it up. You can move faster than this. Push yourself.”
My face stung from the persistent pelting of wet snowflakes whipping about in the howling gusts of wind. I couldn’t feel my hands. Frostbite was settling in.
“This is nothing. Step it out. Almost there. Move your ass.”
Feeling that most unpleasant sensation of a muscle spasm flicker in my right leg, I very ungracefully stumbled, and subsequently plummeted to the frosty ground in a pathetic heap.
As my face made contact with the frozen tundra, my dreamlike trance abruptly ended and I instantly snapped back into the moment. Feeling like I ended up on the wrong end of an epic bar brawl, all I could muster was — “Frigg’n Ow.”
Unfortunately, my face was buried in several inches of snow, and I was pretty sure no actual words made it out of my mouth.
Exhausted muscles and frozen body parts screamed in protest as I fought to push myself off the ground. Looking around in utter shock, I grumbled, “How the hell did I get here?”
As a well-timed gust of wind blasted me with a blanket of frigid air, I exasperatedly muttered, “And where the hell is here?”
Bringing myself to a full upright position, with thick snow piled around my knees, I was graced with another surge of agonizing pain. Just for good measure, I tossed in a second — “Frigg’n Ow.”
Regaining consciousness in strange places seemed to be my new thing. Couldn’t say that I enjoyed it all that much, but at least it was becoming rather familiar. This time was different though. Unlike the past few occurrences, there was nothing gradual about it. It was instantaneous. Almost violent.
How did I get here?
A second ago my sorry ass was being hauled out of the burning church by a Scottish hulk and his carrot-topped buddy.
Was I sleep walking? Was that even possible?
It was definitely a first. Even for me. Not particularly pleasant either. For the record.
“If this is home — I am so moving,” I grumbled, while gathering myself to a somewhat functional state, as I wiped a thick layer of hoarfrost from my face. Letting out a long, deliberate sigh, I slowly turned to survey my latest set of surroundings. As fate would have it, I was indeed smack in the middle of a goddamned blizzard. Although I could barely see my hand as I held it up to my face, it seemed that I was on the side of a mountain. The towering wall of rock to my immediate left and the bottomless abyss shortly to my right gave it away.
It seemed I was steadily making my way up a narrow path that wound through the cliff face at a daunting grade. Despite the snow, it was barely wide enough to support travel by a single person. Exactly why I was performing this particular action and how I got here in the first place — still remained a complete and utter mystery. Making the mental note that I seriously needed to figure out why I never woke up on a nice beach somewhere with a cocktail, I figured it was best to keep moving. I was evidently in a hurry. Pulling the hood of the cloak over my snow dusted head, I begrudgingly started back on my peculiar trek.
As I started to move I felt a warming pulse emanate through my frozen and exhausted body, restoring me to a state of perfect health. The cloak — it was protecting me. Feeling a little better about the situation, I slugged my way through knee-high snow for what seemed like a solid hour, when I started to make out a faint glow of light in the near distance. Moving toward it with as much speed as I could possibly muster, I felt the trail start to level out as my quads applauded in gratitude.
Although I was pretty sure I wasn’t at the peak, I’d evidently reached some sort of a plateau. Good thing because it felt like I was about to cough up a lung. The cloak might have been keeping me warm, but it certainly wasn’t giving me the agility and endurance boost that I’d come to rely on. Thinking that couldn’t necessarily be a good thing, I kept pushing forward.
Upon taking a few more painful steps, I abruptly, and quite unexpectedly stepped out of the winter wonderland and into a small cave-like tunnel. Just like that. It was tall enough that I could walk upright without ducking, and about twice as wide as the path. Medieval looking lanterns composed of tarnished metal hung sporadically throughout the jagged rock walls, casting a faint orange glow on the immediate floor and ceiling. The ominous motif of deep shadows and dim light revealed that the tunnel wound through the mountain for as long as the eye could see. The unnatural sound of grinding rock caused me to quickly spin around, just in time to see the opening that I stepped through, just seconds before, close upon itself.
“I didn’t want to go back out there anyway,” I muttered.
Figuring it was onward and outward, I started moving down the enigmatic tunnel. As quickly as I took the first step, the cloak retreated in a spectral flash, and I found myself clothed in a linen tunic and matching pants. And of course, I was barefoot. Again. Goddamit. Thinking that was completely unacceptable, I willed the cloak back into being. When absolutely nothing happened, I called for it again.
And nothing happened. Again.
“That can’t be good,” I grumbled.
Getting the sneaking suspicion that somehow Stephen was involved, I felt my stomach churn with looming dread. No doubt he was less than impressed with my performance during the second trial. It was piss poor. Perhaps even tragic. Petrovich and his freakish band of car
nies escaped into the ether. And there was that small matter of torching the church with apocalyptic hellfire in the process. Not good. This was going to suck.
Inhaling a deep breath, I picked up the pace and began to purposefully stride through the passage. No sense in dragging it out. Although I was never one to back down from a well deserved ass chewing, I had the solid suspicion that this was probably going to be a bit more dramatic. Like eternal damnation in a flaming ball of judgment fire type dramatic. Lost in melancholy thought, I continued to make my way along the dimly lit path at a forced pace. And it just kept on a’ coming. The longer I walked, the longer it seemed to get. Never any semblance of an endpoint. Just more tunnel. And unlike cowbell, I did not have a need for more tunnel.
As my sullen attitude gave way to frustration, I abruptly pulled to a halt and it hit me. The mountains. The frigg’n mountains that I could never reach from the green hilltop where I first met Stephen. That must be where I am. The frigg’n irony. Classic Cloakboy.
“Ok,” I muttered while nodding my head. “I get it.”
Closing my eyes, I attempted to clear my mind of the dark aggravation and accept that which I could not change. Within a few short moments a serene focus slowly replaced my clouded thoughts, and the sound of grinding rock to my immediate front snapped me from my momentary trance. I opened my eyes just in time to see an opening slowly form in the solid rock wall. A wave of welcoming warm air gracefully rolled over me from the cavern within. Knowing, without a doubt, who was waiting for me, I stepped inside to take what I had coming. For the first time in my adult life I was about to be fired. Hopefully not literally — really bad choice of words, given the circumstances.
As I passed through the portal into the waiting cavern, I found myself standing, somewhat dumbfounded, in a massive rotunda lit only by the roaring fire ablaze in the pit-like hearth, located in the dead center. The smooth, almost shiny rock material making up the chamber wall glistened in the flickering light, which also cast a steady wraithlike glow throughout the vast domed ceiling. Standing on the perimeter of the fire-pit were two figures engaged in, what sounded like, a spirited conversation. I couldn’t actually hear the words, but the tone was not exactly friendly — if you know what I’m saying.
Rise of the Giants: The Guild of Deacons, Book 1 Page 12