Drynn

by Steve Vera

  “What a waste,” Jack muttered.

  Asmodeous smiled and reached out toward them. Both officers fired on instinct.

  A column of red fire roared from his palm like the ocean released into a stream. They both dove out of the way, and though the younger officer’s reflexes were quick enough to avoid the brunt, he still got tagged. The other officer was not so agile. His body was engulfed by the unnatural, red-tinged flames, as were both police cruisers. He died quickly. The younger officer was not so lucky. He writhed on the ground, trying to smother the flames that clung to his skin and uniform.

  Asmodeous transfixed Gavin with his stare, crystal amber flecked with blood. “I have kept my word, Annototh.”

  It was a strange thing, hearing his true surname spoken in the corrupt tongue of the Underworld. Something brave should have called from Gavin’s mouth, something defiant, but he just stared, numb and horrified. Without armor, both Cirena and Tarsidion might be dead. Just like that.

  “It’s gotta be the talisman,” Jack said from his side.

  And then Gavin saw it, a glint of metal from around the Overlord’s neck. Only one kind of metal shined like that. Regolith. Moonstone.

  Horror and jubilation plopped on the same couch beside him, one to his left, the other to his right. There it was, the Regolith Talisman, the whole reason for their Earthen estrangement. If they could kill him and take it, they could go home. Or Asmodeous could kill them, and he could go home. Each needed something from the other.

  “You know that which I seek,” the Overlord said, striding forward, dismissing the last moans of the burning police officer.

  Gavin knew exactly what Asmodeous was looking for—Gavin’s Quaranai, the sacred blade of all Knights of the Shard.

  Behind the striding Drynnlord, flames licked the sky, billowing black rolls of smoke into the autumn air.

  Beside Gavin, Jack’s motorcycle idled quietly. “How do you want to do this, Stav?” he asked in tight voice.

  Gavin took in a big breath. “Improvisation.” He stepped forward. “What makes you certain I still possess what you seek?”

  The Drynnlord sniffed the air and then wrinkled his nose with disdain. “Surely you did not intend to remain in this wretched place forever. Do not try and deceive me, cattle. No Shardyn Knight would willingly destroy his weapon.” He took a step forward and held out his huge, taloned hand. “Give it to me and I grant you life.”

  It was simple, really. Each of them had half the key. Gavin had his Quaranai; Asmodeous had the Regolith Talisman. Together they could do what should have been impossible. Cross the worlds once again.

  Gavin opened his jacket. There was nothing to give him. The smile dropped from Asmodeous’s liver-colored lips and twisted into a snarl.

  “You seek to mock me, Annototh, but on this I swear: Every one of your precious ilk will fall by my hand until you give it to me.” His voice climbed. “I will devour them alive. I will rend this world to bloody sinews and gorge myself on the contaminated cattle that walk this infernal world until I hold that accursed blade within my grasp!” The last word he hissed.

  He held up his muscle-knotted arms, hands open, and two daggerspurs sprung up from the top of each wrist with a wet click. “On that you have my oath, Shardyn. Your suffering begins with the slaughter of your woman.”

  Then he leaped into the air, roaring.

  *

  “Get off on this exit,” Noah said quietly.

  Skip obliged. Wind whistled continuously through the jagged holes of the crushed limousine roof.

  Lights flashed behind them. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he said, looking in the rearview mirror. Two state troopers glowered from behind.

  “Keep driving,” Noah ordered.

  “Ya think?”

  “Maybe the police can help,” Raymond said from the back seat.

  “The police cannot help us,” Noah said.

  Skip accelerated.

  “Will Gavin be all right?” Amanda asked.

  “I don’t think Asmodeous will kill him yet.”

  “How can you know?”

  Noah was quiet for a moment. “He will want Gavin to suffer,” she said, as if instructing on the proper temperature to roast a turkey. “Gavin has something Asmodeous needs and we can’t let him have it. He will be coming for what Gavin holds dearest…you.”

  Amanda flinched.

  “Don’t you worry, Amanda. We’re gonna make sure that doesn’t happen. You got the Skipster on the case.” He sure hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

  A third cruiser joined the pursuit, and dammit if traffic on the highway wasn’t getting thicker. One of them pulled up alongside.

  “Pull your vehicle over now,” the electronically amplified voice commanded.

  Skip locked eyes with the man. He put up his index finger. Hold on. Skip then dug out his badge and flashed it in the window.

  The trooper was unimpressed. One of the cruisers bumped the limousine from behind.

  “You’re gonna have to do better than that,” Skip said with a shake of his head. This was an armored limousine.

  “If you do not pull over, we will force you over,” the amplified voice came again.

  Skip shook his head.

  The cruiser responded immediately and rammed into his side.

  Behind the flashing lights, Skip saw a familiar sight: Jack Nyx on his motorcycle. Noah glanced back and noticed him too. He was pointing toward the sky.

  “Brace yourself!” she yelled. A second later, the limousine shook as if it was hit by a meteor. The ensuing roar hit them with equal force. Skip wasn’t above screaming.

  The pursuing cruisers swerved and slammed into each other as their vehicles came to a screeching halt, as did any other cars nearby. Wave “hi” to the Lord of the Underworld, folks. A ball of red lightning streaming crimson flames shot out from above them. Direct hit. The lead cruiser exploded into in flames. And then they were around the corner.

  “Max, get up here and drive!” Skip ordered, pulling his cannon from his shoulder holster.

  Petrified, Max managed a nod and crawled through the partition when the scream of tearing metal filled the air. The armored panels of the ceiling peeled away like a sardine can. Death leered inside.

  Sweet mother of God, I’m staring at the devil.

  Raymond opened fire, pulling the trigger so fast that it was near automatic. Instead of taking the bullets in the head and chest, Asmodeous used his wing as a shield. The bullets punched a constellation of purple blisters into the membrane of the wing, but didn’t go through it.

  “Now!” Skip yelled and though Max’s face was whiter than ash, the two of them flipped positions, Max sliding under him while Skip rolled over, and suddenly the limousine was swerving. Don’t you crash, you son of a bitch. If they crashed, they died.

  Noah sprung from her seat the instant the last round was fired and stabbed for his throat. Asmodeous parried with an arm that was more like a weapon than a mere appendage. A thick ridge of bone split the muscles of his forearm like a blade buried in his flesh. It came out at least six
inches and swept forward. Bone and metal collided with a solid clack. Asmodeous grinned, bearing carnivorous teeth that were sharp, pointed and serrated. Though there was a milky film covering his eyes, Skip could see malignant cruelty in the wolfish yellow beneath. Dark glee.

  He lifted to fire but Noah attacked again, balanced perfectly despite the swerving of the limousine, slashing at Asmodeous’s neck, face and chest in rapid succession. But that bladed forearm blocked every time. Two other bones jutted over his wrists like daggers—one for hacking and two for impaling. Skip noticed that his attention was on Amanda.

  Whether by sixth sense or a soldier’s conditioning, the road called Skip back. Just in time to brace himself.

  “Hold on!” Max roared as the limousine plowed through two cars driving the same speed with the scream of metal. Skip smashed into the windshield and dashboard, cracking his head against the Plexiglas, and from there the word receded into a soupy state of semiconsciousness, both dream and reality superimposing into another. And pain.

  Somebody slammed in a fresh magazine. Two shots made it out before Raymond screamed. Skip was afraid to look. When he did he saw Ray’s arm skewered to his shoulder, his gun pinned above him. Amanda was pressed into the furthest corner of the interior, while Noah relentlessly attacked with her blade. Raw, unadulterated terror radiated from their eyes like solar flares. Where the hell is the cavalry? Their screams echoed through the confines of the limousine as if he were hearing down a long tunnel.

  Asmodeous began speaking. Noah responded—maybe he was dreaming. Skip raised his Python and aimed for the right eye. See how he liked that. He pulled the trigger at the exact moment Jack hummed up alongside with his motorcycle and let loose a long burst across the back and chest of the Overlord. His .357 round smashed right into his cheek rather than the eye, but it did the job, rocking the creature’s head back.

  “Hoo-ya!” Skip bellowed to the wind.

  Asmodeous fell.

  *

  Jack rode alongside the battered limousine and tried to get Noah’s attention. He succeeded. “Go for the talisman!” he yelled into the onrushing wind.

  Noah scrunched her eyes and jiggled her head without understanding. Jack made a circle around his neck and then pointed at his chest. “Go for the talisman!” he yelled again.

  She still looked puzzled, but nodded just the same. Asmodeous was holding on to the trunk, half dragged, leaving his skin on the asphalt.

  Jack waited until Noah scurried the length of the limousine, toward the trunk, and got into striking distance.

  Wake up, sleepy, Jack thought. Show me some skin. He squeezed the trigger. The submachine gun kicked delightfully in his hand as a half platoon of ugly boils marched up the flesh of his wing.

  Asmodeous whipped his head up, snarling. His eyes were already boiling in spiderlight.

  That’s bad.

  Lucky for him, Noah was a Shardyn Knight. She buried her blade into his neck and shoulder a nanosecond before he could cast. Not only did she cleave his flesh, but the hidden metal band of his stupid talisman was cut away too, even as whatever unpleasantness he’d been about to cast was foiled. Way to go, Noah. Asmodeous exploded into a thunderclap of black vapor, the last expression on his face of incredulous, stunned anger. Come back again, asshole; no talisman, no sunlight.

  “Sayonara mother—”

  A tendril of black vapor reached out and whirled around Jack as he sped down the asphalt. He tried to break free, cut hard to the left, but like a giant centipede barbed with razor thorns, the darkness enveloped him and lifted him off his motorcycle.

  Jack wasn’t partial to screaming but this time…he made an exception.

  *

  Skip watched in disbelief as Jack’s motorcycle careened out of control and crashed into the pavement, skidding and sparking for a hundred feet. Noah’s jaw went slack. Amanda pulled her back in.

  “What just happened?” Skip asked.

  Noah sat down and stared straight ahead with glazed eyes—shaken, haunted. She spoke only one word. “Drive.”

  *

  Gavin went to Cirena first. She was burned, unconscious and had blood coming out of her ears. The wound in her side from her first clash with the Overlord had been cauterized by his lightning attack, a strange and ironic plus. He put his ear to her mouth and then to her chest, thanking God she still had a pulse. It was irregular but strong, and she was still breathing. Ever so carefully he gathered her in his arms and groaned as he lifted her off the asphalt. Thank God for adrenaline.

  He heard the murmur of dumbfounded onlookers slowly making their way back to their cars. Gavin noted in particular the brave cell phone picture-taker.

  He deposited Cirena as delicately as he could in the back seat of the Suburban and turned to Tarsidion, who’d begun to stir in the grass.

  “Can you move?” Gavin asked as he kneeled beside the giant man, trying his best to ignore the odor of burned meat.

  Tarsidion groaned softly and his eyes fluttered open. His skin had already begun to blister. “Yes. Where’s Cirena?” he asked as he struggled to sit, eyes unfocused and glazed.

  “She’s in your truck. C’mon, we have to get out of here.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s alive,” Gavin answered.

  The tentative sound of footsteps approached. It was Mr. Cell Phone. “What the hell was that?” he asked in a hushed voice filled with awe and fear.

  A battalion of sirens approached.

  “It is none of your concern,” Tarsidion grunted, rising to his full height.

  Gavin was grateful for Tarsidion’s health for two reasons: first, because he loved the man and was glad to see him alive; second, because Gavin had no idea how he would have gotten his three-hundred-pound frame in to the car. Cirena was heavy enough.

  “The hell it is, man. I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

  The young man backed away from them as Gavin helped Tarsidion stumble to the SUV, the plainsman dragging the AK-47 in his left hand. The sirens were getting louder but seemed tangled in the traffic that had amassed behind the burning cruisers.

  “You can drive, right?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then follow me.”

  The young man continued to stare at them, curious and haunted. He followed Gavin to his car, stared stupidly as Gavin hopped in.

  “Get out of here before he comes back,” Gavin grunted.

  The kid’s eyes widened.

  “It’s coming back?” he asked, backstepping. After four or five steps he turned and ran, nearly tripping as he looked over his shoulder and up at the sky. It was just a little past noon.

  “He always comes back,” Gavin said in envy as the kid disappeared into the throngs of murmuring people.

  Tarsy flicked his lights from behind and in a duet of revving engines, the two of them took off.

  Traffic was light now. No cars had gone beyond their battle, and because of the open space, Gavin hit a hundred in seconds. Within two minutes they came up on three burning police cruisers, two Stateys and a Windsor police department vehicle. Bodies were strewn around them like broken dolls.

  “This is a nightmare,” Gavin whispered aloud, horrified as he sped on. Please be okay, please don’t be dead, please be okay…At least it was Jack who was on the case. Even Gavin couldn’t ride a bike like Jack—the man was just plain crazy stupid when it came to motorcycles, could do things that defied physics. Add Noah and Skip to the equation, and Gavin figured Amanda was in the best hands p
ossible outside his own. Gavin was on his way to change that.

  The sky was a soothsayer. High-level cirrus rippled the autumn sky with wisps of silky contrails, but their happy free-ranging was about to end. In the distance, a flotilla of towering cumulus approached like anvils of war.

  Gavin took a turn as fast as he dared and hit a trail of twinkling glass and chrome that led to a silver motorcycle.

  Jack’s motorcycle.

  The shock came like a punch in the chest. Air turned to fluid. Maybe Jack was with the rest of them; maybe he’d had to jump ship. The roofless, battered limousine was just up ahead.

  Gavin looked around immediately for blood or a body but saw nothing. No body. There was still hope. Ahead of him, the limousine was pulled over.

  *

  Skip tapped his index finger against the thick barrel of his revolver, struggling to remain in emotional lockdown. His ears were ringing, the result of so much firing in such tight quarters, though the bloodcurdling roars of the Lord of the Underworld sure hadn’t helped, but the ringing wasn’t just in his ears…it was in his mind. His brain. His thinking parts. He watched Gavin’s Audi and Tarsidion’s GMC zoom up to the same shoulder the ruptured limousine was parked on with numbed detachment. There was no kind of training that could prepare a mind with dealing with this kind of inconceivable. Being battle-tested helped, but this was a different kind of trauma. A trauma to reality. There were monsters in the world, and they were no damn metaphor.

  The moment Gavin’s Audi screeched to a halt he bounded out, his face as white as a hospital wall. Tarsidion was half a step behind him, mirroring his fear.

  “Where’s Jack?” the long-haired giant demanded.

  Noah couldn’t say anything. She could only shake her head and point to the sky while tears spilled down a shell-shocked face. A greasy puff of black vapor dotted the distance.

  “How?” Gavin asked in a thick, breaking voice.

  Noah held up her hand in a bitter sort of victory. Dangling from a severed chain was a long sort of medallion, Asmodeous’s talisman, he’d been told. The Regolith Talisman. “The moment I cut it from his neck he was driven into spirit,” she said, her expression as listless as her words. “But as he…dispersed, he lashed out and just…” Noah shook her head in disbelief and mumbled, more to herself than anybody, “Took him.”