[Demonworld #2] The Pig Devils

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Wodan slung the long rifle onto his back, then gripped the smaller automatic rifle. He rose and stalked about cautiously in the dim light. Now that he had gotten into the Palace by distracting the Third Force Guardians with an enraged dragon, he was unsure what to do. He knew that there must be a way into the bunker where Vachs had to be hiding.

  He swung around statues, around corners. The place was full of rooms and hallways. Paintings of the Founding Fathers silently stared out from the blue. He heard the cry of the dragon, felt his skin prickle again. He could hear Third Force men occupying stairwells and the upper floors, but they seemed content to leave the Memory House vacant; perhaps they did not want the dragon’s fury to extend to Haven’s priceless relics. He went down many small hallways, heart racing. Perhaps twenty minutes or half an hour passed in this way as the building shook from all sides. He tried another hallway, then found a door at the end, ajar. He went in.

  The hallway was long and made of black stone. A door stood at the end. Just as he started down the hall, he heard voices from the other side. Shrill complaints, then an overriding, barking voice. He thought about running back down the hall, then froze. The door opened suddenly. He saw white-suited Guardians with shotguns. They were distracted, then their eyes fixed on him. Wodan raised his rifle and fired a burst into them, then bolted from the hall.

  * * *

  The Guardians fell back like dominos and knocked Udo onto his back; Udo fell into the tech and comm men, who rolled halfway down the stairs before they could stop. Only Cramer leaped to the side and hugged the wall in time, nostrils flaring.

  “The hell just happened?!” shrieked Udo.

  “Infiltrator!” barked a Guardian. “Situation is red!”

  “It was him,” hissed Cramer. “I... I saw him!”

  One Guardian helped Udo stand while others stood over a fallen companion who stared upward, red spreading across the chest of his fine suit. Udo lumbered forward and watched the man’s eyes dim. He picked up the dead man’s shotgun.

  A tech man sat in the doorway, clutching his leg and hissing between breaths. “Not trained for this,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not trained for this!”

  Udo’s hysteria melted slowly. His face relaxed. He raised his head slowly, said, “You’re right, you’re not trained for this sort of work. Tech and comm personnel, hand out your guns to the rest of us.”

  The shaken men complied. Cramer eyed Udo, tilting his head.

  “Now,” said Udo. “The rest of you, use the tech boys as shields. We’re going out there.”

  The men cried out. An Office Guardian seized a comm worker by the arm and hauled him forward. A tech man stalked down the stairs loudly and screamed, “Screw you, sir! Screw your ass, man!”

  Cramer glared down the stairwell, said, “If you don’t get back up here, it’s desertion.”

  “Desert your ass, man!” shrieked the tech, throwing his middle finger up behind him.

  Cramer raised his revolver and fired once into the man’s back. He toppled over and flopped down the stairs.

  The Guardians stared at the scene, dumbstruck. The tech personnel looked about, faces white, shining with sweat.

  “Nothing like getting your hands wet, eh, son?” said Udo, smiling for the first time in weeks. “Let’s go.”

  The Office Guardians pushed two of the tech personnel into the hall, guns held before them. The hall was empty. They pushed the human shields forward. Udo walked behind them and cocked his shotgun loudly.

  “Try to be quiet, sir,” a Guardian hissed over his shoulder.

  Cramer brought up the rear. He cast one last look at the tech with the wounded leg. The man laid against a wall taking shallow breaths. The tech returned the look, then parted his mouth sadly. Cramer smiled, then left the man alone.

  * * *

  Wodan breathed deep and knelt against the wall of his vantage point. He heard footsteps emerging from the hall. He gripped his rifle, swung around the corner – and saw two men emerge slowly, hands upraised, with gunmen behind them. Wodan hissed and whirled back around the corner. Gunshots rang out, blasting the wall nearby. Wodan retreated further down the hall. He heard men screaming behind him, then a Guardian shouted, “Get back here, you little shits! That’s desertion!”

  Bastards! Wodan thought. They were using humans as shields!

  Wodan flew down the hall and heard feet pounding behind him. Came to a bend, whirled about, fired rounds behind him without aiming, then took the turn. He came back to the great hall of the Memory House. The serene face of a Founding Father standing over a fountain in the surreal blue light stood in sharp contrast to his own terror at being outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered. Panting, Wodan ran among the statues, turning wildly. Heard the sharp crack of handguns, the roar of a shotgun, twice, three times, and heard statues chipping behind him. He feinted right, then swung left at a tall statue with its arms outstretched; with a piercing snap the arm fell and shattered on the floor. Wodan dove into a hall, rolled against the wall, and raised his rifle. He saw forms scurrying on the far side. He lowered his rifle and ducked into the wide hallway.

  Flashes of light glinted outside as the dragon’s assault continued. Wodan saw sparks raining down through a line of windows. A sharp report of gunfire hit his former position at the entrance to the hall, then a window shattered and sprinkled the floor. Wodan reached a bend in the hall, then stopped as he realized it led back into the main room of the Memory House where his enemies were already gathered. He turned, heard shouts behind him, then turned and ducked as Guardians entered the hall and fired at him. He was surrounded.

  Just then, there was a deafening roar and the entire floor shook as the wall exploded and the red dragon forced his way through.

  * * *

  Out of the five Office Guardians, only the one in the rear saw the terrible eyes of the red dragon fixed on his comrades as they charged ahead. He watched in horror as the walls buckled and caved in. Lightning tore through the great hall, shattering statues and melting the ceiling and vaporizing flesh. He saw a giant red arm churning up piles of rubble, even saw a comrade’s charred head and spine clinging to a mesh of scales. The Office Guardian blasted his combat shotgun at the arm, over and over. The thing was not immortal; chunks of skin tore free and blood sprayed in great bucketfuls on the floor. He could see that the great monster was already wounded by the red smears left by the arm’s passage; he had no doubt that scores of Guardians in the upper floors were filling the monster with bullets.

  He saw his three remaining comrades stumble away from the remains of the ruined hall, eyes and mouths in perfect O shapes, their clean white suits now covered in soot and blood. Then he saw a black blur from the ruined hall’s other entrance, the flash of a cape, and flashes from an automatic rifle that cast light on a wicked face contorted into a death-mask. As the boy fired on them, one Guardian was struck and arched his back unnaturally. He kicked his feet forward and fell backwards, head smacking into the ground so hard it left a spiderweb on the stone floor. Another Guardian’s head jerked sideways from an impact wound, but the third companion ducked into an open doorway.

  Then the boy’s eyes flicked towards the Office Guardian who had been watching the entire time. He felt frozen, and lifted his handgun lamely. The boy fired and he felt something kick in his guts. The boy hissed like an animal, then tossed his empty rifle to the floor and ran among the statues. The Guardian fell to his knees, unable to move.

  He heard something heavy strike the building, then saw cracks spreading along the ceiling. The entire Palace shuddered, then a great chunk of the ceiling fell in a shower of dust and shattered pillars and water. The torrent of debris tore through the floor, missing him by only a few feet.

  * * *

  Only two Office Guardians remained. One peered around the doorway and saw that the red dragon had left. A gaping hole in the Palace showed black snow falling through endless night. He saw his comrade crouching near a pile of rubble that had torn a
hole through the ceiling and floor. The Guardian looked about, then approached his comrade.

  “You get hit?” he said.

  “What do you think?” said the other, holding his belly. “Hurts like a motherfuck!” Suddenly he remembered their situation, and added, “The kid, h-he went that way, man!”

  The other nodded, knowing full well that it was up to them to protect the Minister. He grabbed a fallen comrade’s handgun, held it alongside the other, and raced down the hall where his friend pointed.

  The wounded man forced himself to stand. He propped himself up with his shotgun, then limped forward. Was sure the bone was chipped - no way could a gunshot hurt this bad otherwise. He felt dizzy. He heard gunfire ahead, small arms, a rifle – then silence.

  “What’s going on!” he shouted.

  “I got him!” came the reply from his comrade.

  “Say again?”

  “I got him! The kid’s dead!”

  * * *

  Seloid Cramer left the others to do his own hunting. Shooting the tech earlier had given him an unbelievable rush. Now his usual cool had kicked back in - only more intense than ever before, like a block of ice in his chest. He was filled with both a sense of inevitability and the feeling that anything was possible. It was the same feeling he got when Aegis Vachs benefited from his assistance. He could shatter the world!

  He stalked about. He avoided the others, thinking that Wodan would probably choose the least likely spot to hide and attack from. Eventually he heard a gunfight, shouting, and felt a shudder run through the Palace. When he heard someone say they had killed Wodan, he felt his heart sink.

  On a whim he jogged back to the stairwell that led to the basement. He opened the door and saw the wounded comm man still lying on the floor, holding his poor leg. The man looked up at him, face ashen and weak.

  “You know what,” said Cramer. “I’ve got a bad feeling about you, and I don’t want you coming back to make trouble later.”

  “Not... going to do… anything,” the man muttered.

  Cramer felt his heart singing, alive and filling him with power. He put the revolver to the man’s forehead and pulled the trigger. The thing kicked in his hand and in a terrific jerk of violence the man’s head caved in and changed the wall into something indescribable. While Cramer caught his breath, the man keeled over on his side.

  * * *

  Mevrik Clash flew with six gunships beside her. Chatter on the radio said that a legion of Ugly were pounding the Main Force training grounds and were threatening the Command Center itself. Apparently a line of artillery in the north had been the only thing holding the Ugly back, but two dragons had decimated the line. Backup artillery units were hidden in the woods nearby, but were waiting for the dragons to leave so that they could set up. The dragons were chasing infantry from the area, and were biding their time. Sevrik was ordering units from the western front to draw inward and stop invaders from rampaging in the center. Civilian casualties seemed unending.

  Ahead and to the left, Mevrik saw hundreds of zeppelins from the eastern front hanging over the city. Bombs dropped continually. Rage bubbled up in her, clouded her mind, sharpened her instincts.

  “Let’s sweep and hit some of those,” she said.

  A voice on the radio said, “Thought we were gonna get those dragons.”

  “Who’s ranking leader here?” she asked.

  Pause, then, “Are you?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t know who is.”

  Harsh chuckling, then, “I don’t know either, I don’t think any of us is. You wanna hit those zeps?”

  “Yeah!” she said.

  The gunships swerved and accelerated. The slow-moving zeppelins hovered into view. Pinprick-lights from machineguns barked along their sides. Mevrik buzzed past one and saw it bob unsteadily in her wake. She felt more than heard the massive machineguns on either side of her ship open up. She could dimly make out the whooping holler of the country boy. The gunships took a high-speed swoop through their ranks and zeppelins exploded one after another in their wake. They spun and dropped slowly, with invaders leaping to their deaths or clutching at heaving prows. A bullet smacked into her windshield and spiderwebbed it. A massive zeppelin full of motley invaders hung before her, so she swerved and buzzed right past the behemoth. Guns blazed from her sides and, in a flash of heat and violence, the country boy shouted, “We got her! We got her!”

  The seven gunships raced ahead with a trail of zeppelins burning and crashing into the ground behind them.

  “Calling any Wing units,” said Mevrik. “Any other Wing units, please respond. We’re going to hit the dragons on the eastern front. Any assistance would be much appreciated. Over.”

  The voice of her father crackled over the radio. “Girl, I think you all are it. Over.”

  * * *

  In the Memory House, the wounded Guardian limped towards the hallway. He couldn’t wait to see the boy’s bloody carcass, a job well done. He rounded the turn.

  Ahead, he saw his comrade kneeling, hands behind his head. Wodan stood behind him, long rifle held before him.

  “Sorry, man,” said the kneeling Guardian.

  “Son of a bitch!” screamed the wounded Guardian.

  Wodan’s high-powered rifle barked. The wounded Guardian’s nuts blew out the back of his pants and smacked loudly on the wall behind him. He wailed, staggered back, then another blast tore through his intestines and flung handfuls of coils out behind him. The kneeling Guardian lunged forward and rounded the bend as another round tore into the wall beside him. Wodan walked to the edge of the hall, saw the man running ahead, then raised his rifle and blasted him in the back. The Guardian fell, slid along the floor, and came to a stop.

  Wodan heard the sound of a radio. He walked towards the center of the great hall, now a scene of chaos and devastation. A voice echoed through the hall, grunting, demanding backup.

  “We need backup, too,” said the radio, weakly. “Sir, there’s nothing left... monster tore through us. Gave it everything we had... you should see this place, there’s nothing left, can’t believe the whole building hasn’t collapsed.”

  “Who is this?!” barked the voice.

  “Uh... Private Samuels, sir... I - I don’t know where my commanding officer is. My whole unit’s dead, I don’t... the dragon’s gone, it left, I think, but... I don’t know if there’s anyone... I mean, Third Force is, it’s… it’s fuckin’ wiped out, sir...”

  Wodan strode toward the hole in the ceiling, saw girders and columns jutting up from the floor, water raining down from above. Shem Udo stood directly across the gap. The two eyed one another. The shotgun shook in Udo’s hand. Pink boiled up into his face. Blond eyelashes quivered with hatred.

  “Drop the gun,” said Wodan.

  The two stared at one another.

  Wodan sidestepped to a pillar and laid his back against it.

  “Put the gun down,” said Wodan. “We’re going to go see Aegis Vachs.”

  Wodan felt metal press against his head. Seloid Cramer rounded the pillar to his right, lips quivering into a smile, said, “Hah! Drop your gun, dipshit!”

  Dread seized Wodan’s guts. To screw up, when he was so close...

  He let the rifle clatter to the floor, glaring at the young man. Saw in horrible detail his soft features, his neatly combed hair. To be tricked by such a soft office lackey. He heard Shem Udo across the gap, laughing and clapping, snorting at the end.

  “I’ve already killed two men today,” said Cramer. “It’ll be three once I blow your brains out, you criminal!”

  Wodan seethed, heart twisting with rage. His arms flexed at his sides. Just then, with a gun at his head, he remembered that today was already appointed to be his day to die. He had nothing to lose.

  “I wonder,” said Wodan, “just how strong you are.”

  Just as Cramer said, “Huh?” Wodan smacked his left hand against Cramer’s wrist and sent the gun crashing into the pillar. The gun fired, deafening
Cramer. Wodan saw the young man’s look of surprise frozen in minute detail as he leaped forward and brought his right elbow up and around, smashing into his soft face. Again and again Wodan’s fists tore into Cramer’s ribs; when he felt the office lackey buckle, he brought his knee up and folded him in half. Just as Wodan dived for his rifle, he heard the pillar chip overhead as Udo blasted it with his shotgun. Wodan lifted the rifle, aimed, and saw Udo retreating among the statues. He glanced at Cramer to make sure that he was unconscious, then ran after Udo.

  He ran among the statues. He threw his back against one, then peered around the edge. He heard someone sobbing.

  “Come out!” Wodan shouted. “Don’t make me kill you!”

  The sobbing stopped. Silence. Then a great, sloppy inhalation, a wheeze. “Don’t kill me...” said Udo, far away.

  Wodan crept from his hiding place. “I won’t,” he said. “And I don’t want to. Just come out. All I want to do is talk.”

  The crying redoubled. “Don-n-n-n’t kill muh-me...”

  “I’m serious, I just want to talk!” Wodan knew exactly where he was now, in a corner concealed by a wall. Wodan leaned against the wall.

  “I c-can hear you!” Udo shrieked. “Oh God! Oh GOD!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Wodan. “I’m going to sit here until you come out.” Wodan waited for the man to relax, then whirled around the wall, weapon raised. He saw Udo kneeling, shotgun held at his side. Tears, real tears, streamed down his shining, pink face.

  “Drop it and get up,” said Wodan.

  Udo raised the gun slowly, shaking terribly.

  “Drop it,” said Wodan. “There’s no reason for anyone else to die. You can keep living.”

  When Wodan said that, Udo closed his eyes and relaxed. The words felt real to him. He dropped the gun.

  “You work for me now,” said Wodan. “I rule Haven from now on. You do as I tell you. Understand?”

  Udo nodded, relieved. Another person would worry about things from now on.

  “You’re not the one who has to die,” said Wodan.