Demonworld

by Kyle B. Stiff

  They crouched under the lee of a flat boulder, where the rain did not fall but ran in thick torrents at their feet. Rachek fell. Wodan gripped her leg. Hot blood gushed between his fingers. Tears burned behind his face.

  “Max,” she cried softly, “Ma-a-ax.”

  The fear rushing through them turned into cold dread. “We’re going to die,” someone said. “We’re really going to die.”

  “Rachek,” said Wodan, bitterly, “this is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  She looked at him, then her eyes lost focus and grew dim. The blood would not stop. She tried to touch his face, but could not. “Don’t cry,” she said quietly. “I thought it would work, too.”

  Wodan lowered his face. He could not look at the light dying in her.

  “It was beautiful, Wodi,” she said. “It was wonderful.”

  The storm lulled for one moment. They heard heavy footfalls. Near, very near. The storm grew again.

  Wodan raised his head. He looked at all of his friends. He knew that they were trapped in a nightmare, and he knew that he was the one who’d brought them there. The horror of that idea was inconceivable to him. He knew that there was only one thing he could do to prevent it from happening.

  “I won’t let this happen to you,” he said. “I’m going to draw them away, higher up the mountain. Barkus wants me. Take Rachek and get back down the mountain. Find a checkpoint. Find the Guardians. Save yourselves.”

  Wodan nodded to one of them, a strong man who took Rachek’s leg and held it tightly. Another grabbed her underneath her shoulders and prepared to carry her. Wodan rose. He squeezed Rachek’s blood between his fingers.

  “I’ll make sure my promises about a better place come true for you,” said Wodan. “Even if they don’t come true for me.”

  They were too numb to protest. Quietly he left them and went into the storm.

  ***

  Wodan walked slowly through the storm. He scrambled over a steep ravine. He climbed a sharp rise. He reached a tilted land where the rain hit full on, splashing off sharp boulders and running in a thick sheet that soaked his boots. He stood and waited. He had long since lost his rifle, but he was armed with Rachek’s heavy revolver, the grip still warm from her hand. He rolled a handful of bullets in his palm, killing time until he could be sure that his friends had fled the area. Finally he raised the gun and fired it into the air.

  “Barkus!” he screamed, firing again and again. “Ba-a-a-ar-ku-u-u-us, you son of a bitch! I’m over here! Come and find me, Barkus!” He screamed into the wind until his throat was raw, firing until his hand was numb. When he was down to his last six bullets, he loaded them into the revolver and waited.

  Then he heard it. The laughter. It had found him.

  ***

  “It’s a trap,” said one of the Ugly.

  “So?” said Barkus. He stood tall, out in the open where the wind lashed at him. He ignored the pain of the cold water beating into him. The other three crouched under a rock.

  “I don’t wanna walk into some trap,” said another. “He’s clever. That’s how a little pussy like him gets by.”

  “You fools,” said Barkus, without turning. “Don’t you know that we can’t lose? Don’t you know that we have a devil watching over us?”

  The others were silent.

  “We have the eyes of the gods watching over us, you pups!” said Barkus, grinding his teeth. “That boy’s death is guaranteed! We are marked for victory!”

  “Knew it!” said an Ugly, peering through binoculars. The others moved to see. “Barkus, I just saw a bunch of ’em movin’ back down the mountain. That boy’s tryin’ to draw us away from the others.”

  The Ugly glanced at one another, then one said, “If he’s guaranteed to die, like you say, then we should pick off the others first, right? I mean, they goin’ back down the mountain. We can hit them now, then go after the boy last, since he’s, you know, doomed or whatever.”

  Barkus shook his head in pure frustration. “You shits don’t get it at all!” he said.

  “But, Barkus -”

  “Go and run, then!” said Barkus, turning on him, staring him down. “Kill those others, run home, kill yourselves, do whatever you want, I don’t care!”

  Wodan’s voice rode the storm. Lightning flashed and lit the hollows of Barkus’s face.

  “As for me,” said Barkus, “I’m going to kill that boy. I don’t need any of your help. Your doubt is an affront to the gods. My soul belongs to something greater than you can possibly understand.”

  His personal guard, armed with a shotgun, rose and said, “I’ll go with you, lord. You know I’d follow you to Hell.”

  Barkus spat near the others, reloaded his handguns carefully, then stalked away with his servant. The other two shrugged, then went to find Wallach so they could continue the hunt.

  ***

  Wodan screamed once more, then instinct licked at the back of his neck and he knew that his killers were coming. He ran among the tall boulders, crouched, and listened. He could hear nothing through the din of the storm. He moved deeper among the stones.

  He caught movement from his peripheral vision, something like a cape flying. He turned quickly, fell, and aimed his gun at emptiness. Lightning flared. Nothing. He rose painfully and stalked among the stones, peering quickly around corners. He stroked the gun.

  Relax, he thought, gathering his resolve. I don’t even have to accomplish anything. I’ve probably already bought enough time for the others to escape.

  He licked his lips, blinked rain from his eyes.

  “Barkus!” he shouted suddenly. “You out there? You hear me, Barkus? I’m not afraid of you!”

  He heard laughter in the darkness, so near that his blood clotted around icicles of fear. In another direction he heard feet splashing heavily through the water. He rose and ran, crouching beneath the boulders, trying to get away from the footsteps but nearer to the laughter.

  He rounded a wall of jagged rock, then turned with the idea of doubling-back, thinking that it might confuse the killers. Suddenly the rock nearby exploded, shrieking and sparking, as bullets landed inches from his face. He stalled, then ran, leaped, grabbed the top of the wall, and flung himself over the side just as Barkus emptied both barrels into the stone wall. He could feel the impacts from the other side. His chest hurt so bad from his heart pounding that he had to feel himself to be sure he hadn’t been shot. He forced himself to breathe, then slogged through the water to run further along the wall. He could hear Barkus tearing through the water, then stop where Wodan had hidden only a moment before.

  Wodan hugged the wall, wondering when an Ugly would come around either side. He started to move, but picking his feet up was so loud that…

  “I can hear you, boy,” said Barkus, on the other side of the stone wall. “I know you’re there.”

  Wodan planted his feet and leaned his back against the natural wall. He knew that Barkus was most likely doing the same thing on the other side.

  “How does it feel?” said Barkus. “How does it feel to be hunted?”

  “Hunted?” said Wodan. “People don’t usually go out on a hunt with two dozen of their friends and then come home with a couple of bloody survivors. This was a battle, Barkus. We threatened your overblown, fragile ego.”

  “Ego!” Barkus shouted. “You should talk, Your Majesty! I could just look at you and see that you thought you were God’s gift to the world. You need to be humbled. And so you will, when you’re bleeding out from a gut-shot. Any regrets, little prince?”

  “I just wish I’d been stronger,” said Wodan.

  “Hey, don’t get down on yourself now!” said Barkus, laughing. “You didn’t do so bad. Got me running halfway across the world just to see you dead, didn’t you?”

  “No, you don’t understand. You’ve got some potential, Barkus. You’re a natural leader. You’re just sick, rotten to the core. If I’d been stronger, I could have changed you. Taught you wha
t it takes to be a human being. We could have fought demons together. But I’m too weak to change you. The only option I have is to kill you.”

  Wodan felt power course through him as he made the decision to let go of his fear, move his feet, and kill Barkus. He turned to move – then saw a large Ugly raider standing before him, a shotgun aimed at his heart.

  “Dead,” said the Ugly, smiling. Wodan noted clearly the rain dripping down his scarred head, the missing teeth inside his smile. “Looks like I got you.”

  “You never broke me,” said Wodan, his will strangely firm even though he stood on the brink of eternal darkness.

  “I can live with that,” said the Ugly. He pulled the trigger, then a flame sputtered and died where the stock met the barrel. The killer’s jaw dropped as he realized that water had soaked through where plastic and metal joined in the shoddy buckshot shells.

  “Can you?” said Wodan. He raised his revolver and fired once. The man’s face shook and imploded as the metal round caved in his nose and forehead. The dead body fell backwards with a terrific splash.

  On the other side of the wall, Barkus waited, suddenly unable to breathe. The will of the storm faded. The thunder grew weak, then shafts of light pierced the dusty black sky. Suddenly he heard the boy’s feet walking through the water, regular, determined. For the first time since he’d sold his soul, a terrible fear pierced his heart. He heard the boy say, “Well, Barkus, you got any more flunkies to send after me?”

  “Y-yes!” Barkus shouted. “I’ve got a reinforcement brigade of… twenty fighters! No, thirty! Coming up the mountain! I can see them now!” He slogged through the water, desperate to be away.

  “I don’t see anyone,” said Wodan, still walking.

  “I’ve got a devil protecting me!” said Barkus, trying to force authority into his voice. Still the footsteps continued. He tripped and fell, casting about for one of his guns. “If you touch me, that devil will kill you!”

  Wodan laughed, said, “I don’t see him either.”

  “Do you even know why they kicked you out of your home in the first place?” Barkus shrieked, desperate to make the boy doubt himself. He found his gun and pulled it from the water, then dropped his other gun.

  “Maybe I’ll never know,” said Wodan.

  He could not slow the boy down. Barkus felt insanity threatening to engulf him, for he knew the boy would come around the wall at any moment.

  “W-wait!” Barkus screamed. “I… I have something incredibly important to tell you!”

  “I think I’ve heard enough out of you, boy,” said Wodan.

  Just then a scream flew across the open reaches of stone. Wodan turned. In the new light of the day he could see several friends on a lower tier far away. Three primitives stood over Rachek, who was laid on the ground; they raised their hands in surrender as Wallach strode up to them, shotgun raised.

  Wodan ran for them. He tore through the water faster than ever before, feet pounding stone, lungs filling with fire. The wind raked across his face. He heard Barkus firing from far away. He rounded a corner. He slid, kneecap biting into hard stone. He rose and ran still faster downhill in a suicidal rush.

  ***

  “Go find the others,” Brad said weakly. “Go find Wodi.”

  “You gonna die?” said Mohawk.

  “Heck no, ’course not,” he said, but his face was pale and bloodless. He handed his friend the shotgun. Mohawk held it alongside his rifle, then turned and ran to find the others.

  ***

  Agmar crawled across the rocks. He had followed the sound of gunshots through the darkness until, finally, the light had broken through. He found himself on a narrow ledge that twisted around the face of a sheer rock wall.

  “On your knees, slavemeat!” he heard, far below and around a corner. Agmar crawled and peeked around his aerie. There, on the side of the mountain, below a high ledge, he saw three of his friends, hands raised, covering Rachek. The monster Wallach stepped before them, shotgun raised. He was flanked by three Ugly. Agmar wheezed painfully. He caught movement, then saw two more Ugly ambling casually along a narrow path to join their brothers. He did not know it, but these were the two Ugly that abandoned Barkus in order to find the more sensible lieutenant Wallach; besides Barkus and the flesh demon, all of the remaining Ugly were now gathering in one area.

  Agmar watched in horror as Wallach and his companions fired point blank on the standing primitives. Their bodies fell, forming a wreath around their sleeping queen.

  As he raised his rifle, Agmar knew that he would die. The long trails of his life twisted before his eyes. I’ll make up for what the Ugly turned me into, he thought.

  Agmar positioned his rifle along the ledge and aimed at Wallach. He breathed deep and slow. At that moment the two Ugly strolling along the path called to their friends, who turned and waved. As they turned, they immediately spotted Agmar. Agmar panicked, fired, and missed. Wallach pointed up at the ledge, shouted, “Sniper! Up there! Kill that bastard!”

  Hands shaking terribly, Agmar tried to work the bolt on his rifle to chamber another round, but was forced to roll away as the Ugly fired on the ledge, sending up rock dust into his eyes. Agmar cursed violently, knowing full well he’d never get another chance at killing Wallach. He crawled backwards along the ledge, hoping to at least hit one of the Ugly along the path beneath him. Then, amidst the gunfire, he heard a primitive war-cry.

  Peeking over the ledge, he could see a primitive with a Mohawk bounding up the pass bearing a rifle and shotgun. The two Ugly below Agmar looked about in confusion, then raised their guns. Mohawk ran straight at them maniacally, then fired both guns. One raider’s chest armor bounced as if struck by a sledge hammer and his neck opened up in an incredible torrent. Before the other could return fire, his ally’s corpse flew through the air and crashed into him, pinning him to the ground.

  Mohawk threw his rifle to the side and cocked the pump-action shotgun with his free hand. A smoking shell spun in the air. Wallach and his three nearest allies sent a volley of hot lead down the pass, tearing Mohawk’s body to shreds. He never slowed in his wild run, but crashed full-speed into the Ugly who was already pinned beneath his friend. The Ugly gasped and flailed like a turtle on its back.

  Agmar rose on his knees, determined to use the distraction to get off a shot. But the Ugly were jacked up on adrenaline and immediately turned back to him, blasting his position over and over. Agmar crouched and hugged the ground, then heard an insane shrieking draw near.

  Distracted by Agmar and Mohawk, no one saw Wodan racing down the steep ledge above them. In a blur he tore across the incline in a suicidal rush, then screamed, “Wa-a-a-a-allach!” with enough force to strike terror into the hardened killers. Wallach and his allies turned in time to see Wodan leap from the ledge above them, arms extended like some bird of prey dropping on them from a blindingly blue sky. Wallach raised his shotgun, but was too slow; Wodan crashed into the man’s chest with his feet planted into him, pushing the giant back with incredible force. As Wallach stumbled backward, they grabbed one another, then Wodan planted Rachek’s revolver into his neck and fired round after round, nearly severing Wallach’s head as gallons of red gore erupted and covered them both. Wallach’s legs jerked about mechanically, dancing on the edge of a sheer cliff, then both of them fell over the side.

  The Ugly were dumbstruck. Then they heard someone grunting down below.

  “He’s hangin’ on the side!” one of them shouted. The three Ugly ran to the ledge.

  Agmar crawled forward again, raised his rifle, then ducked back as bullets hit the rocks near him. “Ah no, you don’t!” shouted the Ugly below him, still buried under the dead.

  Barkus reached the point where the stony field met the high ledge. He was completely out of breath, unable to fathom how the boy had flown across the dangerous incline with such selfless abandon. Something bounded on top of a boulder near him. He turned quickly and aimed his two guns.

  It was the demon.
The thing sat atop a boulder, crouching like an animal.

  “You!” said Barkus. “Get down there and make sure that boy’s dead!”

  The demon tilted its head one way, then another.

  “You heard me!” said Barkus. “You haven’t done a damn thing this whole fight! Now get down there! Now!”

  No response.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? I bargained for the devil’s help, didn’t I? Why don’t you do something?”

  Underneath its hood, the demon opened some membrane, then cleared the chamber of mucus. “Didn’t come here for you,” the thing wheezed. “Came here for our business, not yours. Came here to scout, not to fight. Now we know how to find this place. My job is done. Good luck with yours.”

  “What... the... hell...” said Barkus. He raised his guns at the thing.

  “The one you met was named Soul Taker - not Soul Trader,” said the demon. “If he lies, that is his right, and his own business.” The thing hopped down from the stone and ambled away.

  “You mean... you lied, and I went through all that... for nothing?” said Barkus.

  No reply.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me!” said Barkus. He fired both guns into the monster’s back. It hopped forward, lost its balance, and fell down on its knees. Barkus walked forward, blasting the thing over and over until ribs and purple organs littered the ground. He emptied his clips and stood over the flesh demon. The thing was a twisted pile of goo.

  “Where the hell am I?” thought Barkus. “What have I done to myself?”

  Wodan clung to a slim crack in the sheer rock. He ground his boots into the wall, but could find no purchase. He tried to lift himself, then probed with one hand but found nothing to hold on to. He slipped, nearly losing his hold. He cried out in desperation.

  Faces peered over the edge. The light caught them, showing scarred heads, grim faces.