“Run!” she cried, tugging Barrett’s arm.
“Can’t outrun that,” Barrett said. “We make our stand here.”
“But—”
“I won’t be cut down from behind,” Barrett said with grim conviction. “Take shelter if you can find it. Any tricks up your sleeve, now would be a good time.”
Carnifex was less than a hundred feet from them, close enough that the gruesome details of his garb came into focus.
“Oh, my God, his leather, it’s…”
“People,” Barrett said, nodding.
The flesh of numerous faces, some but not all of them human, were stretched across his torso and limbs, tanned skin crudely sewn together in an approximation of clothing. An assortment of bones, many identifiably human, a few of them human skulls, rattled against his chest, a breastplate fashioned in an abattoir.
When he was within fifty feet of them, Liana made out details of his wide, flattened head, bracketed by two corkscrewed horns pointing forward at asymmetric angles. A half dozen eyes of various sizes spotted his forehead, a few of them milky white and apparently blind; three vertical but uneven nostril slits flared with his exertion; and his long, ragged mouth was a hideous display of mismatched teeth and fangs pointing in every direction. The sound of his excited breathing reached them: heavy, wet, and throaty, accompanied by a steady spray of thick saliva.
“Look,” Barrett said. “His abdomen.”
Liana had a hard time pulling her gaze away from the frightening visage rushing toward them long enough to see— “Proto-flesh,” she said incredulously. “His abdomen is unformed.”
Carnifex’s skin was exposed there, a gray viscous surface that roiled and rippled with shapes half protruding before slipping beneath the surface again. Proto-flesh was not vital and explained how Carnifex could send tentacles of himself through rifts without fear of suffering damage to his formed physical being. Losing those tentacles was no more harmful to Carnifex than a human having hair cut or fingernails clipped. At no personal risk, Carnifex had nonetheless used those proto-tentacles to probe their world and murder dozens of people. As Barrett had guessed earlier, the so-called Reaper of Flesh had been committing blind, cowardly acts of murder. Liana began to wonder if the apparent random killing spree had a purpose far more sinister than wanton destruction. But she only had moments to entertain such thoughts before Carnifex was upon them.
Barrett was crouched in a battle stance, brandishing his sword. If he was afraid—How can he not be terrified?—he wasn’t showing it in his body language. Nevertheless, he looked like a child before an onrushing bull.
Liana took partial shelter behind an oblong boulder, desperately trying to come up with a spell to even the astronomical odds stacked against them. Light, cold, heat, sound, movement? She shook her head to clear the panicked litany of useless ideas. Nothing in her magical arsenal seemed up to the task.
Carnifex roared and swung his battle-axe in a two-handed grip.
Anticipating the whistling arc of the curved axe head, which was at decapitation height, Barrett ducked out of range. Darting forward, he drove the tip of his sword into Carnifex’s heavily muscled right thigh, eliciting a howl of pain and outrage from the demon. Barrett dropped and rolled to the left to avoid the backswing of the battle-axe, springing to his feet an instant later.
“First blood, Carnifex, old buddy,” Barrett said. “And I know that one hurt.”
Liana couldn’t believe the gleam of excitement in Barrett’s eyes. God, he’s enjoying this!
He sidestepped an overhead log-splitting blow from the axe that cleaved the ground where he’d stood a moment ago. Leaping forward, he tried to cut into Carnifex’s hamstring with a backhand sweep of his sword, but in his haste, he misjudged the placement of the blow. The edge of the blade clanged off the metal plating strapped around the demon’s knee.
Without turning, Carnifex swung his massive elbow around, aiming for Barrett’s head.
Barrett saw the attack too late to completely avoid it. Lightning-fast reflexes saved his life, but even a glancing blow from that demonic arm was powerful enough to send him sprawling in a daze. Carnifex raised a boot to crush Barrett like an overturned beetle.
Liana had been waiting with a simple spell to provide a momentary distraction for Barrett at a critical moment in the battle. Having traced a few patterns on her forearms, she shouted, “Luminos — FULGOS!”
Usually, the harsh realm of the hell world was oppressive in its suffocating darkness. But in that instant, blinding light created a temporary whiteout, as if a thousand flashbulbs had fired simultaneously. Lying on the ground, Barrett’s back was to Liana as she cast the light spell. Carnifex was not so fortunate. When she’d shouted the spell command, he’d turned to face her, as she knew he would, and his numerous eyes were wide with surprise as the light erupted across the stark plane. Never had the effect of that particular spell been so powerful for her. Maybe her desperation gave the command extra magical oomph, but her brief experience in the hell world taught her that magic was much more responsive here, apparently even when wielded against its master.
Surrendering to the darkness, the light faded almost instantly, but it had served its purpose.
Carnifex staggered blindly backward as Barrett scrambled to his feet and out of harm’s way—but only for a moment. He wasted no time pressing his attack, slashing and jabbing with his sword as Carnifex held his battle-axe in both hands and struggled to block strikes he could not see.
Liana began to entertain hope that Barrett’s temporary advantage, combined with his superior speed and meta-human reflexes, could turn the tide of the battle in his favor long enough to land a killing blow. She should have known better. They had come to a hell world after all. And hope could not long survive in hell.
Barrett must have known Carnifex’s blindness was temporary and that the blows he’d landed thus far had produced nothing more than a series of superficial wounds. To inflict a mortal wound he would have to aim high. The breastplate of bones shielded the demon’s chest, and his broad head was almost out of reach, so Barrett chose the next best target—Carnifex’s thick neck. If his sword cut deep enough, he might even sever the demon’s spinal column. Leaping with his right arm extended, he drove the sword tip toward the slight hollow in the center of Carnifex’s throat.
Then tragedy struck.
Chapter 47
The demon lord had many names, all of them earned through inflicted terror. In his own guttural tongue, he was known as Urgh’uh’Dohth, which roughly translated as “Walking Death” or “Death Has Come.” On the human world, he had several names, including Lacerator, Render, and Carnifex, the Reaper of Flesh. With domination of the human world once again his goal, he would don his human name, like a new tunic of vanquished flesh. Humans were soft and short-lived but also plentiful. His appetite for destruction would be satisfied for centuries to come. Best of all, their terror would be fresh. Many human generations had passed since his last successful incursion. None alive would remember him and the fear he had wrought in their world. But soon none alive would ever forget him. For the rest of their meager lives, they would exist in fear of the moment his path crossed theirs. And the time was almost at hand. The sacrifices were complete, the blood price paid. He would step into their world again soon.
First, though, he had to handle a minor nuisance. Those of the old human line had detected his plan, had interfered with his raids, and, finally, had followed him to his own world. Two of them were hardly worth his notice. Once before the old line had repelled him, but then they had sent two score against him and lost half that number before the battle’s end. And that had been on the human world. But now, to field two against the dreaded might of Urgh’uh’Dohth in his own land, their numbers must be severely depleted. Either that or they were fools.
He had treated them with the contempt they deserved, sending lesser, weak-minded creatures to do his bidding. After those assaults had failed, Carnifex—the name by
which they would know him—decided to settle the matter himself.
Once he ripped the flesh from their bones, he could turn his full attention to widening the portal to their overripe world. With the blood price paid, he would need only a few of their hours to create the portal. Soon he would have the exact time and location he needed to pay the second blood price, to secure his foothold and ensure his dominion over them.
Leaving his cavernous lair, he crossed the barren plane at a swift pace, sensing their otherness, the allure of their life essence, and with each step his ravenous appetite grew. He began to hope they would survive the betraying ground and consuming lava. But not enough to interfere. He wanted them to continue to struggle, for every step, and every breath, until their fear reached maddening levels.
Long before he spied them, he smelled their human fear and, unconsciously, his pace quickened. At last they noticed his approach and stopped, turning to face him.
One of them, a female judging by her garb, hid behind a rock while the other one stood his ground, in a warrior’s stance, ready to fight. That one would die first, and never hear the female’s screams. Carnifex attacked without hesitation, aiming to slice the male’s head from his body—and missed!
The human warrior was unnaturally quick for his kind, dexterous enough to avoid Carnifex’s axe, and adept enough with the sword to penetrate his defenses and draw blood. The wound burned worse than its depth should have allowed. Another surprise! Not only was the human warrior much faster than Carnifex had expected, he was armed with an otherworld blade.
Carnifex’s continued exposure to the human-world portal had rendered him virtually impervious to weapons made of that world. But magic and weapons wrought of materials from other worlds could cause him serious or lasting damage. Even on Urgh’uh’Dohth’s home world! He should have expected such a tactic from one of the old line. A painful oversight, perhaps, but not a fatal one.
Naturally, the battle soon turned in Carnifex’s favor. With the human prone on the ground, Carnifex turned to crush him underfoot. But the female surprised him. She was a spell-caster. He should have guessed. If not a warrior, a spell-caster. Another mistake. Her magical burst of light robbed his vision. The warrior harried him with blow after burning blow, and Carnifex held him at bay as much as possible, waiting for his eyes to clear.
Blurred vision returned just as the human warrior prepared to attempt a killing strike. The human jumped straight up, aiming the point of his sword at Carnifex’s throat in a desperate maneuver that exposed his own torso. If the blindness had lingered a moment longer, the human might have inflicted serious damage. Unfortunately for the human, Carnifex was ready for the attack. He raised the battle-axe, which he’d been holding defensively in a crosswise position, up and out to block the sword. At the same moment, he formed a clawed tentacle in his proto-flesh and lashed out with it, sinking newly formed pincers into the human’s chest and cracking several ribs.
The human screamed and swung his sword in a downward arc fast enough to lop off the tentacle before Carnifex could rip the beating heart from his chest. Falling to his back, the warrior howled in pain, rolled into a kneeling position and ripped the severed tentacle free of his chest.
Carnifex reabsorbed the stump of proto-flesh and stepped forward, brandishing his battle-axe in one hand now. The injured warrior grimaced in pain. He stood and staggered backward. The fight had not gone entirely from him, but it leaked away with his life’s blood. Carnifex rushed forward. The man’s sword arm came around in a wide arc, gaining momentum for a strong blow to Carnifex’s left arm. Carnifex surprised him by swinging the battle-axe upward from down low. The curved blade sliced into the man’s arm where it joined the shoulder—and lopped off the entire limb!
The female spell-caster screamed in a delightful combination of horror and fear. Obviously she sensed her own doom approaching. And she was not wrong.
The human warrior groaned in agony, his face white with pain and shock, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“You are a fool to believe this could have ended differently, human,” Carnifex said in a booming voice. “I am Urgh’uh’Dohth, a lord of this domain!”
Shaking his head in denial, the defeated warrior pressed his left hand against the bleeding stump and staggered sideways as if the missing weight of the severed appendage cost him his balance. Each step brought him closer to the female spell-caster’s position behind the boulder. If he could not protect himself with two arms, how could he hope to protect her with one? And without a weapon!
To stoke their fear, in prelude to what would come next, Carnifex plucked the severed arm off the ground, smiling in hideously snaggletoothed delight as the otherworld sword fell from the useless hand. He raised the grimy arm to his broad mouth and ripped into the raw flesh with gusto. “You’ve succeeded in one thing, human,” Carnifex said, spewing bits of gore with each word, “whetting my appetite!” He roared with laughter.
Seemingly unperturbed by watching a demon lord eat of his flesh, the human darted forward, snatched the fallen sword from the ground with his remaining hand, and returned to his position beside the female.
Carnifex had no fear of a bit of useless bravado. The human’s face was ashen. Blood leaked from the pincer wounds in his chest, and ran freely from the shoulder stump, soaking his right side. His strength would pour out of him as quickly. Defeated, even if he refused to acknowledge it.
Carnifex flung the half-eaten arm beyond them, into the nearest crevasse, to be absorbed into the river of lava deep below. “Enjoy your shiny prize while you can. Soon I will butcher you with that otherworld weapon.”
“Dream on, asshole!”
Carnifex laughed. “No. First I will butcher the female, while you watch. Then it will be your turn to suffer my wrath.” The demon lord glanced at the female, seeking the light of heightened fear in her eyes, but in that he was disappointed. Her face was blank. In shock, he assumed. Not even looking at him. With her forearms raised in a feeble semblance of self-protection, she simply stared into space. Sometimes their minds switched off like that. Couldn’t be helped. Regardless of her mental capacity, he would butcher her first, if only to watch the fallen warrior’s expression of dread and dismay. A small feast, true, but satisfying enough to sustain him until the portal opening. He took two thunderous steps forward—
—the woman screamed, but not at his approach.
With a screeching sound of protest, the betraying ground ripped open, forming an instant fissure beneath the humans’ feet, like a hungry maw spreading wide to gobble their flesh in one quick bite. The spell-caster managed to grab the injured warrior, but they both tumbled down the chasm, their bodies colliding with spurs of rock and spinning end over end until they splashed into the winding river of lava far below.
Carnifex grunted his displeasure. He’d had no more than a taste of flesh, one satisfying stroke of destruction. Hardly the meal anticipated mere moments ago, but he would not mourn too long. In hours he would have a feast beyond anything he had ever imagined, served on a platter and enjoyed without interruption.
Placing the shaft of his battle-axe over his shoulder, he turned away from the humans’ fiery grave and lumbered across his barren land, occupying his mind with visions of their bountiful world and the coming harvest of fear.
Chapter 48
After a fitful night of disturbing dreams interspersed with tossing and turning, Logan rose, showered, and dressed in a short sleeved canary yellow cotton shirt, jeans and Timberlands. He stood by his end table, picked up the red-handled dagger in its black scabbard, and examined it for a moment. Mostly flat, for balance. No fancy scrollwork or embedded gems. Unremarkable in every way except one that mattered most to Walker warriors: its composition. He never considered himself a warrior. Gideon admitted that Logan needed training. But desperate times had met desperate measures. Though he felt a bit foolish, he looped his belt through the scabbard’s buckle, slid the dagger home, and fastened the cross guard snap to hold it i
n place. As far as his supernatural sense was concerned, today was just another day. But after the events of yesterday, common sense told him to expect the worst.
The family, along with Chief Grainger, had discussed the incident on Kings Highway and its possible ramifications well into the early morning hours. Gideon, Ambrose, and Grainger had done most of the talking. They had dropped Fallon off at her house before returning home. Thalia, exhausted after her rift hunting collapse, had fought to sit upright in one of the leather wingchairs, yawning continually, until Ambrose insisted she get some sleep. Lacking the energy to muster a respectable protest, she had waved goodnight to the others and left for her room. And, finally, Logan had been too depressed and riddled with guilt—about dragging Fallon into the madness that was his family’s life—to offer much substance to the animated conversation. As usual, his psychic warning had come too late and had been too vague to avert disaster. He consoled himself with the thought that the night could have been worse and that maybe next time Gideon would listen to him. For someone who relied on preternatural reflexes, Gideon was certainly reluctant to trust somebody else’s instincts. Maybe Gideon saw him as a kid, an inexperienced Walker. If so, then why entrust him with the dagger? Gideon had been eager to rejoin the battle and refused to let anything stand in his way. Logan imagined he was more worried about Barrett than he chose to admit. But Logan couldn’t help wonder if there was more to Gideon’s actions than he perceived. Barrett blamed himself for Gideon’s injury and acted as if he needed to prove himself in battle, but Gideon had no reason to feel inadequate.
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