A spear-whip. Something I could easily adapt to.
The ruby on the blade left a trail of faint crimson smoke with each swing, and I looked back up at Mordred with a promising grin.
“My Brothers were holding me back, Mordred. I think it’s time you and I get down to business…”
Chapter 56
Mordred watched my new weapon warily, as if trying to consider the change in tactics he might need, but also focusing intently upon the ruby. The Devourer had eaten two of his Souls, and if my math was correct, he was sitting on three – Two from Hell, and his own.
He sprinted at me, deciding the odds were better than waiting around. I lifted a hand, and a swath of thorns erupted before him in a column that pierced the black skies above, reflecting the burning sunset in the distance, making them appear to be on fire. My thorns scooped up… nine errant skulls littering the fog, making me smile in appreciation of the symbolism.
Mordred slammed into the wall of thorns and screamed as smoke burst forth from wherever he had been pierced. He was panting as I familiarized myself with the weight of the chained Devourer, swinging it whip quick through the column of thorns, aiming for where I thought his heart was.
The black-blade – limned with white fire, now – tore through the thorns like paper, even though it was obvious Mordred was having issues breaking free of their tentacle like grip – snagged and hooked in dozens of places, as he was.
Unfortunately, I missed, and the white fire incinerated the thorn wall like a magician’s flash paper, freeing my target. Mordred scrambled backwards, instantly flinging his own inky black whip at me.
I curled a shoulder, slamming my wing down before me like a shield, the diamond spines piercing through the fog, and stabbing a couple of skulls in the process. Mordred’s whip hit my spines and feathers with an explosive hiss that rocked me slightly, but didn’t break through.
I arched the tip of both wings up high, and then flapped them at the ground as hard as I could, lifting me high into the air, where I began to circle him. Blasts of his black power flew at me, but – like that Vince Vaughn flick – I managed to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge them by tucking my wings in, flaring them out, or swooping laterally, all on reflex.
And all while countering as I hurled my Devourer right back at him, hoping to knock him down for me to swoop in for the kill.
Then he got in a lucky punch by blinding me with a fucking rainbow, of all things. I slammed into it and was stunned to discover it was solid. It shattered at the force of my impact, raining down shards of glass as long as my forearm and splashing vibrant multicolored blobs of a paint-like substance down over Mordred, covering him in the rainbow goop like he was prepping for Camelot’s first Pride Parade. Several of those jagged shards tore into Mordred, too, making him fall to his knees.
I realized rainbows were apparently sharp enough to cut even my new skin. I tried flapping my wings to get away, and felt a dull ache in my shoulder blades, followed by a flash of pain on my forehead.
Then I began to fall, my Mask suddenly vibrating against my skin, making my vision quiver as I fell.
I managed to flare out my wings at the last moment, landing in a crouch as I grasped my forehead. The moment my fingers touched my Mask, I felt a sharp pop like static electricity. I hissed, yanking my hand back, staring down at it. My fingertip smoked where it had touched the Mask.
What was going on? I felt like I was on the verge of some precipice, almost able to see over a mountain, but I’d suddenly sprained an ankle. It made me furious. My power was fading.
Hell, I’d only been fighting for what felt like hours, now. Maybe my Mask was fine, but my body had given up a long time ago, refusing to be dragged into yet another brutal battle.
But I saw Mordred getting to his feet, and I knew it was all or nothing. Before something else happened to my newfound powers. Or before my body simply gave up on me.
I took a deep breath, and tried to call up the thorns again, raising my palms up from the ground as if I was trying to lift a car. My shoulders screamed, my bones grating, and my forehead began to throb as if hit by a hammer one too many times.
I ignored it all, pressing on, and the thorns finally heeded my call.
A wall of impenetrable black brambles growled to life, surrounding Mordred, trapping him, stabbing him, piercing him, hooking him, and drinking down his blood. I watched thorns as thick as my wrist tear through his abdomen and out his back.
I tried to lift my hands higher, watching Mordred splayed out on the thorns, crucified, unable to move anything but his jaws. And they were wide open in a silent scream.
I felt a sharp crack down the center of my face, and the Mask fell to the ground, smoking with white fire. I felt my legs wobbling at the sudden evaporation of so much power suddenly relying on my mortal body, and watched as the thorns began to wither and die. I felt my skin slowly returning to normal, and my feathers beginning to fall to the ground like chopped corn stalks.
Before I could fall, I screamed as loud as I could, trying to jump start my failing body.
And hurled my Devourer at Mordred. The white chain evaporated mid-flight, but the Devourer continued to fly true. And it sliced right through the side of his neck as I fell to the ground, the clouds Death had called up evaporating in an instant, leaving us back on the familiar Dueling Grounds.
I managed to lift my head, and saw Mordred stop moving.
My Devourer flashed once with a deep basso thump and I knew I had done it.
Mordred was down to Two Souls. One from Hell, and his own.
We were almost even, now.
Only, I couldn’t quite stand up at the moment.
I took a few deep breaths, and managed to flop over onto my stomach. My arm was still bleeding from the fucking rainbow, and I realized it was actually a pretty serious wound. My Mask lay in front of me, a white line down the center as if it had almost cracked in half. My heart stopped for a moment. What would have happened if it had broken entirely?
What would have happened to me? Was I bonded to it in some way?
And how did I fix it? I shoved it into my pocket, and was surprised to find I was still wearing my regular clothes from earlier. I hadn’t actually taken stock of what I’d been wearing as a Horseman. Probably something really cool.
I recognized my delirium as being slaphappy, and quickly squashed it. I also realized quite quickly that fixing my Mask shouldn’t really be a top priority at the moment, because I heard Mordred groan, his body beginning to heal itself.
I gritted my teeth, managing to climb to all fours.
If I was going to stand a chance, I needed to get my Devourer back.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” I mumbled, dragging one hand in front of the other, crawling closer to Mordred. “I’m not dead yet,” I said, sliding my knees across the ground behind me. “I’ll show Mordred… I’ll just kill myself and wake up in bed as good as new,” I murmured. I needed to slice my throat or something. Oddly enough, I felt an alarming flutter of fear at the thought of slicing my own throat. “Man-up and kill yourself, pansy,” I told myself, seriously considering it. Because if I didn’t make a suicide run, he might just physically drag me over to the Dark Lands, and kill me there.
Mordred was down to Two Souls, now. My only chance was to end this, now. Fight another day. It just might work.
“Die, here, on my terms, and wake back up at Chateau Falco as good as new. Bring back all the same people for an encore, and deliver a fraction of the ass-whooping we dished out tonight…” I mumbled encouragingly, still dragging my hands and feet. “Still need the Devourer, though,” I realized with a depressing whisper.
I lifted my head to judge my distance and get a read on the Devourer’s location. I spotted it wedged into a piece of burning wood, recognizable only for the feathers shifting slightly in the flickering flames. Thankfully, they weren’t burning. I kind of liked them. The ruby was wedged into the wood, hiding the Devourer’s telltale glow, thank
fully.
But of the most immediate importance was the pair of boots firmly rooted a few inches from my nose.
“Roy G. Biv…” I wheezed, glancing down at my sliced forearm, “You hit me with a rainbow… You dick,” I muttered, my ribs aching from my fall.
He kicked me in the jaw, sending me sprawling.
Chapter 57
I stared upwards, shaking off my tunneling vision. Mordred loomed over me a moment later, his face contorted with anger. I noticed he hadn’t spotted the Devourer, thank god. Maybe he assumed I’d already retrieved it. I was only a dozen feet away from it, now.
My hand was folded under my hip, and I felt a tiny bulge. I couldn’t help but smile. “Now, now, Mordred, don’t do anything rash,” I told him, awkwardly reaching into my pocket as if trying to sit up. “We still have that meeting tomorrow—”
He kicked me in the ribs, and I used the force of the blow’s momentum to roll further than I should have. Since my hand was shoved into my pocket, my face struck the ground on each roll, but I took it like a champ, gasping and groaning for effect. Mordred took it as an ode to his manliness.
Which suited me just fine, because I now had a great view of the Devourer. It was about ten feet away, and the piece of wood it was stuck in was on the verge of collapsing into a bed of embers, tilted at a steep angle. One push and the entire thing would fall inwards.
Mordred noticed my lack of attention, and his eyes widened, spotting the blade. He stomped onto my chest, cracking a few of my ribs in his attempt to grab the Devourer first.
But swinging my Tiny Ball was faster.
I flung it as hard as I could into the bed of embers. The Gateway burst open, and the entire thing collapsed through it, embers, Devourer, and charred wood.
That’s when I realized my error. Mordred could simply reach through and grab it. I pulled deep, trying to wake up my magic long enough to hit him with something, anything that would slow him down long enough for the Gateway to snap closed.
My magic sizzled out with a faint pop, and my world spun, leaving me lying on my face, my cheek on the ground as Mordred closed the distance to the Gateway, five feet away.
I realized I was staring at a body beside the Gateway. A young man with bloody, blonde hair holding a familiar Team Temple doily over his chest. Alex? I thought to myself, frowning. But… shouldn’t he have been whisked back home after dying? Dead bodies weren’t common at the Dueling Grounds. They just vanished upon expiration.
Was I hallucinating? Or had I broken the Dueling Grounds somehow? Did they no longer send you home upon death?
Because that would really put a crimp in my suicide plan.
Mordred was so transfixed with the Gateway, he didn’t notice when Alex suddenly opened his eyes.
I almost let out a squawk of disbelief, flinching instinctively. I could have sworn he hadn’t been breathing. Had I… made him into a zombie by screwing around with the cosmic rules of the Dueling Grounds? My mind began to run a million miles an hour, peppering me with bizarre and horrifying theories.
Right before Mordred could reach through the Gateway, Alex released his wad of bloody cloth and rammed a spear up into Mordred’s gut.
The wizard gasped in surprise, but tried to use his momentum to lean over the blade as if intending to dive or fall through the Gateway, ruptured stomach or not. His arm was already halfway through when it winked shut, cutting him off at the elbow.
Mordred fell down face-first, gasping…
Right into a bed of coals, the poor bastard.
He coughed, choked, and screamed with pain, rolling out of the coals and onto his back, but he was momentarily too injured to get back up. I watched as Alex climbed shakily to his feet. He shambled over, kicked Mordred on the end of the stump arm – ignoring Mordred’s instant scream – and then yanked the spear out of his stomach, almost losing his own balance in the process.
I wheezed a motivational cheer that if anyone would have heard, would have made them weep with love and devotion. But to me it just sounded like a death rattle.
Alex stood over Mordred, wobbling on weak legs. How the hell was Alex still alive? Was I that bad at stabbing people in the heart?
Realizing what Alex was about to do, I growled angrily, but couldn’t gather the strength to stand, let alone stop him. Now, Alex was really in danger. He’d just made himself a target for Mordred, by stabbing him in the gut and slicing off his arm. I knew that the whole stump-kick thing would be the one to really stick in Mordred’s craw, though.
Mordred sneered up at Alex, clutching his stump tightly. He was already beginning to heal. “You’re too late. Rather than wait for you to take my last soul from Hell, I consumed it myself. Thank Temple for evening the odds. My own soul was strong enough to gobble up one from Hell, but didn’t stand a chance against all Nine of them.” He spat blood, chuckling darkly.
That was terrifyingly interesting. Mordred had… eaten the last of the Nine Souls? Why? To keep the power for himself? Maybe fearing us simply taking it for him, he’d chosen to use it himself. But that meant…
Mordred was down to One Soul… Killing him now would send him home.
We’d done it. Although I hadn’t anticipated him coming out of it with one for himself, I guessed I couldn’t be greedy. We’d taken Eight of them, after all. Which was more than I’d thought we’d get away with.
Mordred spat out more blood. “Can you even kill, boy? In my day, we learned how to make the hard choices from our first steps. But you children are all weak—”
Alex didn’t even hesitate, stabbing him through the throat. Well, it was more of a spastic, drunken lurch, using the tip of the spear to save him from collapsing, and just happening to land it in the center of Mordred’s throat. “Shut up,” he mumbled, swaying back and forth. Mordred evaporated into nothing, and I let out a sigh of relief as I felt the very air throb in what felt like a similar relief.
The Dueling Grounds were back online, and just as happy about it as me.
Alex shambled over to me, smiling sadly.
“Why?” I rasped. “Why didn’t you let him kill me? None of it is real. You didn’t have to do it. We were all even. One Soul each.”
Alex’s smile was even sadder this time. His chest was oozing freely, and dried blood caked his lips and jawline. He’d stained my doily. But his eyes were sure and confident behind the exhausted, pained glaze. “I couldn’t let him. Because tomorrow, or some day after, you’d remember the moment Mordred murdered you. Having that flashback at the wrong time could break your resolve, birthing fear and self-doubt. What if it happened at a critical moment?” he asked, voice cracking as his eyes moistened with tears. He almost fell over, but caught himself by propping the point of the spear into the ground at my side.
I winced instinctively, feeling the rush of the blade so close to my ribs.
Alex took a shallow breath, and I could hear a rattle in it, his lungs filling with blood, and a tear for each eye suddenly spilled down his cheeks, washing away some of the grime. “I… need to kill you, Dad…” he whispered, using his muddy, bloody free hand to wipe away the tears.
The crack in his whispered voice broke my heart into a million pieces like a shattered rainbow. He was obviously in debilitating pain. I was astonished he wasn’t already dead. But despite all that… he was worried about me. Not wanting me to have to burden myself with even the memory of Mordred defeating me.
And to be honest, he had a point. One I hadn’t considered. A memory like that could have messed with me, and likely at the worst possible moment. Just like he feared.
I could only hope that Mordred carrying around the memories of us killing him eight times had the same effect on him. Even Alex had taken a trophy in that competition.
And Alex had called me dad… My son had killed Mordred… for me.
I shook my head weakly, my own eyes misting up. “No… I can do it myself—”
Alex settled the spear over my heart, ending my argument. “I’ve only
got a few moments left, and no one else is here to guarantee that you die. It has to be me,” he said in a firmer tone. Then, he smiled crookedly. “And I couldn’t imagine how terrible I’d feel if I botched up murdering you,” he said in the driest tone I had ever heard. “Leaving you here… all alone… to bleed out—”
“I get it,” I muttered, managing a pointed scowl. “Stop torturing me…” I met his eyes solidly, “my Son.”
He closed his eyes tightly, cherishing the sentiment.
Then he gasped, coughing up fresh blood. “Mordred is still coming tomorrow… and you’re the only one who can save us. I’ll be home soon. Sorry it’s after curfew…”
I opened my mouth to argue one last time. I could end it myself. I didn’t want this on his conscience – even though it wasn’t real, wasn’t permanent – but he ended the discussion himself, stabbing me through the heart as his own heart failed. I gasped instinctively, unable to breathe.
I felt Alex fall atop me in a bloody hug, and I tried with every ounce of will left in me to ignore the pull of death long enough to return the gesture, to wrap my arms around him, too…
Chapter 58
I woke up screaming, my arms hugging an imaginary child who meant everything to me. I blinked, my mind slowly coming back to reality. I could still imagine the blade piercing my heart. Still remember trying to hug Alex back as he died in my arms.
I gasped anxiously.
Alex.
I needed to make sure he wasn’t still suffering in the Dueling Grounds, but that he had actually died this time. I jumped out of bed, my legs still not accustomed to upwards mobility, still half asleep. And as I stumbled out of the room, rebounding off the door and into the hall, I realized I was completely naked.
Horseman: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 10 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 34