by Tim Marquitz
Gorath stared wide-eyed at the ruin of Longinus’ head as gray and red pieces spilled down his neck and toppled to the ground with wet plops. The lifeless body slipped from the dagger, the only thing holding it up, and slumped alongside the wreckage of its brains.
I let the gun slip from my fingers as the aliens tightened their hold on me, the spears pressing deeper into my flesh. Gorath spun to glare at me, cold fury chiseling lines in his mottled face. Of all the endings to this moment he’d probably imagined, this couldn’t possibly be one of them. I forced a grin, not wanting to think of what I’d done. It hadn’t been what I wanted, not even remotely, but Gorath had forced my hand. In taking away all of my choices, he’d given me one he hadn’t foreseen. He started toward me, frothy spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed obscenities that even the translator couldn’t identify.
And that’s when the soul transfer hit.
~
In the beginning, there was darkness. And then there was light…and a strange, tickling sensation that was really fucking annoying.
I opened my eyes to see Gorath standing over me, slamming the golden dagger into my chest, over and over. Frenzied fire backlit his eyes as he attacked, but it dimmed the moment he saw me staring up at him. I’m sure the smile didn’t help. His hands froze, clutching the blade in front of him as if he’d forgotten it was there. He gasped and stumbled back.
The dregs of the soul transfer still washed over me, pure bliss and a blowjob to boot. My skin rippled as the wounds Gorath had inflicted closed, the edges pulling together and sealing as though they’d never been. Remnant blood clung to the ruin of my shirt as I sat up. The rest of the aliens fled to his side at seeing me heal, their morale in the shitter after seeing their savior backpedaling.
“Get behind me,” I told Rala.
She dragged herself to her knees and crawled over to me before dropping to the ground at my back. I smiled at her and looked back to Gorath.
“It seems the shoe’s on the other foot, now,” I told him, giving the sentence a good dose of country so it twanged. “Now it’s about to be up your ass.”
I charged forward and slapped the dagger from his hand. It thunked into the dirt before he’d even realized he’d lost it. A smile split my cheeks wide. So used to being at the low end of the scale, it was exhilarating to feel the magic that screamed through my veins. Not even when I’d swallowed two vials of Lucifer’s blood had I felt so powerful. That had been amazing, but there’d been an instability to it that I didn’t feel now.
The vials were a supplement, a steroid used to increase my limitations temporarily. My body fought against as though it were a disease, a virus. It could only handle so much, but this…this was different. There was none of the rejection, none of the backlash. This was pure evolution. Longinus’s energy wasn’t strapped onto my ass with duct tape, it was a part of me; an upgrade that had merged seamlessly at the genetic level, ramped to its full potential. I’d become what Daddy had always wanted: the Anti-Christ.
And it only cost the life of Karra’s father.
All the good feelings I had withered on the vine. The smile fell away. I grabbed Gorath and lifted him over my head, slamming him to the ground at my back. He hit with a bone-snapping thud, an agonized groan spilling from his mouth.
Satisfied that he’d stay there long enough for me to finish what I needed to, I turned my attention to the Felurians who stood frozen in place, arms and weapons limp at their sides. While I tried to convince myself they were just soldiers doing what they were told, fighting for the side that offered them the best chance at life, I couldn’t find any sympathy in my heart. I don’t know if that was Longinus’ influence or my own, but where there once might have been a shred of pity for the aliens and their position, there was nothing but the ashes of forgiveness for the decision they’d helped force upon me.
Before any of them could bolt, I summoned the magic—my magic—and raised my arms out before me. Serpents of energy erupted from my fingertips and flew across the intervening space, sharpened points spearing each of the surviving Felurians. They screamed and struggled, but the mystical cords had sunk deep. A flutter of will raised the aliens into the air. They grasped at the snakes of my power, fighting to pull them free as their feet drifted above the ground: five feet, ten feet, until they hung more than twenty feet above.
I fought back the urge to monologue, to tell them what they’d cost me, what they’d made me do, but none of that mattered now; certainly not to them. They were just pawns in all of this, victims in the games of gods. But that didn’t matter either. Not to me. I sent a command along the length of the tendrils and the magic responded like a happy dog, eager to do my bidding. The first of the Felurians to feel its effect grunted and looked to his side. A sharp point of energy had burst through the flesh. Blood dripped from its length as it continued to grow outward. Then there was another and another as spears of magic pierced his body from the inside.
Terrified eyes went wide as the rest of the aliens saw what was happening to their companion. I silenced the first one to beg with a mystical branch bursting from his mouth to pin his tongue inside. The air filled with screams as my wicked thorns blossomed.
Rala gasped and turned away, but like my compassion, my guilt had taken a vacation. The thorns burst from every inch of space on the aliens’ bodies, slowly, inexorably punching holes one after another, each point finding a fresh piece of meat to spear and savage. When the shrieks died away, there was nothing left but shreds of the Felurians, wiggling on the ends of the tendrils, their blood raining down on the torn remnants below. I released my magic and the last of the bits fell, splashing to earth.
It was Gorath’s turn.
I turned to him and saw by the flushed whiteness of his face that he had watched what I’d done to his minions. He knew what was coming next.
“Please, I—”
“Don’t beg,” I replied. “It will only drag this out.”
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbling at the effort. His eyes bounced about in desperation, looking for a place to escape, but I wouldn’t be giving them the opportunity. My hands snapped to his face, thumbs sinking into the soft spaces of his eye sockets. He shrieked as they slid to the first knuckle, and then the second, a final twist of my wrist driving them in until they would go no more. His skull creaked under the pressure, tiny popping sounds signifying it was giving way as he thrashed in my hands. Then he was still.
I pulled my thumbs free and wiped them clean on Gorath’s tunic, before stepping around to the other side of Rala where I could speak to her without bringing her attention to the carnage I’d wrought just a few feet away.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, barely managing a glance in my direction.
“I’m sorry for all this,” I said, motioning to the field, “but I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Rala said nothing. She sat there, struggling to get her breath under control, her naked chest pistoning. It made the wound at her side seep.
“You need help. Will you let me take you home?” I held my hand out to her.
She stared at it, and then at her side. Blood spilled down her hip and over her thigh. Rala sighed and turned her eyes to me. She nodded and reached out. I took her hand and gently lifted her to her feet, wrapping my arm about her so I could put pressure on her wound.
I wanted to heal her, but I was afraid I’d only do more damage. Magic was a blunt instrument. While I knew well enough how to break things, that instinct more than natural—inherited, I’d say—I didn’t want to try something I’d no understanding of. I didn’t know if I was capable of it.
Longinus might well have had some ability to heal, the energy and focus needed well within his realm of experience, I wasn’t even sure I’d gathered all of his powers. Gorath had stolen quite a bit before I’d taken the rest, and the alien had even grabbed a little more after I’d gotten it. The soul transfer leveled me up to the point Longinus would be at had he not been exhau
sted and injured, but I truly doubted I’d been the recipient of all of his magic.
That was something I could ponder later. I needed to get Rala somewhere safe. Her in my arms, I went over and collected Longinus sword and sheath, slipping it around my waist. Then I grabbed the golden dagger and slid it into the belt. How the thing worked was beyond me, but I sure wasn’t gonna leave it behind for someone else to snatch up and put to use.
As I looked to get my bearings, a flash of movement caught my eye. I spun about, ready to cast but let my energy slip away. Jesus lay on the ground, a bloody hand stretched in my direction. A gooey stain stood out his back: the knife wound. It was just low enough to have missed Christ’s heart by only an inch or two, most likely having gone into a lung. Jesus looked like hell, but he’d survived. I wasn’t sure he would continue to do so for long.
My gaze drifted to Rala’s, and I sighed at seeing the slight downward curve to her bottom lip. “Damn it, girl, you’re ruining my street cred.” I went over and scooped Christ up with a huff, adjusting Rala so I could carry them both without causing them too much discomfort. It looked like our roles had been reversed, but I didn’t like it. There was no fun in the savior business.
“Thank you,” Jesus whispered, the words barely toppling from his tongue.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I answered. He stared at me, most likely regretting his decision to go with me. “I’ve a few errands to run before I take you home. Hope you don’t mind.”
Honestly, I didn’t care if he did.
Karra and my baby were still out there, and they were my priority. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to have a god in my pocket.
Twenty-Three
I’d taken Rala back to Vol and waited just a few minutes to make sure he was capable of taking care of her. The wound didn’t look fatal, but I wanted to be sure. She’d risked her ass to help me, and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her because of it. My conscience had enough bad karma rusting it up, as it was.
I left Jesus there, as well, asking the old seer to look after him, too, until I came back. He agreed with some reluctance and a whole bunch of nonsensical commentary, and even then only after I promised Rala would get the best possible healing in exchange for babysitting Christ for a bit. Vol didn’t know Jesus was the real leader of the Eidolon, so I left that bit out. I walked out while he was still talking about puzzles and circles and some other random shit I let trickle in one ear and piss out the other.
Jesus and Rala safe and sound and out of the way, I made my way through the streets of Desboren without bothering to hide. None of the aliens I encountered got close enough for me to identify, let alone worry about. While their innate magical ability seemed to be null, barring the apparently rare exceptions like Rala and Vol, I had no doubt they could sense the power that churned inside me. I made sure of it. And if that wasn’t it, I’m sure the grim expression plastered on my face was enough of a deterrent to warn them off. There were no questions about my mood, and I made it to my destination without any delays.
I knocked gently on the door and waited. It took a few moments before I heard a shuffling noise inside, and then the door was pulled open a crack. Cyrill’s face peeked out from within. She stared at me wide-eyed, without saying anything, not that I really wanted to talk to her, anyway. I pushed the door open against her meek resistance and wrapped my hand around her throat. She squawked as I stepped inside, dragging her along after slamming the door shut.
“Frank! What are you doing?” Baalth asked as he came out of the back room in rush, easing the door closed at his back. His dark eyes were narrow in his skeletal face.
I shrugged and snapped Cyrill’s neck with a flick of my wrist. The sound reverberated through the room. Her eyes rolled back and I cast her body aside. Baalth stared for just an instant, muscles coiled. He was getting ready to bolt.
“Don’t,” I told him.
His shoulders sagged, and he let out a tired sigh, the tension whistling out of him. “You have to understand.”
“I do.” And I really did.
Baalth had come to God to be healed but the Almighty had a different idea. Too much the rebel to control, a lifetime of history as evidence, Baalth’s power was stolen rather than risk betrayal down the road. Alone, desperate, and stranded on a strange world, which was slowly being drained of its energy by Jesus’ Eidolon, Baalth had made the only choice that made sense to him, the only choice possible to reclaim his place, his power.
I felt like an idiot, but I wouldn’t show him that. Rala had clued me in early, but I’d missed it. Over and over, she used the term alien when speaking of the mastermind of the plot to ruin Feluris. She’d also used that term to describe me, but she hadn’t used it for Gorath. She’d called him an Aliterean. That was the final piece of the puzzle I needed.
“Where is she?”
He motioned to the room at his back. “In there, safe in a containment case.” Baalth drew a quiet breath and met my eyes. “I would never have hurt her.”
“Them,” I corrected.
Baalth’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he caught on before his tongue could think to ask. He was always quick like that. “I…I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t know.”
Without his powers, I could believe that, too. He couldn’t possibly have sensed the second life growing inside Karra, but that didn’t make things any better. My heart thrummed at realizing how close I was to Karra now, how close I’d been the last time I was there. It sickened me, yet thrilled me all the same. She was alive…they were alive. I’d feared she was with Gorath, and who knew what that freak would do with her, but Baalth was a different creature all together.
I pulled the dagger out of my waistband and held it up for Baalth to see. “How’d you convince Gorath to go along?”
His eyes followed the blade, and I knew what he was thinking, but he said nothing about it, choosing instead to answer my question. “It was simple.” A hint of the old Baalth shone through as he spoke. “I knew you would win out against Gorath’s pet and that the master would run once he found himself unable to recover his energies before he was confronted. There was only one place he could go.” He waved a hand toward the sky to imply God’s staging plane. “I had simply meant to kill him when he arrived, but when he appeared with Karra—”
“The temptation was just too much,” I finished.
Baalth gave a shallow nod and went on. “Too weak from the journey to resist, he had a choice: die or do as I asked. The offer of power was too much to ignore, and he couldn’t extract it from blade without my help.” He shrugged. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before Longinus showed up to collect his daughter and opportunities would open up.”
I wanted to be mad, to be disgusted by Baalth’s manipulations and efforts to reclaim the power he’d lost, but I couldn’t find it in me to be surprised. His nature was exactly why God had taken his power rather than ask for his help. He’d always been that way. Baalth was the epitome of a demon lieutenant, the perfect complement to my father’s rule in Hell. He was exactly what he was, and it was what he would always be.
Without saying a word, I took a step forward and held the dagger out to him, pommel first. That caught him off guard. He stared at it, and then at me, his sunken eyes shifting back and forth between the two as I pushed it further in his direction.
“It’s yours,” I said. “You earned it.” He didn’t move, so I wiggled the blade again. “On the planet for a week, your power gone, you still managed to blackmail an ancient alien into following your lead, mobilize an army, and trick both Longinus and Christ into the crosshairs of your scheme, all without anyone realizing it until it was too late.” I held the blade out still. “This is your Oscar.”
Baalth held his ground, searching my eyes. He wouldn’t find anything there but cold emptiness. After a long moment of silence, he finally took a hesitant step forward and reached the dagger. I spun the weapon around as he came close, cinching a hand on the back of Baalth’s neck and driving the
blade into his chest. He grunted, eyes dimming, and went silent.
“No one fucks with my family.”
With so little of his essence remaining to him, the dagger killed him instantly, so I let his withered carcass drop to the floor. While I could forgive just about anything else Baalth might have done—the list of his affronts damn near endless—there was no way I could allow him to put Karra and our child at risk. I slipped the weapon back into my belt and went to the door he’d come out of. My hand shook as I pulled it open.
There, in what was little more than a broom closet, was Karra. She stood inside a containment case, her hazel eyes peering at me through the litter of wards that empowered the glass prison. I swallowed against the sudden realization that she was awake inside the thing. Pinned in tight, unable to do anything but stand in place, she’d been there for over a week. That was more than I could bear.
I rushed over and punched my fingers through the facing at the bottom, ripping it away to keep the shards from striking her. There was a flutter of energy as the case resisted, but it wasn’t meant to keep people out, only in. Karra sagged as the dampening magic died, the stasis releasing her from its pressure. She stumbled from the case and into my arms.
“I’m so sorry,” I told her, the words muffled as I buried my face in her shoulder, her arms squeezing me with all her might.
Her skin felt cold, and she trembled in my embrace. I held her as tight as I dared, reveling in the closeness of her, in the joy of finding her alive. The tiny thump of my child’s heartbeat danced against my senses, and I clasped them even tighter, reveling in the sound. I needed this, needed them in my arms.
Despite it all, a looming bleakness gnawed at me. Guilt whispered its sublime misery into my ears. This moment was fleeting, and far sooner than I could wish, it would end. The tears that fell from my eyes would not be the only ones I shed today, nor would they be the last that slipped free.