by Darren Shan
It doesn’t take long to bring the demons and zombies to their knees. The pack had control of the situation before I arrived. My presence merely speeds things up. Within minutes we’re relaxing on a mound of mutilated corpses, cheering because it’s what you do to celebrate a victory, even though it’s just one small triumph in a doomed war.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Prae grins. “It’s been hell here. I thought you’d fallen on some far-off demon world.”
“Not a hope,” I smile wryly, running an eye over my pack, noting the new arrivals, yapping at some of those I recognize from before.
“What’s been happening?” Shark asks, and Prae quickly brings us up to date. Earth’s in a lot worse shape than when we left. Six weeks have passed. Windows are opening at a rate of four or five a day. Demons are having their wicked way in most countries. The Disciples, mages, werewolves, and soldiers have been fighting doggedly, but I see desolation in Prae’s eyes. When we left for Lord Loss’s realm, people still had hope. Not any longer. From what Prae tells us, realization has set in across the globe. Even those who’ve avoided contact with the demons know they’re living on borrowed time. They go through the motions, but without any real expectation of victory.
The zombies came from nearby. Prae says hundreds of them—and even more demons—are massed outside a city a few miles away. A lodestone must be buried somewhere close. Once Bec located it, the demons set to work, assisted by one of their treacherous mages, and opened a tunnel. Hordes of demons pushed through with vicious glee, and the dead have been coming back to life to help them.
There’s a strange magical energy in the air, which Kirilli recognizes from when he fought the Shadow on the ship. Death used that energy to reanimate the corpses, and it’s pulled the same trick here. The blank-eyed zombies are driven by a force they have no control over, killing recklessly, slaves to their ever-hungry master.
The first clusters of walking dead clawed their way out of crypts and graves, but many of the people killed by the demons have also been brought back to life. A lot of victims are ripped to shreds by overeager demons, but those who are left largely intact are revived by the magic of Death.
“We haven’t been able to get close to the mouth of the tunnel,” Prae sighs. “So we’ve been trying to pen them in, to stop splinter groups like this one from spreading. The demons aren’t particularly strong, and the zombies are no more powerful than ordinary humans. If this tunnel is a one-off and we can hold them here, it won’t prove too much of a problem.”
“It’s just the first of many,” I tell her. “More will open and in time stronger demons will cross.”
Prae nods slowly. “I guessed as much, but I still… you know… hoped.”
“Forget about hope. We don’t have time for such fantasies.” I cast an eye over the dead around us, then peer at the city in the distance. Planes circle overhead, dropping bombs. Teams of soldiers and mages are dotted around.
“Call off the planes,” I growl at Prae, starting towards the city.
“You’re going in?” she asks.
“Yes. I’ll find the lodestone, destroy it, and that’ll be that.”
“But there are a lot of them. More crossing all the time. They’re not especially strong, but there are so many…”
“All the more for me to kill,” I chuckle, then break into a jog, howling for my werewolves, leaving the humans to retreat or follow as they please.
Carnage. Bloodshed. Mayhem. We cut our way through the ranks of demons and zombies, dismembering, disemboweling. Kernel guides us, tracing patches of light to the location of the tunnel. I’ve assigned five of the toughest werewolves—including Larry—to serve as his bodyguards, although I don’t think he really needs them. Kernel was never the ablest fighter, but he lays into these opponents with determination, using magic to liquefy them or make their heads explode. I’ve never seen him so bloodthirsty. I guess a lot of people will be acting this way now that we’re close to the end. Desperation tends to make humans act unnaturally. But if they all fight like Kernel, that will be a good thing.
Our opponents fall like bowling pins, overwhelmed by the raw force we strike them with. They kill a few soldiers and werewolves, even one or two mages. But their successes pale in comparison to ours, and it’s clear within minutes that we outpower them.
They make their final stand on the outskirts of the city, where the lodestone rests in an excavated ditch. Some of the smarter demons retreat through the tunnel, back to the safety of their own universe, but most crowd around it and defend it to the death. I don’t think they do so out of loyalty—they’re simply too dumb to know when they’re beaten.
I gut a boar-shaped demon, spit out entrails, and shoulder my way forward. Then I’m on the stone. It’s an unremarkable piece of rock, set in the mouth of a small tunnel. I peer over the top of the lodestone and see a woman behind it, joined to the stone by her chin, parts of her body scattered all around, still functioning.
The woman snarls at me and says something in a foreign language. I could use a spell to translate it, but why bother? I’m sure it’s more of the same old crap.
I ball my right fingers into a fist and crush the woman’s head. Apart from her agonized squeal, this has no effect. Several demons throw themselves on me, but I flex my muscles and swat them aside. Then I lash at the rock with my fists, one punch after another. It cracks on the fourth blow, splits on the fifth, then crumbles after a few more.
As the lodestone breaks, a wind rips out of the tunnel. It quickly picks up speed and sweeps across the land, gathering all the demons and zombies, knocking over some of the humans and werewolves too. Using magic, I root myself and watch as the wind is sucked back up the tunnel, returning its catch to the realm of the Demonata. A few human and wolfen innocents are taken too. I can’t say I’m too bothered. This is a tough world and it’s getting tougher. Only the strong are worth caring about.
As the wind drops, the tunnel closes, and rocks and earth grind together. I glance around at those who remain. Many were knocked over and are picking themselves up, weeping and groaning. Prae has been clinging to a werewolf. She lets go and staggers away, then hurries to check on the rest of the pack, showing that odd maternal concern that she reserves for these hairy misfits.
“That wasn’t so hard,” I grin at Kernel. His eyes are wild, darting this way and that, looking for something else to kill. “Easy, big guy,” I calm him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s over for now. We can rest awhile.”
“Rest?” he sneers. “Don’t be a child. There’s another tunnel. I can smell it.”
“Where?” I growl.
“The other side of the world. We can be there in minutes. You game?”
“What’s it like compared to the one we just shut?”
“Bigger. It’s only been open a few hours, but already more demons have come through there than here. Stronger ones too. A lot nastier than these familiars.”
“Are there Disciples on the scene? Mages? Soldiers?”
“Who cares?” Kernel hoots. “I’ll take them on by myself if you’re chicken.”
“You want to be careful who you taunt,” I snarl.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kernel smirks. “You won’t harm me. You need me. I’m your quick way in and out of the madness.”
I eye Kernel warily as he works on opening a new window. I don’t like this new, wilder version of Cornelius Fleck. Something switched off inside him when the Old Creature was killed. He thought he had a greater purpose, that he was going to save the universe. Now he’s been reduced to the same level as the rest of us, scrapping to salvage an unremarkable planet on its last legs. The demotion hit him hard. I’m not sure how many brain cells he’s operating on. In this state he could do anything.
But there’s no time to try and help the borderline-crazy Kernel. Because even as I’m worrying about him, the window opens and he darts through. I have no option but to call my pack of werewolves to my side and push o
n after him, before I lose him to an army of demons and the walking dead.
BIGGER, BETTER, BADDER
I know straightaway that we’re in trouble. When you fight as often as I do, you develop a knack of swiftly judging the course of a battle. To any normal person, this would look no different from the war zone we came from, a group of humans and werewolves up against demons and reanimated corpses.
But looks are deceptive. The magical energy in the air is much thicker than it was outside the city. That’s good for us, but even better for the demons. It means stronger monsters can cross, beasts who can channel the energy and wreak more havoc than the creatures we crushed a few minutes ago.
There are already some mages and soldiers on the scene. We wade in beside them, werewolves running wild, Disciples unleashing bolts of magic, soldiers firing concentrated bursts, shredding the bodies of weaker demons and zombies.
A group of the undead are clustered around hundreds of screaming people. I scatter them with a wave of magic that rips most to pieces. “Fight or get the hell out of here!” I bellow at the humans, then grapple with a massive demon that has several heads and more arms than I can count. It tugs and snaps at me, piercing my flesh in dozens of places, focusing its largest mouth on my face.
I roll across the ground with the demon, punching savagely, biting at anything that comes within range of my fangs. I drive a fist into its stomach and feel around for guts to yank out. Before I can finish off the beast, a foul stench fills the air. Looking up, I spot Kernel vomiting over the demon. As the last drops drip from his lower lip, he touches the vomit and it flashes, becoming acidic. The lethal puke sizzles through the demon’s shell and it falls away, squealing with agony.
“You love that old vomit trick,” I grunt, getting to my feet, wiping slime, blood, and some of the remains of Kernel’s last supper from my flesh.
“It works,” he says, looking for his next victim.
“I could have dealt with the demon myself,” I tell him.
“I know. But I didn’t like its face.”
He whirls away, scanning the masses for another face that doesn’t take his fancy. He certainly has plenty to choose from. I fry a few more demons, then push after Kernel. I’m worried he might do something stupid in his wired-up state.
We fight desperately, more demons crossing all the time, each wave stronger than the last. I haven’t sensed any demon masters hitting the scene, but these are certainly A-plus students. They slaughter soldiers for fun, and don’t have too much hassle dispatching werewolves or mages either. We’ve already suffered severe casualties, and the battle is only minutes old.
I force my way through a pack of zombies and grab Kernel. “The lodestone!” I yell in his ear. “We have to destroy it. We can’t take much more of this.”
“It’s over there,” he shouts, pointing to his left.
I stand on my toes. All I can see are demons and zombies, a few hapless humans trapped among them. “How far?” I ask Kernel.
“A mile, maybe more.”
“How are you at flying?”
“Never tried it on this world,” he says. “But I’m game.”
Linking hands, we jump high. I’ve flown once before, with Beranabus, when he dragged me out of a plane. I’ve tried to repeat the trick a few times since, but there was never enough magic for me to tap into. Now there is, and we soar forward, shooting over the heads of the warring forces like a couple of blow-ins from Peter Pan.
Some of the more powerful beasts fire at us as we flit by. We easily deflect the balls of energy and rocks. But as we get within three hundred feet of the tunnel, a squadron of winged demons flaps into the air. We draw to a halt and eye them warily.
The demons, thirty or forty of them, hang in the air above the lodestone. They’re deliberately positioned, an aerial guard to protect the tunnel.
“There are others on the ground,” Kernel says sullenly. “More powerful than any we’ve faced so far.”
“Can we take them?” I ask.
“Maybe.” He casts an eye over the demons behind us. “But we’d have more fun if we tackled that lot.”
“This isn’t about fun,” I growl.
“Of course it is,” he laughs. “You taught me that. We’ve lost. All that remains is to take as many demons down with us as we can, and have a blast killing them.”
I scowl, but I can’t refute his statement. If Kernel has become a suicidal, kill-crazy goon, it’s because of what I’ve done to him.
“Let’s try for the lodestone,” I mutter. “If we slip past the guards and destroy it, this will be a victory to savor.”
Kernel considers that, then nods. He swoops ahead of me, issuing a challenging cry to the winged demons. With a curse, I tuck my chin down and fly after him.
The dogfight is short and vicious. The demons aren’t just airworthy—they’re powerful too. We try to zip through the gaps between them, but they’re faster than us and more naturally suited to midair maneuvers. We hit them with balls of energy and acidic, projectile puke, but although we cause damage and kill a few of them, most shrug off our blows and respond with ear-splitting shrieks, six-foot-long talons, and beaks that can rip a head clean off a neck.
Within a minute we know it’s a hopeless task. I catch Kernel’s eye, shake my head, and peel away. He follows, deciding he’d rather not be pecked to death by a pack of demonic harpies. They don’t chase us but settle on the ground, ready to launch another defense of the lodestone if threatened.
“I told you we shouldn’t have bothered,” Kernel says sulkily.
“How long can they keep that tunnel open?” I ask.
“Do I look like I’m an expert?” he huffs.
“I know you are—you’ve boasted about it often enough. How long?”
Kernel chuckles, then focuses on the area around the lodestone, studying the patches of light that are invisible to the rest of us. He sighs. “It won’t crash any time soon. I reckon it can be kept going for a few years.”
I feel sick. I take a couple of deep breaths, clear my thoughts, then turn and stomp away.
“Where are we going?” Kernel asks, tucking in behind me.
“To signal a retreat.”
“We’re going to run?”
“Can you think of another course?”
“Not really, no.”
“Then shut up and help me pull back as many survivors as we can.”
We summon soldiers, mages, werewolves, and civilians, then help them fight their way clear. We lead them to a convoy of trucks and buses that is waiting a few miles away, set in place by a forward-thinking general in case the battle went poorly. The demons chase heatedly, eager to chalk up more kills before we slip through the net. Some of the faster monsters target the convoy and clamber over the roofs of the vehicles, breaking in, causing high-speed crashes. A few perish in the flames, like the humans they targeted, but most walk away, laughing, lugging severed heads, maybe to settle down over a few mugs of blood later and compare kills with their comrades.
Kernel, Shark, Kirilli, and I do what we can to minimize the damage. The others look to us for guidance, since we’re the most powerful and experienced. We guide the trucks and buses to safety, repel the demons and zombies, spread ourselves as widely as possible. But ultimately we’re just four guys. We can’t save everyone. The losses are horrendous, in the high thousands. And they’ll get worse once the demons stabilize and branch out.
When we’ve led the troops to safety, we head for a makeshift camp where scores of medics are tending to the wounded or setting aside the dead. I howl a few times, calling the remaining werewolves to my side. When sixteen—all that appear to be left—are gathered around me, I march to a large, vacant tent. Timas joins us along the way, responding to my howls as the werewolves did. He looks drained, and he’s covered in blood splatters, but he doesn’t seem to have been injured. Some soldiers try to waylay us to ask for instructions, but I wave them aside, telling them I’ll confer with them shortly.
We sink into chairs in the tent and I look around wearily. Larry isn’t one of the sixteen werewolves, and there’s no sign of Prae Athim either.
“If you’re looking for Prae, she’s dead,” Timas says before I ask. “She perished trying to protect a wounded werewolf. I cut her head off and incinerated it, so she won’t be coming back as a zombie.”
I process the news, then ask, “What about Larry?”
Nobody answers. I doubt if anyone cares. To be honest, I find it hard to work up much sympathy either, not when so many thousands have been killed. Sorry, Larry. I hope you died well, but tough luck if you didn’t.
“What now?” Kirilli asks. I’ve never seen him look so miserable, but it’s not the type of self-pitying misery he once wallowed in. He’s sad because of what he’s seen.
“We try to pen them in,” I sigh. “Hit them with all the missiles we can. Drench the land around the tunnel with a circle of gasoline. Light it when they try to push out—fire will kill a lot of them if we add magic to the flames. Establish a perimeter of mages. Fly in volunteers, test them for magic, set new mages to work with the others. Make another assault on the lodestone when we have support.”
“How far can they travel if they break through?” Kirilli asks. “On the ship, they were confined by a bubble of magic. Is there a similar bubble here?”
“No,” Kernel says. “The energy from this tunnel streams out freely. There’s a limit to its reach, but that might be a few hundred miles in all directions.”
“Then we need to evacuate everyone within a two-hundred-mile radius,” Shark says. “I’ll talk with whoever’s in charge, set soldiers on the job, turn this into a no-man’s land.”
“You don’t understand,” Kernel says. “We can’t control this.”
“You just said there were limits,” Shark growls.
“To this tunnel, yes,” Kernel snaps. “But there are more powerful lodestones. I’m sure they’ll open a new tunnel soon, one of unlimited energy. The demons who cross will be able to go anywhere. And masters will be free to cross too, hundreds of demons as strong as Lord Loss, if not stronger.”