by Marie Hall
The thunder in his ears quieted, he didn’t move, but took five deep breaths and willed the choking panic back down. Slowly the fear leeched out and he could breathe again. Once he was sure they were ready to follow, he began walking again.
Down they went, deeper and deeper into the bowels of hell.
He’d never told them the full truth. He couldn’t fight. Actually he could, but he wouldn’t fight. Because when he fought and he let the anger take him, he became a monster. A monster with no heart, no words, no feelings.
A monster who’d kill them all.
***
Somewhere below he heard the ground tremble.
Chapter 4: The Lord Part 2 (Slayde)
Slayde sucked in a deep breath, heart hammering wildly in his ears. Damn that’d been close. He eyed the large hole that’d opened up immediate and instant when he’d stepped foot on the hairline crack in the packed red dirt floor. There were traps everywhere and this one had been the most dangerous. Liquid lava bubbled and hissed at him from below, spitting tiny red projectiles as it slithered like a weaving mass of gelatinous goo down the smooth dirt tunnels. He hugged the wall behind him. His toes barely staying put on the narrowest of ledges.
The heat was crazy intense and so dense he could practically make it out. A sheen of heated moisture dancing around his face, scalding the inside of his nose with each inhalation he was forced to make. It smelled like what he’d imagine hell might smell like. Metallic with a hint of rotten eggs. He forced himself not to gag and to take small shallow breaths and only when necessary. Because each time he did he had a violent sneezing fit that endangered his already precarious foothold on the ledge. His skin itched, and he clenched his fingers to keep from scratching.
Who the hell would live in a place like this? On purpose? Now he really wanted to kick the Lord’s ass for making him walk through this. He ignored the small voice telling him this was really his own stupid fault for trying to play the hero to save the only chick he’d ever met who could probably kick his ass.
It’d seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. When Hunter had mentioned that no one could handle the heat but Sable, Slayde had grinned privately. He could handle it. He wasn’t sure why, but from the moment he’d stepped within the circle of Sable’s flames, the fire had beckoned him.
But now... he stared at the lava pit, he was rethinking his decision. Unfortunately it was too late to back out.
“Such a damn masochist,” he growled while carefully sliding forward one maddening inch at a time. The red goo popped with a loud sizzle, blasting out an intense beam of heat.
He actually liked it, it felt like her. An inferno pitch of flames so hot, so searing that it felt like tongues licking at his flesh, breaking him out in a wash of sweat and making his body tremble with a need he couldn’t understand.
Finally he made it to more solid ground but before he felt safe enough to rest his full weight on it, he tested the dirt with the tip of his boot. A gentle tap here and there, but when it didn’t give, he felt confident enough to bear down and breathed a sigh of relief when no hole opened up beneath him. Glancing over his shoulder, Slayde was proud of himself for getting this far. Hopefully luck would continue to stay on his side.
But Murphy’s law was alive and well, because no sooner he thought it, then he was presented with a literal fork in the road. Two paths, one going left, the other right, neither giving any sort of indication to where he should go. There were no footprints, no light, nothing.
Rolling his eyes, he decided he had no choice but to pick. Taking a deep breath he made toward the left.
His heart beat a driving rhythm through his chest; it wasn’t fear but anticipation of the strike. The fight. The feeling of slamming his fist into something and seeing it break beneath him. Feeling the raw and powerful surge of energy that filled his body like molten fire and flew from his fingers like a million shards of glass. Ripping and tearing through flesh, muscle, sinew and bone.
He loved the fight. Always had. Ever since the night he’d come into his power, the night he’d fought back. The night he’d told his old man he’d never do that to them again.
The deeper and further he went, the smaller the tunnel became, until he was finally stooping to get through it. And though he’d never had problems seeing in the dark before, this darkness was a sucking void of nothing. If it weren’t for the fact that he was physically touching rock, he’d swear he’d fallen through a black hole. He stumbled over a bump, falling to one knee and hissing as a sharp bit of something sliced through his jeans and kneecap.
“Damn. Me.” He punched the rocky surface.
He ground his teeth, searching for another way. Hoping he hadn’t come all this way in vain. But after stumbling around blind for several minutes he knew there wasn’t another option. With a low growl, he headed back the way he’d come. Swearing the whole way until finally he was back to where he’d started. He entered the other tunnel and held on to slick, cold rock with one hand while he felt in front of him with the other. The darkness was unwavering and he worried he might have to fight in the blind.
He could do it if he had had, but he’d really rather not. His night vision wasn’t all that impressive.
Suddenly the interior of the cave flooded with a bright blue light. He snarled and jumped back, his eyes squinting from the painful light. Fungi had cut through rock face, the light was coming from the strange looking mushroom caps, but it wasn’t a gentle glow, each cap was like a small ball of sunlight, making him squint as his eyes spontaneously watered.
There was nothing behind him but rock and a few stalactites. He waited, listening so hard, he was sure his heart drove an echoing whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, through the cave.
Knowing he was totally exposed, Slayde decided it might be a good idea to pick up his pace, while trying to be silent. It was easy to be loud under the cover of darkness, but anyone could spot him now. He felt a lot like a wounded gazelle in a den of lions. Not a feeling he particularly enjoyed.
Up ahead a circular opening yawned and he ducked into it, this time praising the blessed darkness.
It took a moment for the sound to reach him. But when it did, it was unmistakable. The rushing tide of fast moving water. He licked his lips and couldn’t stop the grin as he mumbled, “just kick a little dirt in it.”
Making sure there was no one around ready to pounce at him the moment he stepped out of the shadow, he glanced both ways and waited a ten count. Satisfied that he was still alone, he followed the sound.
The small opening was growing larger and wider. Then he saw the water, it was nothing more than a small trickle, but the roar was definitely coming from upstream. Which meant just ahead was what he sought. And likely, the Lord was there and guarding it.
Gradually he became aware of golden dew drops of phosphorescence dancing beneath the surface of the water. The light came from pinky length see through fish. Constantly checking out his surroundings to make sure he wasn’t being followed, he couldn’t help but dart a glance at the stream, studying the fish. Something about them was very odd.
Heart thundering through his veins, senses hyperaware, he bent over. A school of fish scattered at his approach, but not before he realized why they’d looked funny.
None of the fish had eyes.
At all.
In fact, so far as he could tell, it didn’t appear as if the eyes had been plucked out either. The skin on the head was without blemish. These fish were born blind.
That in and of itself wasn’t all that strange, he’d heard of cave fish that were blind, but an overwhelming sense of “wrong” made the back of his neck and skull prickle.
Licking his front teeth, he shrugged off the weirdness. It would only make sense that things seem odd, if what Hunter kept telling them was true, that there was some egomaniacal warlord hell bent on enslaving the world, then yeah… he’d likely surround himself with some strange ass shit.
Slayde lived in a world where strange wasn’t so strang
e anymore. Where the bizarre was as commonplace as the poor. But it was that strangeness that kept him more focused and alert. He’d just have to keep his guard up.
Humility had never been Slayde’s strong suit. He was mentally clapping himself on the back as he followed the flow, knowing eventually he’d hit pay dirt and find the source. He wasn’t sure what to make of this story that a great evil was tapping into sources of power to basically engineer himself into a godlike immortal. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to do the job so he’d get paid. The rest was just semantics.
The further he walked, the more his guard slipped. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, but there was a stream and there was red rock and, apart from the fish, there were no creatures. Nothing to let on that this was being guarded by some big bad Lord. Maybe he’d taken a wrong turn again. Or this stream didn’t lead to the spring… hell, maybe the Lord wasn’t as badass as Hunter had led them to believe. Because the fact was, while he’d tried to be as silent as possible, he’d made noise. Lots of it. So why wasn’t he being attacked, or followed, or something?
The further upstream he got the stronger the surge of water became and the fish, he frowned, looked like they were pumped full of steroids. They were three times the size they’d been downstream and damn, was that fangs he’d just spotted on one?
Not just small pointed things either, but gnarled, vampire looking things pointing like a jagged chainsaw from its slitted mouth.
One fish, ribs in clear relief through its see through body, sank its fangs into a tail that had gotten too close to it. It shook its head like a salty crocodile, in a sort of grinding, ripping back and forth. The fish being attacked, jumped out of the water, twisting in on itself to possibly try and get away, but a final slash of the other fish’s head and the fish that’d jumped out was now missing it’s entire back half.
What the hell was in this water? And how could fish survive it? The water was frothing, churning at the surface and the heat was obvious even from five feet away. Steam rolled around him, breaking him out in a sheen of sweat.
This should be nothing but fish soup, but they were very much alive and swimming freely. The fish that’d been attacked just seconds ago was bobbing along the surface like a cork. Kneeling, Slayde clenched his jaw as he hurriedly swiped it out of the water. Having to release a blast of his red plasma at another fish that’d been making mincemeat of the one in his hand to keep it from savaging his own fingers.
Flipping the fish over and over, he frowned, because what’d appeared like a smooth, glass like surface of scales, was actually heavily armored. More like alligator plating, than fish scales. Which might account for how they survived the heat of the water, but he suspected not.
Turning the fish to the front, his nose curled as he came face to face with the teeth that were definitely much more than just teeth. They were hooked and barbed at the tips, so that when the fish sank into its prey, there was no unhooking it.
“Damn,” he muttered, and with a curl of his nose tossed the fish back into the steaming cesspit. It was set upon immediately, disappearing beneath the water in seconds.
“What the hell is down here?” he asked again, realizing he’d been wrong to let up his guard. That shit wasn’t normal.
His fingers flexed. There was something very off about this place. A nasty feeling sank into the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it aside. It was too late for second thoughts, he was here and they weren’t. The thought that maybe he might not come out of this alive began to impress itself upon him though.
Knowing it was too damn late to turn back, he kept going, eyes scanning constantly from front to back.
Roughly five hundred yards later he spotted, what he assumed was the beginning of the heat spring bubbling up from the center of a man-made well. Blurry waves of heat shimmered off the top of the water. He shielded his eyes from the almost sun level glare shooting up from its nucleus.
“Fuck,” he growled. There was nobody here guarding the place. He stood in the doorway, staring into the empty chamber, at the obvious source of power, and knew he’d just walked into a trap.
Every fine hair on his body was now raised and he cursed himself every kind of asshole, because he wasn’t the kind of guy that did shit like this. Slayde had survived the Great Rift because he was smart. Though people took a look at him and assumed he was just an ignorant redneck, he thought things through and always, always knew when it was time to cut and run.
But he hadn’t done it this time, and he refused to analyze why. Heart beating a million miles per hour in his chest he knew he’d have to see this stupid ass idea out to the bitter end. Running to the well, he knelt and picked up handfuls of dirt, dumping it in over and over.
If the spring was the source of power, than blocking it should work. But he’d underestimated the severity of this situation. Clearly. Berating himself ten times a fool, he continued on with this useless exercise, knowing as he dumped in handful of dirt after dirt it wasn’t doing a damn bit of good.
“Shit,” he snarled, pissed as the dirt continued to swirl away. The dirt wasn’t doing it. But maybe a rock would. Something big he could dump down the hole to block the water. Something. There had to be a way.
Sweat dripped off him in muddy rivulets as he swiped it out of his eyes. Twirling on his heel, he ran to the rock face, running his hands along it, trying to find a chink or crack that he could grab a hold of to help him rip it out. But every time his fingers found a divot, all he could yank out was thin slivers of rock that weren’t even sharp enough to cut someone, let alone block the flow of water.
Manic in his quest to find something he didn’t stop until the shivery presence of “something” made him pause. Slayde whirled around in a defensive crouching position, but he was unprepared for what stood in front of him.
The man was stooped over and frail looking. Brown skin so papery thin each green vein stood out in bold relief. Age spots littered his withered frame. His face was long and hawkish, his jaw hairless and etched with long wrinkles and black swirled markings. His nose was pierced through with a long white bone and at either end appeared to be attached two small monkey skulls.
Slayde snorted, the adrenaline was spiking through his body like verve, and without consciously thinking about it, he relaxed his posture a little.
A stiff wind could knock the old man over.
The stranger walked purposefully toward Slayde, edging closer to the edge of the stream. Maybe if he shot out a bolt he could shove the man into the water. Let the fish have a light lunch.
His hand flexed and he waited, luring the bait closer by his lack of fear. “So you’re what’s got everyone’s panty in a wad, huh? You don’t look scary to me, old man.”
The Lord cocked his head and for the first time Slayde noticed the reptilian irises. A niggle of doubt wormed through his brain. The old man didn’t seem in the slightest bit scared of him. He should be. He should be pissing himself to get away, and come to think of it, he wasn’t really moving like an old man. Slow yeah, but his steps were strong and sure.
“Get back,” Slayde shouted, shoving his energy into his palms, turning them a bright red. His body hummed with energy.
The Lord was close enough, and frankly, Slayde didn’t feel like waiting another second. He shot out a blast of energy so powerful it would have killed ten men. It surrounded the old man like a web drawing closed. But instead of slamming him to his knees, his entire body swelled and what was once an old man, was now a middle aged one with flat black eyes.
Stunned, Slayde couldn’t compute what he was seeing.
The Lord gestured with his hand, in an obvious sign of “come and get me.”
Fury overrode Slayde’s shock, shutting down reason and common sense. If he’d thought things through he would never have done it again. He would have recognized what was going on. But he couldn’t stand to be mocked.
Ever.
He threw wave after wave of his power out. The red
brilliance surrounded the Lord, obscured him. Slayde did not stop until his arm tired. After ten minutes he knew the Lord had to be dead. That level of power was akin to a nuclear time bomb, he’d seen it bring many men to their knees.
So when he dropped his arm, he was unprepared for the body that came hurtling at him with the speed and power of a charging rhino. It threw him back so hard he crashed against the rough lava rock with an ear splitting boom.
There was no time to catch his breath or regain his bearings before the rush of fists pummeled his face, his cheeks, his nose.
Snap.
Crack.
He blinked through swollen eyes, throwing up his hands in a reflexive movement to try and ward off the worst of the blows, but there’d be no stopping this onslaught. His nose crunched and his head swam. Blood started to drip.
If he threw out energy it only made it worse. The more he threw, the more powerful the Lord became. He knew he had teeth missing, that his tongue was split in two from accidentally biting down on it, all he could do was laugh. A gurgling, pitiful, broken sound. Maybe Hunter was right, maybe he was a loser. Only a loser would knowingly walk into death’s arms.
The Lord sliced through his stomach and his body quivered with surprise. This was a beating unlike any he’d ever gotten in his life.
He’d really misjudged this one.
If he had to die, then he’d die fighting. With every last drop of will he possessed, he stood tall against the constant barrage of fists.
He would die like a man, or not at all.
Chapter 5: The Lord Part 3 (Sable)
They reached the entrance to the spring echoing with the grunts and groans of a battle. Sable blinked in horror, unable to process what she saw. The Lord drove a punishing fist into Slayde’s face. He blinked and then crumpled like a broken doll to the ground.
“Sable, come on,” Hunter said in an urgent stage whisper.
The stomping of lots of feet drew closer. The Lord glanced up, sniffing the air and she knew they were seconds away from being discovered.