Shepherd's Wolf

by M. Andrew Reid

Everyone except Laura groaned. Even Ben was disappointed.

  “I can’t look at you,” Haymaker shook his head sadly, “That was an opportunity of a lifetime. You’re the oldest person here; you should know this out of all of us. These kids have probably never seen a book made of paper, and even they got the reference.”

  “Someone tell me what I was supposed to say,” Bishop growled.

  Wisp raised his arms in the air, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

  Bishop frowned, “How is that better?”

  Haymaker sputtered, “Old wizard with a staff? Bridge over a bottomless pit? Monster?” He frowned sadly, “You know what? Let’s just go. I have nothing else to say.”

  Laura stood beside Bishop as the others entered the final elevator. She whispered to him, “Don’t feel bad. These people are crazy.”

  Room 4: The Armory

  Viper wished the door would shut, but it stayed open. Angry-looking robots filled the room, each one carrying a sword or rocket launcher. Who uses rocket launchers in a space-ship?

  Normally bold, Fletch was motionless on Viper’s shoulder. There was no urging to hurry or impatient squawking.

  “So now you shut up? I guess we’ve discovered the limits of your insanity.” Viper muttered as he exited the elevator.

  Every robot was facing the door on the far end of the room. They were silent and intent, completely oblivious to Viper and Fletch.

  One rocket launcher toting tankbot was moving its turret up and down lazily, back and forth, whirring like a blender motor. Its neighbors paid it no mind, and watched the door anxiously.

  The robot appeared to be amusing itself. It rotated its treads so that it would turn left and right as the turret went up and down. Another robot finally took notice, and a mechanical “Stop it,” rang in the mostly empty room.

  Dancing tankbot turned to reply, and barked an alarm when it spotted Viper, “Intruder!”

  Viper broke into a dead run, and Fletch clawed skyward. Blue and red eyes glared at Viper from brutish metal heads as he sprinted toward the security bots.

  Rockets hissed in angry swarms. Viper held out his hand and warded them away. Clouds of missiles veered around him. Explosions rocked the room and a shockwave nearly lifted him off his feet.

  Crystal swords sang their death song as they searched for Viper. He rolled and dove and spun through the mass of foes. A sword nicked his arm, and he was dismayed to feel wet blood. Nothing had pierced his armor before. Now, it was serious.

  Viper threw walls of ice around him as he ran, dividing his attackers and blocking their blows. Tongues of lightning licked out and fried the nearest bots, but more kept coming. The door still appeared impossibly far away.

  Quickly he cast a spell, bursting into a red glow and gaining tremendous speed. The world around Viper blurred. Swords and claws swiped at air behind him. He raised more ice walls, forming a narrow channel that ended at the door.

  Fletch dropped down from above and slammed a claw into the button for the door. The hawk disappeared inside immediately as it opened.

  Several robots were trapped between the ice walls and stood directly in Viper’s path. He blasted them into a multitude of fragments, and stumbled into the elevator. Ice grew up in a thick white barrier, blocking entry behind Viper. Fletch clawed at the button and the door began to shut.

  Viper looked at his arm. Blood was still seeping out of a thin line traced into his armor. He leaned against the wall and caught his breath, glaring at Fletch, “I’m never listening to a bird again.”

  Room 5: Dry Storage

  The next room was little better. Rockets pounded the walls behind Viper as he stepped clear of the elevator. He dove behind shattered cartons and began working his way through a maze of crushed boxes, spilled containers, and the corpses of two massive robot spiders.

  Security bots hunted him through dark canyons of containers. Viper managed to avoid direct confrontation while continuing toward the exit. Fletch was always soaring above, guiding him onward and preventing him from getting lost among the rows and rows of boxes. Whenever Viper was about to take a wrong turn, or head down a path that would lead him into the searching enemy, Fletch would squawk out a warning.

  A final half-hearted salvo of rockets screeched toward Viper when he reached the exit door. He detonated the rockets with a flurry of purple bolts from his fingertips. The platoon of robots - either out of ammunition or conceding defeat - watched silently from afar as he opened the door and stepped inside.

  Room 8: Training Grounds

  Welcome to Combat Simulator B. Please provide subject material.

  All was black. The door had vanished when they exited, leaving them standing in nothingness. It was impossible for them to see their hands in front of their faces. They drifted in darkness, waiting for someone else to give an answer.

  Bishop swallowed, “What do you mean by subject material?”

  In order to run the simulation, we require a subject material. This includes historical occurrences, literature, or improvised scenarios. You have thirty seconds to choose a material or the program will terminate.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Haymaker sighed. “What are we supposed to say?”

  “We have to pick something quickly,” Athena replied, her voice coming from somewhere behind Haymaker. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but a safe course would be something harmless; in case we have to fight.”

  “Like watching grass grow? Would that count as a scenario?” Wisp asked.

  “I have a feeling,” Bishop spoke thoughtfully, “whatever thing we pick will become the most horrific version of that thing imaginable.”

  “How about a musical?” Haymaker added. “Those are boring as…”

  “Phantom of the Opera!” Laura exclaimed excitedly. “That’s my favorite.”

  Scenario selected. Please stand by.

  The floor shook sharply, nearly sending everyone tumbling. Groans and roars exploded around them; the thunder of trash cans thrown into a cement mixer. Thousands of hammers drove millions of nails, and a jetliner filled with wailing cats surged past. Finally, there was silence.

  And lights.

  Beneath them were rows and rows of plush velvet seats. Beyond these seats - a grand stage concealed by a maroon curtain that kissed shining hardwood floors. Above them, a magnificent balcony hung, draped with golden sashes and carvings of dancing cherubs. A tremendous, exquisite chandelier hung from the domed ceiling, casting moody light and shadow on their faces.

  Awestruck, the group stood on a mezzanine that separated the upper theater from the lower. Stairs ran up and down to the top and bottom of the auditorium. They stood in utter silence, glancing about nervously - waiting for something to happen.

  Gloom settled in as the chandelier dimmed. Spotlights illuminated the maroon curtain. An organ began to play a familiar overture, filling the room with vibrations and tension.

  “This could be cool,” Wisp said hopefully, humming along.

  Slowly, the curtain drew back. An elaborate set was gradually revealed - a dark, gothic scene with pale ivory columns, creeping vines, and flickering lanterns. A marble staircase straddled center-stage, rising sharply to end in a wide platform.

  Atop these stairs sat the organ, a monstrosity of twisted brass pipes and steel and steam. Seated at this organ, pounding away at cracked and discolored keys, was the organist.

  Twisted sinew wrapped around his long fingers. A dusty, tattered tuxedo hung loose on his misshapen frame. His back rippled and wriggled beneath the worn cloth, as if something was inside him, yearning for freedom. Haunting music rose and fell with each masterful flourish of his dead fingers.

  A woman - beautiful and cold - floated onto the stage. Her silken red dress trailed behind her. Icy black eyes set in a white, sharp face swept over the theater. She stopped at center stage and raised her hands to a nonexistent audience. The music surged in intensity.

  Tongues of green flame licked from the organ pipes, flinging ball
s of putrid energy into the air. These orbs hammered into the theater seats like meteors, birthing slender ghouls that slowly rose from a green mist. Slobbering and laughing, the ghouls clambered over the seats - jaws agape and eyes burning with hunger.

  Haymaker roared and shoved Ben behind a row of seats. He slung the round shield on his arm, and Manticore burst into flames. The curved blade glimmered fiercely as Haymaker took a position in the center of the aisle. He crouched low with his shield up and his sword ready to strike.

  Athena hopped up onto the nearest seatback, her bow drawn tight with an arrow brushing her cheek. Arc Flash hummed with energy, its steel cables and pulleys pulsing with an unearthly blue light.

  Bishop motioned for Laura to get down, and she dropped beside Ben. The boy was trembling; the journey and constant stress had bent him to a near breaking point.

  Laura glanced up at the others, “We’re done after this, right?”

  “The final fight,” Bishop affirmed. “The last room.”

  “Did you hear that, Ben?” Laura said reassuringly, “this is the last fight and we’re out of here.” Her voice was strengthened with false confidence. She could see the fear and worry in Bishop’s eyes, and Athena’s composure was slipping. The Huntress was shaking slightly on her perch.

  Gabe tried to push forward and guard the aisle beside Haymaker, but Wisp shouldered him back. “Sorry, mutt. If we lose you this was all pointless. Go protect Ben.”

  Whining in disappointment, the wolf obeyed. He stood next to Ben and curled his lips. The hackles on his back rose, fluffing his white mane to make him look twice as large.

  Wisp took the wolf’s intended place beside Haymaker. Slight and fragile he looked beside the heavily armored Brutalli. He drew his blades, the flashing and sputtering Spark Katana and the demonic Ramar’s Fang, and waited.

  Arc Flash chattered as Athena fired into the pack of rushing ghouls. Wailing in agony, the stricken writhed on the floor, but the wave of ghouls did not relent.

  Bishop raised his staff and scattered the ghouls like leaves with a blue shockwave. Theater seats ripped from their brackets and tumbled through the air.

  This only served as a brief distraction. Soon, the ghouls were back on their feet and stretching out gnarled claws as they rushed forward.

  Haymaker shouted a challenge, drawing the ghouls to him. Manticore carved a fiery path into the horde. Shrieking, flaming ghouls clawed at the round shield and pressed him back. He raised an armored boot and slammed it down. An orange ring exploded outward, stunning the ghouls for a moment. Wisp and Athena quickly hacked and shot their way through the immobilized monsters.

  When the last ghoul fell, the organist held a single droning chord. A tendril of green fire snaked out of the organ and swam through the air until it touched the woman in red.

  She sang - a high haunting note that threaded its way into the organ’s drone. The tendril wrapped around her, and she was surrounded and infused by a green glow.

  The music changed. A full orchestra joined the organ’s reedy voice. An intense and vibrant symphony rose from everywhere and nowhere. With open mouths the party watched, transfixed, as a dark figure dropped from the ceiling.

  He was taller than Haymaker, and broader. A red, flowing cape was thrown over his shoulder - moving of its own accord. Dressed in black, he clutched an ebony cane. Black boots carried him across the lush carpet, smooth and confident. A white mask covered half of his face; the other half was a grotesque puzzle of blackened flesh. One crazed eye leered at them.

  Once again the music rose in intensity. The Red Woman drew a breath, and began to sing again.

  The Phantom lunged forward, lashing out with his cane. Haymaker caught the blow on his shield and counterattacked with a thrust from Manticore. Laughing, the Phantom dodged. He was fast - faster than Haymaker. Another rapid blow rattled the shield.

  Wisp moved in to strike from Haymaker’s right. Both blades licked out in a short arc, and both were turned aside by casual swipes of the black cane. The Phantom’s red cape coiled around Wisp’s foot and flipped him on his back.

  Athena rolled to the left flank, and fired into the Phantom’s backside. Suddenly, the red cape whipped around and batted the arrow out of the air. Three more arrows were quickly knocked down in a flourish; the Phantom never flinched.

  “Bishop?” Haymaker deflected another blow from the cane; he was being driven back inch by inch.

  “I can’t…” Bishop stammered. “Nothing is working, I already tried…”

  “Give me a shield at least!” Haymaker snarled.

  A blue field of light enveloped Haymaker at Bishop’s beckon. He threw his sword with a frustrated roar and bowled into the Phantom.

  The Phantom was not expecting the charge. Haymaker grabbed at the red cape with vice-like strength and swung Myrmidon’s shield with all of his might.

  A crack split the room when the shield connected, and the mask when flying.

  Beneath this mask had been a smooth, handsome face with a bright blue eye. Haymaker’s blow had shattered the Phantom’s jaw. The Phantom shrieked in anger and misery. Gouts of green flame burst from the organ as it launched more ghouls into the theater. Wild and screaming, they rushed up the aisles.

  A furious two-handed blow from the ebony cane sent Haymaker reeling to his knees. Wisp stepped in and caught the follow-up strike with the flat of his katana, straining against immense strength. Twice as tall as Wisp, the Phantom laughed and kicked at him. Wisp whirled away. Ramar’s Fang sighed with delight as it bit into the Phantom’s thigh. Black blood spilled onto the deep carpet, and the Phantom laughed again.

  Athena had turned her attention to the ghouls, barely keeping up as they scrabbled over the seats and dropped down from the balconies above. Her arrows struck true, but there were so many ghouls and she was only one archer. Bishop did what he could to control them with spells and shield walls, but the group was soon to be overwhelmed.

  The Phantom backed away, and the woman in red stopped singing. When her voice faded, the green tendril released her, and snaked its way across the theater to the Phantom. It lifted him in the air, bathed in green light, and drew him toward the stage. Blood flowing from the wound on his thigh slowed to a trickle and stopped. His broken jaw clicked back into place, perfect and handsome on one side, twisted and black on the other. Any damage inflicted upon him was erased by the organ’s energy.

  The Red Woman drifted toward him, her red dress swimming across the stage as she lifted into the air. She held out her hands to the Phantom, and they briefly caressed one another. The

  Phantom settled to the stage; his face strained with passion as he sang.

  Lightning pierced the darkness around the Red Woman. Her eyes grew wide and livid, her teeth sharpened into fangs. She unfurled glistening claws, and white-hot bolts exploded from her fingertips.

  Haymaker caught the bolts full in the chest, and staggered back into a row of seats. His armor was blackened and scorched, tainting the air with the smell of burning metal.

  Athena fired, but her arrows were knocked aside by the folds of the red dress. The woman drifted out of reach of Wisp and his sword.

  The Red Woman attacked again, electricity leaping out and lifting Bishop in the air. He quickly shielded himself, breaking the link and dropping to the floor. Fiercely, the old mage retaliated with a blast of blue energy, but the woman in red chuckled and shrugged it off.

  Haymaker pointed at the stage, “It’s the organ. We have to take out the organist!”

  “Right.” Athena drew an arrow and fired across the theater.

  A yellow streak whistled toward the organist, but was smacked down by the Phantom’s cape. Athena fired again, and again, and again, but each arrow was turned aside with a flick of red cloth.

  Wisp absorbed a bolt of lightning with the katana and sprinted for the stage. Halfway down the aisle, he vanished from sight. The Red Woman whirled and blindly released a storm of energy in his direction. Haymaker leapt into t
he air, grabbed onto the trails of her dress, and wrapped red silk around his arm. Athena began releasing arrows into her exposed back, eliciting screams of pain from the floating sorceress.

  Wisp reappeared on the stage, running for the stairs leading to the organist. In a blur, the Phantom was upon him. Casually, he reached out with his cane - which was now wrapped in green light- and tapped Wisp on the shoulder.

  A katana and a dagger rattled on the wooden stage floor. Green light spread across Wisp’s body, and he struggled desperately to take another step. Soon, he was frozen in place, surrounded by a green glow.

  Bishop gasped in horror, and he shakily held Crucible aloft in a futile effort to remove the curse. Nothing happened; Wisp was out of the fight.

  Room 6: Control Room

  A single metal finger pointed to the door on the left. The lilac-colored robot stood motionless; its eyes were dark. Viper took several steps toward the door and noticed the pile of metal and robot parts on the floor.

  Viper lifted a cracked robot head from the floor, his mouth twisted in a thoughtful sneer, “What do you think, Fletch? You seem to enjoy riddles and cryptic nonsense. Why would they kill this robot?”

  No time.

  He shrugged and dropped the head on the floor, and stepped through the door on the right.

  Room 7: Core Shaft

  In the next room, a chasm yawned dark and foreboding. Fletch quickly buzzed across the void and clacked a talon against the button to activate the bridge. Nothing happened.

  Fletch squawked in frustration and smashed against the button repeatedly. The hawk was agitated; Viper could sense it. Fletch shrieked again and slammed his talons into the button, desperation building.

  “What do we do?” Viper called.

  Fletch stiffened, regained his composure, and took to the air. He crossed the chasm and landed on the floor next to Viper. The hawk waddled to the edge of the platform and turned to face Viper. He spread his wings.