Guardians (Chosen Trilogy Book 2)

by David Leadbeater

  He watched now as this demon—Abraxus—stalked toward him. Ken felt an odd rush of gladness to see he was human-shaped, which left nothing weird to contend with like tentacles, talons, clawed hoofs or similar. He’d been fearing he might have to go up against something that looked like an extreme donkey, all teeth, mule-kicks and slaver, but at least Abraxus had the usual amount of arms and legs. The thing was covered in chainmail and leather, and carried a mace, a short sword and a shield.

  Ken stepped back as they came together, a mistake. A deep sneer crossed Abraxus’ features, revealing teeth sharper than razors.

  “Sword’s just for chopping bits off,” it grated. “Teeth are for chewing them up.”

  Ken revised his opinion of the creature and gripped his sword tighter, reminding himself that this was the Lionheart blade. Did the Devil know? Had he recognized it? Ken doubted that he had. At that moment the Devil sat down and Abraxus struck; sword overhand, slicing straight toward Ken’s skull.

  It wasn’t a skilful attack. Ken sidestepped, then saw why. The shield, used as a weapon, was already coming around. Ken turned sideways on to negate the impact but the round metal still clanged into his shoulder, knocking him to his knees and sending a shockwave the size of a Cadillac through his head. He sensed the sword descending again and threw his own weapon up, catching the blade on the meat of his own.

  The clash of steel echoed around the stadium, sending the crowd into a bloodlust of fury.

  Ken scrambled and struggled to his feet. Abraxus eyed him, and now Ken saw pupils blinking and crossing over other pupils within the creature’s eyes. Talk about unnerving. He swung the sword, then juddered as it was caught on the shield, the impact jarring every bone in his body. Abraxus struck again.

  Ken skipped back, his bare feet slipping through sand and sending up whorls of dust in his wake. When Abraxus overstretched, Ken stepped back in, with no room to maneuver the sword, but managed to deliver a good kick to the kidneys.

  Or whatever organ existed in that part of the demon’s body.

  If any.

  Ken danced away again, trying desperately not to become overconfident. He knew from experience what that kind of swagger got you. Abraxus attacked once more, then threw his shield straight at Ken’s head.

  Stunned, Ken didn’t even move. The flying metal impacted with his forehead, staggering him. He saw blackness and stars, went down in a heap, tried to arrest his collapse, but somehow couldn’t manage to send the signal between brain and muscles. Sand, dirt, blood and bits of old bone hit him in the face, coated his lips. Face down, he tried to roll.

  A sword smashed into the floor where his head had been. Lucky, so goddamn lucky. Ken managed to force his eyes open, to see Abraxus stood over him, sword poised point down as he stared up at the Devil.

  The Devil showed the thumbs down.

  Ken couldn’t believe his luck at the brief moment of pause. It was all he needed. Whilst Abraxus checked with his master, the Californian twisted and dug his own weapon out of the sand. Then he heaved upward, impaling Abraxus through the abdomen, watching as utter surprise registered across his features, feeling nothing but pure relief as the demon slumped before falling away.

  Ken clambered to his knees. Catcalls and boos hissed from the stands. The Devil stared down over all, a grim smile upon his lips.

  “Next contestants,” he called.

  Ken staggered away, leaving the broken body behind. His eyes met Felicia’s and saw the mix of happiness and fear there.

  The lycan was up next.

  *

  Felicia stood against Dagon, some kind of warrior demon. Ken thought he might have heard of him, but then realized it was probably from watching too many horror movies. Demonology had existed in art and literature for centuries. Unrefined vanity almost guaranteed that these demons vied with each other to increase their prominence in human consciousness, thus bettering their names with Lucifer and being granted more lands, more leeway. More subjects.

  Ken rested and tried not to die of heart failure when Dagon marched out to face Felicia. A mountainous brow overshadowed a pale face, made even more indistinct by the masses of squid-like protrusions that swayed and dangled from the thing’s forehead. Ken squirmed when he realized each appendage ended in a small, blinking eye. Dagon sported a tail too, a whip-like thing covered in spikes. His legs were thick and well-planted when he stopped and Ken tried to hide a smile.

  He had seen Felicia in action. Dagon was slow and strong. Didn’t stand a chance in hell. So to speak.

  The two enemies engaged, Felicia slipping instantly into wolf form and darting back and forth, ripping flesh and drawing blood from Dagon with lightning-quick moves that were two or three beats faster than the beast could even think. In minutes the blood loss had the demon on its knees. Not long after that it was down.

  And out.

  Felicia ambled back, the transformation taking place as she walked and making Ken gawp. He would never get used to it.

  Felicia stuck a finger into her mouth. “Got one of its eyes stuck between my teeth,” she breathed. “Urrggh.”

  Ken pulled a face. He watched Eliza walk out toward the middle of the arena, and for the first time allowed himself a little hope. Eliza was their best, a true warrior. The Devil surely couldn’t make all four of them fight each other. No way.

  Eliza stopped and the crowd hushed. The Devil pointed to the gate once more. As it rumbled up, Ken blinked and squinted. He knew that figure.

  Shit. Dementia prowled through the sand and dirt, fists flexing, necklace bones dangling, teeth grinding. The demon-bitch was going to be a handful, but Ken was still confident in Eliza. This was their chance to get rid of one of their greatest nemeses.

  The Devil took his seat, form flickering again. Ken was a little fascinated but tore his gaze away as Eliza and Dementia came together. The demon struck with fury and brute force. The vampire countered with precision and skill. Black leather danced around animal hides. The crowd quieted as it became clear the opponents, worlds apart in their styles, were evenly matched. Ken found his hands curled into fists. If they won this . . . if Eliza could just take out Dementia . . .

  It all came to a bloody end with some spectacular moves. Dementia sprang at Eliza like a wolf, her entire body leaving the ground. Eliza’s reflexes enabled her to catch the demon on upraised palms and hurl her further into space. Dementia landed with a squeal and a tumble, and Eliza was on her in a split-second, fangs bared, moving faster than Ken could blink.

  Eliza ripped flesh from the demon-bitch’s bones, spitting the ragged chunks out and ducking instinctively toward the source of flowing blood. Dementia struggled, but intense pain had almost incapacitated her. She flung her head from side to side, a crazy patient, a loon without a single clear thought, whipping and marking her own flesh with the rough bone necklace. She kicked and bucked but Eliza’s strength held her in place.

  Eliza bit and spat out more flesh. A dark mix of red and green blood coated her lips, her chin, most of her face, and dripped down the front of her jacket. Ken cheered, though quietly and a little disgustedly.

  “What a win,” he breathed. “Now, we have a chance.”

  Felicia stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You think so, pretty boy? Have you forgotten where we are? Who the ringmaster is? Have you lost your mind?”

  He huffed, a little speech about optimism on the verge of slipping off the tip of his tongue, when there was a pained shriek from the arena. Almost smiling, he looked toward the prone Dementia, expecting death throes, but it was the oddest of sights that greeted him.

  Eliza lay on her back, body twisting unnaturally, literally wracked in spasms of agony.

  And Dementia rolled over, still leaking from several wounds. “Poissson,” she said. “My blood isss poissson. It eatsss from the insiiide. Do you like?”

  Eliza bucked and kicked, then reared up so that her back almost bent in two. Green blood leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her teeth were bare
d in a rictus of shock. Milo cried out and tried to run to her aid, but a crowd of guards pointed weapons at him, keeping him in place. Ken watched in utter disbelief as Dementia painfully rose to her knees, head down.

  “It isss overrr . . .”

  Eliza shuddered once more, a contraction that broke bones, and then lay still. For a second all was quiet, an air of shock having settled over the arena like a heavy shroud, then the place erupted with cheering. Demons bayed and hooted. Dementia shambled away.

  Milo sank to his knees. “No. No. Not Eliza.”

  Ken shared his pain, but this was no time for the mountain-like vampire to fall apart. The Devil was already calling for him, the crowd already quieting.

  It was his turn to fight.

  *

  Ken could barely watch for the next six minutes or so. Milo went up against Kat, an odd naked twelve-foot-tall mixed-species growler that reminded him of some bars back in ‘Frisco. Kat fired darts the size of small daggers from her appendages, most attached to thin sinew that enabled her to rewind them back in after contact.

  And Milo took plenty of contact. At first unresponsive, shambolic, uncaring, Kat stuck him like a porcupine, knives flashing in and out of the flesh of his thighs, arms and great stomach. He didn’t even flinch, just skirted the unmoving body of his mistress. After a while though, the pain started to register and, when Kat moved in, becoming a tad overconfident, Milo reached for her, the trunks of his arms enfolding her into a lethal embrace, and squeezed with all his might, all his fury and grief. He squeezed until Kat snapped, until she slumped lifelessly, and then he squeezed harder.

  At last he flung the broken thing to the floor and walked away.

  Ken didn’t want to think about what was going to happen next.

  TWENTY NINE

  Lilith worked her way carefully though each deadly circle of hell. Several times she came close to confrontation, to capture, but in all but one of the encounters her assailants either passed her over or walked away. Her father, the Devil, had marked her. Of that there was no doubt. It only remained now to see if she could erase that mark. Escaping the Devil’s clutches would be one of the hardest and most dangerous feats in history, but Lilith was determined to succeed or die trying.

  There was no other alternative.

  The final level of hell was a mess, awash with a tide of demons and hellish creatures, all awaiting their turn to squeeze through the Miami gate and enter the Overworld: earth. Lilith kept to the low places and shadow as much as she could but even these places were sometimes crawling with vermin, with fell beasts. Her odd encounters continued, and only served to strengthen her resolve.

  She would find a way out of this. The denizens of hell held no sway over her so long as she stayed clear of her mother. And she would. She would become a monument of isolation, a covert queen of indifference. It she didn’t care then nobody could ever coerce her. If she remained alone, they would never force her back.

  And they would never find her.

  But for now, she needed to escape through the Miami gate and get this artefact to the Aegis organization. Her obligation to Ken and his team. After that, it was onward and upward. Well, at least onward.

  Foot by foot, inch by inch, she trudged through the filth toward the gate. She got so close she could see through it. She saw soldiers on the other side, armed with weapons both small and large, firing round after round into everything that emerged. She saw the growing pile of demonic bodies, half-filling the gateway—which accounted for the awful traffic tailback—and had to admit their plan wasn’t half bad. Block the gate with enough heavy, unmoving bodies and the rest of hell couldn’t get through.

  She got so close she could read hotel names beyond the beach, see the star-filled sky and wispy clouds. She was mesmerized by the vivid lights. The thought of returning to the land of her birth made tears spring from her eyes. And though the Devil had never hurt her, not once tried to corrupt her . . .

  Why? Oh, why? Oh why? What is your terrible plan . . . ?

  She knew that she would die before she ever returned to his lair, before being forced to confront him again.

  The world was within reach.

  And Samael found her.

  The great king of hell, the being that did the Devil’s own dirty work, the monster assassin, rose up before her like the blackest shadow of her life. With wings outstretched and the huge horned head uplifted, he blocked out her view of the gates and freedom. His vengeful darkness encompassed her.

  “You have led me a great dance, Lilith, daughter of Lucifer. But that dance is at an end. And nevermore shall you have hope. Nevermore shall you desire freedom. The Lord has spoken. It is time. Your time.”

  Lilith flicked her head from side to side, a terrified deer caught in the most horrendous of headlights. My time? What—?

  “Come with me now. And embrace your destiny, oh chosen one.”

  Lilith felt her heart leap, her breathing jump up into overtime. Did he just call me chosen one? Ken had mentioned something about the Chosen on earth, the last guardians, the few men and women with enough power to stop the invasion.

  So now there are the Chosen of hell? Of the Devil?

  No . . . no . . . kill me now.

  She ran at him. She kicked and punched. He didn’t retaliate, but caught her blows easily, letting her tire herself out. When she realized this she turned tail and ran, covering ground fast, topping a hill and racing down the other side.

  Thirty feet from the gate.

  On the other side, soldiers fired their guns. Fixed armament sent missiles flying into the larger creatures trying to squeeze through. Those that died slumped over piles of the dead, serving only to block the hole. Some stronger demons slipped through, but didn’t appear to possess the intellect to attack their attackers. They raced away, capering into the Overworld.

  Lilith would risk it all then. With Samael flapping over her shoulder, talons reaching for her, she ducked and ploughed ahead. Startled creatures flinched or stared from all sides. The artefact stayed clutched in her hand. Fear and hope bounded around and collided in her chest like playful kittens. The ground was rough, furrowed by hundreds of clawed feet. She fell once, but the action saved her life, sending her body underneath Samael’s swoop.

  It bought her precious time.

  Then Samael dropped out of the skies, a plunging angel of death. Lilith was now close enough to wave at and lock eyes with several of the soldiers, beseeching them to help. She expected nothing.

  But it was only when Samael landed on her, scrabbling for purchase, his disgusting demon’s mouth snuffling and mashed across her neck, that she experienced the true heroism of humans and soldiers. One moment she was lost, captured; the next a group of military men burst through the gates of hell, weapons chattering, spewing lead and RPG missiles and hurling stun grenades, forming a phalanx that speared straight toward her.

  Samael the great king of hell rose, shrieking, his bulk the stuff of every man’s nightmare, but they never even flinched. They fought on. They battled. The woman was their goal, the woman in distress.

  “She’s one of ours!” someone shouted and Lilith felt a surge of love, hope and eternal gratitude. She squirmed out from under Samael, pulling free as bullets and rockets stormed into him, hiding his form in a repulsive cloud.

  One of ours!

  She ran to them and they pulled her among them. They herded and protected her. They formed a circle and put her in the middle, firing, running, staying focused. Now they had to climb a heap of bodies that they had helped make, but their team mates on the other side helped by picking off attacking demons.

  Up and up they went. Lilith among friends for the first time in her life and surrounded by people that cared. That would fight for her.

  One of ours.

  Suddenly, her objectives took on a new and deeper purpose.

  THIRTY

  Ken felt a sense of relief when the tournament was called to a temporary halt after the first round.
Either the Devil had gotten some news that needed attending to or he wanted them to come out fresh and rested in the morning. Either way, the businessman left the arena and the crowd of demons filed away. Ken and his two compatriots were jabbed through a gate toward a row of cells.

  With spears, swords, claws and fangs all around, Ken knew there would be no opportunity to escape. Even if Milo was with them and not entrenched in world of grief, even he couldn’t hope to barrel through so many weapons. So there was nothing else for it. Ken let them lock him in his cell.

  Only then did he see Felicia led to hers and mashed, inside that cell, into her own small cage. The lycan’s instant moans clawed to the very depths of his heart. He wanted to say how sorry he was, how she should struggle through it.

  But he knew nothing about the depths of her torment. He feared he might make it worse.

  So Ken sat with his back to the wall and stared at his knees. He listened to Felicia wail and Milo cry. He felt more wretched, more dejected and heartbroken than at any other time in his life. He saw no future, and no victory. The Chosen were lost, their world doomed. If misery and desolation were the basest emotions in the very depths of hell then Ken knew he was there.

  The night passed slowly, and there was no relief.

  *

  Even before the guards came for them, Ken knew the tournament was being resumed. The swelling clamor from the crowd, the stomping of feet on the bleachers, the baying and howling and demands for blood.

  The path was short and their guards forced them along at a fast pace. Even Felicia, who struggled even to crawl after a night crammed into her cage. Ken stooped and helped her along. The guards noticed that their pace then increased so did nothing to stop him.

  Out into the arena they walked, and the crowd cheered. Today they would bleed. Today they would die. Today they were all Daniel, and this was the worst lion’s den in known history.

  Ken thought about home and all the bright things that had ever happened to him.