by Erik Lynd
He gestured to Apophis standing against the wall.
“It seems my ward’s new bodyguards have brought us a present. The Hunter is imprisoned.”
“Imprisoned? How? These mortals dispatched the Hunter of Lost Souls?” Andre asked. Golyat simply nodded to Apophis.
“We fought him in Cairo, surely you heard about the massacre in Egypt? It went viral as they say now,” Apophis said.
“That was you?” Michael asked. “The slaughter in the market?”
“So, not mere mortals then,” Andre said.
“No, not mortal at all,” Apophis continued with a shrug. “We drew him out, it was easy really. Then we defeated him but chose not to kill him. Instead, we trapped him underground where he will remain for eternity. Even as we speak he is shriveled from lack of water and food, and he has several tons of rock above his head. There is no way for even him to escape.”
“And what proof do you have, or do you expect us to just take your word?”
“There is this,” Golyat said and dropped the pocket knife on the table.
Grace watched their faces as they moved from confusion to recognition.
“Is this what I think it is?” Michael asked.
“The Weapon, yes,” Golyat said with only a hint of the irritation Grace knew he felt towards the handsome man. “These three gentlemen took it as a trophy.”
They were quiet a moment, staring at the Weapon, then Andre spoke. “Well then, I suppose you were right all along. The great Hunter was just a child with luck on his side.” He laughed a deep laugh that contained not a little bit of relief. “The great and powerful Lord of Damnation we all feared is a myth, the last vestige of a time long past. A last hurrah, so to speak.”
An alarm suddenly sounded; everyone looked up at Golyat, who was scowling. He reached down and pressed something on the touchscreen resting on the table. “What is going on? Why is there a perimeter alarm?”
“Sir, it’s the Hunter; he’s here,” said the voice on the other end.
Golyat returned the cold stares of the dark souls around him.
“So, it seems you have fooled us all once again. Just when we think you are not a failure, you prove us wrong,” Draug growled.
Golyat glared at Apophis, “Can you explain this?”
Apophis shrugged. “If it is him, then obviously he escaped. I can defeat him again.”
The other dark souls were standing and moving toward a side door, looking for a quick escape Grace suspected.
“Wait!” Golyat roared. “This not a problem, we just fall back on my original plan. If that is the Hunter, then surely our combined strength can easily stop him.”
“Sorry Golyat, we can’t risk you being wrong again. Not with our freedom on the line. I won’t go back to Hell,” Michael said. “I would advise you to do the same.”
“I want him stopped at the lobby. Bring all available firepower to bear,” Golyat roared at guard through the speaker on the desk.
“Um…sir,” came the slightly concerned voice on the other end. “He isn’t coming through the lobby.”
In the distance they heard a thud and crashing sound. It sounded like it was on this same floor. Grace looked at Apophis and nodded to the Weapon on the table. One of his brothers stepped and slipped it into his pocket while Golyat was distracted by his departing fellow dark souls.
“I defeated him once mistress, I can do so again,” Apophis said.
“Yes go,” she said and then just as they turned to leave. “And Apophis? No mercy, no capturing. Just fucking kill him.”
28
“Can you hear me?”
The voice of Juan came over the earpiece. It was just one of the new cool pieces of tech Juan had picked up. The souped-up tech van, parked several blocks away, was another. But then, Christopher had given him a huge budget and no oversight.
“Yes, loud and clear,” Christopher replied.
Juan had not wanted to come any closer than a few blocks away. That was probably a good idea considering what had happened to him last time.
Christopher stood on top of a building directly across from Golyat’s. He was wrapped in the shadows of his uniform like a familiar blanket. Dark power simmered around him, distorting the air. Next to him Hellcat growled impatiently.
“Soon girl, soon,” Christopher said. He felt the same impatience. If Hamlin were not at risk, he would have spent some time at the Library reading up on this particular dark soul. He knew next to nothing about the dark soul that was the ringleader of the alliance. It was a dangerous risk, but every moment he was in there, Hamlin was closer to being dead, if he wasn’t already.
Christopher also knew, although he was not proud his mind went there, that the longer they had him in their possession, the more information they could get out of him. He could be forced to give away secrets, like the location of the Lairs. The might not be able to enter them easily, but given enough time who knows? They had to move fast, at least to rescue Hamlin.
“Are sure you’re up for this?” asked Juan. “I mean you just went through a lot, you even said yourself you feel like your mind is a little tender and your body might not have fully recovered.”
“I am up for this, I have to be. Were you able to get back into the video system?”
“Yeah, they haven’t really had time to find all the holes I discovered earlier. I have control of the primary video, but the secondary security network is still invisible to me, so I have my blind spots.”
“Can you tell me where Hamlin or Golyat are?”
Hamlin I can’t see, but I think he’s still in the penthouse; that was where they took him. Golyat though, I saw him moving around, kind of hard to miss someone of that size. He’s also on the penthouse level. He and Grace entered a room with large double doors; they had three others with them. I would say they’re guards, but they weren’t dressed like the rest. I have no video access in the actual room. Anybody could be in there.”
Christopher centered his mind, stilling stray thoughts in preparation for the battle ahead. Then he leaped from the building. Power radiated out from him, shooting tendrils of darkness to nearby buildings and propelling him forward. He flew over the street below, it was late but that doesn’t slow down New York. The streets were filled with people, and if any of them had looked up they would have seen the dark form surrounded by shadows and crackling energy soar across the sky like a demon riding lightning.
He smashed through the window of the penthouse, rolling to his feet. Furniture flew away from the blast of his entry. He had landed in the main living room, the windows surrounding the room shattered in their frames as the aura of power rippled through the walls.
The living room was multiple stories tall with arched ceilings. Plenty of room for a fight. There was no use in being quiet, he couldn’t sneak around here. It was best to confront this trap head on. He picked up a couch and threw it through a wall.
He heard a commotion down the hall and turned to face it. Three men emerged from the darkness. Christopher braced himself. He had no weapon, but he was far from helpless. The hunger to kill and take souls was still in him, rearing up in anger and hatred. Then he saw who had come.
“Apophis?” Christopher asked, for a moment he couldn’t believe it. “You work with the Alliance?”
“It seems I do for the moment,” he said. “I don’t know how you got out of your little hole, but the next one you go into will be permanent.”
Apophis’ brothers spread out along the wall as though trying to surround Christopher. For a moment fear froze Christopher. He was not ready for this, confronting the being who had just so handily defeated him. But then the training came back, the lives he spent learning about himself, how to control what he had become.
“Interesting,” Christopher said a grin spreading across his face. “It took you a few thousand years to escape, right? It only took me a couple of days.”
For a being that seemed to lack most emotions, that seemed to really piss it of
f. Long knives slide out of the sheaths hidden under Apophis’ jacket, and the two brothers on either side charged.
But Christopher was ready. He had to move against them one by one rather than allow them to all attack at once. They were closing with inhuman speed, but he was just as fast. His foot shot out and kicked a large chair at the brother approaching from his left. It smashed into him, sending the golem falling back. Christopher never saw any of this though, he was already moving toward the other brother with blistering speed.
The second brother was caught by surprise at Christopher’s abrupt attack. He brought his knife up in a hurried attempt to slice at Christopher, who nimbly dodged the striking knife, letting it cut the air where he had just stood. Then his fist shot out, not going for the brother’s face—too obvious, and slammed into the nerve center of the outstretched arm that held the knife.
The blow, powered by the fires of Hell, did more than strike a nerve. The arm shattered where he had hit it, skin ripping open. Dry sand puffed from the wound and black sludge, like sand mixed with oil, spewed from the opening.
A follow-up punch to the brother’s gut sent him back a few feet, doubled over. The first brother had regained his feet and was charging at him. But in the moment before they started exchanging blows, Christopher felt something, a stirring of his power. It distracted him for a fraction of a second, and that was long enough for the first brother to take advantage of it.
His long knife flashed towards Christopher’s face. Christopher pulled back in time to avoid a deep cut, but the tip caught his cheek and split it open. Then the brother reversed his cut and slammed the hilt into Christopher’s temple.
Christopher fell back, stunned, but remembered his training. It was coming to him out of instinct and it should, he spent ten years fighting for his life. Sensing his opponent’s weakness, the first brother followed up his blow with a thrust at Christopher’s gut.
Though his head was still fuzzy, Christopher stepped aside and allowed his assailant's own momentum to pull him forward, then caught his arm and pulled with just enough force to set him off balance and stretched out before him.
Christopher brought his foot up into the brother’s midsection in a kick strong enough to send the golem off the ground and into the cavernous ceiling above. Plaster and dust rained down on them as he came crashing down onto a glass coffee table.
Christopher felt another tug at the seed of Hell inside him. He had the strange feeling something was trying to get his attention.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his back. He was distracted again, and the second brother struck him from behind. The blade pierced his gut, before it was wrenched out. Instantly Christopher was in a state of no-mind. He acknowledged the pain but then pushed aside as he spun around, bringing the back of his fist across the second brother’s face.
The second brother’s face ripped open in a burst of sand and black sludge for blood. His arm, however, had already started healing, reforming as the black sludge pulled the muscle and tendon back into alignment.
Christopher stumbled, the deep wound in his gut could be ignored to some extent with his new skills, but the damage was still damage and his accelerating healing was not instantaneous.
The question is; where was big brother? The Apophis that did all the talking? He had disappeared from the scene.
The first brother was already on his feet and lunging, but Christopher did not move. He knew something the first brother didn’t. With a glass shattering roar, Hellcat slammed into the brother.
Christopher felt another annoying tug on his power. The first brother was squaring up on him again. Again, the power tugged at him, more urgent. He glanced at the brother’s jacket. There was something inside the pocket. Christopher thought he knew what it was. But could it be that easy?
Blades came darting in at Christopher from the first brother, though his face was shattered and oozing sandy tar and puffs of dust. Christopher dodged the blows, letting them pass through the air. The last time he had fought Apophis he had been outmatched; now he held his own. He could see the surprise on the brother’s face.
Behind him, he heard the roars and crunching sound of Hellcat battling with the other brother. He couldn’t take his eyes away from this combat, but he was pretty sure she could take care of herself.
Then the first brother made a mistake. He overextended one of his strikes. The old Christopher wouldn’t have even noticed, but the new Christopher did—and he took advantage. He struck the eyes, gouging at them. With a mortal he would have gone for the throat, but lack of air would not have stopped this sand golem. No eyes though, that could cause it problems.
He ripped the eye from the socket and crushed it in his hands. Black sludge oozed out of it. The first brother cried out and grasped at his empty socket, black sand spilling out like an hourglass.
With more blind luck—literally—than skill the brother swiped the remaining long knife at Christopher, catching his shoulder; he felt the knife blade drag across bone and blood arced from the deep cut. New training or not, that hurt and Christopher cried out.
Anger rose up inside of him and power billowed out in shadow clouds arced with lighting. He jumped over the first brother, who struggled to see in the new shadows and light flashes Christopher had created. The ceiling was so high Christopher easily cleared the man and his frantically weaving blade.
Christopher landed behind him and before the man could turn to him, grabbed hold of his head and twisted. Christopher wasn’t sure there were any bones in there, or just sand sludge, but he did hear a pop as he would have expected while breaking a neck.
He snaked his arm around the golem’s neck and, drawing on the infinite Hellpower inside of him, he squeezed and pulled at the same time. The golem’s head gave up under all that pressure and came away from the body.
The Librarian had said he needed to inflict as much destruction as he could on the bodies to get to the mailable essence inside.
Now comes the gross part, Christopher thought. With one hand he clasped the wildly swinging wrist holding the knife. Losing its head did nothing to curb the creature’s enthusiasm.
Christopher shoved his other hand down the golem’s exposed throat. The golem’s free hand struck at his back with powerful, but un-aimed punches. Christopher tried to ignore them while he rooted around in the brother’s torso.
Black sludge and sand sprayed from the gaping neck hole as Christopher tore out pieces of the golem’s insides. The stench of rot and what only could be described as a cesspool surrounded him as he dug into its chest.
Then his fingers hit something a little firmer than the rest of its insides—like a slug of clay. Malleable. He wrapped his fingers around it even as it wiggled to stay out of his grasp. With one last yank, he ripped it up and out through the open neck.
He held a pulsating slug of black clay in his hands. It was slick and trying to squirm away. With his other hand Christopher reached into his shadow coat and pulled out a steel canister. It was just big enough to fit the slug in. He shoved it in and screwed the seal on as his hands, slick with the clay-like material, slid over the lid; but he was able to get it on tight.
Hellcat had the other brother pinned to the ground and was about to tear off his face when the golem put his feet under her and pushed upward, throwing her back and tossing the giant cat like she was a kitten. But he had taken a lot of damage. She had a few cuts, bleeding streams of shadow, but if Christopher had to guess, the cat was winning.
“Hunter!”
The cry came from above. It was so loud and startling that even Hellcat and the last brother stopped fighting to look. Christopher looked up to the balcony above the room. Golyat was there, looking dapper as ever in his suit. Next to him was Grace glaring down at him. A cruel smile slid across her face. She wore a pink t-shirt that said ‘Killing it’ across the front. Next to her was Apophis. He stood calmly as though seeing his brother defeated in front of him meant nothing.
“You have learned some
new tricks since we last met. But some things never change. As I remember, last time you were groveling at my feet,” said Golyat.
“Why don’t you come down here and I’ll show you groveling,” said Christopher. He knelt and without moving his eyes from Golyat reached into the dead brother’s pocket.
“Perhaps, but I like the view from up here. Did you know for example, that a friend of yours is just in back here?”
“Yeah, just hanging out,” Grace said and then giggled.
“If you let him go, I’ll let you walk out of here and give you a full day before I start my hunt,” Christopher said.
“A full day, you say. How generous, but I think not. What are you doing? Are you so hard up you would steal money from the pockets of a dead man?”
Christopher’s fingers brushed against the pocket knife and instantly the power flowed through him. It was the Weapon and he had it back.
With a roar of triumph, he pulled out the Weapon and it transformed into a blazing long sword of steel and energy. Power ran in and waved up and down its length, arcing through the air and joining with the power radiating from him. He finally felt complete again.
But nothing felt as good as the shocked expression on Golyat’s face.
“How?” he said, confusion on his face. He patted at his own pockets like he expected to find the knife on him rather than in the hands of his mortal enemy.
“I thought,” Grace began and Golyat turned to her, his face flaring red. “I thought that Apophis could use it. I mean, it seemed cool at the time for the brothers to use his own weapon against him.”
“You thought it seemed cool? Cool? The Weapon only works for the Lord of Damnation. It is the gateway to Hell.”
“Okay, but how was I supposed to know that? I mean you don’t even let me into your meetings.”
“Speaking of gateways to Hell. Time to send you back,” Christopher said.
He jumped, leaping through the air towards the balcony. Power shot from him in waves, shaking the building as he moved, like thunder before the rain.