Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  One night he saw the lights of distant fires. Strange lights that came in many colors, depending on the plant that was burned, and as he walked through the forest he could see the lights blinking through the leaves like starlight. The moist ground underfoot smelled so rich, and the lights were so beautiful, that he felt the land bewitching him. He began to feel that he was just a very young light blinking in an ancient place. He felt like everything was a ritual, even his own movements. All of it had happened before and would happen again. He wondered if he was in control of himself, then decided that it did not matter.

  He left the forest and ascended a rocky rise. There, in the distance, framed by the fires on a wooded hill, he saw the Evil King walking with another man. He did not feel any surprise. The two men were tall and moved gracefully, like gods surveying the world they had made. Vendicci had come upon them without even knowing how to find them. He felt both humbled and exalted. Tears scalded his warped, misshapen cheeks. He knew that he had finally come to the place where his destiny had led him.

  “It's time,” Vendicci said quietly. He pulled the gun from his pants, aimed down the barrel with some difficulty, then fired. The sound of it shattered the calm, and when the smoke cleared from his eyes he saw one form was gone and the other was bent over.

  “I did it,” he said. “I did it. So ends the Evil King, Odan the murderer...”

  A wind tossed the trees down below, then in a blast of leaves the King was before him, his white face a hardened mask of blazing fury. As in a nightmare Vendicci stumbled backwards, raised a hand to ward him away, then green lightning flashed and a sword of light tore the gun from his hand, breaking it into pieces and numbing his fingers. Vendicci backpedaled but the King moved with inhuman speed. He raised his iron staff in both hands to ward him away, but the King brought his sword up with such force that the flat side of the blade smacked into the staff and sent it spinning in the air like a boomerang. Vendicci could no longer feel his fingers at all, only surges of pain that ran the length of his arms.

  Before he could move, the King touched his palm to Vendicci's chest. The small gesture sent Vendicci flying. He hit the ground hard, unable to breathe. Then the King stood over him and prepared his judgment.

  ***

  Wodan was so overcome with fury that he did not even bother with a show of fairness. How the subhuman ghoul had surprised him with any show of strength in the past was beyond him. Now he seemed to be only a lurching brute, his mind and eyes too slow to engage in the combat he obviously craved. The true battle was between Wodan's need to erase this hopeless bag of suffering and his curiosity over how the deformed beast had stumbled onto his path once again.

  The ghoul laid on its back and threw its limbs in the air, its milky-white eyes twitching under its sloping, blue-veined brow. Wodan relaxed, drew in a deep breath, then ran Capricornus through the ghoul's ribcage, near the shoulder and out through the back. The creature was impaled. As it howled in agony, Wodan's mind raced.

  I killed Globulus's apprentice Vito, he thought. Globulus probably suspects I had something to do with Barkus's disappearance, too. But did Globulus really send this ghoul in my direction hoping it would kill me? Did the so-called great philosopher really do such a foolish thing?

  Even as Wodan knew he should question the ghoul, his hand turned slowly and the blade pressed against the ghoul's ribs. Wodan knew that this creature, who may have hurt or killed Lucas, could be erased with a flick of his wrist. A small movement could shatter ribs and send insides spilling onto the ground...

  “Wodan!” a voice called from far away.

  “Lucas?”

  “I’m okay.” The voice echoed across the stony hill. Wodan laughed, more from sudden nervous relief than joy. “The hand of my Father pushed me down, before the gunshot.”

  Wodan had no idea what Lucas meant, but he didn't care. He felt the ghoul jerking about at his feet. He had been considering flicking the sword downward, but instead he simply released the handle and wiped the sweat from his hands. The handle crashed into the ground. The ghoul howled, then set to work jerking its legs and pushing away from Wodan, like a hooked fish tugging against the line.

  Wodan watched large wads of spittle fly from the ghoul's twisted mouth as he gripped the heavy blade, unable to pull it free but unwilling to give in and die. As much as the creature disgusted and enraged him, he had to admit that he had never seen such a will to live among its kind.

  “That little revolver,” said Wodan, standing over the thing. “It doesn’t have any range. You didn't know that. You couldn't know that. You never had a chance of hitting anyone. But… you damn fool, you tried it all the same.”

  Wodan bent down, grasped the handle, placed his foot against the ghoul’s chest, then jerked Capricornus free, grinding blade against bone. The ghoul wailed and a torrent of black blood splashed on either side, a syrupy mess.

  “The people in the Temple never should have patched you up,” Wodan whispered. “It wasn't up to them to decide whether you lived or died. You made your choice long ago. I wish you hadn't fallen in with them. You may not deserve to live, but you don't deserve to suffer, either.”

  Wodan lifted Capricornus overhead. As the ghoul finally laid its head down on the hard stone floor, he noted that he no longer felt the indecision that once stayed his hand. His time with Setsassanar had streamlined his thinking. He did not feel nothing; he deeply felt regret that he had to take part in the execution. But the regret was also an understanding that he was needed in order to clean up a mess. Nobody else was available to do it, and yet somebody had to do it. Perhaps the real tragedy was that a conscious mind was attached to the problem; the ghoul obviously suffered and knew that it suffered.

  But perhaps the entire universe really is alive and conscious, he thought. Perhaps it suffers and knows that it suffers, and this really is just a small, insignificant thing in a small, insignificant corner of the big picture.

  The ghoul raised its eyes to his, but its gaze wandered, and Wodan could tell that the mind behind the eyes was growing dim.

  Then came screams from the hill behind him. Wodan stopped and strained his ears. He heard another scream, falling rocks, feet hitting stone, then something heavy crashing against a tree. Then he heard a terrifying growl.

  “Demon!” someone cried. “Lion!” shouted another.

  Blood raced through his body. All thoughts of the ghoul, all worries whether it lived a few more hours in agony or died peacefully, fled from him. A true monster had come, and he knew that only he could face it. He turned and ran toward the cries, and left Vendicci the Revenger far behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sphinx

  Wodan sheathed his sword and ran, tearing through limbs and leaves as he descended into the forest. The sharp sound of cries and a deep rumbling guided him. He reached a hill of stone and ran up the steep face, breaking through the dark roof of leaves and into soft daylight. Just as gravity remembered him, he reached an outcropping and rolled onto it. His mind was empty of distraction; there was only movement, speed, a willingness to throw himself into the violent mystery. Never slowing as he ran along the spine, he rounded a curve along the stone wall and finally saw the beast.

  It was no wonder that people called the lion a god. The mind could not take it in at a glance. It was at least two dozen feet long, radiated hostility from burning yellow eyes, and was only vaguely analogous to any record he had seen of a lion. It was utterly alien. Patches of scales gleamed along its legs and flanks, a mane of red hair run through with feathers – purple, deep scarlet, vibrant orange – and great coils of exaggerated, twitching muscles made his sun-bright fur shift like a storm-tossed sea.

  Wodan's gaze was drawn to the monster's face, the muscles straining and bunching up deep wrinkles. It was a terrifying mask of ferocity that concealed a wellspring of feral cunning. He saw the jaws working, then realized the beast stood over something like a bubbling fountain of blood. Jerking limbs hung from the sides of i
ts mouth, and the top of a human head, cleanly sheared off and covered in blood, slowly spun on the ground like a coin tossed to determine the victim's fate.

  Wodan's rage redoubled. While the thing might not be a flesh demon, it ate people, butchered them, treated them without the care a farmer would show his livestock. Wodan knew the only people nearby were here to see Lucas. None of them deserved such a death.

  Before he knew it, he was racing toward the monster. I wonder how long it's been, he thought, since you felt the fear of death?

  Everything slowed to a crawl as his mind raced to keep up with his body. In hyper-real detail he saw the jaws clench, then saw red dots splatter on the rock wall. Yellow eyes moved, locking onto him. Wodan leaped from one ledge to another, then, when he drew near the beast, he saw one long eyebrow curl in confusion. Like a bolt of lightning Wodan raced alongside the ion, and in one smooth motion he unsheathed Capricornus and sliced it along the monster's flank, tearing through skin and tough muscle and grating against ribs harder than steel. A warning shrieked in his head. His feet pushed away from the ground, sending him airborne just as the air behind him whistled with the passage of claws shearing through the rock wall beside him. Wodan touched down lightly on another ledge, then jumped again, then again, a zig-zagging ascent from one stone perch to another.

  Wodan balanced his feet atop two narrow stones and chanced a look down. The lion was ascending as well, but along a different path. He was horrified to see that the deep wound along the lion's flank was already sealing. Divided muscle tissue sent out feelers like pink worms that grasped one another and pulled together. Wodan leaped further up the cliff face, then looked down once more.

  The lion gulped down the hunks of flesh that were in its mouth, then growled strange, lilting, deep notes. The lion was laughing. Reaching a sheer vertical face, the lion leaped and dug its great claws into the stone, hauling itself up easily. It looked up at Wodan, then opened its mouth, exposing several rows of pink and yellow fangs. Muscles in the back of its throat contracted, then pushed forward. Wodan could not help but wonder if the lion was going to spew projectile vomit in his direction. He heard a booming voice, then realized that the lion could not speak by moving its lips and jaw, but instead used an unnatural set of muscles in its throat that flexed and grated. He was surprised at how nauseating it could be to hear speech from a mouth that never moved.

  “Hrr! Hrr! Little mountain goat! What springy! Little! Hooves!” it said, pulling itself up with each word.

  “You can speak?” said Wodan, leaping to another perch, mind racing, stalling for time. “Does that mean you have a name, beast?”

  “Ah, but that's a secret,” said the lion. “Don't you know that my name is Y'diamach?”

  “Ee – deeya – mok… why bother to tell me if it’s a secret?” Wodan tried to feign a carefree posture, even though all his plans were dead-ending with the realization that he might be incapable of hurting the beast, much less killing it.

  The lion laughed again as it pulled itself onto a wide ledge. “Like all the other dead men who have heard my name,” said the lion, “I trust you will dutifully keep the secret.”

  “Very frightening,” said Wodan, turning and leaping onto a higher ledge and noting that he would soon be out of room. But, thinking as a superbeing, he knew that he could override his instincts and leap into the forest far below. He might be able to evade the lion… but no human would be safe if he fled. “You have the entire world at your disposal,” said Wodan. “Why bother to come here?”

  “I go where I please!” said Y'diamach, his voice a roar interspersed with shrill notes. “Would you rather I go where you will?”

  “I'd rather you leave these people alone. Why kill and eat human beings?”

  “Because I am a merciful god.”

  From his high perch Wodan looked down at the great lion’s blazing eyes. He could not argue against anyone who called the beast a god. His fierce expression was nightmarish, his aura of hostility overwhelming. Wodan wanted to run, but suppressed the urge.

  “They say you ask a riddle,” said Wodan. “They say no one can answer it.”

  “A child's fable,” said Y'diamach. “A lie people tell one another, desperate to believe they are something more than prey.” Then the lion smiled, a grotesque deformation of its facial musculature. “But at least you've delayed your death in an interesting way. Most humans run screaming, and even toss their children at me to buy themselves a little time. Perhaps we should play a game to make your death more interesting!”

  “Here's a game for you,” said Wodan. “Catch!” Wodan unsheathed and flicked Capricornus to the side. Sparks showered around the lion as the sword scraped through stone, then Wodan leaped aside as a great boulder slide and fell. The lion coiled, flung itself to the side, bounced off a sheer wall, and dug its claws into another ledge as the boulder blasted down the mountainside and crashed into the forest below.

  Flushed, Wodan looked down. “A pity you didn't die,” he whispered.

  “You didn't even enjoy your own game,” the lion said, growling. “Your sweat is full of fear. Such a stench! Come, let's try an adult's game. Just as you mentioned before… a riddle.”

  Wodan watched the lion's eyes flick here and there, looking for footholds to make the climb and kill him.

  “Fine. If I win?”

  “A quick death.”

  “Hm. And if I lose?”

  The lion opened its mouth wide and deep, sadistic laughter shook the ground. The lion hauled itself a ledge several dozen feet below him. It paced back and forth, tail twitching like a whip. He wondered if the lion was pretending to rest, and could easily clear the distance between them. Wodan crouched as if relaxing to consider the proposal, but in reality he was preparing to jump onto the narrow spine of the cliff just in case the game was only a ruse.

  “Ask away.”

  “What separates us?” said Y'diamach, glaring up at him. “What's the difference between you… and me?”

  “Too easy,” said Wodan, scanning for any advantage as he dedicated only a small part of his conscious mind to the game. “We're two completely different creatures. We're even separated by physical space. It's obvious!”

  “Too obvious!” Y'diamach roared, surprising Wodan that he seemed to care about the absurd riddle. “A child's response! Little mountain goat, even the same being can be separated from itself in space if time is taken into account. No, I want a real answer. Think hard, strain yourself if you can.”

  “How many tries do I get?”

  “Three, of course. We'll count your embarrassing fumble as your first try.”

  “It's fear, then. That's the answer you're looking for.”

  “Spare me, little goat,” said Y'diamach, his face curling in disgust. “Your great-great-great grandfather was a child when I was already a god, and his entire life was a momentary flicker of movement on the wayside of my endless path. I've lived so long that the idea of a human stroking my ego with self-deprecating words is of absolutely no value to me. I need nothing. Certainly nothing from your kind! You think I want to hear about your fear of me! All living things fear.”

  Wodan cast his eyes about slyly, then realized that he was actually in an advantageous position, which might explain why the lion had not yet attacked. He hadn't seen it leap the kind of distance required to reach him - it would have to climb. But the face of the cliff was tilted such that if it tried to climb, Wodan could run downward, strike at the lion’s face or sever a paw while it was preoccupied, then he could leap into the forest below while it dealt with its wounds. Whether or not the fall would present him the opportunity for a deathblow was too complicated for him to consider. Still, the idea didn't present any clearly fatal flaws.

  But I can't clear that much space without him stopping me, he thought. I have to get him closer. Could he be goaded with anger?

  “I wasn't talking about my fear of you,” said Wodan. “I meant your fear of me, animal.”

  “
Then you are a fool,” Y'diamach said immediately. “Stench doesn't lie. You fear me. No doubt your mind is crumbling under the weight of knowing you will be eaten, and you speak bold words to convince yourself otherwise.” The beast laughed once, then said, “Space separates us! Ha! I wonder what you would do if you lost even that foolish comfort?”

  The lion rose up on its hind legs and balanced on the face of the cliff, then extended a long, curving claw that gleamed like steel and pointed it at Wodan. A slow smile spread across the hideous mask of its face – then Wodan felt searing heat. Confused, he saw that his boots were smoking, then felt his hands burning as if hundreds of angry insects were eating him. He fell back, brushing cinders from his boots in a panic. The boots burst into flames as he crawled away from the ledge. He felt his suit stretching and tightening, its temperature-accommodating components trying to cope with the unexpected influx of heat. He yanked the searing-hot boots from his feet and cast them away. Still he burned. Blisters formed on his feet and hands, and he was blinded by hot tears.

  Without grace he flung himself onto the last, highest perch, rubbing his limbs in a desperate bid to douse the invisible flames. Just as the pain died down, he realized that Y’diamach was laughing loudly. Wodan's hands, feet, and face were raw and red, and he could smell the stench of his own burnt hair.

  “H-how, how did...” Wodan said, coughing as if he'd escaped from a burning building.

  “Hrr! Hrr! One cooks a meal to aid in digestion, yes?”