9 More Killer Thrillers

by Russell Blake

  “How can you fight us when we are you, Dark Man?” sneered Legion in its strangely many-voiced tone. “We know what you will do before you do. How can you fight yourself?”

  Legion closed in on the assassin, and he quickly gathered his thoughts, releasing a mental surge similar to the one he’d used in the room before. This time the power passed through Legion like a soft gust of wind.

  “No tricks this time, Dark Man,” said Legion standing over Vain. “How can your powers hurt us when they don’t hurt yourself?”

  Vain grasped at the words and absorbed more than they said. The assassin faked a lunge at Legion and as the creature leaped back he sent a sudden surge of mental power straight into himself, unknowingly copying Sebastian’s momentary escape from his cell. The power flooded through his body, and he fought to keep the pain under control. Recovering his senses, he looked up and saw Legion grasping its head in agony. Throwing aside his own suffering, Vain leaped from the ground and sliced his claws up, piercing the bottom of Legion’s jaw and continuing straight through the top of its skull. Vain briefly held the creature upright and stared into its lifeless eyes.

  “I am not like you,” he whispered, more to himself than the dead creature. “Not anymore.” He let the demon’s corpse fall to the floor where it began to sizzle and boil before melting away without a trace.

  When the smoke cleared, Vain noticed the doorway now stood open a fraction, and a faint light shone from within the area beyond. The assassin looked at the doorway with dread, wondering what new horrors might lurk in the next room. Gritting his ebony teeth, he cautiously nudged the door open. He could make out nothing in the dim light and softly stepped inside.

  His feet passed the threshold and everything changed. The faint light suddenly surged to a brightness that seared the assassin’s eyes, and he instinctively jumped back toward the perceived safety of the hallway.

  Instead of the hallway, however, Vain’s back smacked into something solid. Like before, the doorway had transformed into a solid wall blocking the assassin’s escape. Biting back a curse, Vain returned his gaze to the blindingly bright room.

  “WHO ARE YOU?” boomed a voice that seemed to come from everywhere. Vain ignored the question and instead began to feel his way around the wall in hopes of finding an escape.

  “WHO ARE YOU?” roared the voice again, this time knocking Vain from his feet with its power.

  “I’m Vain,” snarled the assassin. “Who are you?” Looking down at himself, Vain found his body had reverted to its naked human form, and try as he might, he couldn’t change himself back.

  “WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” bellowed the voice, ignoring the assassin’s question.

  “I have come for the Glimloche,” said Vain simply.

  “WHY?”

  “To save a boy,” answered Vain.

  “IS HE THE AVUN-RIAH?” asked the voice.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

  A smothering silence filled the room, the voice pondering the assassin’s answer.

  “WHY SHOULD YOU HAVE THE GLIMLOCHE?” thundered the voice finally.

  Vain paused. “Because I can’t defeat the boy’s enemies without it.”

  “That must have been difficult to say,” said a soft voice behind him as the light slowly dimmed.

  Vain leaped at the sound and dropped into a fighting stance. Before him, however, stood a wizened old woman leaning heavily on a gnarled and twisted walking stick. Her eyes held the milky-whiteness of cataracts and she appeared completely harmless, but Vain had learned by now that everything wasn’t what it seemed in this place.

  “Calm down, assassin,” croaked the old woman. “I mean you no harm.”

  “Who are you?” asked Vain icily, not taking his eyes from the old woman for a second.

  “I have many names,” she answered simply, “but you may call me Xamiel for now.”

  “Well, Xamiel, are you here to help me or to try to stop me? I’ve killed all of your demons, what else can you bring against me?”

  The old woman reflected, an insular glint in her eyes, before shaking her head slowly. “They weren’t my demons, Dark Man, they were yours. First your daughter, then your dead enemies, and finally yourself. I’m surprised you made it this far, but of course you did have help from the boy. He is very powerful to have even briefly escaped Empeth’s trap.”

  “It seems you know more than you let on,” said Vain.

  “I know more than you could possibly imagine, Dark Man.” The old woman grinned, this time with a focused malice in her eyes so intense it made the hardened assassin withdraw slightly. Xamiel noticed this and chuckled.

  “I guess I’ve still got it,” she said, leaning heavily on her stick. “Anyway, back to business. You need the Glimloche to save the Avun-Riah. If Empeth succeeds in sacrificing the boy, Sordarrah will be free to conquer the Earth and gain power over Hell in the process. This does not suit me, and so I find myself obliged to assist you.”

  Silence momentarily filled the air. “Through that way is the Glimloche,” the old woman finally croaked, pointing to a door which had not existed a moment beforehand.

  “Thank you,” grated Vain through clenched teeth.

  “Oh,” cackled the old woman heartily, “I know that one hurt you.”

  Vain ignored the remark and turned, passing through the door. He found himself in a small, dimly lit room. The only item the assassin could see was a short pillar in its center bearing something that glinted in darkness.

  Approaching the podium, Vain suddenly sensed the tight grip of trepidation. A strange sensation, alien to the assassin, began to course through his veins, and it took a moment before he realized what it was.

  Fear.

  Not fear of death, nor even fear for his immortal soul. Simply fear, pure and undiluted from the depths of his very being. Every instinct in him screamed to flee from the room, to remove himself from the source of his fear, but he gritted his teeth and forced his feet in the direction of the pillar and the object it held.

  By the time he reached the center of the room and looked at the object of his quest, his knees were visibly shaking and his hand trembled uncontrollably as he reached toward his prize.

  On the pillar sat a small, circular piece of flat metal, similar to a large coin, except that it bore irregular edges and the metal, if it were indeed metal, was pure black. How it had glinted in the near darkness eluded Vain, for the disc seemed to absorb what little light lingered. The assassin gazed back at the doorway and saw the old woman, Xamiel, still standing there, cackling to herself at his discomfort. The notion sparked Vain’s anger, and he quickly turned back to the pillar and snatched up the amulet in his right fist.

  Pain exploded through Vain’s entire being and he cried out. Flames of torment flowed freely through his system and he felt himself being torn apart, cell by cell, atom by atom. The Dark Man fell to his knees and tried to drop the Glimloche, but it burrowed into the palm of his hand, like a crab digging into the sand.

  Vain tore desperately with his left hand at the piece of metal, but soon it had tunneled too far under his skin, and he could feel it clawing its way beneath his flesh toward his shoulder. The skin of his hand closed over and instantly healed itself.

  When the Glimloche reached his shoulder, Vain experienced a new pain, much more intense than the original. Between screams, he noticed the skin of his upper chest swirling and puckering, the Glimloche flipping end over end toward his heart. He fell to the floor on his back and raked uselessly at his skin with his fingernails.

  After an eternity of anguish, the amulet finally made its way to Vain’s heart. The pain burned so severely now that he wondered how he remained conscious, until he recalled that for all intents and purposes he was already dead, this torture being suffered only by his soul.

  If he still had one.

  Strangely, this thought seemed to bolster the assassin, and he clutched grimly to what little sanity remained in him. He tried to dull the pain t
hrough sheer willpower. If anything this appeared to increase his torture. Finally, Vain surrendered to the agony and let it run free through him. Instantly it abated, replaced with a tremendous sensation of power so intense it felt almost painful in itself.

  Vain glanced at the center of his chest and found the Glimloche had disappeared. He moved his hand over the spot where he could sense the power most strongly and touched nothing, not even a blemish where the amulet had been. Confused, Vain looked at his hand and saw faint lines of energy beginning to appear beneath his fingernails, gradually starting to trace lines over the skin of his hands and on up his arms. Sitting up, he checked his other hand and saw that the same spider web network of thin black lines existed there also, crisscrossing up his arm and down across his shoulder, speeding up until his eyes refused to track their movement. Within moments, the same lines of power covered his entire body, all tracing to where the Glimloche had disappeared into his chest.

  “And now you are at one with the Glimloche, Dark Man,” cackled a familiar voice behind him. Vain spun to his feet and confronted the old woman.

  “What’s happened here, old witch? Where has the amulet gone?”

  Xamiel cackled again.

  “Do you think this is funny, hag? We’ll see how much you laugh when I tear out your throat.”

  “Oh I do like you, assassin,” crowed the old woman. “I can see why that man they called Priest chose you. Even in the midst of Hell you seek to confront that which you do not understand. You show no fear, even though a tool of great evil has just wrapped itself around your soul. You will serve me well when you arrive here permanently.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Vain. “Who are you?”

  “Let us just say everything is not always what it seems here. Now, back to your original question: in the first place, no amulet exists. The Glimloche is not a physical tool or weapon you can wield by hand; it is a creation of immense power, now entwined with your mortal soul. Your soul has absorbed powers beyond your wildest dreams... or your worst nightmares. Yes, Dark Man, even you have nightmares, and this will make them seem like fairytales in comparison.”

  “How can I use this to save the boy?” asked Vain roughly.

  “Good, good,” cackled the old woman. “You have no fear of that which you now carry. But don’t worry, the fear will come eventually, when you realize what you truly hold within you. As to how it can be used to help the boy, the answer is: ‘How can it not?’”

  Confused and frustrated, Vain barked, “Stop talking in riddles, you ancient bitch. Tell me what I want to know or leave me alone.”

  A flicker of annoyance glinted in Xamiel’s eyes and she sneered. “Fool! You know not what you carry or the power you now wield. It is everything and nothing, light and dark, power and weakness all at once. It will allow itself to be used until finally it is strong enough: then it will use you!”

  With her words, the old woman seemed to grow in stature, and the light faded from the room even more, the faint quaver in her voice replaced by a deep tremor of power. Vain began to feel a trickle of apprehension run down his spine, and he unconsciously raised his hands in a defensive motion to ward off an attack that didn’t emerge – at least not immediately.

  Vain blinked and Xamiel returned to the figure she had been, cackling loudly at the assassin’s stance. “Calm down, Dark Man; you and I are friends, and friends don’t fear each other. You will learn the powers of the Glimloche in due time, but for now it seems you are returning to your body. You lucky thing.”

  Vain looked down and saw his body slowly fading. The room became more substantial around him and soon he could see through his legs to the floor below his feet.

  “Don’t worry, Dark Man,” advised Xamiel, leaning on her staff. “You’ll wake up unharmed and intact in a few moments, and all of this will seem like a dream. Just one thing before you leave.” Vain squinted, trying to focus while she rapidly faded from his sight. “When you see Empeth, tell him Satan sends her regards.”

  Vain gasped in shock at the old woman’s words. Her eyes flickered from the milky-white they had been to a deep blood-red, her laughter rising to a beastly roar.

  And then he was gone.

  * * * *

  Vain sat up on the cold stone floor and sucked in a huge gulp of air. The seven monks still sat around him in the same pattern as when he had left. Seeing Abbot Dokei approaching, Vain asked, “How long have I been gone?”

  The Abbot peered quizzically at Vain and said, “Gone, Dark Man? You have not gone anywhere. It seems the ritual has failed.” He seemed slightly relieved at the outcome.

  “That cannot be!” gasped Vain. “I feel like I’ve been gone for weeks.”

  “Ah,” murmured the Abbot softly. “We have never had to perform the ritual before and so were unsure of what the result would be. It appears your entire journey has been completely instantaneous, possibly because Hell is said to stand outside of time itself.”

  “I feel different,” said Vain. “It’s like something is chewing away at my mind. I have to concentrate to make it stop.”

  “So, you found the Glimloche,” said Abbot Dokei grimly. “I had almost hoped you would fail, and Satan would expel you from his realm.”

  “Her realm,” corrected Vain. “And in fact she proved quite helpful. Everyone always goes on about how evil she is. Sure, she turned into a giant beast with glowing red eyes just before I left, but other than that she seemed quite agreeable.”

  Abbot Dokei stared, mouth agape, at Vain. “You met the ruler of the underworld?” When Vain nodded, the Abbot shook his head in dismay. “He is not a she,” he said. “In reality he is not even a he in our usual perception. The creature you saw is something far beyond our scant knowledge, but one thing we know for sure, that all the tomes and ancient writings agree on, is naming it the ‘Prince of Deceivers’. Whatever it told you was for its own ends and not out of any love for humans. It may be that it helped you so that its goals may one day be realized. Not today, not next week, but sometime in the future, what we have done here today may result in an evil far worse than anything Sordarrah could visit upon the Earth and humankind.”

  Vain stared impassively at the Abbot before rising to his feet. “Scary stuff. Stop it monk-man or I’ll wet the bed.”

  The surrounding monks stared, enraged at the Dark Man’s tone, and two moved to admonish him for his insolence, but the Abbot waved them away. “Do not mock what you do not understand, assassin,” he said calmly with no hint of anger.

  “The forces that you so willingly battle are more powerful than you can possibly imagine. The Catholic Church calls them God and the Devil. We know of them as harmony and chaos. Whatever you name them, one is good and works for the benevolence of creation, while one is evil and works to unravel anything in this realm that benefits good.

  “In your killings you have increased the capacity for evil in the world, for when you do evil deeds they not only affect the ones who you hurt intentionally, but also those others attached to the people you hurt. In turn, that upsets and angers them and eventually they may also perform deeds of evil because of the evil visited upon them. They will justify their actions by saying, ‘I will do this deed to avenge my lost one,’ even though quite often the ones they hurt are not the ones who hurt them. The only way for the pain to stop is for one person to say they will not do it, despite what they may feel inside. This contributes to harmony, and thus restores the balance in the universe.”

  The Abbot’s words were uncannily similar to those used by Sebastian when Vain had tried to kill the giant Tobias. The truth in what the Abbot preached was easy to see, and yet so difficult to act upon. If Martin Roberts’s wife and child had not been so brutally killed, Vain would never have existed. If Vain had never existed, all of the people he’d killed would possibly still be alive, and their survivors would not have gone on to seek vengeance for their loved one’s deaths.

  “Your logic is double edged though, Abbot,” said Vain, intro
spection clouding his thoughts. “For every individual I’ve killed, there is also one less person to visit evil upon others. One less murderer to break into a man’s house and tear away every shred of what is good in his life and turn him into a monster of hatred. One less torturer to attack a little girl while she screams for her daddy, but he watches helplessly because he is too weak.”

  “What you say is true, Vain,” began Abbot Dokei carefully, “but you must ask yourself, how many people have become monsters like yourself because of your deeds.”

  Vain stood looking thoughtfully at the Abbot. “I don’t care,” he finally spat.

  “Of course not,” said the Abbot softly. “You are Vain. The only person of importance is you, and the only things that matter are those you choose to concern yourself with. You care nothing for your influence on those around you, or the impact your deeds have once you’re done.”

  “You’re wrong, holy man, I do care. I care about the boy. And may your God or harmony or whatever the hell you call it help the person who tries to stop me from saving him.”

  With that the assassin turned and left the temple, not seeing the small smile of satisfaction creep into Abbot Dokei’s features as he descended the stairs.

  * * * *

  Vain’s trek down the mountain proved far more difficult than the ascent. Without a guide, the assassin constantly made wrong turns and often ended up completely turned around and stumbling upon his own tracks in the snow. At one stage he almost gave up and returned to the temple, but his wounded pride wouldn’t let him revisit the man who had so blatantly scorned him. As it stood, he was so lost by this time that he probably wouldn’t have been able to find his way back, even if he’d wanted to.

  Strangely, Vain seemed unaffected by the cold. At first he had dismissed it due to the body heat generated trudging through the shin-deep drifts, but when he stopped for the night to make camp he realized that he still sensed nothing out of the ordinary. He knew it was cold, could feel the wind on the skin of his cheeks, but unlike the journey up the mountain where his entire body had ached from the chill, he now felt nothing. Likewise, when he held his hands close to the flames of his campfire, there appeared no distinct change in his skin’s temperature.