by Ryan Attard
I thrust Djinn into a Draugr’s head and blasted my magic through it. Pure energy, much like fire or lightning, is just plasma — the scientific equivalent to the classical element of fire.
And sure enough, the Draugr screamed as blue energy coursed through him, burning him from the inside. He dissolved into green mist just as his friend swung at me. I felt the axe bite into my chest, three inches deep. The force of the swing flung me across the graveyard and I crashed against a tombstone, cracking the marble.
The Draugr joined his other two companions against the newcomer, who blocked an axe, spun in the air and kicked him away, sending him reeling backwards. Without breaking a sweat, he thrust his spear into the undead Viking and hoisted him in the air.
Then, in a display of pure badassery, he actually used the impaled Draugr to bat away the other two, before throwing the Draugr inside the mausoleum. The guy pulled a vial from his person and threw it at the Draugr, showering him in something that smelled vaguely of alcohol.
An instant later, the Draugr caught fire and screamed as he dissolved into green mist.
The other two Draugar roared, ready to get revenge for their fallen comrade. One of them charged — only to be stopped in its tracks when I shot it three times in the head.
The guy in white looked at me, clearly expecting me to be dead, and nodded.
“He did say fire, right?” I said.
“Perhaps it’s the wrong kind of fire,” the guy said, pointing at the wounded Draugr.
Sure enough, the undead Viking was climbing back to his feet.
I pointed my gun and focused on a spell. I hadn’t tested this before, but hey, no time like the present right?
I squeezed the trigger and held it tight. I felt the gun go off but instead of a bullet, an eight foot tongue of flame burst forth like a flamethrower, showering the Draugr in flames and instantly evaporating him.
“That is the correct kind of fire,” the new guy remarked.
I released the spell and blew smoke from my gun. “One left.”
“Look.”
The Draugr had retreated towards the Necromancer.
“You,” the Necromancer shouted, glaring at the new guy. His nostrils flared in panic and anger. “What are you doing here?”
“The same reason you are,” the new guy shot back. He pointed the spear at the Necromancer. “Where is the Necronomicon?”
“Hah! Like you can handle its powerful magic,” the Necromancer said. He reached inside his robes and pulled something out. “I didn’t want to use these just yet, but against a wizard and a Kresnik, I have no choice.”
He placed down on the ground two statues, one of a horse, the other of a bull. Then, with a flare of magical energy, he stomped on them, crushing the ceramic.
“Oh no, you don’t!”
The newcomer rushed at the Necromancer, just as the Draugr scooped up his master. The new guy kept charging forwards, spear at the ready, until from the two broken statues erupted a blast of magic, and the new guy was sent flying back the way he came, sailing past me.
Snarling and snorting were two beasts, both around ten feet tall with the bodies of men — if those men had spent their lives in a gym and getting steroid infusions from birth.
But that wasn’t their most disturbing feature.
From the neck upwards, they had the heads of animals, one neighing with the head of a horse; the other, a bull.
I heard groaning beside me and watched as the new guy pulled himself from the rubble and twisted his neck back in place.
“Are you Erik Ashendale?” he asked, picking up his spear.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Greg. And I am a Kresnik,” he replied.
“Greg the Kresnik,” I repeated. “Well, Greg. We got us some minotaurs to face.”
“Not minotaurs,” he said. “Ox-Head and Horse-Face.”
“Come again?”
“Gozu and Mezu,” he explained. “Guardians to the entrance of the underworld.”
I looked up as the two beasts snarled at us, while the Draugr backed away, taking the Necromancer further and further away from us.
“Greg,” I began, as I tightened my grip on Djinn. “I got a lot of questions, but right now I just need you to answer one: are you on my side?”
“For now, yes.”
The two monsters took a step towards us, prompting me and Greg to back away.
“Good,” I said. “Next question: how do we defeat these two?”
I could see him shrug in my peripheral vision. “No idea.”
“Oh, swell.” I raised Djinn, took a deep breath and steadied my footing. “Well, Greg, you seem to know these guys better than I do, so I’m gonna need you to come up with a-”
And before I could finish my sentence, Greg yelled out a battle cry and charged the pair of ten-foot, animal-headed monsters.
I watched him run with disbelief.
“Asshole,” I muttered, before running after him.
Chapter 12
Greg charged towards the Ox-headed guy, which left me to deal with Horse-Face — not that I was complaining. Horse-Face was smaller, leaner, and looked less likely to twist me around like a pretzel.
But Horse-Face was agile — agile enough to dodge my swing at him — and spun before unleashing a high kick that would have made Jet Li jealous. Worse yet, instead of a foot, this guy had a hoof: a big, black, almost-the-size-of-my-whole-freaking-head hoof.
It hit me like an anvil and the world spun.
My face was numb and part of my vision went dark. The guy had just caved in part of my face. I fell on the ground and Horse-Face stomped on my chest. Up to this point, I had never really been crushed, or at least not trampled flat by a wild animal.
Nice to see this guy try and broaden my horizons.
Meanwhile, I was in the perfect position to watch Greg the Kresnik get his ass handed to him.
The Ox-Head guy battered his spear away, before thrusting his entire arm at him in a massive lariat move. Greg was sent reeling backwards and planted the butt of his spear to steady himself…
Just in time for Ox-Head to take a few steps forwards, jump into the air, and drop-kick Greg in the face with two massive hooves.
And I thought my opponent was vicious.
Speaking of which…
I pulled out my gun, pressed it against Horse-Face’s knee joint and pulled the trigger twice. Cartilage and bone fragments exploded from the monster’s leg. He reared upwards, removing his leg from my chest and stumbled backwards. I scrambled up and fired again and again, until the gun clicked empty.
I switched weapons and charged at the horse monster, blade glowing blue. I sliced down and he raised his arm in defense. The blade bit down a fraction of an inch and stuck. Horse-Face snarled, steam jetting from his oversized nostrils, and swiped his hand aside, tearing Djinn from my grip.
He punched me with his free hand. I was sent flying. Wind whistled in my ears until I felt a large impact on my back, and slid down the mausoleum wall, covered in my own blood.
“Wizard!”
I healed just enough to see Greg giving me a look of concern in between beating Ox-Head with his spear. He dodged a blow, struck the monster in the abdomen — to little effect — and was distracted by me flying across the cemetery.
“Hang in there,” he yelled.
Magic coalesced from him, as if he had flipped a switch or removed a limiter on his powers. He batted away Ox-Head’s oversized arm with his tiny one, and lifted his leg up in a kick. Ox-Head fell flat on his ass.
At the same time, Horse-Face came towards me to finish the job. Greg whipped his spear around, hitting the monster in the head with the shaft, before stabbing the cruciform spear tip inside his body. White light exploded from the tip, shearing away at Horse-Face’s body…
Until Ox-Head charged into Greg, sending him flying.
Horse-Face sagged, no longer in mortal danger, and together with his partner turned to confront Greg, who slowly backed away.
He stabbed the shaft of the spear on the ground, before nicking his thumb on the spear tip and dragging a line of crimson along the shaft. The white wax wood of the spear glowed, along with the silver spear tip, and magic flooded the area.
“By the power of the holy light, I purify you.”
A supernova of white exploded from Greg, beating away at the two monsters. They stood still, like two rocks in the middle of a raging river. I could hear Greg yelling in effort, and for a while it was working. The pair of monsters seemed to shrink and retreat, parts of them flaking away under the intense power of the Kresnik. I could feel him getting tired but if he held out a bit more, Greg would have weakened them enough to take them down.
But he failed to take into account the unpredictable nature of my real powers. I wanted to hurt the monsters, I wanted to cut loose.
And my power responded to that.
In a flash of black, I found myself in between Greg and the two monsters. Both my hands were outstretched, and tangible shadows extended from them, forming oversized hands that grasped each monster by the head. I exhaled, blowing out scorching steam, relishing in the sheer power I was bathed in.
I squeezed my hands into fists, crushing the ox and horse heads on both monsters, sending them backwards. My power flare was enough to also push Greg back, who leaned on his spear, and looked at me with something akin to fear and awe.
“So the legends are true,” he muttered.
“We tried it your way,” I heard myself say. My voice was gravelly and harsh, like the crunching of metal and rock. I was still me, and yet in many ways, not. “Now, we do it right. There will be no purification tonight — just death and destruction.”
I was immediately upon the monsters who were already standing up, green light reforming their heads.
Before they could complete their healing, I unleashed all of my wrath on Horse-Face, raining down punches into his torso, drilling crater after crater. I kicked, slashing with my leg and sharp shadows at the leg I had shot at earlier, this time cleaving it apart. The monster roared in pain and stumbled on its stump. I kicked its chest, stomping on its breast like it had done to me, while shadows scythed all around it, shredding away mercilessly.
Something whacked against my side, crushing ribs and part of my spine. My shadows repaired the damage before pain could even register. In fact, I barely noticed that Ox-Head was still stuck there, mid-charge, trying to pull me off his friend.
And despite a clear four-foot height difference, more than a thousand pounds of weight difference, and the fact that he was a magically-charged minotaur, he couldn’t make me budge a single inch.
I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, tendrils of black shadows wrapping around his entire body.
“Bad move, Bub.”
I tossed my arm over my shoulder and Ox-Head followed, slamming on the opposite side. I waved my arm from side to side, and watched with sickening glee as the monster was slammed from side to side, while my foot crushed Horse-Face’s chest.
Finally, when I got bored, I raised both my hands, and the shadows swimming around my body obeyed, lifting both monsters up in the air. I clenched my fists, watched as shadows wrapped around them like coffins, and started crushing them, pressing them both from the outside at a subatomic level, ensuring their utter destruction.
“No!”
Greg the Kresnik appeared at my side, slicing at my shadows with his radiant spear.
Horse-Face was released, and as the monster fell, Greg pulled out a dagger from his belt and thrust it into the still-shadow-wrapped monster. He pushed a switch on the dagger’s pommel, and the weapon exploded in a painful flash of light. Horse-Face was gone for good.
Meanwhile, he thrust his spear into Ox-Head, and channeled an enormous blast of magic. I felt my shadows tearing, along with the disintegration of the second monster.
Finally, he launched a kick in my direction, sending me stumbling backwards.
“Regain your senses, Wizard,” he said, bending over to pick something up.
I felt a familiar call from the object and recognized it as mine.
Djinn — that was my weapon he held in his hands, a part of me as much as these shadows were.
“Mine!” I roared, exerting my will over the weapon.
Djinn spun in Greg’s hand, slicing his arm at the wrist. The weapon flew directly into my awaiting hand, and I felt whole again. This was mine, my heirloom, my mother’s before it was mine, and I shall have it — no one else.
As soon as I felt the familiar leather-wrapped handle of the short sword, the cool steel, alive with the essence of a jinn that once guarded my mother’s remains, I felt in control again.
The shadows receded, and the feral mind was replaced by one that stared at my surroundings, aware of what had just happened, yet still feeling like I had been possessed.
Meanwhile, Greg the Kresnik picked up his severed limb and reattached it, light sealing the wound. He hefted his cruciform spear.
“I’m not gonna fight you,” I said in my normal voice. I spun Djinn and kept it loosely at my side, just in case he got any bright ideas. “And I’m guessing you don’t wanna fight me either. We’re both tired, both used a shitload of magic, and trust me buddy, you do not wanna go up against what you just saw.”
Greg relaxed his stance a fraction of an inch. “What was that?”
“Some family issues I’m still working through,” I replied flippantly. “It’s a work in progress.”
Greg smirked. “Not much progress.”
“Says the guy dressed like the Witcher.”
“I do not know this witch you speak of,” he replied, straightening up from his fighting stance. “But you are not one to talk; you’re dressed like a video game character.”
I cocked my head. “How is that an insult?”
“Does the Punisher know you stole his coat?”
“You know I can still kick your ass, right?” I shot back.
Greg grinned. “The feeling is mutual, Erik Ashendale.” He nodded towards where Arnold the ghost boy and I were hiding earlier. “Better call out your friend. We have much to talk about.”
I saw Arnold peek his little ghost head from behind a tombstone.
“Hold your horses there, Greg,” I said. “You want me to trust you? Cool. Start talking. Who are you, how do you know my name, and what the hell are you doing in my town?”
Greg the Kresnik sighed and lowered his spear.
“My name is Greg, and I have explained earlier, I am a Kresnik.” He held up his hand to stop me from asking what the hell was a Kresnik. “I know your name because your sister employed me to find the Necronomicon — the most powerful Necromantic tool in the universe — before it falls into the wrong hands.” He smiled at my dumbfounded expression. “Now, can we go somewhere more comfortable to talk? Ironically, graveyards really unnerve me.”
Chapter 13
So what do you do when you’re in need of a neutral place to talk to a stranger who helped you defeat a bunch of undead monsters with animal heads?
Well, if you’re me, you’d go back to Sun Tzu’s Noodle Shop, where fights weren’t allowed and the food was decent.
This time round, the population inside the shop was significantly less, with only a few tables occupied, and more than enough space for me and my new friend to hunker down for a while.
As soon as I stepped across the door’s threshold, a burly Chinese man in a black tunic blocked my path. Tiger was nearly a foot shorter than I was, but I froze, not daring to take a single step forwards. His small beady eyes, black as night, spoke of a world of hurt if I dared push his buttons.
Sun Tzu calmly exited from the kitchen, spoke something in Chinese that made Tiger back away with a growl, and smiled politely at me.
“You’re back I see,” Sun Tzu said with a berating tone. “Will you be causing me more trouble?”
“No one has tried to kill me yet,” I replied. “So maybe this time I’ll just hang out with
my new buddy and try the dumplings. No trouble whatsoever.”
Sun Tzu’s expression remained unchanged — blank, with a touch of omnipotence — and nodded at Greg the Kresnik, who bowed politely before the elderly Asian man.
“Back so soon?” Sun Tzu directed at him.
Greg nodded.
“My business here will soon reach a conclusion, Venerable One,” he replied. Gone was the attitude from his voice.
I looked from Greg to Sun Tzu. “You guys know each other?”
No one said anything. Sun Tzu merely made a throaty sound that I’ve only heard come out of annoyed elderly people, and pointed towards a table at the farthest corner of restaurant.
“That should suit your conversation quite well, Erik,” he said, before making a beeline for the kitchen.
I turned to Greg.
“What the hell did you do to him?” I asked.
From the corner of my eye I saw Tiger and his three buddies — Dragon, Turtle and Phoenix — pause their Mahjong game long enough for the four of them to look at me with a warning expression.
Greg shrugged and began walking towards our table. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting.
He reached across his chest and took off a rectangular case he had strapped across. Before leaving the cemetery I had seen him dismantle his spear into two pieces and cover the spear tip with a weathered leather pouch, before stuffing the two halves of the spear into the rectangular brown leather case slung around his back.
I sat down opposite him.
“Sun Tzu doesn’t get intimidated,” I said flatly. “Hell, he doesn’t get emotions, period. I’m not even a hundred percent sure the dude is human. Point is, he’s been riled up these couple of days. And again now, when he saw you. See where I’m going with this?”
“Towards the same direction most internet conspiracy theorists go to,” Greg replied, as he poured some water from a ceramic jug into his glass. “Paranoia and insanity.”