by N. J. Mercer
“There’s all to play for yet,” cackled Arkkun.
The hard-core chanters persevered with their dark mantra, and their defensive line of guards stood unwavering. The few remaining psychic Disciples had also fallen in with the mad choristers, and they were making a significant contribution to the summoning. This group included the last of Arkkun’s initiates (recognisable by his swollen, bleeding eyelids). Arkkun gestured manically to different sections of the choir, creating an insane hymn. His psychic ability may have been crippled by Johnny’s previous attack but his mind was as scheming as ever. He glared over his shoulder towards Boyd and his friends behind the pillar, daring them to cross the line of guards he had arranged. The glowing shape of the Demon King now filled most of the space above the wormhole. It would not be long before this mutation of space–time was filled with Orbok’s actual physical form. It appeared to Boyd that the Disciples were no longer going to waste their energy on pursuit; they would rather complete their task and summon Orbok – the Demon King.
Rachel, lying on the ground at the feet of her rescuers, stirred. Boyd looked at her and then looked up again. “We’ve got to get the other girls soon,” he said, resolved not to leave them to their fate. Sascha agreed.
“Then we get Johnny and get the heck out of here!” added Baccharus, nervously eyeing the vast demonic shape suspended between the three sedan chairs.
“I hope that lad is okay,” said Boyd. “Why don’t you go and check on him?” he suggested to the familiar. “And whatever you do, don’t try intervening!” Boyd was worried Baccharus might injure himself, or worse, if he tried helping Johnny.
**
Baccharus flew up to a place where he could spy on Johnny and saw his keeper continuing to gallantly resist the psychic onslaught from Devilliers and Kreb. By now, most other Disciples had abandoned the upper levels because the Presarium fallout from the combat taking place there was causing all manner of neurological complaints amongst those in close proximity, complaints such as: convulsions, migraines and even unconsciousness. It was intolerable for all except the most hardened psychic practitioners – even Baccharus baulked as he got too close. Eventually, the familiar also backed away, impotent against Johnny’s powerful adversaries.
Chapter 42
Under relentless bombardment, Johnny had subconsciously adopted the foetal position, the body’s natural defensive posture. Forced to concentrate his mental focus on preserving the shield, he was not being given the opportunity to prime an attack of his own. As he considered his options, it occurred to him that his only hope lay in manipulating the strength of his powerful adversaries; what he had to do was try to redirect the megawatts of energy they were aiming at him. Hallelujah for old kung fu movies, he thought, as these were no doubt the inspiration for his next move. He saw his opportunity in a beam of Presarium projected by Edward Devilliers; with a single determined thought he managed to curve its trajectory and set it on a collision course with Mr Kreb. For good measure, he increased its potency by adding some of his own energy. The result was a brilliant flash of light and a fearsome explosion that blew away a large section of the mezzanine. Johnny watched the black shape of Mr Kreb as he was hurled from the upper levels all the way down to the cathedral floor surrounded by crackling blue-white electricity. An unearthly scream followed his hard landing beside the wormhole. Fierce bolts of lightning leapt from his writhing figure to discharge all around the ground level of the hall, forcing Johnny’s friends and Disciples alike to duck away from the wayward, random strikes.
Johnny observed the outcome of his attack with horror, almost forgetting about the threat from Edward Devilliers. Kreb’s limbs thrashed uncontrollably as the strange electric charge danced about his body. His screams became unholy wails that sent shivers down the spine until they gradually faded along with the electrical energy that so tormented him. Finally he was still. The dead body of Edward Devilliers’ murderous helper was contorted in a terrifying way; the moment of death had evidently not been an easy one for him.
The Disciples wavered in their chant; they fell out of time with each other and slowly became silent. Johnny looked down from the balustrades at a few of them; some swallowed nervously and others glanced at their comrades, unsure of the implications of this loss. Arkkun was not going to be so easily confounded. “Our master, the High Lord Edward Devilliers, lives! Victory is ours!” he declared aloud, stirring passion within his choir. The cathedral filled with the sound of the damnable chorus once more.
Johnny turned to face Edward Devilliers; the High Lord had recovered from the unexpected violence of Kreb’s death quicker than he had. All Johnny saw was a bright flash as he was helplessly thrust all the way to the far wall of the cathedral on the end of a beam of brilliant light that outshone even the lightning produced by the wormhole. The force with which Johnny struck the rock wall opposite produced a crater which radiated large cracks; the impact was enough to pulverise a man. Johnny had been psychically shielding himself and so only looked winded as he dropped back down to the cathedral floor. The chanting stopped.
“Johnny!” called Baccharus and Sascha while Boyd leapt from the safety of the pillar to run to his friend’s aid.
“Stay away!” warned Johnny as Devilliers slowly glided down from the mezzanine to the ground level. Reluctantly Boyd turned back.
The two psychics faced each other across the wormhole. They both looked tired; neither was about to give up.
“Continue the ceremony!” Devilliers ordered the Disciples without taking his eyes off Johnny. “Every time you stop from now on, I will kill one of you myself!”
His associates needed no further persuasion, and the hall echoed afresh to their mantras. Johnny felt the wormhole’s pulse accelerate until it was a constant beat that filled the cathedral. What really worried him was the light above it which had taken on the shape of a six-metre tall monster. His imagination went wild as it tried to picture the detail within this great outline and guess the appearance of Orbok, Demon King.
Devilliers proceeded to fire a barrage of energy beams at Johnny, who managed to deflect each one. Johnny had learned that Edward Devilliers was a master of the follow-up attack, and the High Lord did not disappoint on this occasion. Launching himself behind one of his beams, Devilliers flew straight at Johnny. Before the younger man could react, he had grappled him to the ground. He was strong, Johnny could certainly feel that, but there was something here beyond what mere muscles could achieve. Johnny sensed that Devilliers was enhancing the strength in each of his movements with psychic power; the High Lord’s combat prowess was exemplary. Devilliers flung his victim, skidding across the floor, to the other side of the cathedral and into a wall, a move that would have killed Johnny had he not used his own powers to buffer the crushing impact. As Johnny struggled to try to sit up, he saw his opponent dematerialise. There was a barely discernible ripple that moved through the air in an instant, and suddenly Edward Devilliers was visible again, on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Johnny grabbed at Devilliers and rolled over; locked together, the two gladiators fought on, conducting their battle between the hellish choir on one side and the wormhole on the other.
**
“Right! This is our chance to grab the girls! They’re fighting in front of that line of guards,” said Boyd from behind the pillar. Sascha and Baccharus readied themselves: here was an opportunity to save the innocents and further interfere with this accursed ceremony.
Brushing aside the unpleasant waves of nausea triggered by the psychic duel, Boyd scurried over to the wormhole, trying hard to ignore the terrifying glow of Orbok’s summoning. Baccharus flew alongside him. The titanic battle taking place between Johnny and Devilliers provided most of the cover Boyd needed; however, as a precaution, the cherub psychically shielded him as best as he could. Sascha remained behind the pillar with Rachel, who was now semi-conscious; he had his revolver at the ready.
Boyd, with Baccharus’s help, pulled the youngest girl, Lisa, off h
er chair and onto solid ground before doing the same with Meredith. With an extra pair of hovering hands the job was much easier than it had been with Rachel, and this time there were no games to play. Disciple guards tried to prevent the rescue by firing a few shots past Johnny and Edward Devilliers; their bullets were inadvertently deflected by psychic shields and space–time disruptions generated as the psychics struggled. Boyd quickly returned to the pillar with Baccharus and the girls. He could not help stealing another look at the five archways, each presented the possibility of either exit or ambush; however, all were in direct line of sight of the enemy’s guns, so, for now, he would have to leave them alone. Boyd glanced back at the empty sedan chairs with some satisfaction; unfortunately for him, the morale of the Disciples seemed unaffected. He could only assume that this was because Orbok, Demon King, was nearly here. The light at the centre of the portal was starting to fill with detail and colour, becoming ever more real and present; an encouraging sign for those aligned to Disorder, who chanted louder and faster in acknowledgement of the imminent arrival of their beloved.
“Fucking hell! They won’t shut their mouths for five minutes, will they!” cursed Boyd.
“Why should they?” reasoned Sascha. “All they have to do is keep us here. They know that if Edward Devilliers beats Johnny then getting the girls back is no big deal. You’ve seen Devilliers’ power; he could just pluck all three from us with a thought. We’re safe behind this pillar; we are also stuck, so they might as well continue with the ceremony.”
Boyd could see that the Disciples were doing whatever they could for their cause, just as he and his companions were for theirs. The final outcome would rest on the battle of psychic titans that was now taking place.
There was a groan from Johnny; Boyd watched his friend caught in what he could only imagine to be an invisible psychic lasso. Johnny was hurled from side to side by the wild movements of Edward Devilliers’ arms. To Boyd it was plain to see that any non-psychic would have been crushed by the first impact if subjected to such an attack; the only reason Johnny could survive was through buffering the forces at work with his own psychic ability. There was movement beside Boyd’s head; it was Baccharus, the familiar was about to fly to Johnny’s aid. Without even thinking, Boyd reached out and grabbed the cherub by his calf in a firm grip. Baccharus turned to face him, incensed.
“Don’t go out there, friend; you’re lucky you weren’t killed when Devilliers spotted you the first time around,” said Boyd, holding on tightly.
“I’ve got to help Johnny!”
“Flying out there and getting hurt is not going to help anybody!” insisted the big man and Baccharus stopped struggling against his grasp. Their exchange was abruptly interrupted when Johnny landed on his back only metres away in yet another heavy impact; it was a bad hit and he looked dazed. Sascha automatically leapt out from behind the broad pillar to assist; Boyd and Baccharus screamed after him to come back. As he broke away from the safety of his cover, the Disciple guards opened fire. He kept his head low and, against the odds, reached Johnny. He had made it to his friend’s side – just as Edward Devilliers was about to deliver the death blow. From each of his raised hands the High Lord of Disorder summoned two great beams of energy which crackled and glowed white-hot, dazzling all those who beheld them. The lines of raw psychic power traced their way through the air, to where Sascha leaned over Johnny. Screaming, Baccharus flew towards his keeper and friend using all the strength of his will in an attempt to project a shield; not only was he too late, his defence was also useless against the power commanded by Edward Devilliers. Boyd witnessed all of this, convinced that it was the last he would ever see of Johnny and Sascha. He knew that only a potent psychic could resist an attack like that; had he been fully conscious, Johnny might have done it, but he was only just coming round. Boyd couldn’t leave the girls; he bellowed a final, desperate warning as the beams hit home. All of the gathered Disciples yelped with joy at the impact, which was spectacular. It created a glowing sphere of brilliant white light that engulfed Johnny and Sascha completely, masking them from view. When the beams stopped and the sphere faded, Boyd could hardly bring himself to look; when he did he was entirely unprepared for what was before him: Sascha crouching over Johnny, holding aloft the silver cigar-shaped device he had been tinkering with in the motorhome. Its once shiny body was smoking and crumpled. His homemade creation, designed so elegantly to interfere with psychic energy waves, had saved them. A broad grin slowly crept onto Boyd’s face as he figured out what just happened. Baccharus chose to express himself rather differently. “Fuck you!” screamed the familiar at Edward Devilliers. “Fuck you!”
In frustration, Devilliers fired a stream of erratic psychic bolts at all those who opposed him. Boyd grabbed the girls and they huddled together behind the pillar as chunks of masonry were torn away from it and sent raining down upon them. Baccharus narrowly avoided being hit as he flitted acrobatically through the air. Johnny was lucid once more, just in time to psychically deflect this fresh attack, giving Sascha a chance to follow Baccharus and shelter behind the pillar again with Boyd. Devilliers focused his onslaught on Johnny, and whenever the opportunity emerged, he would aim a few shots at his friends behind the pillar, being careful not to strike Rachel or her sisters.
Chapter 43
Wearily, Johnny managed to project a wide-ranging shield that extended as far as his companions. Struggling for survival meant he had lost track of the ceremony; it was swiftly brought back to his full attention again when the chanting reached a sudden crescendo, and the pulsing beat of the portal began to feel like it was penetrating to the very core of his person. A blood-curdling roar exceeded every noise before it and visibly shook the great underground cathedral. It signalled the climax of the summoning – Orbok, Demon King, had manifested. The awesome moment brought all activity in the great hall to an immediate halt – chanting, combat, movement and even breathing for some. The wormhole rotated slowly again, its pounding beat replaced by a gentle ebb which might have restored a sense of calm had it not been for the immense creature hovering over it where the light had once been. Four storeys tall and almost as broad shouldered, its torso was humanoid. The beast possessed an extra pair of arms beneath those it shared with the human form. Its muscles were grossly exaggerated; so enormous and inflated were they that each one’s outline could be traced with anatomical accuracy. Massive thighs and calves, broader than oak trees, ended in cloven hooves around which thick tufts of black fur grew. The demon was covered from head to toe in an even layer of shiny, jet-black scales; it was impossible to say whether they were actually its skin or some form of alien suit. Orbok’s appearance was terrifying; a thick sinuous neck supported a huge black head that vaguely resembled a terrestrial big cat, possibly a panther, with two great black bull’s horns sprouting from either side all covered in more of the shiny scales. The Chaos deity observed its surroundings and the scattered multitude of lesser beings with sapphire-blue eyes that exuded a cold intelligence. The expressionless stare of an animal would have been a mercy compared with those eyes, so human in their appearance. The only other sound besides the slow ebbing of the portal was the deep snorting breath of the demonic deity echoing around the hall. Orbok took a step through the air above the portal to stand on the solid ground of the cathedral; the contact of hoof with stone floor shook the hall. Johnny watched in horror with his friends. The creature’s physical power was undeniable; Orbok would have been a match for a hundred men. The most frightening aspect about the Demon King, however, was his superiority to humankind in both intelligence and psychic ability. Johnny knew this from the aura Orbok projected; it was like no other he had ever felt, a force of nature in itself.
Johnny bitterly resisted the sense of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. He saw the expressions on the faces of his companions, such good resilient people; it was the first time that he had seen them looking so cowed. He had defeated Mr Kreb and countless other Disciples, he had dog
gedly faced Edward Devilliers; now, with the Demon King present, all he could do was project the shield that guarded him and his friends.
Theodora, the Earth mother, had put so much faith in me, thought Johnny, she was wrong … From the beginning, Johnny had questioned his suitability to carry out this most exacting of tasks. His previous doubts and vacillations now appeared justified because Edward Devilliers and the Disciples had successfully opened the gateway; the demon had been summoned … the old woman’s faith in me was misplaced.
“Aid me, Orbok, Demon King!” implored Devilliers, breaking the ensuing silence. “Destroy those who would challenge Disorder.”
With a maddened scream, the High Lord unleashed beam after beam of psychic energy from each of his hands, digging deep into his psyche for a final withering onslaught on Johnny and his friends. Johnny could feel each strike fractionally weaken his shield and he winced from the effort of resisting. Shouting incoherently like madmen, the rest of the Disciples advanced upon the small party crouched behind the pillar, testing the limits of Johnny’s shield themselves, trying to physically force their way through it, hurting themselves in the process and not really caring.
The Disciples were no longer bound by the need to continue their chant so caution had been thrown to the wind. They were emboldened by their supernatural ally and a favourable outcome now seemed inevitable to them.
**
Orbok the mighty was still orientating himself to this new plane of existence he now occupied, this alien world to which he had been summoned. Journeying through the wormhole meant having his substance rearranged into energy waves and then transcribed across dimensions to take physical form again on Earth; it took time to adjust following such a process.
Ponderously, the Demon King turned his great head towards the commotion. Orbok had heard Edward Devilliers (whom he recognised as his affiliate and partial carrier of his genetic code) call to him for aid. The demon had no need to understand language; sensing Devilliers’ brainwaves when he had spoken was more than adequate for perceiving his intentions. In fact, Orbok could sense the neural activity of every living creature present within a hundred-mile radius from gnat to human, which meant the ancient Demon King also recognised the power that lay in Johnny, his affiliation to the Equilibrium and, most importantly, the threat he posed.