Gargoyle Knight: A Dark Urban Fantasy

by Massa, William

  Dr. Sharpe was studying the ruby through a magnifying glass. He still couldn’t believe nor explain its transformation. But the cracks had vanished and the jewel had been perfectly restored.

  Remarkable.

  The dinner had been a rousing success. Lord Irish had agreed to lend the piece to the museum. Tomorrow, a Brink’s truck would arrive at Staten Island loft with two armed guards and the piece would be directly transported to the Cloisters.

  Sharpe didn’t know how and it was at the eleventh hour, but he had pulled it off. The Blade of Kings, the very weapon that according to myth had shattered the Eye of Balor, would be at the museum just in time for the opening of the exhibit.

  Despite his achievement, he wouldn’t be able to celebrate his success until he solved the mystery of how the two halves of the gem had reconstituted themselves. His first thought was that it must be a clever forgery. Someone must have switched out the original gems. But as he studied the stone through his magnifying glass, everything checked out. All indicators suggested that this was the same piece he‘d been running a battery of tests on since unearthing it at the excavation site.

  A ringing doorbell broke his concentration. He wasn’t keen on visitors, especially those who showed up unannounced. Could Lord Irish have changed his mind about lending this treasured piece to the museum? Dr. Sharpe immediately ruled out the possibility; the game designer would have phoned or texted him, not physically trekked out to the Upper West Side.

  Dr. Sharpe put the Eye down on his desk and shuffled toward the door. He peered through a spyhole and a frown furrowed his forehead. He proceeded to unlatch the lock, revealing Rhianna and the tall, powerfully built man who towered over her. There was an intimidating quality about the stranger. Sharpe prided himself as a good judge of character and he sensed the man’s good intentions, but there was also a darkness in him. Dr. Sharpe had seen the same quality in men who had gone to war and seen combat. He was staring into the eyes of a man who had witnessed too much death.

  Dr. Sharpe’s attention turned to his daughter.

  “Rhianna, what are you doing here?”

  Rhianna stole nervous, guilty glances around the room and Dr. Sharpe wondered for a moment whether there might have been an incident at the museum — a robbery perhaps or even worse, a fire. Had any part of the collection been damaged? But it still didn’t explain the presence of the longhaired man, unless he was a cop.

  “What happened?” Dr. Sharpe asked.

  The question hung in the air for a second before Rhianna began to speak.

  ***

  John Candela had gotten out of work early that day. He slaved his days away inside a cubicle for an accounting firm down on Wall Street, but things were slow and he appreciated the chance to squeeze in a run before dinner.

  All year long, he’d been trying to work out in the mornings but more times than not, he found it impossible to crawl out of bed before dawn and hit the park without first having his trusty cup of morning joe. By the time he was done with his coffee, it normally was too late to go to the park for a run. His girlfriend, a morning person, told him he was being lazy and should just grab his caffeine fix on the way downtown. But sipping an overpriced Starbucks on a crowded subway wasn’t the same as leisurely letting the caffeine work its predawn magic.

  So John worked out when he could and today he had managed to slip into his Reeboks and made it to the park running around eight o’clock. The plan was to circle the park once and call it a day. He established a nice pace once the first mile was behind him and the endorphins were starting to kick in. Sweat beaded his face and pooled around the back of his neck.

  John didn’t wear headphones. His girlfriend needed music to work out but John preferred to let his mind roam free, unencumbered by any structured activity or auditory assault. He enjoyed being in the moment, seeing the city streak past him, the sounds of traffic all around, while he pushed his body beyond its limits.

  He was heading north on Central Park West when he felt an unnatural rush of air behind him. An instant later, a shadow swept overhead in a terrifying blur of motion.

  John tilted his head, catching sight of a giant winged creature ascending into the dark sky. He stopped dead in his tracks, his feet rooted to the ground, slack-jawed.

  He would remain frozen in this position for a few minutes before he began his slow walk back to his apartment. His workout was over and one thing was certain — he would never jog at night again.

  ***

  Rhianna was wrapping up her story and it felt like a great weight had been lifted from her. She probably sounded like one of the crazy bag ladies roaming the streets of her Alphabet City neighborhood, but giving voice to what had occurred back at the museum was therapeutic. It had eased some of the anxiety gnawing at her since the events at the museum.

  She stole a glance at her father, expecting a look of derision, but there was no mirth in his face.

  “I know how it sounds, Dad, but I know what I saw.”

  Dr. Sharpe remained silent, his face inscrutable. He had studied Artan with unwavering intensity as Rhianna relayed her experiences. What thoughts were going through his mind? Was he buying any of this, or did he think Rhianna had mainlined one energy drink too many?

  Dr. Sharpe addressed them in a low voice.

  “Let me show you something.”

  Rhianna traded a concerned look with Artan, not quite sure what to expect. Dr. Sharpe led them to the desk that faced the large balcony windows overlooking the verdant park below. The Manhattan skyline glittered in the distance. No matter how often she visited, Rhianna never grew tired of the view. It put to shame her hole-in-the-wall, bomb-shelter excuse for an apartment.

  Rhianna turned her attention to the wild assortment of items scattered across her father’s work area. An aging laptop dominated the desk’s surface and was surrounded by a clutter of maps, documents and various Celtic artifacts. One item instantly caught her attention, and Rhianna couldn’t help but notice that Artan’s reaction mirrored her own. He remained transfixed by the red stone sitting inside the titanium case.

  Her father snatched the gem and held it up. The change in Artan was immediate. He had seemed calm, attentive and in control while she told her story, but now looked ready to snatch the gem right out of her father’s hand. She caught herself stealing coy glances at Artan, both intimidated and she had to admit... attracted.

  Some girls liked cops, others dug musicians. I guess my type is handy with a sharp blade and turns into a gargoyle at night. Who knew?

  Rhianna chided herself for letting such foolishness tumble through her brain. Her father’s voice brought her back to reality.

  “I don't know what’s going on here and under normal circumstances I'd consider this a bad joke, but...”

  Dr. Sharpe held up the Eye of Balor.

  Rhianna leaned closer. Her father handed her the stone. Surprise played across her face. The two halves of the shattered gem had fused into an untarnished stone. No cracks or any other sign of damage remained; the surface of the gem was unblemished. How was this possible?

  Artan glowered at the jewel and raised his eyes at Rhianna and Dr. Sharpe. “Samhain is upon us. Once the moon rises, Cael will use the Eye's magic to break through the veil that separates our world from the Otherworld.”

  Rhianna shook her head and swallowed hard.

  He can’t be serious?

  The thought popped into her mind unbidden and Rhianna knew the answer. Artan was dead serious and there was an urgency to his words that was persuasive.

  “Let me guess — he wants to release Balor.”

  Artan’s mood darkened, picking up on her sarcasm. For a moment, his features were granite but then the hard line of his mouth dissolved into the hint of a smile. “I’m sorry. This must be hard for you to believe. I must remember the world has changed and the old ways have been forgotten.”

  Artan took a step toward the gem and Rhianna became hyperaware of the physical proximity between
them as his muscled arm almost brushing against her.

  “I must destroy the Eye and banish its evil from this world before it is too late.”

  Rhianna's face filled with growing understanding. “According to the legends, there’s one weapon that can destroy the gem...”

  Rhianna paused, realizing that Artan’s expression had changed. An inhuman flicker passed across his face.

  “What is it?”

  Artan’s answer came in the form of a guttural exhalation. His arms hugged his stomach as he was wracked by a sharp burst of agony. His limbs contorted and Artan hunched over, unable to remain on his feet.

  What was happening?

  Artan crumpled to the floor, knocking over a bookshelf in the process, and ancient tomes were sent flying every which way.

  Dr. Sharpe’s face filled with alarm. “What's wrong with him?”

  Before Rhianna could respond, a monstrous shriek shredded the air. She whirled toward the balcony’s French doors and caught a glimpse...

  Of an incoming shadow.

  With a deafening crash, the balcony was pulverized in a violent hail of glass and splintering wood. The one-eyed gargoyle barreled into the apartment, a vision from hell, wings knocking over anything they came in contact with.

  Rhianna and Dr. Sharpe recoiled from the winged monster, wearing expressions of terror and disbelief. Rhianna‘s mouth hung open as this nightmare from another age advanced. Leathery wings whipped out and unfurled in massive proportions. The skin was laced with dark scales. It was the gargoyle statue from the museum, but now come to horrific life.

  The one-eyed gargoyle regarded the humans for just a second before locking in on the Eye of Balor clutched in Rhianna's hand. The creature’s pupils dilated, a predator choosing its prey, and unleashed a raging, guttural roar.

  Rhianna backed away. Time became a slow-motion movie. She noticed Artan on his knees, face averted, wracked with convulsions that kept growing more powerful.

  Her dad shook off his initial shock and rushed to her aid. He didn’t get far. A clawed hand shot out and cast the archeologist aside. He was hurled across the living room, a string-cut puppet, and crashed into one of the many bookshelves that lined the walls.

  Rhianna's face flashed with concern. “Dad!”

  The gargoyle whirled toward her, zeroing in on her with inhuman speed. Rhianna scrambled to get away from the fast-approaching demon. She clambered over overturned furniture, glass crunching underfoot, moving, moving, anything to put some distance between her and the nightmare from another age.

  Talons missed her by inches and blasted into the wall overhead in a cloud of dust. She backpedaled through the gaping wound in the building that had been torn open by the creature’s arrival.

  She stumbled onto the balcony beyond but the gargoyle was right behind her, relentless, an unstoppable force, all sharp teeth and fangs. The railing jumped into view but she was moving too fast to stop, momentum carrying her over it and sending her rushing toward the pavement twenty stories below.

  ***

  Artan staggered to his feet, caught in the throes of his own terrible transformation. Ever since the sun had vanished below the horizon, the urge to change had grown within him. With each passing minute, the need had become more insistent. He hadn’t known how long he could resist the dark call, but he knew time was running out. The gargoyle inside him was eager to emerge and the laws of ancient magic had to be obeyed. His muscles strained against his leather jacket and jeans, skin turning gray and leathery. His features reconfigured into a monster mask, eyes slitted, nose flattened, a row of razor-sharp incisors protruding from his mouth, which distorted into a bestial, fanged scream.

  It felt like every bone in his body was breaking and being reset while some invisible force stripped the skin off his body. Every nerve screamed in agony as the gargoyle blood ripped Artan apart and rebuilt him into a grotesque travesty of his former self.

  But through the veil of pain, he caught a glimpse of Rhianna. Watched her being pursued by Cael.

  Seeing the young archeology student in mortal danger broke through the pain and gave him something else to focus on.

  Rhianna was in danger and she needed his help.

  He heard her cry out and saw her going over the railing. Time froze and for a second Artan could have sworn the voice screaming in mortal terror belonged to Samara. For a moment he was back in Kirkfall, down for the count, a crumpled mass sprawled on the ground. His wife’s scream echoed all around him. A winged shadow fell across his face and he caught a flash of fangs and talons caked in the blood of the people he loved.

  The moment passed and Artan, still caught in mid trans-formation, surged to his feet and made a dead run for the giant hole that now led out to the balcony. He saw Cael dive after Rhianna and vanish from view.

  Artan’s jacket split at the seams, a few sizes too small for his expanding frame, muscles bulging and thickening, the skin growing mottled and scaly. His hands gnarled and he could hear the popping of bones as they cracked beneath his skin. The king’s teeth elongated into fangs, fingertips sprouted black claws, while his face continued its terrifying mutation.

  Artan never slowed down as he dove over the railing toward the glittering streets below. He skewered his body, becoming a living knife that cut through the air.

  FREEFALL.

  Arms extended, body streamlined, he sliced toward the pavement with the grace of an Olympic diver. The transformation continued as he shot toward the ground.

  Toward Rhianna.

  Muscle, bone and sinews shifted, completing their journey from man to monster in mid-descent. Wings erupted from his back, shredding what was left of his jacket... They gave him control over his speed of descent.

  As the wings grew to their full size, he brought them close to his changing body, preventing them from slowing him too greatly. He tore past Cael, who was caught off guard, and dove below Rhianna. He scooped up her falling form mere seconds before she would have splattered on the street below.

  SWOOP-WHOOSH! The wind strummed his wings, painting a demonic shadow across the streets below. Artan, the gargoyle - Rhianna clutched in his heavily muscled arms - shot away from certain death, the ground receding as he soared toward a nearby cluster of buildings.

  A few hundred feet above them, Cael halted his descent and hovered in midair. He let out a furious roar and his wings rippled after them. The chase was on.

  Meanwhile, Artan was streaking between tall buildings, taking in the mad rush of sights and sound. He navigated between water towers and AC units, structures and glittering lights rushing past him in a furious blur.

  Artan’s transformation was complete. His thoughts remained his own, but his body had shed all vestiges of humanity. The gargoyle king winged his way above the rooftops with dizzying speed, a terrified Rhianna held tight in his arms.

  Behind them, Cael was gaining fast. Their bat-like silhouettes zipped through the urban canyons at breakneck speed.

  Artan rounded the corner of a forty-story skyscraper. For a brief moment, he vanished from Cael's view. Artan planned on making the best of the momentary reprieve. Descending to a nearby rooftop, his clawed feet touched the cement and with a gentleness belying his monstrous appearance, he lowered Rhianna.

  She nearly fell flat on her face, her legs giving out beneath her. The gargoyle’s arm shot out to steady her. The young woman, who reminded him so much of Samara, stared at the monster Artan had become. The shock and horror he saw in her face cut deep.

  In a voice that was more beast than man, Artan said, “Hide.” He snatched the Eye of Balor from Rhianna before she could protest and streaked off into the night.

  She shook off her paralysis and exploded into motion, seeking refuge behind one of the nearby water towers.

  Good girl, Artan thought as he flew away.

  The former king couldn’t help but be impressed with the way Rhianna handled herself in the face of extreme adversity. She had confronted terrors that could drive
many a brave man to the edge of madness, yet she was still standing and able to think on her feet.

  His thoughts were interrupted by an approaching water tower. Artan twisted in midair, barely avoiding a collision with the structure, when he made out an onrushing sound from above.

  WHAM. Cael barreled fist-first into Artan, colliding with him in mid-air. Artan roared and twisted, Cael’s weight inexorably pushing them toward the rooftops below. A fierce battle raged between these two monsters, wings interlocked, an aerial wrestling match between primordial beasts. They surged down the side of a building, clipping it several times, the weight of their bodies breaking off big chunks of wall.

  They hurtled toward the ground, never slowing, and blasted through a series of fire escapes. Their passage warped and dented solid metal until they slammed into the ground.

  A grate in the sidewalk exploded as they disappeared through it. Stunned pedestrians gasped and gawked.

  Below the surface of the earth, the two monsters blasted into a subway tunnel, the fierce impact barely slowing down the fight as dust and rock rained all around them. Claws and fangs tore into each other as grappling, each combatant remained intent on tearing the other apart. Cael raked his claws across Artan's chest and torso, talons drawing a splash of black blood.

  Artan staggered back and slammed into the rails, his face twisting with pain.

  Cael’s voice reverberated in the dank tunnel. “Why play this senseless game? Samhain approaches. The age of Balor is near. Soon you must heed the dark call of his blood.”

  Artan stumbled to his feet, one hand clutching his gushing side.

  He was wounded and would be no match for Cael in his weakened condition.