“What the hell was that?!” Alex hissed, frozen in mid-step. He would have screamed aloud, but the spike of fear that stabbed through him barely allowed the words to croak out his throat. Every hair on his body stood at attention, his blood iced and his heart stopped dead in its tracks. Somewhere behind them, farther off in the forest, a wail had torn through the morning air. His ears still rang from the frequency of the screech, which had pierced clear through his soul. The sound was unmistakably a call, almost a twisted bird call, but more sinister and malevolent than any winged creature could possibly utter. The noise echoed throughout the woods, bouncing off every rock and tree, sending a shiver through everything in its wake. And instead of dissipating, the call grew in strength as it reverberated outward from its point of origin.
“Oh, that wicked little bitch,” Hammett groaned, readying his weapon, lifting his gaze angrily. Vega, too, appeared ready for something to appear above their heads, his muscular body as taught as a coiled spring. “Alex, get behind me. Now. And stay as close to the ground as you can. Sons of harpies. Our situation just took a turn for the worse.”
Chapter 34- Death From Above
Alex knew well enough to keep his mouth shut and do as he was told; the way Hammett commanded him, the look on his face, clearly conveyed that something terrible was on its way. But what that terrible thing happened to be he couldn’t imagine. And so he stared at the sky, crouched low to the ground, each beat of his heart feeling minutes apart, waiting, waiting, utterly defenseless. The silence that followed the agonizing cry felt almost as painful, as though a blanket of dread had been slung over the treetops.
They were heard well before coming into view; heavy wings thrashing in the air. Next came their cries, screeches very similar to the sound which had torn through the forest a moment ago. But there were many this time — numerous fierce wails spreading across the sky. Hammett took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his nostrils, while his partner quickly turned his head from side to side, cracking his neck to ease the tension. The sounds continued to grow louder and louder, closer and closer. Alex turned from side to side, hoping to find a stick or a rock, something, anything within reach for defense.
Finally, the enemy came into view in all of their sickening majesty, an abomination of woman and beast: harpies, more than a dozen, darkening the early day with their nauseating forms. Their faces were remotely those of a woman, yet earless and possessing a wretched cavity where the nose should have been. Long, serrated teeth like a bear trap gleamed in their wide mouths, and upon their disfigured heads grew sparse strands of oily hair. The harpies had torsos of the shape and size of a woman, but bonier and covered in leathery skin. Putrid breasts like rotten fruit hung from their bosoms, lined with sickly veins and oozing pustules. Wide, bat-like wings stretched from their sides, sharp claws at their extremities, while even sharper talons adorned their cursed feet.
“Oh, sh-,” Alex opened his mouth, overwhelmed by the ghastly site.
The crack of gunfire cut off Alex’s words as Hammett and Vega carefully picked their targets. Two harpies plummeted to the earth, crashing through the branches on their way to the forest floor, as a group dove toward the three men. Both inspectors ducked as curled talons flew past their heads, and spinning about, Vega shot another harpy from behind, sending it directly into a nearby tree trunk. Before they could get back on their feet, another group charged from the right, catching the inspectors entirely off guard. Two hasty gunshots rang out, neither hitting a target, and Vega tumbled onto his side. One of the creatures had sliced open his shoulder, now bleeding profusely. Again a group of harpies swooped in from a new direction, talons open, mouths gaping wide in hunger.
“Reloading!” Hammett yelled as soon as the threat passed, changing the clip in his weapon. Alex, hunched over, immediately pressed his hands against Vega’s shoulder to slow the bleeding, while the Spaniard continued to discharge his firearm, lying on his back, providing cover for his partner.
A new sound tore through the air above their heads some ways to the left. Alex cast his eyes above the tree line. This sound was not unknown to him, and though it was in some ways more fierce than the harpies’ cries, it brought a tinge of comfort for the briefest moment. Some ways off Serene dangled from her ankles as a harpy laboriously flapped its wings to stay aloft. The inventor screamed a constant stream of profanities, swinging Spleen Clever wildly about, accomplishing little more than trimming the highest branches of the tree line. She was being taken to Luminita, who waited eagerly for her prize somewhere away from the battle.
“Damn it!” Hammett yelled, his gun aimed at the harpy carrying Serene. The creature was a long ways off and shooting was out of the question. He couldn’t risk shooting the inventor. “We’re only going to get one shot at this. Damn! Stay here with Vega!” The Cyclops charged into the forest, leaping through the undergrowth, his eye fixed upon Serene. If it cost him his life, he would not allow Luminita her prey.
The situation overwhelmed him so much that Alex could do nothing but stare at Hammett’s back receding into the woods. He didn’t have time to think about Serene or Moody, to decide if he should follow the Cyclops and try to aid his friend or remain with Vega as instructed. The adrenaline tearing through him demanded that he focus solely on self-preservation, as yet another attack caught the corner of his eye. Vega groaned as Alex threw himself over the Spaniard, talons passing so close to the young man’s neck that he felt the air curl about him, sending his hair on end. Two more shots and another harpy lay on the ground. Alex returned his gaze to the sky, prepared for another assault, yet to his amazement three more harpies flew directly past them, heading straight toward the Cyclops. Keeping Luminita’s enemies from the inventor was their only concern now.
Groaning in pain, Vega propped himself up with his uninjured shoulder, and shoving his feet into the ground, proceeded to back up to a nearby tree. Alex clumsily placed his hands under Vega’s armpits and helped lift the man backward. After a moment to catch his breath, Vega reached into his long coat, fumbling at a pocket. Alex pulled the coat open, reached into the pocket, and pulled out a warm scarf. The Spaniard nodded at his bleeding shoulder, and understanding his meaning, Alex tied the scarf as tightly around the wound as he could. Alex looked at his own hands, trembling, covered in blood. He had never seen so much human blood before. The terrible thought hit him that this man might very well be dying right before his eyes. The wet hands were wiped on his pants, and Alex forced a smile, returning his attention to Vega. “What can I do?” Vega smiled confidently, and much to his surprise, handed Alex his gun, nodding in the direction Hammett had gone. “Are you kidding? I don’t even know how to use this thing.” Vega smiled once more, curling his index finger twice in quick succession, as if to say that it was as simple as pointing and squeezing the trigger. “What about you?” The Spaniard shrugged nonchalantly, then again nodded insistently toward the Cyclops’ direction.
“Oh, God, this is a bad idea.” Alex stood, searched the ground nearby for a moment, and picked up a large, sturdy branch broken off a tree during the harpy assault. “In case those things come back,” he explained, handing the stick to Vega. “Oh God, this is a really bad idea.” Alex took one last look at Vega, and without an ounce of confidence, ran deeper into the forest, certain he would get himself killed in no time flat.
Chapter 35- Death Stood Before Her
Moody dashed wildly through the forest, following the sounds of Serene’s screams and expletives above the trees. There was no telling how far she had run already, but her chest and little legs burned from exhaustion, and her breathing had been reduced to swallowing gasps of air erratically. The knife handle in her chubby right hand had been unconsciously clenched so tightly that a small trickle of blood slid down the blade, mixing with the slimy residue of harpy. At least one of those damned creatures suffered grievous injuries before they took off with Serene, pulling the inventor right out of the hunchback’s grasp. She had tried. She tried so hard
to hold onto her hands. She kept thinking of the look on Serene’s face as the harpy lifted her in the air, an expression of anger and helplessness. She would catch up to that flying hag and tear its wings clear off that disgusting excuse of a body. Moody heard the gunshots in the distance, but there wasn’t time to worry about that, to give thought to whom it might be — an ally or another threat. All that mattered was rescuing her friend. At least the woman made enough of a racket to be heard for miles.
An indomitable will can push the body to the limit for only so long, and finally the hunchback’s legs gave out from under her. Arms, knees, legs, chest — everything throbbed in searing pain. Moody forced the stocky legs to straighten, commanded her trembling arms to push up off the ground. Four more steps were wrung from an exhausted body before it collapsed once more. Serene’s yells were fading now. Teeth gritted, Moody stumbled forward on all fours, palms and knees grinding into the leaf covered ground, unyielding, wholly unconcerned about the rocks and wood chips that dug mercilessly into her flesh. Forward she pushed, grunted, would have screamed and cursed at the top of her lungs if she had the breath and strength. Still, Serene’s cries faded farther and farther into the distance.
She would catch up. Nothing would stop her. Nothing.
And then the hunchback froze. Above her head a cruel croak grated against her ears. A single harpy, perched nearby, stared greedily downward. Moody glared back into the harpy’s malicious eyes and uttered a fierce, animalistic snarl. She now became aware that the knife yet remained in her iron grasp, and raised the blade defiantly. The harpy moved its head from side to side, thinking, calculating, wings and talons twitching with excitement. Spreading its wings full, the beast puffed out its chest and wailed.
Moody didn’t even see the harpy glide down, it happened so quickly. The next thing she knew she lay on her back, kicking and screaming, slashing wildly about as the creature hovered over her body, trying to dig its talons into the hunchback’s flesh. Wings pounded down upon her. The stink of rancid death wafted about. Her ears rang from the harpy’s high-pitched screeches. She was aware that her arms were receiving slashes, yet Moody continued to swing the knife back and forth, while her free arm instinctively protected her face. The beast kept searching for an opportunity, relentlessly testing the hunchback’s defenses. Then, for a brief moment, a thick neck came into view. The harpy hopped toward Moody’s throat, diving in for the killing blow. But it acted too late. A wide swipe of the blade severed two talons from its right foot. Howling in pain, the harpy flopped backwards, thrashing its bleeding wings on the ground.
Moody couldn’t run away, couldn’t rise to her feet, no longer possessed the strength to even crawl. Body sprawled out, the hunchback lifted her knife, arm wavering weakly. Death stood before her, and rebelliously she stared back at it. Thick saliva trickled out of the harpy’s mouth, its eyes ablaze with hatred. A singular cry and the creature leaped for the final time onto the hunchback. Moody roared back at the beast. A number of loud bangs in quick succession echoed around her, followed by an unending “click”. The weight of her attacker weighed down on the hunchback, and its grotesque body convulsed. Yet it no longer fought, and the “clicking” noise continued unabated.
Alex stood several feet away, gun pointed at the harpy, shaking heavily. His eyes were almost crazed, his mouth open in shock, trigger finger curling relentlessly. Gradually the young man came back to his senses, lowering the empty weapon. Kneeling to his friend’s side, he shoved the dead creature away, thankful to see Moody’s bright green eyes staring at him in astonishment. Words didn’t come. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t make a sound, didn’t even know where to begin. The fright, relief, exhaustion — they overwhelmed his senses. Then, to his eternal amazement, Moody’s eyes glassed over and she curled her arms around his neck, shoving her face into his shoulder. His neck and shoulder hurt from her squeezing, but he didn’t care. Wrapping his arms around the hunched back, he held her as tightly as he could. For the first time in his life, he understood the unbearable grief of losing someone he loved, tasting its bitter sting for a passing moment. Alex felt the panicked pounding of her heart and the tremble of her limbs. Silently they sat on the forest floor, catching their collective breath, regaining a relative calm, unwilling to let go. Finally, Moody let him loose, and she looked at him with an almost ashamed smile. Alex smiled back, wrapping his hand around her arm and squeezing comfortingly.
“Took you long enough, you lazy ass,” she coughed, regaining her composure. Alex continued smiling, still at a loss for words. “Where’d you get the gun?”
“From a friend,” he at last forced out.
“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot me along with the freaking harpy.”
“So am I.” Alex laughed lightly. “Well, I guess it was my turn to be the hero…for once.”
Moody’s face turned pale and misery flooded into her eyes. “They took Serene. The freaking winged bitches pulled her right out of my hands. I tried…I tried…but I couldn’t…”
“It’s going to be ok.” Alex forced a confident smile. “I know. We saw her. One of my friends is pursuing them. He’s, uh…well, he’s pretty tough and experienced at this sort of thing. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can, stupid,” she said with great offense. “Just not too fast…and I may need to…you know…lean on you a bit.” These last words were nearly whispered in humiliation.
“Not a problem. Anyway, we may not be much help, but I think we should follow after Serene as best we can. My…friend may need all the help he can get. There’s someone here even more dangerous than harpies.”
Chapter 36- Luminita’s Game
Hammett’s focus on following the inventor abruptly broke. The undisciplined volley of gun fire he just heard couldn’t have been Vega; the Spaniard was far too good a marksman. This likely meant Alex had Vega’s gun, which opened up a great many uncomfortable scenarios. Had his partner fallen to the harpy attack, necessitating that the unprepared young man take up their last stand? Even worse, as improbable as it might be, what if Alex somehow managed to get his hands on Vega’s weapon and betrayed them, mercilessly gunning down his injured partner? There could be no way of knowing, and whatever the facts were, Necrosia had to come first. All this bloodshed, all this chaos and uncertainty, the world lit ablaze, all because of one damned insane woman who couldn’t help but stick her nose in a place where it didn’t belong. She would have much to answer for in the end.
The Cyclops quickened his pace as Serene’s shouts changed. She sounded as though she were scuffling with and screaming at something new, not the harpy, and her shouts seemed to be coming now from ground level. Did Luminita stand before her? He couldn’t say for sure, as the inventor’s words were muffled, difficult to make out, but he’d bet on it. And then the sounds stopped altogether. No. He would not let Luminita have her. He was very close now. He could run faster, he had to run faster. He would get there in time.
The inspector skidded to a halt upon reaching a small clearing. In the center Serene lay on her back, eyes closed tightly, an impressive sword next to her. Drugged perhaps? At any rate she yet lived, her chest softly rising and falling. Besides, no harm would come to Necrosia…yet. She’d be no good to the CN dead. Two harpies glared down at him from the branches, still as stone, indicating no signs of hostility. What did all this mean? Where was that sneak, Luminita? Surely, she had laid a trap for him to stumble into. Precisely what game did she play, though? He took a cautious step forward, straining his eye on every tree stump, every branch, even the most innocuous smattering of leaves on the ground. The hairs on his neck and arms stood at attention, wary of even the slightest breath of wind. The foul creatures remained idle, wide open for two clean shots. But maybe that’s what Luminita wanted him to do, to focus his attack on her pawns. There could be no doubt that she observed him at this very moment, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to strike, to catch him unawares. Uncertain, Hammett simply stood in his place, wai
ting, waiting, holding his breath, steeling his nerves. All became perfectly motionless, a tense, stifling still life painting. Excruciating minutes passed, and still there were no clear signs.
“Very well,” Hammett said aloud. “We’ll play your little game.”
In one fluid motion, he raised his firearm, shot one of the harpies clean between the eyes, and spun around, dropping to his knees. As he hit the ground, Hammett felt a swift rush of air pass above his head, directly where his neck had been a fraction of a second before. In the topmost corner of his eye he saw the gleam of a sharpened dagger, and before him the form of a cloaked person, covered in a texture almost identical to tree bark. Two shots he fired, straight into the unclear form. No sound accompanied his gun shots, no grunt of pain, nor sound of movement. But there could be no doubt that he hit his mark: for on the ground before him glistened a small splattering of thick, black blood. Pivoting on his heel, the Cyclops spun back around. The other harpy had vanished without a trace. Once more the scene became as still as death. His brown eye roved about, desperately searching for more of the black ooze. He saw nothing. Slowly the inspector rose to his feet, awaiting Luminita’s next move.
Somehow he sensed it: a tingle in the back of his mind, something barreling down silently from behind. Hammett turned back to fire at the harpy, but too late. The creature sliced across his arms, knocking him off balance. As his body hit the ground, he knew precisely where Luminita would be. He had barely made contact with the forest floor when he rolled backward with all his might, crashing into the assassin’s shins. Luminita tumbled forward, swiping her dagger futilely through empty space. Hammett leaped onto her back, barely discernible from the ground, groping for her wrists. The lithe woman couldn’t match the Cyclops’ raw power, and she twisted and turned violently, with no success. Hammett would have easily overpowered her, but the searing pain across his back instinctively forced his hands to let go and reach behind. His thick hands grasped the harpy’s head, and with a roar of mixed anger and pain, he swung the beast forcefully over his shoulder. A distinct snap informed the inspector that he had broken its neck on impact.
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