by Steve Feasey
‘Bad doggy,’ the demon said, shaking his head, and he began to circle his opponent again.
Trey was in trouble with his damaged leg. He couldn’t move freely, and he knew that he’d be off balance and susceptible to any attack that Abaddon launched. If he went down, he knew he’d suffer the same fate he’d witnessed the Destroyer inflict on his semi-final opponent and, with his leg the way it was, there was every chance of that happening. In addition, the swelling above his eye, coupled with the blood, was making it difficult to see. He didn’t think he could survive another attack from the hulking demon, so he did the only thing left to him: he launched his own offensive.
He sprang forward, staying low to try to avoid any more of those vicious blows and ignoring the screaming pain in his leg as he pushed off against it. If his plan didn’t work, he wouldn’t have to worry about the pain any more, he’d be dead.
Not for nothing was the champion considered the greatest fighter ever to have competed in these terrible Games. He reacted to Trey’s offensive in an unexpected way that took the werewolf totally by surprise: as the lycanthrope launched himself towards his opponent, Abaddon flicked his foot forward, spraying sand up into the werewolf’s face and eyes.
Trey’s momentum carried him forward. He couldn’t see a thing, and he knew the blow that would send him to his death was already crashing down towards him. He blindly threw an arm forward, fingers taut, claws extended, hoping to inflict as much damage as he could before his opponent finished him off. His fingers connected with the top of the metal face on the front of Abaddon’s belt, and he hooked his claws over the top, getting a good grip on the thing. Sure enough, the champion’s fist connected with the top of Trey’s head, and the brilliant explosion of white light lit up the darkness behind the lycanthrope’s eyelids. It should have been the precursor to the teenager passing out. The power of the blow, coupled with his own momentum, pitched Trey forward, but somehow he kept his grip on the belt.
The crowd roared its approval at the blow it assumed signalled the challenger’s defeat. Every spectator was on its feet now, shouting and cheering and pointing down at the arena. They knew it was a matter of moments before Abaddon sprang on to the werewolf’s back and finished the fight with his trademark bludgeoning. It was what they had all come to see.
But Trey wasn’t quite finished. He somehow found some purchase in the sand, and with this new footing he threw his weight forward, driving his head into the gap between Abaddon’s wide stance and pulling down on the belt with all his might at the same time. The champion was caught off balance and had to try to reach back between his legs to grab the lycanthrope. Trey scrambled through the gap and came up on the other side, fingers still hooked into the belt, so that his arm was now hooked up under the demon’s groin, his shoulder wedged into the champion’s rear. Abaddon roared and reached around behind his back in an attempt to get a grip on the werewolf.
Trey blinked hard, desperate to clear the grit and sand from his eyes. He opened them again, and although his vision was blurred with blood and tears, he could see. And he could see the thing he sought. He raked the claws of his free hand down the demon’s back and through the thick leather of the belt, feeling the thing come away from the champion’s midriff as he did so. He stood up, the ruined belt held out to one side.
There was a screaming sound, a high-pitched wail of anger and frustration. Abaddon wheeled about to face the lycanthrope, and Trey saw two faces glaring back at him. And it was the one where the demon’s stomach should have been that was screaming – screaming with rage now.
‘Kill it! Kill the lyco. It has exposed us!’
The screaming face was hideous: a twisted, malformed grotesque copy of the champion, as if some ancient version of Abaddon had been grafted into his midriff. And its eyes were terrible: radiating nothing but pure hatred.
Abaddon charged. Whereas before he had always seemed in control – confident and assured of his ability to beat any opponent – Trey saw that behind the mask of rage there was now something else: doubt and fear. From the way that the demon bellowed and ran at him, it was clear to Trey that the champion had lost control. Abaddon swung a huge fist at the werewolf, and unlike his earlier blows, which were terrible in their accuracy, this one was wild – a great roundhouse of a hook, swung with the intention of inflicting the maximum amount of damage without caring what it connected with. Trey easily ducked inside the arm and, wincing as his knee ignited with pain once again, twisted round while driving his right hand forward – low and hard, fingers squeezed together, claws extended.
The flesh of the torso-face was not like the leathery, tough hide that covered the rest of the champion’s body. It was soft and yielding – like a blancmange – so that Trey’s talon-tipped, spear-like blow resulted in his whole hand entering the demon. Abaddon gasped and threw his head back, his body rigid and straight as though a galvanizing current had been passed through it.
Trey tore his hand loose.
Abaddon stared down with wide, disbelieving eyes before dropping to his knees and pitching face forward to the arena floor.
There was a perfect silence for a moment. Nothing moved in the stadium as every spectator gawped down at the scene with a look not dissimilar to the one that had just adorned the dead champion’s face. Then suddenly, as if at some silent cue, a great wall of noise filled the place. Nether-creatures leaped up and down, many trying to scale the boundary wall to congratulate the new champion; the lucky ones were beaten back by the stewards wielding great batons, the unlucky ones made it past the security cordon only to be shot down by the archers. Marshals bellowed at the crowd to return to their seats. The master of ceremonies rode out of the tunnel on the back of the purple chariot, skidding to a halt in front of the werewolf. The demon leaped out and raised Trey’s arm over his head, turning the lycanthrope about to face each stand in turn while shouting into a megaphone something that caused the spectators to erupt anew into a frenzy of excitement.
It was all a blur to Trey. He had retreated into himself, trapped in his own bubble of pain and misery so that he was only vaguely aware of the sights and sounds all around. The MC was circling the lycanthrope now, still bellowing at the crowd and gesticulating in Trey’s direction, but the werewolf stood looking ahead blankly. He would have stayed that way if he had not become aware of an insistent tugging at his arm. Eventually he looked down and saw Shentob staring up at him, the old demon’s face expressing pity and concern.
‘Come,’ Shentob said, gently tugging at Trey’s hand while nodding in the direction of the tunnel.
Trey looked down at their joined hands, one gnarled and wrinkled, the other still covered in unspeakable gore.
‘Come,’ Shentob repeated.
And Trey allowed himself to be led up on to the back of the chariot and driven out of the arena.
48
Trey opened his eyes and gasped at the sight of the decrepit old woman leaning over him. He tried to roll away, only to cry out as the pain in his knee and head insisted that he stay exactly where he was.
He was about to ask the stranger who she was when Moriel appeared over her shoulder. Trey’s heart nearly burst from his chest at the sight of the battle-angel. She nodded at him, the edges of her eyes creasing in the suggestion of a smile. She was as beautiful as he’d remembered her to be: beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
‘So you are finally awake,’ the old woman said, turning her back on him and shuffling away. ‘About time too.’
Trey raised an eyebrow in Moriel’s direction. ‘Who’s she?’
‘That is Hag. She has been tending to you. You have been unconscious for two days now. We thought you might die, but Hag is a great sorceress, and she has had a very good helper.’ Moriel smiled at him now, revealing her sharpened teeth.
‘Alexa?’
‘Yes, Alexa. She will be cross that she was not here when you woke. She has been at your side throughout, and only left to gather some ingredients that Hag requir
ed for a new poultice.’
‘And is she … ?’
‘She is fine. Thanks to you.’ Moriel looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face. ‘You have a habit of saving people, Trey Laporte. First Lucien, then me, and now Alexa. But the price you have had to pay for your heroism is great. Each time you save one of us, you lose a part of yourself, a part of your innocence.’ She carried on staring at him, as if she was able to see through his skin to peer at things buried deep inside him. ‘You are already a very different young man from the one I first met in Leroth.’
‘Did Lucien find you?’ Trey asked. ‘That’s why he came to the Netherworld, isn’t it? To find you.’
‘He actually came to see Hag, but yes, in the process of seeking her out he found me. He is well, and he would have liked to be here by your side, but he has some business with a certain demon lord to attend to first. He insisted that I stay here to make sure that you were safe.’
‘He’s alone?’
Moriel smiled, but there was no humour in the gesture. ‘Hardly. He has ten of my finest battle-angels with him.’
‘That doesn’t sound like many.’
‘Believe me, it is more than enough.’
One look at Moriel convinced Trey that she was right. Besides, he’d seen the devastation that she was capable of alone.
‘How did I get here?’
‘Lucien and I did not get word of your exploits until it was too late.’ She paused, glancing across at Hag with a look Trey found difficult to decipher. ‘But the tale of your victory at the Demon Games spread quickly throughout the Netherworld, and when we heard that a true-blood werewolf had defeated Abaddon the Destroyer in the final of the Games, we knew it could only be you. We hurried to Molok’s fiefdom but news of our approach had already reached the demon lord’s ears. He escaped to his citadel and has barricaded himself inside. My Arel are in the process of razing his precious stronghold to the ground as we speak. Lucien wants the demon lord to suffer for what he did to you and Alexa, and he will stop at nothing until the Hell-Kraken is in his hands.’
‘So you and Lucien got me out of the stadium?’ Trey shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember anything.’ He frowned, realizing just how true this was; he could remember entering the stadium, and the opening exchanges of the fight with Abaddon, but beyond that there was nothing.
‘No. Alexa and your aide, Shentob, did that.’
Again Trey tried to sit up, and again the pain flattened him back down on to the bed.
‘Shentob – where is he?’
‘Your little friend is a worthy aide to a champion. Following the fight, he moved you to safety, stitching and tending to your wounds as best he could – you have a fractured skull, and the damage to your knee will take a little while to heal. Then he went up into the stand and confronted Molok in front of his entourage. Shentob reminded the Hell-Kraken of the covenant the two of you made, and demanded that Alexa and you be released into his care. As aide to a champion he had every right to do so, and from what I gather, he stood tall in the face of the demon lord’s threats. Shentob knew that Molok had no choice: right is always right, and even in a place like the Netherworld there are certain conventions and rules that nobody can contravene. Molok could not touch a hair on Shentob’s head while he was still your aide, and he had to hand both you and Alexa into the demon’s safe keeping. By the time Lucien and I arrived, your friend had already got you back to the fighting school. That is where we found you.’
‘So where is he?’
‘He stayed behind. We gave him the chance to come back with you, but he decided that he would like to stay put. Lucien has charged him with the duty of pulling the fighting school down, and your friend seemed to relish the prospect of overseeing that particular task.’ Moriel paused for a moment. ‘Shentob asked me to tell you that he was so very proud of you – that he never stopped believing in you for one second, and that you will always have a bowl of your favourite stew waiting for you if ever you come back to the Netherworld to visit him.’ She frowned as Trey grinned at this private joke. ‘He sent your armour as a gift. He said that it is impossible for a demon to feel love, but what he feels for you is as close to that as can possibly be.’
Trey bit down on his lip and turned his head away to hide his emotions from the fearsome battle-angel.
The door opened and Alexa came in. She took one look at the bed and threw down the things she’d been holding to run to Trey’s side.
Hag shouted out from the back of the room, cursing the girl for being so careless, but Alexa ignored the old woman.
Moriel went over to pick up the dropped items and took them to the sorceress, leaving the two teenagers alone together.
Alexa’s eyes filled with tears as she took Trey’s hand in her own.
‘Hi,’Trey said.
‘Hi.’ Alexa blew out her cheeks, trying to keep her emotions in check.
‘You’re supposed to be happy that I’m out of my coma,’ Trey said seeing the tears on her face.
‘I am. You have no idea how happy I am.’ Alexa laughed and wiped at her face.
Trey looked at the girl by his side, and his heart seemed to clench inside him. Her hair was unkempt, her face smudged with dirt and tears, and yet in that moment he thought that she’d never looked more beautiful. He lifted her hand, which was still in his, and kissed it. Alexa stared at him, making Trey’s heart clench again, and he suddenly felt awkward and foolish.
‘You did it,’ she whispered.
Trey frowned.
‘You won our freedom.’
‘Yeah, I guess I did.’ He paused and then gave her a mischievous look. ‘Does that make me your hero, then?’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Don’t push your luck, Trey Laporte.’
Trey joined in with her laughter, although doing so made him wince from the pain it set off in his face and abdomen. Alexa looked down at him, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. She leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the lips. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Hey, dhampir!’ Hag shouted at Alexa from the back of the room. ‘Are you going to sit there all day making googly eyes at him, or are you going to help me make this blasted poultice?’
Alexa stood up, grinning down at Trey. ‘I’d better go and do as she says. Otherwise she’s likely to set her mandragore on both of us and, believe me, that thing makes Abaddon look like a pussycat.’
She turned and walked away. Trey watched her cross the room, already answering the old woman back and taking the things from the shelves that she was directed to. He closed his eyes. Despite the pain, he was happier than he’d been in a very long time. Within moments, he was fast asleep.
Two days later, when Lucien returned, Trey was sitting up in bed. He was on the mend, and had even taken a few tentative steps on his damaged leg, supported on either side by Alexa and Moriel. Alexa was asleep in the back room, having exhausted herself practising a fire-strike spell that Hag had taught her.
Trey was taken aback by Lucien’s appearance. The vampire was gaunt; his cheeks and eyes had sunk into a face that bore little resemblance to the handsome, striking creature Trey had said goodbye to when he’d left for Canada only a few weeks earlier. The fangs now adorning the vampire’s mouth took Trey by complete surprise, and he tried not to stare at them as his friend and guardian came over to his bedside.
‘It’s good to see you sitting up, Trey. You look remarkably better than you did when I last saw you.’ Lucien glanced across at Hag and nodded in her direction, but the old lady just flapped her hand dismissively and turned her back on him.
‘It’s good to see you too, Lucien,’ Trey said. He paused. ‘I wish I could say the same of you. What has happened to you?’
The vampire gave a sad smile. ‘I have not fed since coming to the Netherworld. I am able to do without the … sustenance I need for some time, but the result is, I’m afraid, all too obvious to those around me.’
Trey stared at th
ose deadly-looking canines as Lucien spoke; it was impossible for him not to. Aware of the boy’s scrutiny, Lucien looked at the floor for a moment, and when he glanced back at his young ward he ran the tip of his tongue over the fangs and nodded at the youngster, as if granting him permission to ask the questions that he knew were flying around inside the boy’s head.
‘I thought you’d had those permanently removed.’
Lucien eyes shot in the direction of Hag again, before turning back to Trey. ‘So did I.’
‘Sorry. I don’t mean to—’
‘Something has happened to me. Hag has her own theories of how and why, but it is something that she doesn’t think she will be able to reverse. I have reverted to the thing I truly am. And I must learn to adapt all over again.’
‘Hey, I’ve seen worse looks since being here in the Netherworld,’ Trey said, trying to lighten the mood.
Lucien smiled and was about to reply when Alexa came in.
It was clear to Trey that Lucien’s appearance had deteriorated even in the two days since he and Alexa had last seen each other, because she faltered as she ran across the room towards him.
He stepped towards her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
The two of them made their way over to Trey.
‘I owe you more than I can ever repay,’ Lucien said, looking down at the teenager.
‘Did you deal with Molok?’ Trey asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Permanently?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’re quits.’
Lucien smiled. ‘I hope you’re feeling well enough to leave this place. We must return to the human realm to deal with pressing matters that I believe will have a dreadful impact there. A terrible storm is brewing – a storm that Caliban has conjured up – and I fear that we will be the ones that have to fight its effects, if my brother is not to have his way and wreak havoc on humankind.’