Demorn: Soul Fighter (The Asanti Series Book 3)

by David Finn

  Demorn did not loosen her steel grip. It was a brutal fight and it hurt her, too, but there was a wildness to the Hunter, a demonic fire in her eyes that told Demorn all she needed to know. The Toxis she knew was gone, and whatever was left had changed into something different and very dangerous.

  ‘Why, Toxis? WHY? We were FRIENDS!’

  The huntress was silent. Demorn’s anger was real. It wasn’t due to the hits she had taken. The wound in her shoulder pulsed but right now the adrenaline and exhilaration pounding through her body overcame the pain that would come later.

  With a huge effort, Demorn stilled her mind, blocking out the stiffening shoulder, forcing the huntress to look into her eyes.

  Her magic eyes pierced the soul of Toxis. For a moment, she saw everything, owning her mind in a way she hated to do, intruding on the mind of another. She only did it when she could convince herself the fate of a city, or a world, or the universe was at stake. But the longer she looked the more desolate she felt, an intruder into the tragedy of a person who once had been a friend.

  There was no taint of sorcery upon Toxis, the huntress was sane, or whatever passed for sane these days. Anger burnt from every part of her. Demorn emerged from the vision.

  Toxis spat blood. Demorn’s fist had crushed a couple of her teeth.

  ‘You ask why, but you know why. Look at whose house you are hiding in.’

  ‘Josie?’

  Toxis spat more words. ‘A war criminal. A whore.’

  Demorn rolled her eyes. ‘My god, who isn’t by this point? It’s a War. We all do things we’re not proud of.’

  Toxis sneered. ‘You abandon us, your sisters, your Blood Clan. Again and again. The prophecy says you will come in a time of crisis. Where were you as Vangarians and sorcerers burnt the White Fort to the ground? Slutting yourself out to the Baron Santos and his minions a continent away! For money and the favours of the rich and the powerful!’

  Demorn released her steel grip and let Toxis fall against the wall, her shattered leg weak as she hit the ground. She was hurt. Demorn pulled the Athena gun and aimed it at Toxis’s head. The huntress didn’t move. They both knew Demorn wouldn’t miss.

  She said, ‘Don’t make me pull the trigger, Toxis. I want to help you, not hurt you.’

  Toxis looked at her with blood eyes, nodding just once. Demorn kept seeing the skeleton dimension she had glimpsed inside Toxis’s soul. Far worse than the Grave Dimension where Demorn had existed for two cold years, the realm of the Skeleton King was a true hell, in which escape was not an option for there was no easy way out and he owned you until he released you. Whatever hell that was, the huntress was still living there even as she bled out on the floor.

  Demorn said, ‘I hate the prophecy. I hate what it does to me, what it did to this world, my sisters. It’s a sickness. It made a legend out of a mercenary!’

  ‘So you let us burn? Because you hate the blessing the Goddess bestowed?’

  Demorn said, ‘I wasn’t there because nobody called me, Toxis. I didn’t know where you were. My golden armband had long since faded. I thought you died in the Abyss at Firethorn so many years ago, protecting the Fort from Vangarians and the Corizan witch!’

  Toxis laughed with derision and disbelief. That troubled Demorn more than anything else, more than the sudden attack. They had fought before, sometimes to the brink of death. But in all their missions, Toxis had barely vocalised, always preferring the subtle mental communication that was common amongst the elite of the Blood Clan. She had been a cold, efficient killer, in control always, not this emotional wreckage with blood in her eyes. There was a reason behind it all, an inciting incident, Demorn knew this, but to reach that reason seemed impossible, let alone be able to fix it.

  The bond between them had become a chain. They were mired on opposite sides of a conflict that was beyond them both to resolve. If they fought now, it would be out of habit, it would be because they had run out of any other way to solve their differences. She knew the way of the huntress and of the Blood Clan. They didn’t have another way to solve differences.

  I should never have let her fall into the abyss, Demorn thought. But did I even have a choice, in the madness of another assault upon the Fort? She couldn’t remember. It was too long ago and didn’t matter. No doubt her treachery was inscribed already in the lore of the Clan. She could travel forward a thousand years, pulled by the prophecy and the gods, and the legend would be encoded. She was lost to the Blood Clan. She was again exiled, and surely most of the blame was her own.

  Demorn said, ‘You don’t understand. This time, on this trip, I didn’t spawn in the forest by the White Fort with my holy sword, Toxis, not like all those times before! You have been gone for years, since before the Grave Dimension.’

  YOU HAVE TRESPASSED ACROSS MY SOUL, YOU SAW WHAT MY SURVIVAL WAS.

  Demorn shrugged. She felt hollow. What did it matter.

  ‘Call me a traitor all you want, Toxis, but nobody told me anything. I thought you were dead, lost in the abyss. I heard on the TV the White Fort had fallen.’

  AND WHERE WERE YOU?

  Demorn looked at her sadly. ‘The Sisters had been at peace for a century, huntress. I visited them and they were content, even happy to be enjoying some quiet peace after all their battles. It was me who craved the storm. I left them to their peace, that much is true. I was on the Tour, half a world away, trying to survive, and that is when I heard them fall. Since then, I’ve been on the Front with Santos. He’s trying to stop demon gods from invading his reality. You see, it’s so much bigger than just defending the Fort. This world of Firethorn has changed in the eons since I first came here, even if you cannot see it, Toxis. Firethorn has grown, it is a dimension of many cities, many different countries.’

  She pointed her hand upward. ‘Out there in Parallel 37, Triton sigils litter the air, ready to be birthed. It’s a dead dimension. Firethorn will be next. Where will this nightmare end? I must do what I can!’

  Toxis drew her shattered leg inside her cloak, in obvious pain, her blood-red eyes unwavering. Demorn was sure she wasn’t even listening, sure her words were wasted. Demorn didn’t trust the woman to stay down. She could see the subtle way her body tensed. The huntress had fought so many battles. She would have other weapons, a last strike, and somewhere close, there would be another hunter of the Blood. They would not stop. The Clan had made their minds up. They would not stop trying to kill her. Toxis would be the first of many.

  THE CHANGE THAT HAS SEDUCED YOU, THAT IS THE DEATH OF US, THAT IS THE FORT BURNING.

  It’s progress, you fool, Demorn thought. Social evolution at a fantastic rate, a dimension and a world straining to compensate for the Fracture Event. It’s the only way we will possibly survive Ultimate Fate.

  But she could say none of this. Toxis didn’t care and had never cared about the Fracture Event. She believed in a target and a cold kill. Demorn wondered how and when she had lost her trust. Had it been when Toxis fell into the abyss, a lifetime ago, defending the White Fort, and the golden armband had faded from Demorn? Was it then? Was it that simple? Or was it before, on their last few missions, in Firethorn and Babelzon, as the targets grew so frequent and Tony kept paying so much, and the hits drew them farther away from the White Fort, onto Earth, small town casinos, lonely truck stops, killing demons with black eyes and superhuman forces gone off the reservation.

  They had never spoken much on those missions, a joke here or there, usually Demorn clowning around, trying to break the ice as they travelled across the lonely highways late at night. Toxis hadn’t liked being drawn so far from the missions of the Blood Clan, but she respected their bond and the work. It was an intense, quiet friendship that now lay here, in blood and pain, on the ground of a God Fort.

  The sword Xalos spawned suddenly in Demorn’s hand. Purple flames licked the edges of the katana. She felt energy surge back onto her ruby heart. She could see the muscles of the huntress tense.

  ‘Don’t make me kill yo
u, Toxis. You know I will if I have to.’

  YOU FOLLOW A TRAITOR WITCH INTO THE HEART OF EVERYTHING.

  Demorn kicked the corridor wall. ‘I’m not following ANYBODY! It’s my choice, can’t you see that! The White Fort is ashes, Santos is dying, we are losing this War!’

  Toxis sneered, her accent thick. ‘To who! The Prussians? They are no different than those you fight for!’

  The huntress opened her hand, throwing the third energy star at Demorn, catching her on the wrist. Demorn fired, the shot missing by an inch, as Toxis flung herself at Demorn, moving on one strong leg, impaling herself on the burning sword Xalos.

  Oh, Toxis. Her eyes bled. She looked only partly human. A hunter demon lived in Toxis. But that demon had always lived there, Demorn knew that. She had known this from the first time she met the huntress, back in the ice caverns, an age ago.

  Toxis’s form started flickering on the blade. Demorn could see skull icons phasing around her. The Skeleton King claiming back his own.

  Toxis murmured in a death rattle. ‘We know of the Lady Josephine. She is a legend amongst the Clan, a death goddess without conscience.’

  Demorn said, ‘Imagine if we could change it all, that’s what I’m trying to do.’

  Toxis slumped against her, the fight going out of her. The armband burnt. Demorn gripped her, looked in those eyes which had so much blood in them. Her hand bled with a deep cut from the glancing blow.

  ‘You think I don’t know that? I have not betrayed you, Sister. I am still an Innocent . . .’

  Toxis smiled through fangs.

  PERHAPS . . . YOU ARE NOT A TRAITOR . . . BUT YOU ARE NOT OF THE BLOOD AND NEVER HAVE BEEN.

  Demorn pressed herself against Toxis’s dark skin. It was true. She had run with them, and she had killed with them. But Demorn had always left before the last ritual, when the circle was complete. There was a part of Demorn that liked to stay seperate, compartmentalised.

  ‘I know. I’m an exile wherever I go.’

  THE SHRINE . . . HAS SEEN THE END TIMES . . . TOLD OUR LEADERS YOU CAN WIN BUT MAY NOT CHOOSE TO.

  The words echoed through her mind.

  ‘What’s the Shrine?’

  THE WOLF KNOWS . . . HE HAS SEEN THE WORLD THE WITCH WILL BRING.

  Demorn whispered, ‘I promise to do my best. It’s all I can do, it’s all we have left.’

  I didn’t want to kill you Toxis, she thought. I didn’t want to kill you.

  THE HELL OF SKELETONS IS ENDLESS THE KING HAS FED ME ONLY PAIN . . . THE SHRINE HAS SEEN THE END . . .

  Toxis faded away, a hint of blue in the blood eyes. The touch of her mind lasted a moment longer than her physical form, an intense melancholic sadness that was surprisingly human and real. The katana was wet with blood, just the barest hint of purple fire.

  She heard running. Demorn looked up. It was Wolf, gun in his hand, his army jacket back on. He took the sit-rep in with quick glances. Blood on the floor. On her sword. Clear signs of conflict.

  ‘You were attacked?’

  ‘Sure was, genius.’

  Wolf looked her over. Her shoulder was bleeding but the blood was already staunching.

  ‘You’re hurt.’

  Demorn picked up the pain locket from the ground, winding it back around her neck. She gripped the locket hard, ignoring the pain coursing through her body. She cleaned the blade and slid Xalos back into the scabbard.

  ‘I heal.’

  8

  * * *

  She followed Wolf deeper through the levels of the Fort. He was moving fast, military double time.

  ‘We didn’t know where you were,’ he said. ‘The twin eclipse is less than an hour away. The gate to the Source Core will open soon.’

  She said, ‘I know the time but I didn’t know I was on your clock, Wolf. Besides, I thought were you busy playing a game of grab-ass with your boss.’

  Wolf span around, frustrated anger written on his face. ‘She’s not my—’

  He stopped when he saw the sly smile on Demorn’s face, complete with a single raised eyebrow.

  ‘Ok, she’s kinda my boss.’

  Demorn patted him on the shoulder. ‘She’s got you by the balls, soldier, but maybe that’s how you like it. A nice hard grip.’

  Wolf had to laugh.

  ‘Who attacked you?’

  Demorn shrugged. The locket was wrapped around her hand. Her shoulder was almost healed. Blood was drying on her t-shirt.

  ‘My past. But I’m still here and kicking.’

  She moved past him. The events of the attack were fading. It was almost impossible to believe Toxis had returned after so long, and with such violence, but the blood on her t-shirt was a stark reminder. The words of the huntress lingered on her mind. The Shrine. Demorn tossed names around. She had never heard of it but that didn’t mean much. Terms were thrown around like confetti in war. Organisations. Codenames. You needed a computer for a brain to keep track of it all and she sure as hell didn’t have one. Smile would know more, no doubt, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of asking for a glossary check right now.

  She was more conscious than ever that she lay at the mercy of the action that propelled them toward this Source Core Point. They all did, a headlong journey into mystery. She didn’t know which version of Josephine owned this Fort, and it wasn’t like there was a version she did understand or trust. Her watch pinged. Surprise!

  Smile’s face, looking dour and impossibly young. He was wrapped in a thick coat. He looked like he’d been crying. It was high winter in Babelzon. Snow filtered in the background. She hadn’t known that. It made her miss it more. He was outside in the Clubhouse Park, where the reception was best.

  ‘What’s up, hon?’

  ‘Santos is dead, Sis. I’m sorry.’

  Her heart sank. She gulped, trying not to cry. Her fist clenched involuntarily. Dead. Passed away. The terms didn’t matter or help. An ending she wasn’t ready for, had kept in a seperate part of her mind. She could feel Wolf’s eyes on her.

  ‘How?’

  ‘It was the illness. He went in his sleep.’

  Demorn swore. ‘The illness is suspicious! He never got sick. I’m supposed to be doing this to save him!’

  She smashed her hand into a side panel, denting it. Wolf’s stare was boring into her like a drill. She didn’t care. Smile held her gaze, stayed with her, rode it out.

  ‘Has it hit the channels?’

  His sigh was eternal. ‘His people just called, they’ve been trying to find you all morning. I explained you’re deep mission and out of range. It hit social media about a minute ago, so yeah, people know.’

  The Baron was dead. She was completely empty. The isolation of her position was so utter, so complete.

  ‘Can I do anything for you?’

  She shrugged, only barely hearing Smile. There would be papers to review, things to sign, a funeral to attend. But none of it mattered. The Baron was gone. Demorn found herself wondering if there was any point going on.

  ‘Is Ceron City okay?’

  ‘Nobody has hit the nuke trigger if that’s what you mean.’

  Yeah, that’s what I mean. Her thoughts were scattered.

  ‘Hey, Sis,’ Smile said, his voice crystal clear in her implant. ‘You okay?’

  She forced herself to speak, keeping her voice controlled. ‘No, it’s cool, Smile, send them all my love. I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Where are you? What happened with Toxis? I haven’t heard from you in a week.’

  A week? The fight with Toxis had taken place what felt like moments ago. But that was the way places like the God Fort worked, especially when they were synching between dimensions. Time was essentially fluid here, operating in slow motion inside the bizarre art museum turned God Fort as Josephine guided them toward the Source Core. Or claimed she was.

  Standing here with Wolf, with the Lady missing in action, staring at a blinking airlock door, Demorn was starting to have her doubts.

&nb
sp; She said, ‘Toxis is gone, Smile. I need to do this one last thing, then I’m coming home.’

  ‘Home?’

  She understood what his question meant. Where was home for her? The Clubhouse back in Babelzon, with its coterie of Innocents, practised, efficient killers who venerated her as a legend but were essentially just as dangerous? Was that home, as it had been for so many years before this long jaunt into Firethorn? Asanti had been destroyed when she was thirteen. The Spire had crash landed on Babelzon, and Demorn and Smile had wound up on the streets hustling for change until the Clubhouse doors opened. If there was anywhere that was home that was it, but Demorn had been gone for so long this time she felt dislocated and unsure.

  Home sure didn’t feel like Ceron City. With Santos gone, all she could feel was the magnitude of his loss and her failure to save him. It wasn’t that Santos was a saint and the rest of us were damned, Demorn thought. That wasn’t what made him special. Santos had his blindspots and a strange taste for damaged, beautiful women such as Josephine. His achievement was in how he had navigated such a treacherous war for so long, with a cold certainty and a diplomat’s tact, keeping Ceron in the game. She had sat beside him in many a midnight hour as the candles drew low and the damage reports had come in. At times in the War they should have been wiped from the map, so outnumbered and beset by enemies was Ceron. The Front was movable, it extended across the entire continent and even had links this far south, past the Glass Desert. With Santos gone, Demorn wondered if there was anybody in that court even halfway fit to sit on his throne. It sure wasn’t her.

  Pistol shots rang out in her implant. Close. The connection crackled. She saw worry cross Smile’s face. The shots were in the Clubhouse, near her brother. She shouted, ‘Get in the panic room, you know where the entrance is! Let the Innocents handle it!’

  Smile looked back to her as the vision cut out. He wasn’t a shooter, he wasn’t even technically a true Innocent. He was a comms guy through and through, more comfortable on the Spire in his virtual worlds than in her lavish bedroom in the Clubhouse.