by David Finn
He was already running, moving fast along empty corridors, sticking to shadows, his combat training taking over, a weird version of automatic that was all reflexes and instinct.
He said, ‘I’m not sure I believe that, Jackie.’
‘Oh, come on. You may as well. You’ve bought the party line so far, Wolf, and we’re just about ready for a whole new game.’
He glanced around the corner and saw the desert. A pyramid in the distance through shifting sand storms.
‘What game will that be?’
‘Ever heard of Risk?’
He burst out with a low laugh despite himself.
He said, ‘Winter back in Bay City loved it.’
‘She loves a lot of things, sport. Our primary, Demorn, included. We live in sophisticated times, but be careful with that.’
Wolf nodded ruefully. Cultivating an interest in the masseuse had been a delicate matter and they had their fair share of intel from it, but then again, he probably shouldn’t have slept with her. ‘Understood.’
She said, ‘Just remember there are stakes and we need Demorn on our side more than we need you.’ She hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry, Wolf, that it came out that way.’
‘No problems, Jackie. Say hi to Iverson. I imagine he’s playing Scrabble in his Moth or something.’
‘I will. He cares for you deeply, Wolf. He argued for your inclusion in the mission.’
‘It’s okay, I don’t need him.’ Wolf brushed his finger over the implant, shutting down the channel. He put the black cap on that he’d stolen off the guard and started walking toward the desert pyramid, curiously relaxed. The Order played things so close to their chest that Wolf only rarely found out the score, even after the bodies were buried and he was safe back on the Core Satellite. This time, he knew instinctively there might be no safe return to the Core, no debrief. He was decidedly close to expiration or renewal. Iverson had cut him loose. He followed the Princess of the Swords into the hard end of a long game.
3
* * *
By her watch Demorn had been walking the desert path for three hours. The sun beat down, ruthless and hard, waves of heat rolling into the distance. Her jacket was both suffocating and some protection from the elements. The other pilgrims seemed to have vanished, she was on a solo road now. The pyramid ahead seemed to grow close, then it would seem so far away, a wavy blur in the distance.
At one point during the journey Demorn had been conscious of a lithe, dark-skinned woman walking by her side, her hand upon an ash staff. Her mind fuzzed with familiarity, the dream-like sense they had already walked many miles together, with many roads to wander still, filled with hills and mountains still to climb. As she went to speak, turning to look at the huntress who shared an eternal bond, there was nothing there but a desolate unforgiving wave of heat. The desert played tricks. Demorn, who had conquered the Glass Desert, knew this better than most.
The pyramid did seem to be growing closer. Demorn bent down to her haunches. Water would have been a great idea. But who would have guessed it would be a hike? With her right index finger Demorn stroked a gentle X in the sand, murmuring soft ritual words, relaxing her mind, letting the sub routines of the ritual take over. She watched as the sand shimmered and grew damp. She felt moisture on her hand and she pressed it to her mouth, feeling precious liquid tumble down her parched throat. With a gentle effort, she got up.
She heard the rumble of a purr, and looked up to see a great white fluffy Devil Cat. Maze! With a cry of enjoyment, she threw herself into his fur coat. Unlike Toxis, he didn’t vanish. His rough tongue prodded her face as she laughed. She patted his long fur coat with a savage pleasure. In her time in the Bay, Demorn hadn’t had time or the chance to pet or visit Maze, so this was sweet respite. Finally, after rolling around with the great cat for a few minutes, it was time to hit the road again.
With a little leftover magic from her water spell, Maze had come through the vortex, knowing that she was in need of company at the very least. She sighed, looking out over the desert plain. It was a touch darker and cooler. They were entering the last phase of the day, before night. She didn’t know the rhythms of this place but she suspected high magic was in the air.
‘Thanks for coming, hun,’ Demorn whispered, as she climbed aboard the great Devil Cat. He had come through without his saddle, and she loved the feel of his slick coat as he started moving quickly towards the pyramid, the wind rushing through her hair, across the death mask she had worn too long and too far. A smile of joy spread and Demorn was crying, tears like blood pooling across her deathly face.
Twilight. Maze slowed to a trot, velvet paws padding the ground as they came up to the pyramid. Up close, it was vast. A huge skeleton fanged door beckoned outwards to the universe. Look upon me and despair.
But Demorn had seen higher skyscrapers in Babelzon and knew they were packed with thieves, not wise men or gods. She slipped off the Devil Cat and gave him a quick kiss on his whiskery face. Maze purr-growled in appreciation and disappeared into the shadows. Demorn sank low, close to the ground, her senses alert as she crept toward the structure. The silence around her was immense, the feeling of being associated with any fellow pilgrims had vanished. Xalos stirred in her breast, desperate to be released. Demorn took position by a rocky outcrop close to the pyramid. She slunk low to the ground, conscious that her dark clothes and slender figure were an advantage now.
Ahead of her on a slight rise, a couple of military cars were stationed near the entrance to the pyramid, five bored looking guards by the skull entrance, running lazy routines. With her magic eyes she focused on them. No thorn-heads. They looked like standard military contractors, growing fat on somebody else’s dime. She eyed up the shot and knew she could take three down without a ruckus, but beyond that it would be a firefight and she was horribly exposed with only the sand at her back. But she had to get through them.
The ground rumbled, moving beneath her body, and for a horrible moment Demorn thought this was it, the World Bomb, Josie’s exit strategy. There was confusion and the guards started hollering, three running inside, while the other two looked around, unsure.
Demorn seized the moment, coming out of cover and following a line of shadow. The first shot took a guard in the head and he died without knowing how or why. The second moved in alarm, his rifle in a lazy sling. Even as he tried to grab and fire, an energy star caught his throat and two bullets into his chest sealed the deal. The new weapon fit like a glove. There was more power, less recoil. The holy bullets struck true.
Demorn skidded to a halt by the entrance. She braced and checked the opening passage, Athena gun up. Clear. Another mini-explosion somewhere above. The ground rumbled. Goddess bless me, she breathed, as she flung herself around the corner, headed into the depths of the tomb.
4
* * *
Demorn kept finding the dead. They littered the tomb temple, or whatever the hell the crazy pyramid was supposed to be. A variety of means of death: throats torn apart, bullet wounds. Flung about the narrow corridors. Her purple sunglasses lit her way. Fewer and fewer humans the deeper she explored the tomb, more thorn-heads. And they carried a hell of a heavy vibe. The crown of thorns had consumed their faces, moving to their necks and stomachs. The inscriptions on the walls sang songs of death and bizarre rebirth. She saw aliens amongst the humans. Upon the wall, she saw complex diagrams of spaceships painted in the blue sky. Demorn didn’t scare easily, but this got to her. In so many of her nightmare fantasies the aliens tampered with civilisation.
Her hand kept brushing the pearl handle of her new gun, as if seeking reassurance.
She was checking the body of a hideous thorn-head trapped in a stairwell when she heard the growl. She pulled the gun inside of a second, drawing to fire. She saw Wolf in the last moment and pulled the shot. He was standing in the half light but her sunglasses picked up the change. A thick black beard ran over his face and he was heavier, fresh bulk filling out his body. But she could see
it was him, it was Wolf. He staggered up the stairwell, hands grasping at the walls. His shirt was torn, and she felt the pull of his body and his charisma.
‘You’re alive,’ she said, mildly. ‘That’s cool.’ She kept the gun in her hand. She could see the blood across his skin. She didn’t know how he had survived or what or who had kept him breathing.
She said, ‘Who’s side, Wolf?’
‘You . . . don’t want to go down there,’ he said, his voice thick.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, sport. This is why I’m getting paid. Question for you is, do you want to help or hinder me?’
Some of the beard faded. The bulk lessened. She had her eyes on a pair of claws on both his hands.
He said, ‘I’ve already helped. Aren’t these people your enemies?’
She cracked her neck. ‘Okay, how do you feel about a bonus?’
He staggered up to her. Demorn kept an eye on him, but slid the gun into the holster. She held her hand out to him and he gripped it hard.
‘I feel pretty good about it.’
Demorn eyed him with a professional interest. ‘How long can you stay in the wolf form?’
Wolf was in the stage between the two forms. ‘An hour or so. They say I’m not a werewolf, there’s another name for it.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I doubt it’s going to be as cool as “a werewolf” is!’
‘Probably not.’
Demorn looked down the dark stairwell. Even with glasses on her magic eyes could see nothing except for a few bodies.
‘What’s down there?’
He growled, ‘Don’t know. There’s a door I couldn’t get through.’
The floor rocked with another explosion. The walls creaked and Demorn suddenly realised they could easily be squashed beneath rubble. She looked at Wolf. ‘So that’s not you either?’
He shook his head. She couldn’t help checking out his rugged, sculpted black body. No wonder Winter couldn’t restrain herself. Muscles on muscles. Not too many scars. He was seriously hot. He reached for her arm. His huge brown eyes were sincere.
‘This is awkward. I really am sorry, for sleeping with Winter.’
Demorn grinned and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, but it’s okay, this isn’t high school, sweetheart. Nobody owns anyone. Plus, she is very cute.’
She looked away, laughing. She pulled the death mask fully back over her face. The familiar sensation of cold ran through her body, repressing some emotions, heightening others.
Another rumble shook them. Wolf clasped her shoulder, a low growl emanating from him.
‘Why do you always wear that scary mask?’
‘Why do you turn into the wolf? Do you have a choice?’
He growled. ‘Not much of one, nature takes over.’
She started carefully walking down the stairs, gun out. Her magic eyes were alive. She could see the pattern of hieroglyphics and bizarre pictures on the walls had changed. The alien vessel had landed. She could see little green stick figures mingling with the populace. She saw animal gods. She felt her stomach heave.
‘We live in end times, hun. I need the edge, I need to scare them.’
A creature growled close to her. She raised the gun. An icy hand grasped her from the stairs. She half fell, using her hands to support her on the steps. Wolf rushed past her. The earth rumbled and a malign horror screamed from below. Twisting with her left hand she grasped the icy wrist of whatever had seized her, squeezing without mercy, snapping the wrist. She leapt up. Her gun was still in her hand, but with her boot she crushed the hand and it disappeared. Sorcery.
Wolf was howling. She looked down at him. Wolf was struggling with a tentacled monster that screamed above her hearing range. She dropped into a firing stance, shooting into the mass of the monster. The holy bullets hurt it while Wolf tore into the mass with his teeth. The monstrosity backed away, slithering down the steps. Her heart was going a million miles a minute.
She finished the clip and rushed the beast, the gun shoved back in the holster and Xalos soaring into her hands, purple fire dancing, like an errant spirit that had at last found its rightful place. Rage and energy filled her heart. Her head was playing high temp rock songs. Demorn was smiling viciously as Xalos tasted the black mass of this monster, acid burning and splashing across her face as she fought it down the stairwell. There was pain but she did not truly feel it. The pain was spurring on her uncontrollable will to survive and withstand these beasts and challenges.
Wolf fell away, wounded. The creature retreated into the wall, a huge image of a massive star upon the rocky wall. She howled in frustration and smashed at the rock with her fist. All that was left was the same black star, the writhing tentacles frozen into stone.
‘What the hell is it? What the hell are you?’ Demorn cried out, tired beyond belief, tired of these games and tricks. The wall withstood the pounding, though she felt the rocks shake. Demorn turned away, snarling. She pushed her hand onto her face, fingers wrapped around the pain locket. It was exhausted, almost dead, but slowly Demorn squeezed out some last vestige of power from the fickle old death goddess. Wolf watched in silent judgement as her face healed from the acid burns.
He said, ‘I thought you’d stopped using the locket, it used up too much of “your soul”, or whatever.’
‘I thought you were a compartmentalised Secret Order agent, who didn’t say things just to piss other people off. I thought you were all about working the angles.’
Wolf gave a hoot of laughter. ‘I think you’ve got me confused with my boss. Iverson runs ice cold, I run hot. I do the dirty work for them.’
Demorn sighed. ‘Yeah, you sleep with the girls and you kill the guys. Is that how it works?’
She regretted the words even as she said them. Wolf looked away, shamefaced.
‘Hey, don’t listen to me, Wolf, I’m not the jealous type. I’m tired and over all this transcendental bullshit. I apologise. You’ve gone through a wave of these creatures like a stud. You’ve saved me a ton of trouble.’
He gave her a weary grin as he got up. Wolf’s bleeding had staunched. The wolves were a tough race. She knew that from tangling with the wildest ones in the dark forests around Firethorn. They didn’t back down from much. They almost didn’t know how. Born brawlers with a short fuse. Wolf was a little different from the normal type.
She said, ‘You Order types are hard to work out though. I remember when you were nowhere to be seen. Now suddenly you’re shadowing my every step.’
He was laconic. ‘I’m just as much Army as Order. I’ve only got a basic implant. Kept my Army rank, Army pension and everything. Iverson is a complex dude, but he likes a blunt instrument to use when he needs it.’
‘I can dig that,’ she replied. ‘Some people get too caught up in the angles, get too subtle.’
Wolf paused at the steps where the spectral hand had appeared. They both could see a great wooden door at the base of the stairwell. ‘I guess we have to go through that door, don’t we?’
Demorn laughed. ‘You guess right, Army boy. There’s nothing to turn back to up there anyway.’
Wolf approached the door and tried to shoulder it open. By the third shoulder charge it was clear that approach wasn’t working.
He said, ‘What do you think is down there? A nest of the tentacle monsters?’
Demorn slammed another clip into the gun. ‘Oh, something like that, at the very least.’
She walked past him and fitted charges to the wooden door.
5
* * *
They had retreated up the stairwell. The explosive she had put on the door should do the job but she was nervous about the integrity of the stairwell. Demorn felt extra cautious, every movement felt calculated. The icy death grip of the evil spirit had reminded her every step was a risk.
She pressed the trigger and they felt the door implode, the charges doing their job to perfection. Wolf took off like a bullet, running point. Demorn came out fast, directl
y in his wake. The new gun felt good in her hand.
She hustled through the door, into a deep, bowl-like room. Torches lined the walls. Was it an arena? A fighting chamber?
It was around a hundred yards wide and thirty deep. Skeleton remnants of the dead were gathered at the edges. Her combat boots crushed past them, but what lay in the middle of the room broke her heart. She hadn’t known what to expect but it wasn’t this.
Alongside the strange burnt-out remains of a ruined Banker ship was the glowing fossil of a giant form that Demorn instinctively recognised. A charred outline of a huge body, a radioactive glowing green set of stone-like bones. With dawning horror, Demorn recognised the massive, ancient flail of a young war god. She knew who this was. She had seen this on a hundred video games in Babelzon: it was the tomb of a god. It was the corpse of Wrecking Ball aged and turned to fossil. How long had he lain here?
Without realising, Demorn was running across the bowl, Wolf shouting words she didn’t care or want to hear. It was Wrecking Ball, she knew it. Demorn reached the ship. The god lay beneath the prow, almost as if he was trying to stop the ship itself. His body was far larger than the last time she had seen him inside the Grave Dimension. How had he wound up here? How did a Banker Ship run aground in a dismal tomb?
She sank to her knees. Demorn felt cursed, like some agent or harbinger of death and doom. The last time she had seen Wrecking Ball he was still fighting the impossible in the Grave while she had barely escaped with her sanity and life. Had the impossible finally beat him? The bones glowed a fluorescent, radioactive green. The skull was like all skulls, stripped of individuality, wearing the grinning face of death. She smashed her fist into the earth, more than she would have predicted. Another loss. Another piece of hurt.
Wolf was close behind her, she could hear his jagged breathing and soft growl.