by Amy Cross
"I can track them," I say firmly. "But I'm giving you the chance to help me. Make my life a little easier, and I'll my your death a little more bearable".
But the creature just screams. It's as if, as it faces its final moments, all reason has left its mind. It screams and it screams and it screams, out of fear and panic and terror. If only Flesh Weavers weren't such solitary creatures, perhaps some of its brothers might come to help it. But if any of them hear its screams, they will just take the cue to stay well away. No, this creature has always lived alone, and it will die alone, with my jaws around its throat. Fortunately, Flesh Weavers are easier to kill than werewolves.
"I gave you a choice," I snarl at the miserable animal. "Remember that as I destroy you".
It screams again, and it tries to throw me off, and this time it actually manages to almost dislodge me, but I keep my grip and - deciding that enough is enough - I sink my teeth into its head, clamp my jaws tight and rip half of its face off. As it continues to scream, I chew away at its skull until I crack the bone open, and then I bite off the front of its brain. The screaming stops, it spasms one final time, and finally it is dead.
I spit the piece of brain to the ground and climb off the creature's dead body. Wiping the blood from my face, I sniff the air. It's strange, the girls seem to have separated. I didn't expect that. Either way, I feel that this time I need to be very careful as I prepare to kill Duncan. This time, I can leave no loose ends. These girls could be a complication. I'll kill them first, just to make sure that things remain simple.
9
"How far can you take me?" I ask Azael after I've eaten. "Can you help me get to where Duncan is hiding?"
She nods. "I don't have the same powers of perception as you. I don't know where he is. But if you can give me a rough idea, I can certainly help you get closer. Whether I can help you get all the way... that is another matter". She pauses. "So... it's Duncan that you've chosen?"
I shake my head. "I haven't chosen anyone. I just think it'll be easier to save Darla if I can find Duncan first. He can help me. I don't fancy going up against that Flesh Weaver again, not by myself".
"Oh, I can help you with Flesh Weavers," Darla says. "I'm just... I don't quite understand why you're so desperate to save Duncan. I don't understand what he is to you".
"He's my friend," I say.
"How long have you known him?"
"Not long," I say. "I arrived in London a while ago and -"
"He turned you!" Azael says suddenly, seeming shocked. "My God, that's what it is. You weren't born a werewolf, were you? You were turned, by this Duncan individual".
I nod. "So what?"
"He's your master!" Azael exclaims.
I raise my eyebrows. "He bloody isn't," I say.
"He is!" she says. "The one who is turned to the brotherhood of the wolves after being born a man, is bound to serve the one who is responsible for the change, no matter what, and to call him Master".
I shake my head. "He's not my master. He's just my friend, and I want to help him".
She smiles. "If you say so," she says. "But that doesn't change the fact that he's the one who made you what you are. And for that, you'll always have a debt of loyalty to him". She pauses. "I don't know where your friend Duncan is. I have no idea. But your other friend -"
"Darla," I say.
"Darla," she continues, "I know where she'll be. If she's still alive, which isn't certain by any means. But I know where that Flesh Weaver will have taken her. It's not far from here. Flesh Weavers don't roam far from home. I can take you, if you like, but you should be warned. The chances of finding her alive are not great. The Flesh Weaver will have had his Loom People take your friend to his home. Then, when he got home, he would have got to work on her. So the -"
"Okay," I say firmly, cutting in. "I get it. But let's try".
Azael looks over at the window. "It's night. A dangerous time to be out on the streets". She turns to me. "Better wrap up warm".
With the phosphorescent moss sleeping, the streets are bathed in an eerie dark blue light. As Azael and I walk, the whole city seems empty. I mean, sure it seemed empty during the day, but now it seems more empty. And Azael was right, it's much colder. I wouldn't like to be out here alone, so I'm kind of glad to have Azael here with me, even if there's something about her that slightly creeps me out.
Every so often, Azael signals for me to stop walking, and we duck into an abandoned building while some kind of creature goes past. Azael mentions all these names - Golvs, Bog Babies, Petty's Darlings - that mean nothing to me, though occasionally she adds one that I've heard of, like Tenderlings or Criads. The way she describes these things, they sound like horrific beasts, but she acts as if they're little more than annoyances. For example, she talks about Golvs having teeth in their eyes so that they can better see what they're eating, and she says to keep clear of them, but then we spot one of the distance and she says to just keep walking and act like we haven't seen it.
At one point, though, she does seem to be genuinely worried. We've been walking for about two hours when suddenly she stops, listening. There's a sound nearby, a kind of slurping, sticky sound, and suddenly a huge worm slithers into view ahead of us, horns on its head and a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.
"Antipede," says Azael, her voice filled with tension.
"You fear my pet?" says a deep, dark voice from behind us. We turn to find a man smiling at us. He looks friendly enough, neat and smart with slicked-back black hair and wearing the kind of suit you'd see on a door-to-door salesman. "He's harmless. We're just out for a walk".
"Just going about our business," Azael says tersely. "Nothing for you to worry about".
The man grins at me. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
There's silence for a moment.
"Jess, meet Wormwood," Azael says reluctantly.
Wormwood holds out a hand for me to shake. Not sure what to do, I reciprocate. His skin is extremely warm, almost too hot to touch, but otherwise he seems reassuringly friendly and human. Of course, I've learnt not to trust things based on their appearance, so I'm fully prepared for this nice-looking guy to turn out to be the anti-Christ or something like that.
"So Jess," he says, "you must tell me. What is a nice girl like you doing down in the Underworld, consorting with such creatures?"
I hear a slobbering sound over my shoulder, and I glance back to see the huge worm is right behind us.
"I'm looking for my friends," I say.
"Of course," Wormwood says. "That's the only reason people ever come down here these days. To look for friends who have been unfortunate enough to slip down here through the cracks in the London pavements".
"We need to hurry," Azael says.
"Well, I would join you," Wormwood replies merrily. He stands there, waiting or an invitation. Eventually he coughs. "But Bertie and I have a lot to do so we'll have to be scooting along".
"Bertie?" I ask, then I remember the huge worm. "Bertie," I say quietly. "Right".
"Come along, Bertie," says Wormwood.
I step aside as the huge worm slithers between me and Azael, following its master.
"Oh, one more thing," Wormwood says. "I heard that Thomas Lumic is down here again".
"I suspected as much," Azael says.
Wormwood nods. "Just thought you'd like the good news confirmed". He turns to me. "You should be more careful about the company you keep," he sneers before heading off with his huge worm following him.
"Ignore him," Azael says, clearly troubled and unsettled. "He's just a fool. He's one of the few down here who could actually leave if he wanted. But he prefers to stay here with that giant worm and just..." She seems genuinely annoyed. "Like I said, ignore him".
We walk on, but I can't help wondering what Wormwood meant when he told me to be more careful about the company I keep. He didn't seem to like Azael too much, but given that he seems to spend his days with a giant worm, I'm not sure I shoul
d put too much faith in his opinions.
"Don't let Wormwood get to you," Azael says, as if she's somehow sensed that I'm trouble by what he said. "He lives for the thrill of playing games. He likes to say the opposite of what you expect, just to throw you. He causes trouble. That's all he does. It amuses him. But you mustn't listen to him, okay?"
"Sure," I say.
We stop suddenly. Ahead of us is the entrance to what appears to be a cave. I turn to Azael and see that she has a concerned look on her face.
"Is this is?" I ask.
She nods. "But you have to remember, the odds of finding your friend Darla alive aren't very high. You have to -"
"I understand," I say, pushing past. I head towards the entrance of the cave, but Azael pulls me back.
"Keep your damned head on," she says, sounding annoyed. "Remember which of us knows how to deal with a Flesh Weaver, okay? If he's in there, he won't like being interrupted". She steps past me and leads the way into the darkness of the cave.
10
The Golv's neck snaps as I slam it against the wall. It lets out a scream, which I quickly silence by biting out its vocal chords. I raise the pathetic creature above my head and throw it to the ground, and it immediately tries to crawl away. I watch for a moment, until it is a few metres from me, and then I stride over and haul it up again, this time biting the back of its neck. With each attack, I'm careful not to sever its jugular. I want this wretched creature to suffer a slow, agonising death. I want it to beg for mercy. I want it to wish it had never been born.
My bloodlust is not chaotic or random. I am preparing for my final showdown with Duncan, for which I must be fully blooded. This means killing plenty of minor creatures along the way, in order to soak myself in their blood and heighten my sense. Only then will I be in the heightened state necessary to allow me to rip Duncan apart with the full rage and fury that he deserves.
The other reason I am killing so many creatures is that I need to build up an appetite. Eating Matt DiMera might have been a good start to my journey, but he is a little heavy in my stomach and the more I fight, the faster I'll finish digesting him. Perhaps a more patient man than I would have killed DiMera in some other way, or would even have let him live. But I have never been a patient man. I am a man who knows what he wants, and goes for it. Today I want Duncan dead. For the final time. And I will be satisfied.
The Golv reaches a futile hand up to try to stop me from hurting it. I just smile at the poor beast. But then I see the life drain from its eyes. I haul it up into my arms and scream at it, demanding that it does not die yet. But it's too late. After holding the lifeless creature for a moment, I snap its back and throw it to one side. I am close to Duncan, but I need to kill a few more times before I am fully ready for the final battle.
11
At first, it's hard to see anything. The cave is so poorly lit, it just seems like a total mass of blackness. But after a moment, my eyes begin to adjust to the low light level. In fact, I can soon see pretty well, as if my werewolf qualities are helping to compensate. There are shapes in the darkness. Tables, other items, and things hanging on the wall. It's a strange place, half wild and half tame. These Flesh Weavers clearly aren't quite the kind of raw, aggressive animals I thought they were.
"There's no-one here," Azael says as we move softly through the darkness. "No Flesh Weaver, and no Loom People".
"That's good, right?" I say.
"It depends," Azael says. "It means he didn't bring her back here to start work on her straight away, but it also means we have no idea where your friend is".
"But he will bring her back, won't he?" I ask. "I mean, at some point, he's going to bring her back to his cave".
Azael nods. "Was your friend like you?" she asks. I nod. "He'll definitely bring her back," Azael continues. "Your friend is a great prize. She'll be very useful to the Flesh Weaver, and there's no way he'll let her get away from him".
We eventually reach a deeper part of the cave where there's some light from the moss on the ceiling. Finally, I can see that all around us the walls of the cave are covered in large sheets, beautifully woven expanses in colours and patterns I never could have imagined before. The threads run into one another in such detail, it's hard to believe that something so complex could even exist. I reach a hand up to touch one of the pieces of fabric, and it feels so soft and delicate, I don't think I've ever encountered something so stunning before.
"I've never seen anything like this," I say, awed by the beauty of the fabrics.
"Every Flesh Weaver has his own distinctive style," Azael says. "This one seems to be particularly skilled, I'm not sure I've ever seen such beautiful work".
I think back to the attack earlier, to the moment when the Flesh Weaver lashed out at Darla after smashing its way through the building. "They're such huge, ugly creatures," I say. "How can they be like that, but also be like this?"
Azael smiles. "Don't judge a book by its cover," she says.
"I don't!" I shoot back. "People keep saying that to me. But I don't!"
"No," says Azael, "but you still find it hard to believe that a creature as hideous and violent as a Flesh Weaver could make things that are so beautiful. Would you be surprised to learn that Wormwood's pet worm is a master violinist?"
I turn to her, an incredulous look on my face.
"Okay," she says, "that's not true. But you get the idea. You won't get very far down here if you assume that everyone is the same on the inside as they are on the outside".
"I know," I say. I pause. "It just takes some getting used to," I add feeling the smooth fabric between my fingers.
"You know what you're touching, right?" Azael asks.
I pause, then I remember that the Flesh Weavers use skin to work their looms. I pull my hand away, but it's still hard to not look at the beautiful patterns before me.
"Those creatures..." I say, stunned. "They made these?"
Azael nods. "It's what they do. It's why they kill. They're vicious only in their pursuit of beauty, They might look ugly, and they might become violent when they're hunting new sources of skin, but everything they do is so that they can bring victims back toe places like this, cut them up and use them to create these fabrics".
"They're beautiful..." I say, "and horrible at the same time".
"Most things are," Azael says. "But the good news is that these are all fairly old. He hasn't brought your friend back here yet, which means she's still alive, somewhere".
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Pretty sure," she replies. "The Flesh Weaver would only want to work on her while she's still alive, so he must be still out there, waiting to bring her back and use her".
I look up at the fabrics. "Use her to make one of these," I say quietly, marvelling at the idea that something so beautiful could be created by such a hideous creature, and with such violent methods.
"Quick!" hisses Azael, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the shadows. Before I can ask what's wrong, I hear the sound of knives being sharpened and, moments later, figures appear at the entrance to the cave. There are four of them, and they're carrying something large, which they put on the ground once they're inside. The creatures themselves are pale humanoids. "Loom People," Azael whispers to me.
I try to get a better view of the thing that they have carried in, but at first I can't make it out. Suddenly, I realise with horror that it's a body... the body of the Flesh Weaver from earlier.
"What the hell?" Azael whispers, then suddenly she pushes past me and walks straight over to where the Loom People are standing around the Flesh Weaver's corpse. "Don't worry," Azael calls out to me, "they're harmless now. Their master is dead. They'll just stand around until they die".
Cautiously, I follow Azael over and take a look at the dead Flesh Weaver. Earlier, it seemed to be such a large and fearsome creature, but in death it looks so pathetic. The cloak that it used to wear has been ripped open. There are large chunks missing from its body, and it has clearly been in
a massive fight. There's something pretty sad and pathetic about seeing such a huge, dangerous creature having been brought down low like this, especially now that I've seen the beautiful things that it could create.
"I didn't hear a fight, did you?" Azael says, turning to me.
I shake my head.
"Which can only mean one thing," she continues. "This Flesh Weaver didn't die in a fight at all. It was basically just executed". There's a pause as we look at the sorry carcass of the beast, then Azael looks at me again. "Do you know who Thomas Lumic is?"
"I've heard the name," I say. "But -"
"He's your friend's master. Duncan. Thomas Lumic is Duncan's master. And he's down here, and I don't think it's a coincidence that this Flesh Weaver is dead. Lumic's a wolf like you, but he's a savage creature. He kills to get what he wants, and he doesn't care who gets hurt. He's a monster". There's a pause, and then she turns to me with anger in her eyes. "Why did you lead him down here?"
"Me?" I say. "This isn't my fault!"
"Thomas Lumic being down here is your fault," Azael says. "You and Duncan and your other friend. If you three hadn't come down here, Lumic wouldn't have followed you. This Flesh Weaver wouldn't be dead. How many other creatures do you think are dead because of Lumic?" She walks over to me, a kind of rage in her eyes. "Let me guess. You heard that there are monsters down here in the Underworld, so you figured it wouldn't matter if you brought a few more down to join the party".
"No," I say, stunned that she's blaming me.
"Lumic isn't going to stop until he's killed Duncan and probably killed you too," Azael says. "Frankly, I can't help thinking it might be easier for everyone down here if we just turn you over to Lumic and help him find Duncan so he can get what he wants and leave". She leans close to me. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do that".