Of course, that wasn’t all. The soldiers around them were mutants. Now, Gerald was a tolerant man, and he liked to believe that he didn’t hold anyone’s appearance against them. But it was hard to deal with someone who had four mouths, eight eyes, and a handful of tentacles sprouting from their chest, one of which ended in a wicked hook. Oh, he could handle some strangeness – he did live in Timmy’s castle, after all, but this was too much. He had a feeling that the mutants were going to try to eat him before this whole thing was done. Oh, the things he did for the sake of Everton.
Then there was the screaming coming from the bowels of the castle. Timmy’s castle had its fair share of screaming too, but that was mostly from the occasional ghost or wraith. The screaming that Gerald heard now did not come from anything even remotely human, and certainly not anything that had a right to exist in a sane and logical world. In fact, he’d bet every coin he had stored away – and he was a very scrupulous saver – that whatever was screaming had never existed in this world, save for a few, fleeting moments at the end of the very oldest and most forbidden of rituals.
Yes, it was at times like this that he wished he’d taken that nice job in the records department. The pay wasn’t particularly good, and it was boring even by bureaucratic standards, but nobody would be trying to kill him. The worst he could expect was the occasional paper cut or falling book.
The mutants led them through the castle, and the walls began to take on a distinctly organic appearance. Instead of old stone, they were now made of mottled grey flesh, and they pulsed in time to the beating of some monstrous heart. He very nearly lost his lunch when something dripped from the ceiling and landed on his head. He trembled, not quite brave enough to touch whatever was tangled in his hair.
“What’s that in my hair?” he asked Timmy.
Timmy turned, winced, and then, very carefully, put on his most calm expression. It was not reassuring. “Hold still. I’ll get rid of it.”
“But what is it?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.” Timmy made Gerald close his eyes as he got rid of whatever it was, but even so, the bureaucrat could hear the high-pitched shrieking of something inhuman as it thrashed around in his hair before Timmy pulled it off and, from the sound of it, tossed it down the corridor where it made a wet squelch as it slid along the mushy, living ground.
Gerald’s fragile state of mind took another battering when they passed an aqueduct made out of living flesh and bone that carried vast currents of blood deep into the shadows. To his dismay, he realised that the aqueduct had probably once been a hydra when it moved, twisting to carry a different torrent of blood. The shift in position sent a spray of crimson fluid everywhere, and he stepped back just in time to avoid getting drenched.
“Uh… is that meant to be that way?” he asked.
One of the mutants shrugged. Well, he thought it shrugged. It was hard to tell. Then it nodded.
Timmy leaned over and whispered in Gerald’s ear. “I don’t think this is going to end well. You know all that stuff I told you about?”
Gerald nodded slowly. The necromancer had given him a crash course on what to expect from beings like Sam and those that Lord Taylor was likely involved with. It had not been pleasant, and the salient issue had been how likely they were to all die horribly if things went wrong. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Good. When I give the signal – and that’s when not if – get the thing for me, you know, the thing I talked to you about earlier. Not until then. If Lord Taylor knows I have it, he might attack us right away.” The necromancer glanced back at Avraniel. The elf appeared to be distinctly unimpressed by the lack of valuables on display. What was the point in looting the place if there was nothing there worth taking? “She won’t hold back much if it comes to a fight, so neither should we.”
Gerald gulped. Timmy had a point. He stopped. There were tentacles coming out of the wall in front of him, and there was an eye staring at him from the middle of a door. He wished he could be anywhere but here, but as a bureaucrat and a representative of the Council, this was his solemn and most important duty. The only thing he hated worse than wandering through a castle that was almost certainly infested with eldritch horrors from another dimension was failing in his duty. A twitchy, shuddering thing that vaguely resembled a leech latched onto his shoe, and he yelped before kicking it off. Thank the gods he’d been wearing boots.
Eventually, after what felt like an endless journey through writhing corridors and vistas punctuated by twisted, warped abominations that made even Timmy’s most diabolical creations look pedestrian, they reached the great hall where Lord Taylor awaited them. Gerald’s gut clenched as barbed tentacles emerged from the walls, knocking over the half-digested skeletons that lay scattered beside several large rings of teeth set into the floor. Mutants lined the edge of the hall, and there was nothing human about them at all, save for the stretched, mask-like faces in the middle of their warped bodies. This was not going to end well, even Gerald could see that.
Lord Taylor sat upon a gilded throne at the far end of the hall. He was, to Gerald’s surprise, completely human in appearance, except for his eyes, which were a deep, bloody crimson and utterly without pupils. The rest of him, however, appeared normal. Indeed, he was the very picture of a man in good health: tall, dark-haired, well muscled, and broad of frame. The pitch-black armour he wore was polished to perfection, and Gerald was certain he could see screaming faces in its dark depths. His heart thudded in his chest. He sincerely hoped their next mission would be something less likely to involve mortal peril.
Lord Taylor stood. He was as tall as Gerald, but he carried himself like a king. His boots echoed through the hall as he swaggered down from his throne. His presence filled the hall, and the quiet chattering that came from the walls and the teeth gnashing within them fell silent for a moment. He was very, very powerful.
“So, you are the musicians that I’ve heard so much about.” Lord Taylor’s gaze drifted to Avraniel and lingered. “And the elf is as lovely as they say.” He paused. “It is a pity the girl is unable to play today. Still, I expect to be impressed. I wish to hear something inspiring. Impress me.”
As Timmy got them started with his banjo, the instrument’s familiar sounds filling the hall, Gerald focused on his tambourine playing. For her part, Avraniel slipped flawlessly into the guise she’d been given. It was a shame she’d decided to become a criminal. Her voice was truly lovely. It was the equal to any that Gerald had heard, and he’d had the pleasure of hearing some of the finest singers in the world while working for Councillor Winters. No, he wasn’t giving the elf enough credit. The roughness, the rawness, the sheer emotion that Avraniel could put into her voice vaulted her past anyone Gerald had ever heard. If he wasn’t so worried about messing up the music, he might have wept at the beauty of her voice. When the song ended, Lord Taylor chuckled and clapped his hands.
“What a magnificent voice,” Lord Taylor said. “ I have never heard it’s equal.” His expression darkened. “I wish we could continue, but I know why you are here.” The half-demon’s stance shifted, and his power poured through the hall. “You are here on behalf of the Council.”
Timmy put his banjo down and elbowed Gerald in the side. “He knows. State our case. Remember the presentation you gave me? Try something like that. Convince him if you can. If not, try to stall him.”
Gerald took a deep breath and stepped forward. He could do this. He was a bureaucrat. This was his job, his calling. He cleared his throat and then raised his voice. “We are indeed from the Council, Lord Taylor, and we come to you with an offer…”
He spoke quickly, the routine of his presentation easing some of his anxiety. He pulled out charts and diagrams, along with a host of other materials, in a bid to impress upon Lord Taylor that joining them was really in his own best interests. He even had a talking parrot and a unicorn although the half-demon didn’t look too impressed by the latter. In retrospect, that hadn’t been a good ide
a since unicorns were holy creatures. When the time came for Timmy and Avraniel to reveal their identities, they did so without complaint and pointed out how they had already benefited from their arrangement with the Council. Timmy emphasised the benefits of not getting hunted down and executed while Avraniel talked about all the loot she’d already managed to acquire. Lord Taylor tolerated the whole thing with a vaguely curious expression on his handsome face.
When they were done, Gerald took a deep breath and got rid of the parrot, the unicorn, and the rest of the materials he’d used in the presentation. “So, what do you think?”
“I think,” Lord Taylor said very slowly and carefully, speaking as though he thought they were all exceptionally dim witted. “That you are all fools. I am also curious about how you pulled a unicorn from nowhere, to say nothing of how you got rid of it.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. None of you are leaving this place.” He gestured at the mutants. “Kill the bureaucrat but leave the other two alive. The necromancer may yet prove useful, and the elf is not without her charms.” He eyed the plain green dress that Avraniel was wearing. “Despite her dreadfully boring fashion sense.”
“You son of a bitch!” Avraniel hissed. “These aren’t my normal clothes. You can thank the two idiots here for picking them! Besides, I know for a fact that I look awesome in anything!” She scowled and then tore off the long dress she wore to reveal a set of more practical clothes beneath it. Lord Taylor stared. “What? Did you really think I’d come here in a damn dress? Not bloody likely. I’m not stupid.”
And that was the exact moment when everything began to go horribly, horribly wrong. Gerald had a split-second to send a prayer to every deity he could think of before Timmy hurled something at the mutants closest to them, something he must have gotten from the rats Avraniel liked because it exploded and hurled the mutants back.
“Get me that thing I gave you,” Timmy roared, lobbing another explosive in the general direction of some mutants. They emerged from it largely unscathed as their tentacles swiped through the air and their mouths let loose a litany of inhuman curses.
Gerald scrambled behind Timmy – safety first – and then summoned the shovel that the necromancer wanted. Avraniel growled, and her magic screamed to life, burning the dye out of her hair and turning her eyes their usual amber colour. Mutants appeared all around them. They came out of the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.
A scream threatened to bubble up from Gerald’s lips. This was like something torn out of his very worst nightmares except there was no waking up from this. Since he didn’t enjoy having things with so many teeth and claws trying to kill him, he summoned the first thing he could think of with his magic it and tossed it at the mutants. Unfortunately for him, it was a pogo stick. Still, the pogo stick caught one of the misshapen creatures right in one of its eyes, and it reeled back. He gave a mental cheer and then summoned something more practical: a metal walking stick. He lifted it over his head and put on his most menacing scowl. He was not going to die here.
“We can start killing things, right?” Avraniel asked. The floor around her was already scorched, the shear heat emanating from her enough to burn away the warped flesh.
“Anything that isn’t you, me, or Gerald can die.” Timmy hefted his shovel in one hand and his banjo in the other. Lord Taylor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the shovel, which was covered in glowing, white runes. “Go nuts.”
Avraniel cackled. “I intend to.”
* * *
Katie frowned as the mutants around them closed ranks. This was not good. Even Old Man had noticed as he tightened his hold on a broom he kept in his wagon. Rembrandt and the other rats were not pleased either. They remained invisible but climbed on top of the wagon and moved into strategic positions. If there was a fight, she and the rats could handle themselves. But she was worried about Old Man. He was, well, really, really old. Sure, he told some great stories about fighting, but real fighting and stories were two very different things.
“Katie,” Old Man murmured. “I believe that you master was worried about Lord Taylor trying to have us killed while ignoring the rules about hosting guests.”
“He did mention that, yes.” Katie’s magic stirred. The mutants were way too close for comfort now, and with them stuck on a stone bridge that spanned a deep, deep chasm, there was nowhere for them to go. “Old Man, can you fight? If not, stay back. The rats and I will protect you.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been in a few fights over the years. Remember my story about the bonsai tree and the mountain?”
Katie didn’t have the heart to point out that his story was obviously made up. As for the other stuff he’d talked about, he’d have to be some kind of legendary swordsman to pull even half of it off. And no offence to him, but he didn’t look very legendary at all.
“Fine, but stay behind me. If it’s not me or the rats, hit it with whatever you can.”
And with that, the battle began. The mutants closest to them twitched hideously, and then their bodies exploded. Some of the goo hurtled toward her, and she batted it away with her shadows. There was no point in hiding her magic anymore. But the abominations weren’t dead. Instead, they had merely cast aside any semblance of their humanity. In their places stood nightmarish horrors of writhing, twisted flesh and barbed tentacles. Dozens of gleaming, opalescent eyes stared back at her as claws gashed the stone beneath them. Just looking at them made her head hurt. Their very existence should have been impossible, a violation of every natural law in the world, but there they were. Her jaw clenched. She’d grown up around Sam and the others. She could handle this. Besides, nothing could be scarier than the time Sam found out they’d run out of cake.
“Get them!” Katie shouted to the rats. “Don’t let them get any closer!”
Rembrandt hurled himself into the fray, still invisible. Katie could only keep track of him because of her familiarity with the minute distortions his invisibility created, along with the devastation he left in his wake. He was a whirling dervish, slicing through tentacles and mutated flesh like a miniature tornado. He pulped one mutant, landing countless blows, before angling toward another. He might have been small, but he was exceedingly deadly. But something was wrong. The creatures were somehow able to keep track of him. Their tentacles surged toward him, and several of them spat globs of their black blood in his direction. He darted away and dropped his invisibility. If they could see him, then there was no point in wasting his magic. The other rats did the same. With this many opponents, they needed to be as efficient as possible.
Katie used her magic to lift both her and Old Man on top of the wagons. Safely out of harm’s way, at least for the time being, she wasted no time in creating a giant fist made of shadows. It thudded into the mutants in front of her and swept them over the side of the bridge. More of them leapt for the wagons, and she batted them aside, a sweeping curtain of darkness slicing through their flesh before dozens of smaller fists pummelled them into bloody smears. She’d learned from Sam that simply cutting his kind in half was not enough. The only way to put them down – and keep them down – was through overwhelming, full-body damage. Gore spewed everywhere – this was one of those moments where she loved having glasses – and she hissed. This was going to get extremely messy.
And, of course, it was also going to get worse.
Because things weren’t bad enough already, the mutants began to sprout wings. They took to the air and glided toward the top of the wagon. For a second, she thought about kicking one of them but thought better of it. Kicking it wouldn’t help. It was covered in teeth and claws, and while kicking it would certainly feel good, she wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage to it. One of the creatures shrieked and tried to grab her with a tentacle. She dodged and poked it in one of its eye with her shadows before slicing it into four pieces. A well-placed explosive from one of the rats reduced it to a bloody mist. Katie winced. Even with her shadows, it was hard to keep all of the gore away. It would
be terrible if some of it got in her hair. Her hair had turned bright orange the last time Sam had licked it.
But as many of them as they killed – and Katie had already killed at least a dozen – those that were merely wounded soon resumed attacking, and more were coming from the chasm below. Katie was entirely on the defensive now, crushing them in spectral jaws or slicing them apart as they swooped past. More than once, she just barely managed to avoid having her head removed by snapping teeth, and she formed a shadowy hammer to smash anything that got too close.
On the ground, Rembrandt was slowly but surely being forced back. The mutants couldn’t land any solid blows – he was too good for that and even a single solid blow would have killed him – but their sheer numbers and their size advantage had begun to tell. He raced along tentacles and sliced them apart on his way to slashing through hideous, warped bodies, but for every one that fell, another two took its place. No amount of slicing and dicing could change that. The other rats were in trouble too. Their biggest and best weapons might take out the bridge, and Katie was fairly certain that she couldn’t fly well enough to carry all of them to safety and avoid the mutants in the air. Perhaps the only bit of luck they’d had so far was that no demons had joined the fight yet.
Even Old Man had been forced to fight. He whacked one mutant over the head with his broom and then kicked it off the wagon in a surprising display of strength. Then, as Katie stumbled back, eyes widening as one of the mutants somehow got past her shadows and raised its claws to strike her down, something about him changed. His eyes hardened, and his back straightened, his posture suddenly perfect. All of the weariness about him vanished, and he seemed decades younger, his voice ringing out over the clamour of battle.
Unconventional Heroes 2 - Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord Page 18