Meanwhile, the two men on motorcycles managed to flee the scene in the nick of time, missing the jaws of death coming for them by mere seconds. Instead of chasing after the racing bikes, that bunyip turned its attention to a construction vehicle parked close by and it let out a satisfying puff from its monstrous nostrils.
Standing there, appetizing and at the ready with an arsenal of tools, were the three garish men who had brashly commented about Adrienne’s figure earlier. The heavyset man pushed by his colleagues and slapped a long black wrecking bar across his fatty gloved palm.
“Come on, ya sumbitch!” he yelled.
On command, the mighty beast lunged forward.
Back at the motel, Gage popped a couple of rounds straight into the creature’s legs. They pierced its flesh without issue and it winced in obvious pain, retracting its body from the truck as a thin liquid flowed out from the bullet holes. Now that there was a confirmation that bullets worked against the thing, Gage focused in like a laser, his confidence pegged high.
The monster roared angrily at him as he continued forward unabashed, its tail lashing against the weathered doors, bashing splintered dents into the wood.
“Bad luck, beastie,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out the stone he had previously tucked in there. Drawing it back to ready a throw, he whispered Fila glaciem and then cast it hard at his injured foe.
At the truck, the blocky man swung and missed, tumbling forward and rolling with his weight and the energy of his swing as the bunyip raced by. It had singled out the young blonde man standing in front of it, pacing back and forth a couple times as if to antagonize him before lunging forward with its jaws fully bared.
The man turned his lithe body and the enemy brushed against his stomach, biting into thin air. The force of the bite was palpable. Had it been closer, it might have shaved off hairs along with his shirt with its abrasive skin. Instead, a solid line of thick saliva was painted in a swath across his middle.
Not wasting a second, he used both hands to pull a couple long screwdrivers out from his tool belt. Twirling them amongst his fingers, they glinted in the morning light as he grabbed the handles tightly and drove the shafts into the creature’s passing neck. As they sunk in with a gratifying squelch, he rotated them like joysticks to enlarge the wounds. Brown fluid globbed out of the gaping punctures, accosting him with the smell of rancid chicken. Catching him off guard he gagged, loosening his grip right as the beast jolted, knocking him into the side of the vehicle. Now winded, he grabbed at his aching back while writhing on the pavement, the sharp soreness spreading down to his legs and up into his shoulders.
Stepping forward and latching on with a large claw on the roof of the truck, the creature’s heavy drool pooled in chunky splats around the young man as it hovered over its next meal. A large blob accumulated on its chin before weighing enough to come splashing down on his face, smothering his view.
Back at the motel, the rune stone danced its way through the air, leaving behind faint trails of white dust. It landed at the beast’s feet, spinning before exploding into a dazzling burst of blue. Swirls of frost quickly settled around its body like thickening ropes, encasing its legs, torso and snout in icy bondage before yanking it hard to the ground. Water was forced out of the frigid air into a roiling fog that engulfed the creature.
Adrienne fired her pistol from a distance, her aim true despite the thick vapor. With each shot the beast moaned sorely. Before long she had expended her ammo, holstering the pistol and grabbing the long sword.
Confidently, Gage strode past her and up to the impounded beast, placing a boot on its long muzzle. The frosty coating crackled and popped under his weight.
“Enough death today,” he said coolly and fired, aiming for the space between its eyes.
The bullet went in but the creature did not die. Instead, its eyes locked in his direction and grew devilishly narrow, a low growl rising to rattle the strands that were restraining it.
“Ah shit,” Gage groaned, quickly reaching for serrated steel but not before the filaments shattered and sent him zooming through the air. A short distance later he whacked the inflexible ground along with a hailstorm of numbing shards.
On the ground by the construction vehicle, the blinded young man worked feverishly to wipe away the slimy goo that had coated his face. It was difficult to remove since it was incredibly sticky. After a few seconds, he was able to clear his vision enough to see through a murky sheen. Slopping the smelly gunk off his hands, he saw nothing but a forest of imposing fangs in front of him.
“Mother fucker,” he said, realizing there was nothing he could do. The sharp teeth came down and he dodged it once, then twice. He looked out under the truck and a murky outline of a green dress caught his eye. He opened his mouth as if to call for help but as he did so, teeth came in over his head like a clamp and in one powerful bite it was gone, swallowed whole.
Shouts of rage came from behind and the stocky man struck the distracted beast hard on the side of its face with his wrecking bar while the other man popped it with a solid hit from his sledgehammer. The devastating barrage continued with swipe after brutal strike.
Adrienne turned and slid as the bunyip shook loose its tattered constraints and leapt over her on a frenzied charge toward Gage. She raised the long sword up above her as her soft knees skidded bleeding across the pavement. The sword tip sunk into the creature’s hardened flesh, squelching as it tore through its dank and pungent innards.
With a final cry it collapsed to the ground, skidding to a stop just before those infamous scuffed boots.
Dizzy from the salvo hefty strikes, the last bunyip stumbled into the construction truck then hunched over into the large dent it made in the side. The men walked over to it as it struggled to gain composure, reaching into their reflective vests and pulling out hidden knives. With arms raised in unison, they struck at it with their short stubs of metal and a loud boom ushered out of the wounds, storming through the crowds as if a bomb had gone off.
Gage looked across toward the source of the noise and saw the creature keeling over just after the men stabbed it. He could swear he saw a faint red glow, visible just for a few seconds, but it was hard to make out and could have just been a trick of the the morning light. Had he blinked, he would have missed it.
“Ady,” he said softly, “come this way.” He started to walk off briskly, without waiting for a reply.
“Gage?” she asked, concerned at the tone he was using. Realizing that he was not going to answer, she caught her breath and got up off her knees, falling in a few steps behind him. “Gage, what is it? Gage?”
He was making his way directly for the GMC, sure to ignore the men as he walked by. However, Adrienne didn't get the memo and made eye contact with the ghoulish one, noticing the fallen bunyip had large gashes in its side.
The men lowered their blades in disturbing synchrony as they continued to look at the two of them, still slobbering tobacco from chapped lips and churning wads of gum.
“Well, well,” said the large one, the freakish cracking of his voice hinting at something devious. “Lookie who we have here.”
Gage panned across them each in turn and they stared emptily back, not saying a word. Their beady eyes, however, held back secrets which spoke directly to his gut.
“Ady, do you mind going to collect our stuff please?” he asked and the tone of his voice indicated he wasn’t going to accept no as a response.
A little confused, but sensing the tension in the air as tight and uneasy as a plucked guitar string, she walked over to the front of the shop to pick up their bags.
“It’s time to go,” stated Gage. He climbed in and cranked the engine.
She hopped in after him and grabbed her trusty cap from the glove box while Gage pulled out of the gas station onto the service road. She tipped her hat and waved briefly as they drove away.
“Well, not to stereotype,” she said to Gage as she rolled down her window, resting an arm on
the edge, “but they fought pretty good for creepy hayseeds.”
He stayed focused on the road ahead. “Yeah,” he replied faintly, “too good.”
As the GMC returned to the highway and shrank away on the distant horizon, Amarillo police and emergency services began to flood the scene.
The two workers watched Gage and Adrienne’s vehicle disappear and turned their attention back to the beast they had slain. They were joined by a middle aged woman, her vibrant green dress made dingy with stains of blood and chunks of gore.
All of their eyes were now black as night and rimmed with crimson.
THE SANITARIUM’S COMMAND center was jammed in an old cafeteria on the ground floor of the building, gutted of all traces of its previous life except for the aroma of French fries and peanut oil that forever drenched the walls. It normally bustled with activity, but this afternoon was different. The buzz had increased ten fold after six fateful words came across channels from Amarillo: Gage Crosse was on the move.
In the three years since he had blazed onto the scene and into the chronicles as one of the most successful slayers in history, many a demon both lesser and great had come to respect and fear his name. How ironic it was that they no longer feared the cross, long the bane of their existence, but would now cower at the mere mention of Crosse.
Fueled by the electricity that permeated the air, they all moved to and fro with purpose, like a well oiled machine. Their hosts and associated attire looked to have been plucked right out of a high level corporate office in London and plopped right in against the decrepit innards of the long abandoned institution.
A few sat at neat little ergonomic desks lining the walls to both the left and right of the entrance arch, typing away on their glossy keyboards in front of state of the art computers. Others stood at tall wood tables distributed between the rows of desks, their gnarled tops spilling over with a wide variety of exotic ingredients. Some were pleasing to the eye, others delicious, as evidenced by a demon stealing strawberries off the table next to his station when nobody was looking. A few were downright disgusting and appropriately demonic, like the murky jar containing the brains of feral mice floating in a vinegary stock made from the full skeletons of fairies.
Yet more demons milled busily like bees in between the desks and tables, heading in and out of the run down chamber. However, all the hustle slowed to a crawl when three large shapes appeared at the entryway, following close behind Keli and Agares. Their mere presence sapped the room of its energy and the rabble made sure to clear out of the central pathway as they walked in.
Keli had donned another outfit, smoothing out the lines in her one piece of tight, form fitting leather. A deep cut plunged down the front, over her breasts and past her belly button. Its outer edges were trimmed with small black feathers, ruffling ever so slightly with each deliberate and slow step. Hardly an outfit that screamed leadership, many whispers began to fly like notes passed around a classroom when she sashayed by. It was the general consensus that one in her position should be wearing attire that garnered respect, instilled fear, or some combination thereof, instead of percolating mere lust like a majority of hers did. That said, it was pretty apparent that she gave no fucks about it. To her any sin, especially one of the seven, was something to be celebrated.
The same could not be said for Baal, one of the greatest of the seven Hell Knights who were once proud kings under Lucifer's grand rule. Time and again, he made sure plenty knew of his grievances, but those concerns and complaints were often overruled by the voices of Knights Paimon and Astaroth, who found themselves siding with her many times more than him these days.
Baal had fallen back, passively defiant, positioning himself the furthest away from Keli at the rear of the small entourage. He looked up at both Paimon and Astaroth while shaking his head subtly.
They were bookending her like some whoreific grimoire, likely mumbling ass-kissing rhetoric in each ear to see who could receive the most brown nosing credit. It was a term he coined and was particularly proud of, one most fitting for his views on their relationship.
Baal continued unabashedly behind them and was not dressed, unlike the other two, in suits, business casual, or pathetic human attire. He was traditional, his large body clad with elaborate plate armor that was forged in the deepest pits of Hell and used during the great war in Heaven ages ago.
The armor was obsidian, its close fitting helmet filigreed with traces of cold silver. His fiery eyes peered out from the slits, made more menacing by two spires that rose up on either side like horns. His large torso was covered by a full cuirass and etched in the center of it was his ornate sigil, glowing bright and orange like molten rock. The remainder of the armor was equally as robust, traces of magma lining the dark suit’s menacing spikes and sweeping curves.
His presence managed to do what Keli’s could not: exude fear-inducing intimidation upon those around him. Demons nearby shaded their eyes and turned away as he thundered by. When he opened his mouth to speak, his hoarse voice came forth from beneath the helm and caused those around him to tremble. What he said, he did so openly and without care.
“Onoskelis…” he began, hating the humanization of her name, “I have been asking you since being called forth to this dump: what is the purpose of this meeting? We have too many important things going on right now and your trivial distractions are only serving to cause major delays.”
She continued to walk as if she hadn't heard a thing. The riff between the two of them was had been building for some time, but was about to reach a head, threatening to burst like some great throbbing boil.
Her blatant disregard of him caused anger to flare in his gut. “Listen here, I -”
“We are almost to the circle,” cut in the tall man to her left, his tailored blue suit clinging well to his body as he stretched and ran a hand through his crest of red hair. He turned slightly so he could see Baal out of the corner of his dark eye and then continued. “Respectfully, Baal, silence yourself until then.”
“I was not talking to you, Astaroth,” Baal stated, waving a gauntlet dismissively his way. “I know traditions, something this bitch could use a major lesson in, and I do not need anyone's permission to speak. I can see now that the Prince of Inquisitions has been reduced to a mere lap dog, as if parading around wearing a soulless ginger weren't enough.”
“Stop it, the both of you! No wonder a congregation hasn't been called in years. You should know better than to bicker in front of the lessers!” the other man snapped, his blood red suit and jet black hair standing out from the drab blacks and grays of the other demons about which he spoke. “Be silent until we -”
“Reach the damn circle, yes Paimon,” Baal interrupted while shaking his head, pinching his fingers together mockingly as if they were speaking his words. He then pointed it ahead. “Ah, it seems at last we have arrived, so I bid the two of you to shut the fuck up.”
“Always the instigator!” Astaroth popped off, turning to face him with fists balled up and sparking. He was not intimidated in the slightest by the dark armor in front of him, so similar to what he had also worn during the war. “For one that touts the old ways so frequently, how quick you are to forego the very foundations of our beliefs. The hierarchy is everything!”
Agares crossed the threshold first into the celebrated circle, actually a line of dried blood that outlined a semi-circular area where the cafeteria’s kitchens once were. It was about twenty feet in diameter, its primary purpose to serve as a place of council and debate amongst the great demons. The size and shape of this one paled vastly in comparison to the ones of old that surrounded entire temples. Keli and her two yes-men took up in the rough center as Baal followed, last to enter.
He thrust a metal arm out to his side expectantly and suddenly, a large sword appeared in his hand out of thin air; its blade like ruby and its skull-adorned hilt of black diamond. Twisting in his hand like a key, smoke rose up from the line, wrapping around the five of them like an opaq
ue shield. From the inside, they could see out at the inquisitive faces in the room, but to an outside observer all sights and sounds could not escape past the swirling barrier.
“Now may I speak?” Baal asked sarcastically, shoving the blade into the cracked floor. It singed back at its master as if to grant him permission.
“Baal, you must learn to control yourself! We are already having enough trouble keeping the lessers in line,” said Paimon, “and certainly do not need to stoke the fires of their protests. We would be much further along in our plans if we had a more… obedient workforce. Operations around the Great Lakes alone could be doubled if we didn’t have constant bickering amongst the staff.”
“Workforce?” Baal scoffed at the notion. “That Paimon, is one of our greatest problems right there: they are not workers; they are slaves meant to serve us. Back to the hierarchy you all are so quick to tout, there shouldn't even be a need to reference performance or output or the numbers that you cling so desperately to like haggard maids.”
Astaroth shifted his weight from leg to leg, back and forth to stem his temptation to silence Baal. He knew damn well he could not do a thing about it; at least not yet. Even a pop to the chin would be difficult with that helmet on.
“You speak to me as if this budding insurrection is my fault,” Baal continued as Astaroth dipped his head and turned away, “yet I am not the one bringing in new age ideas and corrupting the older, purer ways.” He directed his gaze over to Keli, who had remained silent while her dogs attacked. “Need I remind all of you that I am the only one appropriately dressed for this occasion?”
The two Knights couldn't dodge that fact but Astaroth had reached his fill of Baal’s arrogance and started to retort, “To deny change is to invite one's own -”
Homeward Bound (Journeyman Book 1) Page 11