"Yeah," he said rather too cheerily. "Great, isn't it?"
Then a sword came arcing through the air at my face, so I caught it with a new oversized arm and felt pretty good with the boosted muscles and speedy reflexes. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
I was wrong.
"Kill them both," ordered Udele.
Things got ugly.
Let Battle Commence
I don't know how Udele did it, but I felt at one with this new body. I was powerful, strong beyond compare, with lightning fast reflexes and a lumbering grace. What I didn't have was much of a clue how to fight with a sword.
My fights are usually with magic, or just me ducking and weaving, punching and kicking, with a healthy amount of running away thrown in if I think the odds are against me, which they often are.
So, I defaulted to the running away thing as a very large, kilted warrior swished his sword and I only just managed to jump back in time. I dashed about this way and that, but there were five of them against us two, and they were damn fast. I gnashed my oversized ogre teeth, figuring I may as well try to intimidate them—it didn't work—my tongue swollen and strange as I ran it around a dry, alien mouth.
Method had no choice but to fight, his enormous bulk making running impossible. Why the hell he chose such an outlandish appearance was beyond me, but there's no denying he was impressive. Even as I dodged a blow that would have severed an arm, I heard him roar and saw him charge at one of our opponents. An orc with a long, twisted face and body, all scrawny muscle and oversized hands.
Method ran right at him, and before the orc could swing his club, Method hit with a sick thud. The orc bounced off him backwards, flew through the air and landed in a cloud of dust. A few onlookers cheered, although rather depressingly many more booed as they knew Method and I were in Udele's bad books.
He ignored them and waddled fast to the orc that shook its head as it rose. Too late, as Method half launched, half just fell forward, and his bulk hit the recumbent creature with a squelch, the body flattened to a pulpy mess when Method moved to reveal the gore.
His folds of flesh were coved in blood and brain but even as he turned to look for another fight, the bits fell off him and joined the rest of the goop on the ground. It all moved back together, slowly rebuilding the squashed orc, but regrouping now as the true man that had inhabited the magic body, revealing a youth of maybe twenty. Someone new to magic, relatively speaking, and a wizard I knew and certainly disliked.
He screamed blue murder. It was obvious it was agony as his face kind of popped out to reveal his features, skin raw and still pulpy but recovering as he got up and staggered off to the side, shamed and beaten, out of the game.
Four more to go. A muscle-bound human, a giant, a wisp of a man so thin and tall I was amazed he didn't get blown over, and a demon, intimidating as hell and just as red.
The oversized man charged at me but I met his sword, steel clashing hard, sending vibrations up my arm. He was quick, definitely experienced, and obviously skilled, so, like all good fighters, I played dirty. As we parried again, I kicked him in the knackers. Very hard. His sword arm dropped to defend his private parts, too late, so I swung two-handed and took his head clean off.
It's a weird experience, decapitating someone. I felt a slight resistance through the length of the sword, but it was more like slicing through butter than flesh and bone. I watched, mesmerized, as the head came to a stop and angry eyes blinked. Taking it well, the dude poked out his tongue before he died.
The moment he did, someone rushed up, put the head where it was meant to be, and the wound healed over. The man got up, grunted, and nodded at me with respect, then took his place on the sidelines.
Three to go.
The wraith man was upon me, dark and ghostly, smelling of damp basements and turning my mind cloudy with visions of chattering insects and beasties that lived in the netherworlds. He snatched at my ears, poking bony, long fingers inside, nails sharp and twisted, drawing blood.
I stamped down hard on his long, bare feet, then grabbed his tattered rag of a coat and yanked, spinning him in a circle. Wisps of tortured faces screamed as his coat flapped open.
He grinned, face skeletal and eyes sunken, a true horror story of an image, and he jabbed out hard and incredibly fast with a slender blade, nicking my thick skin, drawing blood on my flank. I ignored it, used my bulk to shoulder him aside, but he spun agilely and jumped on my back, clawing at my face, trying to get my eyes. Worst of all were the terror-whispers, the incessant voices whispering in my ear like the clicking of beetles' wings before being snapped off cruelly.
Reaching behind, I grabbed his head, flipped him forward over me, then kneed him hard in the face where he lay. He put a hand up to stop me doing it a second time, grabbing my foot, so I pushed down with all my weight, and the arm snapped. Thinking that would be it, I stepped back, but the wraith sliced through the limp limb, severing it, then clutched the arm with broken shards of bone jutting out and swung it at my head.
"Seriously? Come on, dude," I moaned, but parried with my sword, cutting chunks out of the limb. I backed up, only to hit a wall of sticky flesh. It was Method. He was beating the giant about the middle with his fists.
Leaving him to it, I put my head down and charged the wraith man, bringing my thick skull up at the last moment. It connected with his fragile jaw with a satisfying crack.
Teeth fell to the ground, trampled by my charge as he retreated. I kept after him and formed my plan as I moved. Close to him, I changed course and circled behind, grabbing his flapping coat as I went. I pulled it up over his head, pushed him forward with my bare foot, then grabbed the arm he'd let go of.
Flipping him over moments after he hit the dirt, I felt with one hand for his mouth, and as he snapped at me I jammed the broken end of the arm right into his stretched mouth, pushing it deeper and deeper until he was choking.
He tried to buck me off but I gripped him tight with my thighs. With my other hand I squeezed his nostrils, the large nose sticking up under the cloth. Soon enough he stopped moving so I pulled out the arm, dropped it, and got to my feet.
I was panting now, and wondered if I had my own heart and if it would explode. Then I remembered none of it was real, but it didn't compute as it all felt real and I knew for a fact that if I died I would really be dead. Not like the wraith that was already back to being a fifty-year-old woman of striking beauty, with pale auburn hair and covered in tattoos.
She jumped to her feet, bowed, and said, "Well done, good fight," then bounced off to the sidelines, her bum wobbling, distracting me so I was floored as the demon punched me in the back. I hit the ground, mouth full of dust.
I rolled over and got up fast, the demon beckoning me with a hand twice the size of mine, claws as sharp as knives, horns just as deadly. It lowered its head and ran, ready to impale me.
"We are no longer friends," I shouted to Method, who right that second was getting off the flattened head of the giant, the rest of the body intact, the head just a red stain on the ground.
"Come on, Spark, don't be like that." He moved closer so we faced the demon together.
"Last one, mate. Why not just go quickly so we can get out of here?" I asked, knowing it was pointless.
"I'm gonna kill you both. Slowly," said the demon, voice booming off into infinity.
"Don't say I didn't ask nicely." I was getting into the swing of it now. It felt so genuine, so visceral. So did the punch to the face as it hit out faster than I could follow.
I slammed back into Method's clammy flesh then bounced forward right into the demon's clutches.
Boing
The demon, Method's apparent arch-enemy in ARMageddon, wrapped densely muscled arms around my thick hide and squeezed, lifting me off my feet. A moment later, Method roared and I glanced over my shoulder to see him coming at us, hard.
He connected with a wet slap, the air knocked out of me. But it had the desired effect and the demon tumbled
backward, loosening its grip on me. I was in no state to do anything but fall on top of it, struggling to breathe.
Method shouted, "Move," and I rolled aside as he belly-flopped onto the demon, elbow braced, aiming right for the demon's head. He was too slow, though, and the demon shifted enough so that Method connected with nothing but dirt. I recovered enough to grab the fallen sword and swung it at the demon's arm, getting a good hit, slicing part way through the forearm. He roared, slapped the sword with his other hand and I lost my grip.
Method was up now, angry and panting shallowly. He swung a meaty fist right into the demon's stomach, the force pushing the abdomen tight against a ribcage like rails of rotten fencing. It reacted with a punch of its own, connecting with Method's rather less emaciated belly, having little effect because of the ample girth. It bounced like ripples on a lake as I made my move, jumping high and fast, feeling the power of the ogre body launch me higher than expected.
I landed on its shoulders, my thighs tight around the demon's head. Momentum carried us both forward, him crashing down with me still riding high.
"Grab a horn," I shouted to Method, and he did. I took the other and yelled, "Lift, then twist," nodding to check he understood.
"I'm finally gonna beat you," whispered Method, before he nodded. He was ready.
We pulled on the horns, lifting the upper body of the demon to a sitting position then twisted sharply. Its spinal column cracked, then the resistance gave way and we spun in a circle, the head rotating clean around until it faced the wrong way.
Letting go, the body dropped down, face landing with a crunch.
I bent over, exhausted, and watched the head slowly twisting back around as the demon took on human form.
Method's smile of victory turned to one of confusion then utter despair. Then outright anger.
"A damn child! All this time, the amount of defeats I've had, and it's a child? A little girl?"
"Yeah, and you only won because there are two of you, so, nah." The girl of maybe twelve stuck out her tongue then got up and ran over to Udele, shouting, "Mummy, can I fight him again? That wasn't fair."
"No," said Udele, stroking the girl's beautiful long hair lovingly, wiping the dirt from her face. "Method still has his ban in place, so maybe in nine months you can fight him. Well done, both of you, but now it's time to go."
Before we knew it, we morphed back to regular form. Two goons brought us our clothes, so we dressed, then walked over to Udele and her daughter.
"Sorry to hurt you, little girl," I said to Udele's daughter.
"Get a grip, old man. It's just a game." She skipped off to go play with the swords, unconcerned by her nakedness.
"Guess that told me."
"No more funny business," warned Udele.
"No, absolutely not," Method replied, seemingly happy, although I'd expected him to go ballistic again.
Udele clapped her hands together and we closed our eyes.
When we opened them we were on the front step of the house, the door still open behind us.
"Did she call me old?" I asked, then adjusted my tie. My suit felt gross, dirty and goopy, but at least I was alive.
Don't Blame Me
"Do not," I warned, "under any circumstances, ever call me again." I stepped down; the door slammed behind us. The entrance to an unassuming house in a drab looking street, a world of magic hiding behind the uninspiring exterior
"Come on, don't be grumpy. You gotta admit, that was fun, right?" Method was panting hard, but he had a wicked gleam in his eye.
"Maybe," I conceded. "A little."
"There you go, then." Method slapped me on the back and chortled. "I knew you'd love it." He began to cross the road but I grabbed him and pulled him back, leftover magic making him feel light.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Then it clicked. "You knew it was Udele all along, didn't you? You slimy son-of-a-bitch."
"I did," he conceded. "That's why this worked so well. Spark, I panicked a little, okay? I was in no state to go in alone, knew there was something going on. So I thought what better way to kill two birds with one stone than to look up my old buddy to help me in my hour of need. I knew you'd be up for it, and you'd find out what was wrong with me, but I also knew you'd take some convincing," he said, laughing.
"Convincing? You tricked me. Are you nuts!? You did all this, dragged me into Udele's madhouse, just because you thought I'd enjoy it?"
"What? No, of course not. I did it because I was wasting away. Er, and wanted to beat that damn devil. I knew you'd never go in to ARMageddon otherwise, but I was sure you'd love it. Cool, eh? My gift to you."
"No, not cool." He stared at me. "Okay, a little cool. But hell, we could have got killed."
"Nah, I had your back, buddy."
"I'm going home. Get yourself a taxi."
"See you soon, Spark. Don't be a stranger." Method was still laughing as I got into my car and drove off.
Vampires. Don't make friends with the old ones. They get bored with life and are extreme thrill seekers, so never answer their call in the middle of the night. Especially if they're in a playful mood.
Sleep
The kitchen was cool; my body was overheating. Wearing yet another suit destined for the trash, I stripped down to my boxers, groaning and crying out as the fabric caught on the cuts and tears to my flesh.
I was a mass of bruises that no magic could force to heal. That would have to happen the old-fashioned way.
My ink was still buzzing, a background hum of violence that seemed to stay closer to the surface with each passing day. Magic thrummed as it swirled through the intricate patterns, flushing through my system like acid.
I couldn't shake it, was unable to come back down to reality. This is who I am, what I am. An addict.
I put the dirty, ruined suit in a bag and left it outside the front door. It stank, and so did I.
Slowly, body aching like I'd got between two dwarves fighting over a chunk of gold and said, "Hey, why don't you just split it?" I climbed the stairs, showered, and tried not to look at myself in the mirror.
Moving silently into the bedroom, I checked the time on my Mickey Mouse bedside clock, amazed to find I could still get a few hours sleep before Kate awoke.
She was finding it harder and harder to rouse herself early these days, the vampire in her morphing from a day person to one that only truly felt alive at night. I knew how she felt. The darkness is when our world is at its peak, but it's dangerous. I worried for her safety, for our future, for just about everything.
But the moment I crawled under the sheets and put my arm around her flat belly, all my worries, my sadness, my sense of futility and the questions I had about what the hell I was doing, they all faded away. It was just us, safe for a little while longer.
Kate stirred and shifted to face me. "How did it go? Everything okay?" she mumbled, already half asleep again.
"Everything's fine. Just an old friend wanting to catch up and have a beer."
"That's nice. Thought it was going to be trouble."
"No. Just a typical night for us Hidden. You know me, it's a quiet life I want."
"Good. I love you, Faz."
"And I love you, too."
There was no need to bother Kate with a blast from the past. I got the distinct impression I wouldn't be hearing from Method any time soon.
Sometimes being kept in the dark is a good thing, as long as you've got somebody to keep you safe and chase away the monsters if need be.
But monsters are the least of our worries in this Hidden life we lead. People, they're the true monsters. Always have been, always will be.
Night-night.
Sleep well. I know I will.
The End
Dive right in to the world of the Dark Magic Enforcer with book 1 in the series: Black Spark.
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About the Author
Al K. Line is a British
author who lives in rural England with his wife, son, and dogs. When asked to describe himself for this bio all we got was the following: "Who am I? Degrees, jobs, living in other countries, fighting squirrels, cuddling monkeys, amused by penguins. All the usual stuff."
Contact Al here:
www.alkline.co.uk
Family Business - Rob Cornell
An Unturned Short Story
Sorcerer Sebastian Light expects his first day as a demon hunter to go off without a hitch, but sometimes family issues are harder to slay than the surliest of goblins.
My Ministry license to collect bounties on demons and other rogue creatures was so freshly printed I could practically feel the residual heat in my back pocket from the runic symbols magically seared onto the parchment. I had slipped the rough paper out of my wallet and marveled at it a few times already. I had no idea what, exactly, the runes meant, except that I could kill demons the Ministry deemed as threats and collect money in the process.
How cool was that, right?
I was twenty five. My first job involved trying to tail a kid on a bike. Back then I drove this ancient Ford Escort, which made following someone on a bike through a quiet suburb a bit of a trick.
It was the middle of May, but the kid wore a down parka with a fur-lined hood, which obscured his face. A knapsack with Detroit Free Press stamped on the side hung from his shoulder. To any passer-by, he looked like a paperboy. The disguise seemed to work, even though paperboys were all but extinct as far as I knew. Nowadays, some sleepy-eyed, coffee-sipping adult cruised down the middle of the street, tossing papers out the car windows and barely landing them beyond the curb.
But I had good reason to suspect this kid wasn’t hauling newspapers. And that he wasn’t even a kid.
Full Metal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Anthology Page 18