A flash of a woman on a bed, curly blond hair fanned out across a white pillow, skin glowing like bronze in the moonlight. A gun in my hand…
I was losing it, and I thought for the briefest of moments how good that would be: to let go, to not care about the world of mortals anymore.
A hand like an iron manacle grasped my arm and squeezed. She pulled me towards her so that our faces were only inches apart. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
The phone sat useless in my hand. The training snapped to attention, slower than usual, as if it had entertained the thought of allowing me my breakdown in peace. “I need to call Jon.” I sounded weak and pathetic to my own ears.
“They’re coming.” She nodded over the wall in the general direction of the main gate. Flashes lit the horizon as attackers battered against the wards. Turning back to me, her eyes searched mine, deep and piercing. There was softness to those glacial irises now, as if she could read my soul and feel the pain I felt. As if she was human.
It can wait, the training whispered in my ear. There’s nothing you can do about what has already happened. Emotions were segregated, culled like wheat, and pushed aside to be dealt with later. An unreal calm dropped over me like the mist that fell around us, cloaking me in the warm surety of my mission. Even so, I despised myself for closing the phone and picking up my pistol.
“Where are the damn snake eaters?” one of the soldiers down the line from me growled, using the nickname for special operations members. “They live for this sort of crap.”
“They’ll be here,” Menendez answered, without taking his eyes from the iron sights of his rifle.
A keening wail echoed through the air and was quickly followed by a muffled explosion. The soldiers ducked down as if afraid of getting caught by errant energies from the wards. The bellies of clouds glowed with shifting shades of amber and green and red, fading in brightness as the sounds of enraged shrieks and yells grew closer. It would have been beautiful if people weren’t about to die.
“Here they come!” someone yelled.
I saw the faint plume of necromancy before the corpse staggered into view. Skin hung loosely from its skeleton, twisting and contorting like the remnants of its burial suit as it staggered forward. It craned its neck from left to right surveying our line. It took a bad step and fell to its knees. Bone snapped, and a spear of white bone protruded from its shin, thick fluid dripping from it. Unbothered, it stood back up and continued its march. The sound of bone rasping against bone made me shiver.
A booming voice, like someone on a megaphone, cackled from somewhere unseen. “You’ve made quite an impressive fortress here, Inquisitors. Your protections felled a dozen or more of my congregation, but don’t worry, I’ve brought plenty more of them with me.” The pride was obvious in Christian’s voice, and only slightly overshadowed by his obvious insanity. “Once my Master told me where you were I spent all day putting my army together. Do you hear that, wizard? All day!” He laughed then, the sound reverberating up and down the streets, rattling windows and sending chills down spines. “I raised an entire cemetery at high-noon just for you! No necromancer alive or dead has ever even dreamed of doing that, and yet I did it with ease, such is my lord’s power. While your wards fail and you grow weak, I grow stronger. Before this night is out you will all worship at my feet and call me the True Prophet!” His voice rang with triumph and exaltation.
The lone zombie had stopped fifty feet away from the first line and was observing us with shriveled, useless eyes—no doubt Christian was somehow able to see through him—when there was a sharp crack and the thing’s head exploded. Its skull vaporized like an overripe melon being pounded with a hammer. The corpse toppled onto its side, kicked out feebly for a moment, then lay still. I watched as the power that had animated it slipped away into the ether, the green and black magic ebbing and disentangling itself from dead cells. Christian wouldn’t want to waste energy on a critically wounded corpse when he had so many others to use.
The shot had come from above, so I looked back over my shoulder and was surprised to see a man perched on top of the barrack behind me. There hadn’t been anyone there a minute ago. Smoke coiled from his sniper rifle in languorous ribbons of blue. He smiled, his eye still peering down the scope at his re-deceased target. Unlike the soldiers around me who wore black ponchos over olive green camouflage combat gear and had uniformly short hair, this man was outfitted in a black uniform and body armor and had long scraggly hair that combined with a bushy beard and mustache. If I hadn’t been looking at him with my Second Sight I would have sworn he was a werewolf who spent too much time in his other form, but there was nothing paranormal about him. He looked like a shaggy dog, and I thought inanely that if I watched him long enough I would see a flat tongue pop out from under his fur to pant.
“Well,” Menendez whispered, “there’s one of the ops guys. Wonder when the rest will decide to show up?”
A tidal wave of dark green energy rose in the distance, dwarfing buildings with its bulk, pulsing out in slow rhythm and moving inexorably towards us. Ravens called to each other in anticipation of a feast.
“KILL THEM!”
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They came from every direction, shapes separating themselves from the murk, and they didn’t stumble their way forward like the scout. They charged, surging forward with a single intent, collapsing on our meager line like a Mongol horde.
Two of Christian’s acolytes, flanked by six slavering ghouls running on all fours, led the main thrust of the attack. Ben stepped forward to meet them. Raising his staff high and yelling words that held untold power, he brought the age-cracked wood down onto the pavement with a clap of thunder. A sheet of energy struck out from him in a widening arc, felling all before it and tossing them back like debris in a hurricane. The ghouls were first to recover, thrashing wildly about until they found their feet and continued the attack.
Rifles burst to life spewing their incandescent rounds at the dead things that surrounded us, cutting the air like stuttering lasers. Zombies began to stumble, righting themselves only to be hammered again and again. Glowing holes littered their frames, and moldy, damp and decayed clothing caught fire. The ghouls and acolytes moved too fast to be targeted accurately, moving in and out of the slower ranks like cheetahs among elephants.
Black-clad figures suddenly began to materialize in the gaps left by our line working their way forward in small groups bearing three riflemen and two men with swords. The special ops force had arrived.
I spun to my right to see a dozen of the corpses jogging towards us. Clara let out a hiss as she moved up beside me. The training took over turning everything into an exercise of target practice. My shield and serpent tattoos came to life with a pleasant burning sensation. The fear that I knew should have been clawing at my gut like a caged animal was nowhere to be found. The smell of offal and death that should have been overpowering was, instead, just a nuisance, a small detail among the backdrop of events. The smell of burning magnesium and cordite, scents so often attached to war and suffering, were now the signs of life that I clung to.
I sighted on the nearest zombie and fired twice in quick succession. The first bullet took it high in the chest, the second in its neck. It foundered, knocked sideways from the impacts and was pushed aside by its kin. As they got nearer I decided not to bother taking as much time to aim. They wouldn’t stop moving unless enough of their body was destroyed (or their brain, but it was hard enough getting a headshot under normal circumstances, never mind battlefield conditions) and I couldn’t do that with my pistol; even the heavy machine guns were having trouble. Adjusting to target the closest zombie as I fired, I worked my way across their line. A stomach burst, a kneecap exploded, a jaw was torn free, an eye was smashed through the back of a skull, and chunks of gray flesh were spattered across the ground. But they didn’t stop. The rifle from the building behind me roared and the lead zombie who was bare feet from me was suddenly missing its head. A fine mis
t of fluids spattered me. My clip ran dry.
As I drew out a new clip, Clara darted forward, a pale blur against the dark backdrop. She weaved in and out of the suddenly confused attackers, striking, kicking, grabbing and throwing. Bones broke and flesh ripped as I watched in astonishment. Her movements were graceful and deadly like a striking snake, and the zombies redoubled their efforts against her. I shot two of them as they moved in behind her, blasting their legs out from under them so they were reduced to crawling after her. She grabbed one by the neck and popped his head off his shoulders as if it were nothing more than a stubborn lid to a pickle jar. She glanced around at the body parts that lay strewn across the ground and noticed the two creeping corpses edging their way toward her. She calmly walked over to each of them and brought a savage foot down on the top of their heads. I watched in horror and awe as she wiped the viscera from her hands on her white jeans, leaving a trail of putrid grease behind.
Screams tore through the air behind me as the line was breeched. I swung around to see three of the men next to me break ranks and run. They disappeared moments later down the darkened alleys between the buildings. The streamers of flaring bullets had turned into an unsteady drizzle. Two of the jeeps had been overrun by ghouls, the monsters ripping apart the gunners and their weapons. To add insult to injury, I watched as the dead soldiers got back up and started chasing after their friends.
“Retreat!” someone yelled. It didn’t sound like Commander Mason.
Confusion reigned as men and women struggled to break contact with the enemy long enough to get away. Some even dropped their weapons as they ran. Rampaging ghouls quickly overtook the stragglers, bearing them to the ground and ripping at the body armor and helmets that protected them. Special operators worked their way among them, fighting to get to injured soldiers and dragging them to wherever they imagined was safe. The swords they wielded chopped and stabbed to minimal effect. Off on the opposite flank, Simon held off an acolyte and a handful of zombies with his twin knives. Light played along the blades as they carved the air and separated limb from body. At the center of the chaos were Ben and two men that I didn’t recognize. They both wore the black outfits of special ops. The swirling lights of magic danced about their auras. The two warlocks I had been hearing about. Even though they stood in the shadow of Ben’s immense power I could tell they were skilled. Where Ben was used to wielding his magic like a sledgehammer, they were the scalpels, as evidenced by how they had hid their presence from me when we first arrived and by cloaking their fellows to slip into our lines and remain unobserved by Christian’s scout. Stealth was obviously a skill they had in abundance.
A blue dome materialized around them as a bolt of energy streamed in from somewhere off in the distance. It struck and rebounded off to sail into an adjacent building, blowing off strips of steel and shattering windows. I could feel the bloom of Christian’s power even though I couldn’t see him. Ben and the two warlocks were the only bulwark between him and our position, and I didn’t know how much longer they could last. The blue dome shivered and cracked under another volley, this one exploding against their protective wards and showering them in tiny emerald sparks. One of the warlocks extended a finger before him, as if in accusation, towards three zombies that raced towards them. They exploded into pieces as if a bomb had gone off in their midst.
“Come on!” I yelled to Clara as I stowed my pistol and picked up a discarded rifle. Clara followed, grabbing a machete as she went. “We need to get those things off of Simon and get to Ben. Christian’s army is scattered. If we can just—”
Green-tinted lightning blistered the magic user’s wards, sheets of electricity scouring the earth around them, burning and breaking the pavement. Christian walked into view, eyes flashing with unearthly magic. One of the warlocks shouted something, desperation making his voice crack, and Christian’s red leather coat burst into flames. The blue fire whipped about him, dancing over his face and along his arms, but he seemed to take no notice. With a wave of his hand the fire was put out. The blackened shoulders of his coat were the only remaining evidence of the attack. The cascading lightning ceased, leaving his eyes looking hollow and as dead as his minions. He opened his mouth and a small, winged creature seemingly made of oily vapors burst forth. Possessing the intangibility of mist, it floated forward, expanding in size as it went. It stretched its wings and suddenly it was as large as a man. Ben cast a fireball at it, which passed through it as if it were made of smoke. Howling, the beast soared to attack.
“Hey psychic,” a voice boomed from behind me. “Catch!”
My senses raced, overcome with all that was happening, and tried to lock on to this new threat. My shield burst into being as something hit it and rolled to a stop in front of me. Grenade! my mind fairly shrieked. But it was too large for that. I looked down to see the head of the sniper poised between my feet, part of his spinal cord trailing it like a tail. His face was stuck in a grimace of agony, his beard matted in his own blood.
I swung my gaze to the building where he had been earlier. The acolyte I knew as Darius stood over the collapsed pile of flesh and waved to me.
“Behind us,” Clara said with unearthly calm.
I spun, bringing the butt of the rifle to my shoulder as I went, searching for targets. I didn’t have to look far. Two ghouls came bounding over the pile of body parts that Clara had left behind, their talons raking furrows in the concrete. My rifle belched fire and I couldn’t pull the trigger fast enough. Slender fingers of burning light punched holes in arms and legs and torsos. But still they came, stumbling for purchase on the gore-soaked ground, shark-toothed jaws clacking hungrily.
The rifle ran dry, so I turned it in my grip to wield it like a club. The first one crashed against my shield, the barrier glowing bright as the monster bounced off to the side. I staggered back from the transferred energy. My chest burned with the magical enchantment’s exertion. In my periphery, I saw Clara dancing about the other beast, her sword describing a circle that the thing dare not enter. Already I saw that it had lost a large chunk of one of its forearms, cleaved bone shone wetly through the wound. The one that had chosen me for its meal charged. Gripping the singeing metal of the barrel and bracing my feet, I swung the rifle as if it were a Louisville slugger. The butt smashed into its head in mid-leap, knocking out teeth and scattering them like bits of broken glass. Before the thing could even hit the ground I was on top of it, straddling its back and bringing the rifle-butt down on the back of its head. Up and down it went, over and over, until little more than a wet paste was left.
Behind me I heard Clara gasp and the unmistakable sound of something metal falling to the ground. My shield sputtered weakly against something behind me. I felt it break, the heat on my chest suddenly bisected by a cold line. Arms suddenly encircled me and jerked me off my feet. The rifle forgotten, I tore at the restraining grasp. A small talisman of rope and a raven feather was around one of the wrists. Darius.
“Quite a show, boy,” the acolyte jeered. The ghoul that had been attacking Clara came to sit in front of me. It was missing a hand, part of its face, and had numerous lacerations across its body that wept black blood. I looked over my shoulder to see Clara sprawled out on the ground, ribbons of crimson lacing her fair skin. “Don’t you worry none ‘bout her, boy. I’ll take real good care of her. You got a date with the Man, and he don’t like to be kept waitin’, know what I mean?”
Thunder shook the ground behind us. Buildings burned in the distance, and palls of black smoke rose in awkward columns to the sky. Lights flashed and curses were shouted. The training made it all seem far away as I studied the ghoul in front of me and the talisman on the wrist of the man that held me. I remembered the day in the graveyard and the two ghouls that had attacked me then. With the dreamscape aiding me it had all felt so easy, so simple. Once I had realized that I could reach out to the magic within them it had been child’s play to take it apart. Why then, now that I had a clear, sober mind was it so diffi
cult? The red and black energy danced in its cage of flesh, but I couldn’t touch it. What I wouldn’t give for a vial of that liquid heat right now. The magic-infused drug that could make me more than I was, more than I could be…
Or was it just that the drug pushed me past normal boundaries, touched things that normally stayed dormant inside me? Was the drug the instrument of their destruction, or was I? The snakes on my stomach seemed to coil tighter, reassuring me with their heat and flickering tongues. They tasted magic on the air, thick and musky like sweat, and they liked it.
I was the instrument, I realized: the hammer that fell, the sword that cut, the knife that pierced. Pushing out with my senses, I grasped the spell that bound spirit to ghoul and ran metaphysical fingers along thin skeins of magic.
“Whoops,” Darius said, and chuckled. “Looks like the other warlock just bit it. Whatever that smoke monster is that Christian conjured it is one nasty beastie. Glad he’s on our side. He just touched that twister with the tip of his wing and the dude just turned to ash. I wonder how much longer the old wizard can hold out.” He looked at me and grinned. “You wanna put some money on it?”
He waited for an answer while I ignored him. Part of me was shocked to hear that both warlocks were dead. Another part of me, the trained part of me, whispered that I didn’t care. Let him talk for just a few seconds more.
“No? Alright, but I’m gonna go ahead and say two more minutes. He’s pretty good, but Christian has the Master behind him. You know, I’m a little disappointed that you’re not putting up more of a fight. After squashing my dog’s head like that I thought you would at least throw a couple of punches. I was kind of hoping I could slap you around for a bit while the others round up the survivors. And that other damned vampire is being a real bitch. Put his damn fist right through Caleb’s rib cage, do you believe that?” He shook his head as his grin fell away. “But you? You just look beat. Must have finally seen the writing on the wall, huh?”
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