“Shouldn’t it be cooler in here?” Tasha asked.
“Yes,” Xander replied. “It shouldn’t smell like brimstone and sulfur either.”
Tasha winced, her actions echoed by Dexter and Jenna. “Let’s hurry!” she urged.
A door on the side wall offered the only other egress from the room. Dexter looked at it, noting dull carvings surrounding the door. They didn’t resemble anything he’d ever seen before, whether they were letters of pictures. He pushed it open, noting that it hadn’t been shut properly.
“The runes have already been burnt out by whatever came before us,” Xander said from the rear of the small convoy. “They were meant to keep intruders away.”
Dexter grunted, then kept going. The hallway opened into an antechamber, complete with closets in varying states of distress. One was smashed open, broken wooden fragments laying on the ground. Another had the door torn from its hinges. Robes, torn and shredded, were the only remnants of what might have once been in the armoires.
Beyond a larger room awaited. It was lit by glowing spheres set in sconces in the wall. A circular dais made of a glossy black stone was centered in the room, glowing black runes worked into it just beneath the surface. Black flames rose from the runes, reminding Dexter of the portal in the cave, save that this one looked far more ornate.
“Obsidian?” Xander wondered aloud.
A hissing noise was his response. Two of the gray demons turned to stare at them, both running forward immediately. Tasha moved to intercept one but it darted past her and raked its claws across Jenna’s thigh. She cried out as she buckled. The demon climbed atop her and opened its mouth to strike when Haley slammed into it and pulled it free.
The other demon slipped past Dexter’s magical sword, though not without losing its serpentine tail. Haley kicked it, unable to swing her weapons for fear of striking Dexter, then was tripped up by the clutching demon. It tore her calf with its talons and sank its teeth into her thigh, drawing a grunt from her. She smashed at it with her axe, the blade cutting into its shoulder long enough for the caustic essence of the demon to eat the steel and make the head fall off the mundane weapon.
Logan tore at it, his fingers resembling claws themselves. The demon sprang away, smoking blood leaking from its back and side. Dexter advanced on it, trapping it in the antechamber. It leapt at him but this time his sword intercepted it, gutting it as it passed him.
Bailynn stood up, shaking slightly from the burns and scrapes on her shoulder, legs, and side. The demon she’d wrestled with was gone, sent back to the netherworld. Without the immediate threat of the lesser demons they all looked to the black flames in the middle of the dais. They were very similar to the ones that had heralded the portal in the dungeon earlier. Behind it stood Rolxoth, a gleaming golden ring on his finger. Two figures awaited, one on either side of him.
“My apologies, Captain Silvercloud,” Rolxoth said. “I seldom underestimate someone so greatly, yet here you are. A pity really, I could use a resourceful individual such as yourself. I doubt you’ll feel inclined to work with me though.”
“Give my daughter back to me and there’s no telling what sort of accord we might come to,” Dexter said.
“There’s the rub, Captain. I can’t. I need her or this is all for naught.” He turned to face the beings at his side, first the one to his left which resembled nothing Dexter would ever have imagined. It stood upright on the hindquarters of a goat yet it possessed the upper torso of a man. Not just any man, but a man built like Rosh. Above the shoulders the similarity to a man ended and the cloven hooved animal returned. The creature’s head was that of a black horned bull. On Rolxoth’s right stood a red-skinned woman that reminded Dexter of Volera, except where Volera seemed merely sinful and wicked, this woman oozed a seductive evil. Then there was the leathery black wings that rose from her back, the curved horns rising from her forehead, and a tail that wrapped around her leg and ended in a wicked barb.
“Avert your eyes,” Dexter heard the whisper in his ear but could find no source for it. He turned, the distraction saving him from being drawn into the black abysses she used for eyes.
“These are to be my generals,” Rolxoth continued. “Falcyon will keep things interesting while Jezelle will insure that we do the plotting around here, not the other way around.”
“Even picking Jezelle, I’m surprised any fury would agree to your mad plans!”
Dexter turned, hearing the same voice that had whispered to him a moment ago. Volera stepped past him, though where she’d been a moment ago he had no idea.
“Volera! Ha! You’ve been cast out. You’re powerless to stop us!” Jezelle said in a voice so sultry and promising it caused the hair to rise on Dexter’s arms. Xander gasped behind him, no doubt similarly affected.
“I’m no longer a fury, but I serve a being that gives me power you could never understand!”
“One of these mortals?” Jezelle laughed scornfully. “Where is he, so that I might gaze in wonder at this powerful being?”
“He bested me in war and in passion,” Volera said. “He could destroy you with ease, but I’ll make certain you’ve been driven from this realm before it comes to that.”
Jezelle laughed in derision. Rolxoth held up his hand, silencing her. “I have only to bring one more being through, then the portal can be bound to permanence.”
“Wait!” Jenna cried out. “Take me instead! I’ll give you my soul for hers.”
“Jenna, no!” Dexter snapped.
Rolxoth let his chuckle echo in their minds. “Such compassion and warmth. It’s your failing. As pathetic as your offer is, I can’t accept such a thing. A sacrifice such as that would make your soul useless to me.”
“Then we’ll take her from you,” Dexter spat. He started forward, sword in hand.
“Kill them while I bring Temnyon through,” Rolxoth said.
Jezelle grinned, displaying pointed teeth a hunting cat would have been envious of. A sinister black sword appeared in her hand, once again similar to Volera’s. Unlike Volera, a whip coalesced out of a puff of smoke into her other hand. She cracked it against the floor for effect. Falcyon favored action over display. He simply snorted and started forward, a massive battle axe appearing in his hands.
“Where’s Rosh?” Dexter hissed to Volera.
“Cleaning up still,” she said. “I’ll handle Jezelle, just stay away from Falcyon, he’s slow.”
The double bladed axe swept through the air, whistling with its speed. Dexter’s brow scrunched as he glared at Volera’s back. ‘Slow’ was another term that her definition differed on. “You heard her,” Dexter said to his companions. “There’s only one of him and a lot of us, keep him busy!”
“I’m going to enjoy making you scream,” Jezelle promised, teasing her whip as she walked around the dais towards Volera.
Volera burst forward moving so fast she seemed a blur. Jezelle’s whip cracked, the tip snapping the air just behind Volera. The former fury struck Jezelle’s sword aside with her own and kicked out, driving her heeled boot into the fury’s armored stomach. Jezelle was forced back a step, but a quick spin from her sent Volera stumbling back from Jezelle’s buffeting wings.
Dexter and the others scattered at Falcyon’s approach. He walked straight for Dexter, holding his axe high. He stopped, stomping the ground with his hoof twice before lowering his head and charging Dexter.
The Captain jumped away but failed to avoid the impact. He was sent sprawling, his hip and back aching from where they’d slammed into the stone floor. His back had popped and felt unnaturally loose, but at least there was no pain where he’d been stuck by Falcyon’s shoulder.
Logan jumped in, slashing with his hands. Falcyon kicked out, sending the toothsome healer through the air until he hit the wall. The demon spun, roaring and catching Haley with the butt end of his battle axe. She fell to the floor, clutching her chest and gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.
Bailynn growled and pounced,
but her head followed Logan as he was knocked senseless by the wall. Distracted, she was no match for Falcyon’s thrashing head. He caught her in the chest with a horn, just under her shoulder. He whipped his head around, throwing her a dozen feet back into the antechamber.
Jenna attacked at the same time, her thrust off balance by her need to duck under Bailynn’s flailing form. Her sword bounced off Falcyon’s demonic hide, leaving her useless against him. Falcyon spun his axe towards her and only her earlier evasion saved her life. The flat of the blade still struck her on the head, tearing hair and skin and driving her to the ground and into the darkness beyond.
Tasha stepped forward, standing between her Captain and the demon. It chuckled at her pose, then roared and stomped the ground. Tasha raised her blade and sought to bring it down as the demonic general charged. When her senses returned she was laying on the ground at the base of the far wall. Her sword lay a few feet from her and she found breathing difficult, but possible. Her armor was unharmed but she felt as though she’d been used by the entire Elven Navy for ramming practice.
Falcyon turned about, but all of his opponents save one were on the ground. Xander stood there and stared at him, then rose, shaking hands before him. Falcyon chuckled until a rainbow of colors burst out of the wizard’s fingertips and washed over him. He roared and stomped, twisting away from the unorthodox magical attack. The beam of red light burned while the blue light was frigid. Yellow caused his hide and skin to crackle and green caused the outer layers of flesh and hair to spit and hiss.
He roared and stomped towards Xander, ignoring the magical assault until he was close enough to the wizard to raise his axe high overhead and begin the downward strike that would split the mage in twain.
Falcyon’s strike was blocked with a clang that rang throughout the room and the hall behind them. Rosh stood behind the wizard, straining to hold his sword in place. “I’ll take care of this,” Rosh grunted.
Xander’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the ground.
Rosh ignored the mage and stared into the evil bovine eyes before him. “Bout time I found a decent fight,” he said.
Falcyon snorted and pulled his axe back. He held his arms out wide, axe in on hand. He beat himself on the chest with the other. “Pathetic mortal,” Falcyon said in the deepest voice Rosh had ever heard.
“Got a surprise for you,” Rosh said. He raised his own sword and saw Falcyon’s eyes go to it. Thus distracted, Rosh kicked out, his boot smashing into the bull-sized genitals hanging between the demon’s legs.
Falcyon roared but, to Rosh’s amazement, the demon didn’t fall. Rosh followed through with his sword, cutting part of Falcyon’s ear off after the demon moved its axe in place to block the strike. Then Falcyon countered, jamming Rosh in the stomach with his axe and leaving bloody gashes where the tips of the blades had dug into him.
Dexter picked himself up enough to see that his crew was wounded or dying. Some might already be dead, he admitted. He pushed the thought away. They’d all be destroyed and for nothing if he couldn’t stop Rolxoth. There was more at stake than just his daughter now. All of Port Freedom was at risk and perhaps even the void beyond.
Dexter pulled himself together and tried to get his feet under him. Aching from the damage to his hips he wondered if something was broken. He rose up, but did so slowly. Clutching his sword in one hand and his hip in the other, he shuffled slowly to the wall, walking around the battling combatants on his way to stop Rolxoth.
Volera bled from a dozen wounds, though none were mortal. She’d caused as much pain or more to Jezelle but the fury had healed from her injuries within seconds. Volera’s spirit was unquenched but she glanced about, showing signs of doubting the wisdom of her actions. She knew the power of a fury. She’d been one of the most powerful, but it had been months. How quickly her new body had forgotten the strength she’d once wielded. Strength that her new Master had overcome.
“I’m going to make you scream a thousand years,” Jezelle promised her after she smashed Volera’s sword to the side. “You’re a weak and pathetic human!”
Rosh had shown her through action and deed and everything she’d known as a demon was wrong. She shook her head. “Humans aren’t weak,” she said. She backed away and straightened. “And neither am I.”
Jezelle’s laugh turned into a snarl. She snapped her whip, curling it around Volera’s throat and yanking her closer. Volera dropped her sword and grabbed at the razor edged cord wrapped around her neck. Blood ran down Volera’s fingers and across her skin from the flayed flesh. It dripped into the valley between her breasts and slipped beneath her armor.
“Now how strong are you?” Jezelle asked, pulling on the whip to drop Volera to her knees.
Volera fell to one knee, then jammed her arms out as she thrust herself upwards. Using the magic and raw strength her unique nature gave her, she drove her black nailed fingers beneath Jezelle’s cuirass and into her abdomen. She kept going, feeling the scalding temperatures of the fury’s body until she found and clutched at the heart beating within Jezelle’s chest. Volera tore it free and pulled her hands out of the fury’s abdomen. Smoke and steam rose from her arms.
Jezelle fell to her knees, her hands reaching out for the prize in Volera’s hands. It began to dissolve into smoke. Volera smiled at her and raised the smoking organ to her mouth. She plunged her teeth into it as it dissolved into smoke. Jezelle went with it, leaving nothing behind but the smell of burnt flesh.
Logan picked himself up from where he’d fallen. He took a halting step towards Falcyon when Rosh called out to him. “Save yourself, healer. This fight is beyond you.”
Rosh reached up with one hand, blocking a strike from the battle axe with his forearm on the shaft. He was driven to his knee by the force of the blow. He rose up, wrenching his arm up and back to hook his forearm under the bottom curve of the axe’s blade. He pulled it away from the demon, but Falcyon’s grip was sure.
Rosh stepped in, driving the axe back towards the demon. The backwards facing blade cut into Falcyon’s shoulder, making the demon roar anew. Smoke rose from the gash but the demon wrenched the axe away from Rosh. He swung his sword up with his other hand, aiming not to block but to destroy. Falcyon’s axe swept down, the demon understanding Rosh’s intent too late.
The shaft of the axe was severed, causing the spinning head to tumble free. Momentum guided the weapon into Rosh’s back, low on his right side. It spun away but not until after cutting a deep gash that drove the breath from his lungs and the strength from his right arm and leg. Rosh staggered, barely remaining on his feet. Falcyon stared at the end of the shaft it held in one hand, stunned by the turn of events. The demon’s left hand, which had been near the head of the axe, was dissolving into smoke where it lay on the ground.
“Heard a story on a world I visited once,” Rosh panted. Falcyon looked up at him, his bovine nostrils flaring with rage. “Sounded like fun. They called it cow tipping.”
Falcyon brayed louder than ever, deafening Rosh. He didn’t need his ears, only his eyes to know when to drop under the charging horns of the demon and then drive his legs into the ground. His right side was weak, but already recovering from the ghastly wound. He lifted Falcyon up off the ground and rolled backwards with the creature’s momentum. When they came to rest Falcyon was flailing on his back and Rosh was laying across his shaggy thighs. He picked his head up to find himself uncomfortably close to the business end of the region he’d kicked earlier.
Rosh picked himself up and slammed his fist into Falcyon’s chest. The sound of the impact echoed through the cavern but the demon kept struggling. Rosh hammered him twice more before he thought to look for his sword. It was trapped beneath the beast and out of his reach. On the other side, near his right knee, the broken haft of Falcyon’s axe lay.
Rosh grabbed up the sharpened stick and jammed it into Falcyon’s chest. He stabbed again, then had to fend off the blind punches Falcyon threw at him. Desperate at l
ast to end the fight, Rosh jammed the stick upwards, driving into the hollow at the juncture of the demons throat and its jaw and not stopping until it grated on the rock on the other side of the demon’s head. Rosh collapsed on the ground as Falcyon fell apart in a cloud of wretched smoke beneath him.
The triumphant warrior grabbed his sword and stood up slowly, then made his way over to Volera, limping with each step even though his body was knitting itself back together. “Next time I get the fury,” Rosh said.
Volera smiled, the blood on her neck and chest wet but no longer flowing. “Yes, Master.” She fell in behind him and lifted a finger wet with her blood to her lips.
“Hey Cap, we done here?” Rosh asked the staggering man.
“Just about,” Dexter hissed.
Rolxoth turned, having heard their voices so near to him. “Impossible!” His voice hissed in their minds. He ended his summoning spell and turned to face them. “I’ll have to start over. You’ve cost me time and a great deal of power. I’ll be sure to torture your souls for years to come!”
“You’ve thrown your best at us, what you got left?” Rosh asked.
“Might is the tool of weaklings,” Rolxoth said.
Dexter had a witty reply in mind but found his mouth wouldn’t work to let it loose. For that matter, his legs and arms weren’t working either. That latter fact became painfully apparent when he smacked into the rock floor. His momentum caused him to roll over so that he was able to see the faceless demon. He remembered Celia’s story of how Rolxoth has smashed in her heads of her friends with a rock while they were paralyzed. Sounded a lot like using might to him.
A scream of fury surprised Dexter, not that he could do anything about it. “You fool!” Rolxoth snapped. “What? How? No!”
Dexter saw something gold flash across the corner of his field of view. A moment later, he realized it was Tasha running towards Rolxoth. She slashed, her sword cutting across his torso before her shoulder crashed into him and sent them both flying. Rolxoth rolled away from her and staggered to his feet. He clutched his sliced skin, blood running down his body.
Voidhawk - Lost Soul Page 18