Someone in the OCI realized what was coming and shouts could be heard on the other side. Shadows appeared as a few guards risked peeks over the wall. The Grimnoir immediately began shooting at anything that moved. A few of the OCI got shots off before they were driven out of sight. Bullets puckered through the Summoned’s doughy flesh, hissing smoke, but it wasn’t nearly enough to slow the mighty beast.
The Summoned lowered its formless head, ducked a shoulder, and hit the wall with a terrible crash. The bricks cracked, split, and the whole wall shuddered. Men cried out as they were flung from the walkway. The Summoned kept on pushing, stubby legs throwing up plumes of dirt, and the wall began to fall apart. The pale glow momentarily disappeared in a cloud of red dust as stones crashed and broke.
The Grimnoir began to cheer.
When the dust cleared, the Summoned was standing before a huge gash in the wall.
They had their entrance. “Follow me.” Sullivan shouted as he vaulted over the log.
“Halt,” the Iron Guard ordered. “Incoming.”
Sullivan froze at the sound of leathery wings. Something passed overhead and blocked the stars, then the wings folded in and a bolt of black fell from the sky, whistling through the air. It hit the ground next to Ian’s Summoned in an explosion of soft earth. Sullivan covered his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and bits of brick.
Something massive shot from the hole toward Ian’s creature. The pale Summoned spun toward the new arrival, only to have four awful lacerations rip through its chest in an explosion of ink. It crashed backwards, tearing down an even wider chunk of wall, and was quickly covered in tumbling bricks.
Lowering the gigantic claw that it had used to effortlessly tear through the Summoned, the new demon slowly turned to face them. It was humanoid, mostly, blacker than the night and nearly as tall as what was left of the crumbling compound wall. A bank of four red eyes watched them from under a heavy brow of bone. Ram’s horns curled around each side of the misshapen skull.
It was the most impressive demon Sullivan had ever seen. Bigger than the one that had killed General Roosevelt in the war, bigger than the Bull King from Mar Pacifica, and that one had soaked up a burst from a .50 Caliber like it was nothing. Sure, bullets would kill a greater Summoned eventually, but without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing without taking heavy causalities.
The demon grinned with a mouth full needles. “Heavy Jake Sullivan, I presume . . .” The horns dipped in recognition.
“Yep.” Sullivan said flatly. This had to be Crow. There was no use talking to this asshole. “And you must be— Open fire!”
Francis could barely hear the gunfire through the thick walls of his prison cell. He was focusing so hard on the spell that he’d drawn that it was making his eyes hurt, but he still couldn’t access his Power.
There was a clank and a clatter in the hall. They were unlocking his door.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
He could hear them now. “—and Griffin, take the rich guy first. He’s soft. The rest of us grab the German. That bastard’s a handful.”
The heavy door creaked open.
Francis swore at the design and cursed Buckminster Fuller to hell. Why won’t you work? Damn it! The OCI men came quickly into the room, but Francis was too busy to look at them. It was all there, bits and pieces, shapes and lines. Why did the Power have to be so damn complicated?
Rough hands grabbed hold of him. “Come quiet, Stuyvesant, or we’ll have to bust you up.” A key was inserted into one shackle and the lock clicked open. Pain flooded through his cramped arm, but Francis was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. The other wrist was freed and he was hauled to his feet.
From this angle the spell looked a little different. Obviously, he’d been stuck looking at it the same way the entire time, plus, from standing, Francis could see what he’d done wrong. Two of the lines hadn’t met completely!
“Come on—” The goon choked on the words as Francis slammed his elbow back hard. The other men standing in the doorway were taken by surprise. Francis shook free long enough to slug the second one in the mouth before he was tackled and dog-piled to the ground.
Don’t mess it up. Please, don’t mess it up. Despite the weight on top of him, Francis struggled forward, got one hand free, stretched, and tried to complete the intersection. Then somebody had his legs and he was pulled across the floor on his face. Did I get it? He couldn’t see anymore, as he was now completely surrounded by OCI thugs. His hands were yanked behind his back and tied with cord. “Get off me, you rat bastards!”
Somebody punched him in the mouth. Someone else kicked hard in the stomach.
“Watch it, idiot. Can’t have him too beat up.”
“Thought you said he was soft,” gasped one man.
“Get them, Francis!” Heinrich shouted through the wall.
“Shut up, Kraut! Get him out of here. We’ll deal with that damned German.”
The last thing Francis heard was Heinrich shouting, “Come and try me, Scheisskopf!” before he was dragged into the hall with one man clamped onto each elbow. Four other OCI men followed them out into the hall, but they turned and went toward Heinrich’s door. Despite his thrashing, both of the guards were far bigger and stronger than he was and they merely pulled Francis along like an unruly child.
As they started up the stairs, Francis managed to crane his neck enough for one last look. The others were focused on Heinrich’s door, and they didn’t notice the shift in the shadows as some new source of light flickered through the open door of Francis’cell.
Francis experienced a momentary flash of excitement.
But nothing happened.
Then the OCI thugs pulled him up the stairs and his hopes were dashed.
Heinrich was ready as he could be. The unlocked shackles were resting on his freed wrists. Outnumbered and against an enemy prepared for a scrap, he would be at a disadvantage, but they would not be expecting him to have freed himself. The nails that Lance had slipped him were squeezed in one fist, just their points sticking past his knuckles. An advantage, any advantage, could be utilized to great effect, and surprise was one of Heinrich’s favorites.
When he’d struggled against the OCI before, he’d discovered that they were a hardy lot, but it didn’t matter how tough you were with your eye gouged out or your throat crushed in the first few seconds of an engagement. He reasoned that he could take one, maybe two of them quickly, then it would be a struggle to defeat the remainder.
The room was only ten by ten, slightly more spacious than fighting inside an elevator car. There would be little room for maneuvering, another advantage to the numerically superior side. There was a single light source in the room. If he could put it out, the darkness could add to the confusion. It was a useful possibility.
However, even if he made it past these men, there would be many more, and he was unarmed, had no Power, and did not know the layout of the facility at all. He would more than likely be gunned down, but it would be worth it if he could cause a distraction to aid his fellow knights.
Most men would have been frightened, but not Heinrich Koenig. It was about time he’d finally be able to have some excitement around here. Being a prisoner had proven to be terribly monotonous. Worst case scenario, the OCI would damage his body to the extent that they would no longer be able to utilize his corpse in their secret scheme. Sometimes, spite alone was worth dying for.
He could hear the men unlatching the door, but there was something faint in the background . . . What is that noise? It was like . . . wind? But it was coming through the chain hole leading to the cell that Francis had occupied. Interesting. There had never been a breeze any other time that door had been opened, though it wasn’t quite right, as there was something other than simply the whistling of wind . . . It was almost a suction noise.
But there was no more time to ponder on the sound. The door opened.
“Time to go,” said the leade
r. Heinrich recognized him from the split lip. He had been one of the guards Heinrich had fought on his last escape attempt. The leader and two other burly types entered the cell while a fourth stayed in the hall. That one had a small orange box in hand, and stroked it as nervously as an old nun with a rosary. Of course, there was a large nullification field over the entire prison, but they would have to be bringing along some smaller ones to keep him and Francis under control while they were transported. “Let’s get you to the scene of your crime. It’s gonna be a bloody night.”
“You disgust me. You filth would murder your own people to advance your cause?”
“Literally, our own people,” said the man on Heinrich’s right. “Buddy, you got no idea.”
Heinrich didn’t know what he was talking about. Who was the target?
“Shut up, Deych. The Coordinator’s plans are solid. Sometimes you’ve got to break some eggs.” The chief OCI man was a thick-necked, dark-haired slab of meat, with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. “Grab him.”
“Alright, Sharps. Never mind I said anything.” Deych took one of Heinrich’s arms. The second pulled a ring of keys from his coat and reached for the shackles.
“What’s that noise?” asked Sharps, hearing the whistling wind for the first time. He put one hand to a cauliflowered ear. “You boys hear that?”
“Yeah—” But the man didn’t get to finish, since Heinrich punched him in the throat with two rusty nails. He kicked Deych in the knee, and as he lurched away, the open shackles fell to the floor. Heinrich scrambled to his feet.
“What the fuck?” Sharps took in his men, one hopping on one leg and the other clutching his bleeding throat. “How’d you get loose?”
Heinrich charged, but Sharps surprised him. The OCI man was remarkably quick on his feet. He sidestepped and threw a hook into Heinrich’s ribs. The blow was fearsome, and Sharps followed that up with a nasty punch to the side of his head. Heinrich tried to hit back, but Sharps simply blocked the shot and put one of his fists into Heinrich’s eye. Heinrich realized as he crashed into the far wall that he’d drastically underestimated the fighting skills of this particular OCI agent.
The man in the hallway drew a pistol.
“Stay out of this. The German is mine,” Sharps ordered. “Well, shit . . . Look at that. I messed up his face. Look what you made me do.”
“He can’t look too roughed up,” Deych said. “The Coordinator will be pissed.”
“The Coordinator didn’t think he’d have already escaped either. I’ll try not to mess up that pretty face, otherwise Stuyvesant will have to do. Stand back, boys, and Greg, see if you can’t get Tom’s neck to stop bleeding all over.”
Blood was running down Heinrich’s face. He’d cut his scalp against the rough wall. Hopefully it made him look more injured than he really was.
Sharps cracked his knuckles. “You’re a clever Jerry, but you picked the wrong man to tussle with. Nick Sharps. Heard the name?”
Heinrich pulled himself up. His ribs were on fire. The big man was only a few feet away. “Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Heavyweight contender few a years back, until some tiny little Active punk near killed me in an exhibition bout. You know what that does to a man’s fighting career? It’s like losing to a kangaroo. Embarrassing regular folks just ’cause you can. Your kind ain’t shit without fancy magic tricks to back you up.” Sharps lifted his scarred fists. “You got no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy this. Let’s see how good you Actives are in a fair fight.”
Heinrich had lost the nails. Which was rather unfortunate, since Heinrich was of average size while his opponent was nearly the size of Jake Sullivan, but Heinrich had grown up fighting zombies, and thus had no concept of the words fair fight. Heinrich mirrored Sharps’ boxing stance, though he had no intent of duking it out with this monster.
Sharps stepped up to swing, but Heinrich immediately dove at his legs, wrapped his arms tight around the bigger man’s ankles and drove all of his weight against the knees. The OCI man bellowed as they crashed into the dust. Heinrich rose enough to punch him in the crotch a few times, then rolled away, managed to get up first, and kicked Sharps in the back of the neck.
“Lumbering oaf!” Heinrich shouted as Sharps tried to get up. He stabbed one thumb into Sharps’ eye and used his other hand to try to rip his ear off. “I’ll show you how we do it in Berlin!”
“Get him off!” the OCI man cried.
So much for fair. The other two rushed him. One was still bleeding badly from the neck punctures, so Heinrich concentrated on him first, and managed to strike him repeatedly on the face before Deych caught a handful of Heinrich’s shirt. So Heinrich bit a chunk out of Deych’s forearm. Then Sharps got up and joined in. It was a blur of motion as the three of them crashed and blundered about the tiny cell. The Fade was dwarfed by his opponents, but he fought like a cornered animal. Something hit the light and sent it swinging. Wild shadows added to the confusion.
They had not been expecting this level of savagery. Heinrich mentally congratulated himself for that as he jerked a knee into someone’s face, but then a flailing fist smashed his nose flat. He managed to hook his finger into a snarling mouth and fish-hooked Sharps until the man’s face split open. There was an incoherent cry of pain, and that just spurred Heinrich on. Each one of these men was larger than him, and all of them were tough, but he never quit moving, striking, punching, and kicking. He’d been hoping that one of them had been stupid enough to bring a gun into reach, but they’d not given him that opportunity.
Thirty seconds later, Heinrich was in one corner, back to the wall, bruised knuckles raised before him. His shirt was hanging in tatters, one eye was swollen shut, and he could taste blood and feel the grit of broken teeth. Heinrich was not sure if the noise he was hearing was from all the severe blows to his head or if the whistling noise had actually turned into an obvious howl.
The OCI men were standing at the far end, bleeding and shaking. The room was so small that one step would put them back into striking range. The OCI with the new neck piercings leaned against the wall, then took a slow, dazed seat on the floor. He was done.
“So much for not damaging the merchandise. Kid’s a scrapper. Forget this . . .” Sharps gasped. He may have maintained some of his striking abilities, but he no longer had a fighter’s wind. “Shoot him, Clark.”
The man in the hall coldly lifted his gun, pointed it at Heinrich’s face, and exploded.
The concussion smashed Heinrich against the wall.
It took him a moment to blink himself back to coherence. What was that? The hall was painted with blood. The gunman, now flat on his back, raised one arm that now ended in a stump and began to scream.
The explosive hadn’t been very large, so it must have been on the OCI man’s person . . . There wasn’t time to think it through. His opponents had been knocked down as well, but Sharps was already getting back up. Then Heinrich noticed that the light bulb had been knocked out, but somehow he could still see, though the illumination was very odd. The white of Sharps’ shirt glowed bright, as did his teeth and eyes, but everything else was lit by some sort of black light that was coming from . . .
“Scheiss!” A small bit of crackling black light had appeared in the bottom of the wall that separated them from Francis’ cell. Dust motes were swirling around the strange spot as if it was some sort of vortex. Inside the strange light was nothing, and the nothing was growing. The circle inched forward, and as it did so, the bricks around it crumbled into dust and disappeared into the vortex.
Heinrich had no idea what that was, but the way it was devouring the bricks made him very uncomfortable. It was time to go. He leapt for the exit.
Again, Sharps was too quick. He caught Heinrich and threw him violently back. Heinrich bounced off the far wall and slid to the floor.
“Fool. Look at that!” Heinrich pointed desperately at the slowly growing . . . whatever it was. “Run!”
“What is that?” Deych, too, had seen the anomaly. “We gotta get out of here.” The blackness had now taken up the bottom half of the wall and a few feet of the floor.
“Not now, Greg. Not ‘til he’s dead,” Sharps growled as Heinrich pushed himself back up. The OCI man had wised up this time, and his approach was methodical. When Heinrich rushed him, the gigantic fists fell like rain. Heinrich managed to latch onto Sharps’ coat, but the big man just kept punching him in the side. Heinrich’s knees buckled, but before he could fall, Sharps cocked back one arm and smashed a mighty overhand right into Heinrich’s skull. The hard floor rushed up to meet him.
“Sharps! We’ve got to go!” Deych shouted again, the fear obvious.
The OCI man that Heinrich struck in the neck had passed out from blood loss and was slumped on the floor. As the edge of the darkness touched one of his outstretched hands, he was simply pulled into the vortex without a sound, almost as if something had taken hold and dragged him inside. Within a second, his feet disappeared into the black light and he was gone. Deych swore and ran for it. Heinrich tried to crawl for the door, but Sharps kicked him in the side hard enough to lift him off the ground.
The howl turned into a scream as their air was consumed by the void. Heinrich could hardly see the devouring blob through his swollen eyes, but now he could feel it. The void was fueled by magic, and the OCI’s nullifiers were pushing against it. Only this thing was so powerful that it laughed at the dampening effect and pushed back. This time the explosion came from above, and it was far stronger. The entire building shook to its foundation. Boards broke and dust rained from the ceiling. It was like being at the receiving end of an artillery bombardment.
Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 37