by Mel Odom
The creature that held Simon suspended in the air was so malformed that he had first didn’t recognize it. The Templar had never learned a proper name for the monstrosity before him. It was a thing of nightmare, and for a long time Templar historians believed that was what it was: a fever dream on part of a warrior next to death.
Except that the description had kept occurring. Again and again, warriors that had sought out the demons had heard stories about creatures like the one that held Simon. In the end they had simply called it a Grotesque. The name suited, even if it didn’t aptly describe the monster.
Grotesques came in different sizes, depending on the materials they had at hand when they were assembled. None of the Templar knew how the horrible things were brought to undead life in the fashion that they were, but they had seen them on occasion in the streets of London these days.
This one was as big as a cargo van. Simon guessed that at least thirty or forty corpses had gone into the Grotesque’s manufacture. Although he had never seen a Grotesque put together, Simon had seen them come apart. Even through the palladium armor, he felt the buzzing pulse of the arcane energies that bound the corpses into one large entity.
The demon was a mass of roiling flesh. Arms and legs, heads and trunks, all writhed across the monster. Hands grasped Simon and feet lashed out at him. Some of those hands held weapons and the Grotesque somehow accumulated intelligence as a gestalt that was not present in the individual parts. The whole was greater than the pieces.
A pair of arms swung a fire ax into Simon’s faceshield. The impact drove Simon’s head back, but the faceshield received no damage. A misshapen head with stumps of broken teeth grinned at him. The head was so battered and ragged that Simon could no longer tell what the original gender had been.
Simon tried to swing the Spike Bolter toward the head, but a leg kicked out and pinned his arm against the ceiling. Three rough hands with no more than eight fingers between them caught hold of Simon’s head and yanked at his helmet.
“Simon!” Nathan roared over the suit comm.
A glance at the HUD showed Simon that the other Templar were still outside the room. He was facing the monster on his own for the moment.
“I’m here.” Simon swung his arm across the leg of the corpse. Bone broke and dead flesh shredded. He pulled the Spike Bolter into line with the head. A target reticule ghosted onto the HUD screen. As soon as he had target lock, he squeezed the trigger.
Palladium spikes erupted from the pistol barrel and chewed into the Grotesque.
“On our way.” Nathan slammed his shoulder into the door and ripped it off its hinges. For a moment the Templar sprawled off-balance, then finally went forward into a roll and came up on one knee with a Blaze pistol in his fist. “Duck and cover, mate.”
Simon wrapped his free arm around his head to add further shielding.
The whumph of Nathan’s pistol flared into the room for just a moment. The arrowlike projectile thudded into the Grotesque. As it was designed to do, the shaft fragmented and sank into the demon’s undead flesh in a wider area than the impact shaft would have done. An instant later, the shaft head and the fragments ignited. Greek Fire chewed into the demon and chased the darkness from the room.
Affected by the fire as well as the detonation and the damage Simon had done with the palladium spikes, the Grotesque started to go to pieces. Body parts fell away from the center mass and the floor became covered in arms and legs as well as a few heads. They all continued to act independently but they were without any real control. The sight was horrid but the pieces couldn’t act in concert. They were largely ineffectual.
However, the Grotesque’s attacks weren’t merely physical damage dealt out by various limbs. It gaped open its maw, that center of itself it maintained no matter how large it got, and spat out fistfuls of flesh-eating parasites.
Normally these parasites, known as death maggots, were no longer than a finger’s length and feasted on the Grotesque’s victims. In extreme cases, like when the creature thought it might be beaten and was fighting for its unlife, the Grotesque used them as weapons.
The death maggots plopped wetly against Simon’s armor and stuck. In the next moment, the creatures swelled nearly ten times their original size and exploded. If not for Simon’s armor, the acidic goop hurled by the maggots would have seared his flesh and poisoned him. Civilians in the streets died almost instantly from exposures to the small demons. Those who didn’t were horribly scarred for life.
Simon opened fire again and tracked the bulbous head as it sought to evade him. The palladium spikes opened great bloodless wounds in the undead flesh but didn’t even slow the Grotesque. The demon swung Simon up against the ceiling. He struck in a bone-jarring crash that the armor wasn’t quite able to mute. His senses spun for a moment and the air left his lungs.
Then more of the Templar were in the room. Upside down now, Simon braced his boots against the ceiling and said, “Fire boot anchors.”
In response, the suit’s AI fired palladium anchors into the ceiling. They bit deeply into the rock and held Simon’s boots to the ceiling.
All a Templar needs is solid footing. Thomas Cross had told his son that nearly every day of practice. Simon had become a believer early on. His father had also taught him how to fight from many different angles. Upside down was just one of them.
Simon put the Spike Bolter away and drew his sword in both hands. The Grotesque was fighting against the damage that had been dealt it. Although that effort was a losing one, the demon still remained dangerous.
From his new vantage point, Simon swung the sword with all the strength. The sharp blade cleaved into the undead flesh. Arms and legs were lopped off in the single swipe. He managed five more attempts before he split the head that he deemed to be the one controlling the rest of the huge body.
The head fell away from the Grotesque. In response, the creature fell apart.
“Fire in the hole,” Nathan warned. He pulled the the sleek Scorcher pistol from its holster and fired into the squirming mass of flesh on the floor.
The flame erupted from the end of the weapon with a flash that Simon’s HUD barely blocked. Bright lights stabbed painfully into his eyes. When he looked back, the pieces of the Grotesque were all on fire.
“God, I hate those things,” Danielle said fervently. Even in her armor she brushed at herself as if something foul had clung to her. “I’m definitely going to need a bath after this.”
“Retract spikes,” Simon ordered.
When the spikes retracted, he dropped to the ground. He spun in mid-air and landed on his feet. He kept the sword in hand as he walked to the fiery bits of undead flesh.
“Just be glad the suit filters out all the noxious fumes,” Nathan said. “There’s nothing worse than throwing up inside the armor. I mean, you can only get so much of it out.”
“Be grateful you’ve got biohazard scrubbers built into the suit,” another Templar said.
“Yeah, but that takes bloody hours to get done properly.” Nathan kicked a flaming leg out of his way. “And the stench you have to put up with till that takes place is stomach-churning, I tell you. I’ll pass on that little treat.”
“At least now we know why the door was locked,” Leah said.
“You got that right,” Nathan grumbled. “Somebody wanted to keep that bloody thing in here. If we could have given it another few weeks, it probably would have digested itself trying to keep those maggots perky.”
“Oh, and now it isn’t that a fine image.” Danielle snorted in disgust. “Maybe you can just keep those all thoughts to yourself.”
“One thing’s for certain: if that thing was in here chances are good that no one found the stairway down to the lower levels.” Simon peered around at the floor.
“The floor seems to be intact,” Leah said. She walked over to the northeast corner of the room. The directions were clearly indicated on Simon’s HUD. “If the blueprints are correct, this is where the stairway should
be.”
“All right then,” Simon said, “let’s see if we can peel the floor back and find it.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
C ages—little more than caves hewn out of solid limestone with a panel of iron bars slapped across them—surrounded Warren on all sides. He stared in disbelief and stumbled forward to the nearest cage.
Since he didn’t have a hand torch, Warren used his own enhanced vision.
Inside the cage, a dead man lay sprawled on the floor. One of the skeletal arms was stretched forward as if his last act had been to reach for something. A metal bowl sat in the forward corner of the cage.
He knew the history of the place he was in. And he even knew a little bit about the history of sanitariums in England. He just never expected to see one.
There was no way to tell how long before this the unfortunates in the cages had been there. Long enough to die, that was evident.
“Warren,” Naomi called across the connection that stretched so thin between them. Her voice was just the tiniest whisper in the back of his mind. Then again, “Warren.”
She tugged on him then, and he barely had to resist in order to keep himself at rest. He knew that if something happened to him she wasn’t strong enough to pull him back by herself. That knowledge rekindled the sick fear in his stomach.
“I’m here,” he told her.
“Are you all right?”
As he gazed around the cages, Warren wasn’t sure he knew how to answer that. “So far,” he replied.
“Have you found Hargastor?”
“No.” Warren expanded his senses, trying to find the demon. He felt nothing. He also felt for the voice from the book that gotten him here. He felt nothing there either.
“Where are you?”
Warren took a firmer grip on the tenuous thread that connected them. He pictured the cave in his mind and pushed the image at Naomi.
Her startled gasp told him she had received the image.
You’re wasting time. Get on with it. The voice was Merihim’s, and the demon sounded like he was standing at Warren’s shoulder.
“How do I find Hargastor?” Warren asked.
Hargastor is there. He searches for a legendary manuscript that Fulaghar believes is located there.
“Is it?”
That doesn’t matter. You were sent there for other reasons.
“And if I should find such a manuscript?”
You won’t.
The certainty in the demon’s voice bothered Warren. How could Merihim not know about the book? Or did the book not truly exist?
“Warren?” Naomi called.
“I’m busy right now. Stay in touch and stay ready.”
“All right, but hurry. I’m getting tired.”
According to the information the book gave, there were four underground levels in the sanitarium. Like this one, the other three had been carved from the limestone. The book had brought up drawings of the underground sections and the sanitarium itself, but Warren didn’t know if he could trust those records.
He needed a guide.
As he circled the cages, he gazed inside and felt for the aura of those who had died there. That was another skill that he had manifested over the last few years: he had an affinity for the dead and could tell from their bones something about what they had been in life.
The men in the cages had been murderers and sexual predators. Some of them had only had carnal appetites that hadn’t been accepted in Victorian London. Those appetites wouldn’t have been given a second glance in the present world.
Warren felt saddened by his tour.
Finally he stopped at one cage. He got confusing emanations from the dead man inside. There was a sense of loss and a sense of authority. The man had belonged to the sanitarium in more than one way.
Warren put his hand on the locking mechanism of the gate. “Shatter,” he ordered. Arcane energy blasted through his hand.
The large padlock burst into pieces and fell to the ground. Metal tinkled against the stone. When he pulled on the gate, it opened on rusty hasps that screamed into the silence.
The dead man sat hunched in a corner. He had died sitting up. There had been no room to do anything else. An additional arm bone lay on the floor beside him. When Warren checked the neighboring cells, he found that one of the skeletons inside was missing an arm.
There was no doubt from where the dead man had gotten the extra arm.
An iron manacle encircled the skeleton’s right ankle. Wear on the bone showed that the manacle had worn through the flesh. Whoever had put the man in the cage hadn’t fully trusted the cage to hold him.
Warren laid his demon’s hand upon the man’s skull. “Wake,” he commanded.
At first nothing happened. Warren started to repeat the command, something he had never had to do before, when the skeleton shivered all over. Bones clacked and clinked as if someone had pulled a hammer down a xylophone.
The dead man’s skull, wisps of hair still clinging to the ivory bone, swiveled and looked up at Warren. Red malice gleamed in the eye sockets.
The skeleton moved with more speed than Warren had ever seen in the newly revived. It lunged at him with hands opened wide to stretch around his throat.
Simon knelt on the floor above the area where he believed the staircase had been hidden.
“You’re only guessing that the concrete was poured a few inches thick in this area,” Nathan said. “You could be wrong.”
“I know,” Simon said. “We’ll find out in a moment.” He drew back his fist and slammed it against the concrete floor. He immediately pressed his palm against the floor section and waited.
The HUD measured the sonic waves that went through concrete. The application was similar to ground sonar. The suit’s AI ciphered the various permutations of the information that came through Simon’s glove after the blow.
“Based on information available, the density of this material is less than eight inches thick. It is backed by a wooden surface no more than an inch thick and probably made of oak.”
Simon smiled and sent the information around to the rest of the group. “Looks like all we need is a little muscle.” He drew his arm back.
“Wait,” Leah said. “There’s an easier way. You don’t want to risk injuring the armor.”
Simon glanced up at her. “This isn’t going to hurt the armor. The armor can take a whole lot more than this. If it didn’t, I’d have been dead years ago.”
Leah dropped to her knees. She’s moved her armored hands over the floor surface a few times. “If you hit the concrete and splinter it—even if you don’t hurt the armor—you’re going to make a bloody lot of racket.”
Simon couldn’t argue that.
“With the stairway open below this, sounds will travel a long way.” Leah stopped moving. She placed her hands flat on the concrete. “How wide would you say the stairway opening is?”
A quick glance at the schematic gave Simon the measurements. “Forty-seven, one-half inches.”
Leah spread her hands again. She leaned forward to put her weight on her shoulders. “Watch yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re wrong about those measurements, or the placement, you may just get a freight express ride to the bottom of the next room.” Despite the situation, Simon heard the grin in her voice.
Before he could move, the floor seemed to shake violently beneath him. Jagged cracks suddenly showed in the concrete section between her hands. Some of the cracks ran between Simon’s knees. Others ran for the Templar standing watch.
Nathan and Danielle stepped backward quickly.
The measurements had evidently been off. One of Simon’s knees sank through the floor. As he started to fall, he slapped his right hand against the wall next to him and ordered the suit AI to anchor him. A spike drove into the wall and kept him from falling into the abyss below.
Leah wasn’t so lucky. She dropped like a rock. Before she could fall into the room below, though,
Simon grabbed her and held her suspended.
“Guess those measurements were off a little,” Simon said sheepishly.
“Do you think?” Leah asked sarcastically.
Simon took the fact that nothing launched out of the darkness to try to kill them was a good sign. Effortlessly, he pulled Leah up and sat her on solid ground again.
“I suppose you’ve got sonic pulsers in those gloves?” Nathan asked.
“You’d be surprised how many times they come in handy getting into and out of places,” Leah applied.
“Bloody brill.” Nathan surveyed the hole in the floor. “Can you go through walls with those things?”
“I found them to be good for up to a foot of concrete.”
“I’ve definitely got to start thinking about some upgrades on my armor,” Nathan said. “Maybe I could work in sonic pulsers of my own.”
“Yeah, it works great on regular concrete,” Danielle said sarcastically. “Throw some rebar into the mix, and you’ll have a much different turnout. And now, if maybe we’re through with mutual admiration society? It would be just nifty if we could follow Simon.”
As soon as he was certain that Leah was safe, Simon had retracted the anchor from the wall and started down the steps. His thermographic vision revealed nothing waiting below. Anything that had of an internal temperature above or below the ambient temperature in the rooms would have registered.
Concrete debris littered the steps as they corkscrewed down into the lower levels. In the HUD, Simon saw the others fall into step behind him. Their order had been prearranged and they followed it now. Two Templar always waited behind to hold the rear guard in case they had to retreat in a hurry.
The HUD map has overlaid what Simon was seeing with what he had downloaded from the blueprints. There were inconsistencies and irregularities, but for the most part everything was the same.