Torment_Caulborn 6

by Nicholas Olivo

  The floor was covered with fallen wights and snaking cables. The air was filled with the scent of burned, undead flesh. A thin smoke hung in the room, refracting my laser blasts. Herb was leaning against the wall, his face pale, sweat streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t do anymore,” he said.

  I snapped out a portal, blocking the entrance to the ship and dumping the undead that went through back out into the tunnel. The extradimensional energy felt slippery, and I didn’t dare try to put the exit point any farther away, for fear I’d lose the portal completely. I glanced at the necromancer. His pupils were huge, and his hands were shaking. “Just breathe, Herb. We’ll take care of this.” I said the words, but I didn’t necessarily feel them. For once, I had a plan going into the boss fight, but at this rate, we’d get overrun before I had a chance to —

  A hatchway at the far side of the room opened, and a gust of steam poured out. The wights moved backward in unison, abandoning their assault as if they’d heard a cry to retreat. They remained ready, but it gave the group of us a chance to breathe.

  “I admire your persistence, Corinthos,” Croatoan’s voice came through the steam. “I did not expect to have to kill you twice.”

  “Well, you could just surrender,” I said, squinting into the steam. I couldn’t make anything out yet. There was just an imposing shadow looming through the steam cloud.

  Croatoan chuckled. “I am done surrendering,” he said. “But I am willing to make you a deal. You say that Hades charged you with returning me to the Pit. You are likely doing this because he has something on you, and you do not wish to return to the Pit yourself. So consider this. I know of places Sakave barely even touched on his conquests, places far beyond the reaches of the Caulborn, the Chroniclers, or the Olympians. I would be happy to drop you off in one of those places, let you rule as you saw fit, and then I would move on to a realm of my own. No tricks, no deceptions, this is my true word I’m giving you.”

  That gave me pause. If a celestial or infernal being gives you their true word, they really mean it. You can’t back out of something like that; it’s even worse than breaking a promise to Orcus. For a fraction of a second, I considered it. “You know, Croatoan, a fresh start has some appeal, but I’m not going to abandon my responsibilities to my friends. I said I would bring you back to the Pit, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Croatoan sighed. “If you cooperated, I could simply return your powers to you. But you are choosing to do this the hard way. So be it. I will crush you and rip the final bits of power from your corpse.”

  “Bring it, asshole,” I said. “Come on, I can’t wait to see what you look like now. Get out here and fight like a bowling ball.”

  Finally, Croatoan stepped through the fog, and Petra gasped. Croatoan’s new body was about seven feet tall, with green skin and a pair of horns that swept back from his head, sort of like the wings on the Flash’s mask. His body was taut with wiry muscles, and he was bare chested, but wearing some kind of spandex shorts. His arms ended in three-fingered hands tipped with claws. But the expression he wore was all too familiar to me. It was an expression of seriousness, an expression I wore right before I went against someone I knew I was going to have to kill. I knew that expression because I was feeling it right now, even as I saw it on Croatoan.

  Of course, it was pretty easy to read Croatoan’s expressions because the bastard’s new body had my face.

  Croatoan ran a thumb along his chin — my chin — and smirked. “What do you think, Corinthos? You weren’t my first choice, but you were the best of what was accessible to me.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. “But there’s only one person who gets to use that face, and it’s me. We can do this—”

  “Please don’t insult yourself by saying we can do this the easy way or the hard way. We both know which way this is going, and how it’s going to end. I will crush you, and then I will take what’s left of your soul and portal far, far away.”

  “That’s the part that doesn’t work for me,” I said, fishing in the leather pouch Jeal had given me. I pulled out a syringe, snapped Open a portal over Croatoan’s arm, and jabbed the needle through. Which promptly shattered against his new demonic skin.

  Croatoan chuckled. “Poison, Corinthos? Honestly, you fight like a woman.”

  Petra hefted one of the wight corpses from the floor and hurled it into Croatoan, catching him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. “Nope,” I grinned. “She fights like a woman.”

  Croatoan got to his feet, grinning. “Yes. And she’s made of rock.”

  I froze. So did Petra. Then she turned, jerkily, and began stomping over to me. “Vincent,” she said, fear blazing in her dark eyes, “I can’t control myself.”

  This shouldn’t be possible. Petra was made directly by a deity, and that prevented her from being controlled. I ducked as Petra swung at me, her fist leaving a dent in the metal console where my head had just been.

  “You know, Corinthos,” Croatoan was saying as I backed up and Petra stalked after me, “there’s more than one way to compel another living being. You Caulborn in particular think exclusively in terms of mental domination, but there are so many problems with that. You’ve got to overpower the target’s personality, bypass any mental wards they’ve created, and slog through more psychological tripe than’s good for any sane person. But, when you have control over an elemental aspect, say, rock, then you can physically manipulate anything made of rock. Your girlfriend here is fighting me, but unlike a mental war where she could force me out, she simply cannot win. I suppose this must be hard for y— Arkld”

  Croatoan cut off as a thick set of cables snaked around his neck and began constricting. Gears clung to another bunch of cables in the ceiling nearby, directing more cables forward, ensnaring Croatoan’s arms and legs. The wights started forward, but Croatoan’s monologue had given Herb ample time to recover and build up a chain of undead-killing runes, which were flying forward now, dropping wights like targets in a shooting gallery.

  Petra stopped swinging at me, turned on her heel, and charged forward at Croatoan. She snarled as she leapt atop his chest and began pummeling his face with the force of a jackhammer. “Bastard, bastard, bastard!” she said over and over again. Croatoan’s features, my features, were pulped into demonic jelly.

  I was reaching for another syringe in the leather pouch when the wights in the hallway all fell down, like puppets whose strings had been cut. “Nice work, Herb,” I said.

  “I didn’t do that,” Herb called. I looked over and saw a confused expression on the necromancer’s face. The glowing blue characters shimmering around him vanished as his eyes turned orange. “Something’s happening, Vincent,” he said. “There’s a necromantic build up like I’ve never seen before.”

  Petra’s fist froze before it struck Croatoan’s face again. Said face reformed a moment later. “Enough of that, thank you,” he said. She climbed off of him with those same jerky motions and began ripping the cables off of Croatoan.

  Gears sent more cables forward, this time entangling Petra. “Sorry, Petra,” he called, as more cables went toward Croatoan. The demon slashed them away with his claws and started for the door.

  “Don’t let him leave!” I shouted, and a wall of cables wove across the doorway. Thank you, Gearstripper, I thought. I shot forward, another syringe in hand. Croatoan’s skin was thick, but there had to be weaker points on his body. Maybe at the jugular? As I moved toward him, he opened his mouth and a ball of blue flame shot out. I had enough foresight to dodge to the side and felt the fire singe my hair as I hit the ground. The syringe snapped as I crashed down, its contents leaking onto the floor. I had two left.

  The cables barring the door tore apart like Silly String, and two undead monstrosities stepped inside. They were roughly humanoid in form, gray with striations running through their skin.
A human skull sat atop their… well, shoulders, as they didn’t have necks. They reminded me of the creatures that Croatoan had used when he’d tried to take over the Pit, the ones that had bested Orcus. “Allow me to introduce you to a new and improved creation of mine, Corinthos. These are the perfect soldiers. By combining rock elementals with necromantic energy, these beings have all the strength and durability of your girlfriend over there, with the withering touch of a ghoul. I’ll leave you to play with your new friends.”

  And with that, he stepped out of the ship. “Gears, bind those things!”

  “Got it, Vinnie!” Gears’s voice sounded strained. He vaulted from one bunch of cables to another, slipped, and another cable shot up from beneath to catch him. He threw out a hand, his yellow and purple gaze focused on the creatures, and sent more cables snaking forth. The creatures caught them, and the black cables turned gray, frayed, became brittle, and unraveled. Gears squealed as if in pain and fell to the ground.

  I brought Billy’s blaster rifle up to my shoulder and fired a few rounds into the nearest creature’s face. It looked at me, nonplussed, and then began stalking forward. Petra engaged the second one, trading blows back and forth. The withering effect didn’t harm Petra, but she’d been through a lot and wasn’t as fast as she’d once been. A blow caught her across the face, and she went sailing off behind one of the consoles. Her adversary wasn’t doing much better, though. It moved with jerky motions, like its arms and legs had been broken.

  The other creature was reaching for me when a giant yellow hand caught it by the wrist. I turned, stunned to see Anatiel standing there, bending the monstrosity’s arm backward until it cracked. Her formerly purple eyes had gone orange, and I spun to see Herb crouched behind a wall of cables, his eyes glowing the same shade of orange, his mouth moving silently as he chanted some necromantic binding. His face was pale and sweat ran down his cheeks as Anatiel and the other creature clashed, and Petra bounded back into the fray.

  I looked for Croatoan. The demon was slashing through the remains of the cables blocking the doorway. I stretched out with extradimensional energy, but the threads slipped around me, and the brands on my chest burned, making me lose my concentration. Croatoan was gone.

  And then he was back.

  A shimmering blue portal opened in front of me, showing me the corridor we’d walked down to get here. Croatoan stepped through, then looked around in confusion. “How —”

  A blast of fire seared across Croatoan’s face as the portal winked out, and then a tiny dragon was raking her claws across the former bowling ball’s face. Croatoan screamed in pain and rage as he swatted at Jeal, who vanished from sight a moment later.

  Croatoan opened his mouth and spat a beam of hellfire toward where Jeal had just been. The beam punched a hole in the ceiling and sent sparks flying everywhere. Gears was down, Herb and Petra were putting everything they had into fighting the abominations. Jeal was giving me a much-needed distraction, but I knew she was running on empty too.

  Time was running out. My plan had seemed so clever when I’d sent Jeal off earlier to get me those syringes. I hadn’t counted on Croatoan having needle-proof skin. He was stalking over to me now, ignoring Jeal’s attacks. His grin was one of triumph. I could see in his face that he thought, no, he knew, that I couldn’t win this. He’d end me, get the rest of my powers, and then he’d portal off to someplace far, far away.

  And then one desperate thought occurred to me. To call this a long shot was generous, but I literally had nothing left to lose. I snapped Open a portal about the size of a golf ball right next to me, put the exit inside Croatoan’s mouth, and squirted the contents of the syringe down his throat.

  Croatoan choked and gagged. “Egad, that is disgusting,” he coughed. “But what a waste. Your last efforts have failed, Corinthos. This body is immune to poison.”

  “It’s not poison,” I said, fumbling out the last syringe and squirting it into my own mouth. “It’s called Astral.”

  Croatoan looked confused, then he collapsed to the ground. With their master gone, the abominations crumpled like rag dolls. I leapt out of my body, and got a look at Croatoan’s true form. He was slim, nowhere nearly as muscular as his new body. Now that I thought about it, he looked exactly as his corpse had; purple skin, strong features, muscular but not buff. He stared down at his body, then wheeled on me, irritation plain on his face. “What is this?”

  “This is the astral plane,” I said. “We’re astrally projected right now. That means no physical powers, and no control over rocks and undeath, because hey, guess what, those don’t exist here. So it’s just you and me.” A portion of Croatoan’s chest was glowing green against his otherwise purple skin. The only way to describe what I felt was that something was calling to me — that was the part of me that Croatoan had stolen. I needed to get that out.

  Croatoan sneered. “And if there are no physical powers, no magic, what do you expect us to do, stand here and glower at one another for all eternity?”

  “I didn’t say there was no magic,” I said, shooting forward. “I just said yours wouldn’t work. And as for physical stuff, well, you just have to have a little imagination.” I grabbed on to Croatoan, and to his great surprise, drove my fist through his spectral chest. This wouldn’t typically work, but that was a bit of my soul inside him; and there was a bit of my soul out here, inside me. So Croatoan’s body couldn’t keep me out since it had already been conditioned to allow a part of me through. My fingers closed around the piece of my soul he’d trapped, and it flowed back into me.

  Putting this particular sensation into words wasn’t easy. Saying it was like being blind and then suddenly able to see is too cliché and doesn’t accurately capture the feeling. It was like coming out of a fog, like the world suddenly had a clarity to it that I’d forgotten. Warmth flowed through my chest and out to my fingers and toes, and extradimensional and apertus energy suddenly seemed much more tangible to me again. I had my powers back, and in full force, and I was about to use them.

  I wrapped my arms around Croatoan and got him in a chokehold. While Croatoan was undoubtedly stronger than I was, he had only recently reacquired a body; it had literally been thousands of years since he’d had to grapple, and he was rusty. I snapped Open a portal just in front of us, leading into the Pit. Croatoan reached behind and wrenched me off his back, throwing me toward the portal. I dismissed it and sailed through the air, gained control and then arced around, flying like Commander Courageous. I shot forward, one fist outstretched, the other at my side, and rocketed at Croatoan, Opening a portal behind him. I’d fly straight into him Raiden-style and send him into the Pit.

  Except he vanished.

  I dismissed the portal as I flew through the spot where he’d been. Shit, had the Astral worn off already? We should’ve had at least another ten minutes.

  “You know, Corinthos,” Croatoan’s voice was coming from all around me. “I must admit you continue to impress me with your resourcefulness. The astral plane is not something I realized you had access to. But now it makes sense; earlier I detected a presence moving through this plane. I tried to follow it, but I lost interest when it led me to Park Street Church.”

  I thought back to my earlier Astral trip when I’d first escaped the Pit. The menacing presence that had been following me was Croatoan? Maybe he didn’t feel menacing now because we were both astrally projected? “You weren’t here, though,” I said.

  “No,” Croatoan replied. “But the astral plane touches the realms of the dead, which I am closely connected to. So I sensed something moving here, and pursued.” He waved a hand, “But that’s not important now.” Croatoan looked around us, the astral plane version of the tunnel empty of everyone but us. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve spent any significant time in this plane. But what is it you humans say, ‘it’s like riding a bicycle’? Now, let’s see… ah, y
es, I remember now.”

  Five Croatoans appeared in front of me. “You see,” each of them said. “The astral realm is a lot like the dreamscapes that some humans get visions from. The beauty of a place like this is you can control your environment if you can focus enough. You, Corinthos” — another demon appeared behind me and slashed — “have decent control over yourself. That’s what lets you fly here. But I doubt you can do much more.” And now there were three-dozen Croatoans, all of them clawing and kicking at me. I curled up into a ball, Opened a portal beneath myself and exited forty feet above the mass of demons. They teleported up to me.

  Dammit, which one was the real one? I just needed a second or two. And then I was kicking myself. I had limited access to my powers in physical form, but here, I didn’t have the brands on my chest. I lashed out with tachyon, freezing time around me. The army of Croatoans halted in mid-motion, a still life of fangs, talons, and claws. In the Pit, the asshat doctor and his pals were immune to my freezing time; which made sense, based on what Wheatson had once told me about how some beings couldn’t be affected by temporal magics. But I’d correctly guessed that while Croatoan wouldn’t be impacted by my slowing time, his doppelgangers would.

  I flew higher and surveyed the scene. Dozens of Croatoans stood stock still, frozen in various acts of attack. But going hand to hand wasn’t Croatoan’s style. I’d seen that in my Glimpse. Croatoan led from the rear. I looked to the Croatoans who were at the edges of the demonic mass. I flew toward the first one, fist out, and punched straight through its chest and out the other side. It exploded into a cloud of shimmering motes. I blasted through a second, and a third. It was getting hard to hold the tachyon still, harder to keep time from flowing.

  I shot toward the last one on the edge, and as I closed the gap, it moved. Croatoan lashed out at me, his claws cutting through my spectral form, causing me to lose my grip on the tachyon. The demon horde started forward again, and I split my focus, creating portals in front of them and placing the exit points above the horde, the end result being the demons rained down upon themselves. Croatoan and I were punching at one another now, my comic-book-hero-inspired right crosses dealing nearly as much damage as the slashes from his talons.