Graves filled with hundreds—nay, thousands—of bodies, mountains of skulls and bones. Demons feasted on the carcasses of women and children. Men were tortured to a slow death.
Atop the pile of corpses, the lifeless body of Farida turned empty, accusing eyes toward him. "You did this," her stare seemed to say.
Whether it was a memory or simply a hallucination, the Hunter couldn't tell. The pain of loss, however, was all too real.
How many more like her will die? Could I ever live with myself knowing I had harmed a child like this?
The demon within him howled, but his human half fought it back.
I cannot allow this to happen. I have found a home among these humans, and it is a home I will fight to protect, even from my own kind.
No, screamed the voice in his mind—a voice he now realized belonged to the demon within him. We must rule the world again.
It is not who I am, the human half of the Hunter thundered. I refuse to stand by and do nothing. I refuse to let any more die needlessly.
The war within his mind raged, tearing him apart. His two halves fought to overpower each other, but something in him snapped. Suddenly, with startling clarity, the Hunter knew neither side could be allowed to win.
I am both man and demon, but that is what makes me who I am. It is what makes me the Hunter.
With realization, came acceptance. As much as he hated it, that voice within him—that demon half—would always be a part of him.
His internal struggle came to a sudden, shuddering conclusion, and an odd sense of peace flooded him.
The vision of horrors dissipated. He found himself once again in the Serenii catacombs. Ropes bound him to the stone upon which thousands had died, and before him stood a demon wearing the face of the First of the Bloody Hand.
"So," the First asked, "what is your answer? Will you become what you were meant to be?"
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Hunter struggled to speak. "No." The word cut through the silence like a knife.
"What?" The First seemed taken aback by this answer. "You're rejecting your own kind, your own blood?"
"Yes."
"Even though you are the last Bucelarii? Help us, and we can make thousands more like you! Isn't that what you want? Aren't you tired of being alone?"
"More than you could possibly know," said the Hunter. "Yet even though it is what I want, I could not live with the consequences. Mankind—"
"Cares nothing for you!" the First raged. "They have hunted you down, killed your family, made you an outsider. You will never be one of them. Should they discover who you are, they will fear you, hate you."
"Then that is the burden I must bear," the Hunter replied. "I may never be fully accepted by humankind, but I cannot permit them to be slaughtered for the sake of power. There will always be that part of me that belongs to your kind, but I choose humanity." His mind no longer raced, and for the first time in his memory, he was at peace.
The First glared at him, but the anger on his face gave way to an expression of resignation. "You have made your choice," he said, sighing, "but at least you will not have long to live with it!" He raised Soulhunger high, and the blade's thirsty edge glinted in the firelight.
The Hunter's eyes widened in horror, and his arms jerked reflexively. Fear replaced his momentary calm. Icy dread froze him in place. He knew what happened to the dagger's victims, had seen the effects firsthand. The thought of the same happening to him filled him with terror, yet he could do nothing to stop it.
With a smile of triumph, the First plunged Soulhunger into the Hunter's leg.
Pain flooded the Hunter—such torment he'd never dreamed could exist—and his screams filled the cavern. Soulhunger's voice cried in ecstasy as it fed on his blood, absorbing the power running through his veins. Every fiber in his body burned, yet the horrifying chill of death stole the strength from his muscles. He couldn't move, couldn't think—nothing but torment filled his world.
You will not have me!
The war raging within burned with an intensity that pulled on the very essence of his being. The blade sought to steal his soul, and he fought it with every shred of willpower he possessed.
An eternity passed in a heartbeat, and then the blade was ripped from his thigh. With agonizing slowness, the suffering receded and the pressure within him diminished. Tears streamed down the Hunter's face. His throat ached from screaming.
The First held the blade up to the Hunter's face, watching the dagger absorb the blood. "We won't need all your blood, just yet," the First said. "For the moment, a few drops will do. We can always use the rest up later."
A few drops?
To the Hunter, it felt as if he had suffered a lifetime of pain in a few short moments. The blade had torn at his soul, and it left him hollow, empty. Drained of strength and too weak to stand, he slumped. The ropes supported his sagging frame, but the exhaustion was more than just physical. He had never felt so defeated and helpless.
There's nothing I can do to stop this from happening, he thought, despair flooding him. It's over. They win.
The First gestured Tane forward, handing the big man the dagger before turning to the Hunter. "With your blood, Hunter, and the power of Thanal Eth' Athaur," he shouted, excitement filling his voice, "a new age of power will begin. Your blood opens the way for the legions of Abiarazi, and with them, the Destroyer will be released from his imprisonment!"
The moaning wind from the Midden whipped at the Hunter's clothing and hair, filling his nostrils with the stench of decay—the same scent emanating from the First. Soulhunger's scream echoed in his mind. The blade sensed the power coursing almost tangibly through the cavern.
"Tonight, Hunter," said the First, "you bear witness to a marvel such as not been seen on this world for an age!"
Tane walked toward the edge of the Midden, holding the dagger in his hands with reverence. Just within the Hunter's line of sight stood a pedestal, a groove in the center of its smooth top. Tane inserted the dagger with care, but the Hunter's stomach lurched as the blade sunk deep into the stone.
It was as if he could feel the blood draining from the weapon, drawn into the heart of the cliff by an immense force. He almost tasted the power flowing around him; sensed it being pulled far, far down, reaching tendrils deep into the core of the world.
An enormous heartbeat echoed in his mind, thumping with enough force to shatter mountains. The Hunter shuddered in terror, yet he couldn't help feeling a sense of overwhelming awe.
The heart of the Destroyer.
Words poured from the mouth of the huge Third, spoken in a horrible language that sliced through the Hunter's core. Yet the words were familiar, almost comforting. His two halves warred within him—the demon screaming to be released, the human fighting for control. The inhuman sounds pouring from the Third's throat carried through the hurricane winds, the cascade of guttural words echoing loud over the pounding in the Hunter's ears. A voice screamed with delight, its cries of joy ringing in the Hunter's mind.
Something tugged at him, pulling him toward the Midden and its yawning void. Had he not been bound to the obelisk by heavy ropes, he had no doubt he would have been sucked into the maelstrom whipping through the cavern.
The air around him seemed to coalesce. It flowed toward the empty space above the gaping abyss of the Midden. Shadow seemed to solidify, becoming thick, viscous. Reality itself appeared to bend and twist, buckling with the force of the incantation.
Darkness formed into black light, writhing outward as a fiery hole rent the night. Demonic flames burned bright, yet they seemed to absorb the torchlight, casting horrific shadows. Waves of heat emanated from the portal, drenching his tunic with sweat. A foul wind blew through the cavern, and the Hunter gagged as the fetid stench of eternal damnation washed over him.
With a smile of triumph, the First turned to the Hunter. "Let us call forth the others," he shouted over the sound of the wind, "and we will once more rule this world as we were me
ant to!"
The thick darkness was replaced by brilliant, hellish light that blinded the Hunter and sent waves of agony rippling through his head. Reality screamed as a demonic form pushed into the world of man, and the Hunter screamed with it.
A terrifying roar burst from an inhuman throat, shaking the Hunter to the core. His subconscious mind recoiled from the horror around him, sealing itself off from the torment of reality ripping apart. Pressure mounted in his head, and his ears pounded until they felt they would burst.
"Behold," the First cried into the storm, "the first of my kin have returned to Einan. Welcome, my brother. Welcome, Abiarazi!"
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brilliant light leaked from the portal, and the Hunter, unable to shield his eyes, could do nothing but stare in horror at the monstrosity pushing its way into his world.
The thing towered twice the height of a man, its body seemingly carved from living stone. Arms far too long hung to the creature's knees, with razor claws sprouting from many-jointed fingers. It stood on paws instead of feet. Massive spikes protruded from the creature's back, and a serpentine tail trailed behind the thing as it emerged fully into the world of man.
The demon's eyes—pools of liquid darkness—stared around, taking in the cavern and its occupants. When it finally saw the Hunter, still bound to the obelisk, a horrible rictus grin spread across the thing's reptilian face, revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. The foul creature drooled, its spittle sizzling on the stone floor. Its forked tongue flicked in and out in a horrifying display of hunger.
Uncontrollable terror flashed through the Hunter. His legs sagged, and he felt as if his bowels would empty of their own accord. Panic overwhelmed his mind. He could do nothing but stare at the demon before him. This was fear like he had never experienced.
"Brother!" cried the First, shouting to make himself heard over the hellish winds whipping through the cavern. "Welcome back, Shem-zith-el, mighty warrior of the Fallen Host!"
The demon threw back its head and roared, a rumbling, crashing sound that slammed into the Hunter with the force of a thunderclap. The human half of his mind cried out in terror. The other half—his demon half—howled its delight.
Brother!
He fought to suppress the panic flooding him, willing his legs to hold him upright. The demon's roar faded, but still his heart thundered.
I cannot let this end here. He was so close to fulfilling his promise to the priests, so close to getting vengeance for Farida. I have to fight.
The Hunter wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, yet he fought to control the fear coursing through his body like poison.
No! I am the Hunter, he thought. I am the one to be feared.
He threw himself against his bonds. Desperation and fear lent strength to his arms and legs. With a thrill, he heard the ropes creak; in his rage, he had stretched his bonds enough to slip his arms free. His hands fumbled at the knots that held him bound to the obelisk, his eyes never leaving the demon.
If I can just…
The ropes fell away, and immediately hope replaced terror. Without hesitation, the Hunter sprinted towards the First, scooping up a rock from the cavern floor. He had eyes only for the man who had so callously ordered the death of his friends.
Tane was the first to notice him. The big man's eyes widened in surprise, but he reacted quickly, leaping into the Hunter's path in order to prevent him from reaching the First.
A smile touched the Hunter's lips. Instead of charging the Third, he dove in the opposite direction. Before Tane could react, the Hunter threw himself into a forward roll. His hands closed around the hilts of the Swordsman's twin blades, and the motion of his body slid them from their sheaths. Contact with the iron weapons sent waves of pain down his arms, pain he fought to ignore.
Another roar ripped through the cavern, echoing off the stone and sending fear coursing through the Hunter once more. Swallowing his terror, he turned to face the demon leering down at him.
"Come on, you bastard," shouted the Hunter, hefting the iron blades.
"You fool!" cried the First, finally noticing the Hunter. "Your heroics are useless. If you face him"—he stabbed a finger toward the huge creature—"you will be torn to shreds."
"I made a promise," the Hunter retorted, "one I intend to keep." Raising the Swordsman's blades high, he charged. He had no time for fear.
The monster swiped at him with a huge clawed hand, forcing the Hunter to throw himself beneath the massive fist. The blow missed him by less than a hand's breadth. He dashed between the thing's legs, striking out with the iron blades.
The creature roared at the touch of iron. A momentary thrill of triumph flashed through the Hunter, but his heart sank as he saw that he hadn't even scratched the thing's hide. Only two small black spots marked the places where he had struck.
By the Swordsman, he cursed. How in the twisted hell can I kill that thing if these blades won't even hurt it?
The demon turned to pursue him, but its movements suddenly grew erratic, jerky. It seemed to convulse, shuddering as the fire within it flared to a blinding intensity. Covering his eyes, the Hunter retreated until he felt the wind of the Midden whipping at his clothing. Looking down, he saw his heel hanging over the edge of the precipice—nothing but an empty, gaping void behind him.
Bloody hell!
He expected the demon to give chase, to hunt him down and tear him limb from limb, but instead he found the nightmare creature engulfed by flames. Heat singed the Hunter's face and hands, but he had nowhere to retreat, nowhere to hide from the blaze. The demon screamed as the living stone of its flesh burned, filling the cavern with the foul smell of sulfur.
"No!" cried the First, panic filling his voice.
The demon's convulsions ground to a halt, its voice dying. The flames consuming the creature whipped into a towering inferno, and a blinding light flashed through the cavern. Then, it faded into nothing. Nothing but flickering torches and the foul portal into the hells illuminated the room. Not a sound could be heard—even the wind fell eerily quiet.
The Hunter stared in amazement at the place where the demon had once stood. A shapeless mound of stone stood in its place, the only thing marking the creature's existence. The fear that had overwhelmed him at its presence diminished.
How?
"No!" the First cried again. "It's not possible!"
Did I kill it? The Hunter looked at the blades in his hand. I couldn't have.
"How in the frozen hell…" the First screamed. He rounded on Tane, anger flashing in his eyes. "What did you do?" His features shifted to those of Lord Jahel.
The big man's eyes were still wide in shock, but he raised his hands in a gesture of protest. "I'm certain I said the right words." He fell silent for a moment, then his eyes darted to the Hunter.
"You," he growled. "How did you do that? How did you kill him?"
The Hunter tried to find the words to respond, but in truth he had no idea what had happened. One moment the demon had been about to kill him; in the next, the thing had turned to lifeless stone.
He stared at the mound where the demon had once stood, and watched open-mouthed as it crumbled into dust.
A thought struck the Hunter. A blood ritual. The First needed his blood. But what if…
Hope surged within him.
It's not over yet.
"Maybe the blood itself caused the rite to fail," the Hunter offered. A sardonic expression spread across his face.
"It can't be!" shouted Lord Jahel, his frustration mounting. His features shifted in a sickening wave of meat and bone until he once more wore the face of the First. "You are the last of the Bucelarii, last descendant of Abiarazi blood."
"That may be true," the Hunter said, nodding, "but my blood is not entirely my own."
"What in the name of Zhr-zha-aurz does that mean?" the First cursed. Realization dawned, and his mouth fell open in disbelief. "You don't mean…the Beggar Priests?"
Smiling, t
he Hunter said nothing, content to watch the First's face purple with rage.
"Those thrice-damned priests. Of course they would have to find a way to ruin our plans once again." He stormed around the cavern, gesticulating wildly. "When I'm done here, I will storm that dung heap they call a temple and rip them limb from limb. I'll…"
He proceeded to give a vivid, complete description of the pain and suffering he would visit upon the priests. Even the Hunter's ears burned at the graphic imagery.
"…fuck their empty eye holes and piss on the pieces of their bodies."
Panting, his face red with exertion, the First finally finished his rant. His features morphed, shifting between the faces of Lord Cyrannius, Lord Jahel, and another face the Hunter had never seen, before finally settling into that of the First once more.
"Keeper take you, Hunter," the man snarled. "You will suffer for this! You will be thrown into the Hole once more, this time into a cell from which there is no escape. When your body has purged itself of the taint of the gods, we will attempt the ritual once again."
The Hunter hefted the iron blades. "You'll have to capture me first," he snarled, "a task you will not find easy."
The First stared at him, and for a moment, a proud grin touched his face. "You, Bucelarii, never fail to impress," he said, clapping his hands in appreciation of the Hunter's defiance. "If only there were more of you, we would once again rule the world!" He shook his head in sorrow. "Unfortunately, I have had to make do with mortal instruments."
"The Dark Heresy," the Hunter said, stepping away from the obelisk. "More pawns in your demonic game."
"What a beautiful trick to pull on the foolish humans," the First mocked. "Heresiarchs—the followers of the Heresy. The Heresy of Kharna Reborn, the Destroyer returned to Einan. Long have they furthered the aims of the Abiarazi without even realizing it. Only those of the Dark Heresy knew what they did, and what pleasure they took in their efforts!"
Darkblade Assassin_An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 32