He ripped his sword from the demon’s chest and bashed it in the face with the hilt, dazing it. He stood and removed the demon’s head with a slice of his blade. There was shouting above him and he dove closer to the building, hiding under an awning.
More gunshots sounded, narrowly missing him and ripping through the wood overhead. He quickly reloaded his revolver as he slid along the wall. There was a shout as a man jumped out the broken window above.
The cultist hit the ground and stumbled to the side. Arthur shot him before he could right himself and then kept moving. He made it to another door leading back into the manor. It was locked, but a good kick opened it.
He stepped into a dining area that looked mostly unused. It was dusty and filled with broken furniture. Behind him in the courtyard he heard more men jumping to the ground. He spun, fired off two more shots and then pulled the door closed.
Then he ran through the dining hall. A swinging door led into an old kitchen and each step he took kicked up a cloud of dust. The kitchen was mostly empty and had fallen into disrepair. Up ahead he saw a door open on the far side. Two men came running in.
They raised their guns to fire, but Arthur was quicker. He put a bullet into each of them but not before the second man got a shot off.
He felt the bullet hit his left arm and rip through. He staggered, catching himself on a counter and then forced his body to keep moving. He didn’t have time to examine the wound yet, and he knew that looking at it wouldn’t help anything.
He pushed through the door where they entered and found himself in another hallway, though this one was carpeted. It went to the right—back toward the entrance of the manor—and the left.
He went left, reloading his gun and trying to run quietly. He heard shouting behind him as his pursuit started to catch up. He ducked into a side room, trying to control his breathing and calm his heartrate.
His side was wet with blood and he took a second to examine the shot. It had hit the muscle and went clear through. Painful, but not debilitating. He ripped a piece off his shirt and tied it as best he could around his arm using his teeth.
More shouts, closer now. They were searching for him, checking each room. It would only be another minute before they found him. He ducked farther into the room behind a cabinet and waited.
A group—maybe five or six—moved past his hiding. One of them entered and glanced around, but he didn’t thoroughly search before announcing it clear. Arthur stepped out behind the man and followed him into the hallway, walking quietly.
At the last second—and only a few steps away—he heard a board creak underfoot. The man froze and spun, spotting Arthur behind him.
He opened his mouth to shout and Arthur attacked. He stabbed the man in the throat but not before he got a partial shout out. It was enough to alert the men up ahead.
They turned, raising guns, and one of them was carrying an assault rifle. Arthur fired off three shots of his own, dropping a man with each and then ducked into a side room as the other two returned fire. One of them didn’t go down despite behind shot in the chest, so he knew he’d located another demon.
The demon was also carrying the assault rifle, and he opened up with a hail of bullets. They shredded the wall behind him, ripping through the wood as if it wasn’t even there. Arthur fell as bullets swept overtop his prone form.
He angled his body, did his best to size up where the bullets were coming from him, and then fired. He fired off his last three shells, aiming through the wall.
The assault rifle stopped barking rounds, but whether he hit or not he didn’t know. He rolled to his feet and crept to the door, getting ready to peer around.
The wall to his left exploded as the demon dove into the room. It missed him by about a meter, scrambling to its feet and rushing back at him. He ducked and dodged, slicing his sword. He hit the demon in the arm, cutting it off, but the demon didn’t stop.
His shots had dropped one of the remaining three, which meant there was still one cultist coming after him too. Arthur saw the man raising his weapon to fire and rushed at him to stop him.
He stabbed through the wall, hitting the man in the shoulder just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet went wide and the man screamed in pain, jerking back and dropping the gun.
Arthur felt a hand grab his shoulder, and he was ripped back into the room by the demon. It was strong, even with only one arm. It lashed out at him, punching him in the face and then kicking his leg. The blows staggered him, and he felt his senses reeling under their weight.
He rolled and dodged, avoiding as many blows as he could and trying to find his footing. The demon kept after him, giving him no time to catch his balance, and it landed another series of painful blows, knocking him back against a wall.
Then the demon hit him and knocked him through the wall. It hurt like hell and he fell onto his back in a cloud of dust. It knocked the wind out of his lungs, but he knew he didn’t have time to catch his breath. He rolled and dove, running for the doorway.
The demon was right behind him, growling and grunting. Arthur rounded the door into the hall and kept running, heading toward the man he’d stabbed in the shoulder.
The man was gone, but the gun he’d dropped was still there. Arthur felt the demon closing in on him. It pounced onto him, jerking him to the floor a few feet short of the gun, and started pulling him back.
Arthur scrambled and kicked, hitting the demon in the chest and creating a small separation. He crawled, got his hand on the gun and then rolled onto his back.
He fired into the demon, emptying the clip into its chest and body. It fell forward, landing on him, and stopped moving.
He kicked it to the side and rolled over, trying to catch his breath. His vision had narrowed and it took several long minutes before he could breathe again.
His entire body ached, and he had a dozen open cuts and painful bruises. His arm throbbed, and he felt weak and weary.
He climbed to his feet and heard chanting coming from somewhere farther down the hallway.
Arthur moved quietly in that direction. His arm and side were wet where the bullet had struck him, and it was getting harder to keep his footing, but he knew he was getting close now. The chanting was louder and the words more recognizable.
The words were being spoken in Latin, though he didn’t recognize any particular prayer or incantation. He did recognize enough words to understand that it was a summoning of sorts. Whatever it was, he knew enough to know that it was nothing good.
He made it to the entryway of a large circular chamber with a vaulted ceiling. It wasn’t part of the original Manor but had been added recently. Symbols honoring various demons from a multitude of pantheons hung just inside, and thirteen people stood around a table wearing black robes and chanting. Their hoods were pulled over to conceal their faces.
None of them noticed his arrival. He couldn’t see what was on the table inside the ring, but he heard the crying and whimpering of a little girl. At the head of the congregation stood a robed figure wearing a crimson neckband to distinguish himself from the others. He was leading the chant with his arms outstretched toward the heavens.
None of them looked to be armed, but that didn’t mean much in a situation like this. Arthur was already badly injured, and if even one of the people in this room was possessed, it would be more than he could handle.
Maybe it was time to wait for backup. His little escapade had gone better than he’d ever imagined. By now, Frieda would be on her way, and it would only be another ten minutes or so before the other Hunters arrived to deal with this threat.
His decision was made for him, however, when the girl on the table screamed in agony. The combined voices of the cultists rose several octaves and the chanting intensified.
Whatever they were doing, Arthur realized, they were almost done.
He couldn’t wait. He closed his eyes and took several breaths. There was a sense of finality in his decision that was simultaneously terrifying a
nd reassuring. He tested the weight on his sword, readied his revolver, and charged into the room.
The cultists, if they even noticed him, didn’t acknowledge him. He stabbed out with his blade, cutting through the cloth and chest of a cultist. A line of blood flew through the air, splattering another still chanting.
He cut that one with the backswing, slicing off an arm and digging into the woman’s side.
Both fell to the ground screaming, but the others continued chanting. Their voices flooded the chamber, drowning everything else out. Arthur stabbed again, moving around the ring clockwise, and another cultist went down. Each attack hurt, and Arthur could tell he was losing motion in his wounded arm.
He closed the distance to stab a fourth cultist, but this one was ready for him. Arthur stabbed and the cultist threw his robes up, catching the blade. Arthur’s sword was stuck in the cloth. The cultist stepped around the robe, naked now, and lashed out with his fist at Arthur’s face.
He dodged the attack and tried to pull his sword loose, but another cultist stepped up behind him and grabbed his arms, pinning them in place. The first cultist punched again, and Arthur was unable to dodge. He took this blow to the face.
He threw his head back, hitting the man holding him in the nose with the back of his head. He felt warm blood pouring onto his neck. Then he kicked forward, hitting the first cultist in the stomach and jerking his arms free.
He spun, slicing his blade against the calf of the one behind him to hamstring him and then he head-butted the naked one again for good measure. More cultists were approaching now, encircling him and all rushing at the same time. They had blades in their hands, short knives with jagged edges, and jeers on their faces as they shouted obscenities at him.
Arthur still had his sword, but he was moving slower as his body shut down. He could hardly breathe, and his vision was starting to close in. Each attack was slower than the last, and he knew if he didn’t do something fast they would overwhelm him with sheer numbers.
The cultists all approached as one, stabbing and screaming. Arthur swung, slicing a man’s stomach open and then stabbing another. He managed to avoid most of their attacks, but a few slipped past. One jagged blade cut his right hip and another stabbed deep into his left leg.
The blade hurt more when it was ripped back out than when it went in, leaving a jagged cut on his thigh. He stumbled, cutting down another cultist and shifting his body around the table to put a barrier between him and the cultists.
There were four left, he knew, plus the one with the crimson band. That man hadn’t moved from his spot at the head of the table to help the others. He stood as still as a statue, arms raised and chanting.
One of the four stabbed at Arthur, overextending. He took the man’s arm off at the elbow and then kicked him in the chest, sending him down to the ground.
Another cultist managed to stab him in the shoulder, and he responded in kind, putting his blade completely through the man’s chest. He jerked it loose and stabbed behind him as another charged in, dropping this one as well.
The last one cut him on the back with a long gash, but Arthur managed to shift his weight and avoid the brunt of the attack. He spun, swinging wildly, and took the cultists head off.
Blood spurted from the wound and the body slipped slowly to the floor. Arthur stood there in the room, panting. It was quiet now, and it took him a few seconds to realize the chanting had stopped. The only sound other than his breathing was the girl on the table moaning.
The last cultist stood at the head of the table, gently caressing the girl’s cheek. She was around seven years old with black skin and a plethora of bruises covering her face and body. She was wearing torn and tattered clothing, and Arthur wondered how long she had been their prisoner. She looked to have been bathed in blood and was crying, barely conscious.
The cult leader slowly removed his hood. His face was torn to shreds with jagged lines running cut through it, and his eyes were blood red in the sockets. Arthur could feel the presence of the man and knew he was dealing with something terrible: a creature of pure evil.
Part of him wanted to run away. He might have the energy to escape and get away from the demon. He doubted it would pursue him and abandon its prize, even with all of the dead cultists surrounding it.
But he couldn’t do that.
Arthur made the sign of the cross and squared off against the demon, falling into a fighting stance. His body was failing and his breath was coming in short and shuddering gasps, but he wasn’t about to quit and leave the girl helpless.
The demon laughed at him, dropping the black robe and crimson band to the ground. His body was covered in rips and gashes from thousands of knife cuts and lashes. He walked forward completely unhindered and without pain.
“You are too late,” the demon said, picking a ceremonial knife up from the table beside the crying girl.
“You haven’t sacrificed her,” Arthur replied.
The demon pursed his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You’ve been here too long,” Arthur said, his voice cracking as he fought back the pain. “Let me rectify that.”
“You’re the one, aren’t you?” the demon asked. “The one whose family we killed.”
The words hit Arthur like a punch to the stomach, and he felt his grip loosen on the sword.
“Shut up,” he said.
“Yes, I knew it had to be you,” the demon continued, grinning at him. “The things we did to your daughter before we murdered her. We made your wife watch. Would you like me to tell you about them?”
He knew the demon was goading him, but Arthur didn’t care. He rushed forward, swinging his blade wildly. His rage gave him new energy, and his cuts were clean and powerful.
But they were nowhere near to landing. The demon danced away, avoiding each attack with ease, and through it all it continued to laugh wildly.
“First I stabbed your wife in the stomach and let her feel her own blood,” the demon said.
Arthur roared and sliced again. Another miss.
“And then I made her watch as I cut your daughter to pieces.”
Another attack from Arthur, but this time the demon counterattacked. It dodged past Arthur’s blow and then stabbed him twice with the ritualistic blade, once in the shoulder and the other in his stomach.
“I made the entire experience as painful and excruciating as possible. I wanted them both to feel it,” the demon said, stepping away and circling around Arthur.
Arthur shifted his weight, facing toward the demon, but he was having a hard time keeping his feet. He collapsed to a knee but forced himself to stand back up.
“Why not just surrender?” the demon continued, voice softening. “After what I did to your family, you seek release. Let me give it to you so you can return to your family. You did your best; now, let me end it.”
The offer hung in the air, enticing in its weight. Arthur missed his wife. He missed his daughter. He didn’t want to keep fighting, and there was nothing left for him here.
The demon was right. It was time to go.
Yet, in that moment, the only thing he could focus on was the girl on the table. She was barely a child, and she hadn’t asked for any of this. She didn’t deserve what was happening to her any more than his daughter had. Arthur’s family was dead because of decisions he had made.
What decisions had this little girl made?
Arthur wanted to die, but he still had business left to finish.
He forced his mind to empty of everything except the little girl. He squared off against the demon and ignored the rest of the world. He saw the demon’s lips moving as it continued to taunt him, but he no longer allowed the words to even reach him.
The demon cocked its head back to laugh again, and Arthur used the opening to rush forward. He stabbed, but this time it was a feint. The demon took the bait and Arthur followed through with his actual attack.
The blade cut through the demon’s arm and into the ches
t. The knife fell to the ground, and Arthur felt his blade chipping against ribs.
The demon roared in anger and punched out at him with its remaining hand, connecting firmly with his chest. Arthur flew back from the impact, landing hard on the ground five meters away. His sword went flying and the demon pursued, leaping on top of him.
It kept punching, launching inhumanely powerful blows against his face with its remaining hand. Black ichor was flowing from the other stump, covering Arthur’s shirt and skin.
Arthur fell into himself, ignoring the pain from each impact and focusing his energy. It didn’t matter if the demon broke his bones or destroyed his body. He didn’t need to survive this anyway.
He didn’t know where his sword had landed, his gun was out of bullets, but he did have a blade in his boot.
A punch landed, cracking the bones in his face. Arthur rolled, sliding the demon off of him, and drew the dagger from his boot. The demon hissed and pounced back at him, but Arthur was ready. He caught the demon with his left arm and plunged the blade into the demon’s eye.
They landed in a heap, the demon falling limply atop him. The weight threw him to the ground, jarring his head painfully against the marble floor. The demon twitched violently, shuddering in its final moments and then stopped moving. The blade was sunk deep into its brain.
Arthur felt all of his energy seep out. The piece of himself he’d tapped into was completely expended and he had nothing left. He knew he was going to die, but the girl was safe.
The world turned hazy, and Arthur entered a dreamlike state. In the dream he saw Frieda kneeling overtop him, a look of fear on her face as she was screaming.
And then the world was gone.
***
The trip back to reality was difficult. The first part of it was pain, agonizing and exhausting. Breathing was nearly impossible, and he couldn’t open his eyes more than a few millimeters from the pain
“You’re all right,” Frieda said, and he felt her slender hand on his shoulder, holding him down on the bed. “Relax, Arthur, you’re OK.”
The Ninth Circle (World on Fire - Side Jobs Book 1) Page 2