Someone started the arcane jukebox in the corner. A heavy guitar riff blasted over unintelligible vocals.
“Aren’t you going to ask what sort of event we’re going to?” Vago asked with a smile.
“No,” Black said. “I don’t have much of a choice but to go. It doesn’t mean I have to care.” She leaned in closer to him. “We’ve been here for almost three weeks, Vago. And while I appreciate your helping us, we are paying you back by assisting your lackeys with every shitty job you throw our way. Now you want to use me as arm candy to go to some gambling den or to make a public appearance at a pit-fight. But know this: my team and I are leaving. And we’re going to do it soon.” She sat back and took another drink. “And if you try to stop us, you’re going to pay.”
He smiled. His face stretched. Thaumaturgic grafts had been laced into his flesh to protect his body from long-term exposure to caustic coastal winds and to shield his mind from psychic intrusion. He looked like an intelligent zombie.
“You are a remarkable creature,” he smiled.
“Yeah. I get that a lot. So…” She lit another cigarillo. God, I don’t need to get hooked on these again. “Since clearly you’re just dying to tell me…what’s the event?”
“A race.”
“Oh, goody,” she said. “Chickens?”
“Automobiles,” he smiled.
“Oh. Goody.”
Blacksand’s racing arena was a tall and columnar structure made of red steel and dark stone. The stadium seats were arranged at such a steep angle Danica felt sure she’d tumble out of the stands and back down to the central racing pit if she didn’t step carefully. Spectators packed the complex. They were ruddy-faced and sweaty-palmed drifters, merchants and runaway soldiers. People desperately clutched cash and coins in their dirt-caked hands, and their faces were dank with sweat and industrial oil.
Fueling pits billowed thick plumes of gritty steam. Exhaust and heat turned the air hazy and thick. The arena hummed and vibrated.
Danica, Vago and his bodyguards were seated on the uppermost balcony of the stadium seats, a semi-private box that hung precariously out into open air. Danica felt the sting of salt wind and saw churning clouds in the distance.
The height at which they sat was truly dizzying. Hard winds came in from the sea and shook the structure. The seats were made of hard metal and covered with loose red blankets and imitation wool that smelled like goats. Black didn’t want to use her spirit to shield herself from the cold, so she pulled her armored coat tight and did her best to ignore it.
“I don’t like being this exposed,” she said to Vago. The box was separated from the nearest seats by metal rails, but she and Vago were plainly visible to everyone around them. “I thought the idea of hiding was to keep a low profile.”
“My dear Danica,” Vago smiled. “You must trust me. I’ve hidden people before. The best place to hide is in plain sight.”
“It’s also the best place to go if you want to get shot in the face,” she said.
Their seats were located a good 300 feet over the race track. Black was able to make out a surprising number of details from their vantage, like the fact that human skulls bordered the road and that the names of prominent dead racers had been carved or slashed into the concrete.
The growl of revving engines shook the arena. Massive vehicles crafted from black steel and magically hardened bone drove up to the starting line. Tailpipes spat spectral-laced smoke. The vehicles sported armor plate, gigantic ram blades and massive chain-wrapped wheels. Drivers buried beneath thick leather and iron helmets looked up and saluted the crowd, which had worked itself to frenzy. Money exchanged hands as bets were placed. People rushed to their seats.
Danica and her spirit felt more tension in the air than excitement. The spectators expected someone to die, and based on what Black saw that was exactly what they were going to get.
The racers were all highly stylized showmen with bizarre costumes, bull horn helmets and purple and black face-paint, fetishist leather zipper masks or flamboyant gladiator steel. One racer was dressed up like a psychotic clown with fangs, and he had blood on his button nose and his oversized lips; another was dressed like a dystopian vampire opera singer, complete with a top-hat and a cane carved out of bone. Their cars were grungy and dark, covered in blood and oil and armed to the teeth with blades and melee weapons (no projectiles were allowed, as the risk of injuring the crowd was too great). Many of the vehicles bore logos and stylized designs like leering faces or skull-and-crossbones or scantily clad women with bat’s wings.
An announcer came over the crackling intercom and announced each racer and his vehicle. Barely dressed showgirls smiled and waved at the crowd as they marched across the arena floor with excessive banners.
Danica found the entire scene preposterous. It reminded her of the death races they’d held at Black Scar, only this event was jovial, and someone might actually survive.
A blaring horn sounded, and the race began.
A dune-buggy equipped with bladed ram plates quickly took the lead as it knocked a retrofitted Trans Am into the wall. A thick red truck so loaded down with armor it was a wonder it could even move bullied its way into the middle of the pack, followed closely by an El Camino with saw blades in its grill.
While she watched the race from their dizzying perch, Danica noticed that others were watching her, merchants and black marketers, mercenaries and drug dealers, all associates of Vago’s who were clearly impressed by the “date” he’d brought to the races.
I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to wear a cocktail dress, she thought bitterly.
Crashes sounded up from the arena and shook the narrow stadium. The crowd roared as the El Camino skid, fishtailed and spun into a massive spike in the wall. The vehicle ripped apart in a shower of steel and blood.
Danica looked up. Something was wrong. She wasn’t sure what, but she sensed something, some presence at the periphery of her vision.
The crowd roared. Another crash sounded down below. Three of the nine cars had already wrecked.
She smelled acid in the wind. Danica felt off-balance as the chaos of motion and sound twisted around her. Normally she’d have used her spirit to fight off the feeling, but she didn’t dare, not with how exposed they were.
God damn it, Vago, it’s like you want me to get caught.
That thought didn’t settle well with her. She was already suspicious of their so-called “host”, and she wouldn’t have put it past him to arrange her capture, so long as he saw a profit in the deal.
Her spirit burned against her skin. He’d detected something, some danger, and he wasn’t about to sit idly by while it got closer.
Danica hadn’t actually seen anything except for a shimmer in the air, a faint disturbance, like a shadow had passed in front of the sun. Whatever it was, it was gone now, lost in the cacophony of shouts and coins. People held their drinks high as another vehicle was demolished in a blast of red fire and black smoke.
Her spirit wrapped around her. If there were any Revengers nearby they’d detect her in seconds, but at that moment she didn’t care.
Something had already found her.
Metal ripped open the air. Something oozed through the wound in the atmosphere and seeped through like sick honey.
Danica sent her spirit into the crowd to find out what the intruder was. Its presence filled her with dread. She felt like she’d stepped through a cold waterfall.
She drew a katar and wrapped it with vitriolic energy. Danica felt eyes on her. Vago shouted at her to sit down. His bodyguards stepped close, but she shot them a look that made them back off.
Her spirit’s vision broke things down to their baser elements. Danica looked through a lens of blood and saw through people’s skin and bones and sensed their life energy. She noted the hexed security measures in the arena, measures that hadn’t been enough to keep this creature out.
It came into view: the murderwraith. To everyone else’s eyes it was a ta
ll human male, slightly heavyset with thick fingers and a balding pate. He wore workman’s clothes and was armed with nothing more than a racing sheet and a mug of green beer.
But through the eyes of her spirit Danica saw the alien presence for what it truly was: walking ooze, a monstrous pile of human-shaped slime and gelatin that stood some ten feet tall.
Eyes like bleeding winter narrowed as the slimy brute flew at her. The smoking wraith expanded, stretched and fused with the clouds before it condensed into a solid fog giant. Hooked blades took shape at the ends of its cumulus appendages.
Danica felt ice vapors curl away from her skin. The rotting wind carried the taste of spectral drool. Claws like scissors unfolded from the murderwraith’s form.
Her spirit shifted to a column of dark fire. Heat flushed her arms. Her vision narrowed and focused as rage burned inside her.
The murderwraith howled. Knife claws shot towards Danica’s heart and came so close her skin went blue from its icy aura. Steaming teeth evaporated as the carnivorous ghost exhaled clouds of white frost.
The wraith’s leering inhuman face collapsed as she blasted through it with a spiral of ebon flame. Its phantom body retreated in a blast of dead fog.
People screamed and ducked and moved out of the way. Danica was thankful no one had been injured by the blast – it had shot straight through the creature and off into empty air.
“What the hell are you doing?” Vago shouted. His bodyguards stood nearby.
They can’t see it, she realized. They haven’t detected it at all. An undead that powerful shouldn’t have been invisible.
“I was being attacked…” she started to say, but a wailing klaxon drowned out her voice.
A Killraven squad flew into view from around a nearby building.
God damn it! That thing was just a scout, calling me out, forcing me to defend myself so they could lock onto my arcane signature.
“You’re on your own then, you stupid bitch!” Vago shouted. His bodyguards pulled him back, and they vanished into the crowd.
Shit.
Danica pulled her spirit in and pushed her way down the aisles as the Killravens drew close. Vago was already gone. She was alone.
The Killravens moved fast. She saw their grey-blue armor and bladed wings draw within 100 yards. Smoke poured from exhaust panels in the bottoms of the armor packs, and their bladed gauntlets crackled with arcane power. A small cluster of scout homunculi accompanied the eight-man crew and filled the air like a swarm of enormous bats. The Killravens spread out and dodged through the steel cables and wire mesh that linked Blacksand’s taller structures together.
“Bitch!”
Someone in the crowd shot at Danica with a .357 Magnum. People shouted and scrambled out of the way. Danica knocked the gunner aside with a sweep of icy wind.
Another spectator armed with a knife came at her, and Danica ducked beneath his blow and struck him backhanded, then kicked him in the solar plexus and sent him to the ground.
Her spirit flushed against her skin and shielded her like armor. He’d been cooped up for too long, held inactive and hidden away, and now his anger flooded to the surface like a tidal wave. It would be all but impossible to hold him back.
The stadium exploded into madness. People ran for safety, but since most of the crowd was armed random gunshots rang out as people attacked whatever they thought the threat was. Luckily, only a few of those shots were directed at Danica. Her spirit deflected stray bullets and fists as she pushed her way towards the edge of the upper seating platform. She leapt over the side.
Wind rushed up at her. Her spirit pushed up and against her with ethereal force so that she fell in slow motion. Her stomach turned inside out. Adrenaline and fear raced through her body as she plummeted through exhaust and explosive fumes.
Even shielded, jolts of pain shot up Danica’s legs as she landed down on the midsection seating area. She rolled forward into an open aisle. Her heart pounded. The air smelled like fear.
Danica ran down the aisle towards the exits. Many of the people in the section she’d landed in were still in their seats in spite of the cacophony up above.
The fighting hadn’t actually halted the race, but there were only a handful of vehicles left on the track. A monstrous truck armed with jagged horns ploughed through a dark van as they turned a corner, and the crash rattled the stadium.
A Black Dog patrol waited next to the nearest exit. Danica saw three Revengers and a trio of Blood Dogs, smaller versions of Blood Wolves that were specially bred at Black Scar to hunt down escaped prisoners. Their ebon skin and slathering jaws snapped at her as she came close.
Spectators looked out from the nearby aisles, confused. The black-masked Revengers leveled their weapons and ordered her to halt.
Danica sent her spirit forward as a rush of cold wind and knocked the Revengers back. Two of the Blood Dogs pushed past her spirit and came at her with snapping jaws. Their collars crackled with hex energies.
Black pulled out her katars, went to her knees and sliced into both hounds at once. Hot blood splashed on her cheeks and face as their bodies slid past her.
The third dog charged, and before she could move its teeth ripped into her leg. She swiped and kicked the beast.
Gunshots rang out. Revengers armed with MP5As and auto-shotguns ran into the seating section behind her. She saw a warlock among their ranks, and she wasted a moment wondering if she knew him before she turned on her heels and ran.
Bullets struck the ground behind her. The Revengers chased Danica right to the edge of the race track, a massive circle of grey and black concrete littered with dirt. Steel walls lined with blades and flaming obstacles wrapped around a network of shifting metal platforms and collapsing barricades of electric chain.
Revengers came at her from the opposite side, and she saw the shadows of Killravens from above. Her spirit whipped around her like a molten tide. She kept him close and wound him around one of her katars while she drew her Colt Python. Danica looked into the haze of dirt and vehicular fumes.
There was an exit on the far side of the track, almost directly opposite from where she stood.
Bullets hit the ground. A ricochet caught a spectator in the eye, and he fell screaming. Panic surged through the crowd like wildfire. People leapt from their seats and pointed at the Revengers and fell back as more Blood Dogs came at her.
Danica leapt over the fence and onto the track. Her lungs swelled with black vapors as she ran as fast as she could across the mud and dirt. An armored truck narrowly missed her as she sped across its path, and she heard it twist and fishtail behind her. Something buried itself in the ground to her right, an electrified lance connected to a razor cable.
She dodged metal monstrosities and wove through bursts of smoke. The air exploded all around her, and any second Danica expected an armored wheel or a blast of arcane power to strike her down. Her spirit forced her to keep moving, propelled her around spinning blade towers and beneath whirling flame whips.
A truck with a spiked grill burst through the grey smoke. Danica’s heart jumped. She pushed her fists together and dug her feet into the earth. Her spirit turned into a jagged lance of frost and flew into the vehicle. The truck snapped and folded inward like it had struck an unbreakable iron pole. Metal and rubber wrapped around her body. She found herself unharmed at the center of a steel cocoon.
She used her spirit to blast her way free. Debris and smoking stone rained down. Most of the other racing vehicles were gone, and people rushed for the exits. Revengers shot down spectators in an effort to get to Danica.
She ran. Her spirit threw a Killraven aside as he swooped in low. His thaumaturgic pack snapped, and dark smoke trailed his body as he flailed out of control and flew into a steel wall.
A bola snapped around her feet. Danica fell hard onto her face.
Her spirit whipped back and knocked two Killravens aside while Danica cut through the cord with a katar. Blood seeped out of open cuts where the raz
or bola had torn through her cargo pants, and she felt poison spread painfully through her veins.
She ran up to a downed Killraven. He tried to rise, but Danica kicked him hard enough to send blood all over the inside of his helmet, ripped away his MP5 and fired back at the Revengers.
Blood Dogs and their handlers pushed through the bloodied crowd. The air was heavy with exhaust and gasoline.
Danica’s stomach clenched as her spirit purged the poison from her blood. She ran for the exit. Every muscle ached like they’d been hit with hammers. Her heart pounded so hard her chest felt ready to split.
An explosion tore into the stadium overhead. Drifts of stone dust fell over her eyes and face. The gun was empty, so Danica dropped it and held her spirit tight in her hands, where he burned like explosive gel. The air was filled with a choking cloud of metal and stone debris.
An enormous clawed arm came out of nowhere and knocked Danica back. Stone slammed against her skull. Her head swam, and her spirit reeled. He’d shielded her from what should have been a killing blow.
A massive simian beast stepped over her. Eight-feet tall and as a wide as a truck, the black-skinned and gorilla-like creature had six powerful arms and fierce canine jaws. A gold battle mask covered its face. Claws the color of milk had been sharpened to razor points, and the creature’s hind feet ended in reptile-like talons that gripped the earth and kept its top-heavy bulk stable.
It was a Talon, one of a number of mutated gorillas bred and controlled by the Revengers to act as enforcers and pack mules. It stepped forward. Its growl chilled her blood.
Danica leapt to her feet and lashed at the beast with her spirit. An acid whip sliced the creature’s mask apart and cut open one of its eyes. The brute howled in pain. Even injured, it came at her.
Black could barely see. She desperately fused her spirit into a coil of frost and wound it around the Talon’s enormous limbs. It tried to break free, and Danica strained at the pressure it placed on her spirit. Her vision faded in and out. Blood ran down her face and into her eyes.
Crown of Ash (Blood Skies, Book 4) Page 7