“Whoa, time out. You’re saying Morgal sunk Atlantis?”
“Morgal destroyed the pinnacle of human civilization in a blink of an eye. Combining his power with the foolish mage’s Atlantean magic, Morgal triggered a cataclysmic event that killed thousands. The oceans drank an entire civilization, dooming hundreds of thousands of people to a watery grave. The destruction of Atlantis cemented Morgal’s status in Hell. The Dark Lord rewarded him with his own realm, the first of many to follow.”
“Well, I love what he’s done with the place,” I said sarcastically.
Cyon peered at the gleaming skyline. “It’s certainly something. Terrible as it is, one can’t help but be impressed.”
I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat. I had always known Morgal was evil. He’d slaughtered my parents and nearly killed me when I was just kid. I had no doubt that he would destroy an entire city.
Cyon wasn’t done yet. “This city was built on the corpses of Morgal’s victims. Their bones, even their souls are trapped in this realm.”
I clenched my jaw. The foreboding towers gained new significance. If Cyon was telling the truth, this place had become an eternal prison for the hundreds of thousands of drowned Atlanteans.
“Look around, take it all in, monster hunter. This is what Morgal wants for your city too. If the breach expands and his forces find a way to invade Earth…”
The demon trailed off. Cyon didn’t need to say more.
He leaned forward and turned on the radio. Eerie voices, both male and female, drifted from the car’s hissing static. They rattled off desperate pleas in a long-forgotten language.
“Do you hear their cries? The voices of the souls who perished on the legendary continent? These are the souls Morgal used to build this infernal kingdom of darkness.”
I killed the radio. I had heard enough.
“You don’t have to remind me of the stakes. I have a good idea what we’re up against.” I grew silent for a moment. “How can we defeat him?”
Cyon pointed at the Daemonium nestled on his lap. The three books had reconstituted into one single volume which shone in the scarlet light. “Wait and see.”
“I really hope you know what you’re doing,” I muttered.
“Keep your eyes on the road! Time is running out for Miss Archer.”
I punched the gas, jerked the wheel and maneuvered our ride into the urban canyons up ahead. We had reached the city, the bone towers casting dark shadows over the ivory road. The otherworldly streets and buildings all appeared to be empty. Strangely enough, my scar wasn’t hurting. Not even a twinge. Perhaps being inside Morgal’s realm neutralized the wound’s magic.
And then I spotted the first inhabitant of this horrible desolate place. I saw a lone woman staring back at me from a nearby building. Soon thereafter, I glimpsed more men and women who lurked in the phantasmagorical structures. Their bloodless, masklike features observed our arrival in eerie silence.
“Who are they?”
“The Damned. The souls of the sinners who ended up in this realm.”
I bit my lip and wondered what these folks had done to deserve to end up in a place like this.
“Turn left, head for the next building. We’re almost there. Hurry!”
I did as I was told, doing my best to stave off my mounting panic. The urgency in the demon’s voice urged me on.
“Park the car. Now!” Cyon barked.
The tires of the Equus Bass screeched as it slid across the road and ground to a halt in front of one of the tall buildings. A second later, I was out of the door and hurtling toward the structure, Hellseeker in hand. Cyon was right behind me, Demon Slayer drawn and ready.
I tried to not think about what Archer might face inside the building. I’d never seen Cyon look this freaked out before, so I knew it was bad.
I barged through the door and froze in my tracks.
It was far worse than I could have imagined.
13
A black substance poured from the damned woman’s dead eyes. The tar-like liquid kept coming until it swallowed her whole. The thick goo erased features, transformed her clothing into a tattered, floating monk robe. Twin red eyes lit up in the void under the newly formed hood.
Archer’s guide was one of them now. One of the soulless.
For a split second, the newly birthed creature hovered in mid-air, seemingly confused. The disorientation didn’t last. Unleashing another bloodcurdling shriek, the creature lunged at her.
Archer’s instincts and training kicked in as she whipped out Blood Slayer. Sensing the danger, the specter darted aside, the silver stake slicing thin air. One floating arm of black energy lashed out at Archer and wrapped with incredible strength around her neck.
In a flash, the world was reduced to a monochromatic blur, a photo negative come to life. Memories flashed before Archer’s terrified eyes. Images of her father and mother. Her earliest days on the force. And finally…Raven. The first case they worked together. The day she realized she was becoming attracted to the paranormal investigator with the bleak sense of humor and devil-may-care attitude. The night they finally gave into their passion.
These moments played back, one after another, until they all faded to black. With horror, Archer realized what was happening. The spook was feeding on these beautiful moments of her life. It was devouring her most cherished memories. At least she got to relive them one final time before they faded.
Forever.
A roaring car engine penetrated the theatre of her mind and pulled her back to reality. A beat later, the man from her memories—What was his name again?—tore into the lobby, a green glowing pistol leveled at the robed creature poised to pounce above her head.
Relief filled Archer’s chest. Followed by horror. She recognized the man now, couldn’t believe she could have forgotten him even for a second. Her memories were there, but they had faded, become dull and distant. The moments hadn’t completely disappeared yet, but the Soulless had sucked all feeling from them. Intellectually, Archer knew Raven was her partner and lover, but when she looked at him, she felt nothing.
He had become a stranger.
And then the final thread of their tenuous connection evaporated.
The memories of their romance were gone. Archer had a vague sense of having lost something precious and vital, something irreplaceable. She sensed there had been more between them once, but the deep emotion of all those shared moments, the feeling which had once connected them, was gone. Where there had been warmth and affection, now there was only emptiness.
Nothing.
The thing hovered in midair like a cloud of black smoke, its fluttering robe oozing mist and hooded head buried into Archer’s exposed neck.
It’s feeding on her somehow. Like a goddamn vampire sucking blood from its victims.
Archer stared at me. She seemed to register my presence, but her gaze remained strangely devoid of recognition, almost as if she was in shock. She blinked a few times, awareness edging back into her gaze before it flickered out again like a candle. I didn’t know what this demonic beast was doing to Archer, but it would stop now. I squeezed my blessed pistol’s trigger, and gunfire shredded the lobby. The hooded creature recoiled with a high-pitched, inhuman squeal and turned its focus toward me. It hung suspended in the air, the robe dancing and swirling like an expanding ink stain.
The cowl tilted toward me. Hellseeker’s bullets had hurt the creature but failed to destroy the living nightmare.
With an ear-shattering shriek, the spook hurtled toward me.
Cyon’s magical sword lashed out and sliced right through the spook’s billowing robe. The beast’s scream cranked up in intensity, became deafening as the robe shriveled up and disintegrated. Its hooded face shrank like a collapsing black hole until it blinked out of existence.
A preternatural silence fell over the lobby. I surged toward Archer, my voice trembling.
“Are you okay? Jane, talk to me…”
My hand
s touched her face, traced the black burn mark running down her neck where the creature had assaulted her.
To my surprise, Archer pulled back, almost as if disturbed by the closeness between us. As if we’d never touched, never kissed.
Like there had never ever been anything between us.
She staggered backwards, eyes feral, terror mixing with confusion. Dread welled up in me. What was wrong? Why did she shrink back from my touch?
For a beat we stared at each other, both of us shocked into numbed silence. Why did she look at me like that? Like a stranger?
“How did you get here?” Archer finally said, breaking the awkward silence. She picked herself up off the floor, ignoring my offered hand, and retrieved her silver stake.
“It’s a long story,” Cyon said. “We’ll bring you up to speed once we’re on the road again, Miss Archer.”
Both Archer and I turned toward the demon at the same time. I shot him a questioning glance. “Where are we headed next?”
Cyon’s voice was a harsh whisper as he answered. “Morgal’s temple. The place where I will destroy my former master.”
14
We were hurtling at seventy miles an hour through a dark land, but I wasn’t paying too much attention to my driving. My focus was on Archer.
I kept stealing glances at her lovely yet haunted face. She sat in the back, her gaze distant and remote. I remembered how she’d pulled away from my touch. Something had changed inside of her. And I sensed it was connected to the strange entity that had assaulted her.
My gaze fixed again on the strange birthmark-like burn marks lining Archer’s neck. They were identical to the brown splotches on Parker Wang’s skin. For a split second, I saw Archer burst into flame the way poor Parker Wang had back in the interrogation room. Did those scars doom her to the same fate?
I prayed not.
“What was that thing, Jane?” I asked.
Archer responded in a halting voice. She told me about her arrival in the Bone City, about the soulless creatures who hunted the Damned in this city and the damned woman who’d come to her aid. It quickly became clear only a few hours had passed for Archer in this place since she’d gone missing, while more than a day had gone by on Earth. Time moved at a different pace in the dimension of fear.
“Are you all right? You seem…distant.”
Archer stared at me emptily for a beat. In a low voice, she explained how the spooks fed on memories, specifically good memories. Her voice seemed to drop an octave as she mentioned this shocking detail. What did it mean? Had the creature stolen a memory from Archer? Or perhaps even multiple memories?
Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about this. I wanted to probe deeper, have her go into more detail, my gut telling me that something had changed fundamentally between us. How many moments had Archer lost during the creature’s attack? The lack of recognition and warmth in Archer’s face when I’d touched her filled me with growing dread and an instinctive understanding of what had happened to her. And what it might possibly mean to us.
Before I could foolishly put my foot in my mouth again, Cyon shot me a dark look. I didn’t need to share a telepathic connection with the demon to know he was telling me to back off. This wasn’t the time for personal drama. Right now, only one thing mattered—Archer was alive.
As she finished her story, my attention shifted back to the buildings lining the street. I didn’t dare imagine how many damned souls dwelled in these shadowy places. Living in constant terror while the spooks hunted and chipped away at their humanity until nothing of their old lives remained—that was truly torture. There were no rivers of fire or pitchforks in this place, but it was far worse than some Hieronymus Bosch vision of Hell.
Archer wanted to know how we had found her, and I was glad to change the subject. I told her about our investigation of the number 9 train and how we had discovered the occult symbols and the devil’s coffin which had fueled the subway’s terrible magic.
Gratitude crept into her gaze, and she teared up. I had never seen Archer show such vulnerability before, and it broke my heart. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“It’s not over yet. The worst, unfortunately, is yet to come.” Cyon’s sobering tone made us all grow silent again.
I still didn’t know what the demon had planned, and it bothered me. I didn’t like being kept in the dark.
I turned the next corner and eased my foot off the gas pedal. Cyon didn’t have to tell me we had arrived. The gargantuan pyramid had to be the temple he’d mentioned. The ivory structure blotted out the fiery sky and formed the center of the necropolis. I stared at it for a beat too long, and the structure seemed to become my whole world, filling up my senses. This close, I couldn’t fully capture its size and dark majesty. The pyramid’s surface of intertwined human skeletons, bones densely packed together, gleamed in the burning sky’s crimson light. Taller towers, which had previously kept this temple hidden from view, surrounded the pyramid. This was the infernal heart of the city, a twisted recreation of the Atlantean temple where the mage had tried to imprison Morgal millennia ago and doomed his people.
I stopped the Equus Bass and got out of the car, hypnotized. And then I heard the voices. Low at first, the whispers building until they became a constant drone. There were thousands of them rambling away in a language I’d never heard before in my life. I couldn’t make out the words, but the pleading tone of the unearthly choir told its own tragic tale. These had to be the voices of the dead Atlanteans.
The source of the supernatural broadcast had to be the pyramid. I wished I could understand what they were saying. What did these tortured souls want from me? As I approached the looming temple, the voices grew in volume even though the words were still gibberish. I eyed Archer, but she showed no sign that she was tuned into the same creepy channel. Morgal’s mark had given me mild psychic powers. Maybe my heightened sensitivity allowed me to hear things normal humans could not.
“You can hear them, can’t you?” Cyon asked.
I nodded. “What are they saying?”
“The same thing the dead always say. Listen to my story. Release me from this pain. Sometimes death is not the end but the beginning of mankind’s suffering. It’s all quite tedious.”
“Thanks for that encouraging thought,” I said and flashed the demon a blank smile.
I drew closer to the pyramid, my guard up. The voices pounding my eardrums rose in pitch and clarity. I don’t speak your language, I wanted to say, but I doubted the dead in this place cared about such a pesky little detail. The emotions behind the words were all that mattered.
I stepped up to the pyramid’s wall, touched one of the skulls jutting out at me and...
…the world around me changed in a blur of white-hot blue light.
I still faced the temple, but the burning sky had turned grey and the empty roadway teemed with masses of terrified people. They all wore multi-colored robes and togas, and for a second I thought I’d stepped into a sword-and-sandals flick. Shouts and cries filled the air. I didn’t understand the words, but I recognized the exotic cadence at this point. These people were speaking the same language as the whispering dead. It had to be Atlantean.
The mob pushed forward, and I was swept up in a wave of panicked humanity. As the surging crowd carried me along, I caught a better view of the pyramid up ahead. Unlike the temple in the dimension of fear, this house of worship had been constructed from stone and not from human remains. Somehow, I was in the real Atlantis—although not, it seemed, for much longer. Judging by their naked terror, the disaster that had destroyed this mythical place was upon them.
The crowd relentlessly pushed me toward the giant wooden doors of the majestic temple. During this desperate hour, they saw it as a haven. As if anything could save them now. Morgal’s wrath was about to rain down on this civilization and wipe away a whole continent from the map of the world.
With horror, I realized the doors of the temple had been sealed, preventing the mob fro
m seeking refuge inside the walls of pyramid temple. They had turned red from the blood of crushed bodies. Even though the entrance remained shut, it hadn’t diminished the mob’s need to enter the temple. These people found themselves in the thrall of mortal terror, reduced to panicked herd animals.
I glance upward and spotted shadowy movement. A figure lurked at the top of the pyramid. Gargantuan batlike wings framed the reptilian creature peering down at us. Morgal. The bastard had scored front row seats to the impending cataclysm.
A deafening roar cut through the air, and I craned my neck. In the near distance, I spotted the incoming tidal wave. Death was approaching fast, but I doubted the temple would offer any safety from the skyscraper-sized wall of water. The throng had stopped moving too, rooted in place as they watched their doom descend. Everyone looked up at the boiling ocean with a mixture of horror and awe. It was both terrible and perversely beautiful. And then the deadly wave engulfed us, silencing the mob in a crash of water.
I floated for what felt like forever, having lost all sense of up and down. My lungs screamed for oxygen, filled with searing salt water, my broken body unable to move. I knew I would float here until death welcomed me into its cold embrace. Suspended in a sea of blood and darkness, surrounded by thousands of other drowned Atlanteans. Bloated bodies, black hair swirling around empty eyes, lips frozen in a rictus of a final scream. The corpses must’ve been here for a while judging by their appearance. Fish had feasted on their flesh and bone poked from the half-eaten bodies.
More drowned, decomposing corpses surged past my floating form. How could I still be alive?
You’re not really here, I reminded myself. You’re bearing witness to past horrors.
Hell Breaker Page 8