by M. D. Massey
Kicking dirty clothes and the debris of my sorry, lonely life in the corner with the sword, I cleared a pizza box, a game controller, and a stack of Doc Savage novels from my only chair. After dusting off a handful of residual crumbs, I motioned to it.
“Please, have a seat,” I said as I reached into my mini-fridge to grab her a bottle of water. “Um, let me get you something to drink.”
When I turned around to hand Belladonna the water, she was standing right behind me, so close we ended up nose to chest.
“I don’t want water,” she said in a breathy voice as she caressed my face. “I just want you.”
Half of me wanted to take it slow, talk it out, and ease back into things. But the other half of me, the half below my waist? Yeah, that half said it had been nearly two years in Earth time since I’d gotten laid—and that half wanted to fuck and be fucked like a stud bull in a Viagra factory.
I dropped the bottle and reached for her, and she jumped at me, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. She kissed me hungrily, so I spun around and dropped us both onto the bed. As soon as her back hit the mattress, she used a jiu-jitsu sweep to flip me over so she was on top. I wasn’t wearing much, and she was wearing a skirt, so it didn’t take long for things to happen.
As soon as I slid inside her, I knew something was wrong.
For starters, she had me pinned down on the bed. And not just with her hands and hips; there was another power, an outside force holding me down. Second, her voice changed. We had both been panting and groaning, what with all the heavy petting and dry humping, but as soon as we began to consummate the act, her voice went from husky and sultry to high and girly.
And third, she didn’t move like Bells. Sure, it had been a while, but I’d had a lot of sex with Belladonna—lots. I knew every curve of her body, every and scar and blemish, and I knew how she liked to move her hips when she was on top. Bells like to grind, but whoever was on me was bouncing up and down like a cowboy riding a bronc.
Not that it didn’t feel good. It felt amazing, in fact. And with every stroke, every time I plunged into her, a warmth spread from that region out to my entire body. I wondered, honest to goodness, if Click hadn’t hired a succubus and sent her to my room as a favor—one of his twisted trickster jokes.
Then, we began to glow.
I looked down, because my head was the only part of my body I could move, and where our bodies were conjoined we were glowing. It started as a pale light, almost like a trick of the imagination, then it gradually increased in intensity until it became a bright, golden glow that lit up the whole room.
Soon, her rhythm sped up as the sensations became more intense. Despite my misgivings about the whole bizarre interlude, I was about to climax, and by the sounds that this mystery woman was making, she was too. But when I achieved my release, she didn’t moan, or shudder, or cry out in ecstasy.
She screamed.
It was a high, lonesome sound, like a banshee’s warning cry or a woman howling for her lost child. The scream went on for a long time, and in it I heard echoes of despair and pain and loss. As the woman screamed, she began to transform before my eyes. Belladonna’s dusky skin faded away to be replaced by a rough, alien dermis. Her hair changed color as did her eyes, and her features faded into a face that at first was unrecognizable—but gradually, it became oh-so familiar.
Within seconds, all was made clear. This woman on top of me wasn’t a human or succubus at all. It was Jesse, dryad Jesse. And she was in agony.
At that moment, my door crashed open. “Colin, is everything okay? I got your text, and—”
Belladonna stood there looking at us, her mouth agape and her eyes wet with tears.
I looked over at her, wanting to say something, anything to explain what was going on. But before I could, the light that suffused Jesse and I intensified into a brilliant, vibrant glow, the color of sunshine and growth and life. It continued intensifying, rising to a crescendo until there was a blinding flash, so bright I had to shut my eyes.
When I opened them again, my room, Jesse, and Belladonna had all disappeared. I was lying naked in a patch of withered brown grass, beneath the oak tree inside the druid grove. I sat up and looked around, and to my horror most of the grove was gone, eaten away and replaced with—nothing. Apparently, it had been unraveling bit by bit over the days and weeks since I’d injured the oak.
All around, the Void encroached, threatening to sweep me and the oak away as the tiny island of dirt and grass and roots beneath us slowly crumbled like sand into the black Abyss below. Instinctively I reached for the oak, willing it to send me back to my own plane of existence.
But when I touched the tree, I felt absolutely nothing.
My connection to the druid grove had been severed, stranding me in a pocket dimension that was gradually, inevitably giving way to the entropy of the Void.
Well, this is fucked.
I quickly assessed the situation. Then, I did the only thing I could do in that moment, the only thing I knew that would save both me and the grove. Straining to marshal every bit of magical skill I possessed and stretching the boundaries of my abilities to meet the demands of the task, I prepared to cast a stasis field around myself and the tree.
For just an instant, I hesitated. If I did this, I’d be trapped eternally in a place called Nowhere, frozen like a bug suspended in a drop of amber.
But I’d be alive.
I had no choice. With a single thought I released the spell, and in the next instant, everything stopped.
This concludes Druid Vengeance, but the Junkyard Druid’s adventures will continue in Book 8, Druid’s Due!
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Druid Due
Book 8
1
I sensed the creature’s presence—or rather, the Druid Grove detected it and then conveyed that information to me. This wasn’t my first rodeo since becoming stranded in the Void, and it was a given that the creature I hunted also hunted me. Hidden as I was behind foliage and obfuscating magic, there was little chance the beast would see me after it materialized in our tiny, city-block-sized pocket dimension.
With a thought, I instructed the Grove to keep me hidden while I changed locations. My experience with the various monsters and entities that had previously emerged from the Vast Nothingness told me they were sneaky bastards, one and all. Some were capable of slipping between realities, many were highly intelligent, and all of them were inherently malevolent as a matter of course. I had no reason to suspect anything different of this particular interloper.
Slinking soundlessly to a position ten yards distant, I turned around to observe the place where I’d been concealed just moments before. As expected, a creature materialized there, its bulk obscured by the dense canopy of leaves, vines, and branches such that I only glimpsed a flash of flaccid, corpse-like gray skin. The thing appeared to be quite large, and the thoughts and images the Grove conveyed via our bond confirmed that assessment.
As I’d learned while we were both still in stasis, the Druid Grove used a nonverbal, telepathic form of communication, one that I mostly understood despite its limitations. I simultaneously received images of a fifteen-foot-tall thorn tree, a Kodiak bear rearing up on its hind legs to attack, and an ominous, threatening darkness. The Oak also sent me sensations of caution and trepidation, and while I knew they were not my own emotions, I felt their effects nonetheless. I sent a message back that, yes, I understood—and to tone it down so I could focus on destroying the thing.
The Oak’s presence in my mind receded, allowing me to stalk the intruder undistracted. As far as I could tell, the Grove didn’t have “feelings” per se, but I sent it my gratitude just the same. I received an image of a lion savaging a jackal, then a peaceful forest glen. Obviously, all was well between us, because the Grove wanted this
thing gone as badly as I did.
Time to make the chimichangas.
Not wanting to take any chances, I stealth-shifted to increase my odds of surviving the coming encounter. When I “stealth-shifted,” I retained my human form and appearance while increasing my muscle and bone density to become stronger, faster, and more injury-resistant. Once I’d partially shifted into my Fomorian form, I slipped through the undergrowth as I moved to a flanking position on the beast, relying on the Grove’s magic and the dense plant life to keep me hidden. Although I could’ve used Gunnarson’s cloak of invisibility to obscure my movements, I deemed it too risky for use with a creature that could phase in and out of planar existence.
The cloak employed some unknown magic to phase shift the wearer so they were just on the other side of reality. Thus, using it actually drew the attention of creatures with the ability to move between realms. After nearly being killed by a human mage while wearing the cloak, I’d learned my lesson. Unbeknownst to me, this particular trespasser had gained planar shifting and inter-dimensional traveling abilities by merging with a symbiote that had attached itself to his head. While the symbiotic link had apparently destroyed the magician’s eyes, it had also granted him extensive psionic capabilities, including three-hundred-sixty-degree “vision” in multiple planar spectrums.
Thus, the cloak remained in my Craneskin Bag, and I relied on the Grove, my wits, and nature to keep me safely hidden as I stalked this latest interloper.
It didn’t take long to achieve the angle I wanted, roughly behind and to the left of our unwanted visitor. I crept forward, moving my right hand across my body so I could quickly slip it inside the Bag to draw my weapon. Again, my reasons for waiting to open the Bag were similar to the reasons why I didn’t use the cloak, and why I wasn’t currently wearing Dyrnwyn on my hip. Powerful magical artifacts shone like beacons to creatures of the Void, and opening any extra-dimensional containers would also alert such creatures to my presence.
The thing stayed hidden in the foliage, alternating between sniffing the ground and turning its head this way and that to look for me—but thankfully, never in my direction. As I closed the distance between us, its shape and form were revealed. Standing roughly twelve feet tall, it was vaguely humanoid and covered in thick folds of dead-looking, hairless gray skin. Its bald head was large and round, with an almost simian face that bore an elongated, dog-like snout. The monster’s arms reached almost to the ground, each ending in clawed hands with three multi-jointed fingers and two opposable thumbs.
I was about to draw my blade and spring on its back when it took a step forward, moving awkwardly, almost ponderously, following the trail I’d left just seconds prior. As it moved, those thick folds of skin and flesh rolled and shifted with it—not so much like sacks of jelly, but more like leaves and detritus disturbed by some unseen thing beneath.
A shambler, that’s what it is. A dimensional shambler.
The way it moved, it reminded me a bit of the eponymous creature from that old Sid and Marty Croft show, Sigmund and the Sea Monsters—except this monster didn’t appear to be friendly, at all.
That single step didn’t take it far, so I adjusted my stance to compensate for the slight change in distance. Then, in one smooth motion, I leapt forward while drawing Dyrnwyn from the Bag. I moved very, very fast in my stealth-shifted form—equal perhaps to a young vampire or mature ’thrope.
For that reason alone I’d expected an easy kill, especially since Dyrnwyn’s blade was blazing like the sun. It did that in the presence of evil creatures, and this thing was definitely rotten to the core. When it was lit up like this, the sword would slice through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter.
While still airborne, I swung the flaming sword at the creature’s back, intending to cut it in two from shoulder to hip. But instead of meeting with the satisfying resistance felt when sharp steel parted flesh and bone, there was no impedance at all. My blade met empty air as the monster vanished, like a wisp of smoke disappearing on the wind.
Shit.
My head whipped around as I looked over my shoulder, checking to make sure the shambler didn’t materialize behind me and rip my head off. Finnegas had never spent much time teaching Jesse and me about inter-dimensional threats, choosing instead to focus on the Earthbound creatures we were most likely to encounter. However, during a recent case I’d had a run-in with an exceptionally polite demon who’d made every attempt to make me his next meal. I’d since initiated an independent study of extra-planar entities, and had come across a brief passage on dimensional shamblers in one of Finn’s texts.
As I recalled, they were slow, lumbering creatures, and therefore preferred to move via dimensional teleportation versus physical ambulation. Despite their clumsiness, they were quite strong, and typically made sport of preying on humans by popping into our reality and snatching them into another dimension. Once there, the shambler could snack on their prey at will, without the constraints of gravity and physics to slow them down.
Obviously, the inherent danger in fighting this thing was that it could appear anywhere and at any time, attacking and retreating back to whatever parallel dimension in which it preferred to reside. That meant I’d only have a split-second to react when it showed up again, leaving a very narrow window for any counterattack.
I sighed inwardly. Finnegas always said, “Once you’re clued into the World Beneath, there are no easy days.”
How right you were, old man.
I needed open space to maneuver, so I asked the Oak to provide me with a clearing where I could make my stand. Instantly, the surrounding plant life receded into the soil beneath my feet, making way for lush, green grass that grew to ankle height underfoot. Simultaneously, the forest retreated all around me until I stood in a clearing roughly thirty feet across.
That’ll do. Now to—
A brain-rattling blow interrupted by thoughts. All I saw was a large gray blur that popped into existence a few inches from my face just before it slapped me silly. The force of the blow snapped my head back as I somersaulted across the clearing. Dyrnwyn went flying as I landed in an awkward heap, my thoughts swimming and my limbs turning to jelly as I tried to stand.
Well, this isn’t turning out as I planned.
The Grove flashed a warning at me, more an impression of danger than a coherent message. On instinct I rolled to my left, just as the creature appeared above me to slam a clawed fist into the ground where I’d landed. I received another cautionary communication and rolled again in the opposite direction, once more narrowly avoiding being smashed by the shambler’s massive hands.
Desperate to avoid being turned into Colin-goo, I waited for the next proximity alert from the Grove, then extended my hand to release one of my go-to emergency spells right in the thing’s face. It was a flash-bang cantrip, designed to emit an intense burst of sound and light that would temporarily confuse, blind, and deafen an enemy.
The shambler took the spell full in the face, and it roared with an unearthly keening wail before disappearing again. Even with my eyes shielded by my other arm, the luminous flash seared a bright white spot in my vision that would last for several seconds. I only hoped that the beast was worse off, so I could get my bearings and devise a better plan for defeating it.
Unfortunately, I was still disoriented from that initial, devastating surprise attack, and I couldn’t think clearly enough to come up with anything other than running away. And in a pocket dimension the size of a football field, that wasn’t a very good plan.
Think, Colin—think!
The effects of my spell would wear off momentarily, and I couldn’t dodge the creature’s surprise attacks forever. I growled in frustration as I stood and stumbled toward the gleam of Dyrnwyn’s hilt in the grass several feet away. I was still a few wobbly steps from my weapon when the Grove set off alarms in my head.
Do something, dumbass! I admonished myself, attempting to stir my still addled brain into action.
; Apparently, the Druid Oak thought I was addressing it directly, rather than chiding myself for my lack of mental alacrity and decisiveness. In mid-stride, I felt the ground beneath me surging up to encase my feet. In the blink of an eye it spread over my ankle, calf, and knee, then it reached my legs and waist. I observed in horror and fascination as a thick, chitinous, bark-like skin grew up from the earth below, encapsulating my body head to toe in the span of perhaps half a second.
Something struck me—or rather, it struck the bark-skin surface that currently protected me from the dimensional shambler’s onslaught. The blow lifted me off the ground and sent me flying across the clearing. I landed a few seconds later with a resounding crash, able to move normally and otherwise no worse for the wear. Somehow, the “armor” that the Grove had provided me was able to articulate at my joints so it didn’t restrict my movement. That was all well and good, until I began to panic due to the fact that I couldn’t see or open my mouth.
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!
A series of images of fish breathing underwater flashed through my mind. Experimentally, I expanded my lungs and found that, yes, I actually could breathe. The air was warm and it had a loamy taste to it, but respiration was not an issue. Eyesight, however, was.
I still can’t see.
The Grove replied by sending me an image of an owl turning its head all the way around. Then, it sent an image of a forest with owls on every branch of every tree.
Ah—I think I understand.
While I was in the Grove, my connection to the Druid Oak made it incredibly easy to use my druid senses to “feel” what was going on around me. Thus far, I’d only used that connection when I needed to check on the Grove’s recovery. And since there was currently no animal life in the Grove, it made little sense to me that I should use my druid talents to monitor my surroundings.