by Mark Eller
Mercktos had a sudden flash of a time long ago. He remembered Omitan, remembered the caring god’s generous heart, his booming voice, and he remembered the way his face looked on the day his daughter, Sarah, had died. Sweet Sarah. Mercktos had forgotten about her. He had been nearby when she passed.
The sudden surge of memories made Mercktos ache inside. He gripped his taloned hands tightly and tried to focus on his most recent memories, but the wounded years rushed over him, drowning Sarah and thousands of others in a murky sludge, much like the putrid waste dripping from the fountain.
Grace had gone to hell, just like Zorce and Athos had planned. Mercktos had helped make it happen.
For a moment, he was lost in thought. He really had changed more than he knew. Instead of drinking in the sorrow of the peasants, instead of moving about them like a shark in blood imbued waters, Mercktos sat in the middle of a park wondering if there was any hope at saving the world he helped destroy. It was as if his personality was splitting. Two conflicting selves writhed within his damned flesh, the good and the bad, threatening to drive him mad, making him unable to act even to save his own soul.
Was that even a possibility? Could he be saved?
What was he going to do? When Zorce found out Mercktos had the little girl and wouldn’t give her to the dark god’s servants, he would tear Mercktos apart. Not just for one day, but for eternity.
“This is the last place I thought I’d find you.”
Mercktos snapped out of his fogged thoughts to find Tessla standing before him, taking a long drag off her pipe. Cirweed smoke drifted into Mercktos’s face on the morning breeze. He stood up.
Tessla slowly exhaled, then breathed the smoke in again. The sun’s weak rays reflected in her eyes like small orbs of light. Her hair was white, but he remembered it as red after being repeatedly drenched in her own blood.
The thought of the long nights of pain and suffering he had caused her sent pangs of sorrow and regret through his body.
Mercktos shifted into his human form and stepped closer to her.
Tessla did not move away. Instead, she carefully tucked her pipe into her belt and came nearer.
Flashes of nights spent in passion tumbled through his mind, bringing a heat to his groin. He wanted her. Now.
“What do you want, spawn?” He meant to sound threatening, but failed. His voice came out hoarse and uncertain.
Tessla took another step closer. Their bodies touched. Her arm encircled his waist.
Fire raced across his flesh. Mercktos instinctively drew her tight against his body, feeling a torrent of strange emotions tear through his heart. It was almost painful. Gods he wanted her.
Tessla let her other arm snake up around his neck, pulling his lips close to hers. “You know what I want. Where is she Mercktos?”
A sound like a bass drum hammered in Mercktos head, a steady, strong rhythm. He let his hands run the length of her backside and inhaled her scent, a mixture of lavender and jasmine. The sweet fragrance brought back memories of Anothosia’s meadow and of the goddess herself. It reminded him of how much he had loved the green eyed girl with the soft smile. The scent of flowers drifted on the air, making him afraid to let go of the woman in his arms. The devil’s mind became unfocused. This was, he suspected, probably the last time he would ever see Tessla.
Tessla’s lips parted. Her eyes burned with unspoken passion. Once more, instead of allowing herself to be raped, she willingly surrendered to him, only this time it was different. This time the urge to break her to his will was the farthest thing from his mind. He did not want to hear her cries. He did not want to relish her pain. No. This time he wanted her to moan in pleasure, wanted her to call out his name. His real name.
Desire mixed with sorrow; he wanted to make love to Tessla in his human form just once before they parted forever. He wanted to take her in his arms and let the smooth skin of his hands gently caress her body, washing away the memories of his talons tearing into her delicate skin.
“Missa is hidden. I won’t let them have her.” Mercktos could barely speak. His voice had been stolen. The pounding in his head grew louder. It coursed through his body, blocking out all other sounds. Around him, the garden faded. All that existed, all he saw or felt, was Tessla. Beautiful, strong, Tessla.
Bending his head to her lips, Mercktos kissed her deeply. He felt Athos’s poison stir within her as it fought to overcome the cirweed.
Unexpectedly, Tessla’s mouth responded, devouring his own.
Mercktos silently cursed. Why did it have to end like this? Him trapped by a devil’s form, her caught in a body created to give death to the nearly unkillable. Why couldn’t he just take her away somewhere, hide her so none could cause her harm or pain? He wanted to experience those nights of passion with her again, only this time they would not end in her needless suffering. He wanted to experience every new sunrise with her as if it were their first sunrise together.
Tessla’s fingers entwined themselves in Mercktos’s mane, gripping and releasing the long strands of blue-black hair. Mercktos felt a wholeness he had never felt before. I could die in her arms, he thought, and not regret it.
A sudden jerking of Tessla’s body brought Mercktos out of his reverie. The assassin’s body stiffened. She let go and stumbled from his arms, a look of shocked incomprehension on her face. Staggering backward, Tessla dropped to her hands and knees. A large black knife protruded from her back, sickly green ichors dripping from its blade.
“Nice job, Mercktos. I knew you would be the perfect bait.” Sulya stood casually under a tree while two demons cautiously approached the dying Tessla.
Rage and anger hazed Mercktos’s vision as the shift came upon him. His wings and talons erupted from his back and hands. Half-human, half devil, Mercktos rushed forward, splitting the demons in two with vicious swipes before any could register what he was doing. In a blur of motion even the gods themselves would have been unable to see, he reached down and pulled the knife from Tessla’s back, sending it flying through the air into Sulya’s stomach, placing it two inches above her lower body’s scales.
The similian gasped, shock registering on her blood red face. She dropped to one knee, her hands curling around the blade’s hilt.
Other demons appeared. Mercktos spat acid while silently cursing that Sulya had come prepared for once. How had she found a poisoned weapon that could actually put Tessla, the nearly unkillable, down?
Reaching down, he drug Tessla into his embrace. Powerful wings beat the air, and he took flight with his prize. He would not allow them to have her.
Below, unwinged demons screamed as the earth became further and further away. Mercktos held Tessla tightly, feeling life slip from her with each passing second. He had to heal her quickly, but could not do it in flight. If he landed, the demons would soon be upon him.
Tessla moved her head close to Mercktos’s ear and spoke so softly, he almost thought it was the wind.
“Please— don’t let me die— not now.” Tessla’s lips brushed Mercktos’s cheek, and she went limp in his arms.
Gods-damn-it no! No! Not his Tessla!
Trying to fight his rising panic, Mercktos shook her still form. She could not die. He would not let her die! In Hell he had decimated her body and shredded her spirit. He needed to atone for those sins— even if it meant his own life.
“Tessla, please listen to me.” Mercktos whispered into her ear, almost too flustered to think clearly and hoping she could still hear him.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“When I land, I will heal you. When this is done, go to the temple of Flinstar, the forgotten one. She is there. Do not stop to fight. Flee. Do you understand?”
Tessla nodded once and closed her eyes again.
Mercktos landed in a deserted street, his decision made. He knew where his allegiance lay. He shifted to human.
Pulling Tessla’s body close to his own, he let his nano field flow into her nearly dead body. A red and yellow glo
w, soft and warm, surrounded her as he drew the Hell-wrought poison the knife had deposited into his own fragile human form, a poison he instantly recognized, one he had created specifically as a weapon against her. His Tessla was endangered because of his devil’s cursed pride.
Mercktos grimaced as the poison wormed its way into his flesh, burning a pathway into his veins. Pain cramped his muscles, making them feel like hot acid was being poured on them, but he gathered his will and refused to release her until he drew the last of it from her. This poisoning was his doing. If a price of pain and death had to be paid, he would do the paying.
Tessla’s eyes opened. She stirred in his arms.
“The traitor landed over here!” A loud shrill voice echoed behind him as he relaxed his hold and staggered away.
“Tessla, forgive me. I lied.” Mercktos gasped in pain. The poison was winning, as well it should. Centuries had gone into its making.
“Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” Tessla rose, reached out, and touched his face gently, a look of calm upon her features while the sounds of pursuit closed in.
“Don’t kill him! Zorce wants him alive.”
More demons were closing in upon them.
“Good-bye Mercktos.” Tessla turned to go.
“Tessla,” Mercktos grabbed her arm and looked one last time into the beautiful face of the angel he would never see again. “I love you.”
Tessla smiled faintly, then turned and ran down an empty side street.
Mercktos shuddered, squared his shoulders, and vowed to face his end with courage. His life had been a very long and mostly dark journey. He was not afraid for it to reach an end. Inside, he felt at peace, knowing that for once, for this time, he had done the right thing. The knowledge filled him with a strange sense of glory and calm, two things he hadn’t felt in thousands of years.
The dark knight pulled himself erect and watched as the minions of Hell rushed in, covering his body, tearing the flesh from his bones. Teeth and talons flashed before him in a blur. Pain consumed him both inside and out. When they were done, he lay in the middle of the street, broken, not realizing for several minutes that they had stopped, or why. His broken limbs were twisted at odd angles. Blood trickled from his forehead into his all too human left eye.
“Well, isn’t this interesting.” A deep sultry voice said from behind him. Mercktos tried to turn his head, tried to see who spoke, but his body no longer responded to mental commands.
“No, no, don’t tire yourself. I’ll come around where you can see me.” A set of dusty blue legs stepped in front of him. The scent of sulfur filled the air.
Mercktos shivered. Belthethsia, Athos’s own Hell-Queen, his half sister.
Belthethsia crouched down in front of his prone form and smiled. “I guess I should thank you. If you hadn’t stopped Sulya from killing Tessla, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of doing it myself. But,” she sighed with false pity, “it does mean you are going to be punished. Zorce wanted Tessla out of the way, and it seems you screwed that up. By the way,” The succubus reached over and grabbed him by the back of the head, lifting it until their eyes met. Hers were hard and piercing. His were nearly unfocused and obscured by blood.
Waves of anguish washed through him. Something warm slipped from his eyes.
“Where’s the child? I heard it reported you told Tessla to look for her in Flinstar’s forgotten temple, but neglected to tell here where it is. Tell me. Tell me uncle so I can deliver the child to my god. No hellborn but you knows where the temple is hid. You were still Flinstar’s friend when he built it.”
Mercktos did not answer, but inside, he cursed his stupidity. Belthethsia was correct. He had forgotten to tell Tessla where to look.
Belthethsia jerked on his head until he both heard and felt his neck bones grind and pop. More warmth flowed down his face.
“What’s this? Tears? Human tears from the devil once known as Zorce’s right hand?” Belthethsia's face looked momentarily bemused and astonished. “What exactly did the child do to you? Hmmm…I think Athos will be very interested to hear about this.” The blue skinned succubus reached down and brought a talon up to his eye. “Dear uncle, you are in enough trouble, don’t make me do this. I always thought of you as an equal. I envied and respected you for your inhuman ways. Tell me. Where is the temple? Save yourself pain.”
Mercktos closed his eyes and tried to think of the beautiful goddess who even now, in his pain and his torment, sang softly in his soul. He took the secret of Missa deep into his mind and buried it, hiding it among memories of evil and darkness. He knew they would eventually get the information from him. Zorce was too skilled at torture for anything else, but hopefully not until it was too late. He could hold out for weeks, or even months, but he would break. Excepting Tessla, given enough time and inventiveness, every being he ever tortured eventually broke.
White-hot pain suddenly seared through his head as Belthethsia dug her talon deep into his brain, rupturing his eyeball, making Mercktos do something he had not done in a very long time.
He screamed.
Chapter 4-- King’s Fall
The blacksmith staggered into the King’s Inn, sat down on a stool in front of the bar, and slammed a forearm down on the table. The bartender, Corce, looked at the arm and then at his inebriated friend. “Hark, I’ve seen you bring a lot of things in here, but I’ve never seen you bring in an arm before.”
Laughing, the blacksmith spun the forearm in a circle on the polished bar top. The forearm circled once, twice, and then stopped, the arm’s hook pointed straight at Corse. “Give me a free whiskey and I’ll tell you the tale of how I got this.”
“I’ll give you a free nothing,” Corce retorted. “You’ve pulled that game too many times for me to fall for it again.” He studied the desiccated arm. It was thin, dried, and shriveled, but its flesh seemed uncorrupted by time. Its condition smelled fresh. The hook— the hook was something else. It was the wrong color for anything natural, and it felt strange. Almost as if it had an aura of its own.
“Your choice,” Hark said. “There’s quite a story behind this one. It’s gotten me drinks halfway across town.” He spun the arm once more. It made four complete circles before stopping. “Though I’ll admit it was a bit hard to get even one cup of ale the last time. You bartenders are getting stingier with your swill, what with all the lost business because folks aren’t getting out much anymore. This whole city is falling to ruin.”
“Most people won’t risk being eaten for a quick drink.” Corce reached out to touch the arm. It was warm. Its skin felt supple, almost alive. He briefly touched the hook. The metal felt slimy and putrid. He left his fingers on it for a moment, trying to remember why this hook seemed important, and then a sharp pain sliced through his fingers, up his arm, and exploded into his brain.
Hark laughed. “Knew that would happen.” He held up his own hand, showing blistered fingers. “Only two people were smart enough to keep their hands off it.” He studied his fingers. “Almost seems as if the hook wants something, or is trying to pull something out of us.”
“You could have warned me!”
“You could have given me a free drink,” Hark rejoined. “Besides, more than two dozen people have touched it since I found this thing. None of them have been harmed other than a few blisters, although some folk became a bit crankier.”
Nodding, Corce slapped a mug on the table and filled it partway with the lowest cost rotgut he owned. Hark wouldn’t notice the difference. It was probably better than the swill he usually drank. The King’s Inn’s idea of rotgut was about three grades better than the best most other taverns served.
Hark lifted the mug, tilted it back, and downed the whiskey in one straight shot before setting the mug back down with a solid thunk. “Now that hit the spot. How about another?”
“How about a story,” Corce demanded. He looked up at the sound of the tavern’s door opening. Several hellborn stepped inside. Their leader almost appeared like
a real human, but Corce instantly knew he wasn’t. There was a certain feel to hellborn that a person learned to recognize with experience, a certain creep along the nerves. Corce turned his eyes away. For the most part, hellborn behaved themselves while in public, and especially in taverns. He was probably safe with them here, just like he had been safe a hundred times before. Despite their reputation, hellkind did not usually rampage through the streets in orgies of blood and destruction. Not without a reason, reasons like feeling slightly irritated, usually, so it paid to be careful. He turned his eyes away, not wanting to attract unneeded attention, and looked back to Hark. “You’ve drunk my liquor, and I’m still bored. The arm?”
Hark shrugged. “I found it yesterday off the side of the road, a few miles outside of Grace. Don’t know how it got there.”
Corce waited, but Hark said nothing more. “That’s it. That’s the entire story?”
“What do you expect? Think I tore it off some fellow’s shoulder? Nope. Left town to do some custom work for a friend of a friend at his ranch. I was driving my wagon back home after we did some considerable congratulatory drinking for about half a day, what with me having done my standard exemplary work. Had to pee after a bit so I stopped the horses and stumbled off the road to take a leak. Pissed right on the damn thing before I even knew it was there. Thought it was the strangest body part I had ever seen so I picked it up and took it home with me.” Hark gestured toward his empty mug. “Fill ‘er up.”
Shaking his head, Corce deliberately re-corked the bottle. “Wasn’t worth one drink, let alone two. You left no suspense, no mystery, and it was one hell of a boring tale.”