Hellforged d-2

by Nancy Holzner

The gong sounded again.

  “Get out of here—now!” I yelled at the zombie.

  He tilted his head. One eyeball dangled from its socket, where a crow had tried to pluck it out. The second gong reverberated.

  “Go!” I screamed, and the zombie ran toward the exit. I’d never seen one move so fast.

  I tightened Hellforged’s circles. From across the cemetery came shouting, then a shot. Good. I hoped Daniel had nailed Pryce right through his little black heart. Or did Pryce have a gun, too? My heart lurched, and I felt some Morfran slip away. Focus, Vicky. I pulled what Morfran I could back into Hellforged’s orbit.

  The gong sounded again. Was that number three? It sounded like it came from a different part of the cemetery; maybe Pryce had been forced to start over. But he was obviously still at work, and he could release the Morfran a hell of a lot faster than I could contain it. Another gong—two? I hurried, hurling the Morfran I’d caught into the nearest gravestone. But I made the transfer too soon, and some of the Morfran got away. Blue sparks skittered across the surface of the stone, then swirled up in tendrils of black mist.

  Before I could start the ritual again, the third gong sounded.

  This wasn’t working. I’d have to stop Pryce first, then mop up whatever Morfran he’d released. I stuck Hellforged in my belt and ran toward the mist that rose black against the night.

  Ahead, I saw Pryce, drawing back a wooden club to strike a gravestone. Daniel appeared from behind a tree and fired. Pryce dropped the club in mid-swing, grabbing his upper arm. He spun around, growing as he did, changing into his demon form. Daniel’s second shot bounced off Cysgod’s hide. With a snarl and four flaps of its wings, the demon launched itself into the air. Daniel kept firing; sparks marked where each bullet glanced off. The demon landed in front of Daniel. In a move almost too quick to see, it drew back its arm, extended its talons, and struck an overhand blow. Daniel sprang away. The talons plunged deep into the ground.

  I drew my sword, calling upon Saint Michael’s aid. When the blade cleared the scabbard, it burst into flame. I ran forward as Cysgod yanked its claws from the earth and advanced. Daniel, backing up, fell. Cysgod bore down on him, each step shaking the ground. The demon was too fast; I wasn’t going to get there in time.

  I switched the Sword of Saint Michael to my left hand, pulled out a throwing knife, and hurled it. The blade found its target, lodging deep in the demon’s side. But Cysgod barely paused. It plucked the knife from its flesh and tossed it aside. It kept moving toward Daniel.

  A shape flashed out of the darkness, slamming into Cysgod so hard that the demon overstepped Daniel and staggered past him. Kane clung to Cysgod’s back, stabbing at its neck with his bronze blade. Cysgod twisted and shook and flapped its wings; Kane struggled to hang on. The demon reached over its shoulder, plucked Kane off, and tossed him aside. Kane rolled as he hit the ground and was back on his feet at once.

  I’d closed the distance, coming up behind Cysgod, and I lunged, aiming to drive my sword into the demon’s back and up into its heart. But it heard me coming. At the last second, Cysgod twisted to the left, and my blade merely slashed its flank.

  But the touch of bronze blazing with celestial fire had its effect. Energy flashed out, and Cysgod became Pryce again. Pryce bled in several places: red where Daniel’s bullet had hit his human form, and black where Kane and I had wounded the demon.

  Pryce snarled at me, fury snapping in his eyes.

  Then, something altered. A feeling in the air, a tremor in the ground—I couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly. But the world had changed.

  Pryce smiled, and the expression was far more unnerving than his hate-filled glare.

  Daniel fired again. In front of Pryce, a spark flared in midair. Pryce stood still, not even flinching. Daniel gasped, and the gun flew from his hand. Kane started forward, but something lifted him into the air and hurled him across the cemetery. He sailed over the gravestones and disappeared. A pain-filled howl, more animal than human, stopped my heart.

  Before I could move, the same thing happened to Daniel. Pryce hadn’t budged; he just stared at me with that mocking smile. His black eyes were darker than the deepest pits of Hell.

  Cysgod’s power had surged—that was the shift I’d felt. The Morfran had fed, strengthening all demons. I’d interrupted the feeding, so Cysgod wasn’t strong enough to materialize fully alongside Pryce in the Ordinary—Pryce still had to take one form or the other here. But his shadow demon was no longer a mere shadow. It had gained the strength to reach beyond the boundary of the demon plane and act in the human world.

  How could I fight this new, more powerful demon? Because Cysgod wasn’t fully materialized, I couldn’t kill it in its current form, half in and half out of Uffern. After Difethwr’s threats and my experiences at the slate mine, nothing would tempt me into the demon plane. But if I could injure Pryce again, he’d be forced back into his demon shape. If I could kill him during the change, I’d kill them both.

  I raised the Sword of Saint Michael and charged.

  Something grabbed me around the waist and plucked me off the ground, as I’d seen happen to Kane and Daniel. Cysgod was going to throw me, too, keeping me away while Pryce released more Morfran—bringing Cysgod fully into the Ordinary. I struggled, trying to twist free. I slashed with my sword, but the blade sliced through nothing but air. Cysgod could reach into the Ordinary, but I couldn’t fight it here.

  The demon didn’t throw me. Instead, hanging a dozen feet above the ground, I felt a freezing-fiery pressure against my body. The sensation flowed through my skin and seeped into my pores. I shivered and burned, like I was being boiled in ice. The pressure increased, squeezing me. I couldn’t breathe. A fist of ice and rock reached into my chest, grabbed my heart, and, with a violent wrench, turned me inside out.

  Cysgod dropped me.

  My knees and hips went soft when I hit the ground, and I somersaulted forward. My movements felt slow, like I was deep underwater. Like I was back in the black, endless void. As I struggled to my feet, everything looked smudged and dirty. Terrible sounds invaded my ears—shrieks and screams, insane laughter, the caws and shrieks of ravenous Morfran—and the air was rife with smells of blood, offal, and sulfur.

  I was in Uffern. Not just open to it, but there. Cysgod had pulled me, body and soul, into the demon plane.

  39

  PRYCE STOOD IN FRONT OF ME. I COULD SEE BOTH HIS FORMS now: human and demon. The human Pryce waggled his fingers at me and walked to the place where he’d dropped the oak club, taking his time as if he were on an evening stroll. Moving with him, yet staying between us, loomed Cysgod, holding its own flaming sword, which burned with black, shadowy fire.

  They’d forced me into Uffern, but here, I could kill them both. First Cysgod, then Pryce.

  Pryce retrieved his club as I lunged for his demon half. But the underwater feeling persisted. The foul, oppressive night burdened my shoulders. My sword felt heavy, too heavy to lift, and Cysgod moved out of range before I was halfway to striking.

  A rumbling laugh sounded behind me, and flames licked at my back. Difethwr. My demon mark flared, and my right arm dropped, weak and useless, to my side. Okay, I’d fight with my left. But the sword was so heavy, my movements so slow and clumsy, that I nearly dropped it as I changed hands.

  “Greetings, former daughter of Ceridwen. At last our bond is fulfilled.”

  I tried to turn around, but I could barely twist my head, so heavily did the Hellion weigh me down.

  “Release me … Hellion … I … command it.” Even speaking required immense effort.

  “No.” That single syllable of refusal rang with triumph. “We are part of thee, bound to thee by thine own words. And now we claim that bond.”

  Something broke inside me, and I knew there was no escape. I’d been a fool, chasing after purity. Purity was lost to me, and it had been ever since I’d bound this Hellion to myself. No, earlier. Ever since the night it marked me. I could never be pure.
I was tainted, corrupted, contaminated. Just like Pryce, I was part demon. I belonged in Hell.

  From a goddess two lines diverged, but they are reunited in Victory.

  So this was my destiny—bound forever to the Destroyer, subject to the demon I hated more than anything in any world.

  I watched, helpless, as Pryce drew back his club and struck a slate gravestone. Black mist wafted upward, solidified, and flew cawing into the night.

  Instinctively, I reached for Hellforged, but Difethwr’s arm came forward and plucked the dagger from my belt. “At last,” it said, “the blade we crafted returns to us. We have better uses for it than the crude one thou hast employed.”

  Pryce came over and stood before me, the oak club dangling from his hand. Cysgod towered beside him. Pryce looked me over appraisingly, his gaze roaming over my face and body; my heaviness was so great I couldn’t look away. Lips pursed, he leaned forward, and I struggled to turn my head and avoid his kiss.

  He spat in my face.

  “Teach this bitch a lesson, Cysgod,” he said. “Hurt her as much as you like. But don’t kill her, and don’t injure her womb. She and I have a date later tonight.”

  Cysgod’s sword flashed. I couldn’t raise my own in time to deflect the blow. The blade hacked into my arm, a slash of pain and fire that cut to the bone. Black flame burned me, eating at the edges of the wound.

  As Pryce watched, Cysgod surged forward in a flurry of slashing cuts. Its sword bit my arms, my chest, my legs, my back, my face. Life-eating flame engulfed me, scorching, burning, consuming my flesh, my spirit. Difethwr’s crushing weight held me in place. Covered with blood, I collapsed to my knees, then fell onto my face. My left hand still grasped the Sword of Saint Michael, but the blade’s flames had died to a weak glow.

  “Enough,” Pryce said. Immediately, Cysgod stopped. Pryce’s shiny black shoes appeared and stood beside Cysgod’s scaly, taloned foot. Together, they kicked dirt onto the blade of my sword. Its glow went out. Dirt got into my eyes and mouth. It tasted like death.

  “Cysgod,” Pryce said. “I have an idea. Let’s see if there’s anything left of my cousin’s suitors. If they’re still alive, we’ll bring them back here for you and Difethwr to occupy yourselves with while I finish releasing the Morfran.” His voice took on a tone of playful warning. “No squabbling, though, over who gets the werewolf and who gets the human.”

  No! I struggled to push myself up, but I couldn’t. I was merely a heap of burned and beaten flesh.

  Pryce laughed, and the shoes moved away. Cysgod’s feet moved with them. As the shadow demon lifted its foot to step over the Sword of Saint Michael, I dug deep and summoned the strength to turn and position my blade. Cysgod’s foot came down on its edge. Black, stinking blood fountained up as the blade went in deep.

  At the touch of demon flesh, the sword burst into full flame. Cysgod roared and tried to shake itself loose, but its foot was stuck, the flesh liquefying around the blade. Somehow, I got my knees under me. Clutching the sword grip with my left hand, I sliced upward. Yellow, sulfurous smoke billowed from the wound. Cysgod shrieked and kicked out, hard. The powerful kick, combined with the momentum of my stroke, cut the foot in two and sent the weapon arcing backward. I almost lost the sword but managed to hang on. The blade struck something behind me and sank in, then stopped from the resistance. Keeping my eye on Cysgod—the demon, half-obscured by the yellow smoke, howled and roared and hopped around on one foot—I jerked the sword forward.

  It came out with such force that I fell, catching myself on my forearms.

  The strength I thought I’d lost surged into me, and I jumped to my feet. I charged Cysgod, driving my sword into its gut and knocking the one-footed demon off balance. It crashed to the ground. I was right on top of it, slicing, stabbing, hacking. It swiped at me with its claws, but each time I landed a blow with the sacred sword, Cysgod weakened. The foul yellow smoke spread, stinging my eyes and clogging my lungs. It filled the cemetery. I squinted through the smoke, coughing, and kept striking. I drove the sword into the creature, over and over, until it felt like the blade was striking bare ground.

  I stepped back, breathing hard. I waved at the smoke to clear it. The ground where Cysgod had fallen was empty, except for a fetid pool of thick, black blood.

  One demon down.

  I whirled around, my sword blazing, to face the Destroyer. Difethwr slumped on the ground, its head split in two. Gobs of black stuff and steaming liquid oozed from its skull. How … ? Cysgod’s kick—the Hellion must have been bending over me, and the force of the backward blow sliced open its skull. No wonder my strength had returned. Now, Difethwr’s blue skin looked dull and wan. Its eyes, no longer fiery, were black, empty sockets.

  I couldn’t believe it was dead.

  I poked its leg with my toe. No response. I drew back my foot and kicked it as hard as I could. It was like kicking a stone wall. I stretched and flexed my right hand—it felt whole and strong, no longer useless in the Destroyer’s presence. With my left hand, I tossed the Sword of Saint Michael into the air and caught it in my right. Its flames burned brighter, flaring to a conflagration as I struck the blow that severed the Hellion’s ruined head from its body.

  Now to deal with Pryce.

  He wasn’t far off. I spotted him immediately, slouched by a tombstone, the oak club dangling from his hand. I dashed toward him, sword raised, intent on preventing him from releasing any more of the Morfran. But he didn’t lift his arm to strike the slate. He didn’t move at all. There was something odd in the way he stood there, shoulders slumped, body slack.

  Kane roared in out of nowhere and tackled Pryce. They tumbled across the grass. Kane sat up, pulling Pryce up with him by his lapels. “WHERE IS SHE?” he shouted. Pryce’s head lolled. Kane backhanded him; blood splattered a tombstone. “If you’ve hurt her,” he growled. “If you’ve touched one hair on her head, I’ll rip you apart.”

  Kane was a nightmare vision, his features twisted with rage. Blood matted his hair and streaked his face. His torn shirt was drenched with even more blood. He backhanded Pryce again but got no response. Kane bellowed with fury and pounded Pryce into the ground.

  “Kane!” I screamed, but he didn’t hear.

  Someone else was yelling, too. Daniel. He ran to Kane, tried to pull him off Pryce. Kane swatted him away, but Daniel grabbed his arm and held on. “Stop!” he shouted. “Kane, listen, you’ve got to stop. The Goon Squad is here.”

  Oh, God. The werewolf murder suspect beating the crap out of a human. Pryce wasn’t human, but the Goon Squad didn’t know that. They’d shoot him on sight.

  “Stop! Please stop!” I pleaded.

  Kane didn’t look at me, but he paused. A shudder went through him, and he shook off whatever he was feeling. Slowly, he climbed to his feet. Pryce flopped backward onto the ground. Daniel leaned over to check his pulse.

  “Vicky,” Kane said, his voice thick. “Have you seen her?”

  “No. We’ll find her. But for now you’d better move over there, away from this guy.”

  Kane nodded.

  “Are you okay?” Daniel asked. “I thought that thing killed you.”

  “I don’t die that easily. And no, I’m not okay.” Kane stalked away from Pryce’s inert form. He paced by the fence.

  I ran to him. Just before I caught up with him, he stopped and pressed his face into his hands. Then he looked up into the sky. “Vicky!” he howled.

  “I’m here, Kane,” I said. “What happened to you?”

  He gave no sign he’d heard me. Instead, he resumed pacing.

  I ran ahead and planted myself in front of him. He walked right through me as though I were a ghost.

  I might as well have been.

  Kane didn’t know I was there. Because I wasn’t—not in his world. I was in Uffern. All around me, black fires burned, giving off the stench of sulfur and charred meat. Cries of pain and torment and cruel, mocking laughter clogged the air. None of this reached Kane in the Ordina
ry. He couldn’t see or hear me.

  My heart thumped. What if I couldn’t get out? What if my bond to Difethwr kept me here, a prisoner in Hell? The Hellion was dead, but its essence was still inside me.

  Never had I felt so filthy, so contaminated. Purity was a joke.

  But if I wasn’t pure, then I wasn’t purely demon, either. This wasn’t my place. I’d found my way out of that weird, demon-induced sleep world by focusing on what was real. Maybe I could do the same thing now. I concentrated, willing myself into the Ordinary, bringing back the colors and sounds and scents I knew existed there. The frost-covered grass. The pearl-white, waning moon. Warm, yellow lights shining from buildings. Kane’s moonlight-and-pine scent. The heat of his skin, the suppleness of his muscles. Slowly, my senses shuttered themselves to the horrors of Uffern. Demonic shrieks and smells faded; light brightened.

  Kane’s eyes brightened, too, when they saw me.

  “Vicky.” Never has a single word held so much meaning.

  We came together like waves crashing into the shore. I tasted his blood, his sweat, his skin. His closeness swept away any lingering horror. I couldn’t touch him enough. I ran my hands over his chest, through his hair, across his back. The back of his shirt was as torn and stiff with blood as the front. Hard lumps of scar tissue arose at regular intervals, to the right of his spine, four or five inches apart.

  I pulled away and studied him. The rips in the front of his shirt were spaced the same way. I ran a hand down his chest. He had scars there, too. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s nothing. When that … that demon threw me, I landed badly. On top of the fence.” Oh, God. He’d been impaled on the iron spikes. In four places, those wrought-iron spears had gone straight through him. “I’m fine, really.” He caught my hand, guided it to one of the wounds. Already the scar tissue was smoothing out. “It took some effort to free myself, but I managed.” His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, “I had to get to you.”

  I laced my fingers behind his neck and pulled him to me. He moved his lips along my jaw and down my neck—nuzzling, kissing, tasting. Warmth spread through me. He drew back and held my head in his hands, his gray eyes roving over my face. “You’re all right,” he said. “You’re really all right.”