War Demons: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (The Prodigal Son Book 1)

by Russell Newquist

  “You might,” Khalid sneered. “But these ones won’t let you.” He tipped his head toward the police. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t stop her.”

  “Stop her from what?”

  Khalid just cackled.

  “She’s summoning him. She’s finally going to do it. She just needed the final piece of that spell from the stupid professor and the blood of that blue-haired virgin girl.”

  “Virgin girl?” Michael looked at his comrades in confusion. Understanding dawned when he saw Peter blush. “Oh.”

  “It took us long enough to find one. American girls are such whores. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a virgin on a college campus here?” Khalid sneered.

  “Yes, I do,” Peter answered seriously.

  Snide laughter rewarded his sincerity.

  “You would, wouldn’t you? You should have porked her when you had the chance,” Khalid sneered at him. “You know she wanted it. And then you wouldn’t have to worry about the little slut.”

  This time Peter hit him. Michael didn’t even try to stop him.

  “We’re wasting our time here,” Conor decreed. “He’s stalling us on purpose, trying to buy the girl time.”

  Chief Lewis nodded. He waved over Burns.

  “Get him to the station and book him. But don’t move him on your own. Wait for backup.”

  “Roger, Chief.”

  The others stepped out into the hallway and closed the door. Despite the barrier, they kept their voices down. Nobody wanted Khalid to overhear anything.

  “Some major shit is about to go down in my town, and we’ve got bupkis.” Chief Lewis scowled at everyone. “Y’all have got to give me something I can work with.”

  “Any ideas, Peter?” Gabriel asked.

  “Why me?”

  “You figured out the frat house.”

  “I’ve got nothing.”

  Michael fumbled at the Sword strapped on his back.

  “This thing was kind of a bust, wasn’t it?”

  “It didn’t bond,” Conor told him.

  “You figured that one out, did you?” Michael retorted. He turned on Stefan. “I thought you said you had a vision.”

  “I did,” the friar responded. “One of the clearest I’ve ever had. I saw you, carrying the Sword into a massive football stadium. And I clearly saw a faceoff with a dragon perched atop. I thought that part came later, since there are no massive stadiums around here. But the dragon was definitely –”

  “What did it look like?” Peter interrupted.

  “Green and furry, with weird quills and a snakelike head. Just like the dragon we saw tonight.”

  “The stadium, Stefan. The stadium.”

  “Oh. Huge. Massive. Loads of concrete. Open aired. Two levels of seating. A big red scoreboard on one end. The dragon was on the skybox.”

  Everyone stared at the friar.

  “I must’ve got something wrong though,” he continued, “because clearly the Sword didn’t bond.”

  “Stefan, where do you think all this game day traffic is going?”

  “Well, football I figured. Your silly American kind, anyway. But come on, it’s just university level. I thought southerners especially took their football seriously, but you have to drive all the way to Atlanta for an NFL team!”

  Denzel swore. Peter grimaced. Gabriel snorted. George giggled. Even Conor stared at him.

  “Damn Europeans,” Chief Lewis muttered. “Almost as bad as Yankees.”

  “What?” Stefan met their gazes. “Was it something I said?”

  “I think it’s time to take a trip across the street to Sanford Stadium,” Michael told him. “Where you can enjoy a nice college football game with ninety-three thousand of your new best friends.”

  Chief Lewis clicked his radio and called in to the station. When he got no response he tried again. Static filled his earpiece.

  “Shit,” he announced to no one in particular. “I can’t get through to dispatch anymore. We need to get to the outpost and get the stadium evacuated before all these civilians get caught in the crossfire. And I’ll see if I can get you some backup.”

  “Where are we going to find help against that?” Burns asked. “The National Guard?”

  “Try this,” Michael told them. He fished a card out of his pocket and passed it to the chief.

  “TF13?” Lewis inquired.

  “It’s who that Fed works for. The one who interrogated me. This kind of thing is their specialty.”

  “First monsters attacking my campus, then a dragon, and now you want me to bring that damn Yankee here on purpose?” Lewis muttered. Burns just smiled at his boss.

  “We’ll take care of it.”

  The men disappeared. A few minutes later, George and Denzel returned.

  “How’s Stoegemoeller?” Peter asked.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood but they think he’ll make it,” George answered.

  “It’s in God’s hands now,” Denzel confirmed. “Where we headed?”

  “The stadium,” Michael answered. “It’s game time.”

  George raised an eyebrow, but Peter confirmed it.

  “Let’s roll,” Conor ordered.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sanford Stadium loomed above them. One look made it clear they wouldn’t get in through the main entrance. The thick crowds flowed the wrong direction. Michael and Peter led the way back through the courtyard. They took a paved, stepped pathway that led them down the hill and under the bridge through an area seldom traveled, even on game day.

  When Michael saw the first of the golem creatures, he cursed himself. He knew he should have expected more of Abigail’s magical constructs. A quick double-tap brought the creature down. He slid behind one of the huge concrete columns that supported the bridge. His companions fell in with him.

  “At least a dozen,” he reported, peering around the corner. The words barely escaped his mouth before the next stroke of lightning came. The thunder followed immediately this time. Then the storm clouds above finally let loose. Torrential rains poured down around them without even the dignity of a light start.

  “Is there a way around them?” Conor asked.

  Michael shook his head.

  “Not on game day,” Peter confirmed.

  “Alright, then. Let’s flank them.” He touched Peter on the shoulder and pointed at the next column over. His friend gave a curt nod and they trotted off toward it together. Peter settled in on the near side. Michael circled around to the other.

  That’s when he found the homeless man huddling in the shadows away from the bridge. He rushed out to reach the man and bring him away from the assault. At first, the hobo cowered in fear. Then Michael stepped in closer. The man’s dark eyes opened wide.

  “You!”

  Michael drew back, squinting even against his goggles.

  “Jeremiah?” he asked tentatively.

  Jeremiah Ezekiel Elijah Jones stood tall, grabbing Michael by the shoulders.

  “I am he,” the man confirmed solemnly. “The Lord told me you would come, and here you are. The time is upon –”

  One of the constructs slammed into Michael before he could finish the thought. It latched onto him, wrapping its arms and legs tightly around his torso. He heard the cracks of suppressed gunfire from Peter’s MP-5. The answering pops from their friends across the way followed a moment later.

  Jeremiah jumped into the fray, yelling unintelligibly and whaling on the creature with open palms. Every third strike or so hit Michael instead of the creature, but malnourished arms delivered almost no power into the blows. He barely felt them hit as the trio collapsed into a heap.

  For a moment, he thought he’d lost control. Then the vampiric creature shifted around to his back, right arm wrapped around his neck in something approximating a classic choke hold. In theory it had moved to a superior position. In reality, Michael had spent years in the dojo training multiple ways to escape exactly this hold.

  He twisted hard, forc
ing his left shoulder downward and toward the creature. It opened up enough space for him to move. He kept the circle going, sliding his head under the creature’s arm. He pushed himself upward, regaining his stance as the construct lost its balance and fell under him.

  He flailed for his German submachine gun. He should have found it still strapped to his shoulder but didn’t. Instead, he gripped the Sword. It easily slid free of its scabbard. Supernatural powers or not, it could still cut. It took the construct’s head clean off.

  He found his MP-5 lying on the ground a few feet away, strap severed. He moved toward it, but two more of the creatures cut off his escape. Flanking him, they approached in a v-like formation. He raised his blade to strike. The attack never came. A blow from behind knocked him off balance. When the other two closed in, he lost his grip on the Sword altogether. It clattered to the ground as he struggled with the constructs.

  He pushed the nearest creature hard and jumped away, grabbing Jeremiah by the collar and dragging him under the bridge. He set his footing and turned to. Water dripped from his hair as he waited for the creature to come to him. It didn’t. Two more came after him. Like the first, they halted just before the overpass above.

  “Connor! Stefan!” he called out. The friar turned and caught his eye. “Take a look at this!”

  The sharp-featured German fell back to join Michael. Burns filed in with them a moment later. The entire group of golems stopped at the bridge, as if they’d hit an invisible wall.

  Jeremiah gave a loud, offended harrumph.

  “I done told you last week, I blessed the bridge. Those things can’t pass. Such is the power of the Lord.”

  George shot him a look that made it absolutely clear that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard in his life. He looked back at the vampires. Then he looked back at Denzel and shrugged.

  “Why not?” he asked no one in particular.

  One of the constructs bent down and scooped up the Sword.

  “Can they do that?” George asked. “Doesn’t it have some kind of holy protection?”

  “This ain’t one of your dungeons and dragons games,” Denzel answered as the creature dashed for the stadium.

  “Time to move!” Gabriel ordered. “Retrieval of the Sword is our prime objective until we find Abby or Faith.”

  “Copy that,” Michael answered.

  His comrades raised their weapons and began picking constructs off one by one. Soon they’d cleared a path to the stadium. Michael stepped out into the storm and recovered his rifle. His friends followed. Together they rushed to the overhang by the disused stadium entrance.

  “I shall stay here,” Jeremiah decreed from under the bridge.

  “They’ll slaughter you!” Peter called, waving him over.

  “The power of the Lord will protect me.” Indeed, the blessing he’d placed on the bridge appeared to hold. The golems approached, but would not pass the invisible barrier.

  “And if it doesn’t?” George asked.

  “His will be done, not mine,” the prophet responded solemnly.

  “Let’s go,” the Irish lilt snapped the spell of indecision.

  Rounding the corner, they came into a large concrete passageway. Concession stands lined one side of the ring. Restrooms lined the other. Exits to the seating areas broke up the pattern. Dozens of Abigail’s magical creations wandered the floor, blocking their way.

  “There!” George pointed. Sure enough, they could see the Sword glinting in the emergency lighting. Some excited vampire creature carried it overhead, jumping with joy as he danced through the crowd.

  “Let’s move in!” Conor called. “Pick your targets carefully. We need a path, but we need to conserve ammo.”

  “Copy that,” Michael noted.

  “He’s heading for the field!” Denzel announced as their quarry ducked through a portico.

  “Follow him!” Conor gave the unnecessary order. Michael’s spirits sank as he passed through the portico. Abigail’s pseudo-undead legion covered the field like army ants. Creatures crashed against them like a wave, scattering his friends across the field. For a moment, it took everything he had just to keep his feet under him.

  He ran through three magazines clearing a personal space bubble. When he finally found a moment to catch his breath, he searched the field for his companions. He found them quickly. He found something else, too.

  “There!” he croaked out. He hacked for a moment, clearing dirt and mud from his throat. “There!” The second time, it came out in his full battlefield voice.

  Across the field, Peter heard him. A creature rushed toward the stands, Sword held high. Peter charged after him.

  Michael snapped off a shot and missed. Gabriel’s careful shot didn’t. He caught the vampire construct square in the head. It dropped. The creature next to it stooped and took up the prize, once more making for the outer structure. Peter closed in on him. With his friend in the line of fire, Michael couldn’t get a clear shot.

  “Keep them off Peter!” he called out.

  They picked golems off one at a time as Peter raised his own rifle. One of the undead got through before he could fire, slamming him in the back. They went down in a heap together.

  Michael charged into the fray, closing the distance rapidly. The running start gave his foot momentum as he slammed it into the vampire’s head. It howled and twisted, turning to face the new threat. As soon as it popped clear, Michael shot it in the face.

  He dropped a hand to help Peter up, but his friend had already rolled over into a sprinter’s stance as they’d been trained in the dojo. He took off with a burst. Michael instantly saw why. Peter dove for the Sword. Another vampire plunged after it at the same time. Michael fired off a burst. His rounds hit it in the chest, slowing the creature. A headshot downed it.

  Peter wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the Sword. A flash of lightning lit up the entire stadium. Thunder rolled over them, shaking the ground, followed by the brightest light Michael had ever seen.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Even so, he had to raise his arm to shield them. At first he thought they’d been hit by dragon fire. After a moment, he managed to force his eyes open again.

  The light came from the Sword. It burned in Peter’s hands, yet it didn’t harm him. He stared intently at it, as if he were listening. Then he mouthed something. Michael thought he said the word, “yes,” although he couldn’t hear it. Peter dropped the rifle and clasped the sword in a two handed grip.

  Gabriel and Conor ran up beside Michael. The red-orange flame spread around Peter, engulfing the young man, but he didn’t burn. Instead, he dropped to one knee and crossed himself. The Sword shifted form, changing shape in his hands.

  “What’s happening?” Michael asked.

  “God has chosen a new Knight,” Stefan answered.

  The fire glowed brighter, changing color – first to a deeper orange, then blue, then white. It blinded them once more, and again they raised their arms to shield their eyes. A sudden shockwave burst across the field, then dissipated just as quickly.

  Michael lowered his hands. He blinked a few times to clear the sparkles before his eyes.

  Peter and the Sword had vanished.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The creatures descended upon Michael before he had time to process what had happened. He made a beeline for Denzel. He wasn’t the closest teammate, but his height and size made him the easiest to track in the carnage. It turned out that Gabriel had the same plan. The gentle giant became the de facto rally point.

  “We’ve got to find George!” Michael called out.

  “I lost him a while ago!” Conor shouted back.

  “Got ‘im!” Denzel called out. He charged out into the fray like the center on a football team.

  Given the location, Michael supposed they might as well run with that strategy. He followed, aiming carefully to keep too many of the undead things from closing in on his friend. Conor shook his head, grasping the plan but not loving it. He
joined in anyway. The rest of the team fell in behind them.

  Chainsaw whirling like a dancer’s baton, Denzel pushed through the constructs like they weren’t even there. He opened a path easily, and the team closed in on George. The gangly kid frantically held the creatures at bay with his hoe-saw, his back pressed against the concrete walls that ringed the stadium. A look of dogged determination lined his face as he hacked left and right. Michael gave him points for courage, despite his silly weapon. At least the thing never ran out of ammo.

  After regrouping, the team fought their way toward the nearest portico. That side of the corridor that ringed the stadium was empty, at least for the moment. They guarded the opening against the army on the field and took a moment to regroup.

  “What the hell happened to Peter?” Michael snapped.

  “I’m not sure,” Conor replied.

  “We’ve never seen anything like it,” Gabriel filled in.

  “Not in living memory,” Stefan corrected. “But there are stories.”

  “Like what?” Michael asked.

  “He’s gone to be tested.”

  “Doesn’t it test everyone?”

  “Not like this.”

  “What kind of test?”

  “We don’t know. The Knights don’t talk about it.”

  “What happens if he fails?”

  The friar avoided his gaze.

  “He’ll die, won’t he?”

  “Not if he passes,” Stefan answered.

  “How do we help him?” Michael asked.

  “We don’t,” the friar told him. “It’s between him and God now.”

  “How long will it bloody take?” Conor interjected. “In case anyone’s forgotten, we still have a dragon raining fire down on the city. The only reason the whole place hasn’t burned to the ground is because of that crazy mystical storm his girlfriend conjured up.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Michael fumed.

  “Whatever,” Conor retorted. “Your personal life isn’t my problem. My problem is whatever it is Abigail Covington’s trying to summon. Because whatever it is, logic suggests that it’s worse than a dragon. Do you know what’s worse than a dragon?”

  “No, I don’t.” Michael shook his head.