by Dante King
“Where,” he snarled, “is the skeleton key?”
“Is that the key that unlocks the rib cage?” I asked, unable to resist.
“V-v-v-very, ah, humerus, Justin,” Nigel chimed in, stuttering with a combination of nerves and excitement.
“Nice, Nige,” I said appreciatively.
The stranger ignored us and said, “Tell me where the key is, and I will spare you.”
“How about you spare me the tedious warnings and just get the fuck out of our house?” I said, taking another step toward the robed figure.
The man reached into his pocket, leered at us, and threw a handful of dust toward us. It fell upon the thick purple carpet, which instantly writhed and rippled, as if he’d just tossed a stone into a pond.
“Crap!” Nigel exclaimed, “Enchanted Ashes!”
There was no time to ask what the hell Enchanted Ashes were. There was no need.
The dust coalesced, ran together, and glowed with a soft green light. Before you could say, ‘Tweak my nipples and call me Susan’, five ghoulish creatures had risen from the innocuous—if slightly fusty—depths of the carpet. There was something of the zombie about them—that was to say, they looked like they’d maybe once been human, but had spent the last ten years wrapped in a carpet or large plastic sheet at the bottom of a swamp somewhere. They had extremely long fingers and were quite bowlegged.
What was not zombie-like about them was their turn of speed. They moved like shit through a goose. As soon as they were fully formed, they leapt forward and attacked, one for each of us five. Four pelted past me before I even knew what was going on. The fifth crashed into me, fingers reaching, jaw snapping at my throat. I got my staff up just in time, but the thing still bowled me over backward. I fell with it and kicked it over my head before I rolled to my feet.
Fighting in an overcrowded hallway was, among many other things, an exhilarating experience. There was little room to manoeuvre, which suited our foes because it seemed that all they really wanted to do was get those long fingers fastened around our throats. I saw Rick’s adversary leap at him with arms outstretched, but the big Islander caught it and tossed it down the hallway with a roar.
Nigel’s ghoul went for him in the same way, flinging itself at him with reckless abandon. The halfling managed to conjure one of those handy localized whirlwinds of his and direct the ghoul upward. It crashed into the ceiling, sending plaster raining down.
Bradley and Damien were fighting back to back, which struck me as a smart tactic. It meant that all they had to worry about were attacks from the front. Even as I watched out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bradley grappling with his ghoul. He managed to shove it off and free one of his hands. In an instant, he had conjured a small Fireball and fired it into his foe. The ghoul shrieked but kept coming at him, snapping its jaws in a mindless fashion. Bradley hit it with another Fireball, then another.
I would have liked to see him turn that thing back into ashes, but at that moment, my ghoul returned to the fray. It bounded past Nigel, launched itself off an ornamental table, sprung off the opposite wall, and rocketed toward me.
I conjured a rapier-thin Flame Barrier in midair and severed both the ghoul’s legs off at the thigh. It fell a foot short of me, writhing and thrashing in pain and frustration. I summoned the Flame Barrier so that it whizzed from where I’d had it hanging in the air straight into my waiting hand—something that I didn’t even realize that I could do until that moment. I molded it into the shape of a sledgehammer in my mind and brought it down on the back of the ghoul’s neck with a wet crunch. Instantly, the creature dissolved back to ash.
Rick had one of his enormous fists closed around the throat of his ghoul and, even as I watched, the carved tattoos on his arm glowed a deep green and the skin from his fingertips to his elbow took on a definite stony quality. The ghoul’s neck crunched in his grip. Suddenly, it was no more than soft gray dust flowing through Rick’ fingers.
“Nigel, waft that fucking thing my way!” I yelled as Nigel dodged an attack by his ghoul.
With consummate speed, Nigel conjured another pocket-sized tornado and blew the ghoul down the corridor toward me. I conjured yet another Flame Barrier, this time in the shape of a selection of rather nasty spikes. The ghoul punched headfirst into them, two of the spikes driving out the back of its head, sending greenish matter splattering against the nearest wall. In a puff of ash it was gone.
Bradley finished his ghoul off with a final Fireball that must have perforated whatever desiccated organ passed for its heart. One minute his enemy was trying to poke its elongated fingers into his eyes, the next it was gone. He turned and grabbed the shoulders of the last one, which was strangling Damien with its skeletal hands, and shoved it away. The ghoul stumbled in my direction, so I rammed the crystal staff into its stomach, pressed it up against the wall, and let it have a Blazing Bolt from point blank rage. The crackling ball of red energy blew it into a cloud of gray ash, leaving only a few small smears of dust and a large burn mark on the wall behind.
I turned with vengeance burning in my heart, back toward the robed figure. I was just in time to see him hold up what looked like a thin sliver of yellowed bone. With a sigh of deep content, he thrust the bone into the depths of his brown robe. Then he made a savage chopping motion in the air, and a portal opened behind him.
“Hey, dickface!” I roared. “Where the hell do you think you’re off to?”
The stranger gave me another one of those shit-eating grins of his, took a deep, long breath like he was smelling for something specific, and pulled out a crooked wand. He flourished it in our direction. The spell, whatever it was, wafted over us like an icy wind.
I looked around. “Is that it?” I said, “What are you, a fucking Air-conditioning Mage?”
“Uh, a-actually, J-J-Justin,” Nigel said from behind me, “I think th-things are a l-l-little more serious than that. I think this guy is a Death Mage.”
Still staring daggers at the Death Mage, I said, “I’m guessing that they specialize in reanimating the dead, or something like that? Hence the green ghoul things?”
There was a distant roar from the depths of the house.
The Death Mage grinned, bowed, stepped into the portal, and vanished.
The roar echoed up from the bowels of the frat house again. I knew what that was. I had heard that same roar only half an hour or so a go. There was something different about the manticore’s bellow now though.
Not really surprising, I thought, seeing as the fucking thing is dead.
There was a definite modulation to the roar though, something chilling that spoke of graves and cold things and black hearts.
The five of us exchanged glances.
“That’s what I think it is, isn’t it?” Bradley groaned.
“If what you think it is, is a giant manticore that we recently killed and that has been resurrected by a weird scarecrow-looking motherfucker that just broke into the house to steal a piece of bone, then yes, Bradley, that is exactly what it is,” I said.
Rick heaved a deep, subterranean sigh.
“Well,” he said, “shall we go and make that creature dead? Again.”
“Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea, Rick,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Four
We made it down to the cavernous entrance hall, just as the undead manticore smashed its way up from the dungeon. It was another illustration as to why we needed a poltergeist, I guessed; to stop these things strolling up the stairs and trashing the goddamn house like a rowdy jock at a house party.
“Crap on a wand tip, we’re going to have to get some temporary wards engraved over the dungeon door to stop the smarter creatures wandering up here!” Nigel yelped.
It was not just the bellows and cries of the manticore that had altered. The beast itself looked different. Its eyes were hollow now, sunken. They no longer twitched and moved around with predatory cunning, but stared balefully out at the world, bereft of that spark t
hat spoke of a thinking mind behind them. It looked hungry, but it was not a hunger that could be sated by food. It was a desire for souls, I thought, rather than just straight flesh. It glowed with the same eerie green light as the ghouls had. When it let loose another roar that rattled the window panes, I could see the portraits behind it clearly through the gaping hole in the back of its throat.
I had a sneaking suspicion that defeating this thing was not going to be easy. It hadn’t been what I’d describe as a cakewalk when the manticore had been alive. Now that it was dead, I imagined that blitzing its liver with, say, a Blazing Bolt was not going to cause it the same sort of problems as such an injury might have done when it had been breathing.
“Boys, I don’t know about you, but I’m already sick of looking at this thing,” I said. “Damien, Bradley, what do you say we hit it with a combined Fireball to the chest? Rick, if you hit it with that tasty earth moving trick of yours to put it off balance, it should give us three the opening we need. Nigel, if it looks like it’s going to make a move on us, you distract it with a whirlwind. Got it? Good. Let’s go.”
We ran down the last few broad wooden stairs, and Rick launched himself into the air. When he came down, he smashed the floor with both hands and let loose a rolling wave that rippled across the floorboards, upsetting rickety side tables and the other odd bits of furniture that were stationed about the hall. The manticore was knocked off balance. One of its forelegs was still mangled from where I had damaged it in the previous fight and this caused it to overbalance. It splayed its other front leg to steady itself and opened up its large chest.
“And...fire!” I yelled.
Three Fireballs flashed across the space between the manticore and us. Whether it was because the three of us were unconsciously willing it, or through some other instinctive magic, the three fire spells converged together in midair and formed one big mama of a Fireball about the size of one of those space hopper things.
The accumulated spell struck the undead manticore square in the chest. It should have turned the creature into mincemeat. Instead, the spell deflected, the three spells separating once again and ricocheting off in different directions. One Fireball punched through one of the magnificent gothic windows like an escaping firework, another narrowly missed Rick before exploding into an old leather armchair in a corner, and the third came back at Damien with such force that he only managed to get a Flame Barrier up at the last second. Still, the impact of the spell sent him cartwheeling sideways, and he crashed through the heavy oak bannisters in a shower of splintered wood, coming to rest in a heap on the staircase. The only medical training I had ever received was through the medium of Scrubs, but I could tell that he’d been knocked cold. Blood trickled from a gash along his scalp.
It was the first time that I had ever seen one of my fellow fraternity brothers taken out in combat. It was not a pleasant thing to witness. It was not something that I was glad to see. Rather than shake my resolve in our abilities however, I felt a thrill shoot through me. It was like hot steel had been injected into the gaps between my vertebrae, strengthening my spine and boosting my resolve to take this monster out.
Rick and Bradley were clearly of the same mind. The two young men came charging in, Bradley activating the translucent orange armor that he referred to as ‘going inferno’. Rick attempted to hit the manticore with the same earth shaking spell that he had used before but, with a dexterity that took all of us by surprise, the undead beast jumped nimbly into the air, spread its wings and went into an impossibly smooth hover. As it did so, it lashed out with its tail and sent a cluster of tail-spikes hissing in Rick’s direction. The biggest member of our fraternity may have been a tough son of a gun, but he also had the agility of a cruise ship. He attempted to throw himself into cover behind a cobweb-covered statue, but the final spike in the fusilade smacked into his massive thigh and punched out through the other side. The Islander crashed to the floor with a cry of pain.
“Bradley, no!” I yelled. “That thing’s too fast for you in that fucking suit!”
Bradley didn’t hear me though. He was a fit guy, but I had first hand experience fighting him while he was wearing that enchanted armor of his and knew that he was no better than Rick when it came to changing speed or direction.
The manticore’s gross parody of a human head snapped around as Bradley sprinted toward it. Bradley fired off another Fireball that glanced off the manticore’s flank and set a tapestry to smouldering. With supernatural speed, the giant undead creature batted a paw the size of a snow shovel sideways and raked Bradley with four enormous claws. The claws slid across his enchanted armor, sending up four matching sprays of bright white sparks, but did not penetrate. The force of the blow sent him flying across the room and into the very statue that Rick had tried to take cover behind. Bradley crashed into it and fell in a stunned heap at its feet. He shook his head groggily, but before he could recover his wits and get to his feet, the man-sized statue toppled from its plinth and pinned his legs beneath it.
And, just like that, our five fraternity warriors were reduced to two.
Nigel and I moved slowly into the middle of the entrance hall. The entrance—not exactly the epitome of cleanliness in the first place—looked even more worse for wear than usual. Most of the furniture had been reduced to matchwood, one of the windows was shattered and the floor was a mass of deep grooves and scorch marks. There was also the not insignificant addition of three injured mages lying scattered about the place.
“Any ideas, Nige?” I asked the Wind Mage halfling, as we bumped up against one another.
The manticore turned to regard us.
“Um, not as of yet,” Nigel replied.
“No rush.”
Feeling a little like a man scraping the bottom of the magical barrel, I unleashed a Lightning Skink in the hopes that it would at least distract the manticore while Nigel and I cooked up a plan which didn’t culminate in us being relegated to the past tense.
The Lightning Skink burst into existence in a shower of scintillating neon sparks. Its eyes were fixed on the manticore and it let out a shriek as it shot forward, its streamlined body streaking across the floor like one of the light cycles from Tron.
As the Lightning Skink harried the manticore like a wasp, I tried to think of some way to take this thing down. It was clear that, during the reanimation process, the Death Mage had imbued the manticore with some heavy occult resistance. Essentially, we couldn’t kill it with magic, and I thought the likelihood of me or Nigel being able to get within range of it with one of the ornamental swords or spears that hung on the wall was pretty unlikely.
And then, with a timing that was made all the sweeter by their stunning good looks, six women crashed through the front door.
“Did you do that?” Nigel asked, gaping.
I shook my head.
The six young women were headed by Enwyn Emberskull, the Fire Mage who had inducted me into the Academy. With her was Cecilia Chillgrave, Janet Thunderstone, Princess Alura of the Gemstone Elementals, a Wind Elemental going by the name of Kryn, and Iowyn, a Storm Elemental.
“Armor up!” I yelled at Enwyn in greeting. Enwyn had recently learned—through sleeping with me—the same fire-based magical armor spell that Bradley was able to conjure. It was a mark of her warrior’s instinct that Enwyn did not waste time with questions. She activated the spell straight away and was immediately encased in sleek plates of orange thaumaturgic protection. The armor was far more malleable looking than the stuff that sheathed Bradley, and I guessed this was because it was influenced by Enwyn’s own body and fighting style.
The manticore bellowed furiously at the sight of the new arrivals, its foul headed darting from one to the next as the undead beast struggled to recalibrate. It had been on the verge of potentially finishing us off, but now it found itself outnumbered eight to one—nine to one, if you included the Lightning Skink.
“It’s resistant to fire magic as far as I can tell!” I yell
ed.
Enwyn nodded. “Iowyn, Cecilia, slow this thing down!” she ordered.
Cecila sprinted forward, her face contorted in a smile of adrenaline-fuelled joy at the prospect of a fight. Something about the contrast in her stereotypical girly looks and her obvious lust for battle never failed to grab my libido by the doodle and make it sit up and take notice.
She rolled neatly under a swipe from the manticore that would have batted her head off her shoulders, came to her feet and passed her hand through the air and then made a pushing motion. A cloud of twinkling vapour swathed the undead manticore’s legs, seemingly freezing it and slowing it down.
Next, Iowyn, lithe, fast, and covered in thick blue fur, cartwheeled across the hall and wrapped the creature’s head in a similar fog, reducing its vision.
It was all good, smart magic and was doubtless making the manticore less of a threat, but it wasn’t actually doing it any damage. My Lightning Skink was still darting about, zapping the manticore with miniature bolts of electricity and enraging it.
“How do you propose we actually kill this thing?” I called to Enwyn, while our undead enemy thrashed and clawed at the Lightning Skink.
“Does waiting for inspiration to fall from the sky and strike me count as formulating a plan?” the Gothic minx called back.
“No, I don’t think…” I started to say.
Then I had it.
“Enwyn!” I yelled. “I need you to draw this big old douche canoe up to the top floor!”
Enwyn gave me a quizzical look. I shook my head. “No time. Just draw it up to the top floor. The rest of us will herd it. Go!”
Enwyn did as she was told and took off toward the stairs. At that exact moment, the manticore managed to connect with a lucky swipe and crushed the Lightning Skink into the floor, where it fizzled and vanished into the ether. With its vision shortened by Iowyn’s fog, which still enveloped its head, the manticore saw Enwyn run close by and flicked at her with its tail. The blow caught her and sent her crashing into the stairs, but her armor absorbed most of the impact.