Morbius

by Brendan Deneen

  A smile broke out onto the creature’s twisted face. If indeed this had been Poison-Lark, her features had been swept away with her humanity.

  “You’re too late,” it said, taking a step closer to Morbius, its body continuing to expand.

  “Catherine…” Morbius replied, the rain pelting him, lightning flashing in the sky again, illuminating the two monsters as they faced each other. Then he added in a sardonic tone, “What happened to your face?”

  The creature bellowed in rage, echoed by its red-robed sycophants, who surged forward. Morbius ducked as the thing that used to be Catherine swiped its claws, raking him across the back. He grimaced against the pain and rolled forward through the wash of blood, but immediately found himself surrounded on all sides by cult members. He was overwhelmed. Outnumbered.

  Yet if this was going to be his final night on Earth, then he was going to go down fighting.

  Morbius burst up and out of the enraged cluster of cultists, slashing several of them as he did so. They screamed and fell back, blood spraying out and spattering everywhere as he leapt into the air. The wind continued to flow through the large hole in the ceiling, a product of the rising storm, and it enabled Morbius to hover above their heads. From a couple of dozen feet in the air, the odds somehow looked worse. More cultists were streaming in through multiple doors, the entire church full of angry men and women who wanted just one thing.

  The death of Michael Morbius.

  As he contemplated his next move, Morbius watched the creature’s wings grow and spread out, and then begin to move. Flapping slowly, and then faster. Before he could react, the monster came through the air directly at him.

  “Great,” he muttered, seconds before the violent impact.

  * * *

  FRANKLIN TRIED to keep his breathing under control. It wasn’t easy with a smashed-in nose.

  He watched, along with hundreds of Demon-Fire members, as the living vampire known as Morbius jumped into the air above the pews, followed by the monster that apparently used to be the woman upon whom he had a major crush.

  He was pretty sure he was over it now.

  No one seemed to know he was even there. Which was perfectly fine with him. Cult members were still entering to his left and his right and from the nave, too. He knew that they had been actively recruiting during his time working for Poison-Lark and Thaddeus, but even he was surprised by the sheer number of them. He recognized a few faces here and there, when he could see past the hoods and shadows, but thankfully no one seemed to care that he was there to witness what might be the most important ceremony in the cult’s history.

  If he waited for exactly the right moment, he thought he could slip out unnoticed. Morbius had forgotten about him completely—he had other matters on his mind as he battled the winged monster up near the ceiling.

  Trying to decide which door would allow for the easiest escape, his eye was caught by the thirteen crosses behind him. Against his better judgement he looked up, and was filled with remorse when he saw the women strapped to the huge beams of wood, their eyes all closed. Even in the limited light, he knew enough about physiology to realize that twelve of them were already dead, their faces pale and their chests still.

  His stomach sank.

  He was a hypocrite who had been responsible for his own fair share of dead innocents, but since the arrival of Michael Morbius, something had begun to awaken in him. He wasn’t sure what it was, or why it was happening, but Franklin was starting to regret what he had done. All of that work, and for what…? So Poison-Lark could transform herself into a hideous monster and bring more hurt and terror into the world?

  Franklin had fallen for the pitch she and Thaddeus had fed him, about a better world, but that particular world wasn’t looking so very appealing.

  His eyes landed on the thirteenth sacrifice, the woman who was right behind him. At first, he thought it was Poison-Lark. He looked up at the creature in the sky, and then back at the woman on the cross. No, it wasn’t Lark, but it looked a lot like her.

  The sister! The one Morbius had been babbling about. Even before that, Franklin had heard rumors about a sacrificial virgin who had been there when their plans were thwarted in San Francisco. He knew Demon-Fire had been hunting for her ever since.

  It all made sense now.

  He stepped closer to her. She was so beautiful. Like Poison-Lark, but softer somehow. Without even really thinking about it, he reached up and gently touched her hand.

  Her eyes opened.

  His jaw dropped.

  “Help me…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MORBIUS WAS outmatched. Significantly.

  He couldn’t believe how strong the creature was. Or the fact that it still had Catherine’s eyes—and those eyes seemed to be enjoying the airborne battle, even if it was still getting used to its new wings. For the moment, Morbius’ experience was keeping the battle even, but that wouldn’t last long.

  As he grappled with his opponent, Morbius looked down by the altar and was surprised to see Franklin talking to Amanda. What was the little man saying to her? If he even thought about hurting her…

  While he was distracted, the creature took the opportunity to bite down into his shoulder and neck, ripping out a chunk of flesh and spitting it into the growing shadows of the church. Blood burst from the gaping wound and Morbius screamed in agony.

  “Now I see why you like doing that,” the monster said, licking his blood off its lips. “Ahh, and you still have some of Franklin’s formula rolling around inside of you. Good, isn’t it?”

  Morbius had already been losing strength, and this accelerated the process, so he did the only thing he could think of. Quickly—faster than the creature could expect—he wrapped his arms around its body, including the wings, and they both plummeted. As he had days earlier—he wasn’t even sure how long ago it was at this point—Morbius twisted his body so the creature would take the brunt of the landing.

  The impact was staggering. They crashed into the pews, killing at least two cult members, shattering them in an explosion of wooden shrapnel.

  The creature was stunned, and Morbius took the opportunity to grab a piece of wood that had broken away. He shoved it into the monster’s shoulder. It screamed and batted him away, sending him flying into an ancient cloth-covered piano, shattering that as well.

  Cult members watched in awe, frozen in place as he climbed to his feet, teeth bared. And then they, too, attacked. Regardless, Morbius roared at their approach. He might have been weak, might have been bleeding from multiple wounds, but he wasn’t about to give up the fight.

  * * *

  AMANDA CLAWED her way back into consciousness. She felt like she was going to throw up, and her arm hurt like hell. Glancing down, she saw that the blood was still being pulled out of her, through a tube that was pouring uselessly out onto the floor. The case had been destroyed, shattered into broken glass and twisted metal.

  And there was a strange-looking man looking up at her. Misshapen, his forehead wrinkled in confusion or concern, or both.

  “Help me…”

  He was frozen, perhaps terrified by the battle raging around them. She slowly realized that this was the man Morbius had been holding during his dramatic entrance. But who the hell was he?

  A loud crash distracted her. Looking over, she saw Michael lying in the ruins of a shattered piano.

  Michael.

  Despite everything, a smile worked its way onto Amanda’s face. Catherine had lied. He hadn’t abandoned her, had probably been trying to get back to her this entire time. Then her smile faded, and she remembered.

  Had Morbius really killed her mother?

  Amanda shook her head. She had to get free, struggled against the binds that held her, but they were too strong. And her head was spinning. She didn’t know how much longer she could stay conscious. Damn it.

  She looked back down at the twisted man.

  “Hey!”

  He blinked, and then see
med to focus on her. Opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He glanced at a nearby doorway, the one that led to the area behind the chancel. It was empty, no more Demon-Fire members coming through.

  He was weighing his options.

  “You came here with Morbius, right?” she asked.

  He shifted his gaze to the living vampire, who was trying to pick himself up from the rubble. As he did, he was swarmed by several of the cult members. They kicked him and stabbed at him with huge knives.

  The twisted man looked back at Amanda, and nodded.

  “He needs our help,” she said. “Which means I need your help.” She licked her dry lips with a tongue that felt like leather. “Untie me. Please.”

  The man took a step toward the doorway, toward escape, but then stopped. It almost looked as if he was being tugged in two different directions at once, by an unseen force. Finally, he moved to the altar and lifted himself up onto it. His movements were awkward as he leaned forward, nearly falling off, but he managed to grab hold of one of the wooden beams that held Amanda. His fingers fumbled with the rope that kept her arm immobile and, after what felt like hours, managed to untie it.

  Amanda pulled her arm free, gasping at the agonizing combination of pain and numbness, but she powered through it and reached up, working to free her other hand.

  “My feet!” she said, and the man jumped down to untie the rope around her legs. As Amanda worked at the bindings around her other arm, she looked back to where she had last seen Michael. The creature that had once been her sister barreled toward him, while those cult members who still lived scrambled to get out of the way.

  The monster—Catherine—slammed into him with incredible force, sending them both crashing through a pillar, bringing a huge section of the ceiling down on top of them. Torrents of rain fell through the new opening, mixing with the broken concrete, shards of glass, and pools of blood. Once again, a jagged vein of lightning burned itself across the sky and then disappeared, its visual echo remaining for a moment before that too vanished.

  The peal of thunder was almost deafening.

  Amanda freed her arm at almost the exact same moment that the man finished untying her legs and she fell forward, surprised and unable to move her limbs and body quickly enough to jump down. She prepared to slam face-first onto the gore-soaked floor.

  But the man surprised her again by rushing to catch her, though it was more of a cushion than a catch as they both went sprawling down the altar steps. Amanda blinked and looked down into his face. He gave a small, apologetic smile.

  “I’m Franklin.”

  “Amanda.”

  “I know, I—”

  Abruptly, she lunged up and struck an incoming cult member with a nasty uppercut to the bottom of his chin. The man went flying back, his arms outstretched, losing his grip on the knife he’d been holding.

  The exertion took its toll, however, and she fell back into Franklin’s arms.

  “We need to get you out of here,” he said as she pulled the tube out of her arm, grimacing at the pain.

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “We have to help Morbius.”

  Franklin seemed to think about this for a moment, and then nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “But… how?”

  * * *

  THE CREATURE’S strength seemed to be increasing every minute, and it was still growing.

  The partial collapse of the roof had given Morbius an opportunity to think. The monster that was formerly Catherine had taken the brunt of the impact, and was still trapped under a huge section of the pillar that had smashed down on them. He made his way out of the debris and watched as Amanda punched a cult member, and then fell back into someone’s arms.

  Franklin.

  The little man was helping her. Morbius shook his head. People continued to surprise him. Usually in bad ways, but every once in a while, the surprise was pleasant. Still, what the man had done to Jake…

  Morbius’ conflicted thoughts were interrupted as two cult members came charging at him, one from each side. He glanced at both, then took a half step back as they neared and grabbed both of them by the scruffs of their necks. He slammed their faces together to the sound of cracking bones and ruptured flesh. He let their corpses drop into an unmoving heap, and moved toward Amanda.

  “Michael!” she shouted as she saw him approaching. “Look—”

  Something grabbed him around his ankle and he went down, face-first, and clawed at the ground as he was pulled backward, leaving huge scrapes gouged into the blood-covered floor. He managed to flip himself over and saw that the creature had taken hold of him, was leaning down to take another bite out of his neck.

  Pulling from every reserve of energy in his body, Morbius lunged forward, under the gaping maws of the monster, pulling his foot out of its grasp. He grabbed its neck with his forearm and flipped himself up and onto the creature’s back, digging his sharp claws into its muscles to ensure his purchase there.

  The monster roared in pain, then flapped its wings and took to the air again.

  * * *

  MANY CULT members watched the creature as it ascended with Morbius on its back, while others turned their attention to Amanda and Franklin. She bent over quickly and scooped a machete from the ground. Franklin stared at her with huge eyes.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Grab a weapon.”

  Shocked into action by her words, Franklin obeyed and found a blood-soaked knife of his own. The two stood back-to-back as the cult members approached, laughing at the pitiable display of defiance.

  * * *

  FROM THE back of the creature, Morbius saw the danger Amanda faced, and bared his teeth in frustration. The tide was turning, and not in his favor.

  The monster still tried to claw at him, but he was perfectly situated in the middle of its back. His fingers were still embedded in his opponent’s flesh, and when he dug in, its flight pattern change slightly.

  Which gave him an idea.

  He pulled his claws free and grabbed onto both wings, attempting to keep them from flapping. They were incredibly strong, and Morbius fought against their movement with all his strength, causing them to stop almost entirely. Once again they plummeted, and he tried as hard as he could to force their descent toward the group of cult members who were bearing down on Amanda and Franklin.

  They crashed just as another bolt of lightning lit the sky. This time, the pounding thunder was instantaneous. A half-dozen cult members were crushed beneath the weight of the creature, killed instantly. Amanda and Franklin threw themselves backward, out of the way of the impact, though more blood now ran at their feet.

  Morbius was still perched atop the monster, its head twisted at an unnatural angle as it struggled to get its bearings. Several pieces of shattered pew had pierced its body. Black blood spewed forth.

  Franklin stared at the scene with a strange look on his face.

  “Its neck!” he cried. “Morbius! Look!”

  At first he didn’t understand what the man meant, but then it hit him. It was so obvious. The creature’s neck was in full view, stretched taut, glinting in the light that came from the sky outside. Despite the spikes that covered the monstrous form, its veins still pulsed.

  It was vulnerable.

  The scientific part of Michael’s brain reasserted itself. The blood in the vat had been taken from the thirteen women, to mix with an alchemical version of Franklin’s formula. So the blood currently pumping through the creature’s veins would be infused with incredible strength. It could change the course of the battle in an instant.

  He looked to Amanda, but couldn’t read her expression. Did she know what he was contemplating? She knew how addicted he had become to the mutated blood, but still…

  The creature began to stir, its muscles tensing for an attack. Morbius bent over and placed his teeth against its neck. The skin was thick, almost like armor. He’d have to bite down with incredible force to get through.

 
The thought of drinking the monster’s blood—not cold and stored in plastic, but warm and fresh within a living creature’s flesh—was enough to make him almost giddy.

  Morbius began to bite down.

  Prepared himself for the rush.

  Then he stopped.

  “Do it!” Franklin screamed.

  No.

  Morbius’ desperation, his need, was the thing that was making him weak. No matter how the blood made him feel, how much strength it gave him, it wouldn’t last—and it was turning him into a slave. Who knew what this creature’s demonic blood would do to him? How much more addicted he would become.

  Was that who he was? He was cursed, yes, had been gripped by events that raced inexorably out of his control. He had killed the innocent, fought against the good, but deep down, he had never lost his humanity.

  Not all of it. He clung to it fiercely.

  At this moment, however, he felt it slipping away. There was only a sliver left.

  Despite its initial promise as a cure, each time he’d drunk the blood mutated by Franklin’s formula he’d felt less and less like himself. Less like Michael the man. Less even like Morbius the living vampire. The world might see him as a monster, but he was always a choice away from regaining his humanity. Or enough of it to keep hope alive.

  Michael pulled back without penetrating the monster’s neck. In response, the creature rolled to its left and Morbius jumped off, barely avoiding its flailing claws. He landed next to Amanda and Franklin and crouched, ready for the next assault.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling grimly.

  “Hello,” he responded, frowning. He might have just saved his soul, but he had also doomed all three of them. A group of cult members surrounded them and began to close in, while the creature rose up to its full height, beating its wings, and launched itself into the air.

  “I’m sorry,” he added.

  “For not drinking my sister’s probably poisonous blood?” she replied. “I forgive you.” She looked around them. “If this is how I die, at least I’m doing it with my best friend.”

  “Ummm…” Franklin intoned, his voice rising a couple of octaves. “That’s very sweet. but we have a situation here.” A low rumble of laughter filled the church. It was the creature, hovering twenty feet up. Lightning appeared in the cloud-filled sky above it. The bolts were coming more frequently.