Morbius

by Brendan Deneen

  “It’s over!” the creature bellowed as the cult members stood ready, tense with anticipation, bloodlust in their eyes. “You have managed to escape me again and again, Amanda. And Morbius, you have killed so many. Katabolik, Arachne, Justin, Thaddeus, countless of my acolytes… and my mother.”

  Morbius flinched.

  “He murdered her, Amanda,” the winged monster cried. “And still you stand with him? You forgive him?!”

  “I trust Michael more than I will ever trust you, Catherine,” she answered, “or whatever you are.”

  The creature let out a scream of rage and flapped its wings violently, swooping closer to the three of them on the pulpit. The cult members drew near, as well. Another bolt of lightning filled the sky.

  “Very well,” it said, an evil smile spreading across its face. “Then you’ll die together, and I will make sure that it is a long, torturous, enjoyable death.”

  The mention of Amanda’s mother jogged something in Morbius’ memory. His mind flashed back to Malevolence, Maine, where the cult had again tried to kill Amanda. Sister Saint had died… violently, horribly… but not by his hand. There was one item that had confirmed to him who she was, and he had taken it off her still-warm corpse. Had kept it hidden within a small pocket inside his belt, waiting for the right moment to tell Amanda the truth of that night, and bequeath it to her.

  What better time than the moment before their death?

  Digging into the pocket, Morbius withdrew the item and held it out to Amanda. A small piece of jewelry. She stared at it with confusion, and then sudden recognition.

  “How… where did you get that?”

  “Catherine wasn’t lying,” he said. “I was there when your mother died—but I didn’t kill her. I took this off her body and waited to give it to you.”

  Amanda lifted the jewelry from Morbius’ palm. As if on cue, the monster and the cult members charged toward them. They were moments from pain and death, but a smile appeared on her face as her fingers closed around the ring.

  “What are you doing?” Franklin asked. “Are you proposing to her? Now?” He gaped and brandished his knife.

  “Shut up!” Morbius yelled without bothering to glance over at the small, confused man. “I’m sorry I waited so long,” he said to Amanda. “And I’m sorry for the things I’ve said to you since we met. I don’t always choose my words or actions wisely.”

  “Thank you, Michael,” she said. “For everything.” Holding the ring in one hand and the machete in the other, she closed her eyes—appearing ready for death—when her fist began to glow.

  Michael stared at her hand, at the raw energy emanating from it. And then he smiled, too.

  Maybe this battle wasn’t over after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  IT FELT as if her hand was on fire.

  The energy raced up Amanda’s arm and filled her body with a heat that was both transcendental and deeply terrifying at the same time. Guttural voices emerged in her head, speaking some kind of ancient language, and she thought she could hear her mother whispering, too.

  “Mom?” she said. Or did she think it?

  She wasn’t entirely sure.

  The entire church went silent and a jagged slice of lightning froze in the sky. The monster—her sister… whatever it was—was impossibly unmoving up in the air, its wings halted. Morbius was as still as a statue, staring at her, and was that a smile starting to appear on his face?

  Shadows crept in from every corner of the chamber, covering the candles and the mostly destroyed pews and the cult members and the monster and Franklin and Morbius, until Amanda was entirely alone on a plane of utter darkness. Except for the glow that emanated from her fist.

  Her next thought was that she should be afraid—should be consumed by fear at this unexpected turn of events. But she felt no fear whatsoever.

  After a moment, a voice called out.

  A young girl. She recognized that voice.

  It was Catherine.

  Her sister stepped out of nothingness and appeared before her. Nine years old. Maybe ten. Wearing her favorite dress. Her hair back in a ponytail. Amanda had forgotten that it was her preferred hairstyle back then. Shades of Poison-Lark to come.

  “Catherine?” Amanda said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Young Catherine smiled and stepped closer. Something about her didn’t look right, though. The whites of her eyes were more like gray, and her smile was just a little too big for her face.

  “What’s happening?”

  “It was you all along,” Young Catherine said, though now that she was closer, the voice wasn’t quite right either.

  “Who are you?” Amanda demanded.

  “I’m exactly who you want me to be,” her little older sister said. “I’m the thing that has always been inside her, and your mother, and is now inside you. I like it here. The other two wanted it more, but this is where I’ve always belonged. I bet you can feel it, too.”

  “I don’t want this…”

  “Yes. You do. And a part of you always has. That part of you that emerged on the subway with that man. All you have to do is say yes.

  “Say it. Now.”

  “I… I can’t,” Amanda stammered.

  Black blood began pouring out of Young Catherine’s eyes and ears and nose and mouth, but the little girl was laughing.

  “Stop it!” Amanda screamed.

  “NOW!” the little girl screamed and she kept laughing, the noise echoing against the surrounding blackness.

  “YES!” Amanda shouted, the word washing over her, along with a feeling of absolute power and the unmitigated wrongness of the utterance. She loved it. And she hated herself for loving it.

  Amanda Saint blinked, a blink that lasted less than a second and a hundred thousand millennia, and when she opened her eyes again, she was back in the church. Time had resumed, but the creature in the air and the enraged cult members had stopped their attack. They were all staring at her outstretched hand. Her mother’s ring sat in the middle of her palm, glowing brightly, casting sharp shadows across them all.

  “Where did you get that?!” the monster screamed, its dark wings beating furiously, the resultant wind sending debris flying. One unlucky cult member was impaled from behind by a jagged piece of wood. “It’s supposed to be mine!”

  “Then come and get it, bitch,” Amanda said with a slight grin on her face.

  The monster bellowed again and dove at them as Amanda closed her fist around the ring. The cult members surged forward as well. Though he looked exhausted and was in excruciating pain, Morbius dove into them, gutting two of them before they could even register his movement.

  As the creature came within striking distance, Amanda swung her fist and caught it across the face, a blow that was accentuated by a burst of light, and it went flying into a corner where it landed in a disheveled heap. Startled at what had happened, but ready to finish this once and for all, Amanda sprinted toward it.

  She reached the creature and brought her glowing fist back for another blow, but the monster reacted quickly, slashing out with its claws and catching Amanda in the stomach. Three long gashes appeared there and blood poured out. Amanda stared at the holes in her body with genuine surprise, but something told her to hold her iridescent hand against the wounds, which she did for a moment. When she removed her fist, her skin was whole, as if she had never been injured in the first place.

  She looked up at the monster, and smiled.

  * * *

  MORBIUS CONTINUED to make his way through the cult members, but quickly realized that it was hopeless. There were just too many of them. He was subduing them at a stupefying rate, but he was also suffering cut after cut, and he was slowly bleeding out.

  He wouldn’t last much longer.

  Glancing over, he saw Amanda battling the creature. A tableau that should not have existed. It was incredible to see her like this, though, to see her fist glowing with raw energy. Even so, the sisters were too evenly matc
hed. They rained blows upon each other, the kind that would destroy normal humans, but nothing seemed to have sufficient effect to shift the balance.

  He had to do something.

  A trio of cultists jumped on top of him, landing punches and cutting into his leg, but Morbius threw them off without even bothering to see where they landed. He took a broad leap and sped toward Amanda and the monster. He knew what he had to do. He knew what it would cost. And knew that it was worth it.

  He thought of Martine. If this worked, he would never see her again. The idea nearly made him stop, but she would want him to do this. She would be proud.

  Morbius struck the creature at full speed, knocking it to its side. It roared and swiped at him, catching him with its claws along the side of his head, nearly taking his ear clean off. He screamed as blood burst out of him, nearly passed out but clung to consciousness as if it was all that he had left in the world. Which, he realized, it was.

  Twisting wildly, he positioned himself on top of the creature, holding onto its shoulder, and glanced back quickly at Amanda. He hoped she understood.

  “Michael… what are you—? No!”

  Morbius bit down into the monster’s neck, using all the strength he had left, and felt its blood explode into his mouth. He had expected it to be delicious, like all the other mutated blood he’d consumed since that first pouch given to him by Liz and Fabian.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  This blood was like acid. It burned his mouth and his throat and his stomach. It felt like it was eating him alive from the inside out. Yet Morbius kept on drinking.

  The creature clawed at him, doing more damage, but Morbius held on. Amanda ran to his side and attacked the monster as well, battering its face with blow after blow that should have wrecked her fists. Its face split open, and after one particularly damaging blow, one of the monster’s eyes burst like an overripe fruit being hit by a hammer.

  It screamed in pain and rage.

  Still, Morbius drank.

  Until his body revolted and he fell away from his poisonous meal, collapsing onto the gore-soaked ground. Then, at last, the blackness of death consumed him.

  * * *

  AMANDA PULLED her hand back from the latest blow she had landed, her fist covered in blood and mucus and who knew what else. She was out of breath but it wasn’t from exertion. It was from pure excitement.

  The strange voices in her head told her to keep attacking but she fought them, realized they were growing stronger with every minute that passed. Even so, she refused to give in. She wasn’t her sister. And she wasn’t her mother.

  The creature was motionless on the ground in front of her. Barely breathing, and it was shrinking, its green leathery skin turning softer and pinker. Catherine’s features were starting to take shape again.

  Amanda crouched and looked around. The cult members were watching her, watching the creature, confusion etched across their features. Half of them seemed ready to fight; the other half were scoping out the exits.

  She stood straight and faced them. The rain fell on her and the wind whipped her hair around her face, and her fist continued to glow.

  “Who’s next?!” she shouted.

  The cult members turned and ran. Within minutes they were gone, leaving only carnage and death in their wake.

  “Typical,” Amanda muttered.

  She turned back around. The monster was gone as well, replaced by her sister. Naked. Small.

  Dying.

  Amanda kneeled next to her. She pushed the hair out of her face. For a moment, she saw the little girl that Catherine had once been, and it broke her heart. She cried. Not for the Catherine in front of her, but for the girl who once was.

  “Amanda…” she said, her breath coming in labored gasps.

  “I’m here, Catherine. I’m with you.”

  “I-I’m sorry…” her sister replied, her face wet.

  Tears rolled down Amanda’s face as well, but she couldn’t find any other words. A moment later, her sister was gone. As her head lolled to the side, Amanda noticed two bloody holes in her neck.

  “Michael!” she yelled and quickly got up.

  He lay several feet away from her, sprawled out on the ground, arms thrown up over his head. Amanda reached him in seconds and shook him gently. He didn’t respond. She placed her ear on his chest, but heard nothing. Moved her head to his mouth. Felt nothing. He wasn’t breathing.

  Morbius was dead.

  “No,” she said and pounded him on the chest. “No!”

  Suddenly there were voices whispering in the church, and she stood up quickly and spun, ready to face this latest danger. Had a cult member been stupid enough to return?

  No… there were red eyes staring at her from the shadows. Dozens of them. She couldn’t see any bodies, but the glowing eyes bore into her soul. They wanted her.

  And part of her wanted them, too.

  Wanted everything they offered.

  The whispers grew louder. All she had to do was walk toward them. Let the darkness envelop her.

  It would be so easy.

  She raised her fist and stared at it. It was glowing brighter, and she could feel the power filling her entire body. She liked this feeling. A lot. And why shouldn’t she? She had been betrayed by everyone she had ever loved. She deserved this.

  But as she looked closer, she saw dark veins spreading out from where she was holding the ring… her mother’s ring. Her entire hand was slowly turning black. It almost looked as if it was… rotting.

  Amanda looked over at Morbius’ corpse. He had held onto this ring for her. He’d had no idea it was anything more than a keepsake, a connection to the family she’d once had. He had done it out of friendship. Despite everything, he was the best friend she had ever had.

  Amanda Saint turned her back on the eyes in the darkness. The whispers grew louder, infuriated, demanding that she join them. They could give her so much. She could rule the world.

  Kneeling down, she placed her fist on Morbius’ chest. The light from the ring seemed to grow weaker, as if it knew what she wanted to do. She closed her eyes, concentrated, bent the energy to her will.

  “Come back to me,” she whispered.

  The glow increased again until the entire church was filled with it. Amanda bent over farther and hugged the dead body that used to be her friend, the living vampire, Michael Morbius.

  The shadows burned away, the eyes disappeared, and then the light itself vanished in a burst. All was silent and dark except for the rain that continued to fall through the holes in the ceiling, and the half dozen candles that had survived the battle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MORBIUS SAT up and vomited black blood across the floor.

  “What the hell…?” he said, looking around. The church had been devastated during the fight, the bodies of slain cult members strewn everywhere. As well as Catherine. Returned to her human form. Dead.

  Shakily, Morbius got to his feet.

  Amanda stood on the pulpit. She took the last of the twelve other sacrifices down from a cross and then laid her on the ground. All twelve of the sacrifices’ corpses were now on the floor, waiting to be covered.

  Amanda noticed that Morbius was awake and she walked over to him, a grim look on her face. Her right hand was clenched in a blackened fist. She had a look in her eyes that he’d never seen before. It was more than sadness, more than strength.

  “You’re alive,” she said.

  “Thanks to you, I’m guessing,” he responded, looking at her fist. “The ring?”

  She opened her fingers and dust fell out, drifting to the floor and being absorbed by the rivulets of blood that continued to flow.

  “Gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it was your mother’s. It meant something to you.”

  Amanda laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of happiness in that laugh.

  “Honestly, Michael? It means more to me that you took it, that you kept it. So… tha
nk you.” They stared at each other for a long moment. In the far-off distance, they could hear sirens heading their way.

  “But I have to ask,” she continued. “Catherine said… she told me that you murdered our mother. I won’t be mad at you, I promise, but is it true?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “And no. It was when we were in Malevolence. After the woman who claimed she was Mrs. Agnes attacked us that final time, you passed out.”

  Amanda smiled ruefully. “Yes, well, I was a very different person then. But wait, are you saying—?”

  “Agnes was your mother, Amanda. In disguise. When I defended myself, she fell back and onto her own ax, splitting her head in two. She died instantly. I’m sorry.”

  Amanda looked down, but quickly back up. Her eyes were hard. “No, it’s okay. I wish you had told me sooner, but that’s not something I need to understand—it was your call.” She paused, then added, “I guess I never really knew her at all. Or Catherine. The only family I have left is my father, and I’ll do everything in my power to find him.”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t have to help me any longer, Michael. You’ve done more than enough.”

  Morbius stepped closer to her. “You just saved my life. I won’t rest until we’ve found your father.”

  “And Martine.”

  “And Martine,” Morbius confirmed, nodding. He suddenly cocked his head and looked around. “Where’s Franklin?”

  Amanda turned and looked, too. “With everything that happened, I completely forgot about him. I guess—I guess he’s gone.”

  “He was the source of so much evil,” Morbius mused, walking amidst the blood and the bodies. “But maybe he earned his redemption tonight by helping us against Demon-Fire.”

  The sirens grew louder.

  “Time to go,” Amanda said.

  Morbius nodded one more time, took a last look at all the death and destruction, and took hold of Amanda. Then he jumped up and through one of the holes in the roof of the church. The clouds still hovered overhead, the rain continuing to fall, but the full moon was beginning to peek through. No longer a blood moon, it was a beautiful sight.