The Demon Collector

by Erik Lynd

  "I expected more from the Lord of Hell," The Collector said and Christopher looked up sharply. "Kill h..."

  "What did you say?" Christopher asked.

  "I said, kill him," The Collector repeated.

  "No, I meant before," Christopher said. But it was too late.

  The closest demon, a Blood, clawed at him. He wasn't sure if it was the one that had taken his Weapon or not, they all looked the same. But it didn't matter. His fist was a blur as it smashed into the demon’s face. It fell back against its brethren. Like a domino effect, others were knocked down, but it barely made a dent in their numbers.

  The next one came and then the next, Flesh and Blood working together, attacking as one. They surged at him and he punched and kicked, fueled by the Hellpower inside. For each he knocked back, two more appeared in its place and his punches and kicks were not as effective as using the Weapon. Strikes slowed them, but they did not stop.

  From the corner of his eye he could see the top of the pyramid. The Collector had turned from him. He tore open Eris' shirt and laid a wicked looking knife against her smooth, pale stomach. She stopped playing dead and tried to kick him, and although her legs were secured to the posts, she managed to knock the knife out of his hand in a clatter to the floor.

  He slapped her with crack that cut through the wet moans of the demons.

  "Eris!" Christopher screamed. She had saved him so many times, and here he was unable to do anything to help her. Fury raged in him. He struck again and again at the demons. But he could still feel it, the hollowness of something missing; now he knew it was the piece of his soul. Eris had figured that out early on.

  A demon clutched his arm. He wrenched it away and punched it, but another claw soon followed trapping him again. Another sunk his teeth into his shoulder. Eris screamed and he could see the Collector sinking the blade into her stomach.

  In a rage Christopher threw the demons from him. They fell back at his violent outburst, but even he knew it was only a matter of time before they took him down.

  If only he were whole.

  The Hellpower flared up inside and he thought of something. He had accepted this power inside of him as a partner, and they held an uneasy truce, a truce that had allowed him to defeat the were-hellhound. But a partnership was all it had ever been.

  Then he knew what he had to do. Even if it meant destroying who he was. That seed of hell had always been separate, like the demons that possessed the bodies around him. They shared a body, but were not the same. He had channeled the power through him, giving it its freedom. But never was it truly part of him. But now he had a piece missing inside...a hole to fill.

  The demons were on him now. He was still fighting them off, but he had more important work. They pulled at him, gouged his flesh as he pushed them off and struck at them. These might be low level demons, but there were enough to kill him. He was weakening fast.

  Mentally he pictured the seed of Hell inside of him and pulled it into his own soul. He wrapped it up, knitting it into his very being. It hurt. It burned. But it also felt right. It spread throughout him seeping into all his secret places. And as it touched every part of him he knew things, he began to understand. But he also changed. With knowledge comes change, and this at its core was the darkest of knowledge, this then was a dark change.

  He could feel a coldness growing inside, but he did not have time to consider it. He was on his knees by now, throwing off the demons when he could. But more and more teeth and claws got through. His clothing—his real clothing, not just his shadow clothes—and his flesh were in tatters. But he understood something now, he did not know yet exactly what it meant, but he was sure of something.

  For all his confidence, for all his learning and seeking power, the Collector had gone too far. Demons were the domain of Hell.

  And Hell was his.

  A huge head bearing a wide mouth lined with shark-like teeth swooped toward Christopher's face.

  "Stop," said Christopher. And his words carried ancient weight stretching back from the beginning of time. He put no real power behind it, just the force of will from his newly re-forged soul. He didn't argue with it, he didn't allow it to work through him. The power, the will, it was him.

  As one the demons stopped. Looks shifting between confused and concern spread across the demoniacally twisted human faces.

  "Go home," Christopher commanded in that same soft voice full of dark will.

  The demon closest, the one who had almost bitten off his face, suddenly stiffened, its face went slack. A glowing started in its chest, slowly making its way up through its throat and into its jaw. As soon as the glow hit its head, it leaned its head back and opened its mouth like a silent scream to the heavens. The glowing orb burst out from its mouth, stretching the lips out like it was giving birth. The orb popped out and floated upwards. The body left behind went limp and fell, an empty and used husk.

  The glowing orb floated above them all for a moment before fading into nothing. Around him other demons were going slack, their orbs floating up and fading in the same way. One by one the empty mortal bodies fell to the ground, starting with those closest to him.

  A clanging sound caught Christopher's attention. The Weapon had clattered to the floor as the body that had held it fell. Christopher reached down and picked it up. The power surged in him as he once again held the Weapon. But it was different this time, he wasn't just an observer. He understood the Weapon a little better now.

  The demons that had been further away had looked confused for a moment as their brethren slipped away from their bodies. Now, they surged forward, some howling in confusion. He realized they may not have heard his voice.

  "GO," Christopher cried.

  The group surged back as though slapped. Then more orbs of power could be seen floating from the demons.

  "NO!" screamed the Collector. "What have you done to my collection? They are mine!"

  "No, Fredrick Bailey. They were never yours. You were not collecting, you were stealing."

  "No! My power! What have you done to my power?"

  The Collector looked down at the corpses in dismay. Tears forming in his eyes, his lower lip trembled. His hands, holding what looked like a scalpel, dripped with blood. Behind the little man Eris still hung from the pillars, but now she had a large gash across her gut, deep enough that the shiny reflection of her organs could be seen.

  He needed to help her, fast. But he didn't move. At some level he felt an urgency to run to her. But a coldness had settled in him. He hesitated to see what the Collector was going to do.

  "It was never your power you little thief," Christopher said. "You learned a trick maybe, but you are still a common little thug from the slums."

  The little man looked at him sharply, glaring through the tears.

  "Yes Freddy, I know all about you. You and your sick little games. You thought they meant something, but they didn't, they never got you anywhere."

  "No, they were my prize, my collection. I was the master."

  "No Freddy, you were the babysitter."

  The Collector screamed, face red with anger. It would have been funny if his body hadn't been growing, changing. His flesh started to boil, faces, only vaguely human slid across his skin.

  His clothing ripped away and he quickly outgrew his priest’s cassock. More faces had appeared and rose from his skin, trying to burst through. The expressions were of eternal torment. By the time he had stopped growing he had more than doubled in height. Bony protrusions pierced the skin at his joints.

  The Collector’s own face had swollen, lips, nose, and brow distended like he had been attacked by the world’s most sadistic bee swarm. As Christopher watched, the fleshy face turned gray. His skin was hardening to a bony mass of some sort. He bellowed and all the faces sliding just under his skin let out silent screams.

  It looks like I made it to the boss level, Christopher thought. The faces, perhaps a dozen, must be the demons inside of him, the last of his col
lection.

  "Depart," Christopher commanded. The faces stirred, then stretched and twisted in the hardening skin as though trying to get out.

  The Collector made a deep rumbling noise. It took a moment for Christopher to realize he was laughing.

  "I can hold on to these. Your words will not work as I hold them tight. They are my favorites and they give me more than enough power."

  The Collector leapt down, sailing over carved stone stairs. Christopher dodged to the side, jumping across the face of the pyramid. The Weapon, now a long sword, slashed the air and clanged a glancing blow against the Collector's new, armored protrusions. It didn't penetrate the tough bone, but it took a chunk out.

  The Collector howled. He moved toward Christopher on the other face of the pyramid.

  "I will kill you boy, you have changed nothing. The rest of my collection runs through the city above, killing and indulging other violent delights. Your words of command will never reach them. The chaos they caused will be multiplied a hundred times in the each of the cities to follow..."

  He had reached the edge of his side of the pyramid and was about to round the corner when Hellcat, a black blur of fur and fang, came wailing out of the shadows and onto the Collector’s back. Hellcat sunk her teeth into one of the only fleshy parts left on the Collector, his swollen neck, and tore at it. The Collector wailed and tried to get at the beast on his back. But his arms, swollen with the energy of the demons within, were too large; his own body was Hellcat's shield.

  Christopher saw his chance. He darted forward, slicing at the demon collage of a man. The Collector, perhaps sensing a greater danger than the cat, dodged to the side. Christopher's blade missed the target, but he recovered quickly enough that even one of his new teachers might have been impressed. The blade missed flesh, but it changed instantly into a mace and struck bone again, this time in the Collector’s knee. The bone shattered at the blunt impact. Once again, the Weapon had chosen the perfect form.

  The Collector howled and fell. Hellcat sprung from his back as he teetered. He fell down the face of the pyramid, holding his knee and screaming the whole time. Christopher didn't give him time to recover. He was at the bottom in a single jump, tendrils of his dark power, now more like extensions of himself than ever before, swirled about him and propelled him to the base of the pyramid.

  The Collector hit the ground with a crunch and tried to roll to his feet, but Christopher was there, with the Weapon. As the Collector rolled to his knees, he raised his arm to block Christopher's strike. The mace clanged against the bony ridge along the Collector’s arm, splintering more bone. But the Collector was still fighting; one blow from that bony fist and Christopher would never be able to recover.

  Then Christopher noticed the faces. They were swarming. And where they rippled over his body, the bony surface moved like water; it couldn't be solid where the faces were. Now they were all gathering at his chest, mouths opened wide like a dozen birds looking for food. But it wasn't food they wanted, they were looking to him to feed them.

  He swung the mace one last time straight down at the crouching giant. The Collector raised both his arms to ward off the blow. Just before it connected however, Christopher pulled the strike, and with a command obeyed quicker than ever, the Weapon turned into a long sword. Christopher lunged forward and the blade sank into the weak spot of a demon's mouth gaping open on the Collector’s torso.

  It hooked the dark soul instantly and Christopher, pulled tearing the soul from it earthly shell. The Collector screeched and tried to hold onto the soul pulling away like wet glue. But he could not stop the Weapon from slurping up his essence. He looked up at Christopher.

  "I'll return, with a larger collection. They will bring me back through the gate and I will start my collection again. I will return."

  The light went out of the Collector’s eyes as the last piece of his soul disappeared into the satiated Weapon.

  24

  Eris!

  Christopher leapt to the top of the pyramid, propelled by his tendrils of power. He landed by her side and his blade flashed, slashing through the ropes binding her to the columns. She collapsed in his arms, barely conscious.

  Her stomach was sliced open and blood soaked the front of her jeans and tattered remains of her shirt.

  "Eris! Eris! Listen to me. Where is Dark Eris? She can help heal you, you need to let her take over."

  "She's gone," Eris said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "Gone? But...how?" And then realization dawned. He had commanded the demons home, to Hell. "But I didn't mean for...I didn't want her to go." Christopher said and realized it was true. He didn't want Dark Eris to go, he didn't want Eris dying in his arms.

  "No, she is here. Just deep down inside, he...he did something to her," Eris said. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again.

  "I'll get you to a hospital. I can get you there, you need to hold on," Christopher said. He thought he might be crying.

  "No, it is all chaos up there. I don't know if the hospitals are even working. It's too late." She paused to swallow hard. "You, you're different. You are worse, darker than before. It’s not good. Promise me you will stop. I love the man you were, not the monster you are becoming."

  Her eyes sank closed again.

  "You must find Juan," she whispered, but her eyes remained closed.

  Fuck this shit.

  Christopher gathered her in his arms and jumped from the pyramid. Power flowed around him and carried him across the cavern. The rage and anger flowed through him pulling and pushing him along faster, faster. When he landed at the base of the stairs his power propelled him forward and up through the spiral staircase.

  Tendrils snaked out, carrying him up like a cross between an octopus and Spiderman. He flew up the stairs cutting the turns so close his shoulder crashed through stone. He sheltered Eris' body with his own and when he checked she still breathed, slowly and weakly.

  In moments he was at the top of the stairs and charging through the empty black house. He couldn't hear Hellcat following, he assumed that meant she had faded. He couldn't pause to check, he had only one thought.

  Save Eris.

  The streets outside the house were still deserted, but in the distance, he could hear the chaos. Screams and gunfire. Parts of the slums glowed red from fires. It wasn't limited to the slum area either; from the amount of light all around him he would bet the rest of the city burned as well.

  He had no idea where the nearest hospital was and Eris was right. The city was in chaos. Even if he found one, who knows if there would be anyone to help.

  He had only one option. He leapt to the rooftops and shot through the slums. He jumped from roof to roof, dark power swirling around him pulling him through the city as though he almost flew. He didn't care about being seen, he didn't care about his own safety. All that mattered was getting Eris help.

  The streets were full of people and fire and death. People stood stunned, but most screamed and ran. Others looted, taking what they could and beating down those who tried to stop them. He saw the occasional body, some returning to mortal form as a demon left its husk. Damning the Collector had ended his power over them, and they were returning home.

  He may have stopped the Collector, but a lot of damage was done. It would take years to rebuild the city, to recover from this crazy night of violence.

  But he didn't care about that now. He went straight to the lair. The poor souls in the street outside the slum entrance to the lair scattered as he descended from the rooftops. Some probably knew him from the internet, others just ran because he was fury incarnate. Shadow power rolled out from him and knocked aside everyone in his path.

  He passed through the secret door and with one well-placed blow he knocked the rusty steel door off its hinges. He shot down the tunnel and into the lair.

  Hamlin jumped up from the computer.

  "What the hell happened..." Hamlin's words trailed off as he saw Eris' blood soaked front. "
Oh my god."

  "There's a hospital a few blocks from the zoo," Christopher said to him as he headed straight for the cube room. To Eris he said, "Hold on, just a few more minutes. Just hold on."

  But Christopher was scared. She didn't move, he wasn't sure she was even breathing. She was dead weight in his arms.

  25

  The lights flickered.

  Juan looked up from the computer screen. It wasn't the first time they had flickered; in fact the intervals seemed to be speeding up. Juan took a bite from the Dorito and chewed slowly. He only had a couple of bags of chips left and a sketchy-looking frozen dinner.

  The computer screen didn't flicker, they were on a battery backup. Eventually as the power went out down here they would fade to black too, but for now. It was his only contact with the outside world. He had watched as his city came to its senses the next day like a college kid nursing one hell of a hangover and trying to remember exactly what happened.

  Juan had worked for two days straight. First, he took down the bodies and put them in the large storage cabinets in the cold server room. It wasn't ideal, but it kept the smell reasonable. Then he went to work fixing, tweaking, helping where he could. He fixed systems he had been manipulated into damaging. He got emergency services back online as fast as possible, as well as aircraft control. He even siphoned money from rich assholes and used it to purchase medical supplies to be sent to clinics.

  But it would never be enough. Never enough to make up for what he had done. It wouldn't be much longer now anyway. The water was still running, but when the power went the pump would shut down. His food was almost gone. The last thing to go would be the servers, but they couldn’t last forever.

  He had looked at the elevator, but it was no use. There was no way he could get it working again. He didn't need the doors, but the motor was shot and it was getting no power anyway.

  He thought he could send out a message via social media, send an email to the police. But then he realized two things. One, he had no idea where he was—although he could triangulate based on his network location, they wouldn’t find him deep underground—and two, he was pretty sure he didn't deserve to live.