by Jake Stone
“Take cover,” I say, yanking Tora behind me.
“Use your blades,” Atia orders. “The less noise the better.”
We do as she says, slamming our rifles to the magnetic strips on our backs and drawing our melee weapons. My sword glimmers against the light of the doorway, and I swing it with all my might as the first hellion approaches. His head flies from his shoulders, landing with a thud across the room. But his brothers quickly fill his space. They lunge at me with their crude weapons, batting at the plates of my armor, where they find no purchase.
I sever the leg of one of them, while amputating the arm of another. They squeal in pain, stung by the quickness of my strikes. But it only infuriates them more, and soon they’re lunging at me again.
Glancing at the doorway, I see another wave of demons followed by a behemoth of a monster with a hammer appearing in a cluster. They rush down the stairs, filling the room. Soon, there’ll be more. We’re not prepared for this. Especially when there’s a good chance that Bantha is here. Plunging my blade into the one of the demons, I log into the com. “They’re’s too many,” I say. “We should retreat.”
“Never!” Petronelous roars. She swings her blades, cutting one of the bigger hellions in half. “Soldiers never run from their duty.”
“He’s right,” Atia says. “We must retreat.”
“To where?” Zorel asks, stabbing one of the monsters through the heart. “They’ll just keep following us.”
“Let me worry about that,” I say, blocking a strike to my head. “Just go!”
The women retreat in a steady fashion, defending themselves with slashes and parries as they make their way toward the hole. When they get there, they let Tora out first, knowing that she’s the most defenseless.
“Hurry!” Atia says, waving for me forward. “Before it’s too late.”
I swing my blade in a wide arch, tearing down the front row of demons. But behind me, the behemoth who I’d seen only seconds before, swings his hammer into my back, and I’m thrown across the room, slamming into a bunch of statues that explode from the impact. The pain is excruciating, and I can barely feel my legs through the burning heat along my back. Knowing that my chance to escape is now gone, I log into the com and aim my rifle at the ceiling above the hole.
“Run!” I say, firing my weapon and collapsing the exit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beaten and stripped of my armor, I’m led at the end of a chain by a tiny goblin who calls himself Tulgrit. He’s no bigger than a dwarf, but with my wrists chained behind my back and my neck collared, I’ve become nothing but a play toy for this little shit. If only there was some way I could break free of his leash and metal cuffs, I’d smash his head in.
The little bastard gives my collar a yank as he negotiates a long and winding staircase, frustrated with his inability to move faster. Finally, giving up on his stumpy legs, he yanks me down to my knees so that he can climb onto my shoulders.
“Hurry, hurry,” he screeches. He digs his hands into the back of my hair as though it’s his reins and gallops me forward. “The master is waiting, and we cannot anger him.”
I cringe as the goblin’s nails scratch against my scalp.
“Do not make Tulgrit angry,” the troll says. “Or he will play his tricks on you.”
I grimace as Tulgrit twists my head to the side, directing me through a large hall where human skeletons are hanging from the rafters. The gory bodies are still dressed, suspended like the banners of great houses. But instead of artistic sigils emblazoned upon expensive cloth, I see only torn clothes that are coming apart at the seem. One in particular catches my eye: a long figure in a red robe, its chest marked by the metal seal of the corfew. It’s a clergyman, I realize, one of the expedition members who was never heard from again.
Gaze wandering, I spot a chest of scrolls seated upon a wooden desk, where a figure whose face is concealed under a black hood is reading under the light of a melting candle. His head lifts as he notices me, a shiver running up my spine as I see a pair of yellow eyes glaring back at me.
I look away.
Eventually, Tulgrit leads me into what appears to be a dining room with a long wooden table, topped with metal trays of bleeding meat. Hellion guards watching from the corners of the room turn as they see us, their hideous faces curling into toothy grins as they wait to see what Tulgrit has brought them?
At the head of the table, a massive demon with plated armor, much like Azafalia’s, watches me through blazing eyes. A demon lord of some kind, I realize, though I can’t tell of what order. He sits back in his chair, his massive hands resting along the armrests as he studies me. Is this Bantha?
“Seat him,” the demon knight orders, his voice rumbling through the room like thunder.
Tulgrit tugs at my hair, nearly ripping it out at the roots, as he urges me to sit at the other end of the table. I plop into the seat, head pulled back as he gives it a yank.
From the entrance, the slender figure in the black-hooded robe enters the room, his thin body nearly gliding across the floor as he makes his way to the table. Reaching for the serving knife and fork, he slices a piece of flesh from what looks like a human thigh, then presents it to his master on a silver plate.
The demon lord inspects the meat with a pinched brow, frowning when he sees how little he’s been served, but says nothing, accepting the food with a gracious bow.
The servant then fills his master’s glass from a vase of human blood, careful as he fills it to the top. When he’s done, he sets the vase down and stands to the side, where he waits in silence for his master’s next command.
“Where are the others?” the demon lord asks, slicing into the meat with a rusty piece of metal.
“What others?” I ask.
The demon sneers at me, and I feel my stomach sink with terror. He doesn’t believe me and gives Tulgrit a nod of ascent, who quickly begins to stab me in my right trapeze with a tiny dagger.
I clench my teeth to keep from screaming, but the pain is tremendous and my legs kick out on instinct. When he stops, I sit there, gasping.
“Let us try this again,” the demon says, motioning for his servant to serve him another plate. The hooded figure responds quickly, offering him a low bow and carving another piece of flesh just as thin as the first to place on his master’s plate.
The demon lord replies with a disappointed scowl, but makes no complaint. He will eat what he gets; nothing more. “Where are the others?” he asks again, slicing another piece that awkwardly slips off the fork. He’s not good at this, I realize.
“Dead,” I answer.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” I offer nervously, sweat dripping down my cheeks.
The demon lifts his gaze to Tulgrit and nods his ascent.
I grimace as the little fucker starts to dig into my flesh once more, twisting and turning, bending it to and fro, making sure I feel every inch of it. Snickering as he does it, he finally pulls it out, his laughter thick in my ear.
“Where are the others?” the demon lord asks again.
“Fuck you,” I wheeze out, forced to rely on my basic instinct as a defense. Blinking through my sweat, I try to remain conscious.
“You’re making Tulgrit an extremely happy goblin,” the demon lord says. “In fact, it’s been ages since he’s had a prisoner with such…spirit.”
I peek out the corner of my eye as my head is yanked back, and I see Tulgrit’s face next to mine, the stench of his breath like hot garbage.
“I, on the other hand, do not appreciate the inconvenience of lost time,” the demon lord says, “So tell me what I need to know and I will save you from your torture.”
“I’m not telling you shit,” I say, trying to remain clam despite myself. My heart is beating so hard that I think I’m having a heart attack. But I keep it together—for my friends. “So you might as well just kill me.”
“Death?” The demon snorts. “Such a gift is only awarded t
o those who earn it. No. Your reward will only be pain. But I can make it fleeting. All you have to do is tell me where your friends are.”
“Then I guess you might as well get on with it,” I say. “Cause you’re wasting my time as well.”
The demon lord, furious with my answer, lifts his head to nod again, but is halted when the hooded servant at his side leans in to whisper a word.
It takes everything the demon lord has to keep from leaping from his chair and ripping my head off, but, surprisingly, the hooded servant is able to keep him at bay. After a long moment of silence, the demon calms.
“You’re a Battle Saint,” the demon lord says scornfully. “A warrior of worth. Perhaps torture isn’t the best incentive. Perhaps there’s something else I can motivate you with.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Power,” he says. “Grant me your loyalty, and I’ll see that Bantha rewards you with rank and favor. What knowledge you have can be useful.”
“Is Bantha that desperate for knowledge that he’d barter with the likes of me?”
“Bantha needs no help to destroy you or your brothers,” the demon lord says in defiance. “For his power on this planet is unrivaled.”
“Then why didn’t he stop us from gaining a beachhead?”
The demon lord laughs. “You think you’ve won with a simple landing?”
“It’s a start,” I say, doing my best to appear brave.
“You’re nothing but food,” he replies. “Your arrival makes it easier for us to eat.”
I study him, wondering it there’s truth to his words. “How do I know I can trust you?” I ask, acting as if I’m interested in his deal. I’d never accept it, of course. But I need to stall him, gain time to figure out what’s going on.
“Bantha rewards those who prove their loyalty.”
“Interesting,” I say. “Yet, as attractive as your offer may be, I think I’d rather hear it from Bantha himself.”
The demon lord frowns as I turn away, focusing my attention on the hooded servant who suddenly stills.
Without a word, the hooded figure motions for the demon lord to lift from his seat, which he promptly does. Taking his place at the end of the table, the hooded figure sits back in the chair and steeples his fingers before his chin.
“Impressive,” the figure hisses in a malevolent voice. “I’ve never been identified so quickly.”
“It was him,” I say, motioning at the demon lord, who now stands at his side. “He was out of place. Didn’t know how to use his utensils.”
Bantha turns his head as he examines his underling. “For all of Lord Valdrok’s assets, he’s always struggled with basic etiquette.”
Valdrok’s face twists into a look fury, his hands curling into fists. Jaw clenched, he casts me a glare, displacing the resentment he feels toward his master onto me.
I take a hard swallow. “I can see.”
Bantha sniffs at my humor.
So this is him? The big bad Bantha that everyone has been trying to kill for centuries? Now that I have him in my sight, he seems…disappointing. He’s small and thin with a frail body. But the power he projects in his confident swagger and relaxed intelligence makes me more nervous than any demon I’ve ever come across.
Raising a hand, he summons the vase of blood to slide across the table toward him. When he catches it, he pours himself a glass.
“Tell me,” he says, taking a sip. “How did you find us?”
“I was lucky,” I say, refusing to mention anything about the women, Tora or the villagers.”
His head canters. “Really? Amongst these tunnels?”
“They weren’t that bad,” I say.
He snorts. “I’m sure. Especially for a group of Battle Saints.”
“Who says there are more of me?”
He pauses as he assesses me, dubious of my answer. After a while, his gaze lifts to the ceiling of the room, where it lingers a bit, a long tired breath escaping his lips before he speaks. “This temple was built more than five hundred years ago. Did you know that?”
I shake my head.
“Born out of the heart of a vengeful woman, it has served as my home for some time now. Not much for an eternal such as myself, but for someone like you, a mortal who can die from simple illness or say at the end of a goblin’s blade, it’s worth five lifetimes.”
I raise my brows, feigning my awe.
“It was in this very cavern, you know, where Zendal found her. The young woman who would eventually become the greatest witch in the galaxy. She was alone and on the verge of dying—much like yourself—but she was smart. She did what she had to survive, and sacrificed that which meant most to her for a second chance.”
“Sounds like a shit deal,” I say.
“Does it?”
“Sacrificing those you love for power?” I ask. “Of course.”
“So power is meaningless to you?”
“When it comes with a price.”
“Everything comes with a price,” he says. “That’s what you fail to understand. And it is because of this that your kind will eventually lose.”
“How so?”
“You’re blinded with the malady of hope. It manipulates you into thinking that the world can be a fair and just place of fulfillment. But it’s a lie. The world is full of chaos and pain, a boiling pot of bacteria and inhospitable worlds that will kill anything with a heartbeat.
“That’s one way to put it,” I say.
“But what you fail to understand, is that you and your kind were born out of this storm, and thus, are tainted with the same savagery that we are.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s true,” he says. “Think about it, even amongst the elite, those who rule your world and fight the war against us, our influence rules. Corruption. Slavery. Rape. Murder. Greed. I can go on if you’d like.”
I say nothing.
“Humanity was born out of aspiration. But its very nature is still savage at best. Let me show you.”
I turn to the entrance as a pair of men are dragged into the dinning hall. Bone-thin and dressed in rags, they look as though they’ve been starved in the dungeons for years.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“Prisoners from a previous battle,” he replies. “Officers I believe and truly superior specimens. As a matter of fact, they’re the only ones out of fifty, who were able to defy the interrogation methods of our kasters. A worthy feat, indeed.”
I study the men carefully, disturbed by how mangy they appear.
“What are you going to do with them?” I ask.
“Feed them,” he says coldly. “Give them what they need to survive. You see, I’ve promised them that today they would finally get something to eat.”
“And what exactly are you going to give them?” I ask.
“Themselves.” He tosses a rusty dagger onto the floor between the pair and watches as the men puzzle over it. Their realization comes to them in a heart stopping moment, and, aware of what they must do to survive, the pair leap for the knife.
I watch in horror as the two struggle, clumsy in their efforts, but powered with determination. Eventually, one of them wins. He digs the blade into the other’s throat, his eyes filling with tears as he realizes with pained acuity what he’s done.
As the body unwinds to the floor, the man can only glare down in silence at his once friend, comrade and brother. But soon, his hunger returns to him and he’s renewed by his need for survival. “Can I eat now?” he asks with a bowed head.
Bantha replies in an amused tone. “By all means,” he says.
I have to turn away as the man begins to carve at his friend’s body, starting with is arm and moving up to his shoulder.
“You see,” Bantha says. “Savage. Embrace your nature and join our ranks. I promise, you’ll not regret it.”
“Never,” I say. “I would never betray my friends.
His yellow eyes draw into slits. “You’re different from the ot
hers,” he says. “You see, every soldier that has been brought before me has always relied on their prayers to get them through, yet, since you’ve been seated, not once have you invoked the words of the corfew. Which tells me you are either stronger than most, or you have no faith.”
“I’m just a realist,” I say. “I know that what ever I do, I’m screwed. So might as well die with a bit of dignity.”
“Very well,” he says. “Deny my offer and damn yourself to pain. It doesn’t matter. For in less than one day, the witch of Korath will be resurrected and with her power, we will destroy the Republic army that waits outside.”
“We’ll fight you,” I say through gritted teeth.
He laughs quietly to himself, a bony hand crossing over his mouth as his eyes burn a deep yellow from under the shade of his hood. “Hope…it is merely a delay from the inevitable.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No,” he says. “I’m not.” From beneath his robe, he pulls out a white cylinder and my heart sinks in despair as I realize what it is. Tossing it across the table, I can only stare, dumbfounded, as it rolls before me. Atia’s spear.
I struggle in my seat, trying to break the chains from my wrists. But Tulgrit digs his blade into my flesh again, causing me to strain under his torture.
“You see, young man. Eventually we all succumb. Take him back to the dungeon,” Bantha orders.
“To prepare for the kitchens?” Tulgrit asks.
“No,” Bantha says. “Keep him alive. I want to have a gift for the witch once she’s resurrected.”
“What about Tulgrit’s tricks?” the goblin asks.
Bantha consider’s his plea. “Do what you must, but keep him alive. I want him ready for tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I scream as Tulgrit presses an iron rod against my shoulder. The heated metal glows red against my skin, smoke lifting from the wound, as it makes its mark.
When the goblin’s done, he pulls back to admire his work, a toothy grin touching his slimy face as he sees how badly my shoulder’s been scarred. I pant from the pain, my heart racing.