Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12)

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Crusaders who still had ammo tried firing upon it, but some had more sense.

  “Run, you fools!” Edward yelled. His men started to flee, some dropping their useless weapons. Crusaders and cops joined them.

  Guy ordered the retreat, only staying to ensure the wounded were evacuated.

  Somehow, the Necro Lord had combined a golem with an abomination. But how was it being powered? We’d have noticed a weyline spike.

  My eyes widened as I realised what he had done.

  Undead didn’t need to rely on weyline magic directly. It could sustain itself on flesh. And all flesh contained a little bit of magic. In a large enough quantity, it could power even a golem.

  Athena! We were out of our league.

  The roar of fighter jets filled the air, as missiles flew and pelted into the golem. Direct hits. Flesh was charred and some fell to the ground, before rapidly regenerating. The clay, metal and rock were unharmed.

  “Retreat!” I joined the chorus of cries. The final stalwarts heard my command and began to flee, even as the writhing arms of the golem caught many of them, pulling them up and dropping them into a gaping maw.

  I watched helplessly, as the creature destroyed my men. All I could do was direct the retreat. Almost everyone was out. Everyone except the officers, who held the line.

  And Hammond, who fired a stream of fire towards the monster. To no avail.

  “Hammond!” I yelled. “Get out of here!”

  “I can win!” he yelled, primal rage in his voice. Fire streamed from his eyes.

  He was a pyromancer. While he dominated his fire, his fire also ruled over him. A constant tug of war of wills. And the fire was winning.

  I charged towards my friend, ducking under a blow by the golem’s arm. But, as I did so, its other arm knocked me back. Treth caught me and I steadied myself, just in time to see the golem’s arm loom over Hammond.

  His fire was white-hot. It did nothing. As the golem’s arm collapsed towards him, the writhing undead that made it up grabbed onto him with their protruding, spindly arms.

  “NO!” I heard a scream. Heather. She tried to run back into the room. Crusaders grabbed onto her, pulling her back, as Edward charged towards the beast.

  Hammond thrashed, his fire whipping at the undead. They didn’t even flinch. But, as Edward reached him, his fires went out. Even so, Edward pulled at his ex-colleague. A desperate grip, to pull him from his fate.

  I tried to stand, to help. To do anything. But I could only barely get out of the way as the golem’s other arm crashed towards me. I landed on my back, my eyes towards the darkening sky.

  And I saw a golden light descend from the heavens.

  With a sonic boom, the light tore through the golem, piercing it. It froze. For a second, there was silence. And then, it was consumed by holy fire.

  Hammond dropped to the ground, Edward cradling him in his arms, tears streaming down his face. I could still hear Heather screaming, down the hallway.

  Standing among the remaining rubble and burning flesh of the golem, was Ariel, a golden bident in her hands.

  With Treth’s help, I managed to stand. I ignored the angel, as I limped my way to Hammond. Edward let loose a sob, as every bit of antipathy or resitance I may still have held for the man ebbed away.

  Hammond lay still. Peacefully still. But I saw the festering in his flesh. The blackening of his wounds.

  “I’m his commander,” I said, simply. “Go.”

  Edward looked up at me, his eyes scarred by a thousand deaths. I couldn’t let him face another. He released his one-time comrade and laid him gently to rest on the rubble-strewn floor.

  He turned back once, as he left, just as Hammond began to convulse.

  “What are you going to do?” Treth asked, as I knelt by my friend’s side.

  “Heal him,” I said, even as his pooling red blood was replaced by black ooze.

  Gorgo sent me the words, and I began to incant, summoning up the power of the Vessel. I channelled the life essence into him. Every bit I could muster. Ariel watched, unmoving. I felt tears well up in my eyes.

  I kept incanting, even as the magic stopped.

  A small part of me knew it wouldn’t work.

  Treth stood, drawing his sword. I did not. Even as Hammond’s convulsions stopped.

  I turned my back on him, sitting on the ground, as an angel watched. The rain continued to fall.

  “I really thought I could save you all,” I whispered, as rain drenched my hair. My coat didn’t even hiss. It had burnt out.

  Hammond responded with groans. A low gurgle at the back of his throat.

  “I think a small part of me knew that there’d be losses. That we had to make necessary sacrifices to win this. But…I didn’t think it would be any of us. That we could die. That you could die.”

  I felt Hammond grip my shoulders. My coat didn’t fight him, even as he sank his teeth into my arm. I didn’t fear infection. I couldn’t be infected. I couldn’t die.

  But he could.

  “They all could,” I continued my thought aloud.

  “Everyone can die. And I let them. I let you. Because I thought the Crusade meant killing monsters. And, it is. But at what cost?”

  Hammond’s teeth continued biting through my coat. I didn’t feel a thing.

  “I’m sorry, old friend. Sorry I couldn’t save you. Sorry that I couldn’t attend your wedding.”

  I stood, slowly. Hammond didn’t release my arm.

  I faced him, staring at his milky white, angry eyes, as all semblance of his humanity faded. His teeth squeezed down, as bloody tears ran down from his soulless eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, one final time, as I drove Ithalen through his skull.

  He fell limp, onto the blood and rain drenched rubble. Ariel and Treth watched me, silently, as I turned and exited the courtyard.

  Heather sat between Cindy and Guy in the darkness of the flesh factory’s halls. Brett clutched his wounded arm, facing them. He had survived. A mercy in a day of trauma.

  Heather looked up at me. Hopeful. I couldn’t look back. I kept walking. What could I say? What could I do? I left the flesh factory, to the cries of my comrades, mourning the dead.

  Chapter 21.

  Anger

  “This is why the shem had to be taken. Mortals corrupt our holy magic. They can only create abominations,” Ariel said, as we stood among the blinking red and blue lights of the police, outside the flesh factory. Some people stared at the angel. Others were too engrossed in the horrors of the day to notice. Ambulances under armed guard ferried hunters and police out of the slums. Reinforcements, CDF and Sanitation, armed with assault rifles, oversaw the vestiges of our army.

  “The necromancer has the Golem Script,” Ariel continued, her voice soft over the downpour. “And you must take it back, Vessel.”

  “Why me?” I asked, hoarse. “You seem to be able to handle yourself well enough.”

  There was almost nothing left of the golem which had killed Hammond. Just rubble.

  “It is a mortal who holds the script, Vessel. And it must be a mortal who gets it back. The Seraphim mustn’t intervene.”

  “Then what was that?!” I yelled, pointing back at the flesh factory. It was crumbling, as the police destroyed the rest of it with controlled explosives from within. What was the point if we were just going to blow it up anyway? We should have bombed it. Destroyed it all. If we had, perhaps Hammond would have lived. They all would have. And all it would have cost was the civilians surrounding this monstrous building.

  But nothing was worth an innocent life. That’s what Conrad said. And that’s what I had to believe. Even as I was covered in the blood of my comrades.

  Ariel looked taken back, before glowing gold. In anger, like a werewolf’s eyes.

  “The golem was not a mortal. It was a threat to the sanctity of magic anywhere. A desecrated artefact that needed to be destroyed.”

  She stared at the flesh factory, as anot
her explosion went off and another segment of the amalgamated structure collapsed in on itself.

  “It was sacrilege. I could not let it exist.”

  I glared at the angel, paying no heed to her immense power.

  “You’re just like the God they thought you served. Arbitrary. Hypocritical. You want respect and authority, you expect to be loved, and obeyed. And you give us miracles to show how powerful you are. But, when it matters, when it really matters, you don’t do a fucking thing!”

  Ariel stared back at me. She remained silent. Impassive. Was that guilt in her eyes? Could she even feel guilt? Or had she become so callused and cold by her role in the realms that she had forgotten any semblance of emotion?

  I turned my back on her.

  “I will find the script. But not for you. And I won’t let you have it. We have guarded it for centuries. And we will guard it for centuries more. And we will continue to do so without the arbitrary dictates of a celestial government.”

  I felt a tight hand grab my shoulder as Ariel spun me around, her wings flaring. I heard clicks as Crusaders aimed their rifles at the angel. Brett, despite his wound, despite his exhaustion, was among them, holding his pistol to the angel’s head.

  Conrad slowly placed his hand on Ariel’s and pulled it away from my shoulder. The angel’s glow beat like a heart, and then calmed to a soberer brightness. The Crusaders lowered their weapons.

  “Ariel…” Conrad said, softly. “I learnt a lot from you. An eternity to most. But, it is time that you learn. From me, but also from this realm. From mortals. You have lost touch…”

  Ariel slapped his hand away. Conrad let her. Ismail took his place by Conrad’s side. Over his shoulder, I saw Heather standing, drenched by rain. Her eyes were wide. Disbelieving. Darkness hung over her head.

  “I cannot lose sight of my purpose. We were created for a reason,” Ariel argued, her voice becoming heated. “We have to protect the Realms, to guard the sacred magics, to keep the darkness at bay.”

  “Even if that means letting people die?” Ismail asked, softly.

  “The sanctity of the realms is all that matters! It has to be protected. Order has to survive. Whatever the cost…”

  “Even us?” Conrad asked.

  Ariel hesitated. Her golden aura faltered.

  “Even you?” Ismail added.

  Conrad and Ismail placed their hands on Ariel’s shoulders, reaching upward.

  “Look around you,” Conrad continued. “At the faces. These are people. Like me, like you. They aren’t just mortals. They’re minds. They’re souls. And they make mistakes. But they also feel and suffer. And you want to take away their protection?”

  “I have to do my duty…”

  “To protect the realms, but not those in it?” Ismail countered.

  Heather kept watching, shadows and rain enveloping her. I had to speak to her. But, what could I say?

  The argument became a faint buzz in my ear, as I stared at those around me. So many dead. So many wounded.

  Edward had not sat down, as he visited the side of every wounded man. Until he arrived at rows and rows of bodies, blankets over their faces.

  He couldn’t handle it anymore. He collapsed, hands covering his face. Men in Puretide white joined him, hands on his back, as he wept for his men.

  “You!” a sob-choked yell woke me from my reverie. It was Heather. She had come closer and was pointing a shaking finger towards Ariel.

  The argument between the angels ceased. They stared at the rain-soaked girl, covered in blood.

  “You could have come sooner.” Her voice bled sheer anguish. “You could have saved him.”

  She bit her lip and, if not for the rain, I would have seen more tears fall.

  “I believed in you…”

  For the first time since I’d met her, Ariel looked stunned. Heather looked close to saying something else. But, whatever fire she still had within her, expired. Like the undead she had fought, she turned and stumbled away, towards the blinking lights.

  Ismail and Conrad stared at Ariel, for a few seconds longer. Wordlessly. They shook their heads and left.

  Ariel stood alone. And, despite her pristine, perfect façade, the rain now seemed to drench her too. She turned to me. No longer steely, cold and assured.

  “I…I came as soon as I received the order. But…I have to do the right thing.”

  I turned my back on her.

  “The right thing isn’t about orders, Ariel.”

  I left, striding towards the black vans. I just wanted to leave this place. Forever.

  But as if the night could get any worse, Phillip appeared. Beaming from ear to ear.

  “Another victory, Last Light! An operation completed. The national interest of Hope City is protected, and another enemy is about to fall. Pat yourself on the back…”

  My fist flew into his face, knocking him backwards and unconscious into the bumper of a police car. He twitched, then lay still.

  Cops and Crusaders stared. A few nodded in approval, before averting their gaze. Nobody went to help him.

  I continued my stride, into the night, and away from this hell.

  Chapter 22.

  Solo

  I couldn’t count on Phillip Brown and the Council to do the right thing. They promised me intelligence. They promised me prudence and the correct action. They promised that my men wouldn’t die in droves in a needless war. A meat grinder.

  But governments didn’t know how to do their job. They could only kill. Indiscriminately.

  And Phillip Brown made the rest of them look considerate. He didn’t press charges for my assault. He hadn’t even contacted me after the raid. The HCPD was in shambles. Survivors had been resigning by the hundreds. Public bounties had gone way down. Not that we had the manpower left to fulfil most of the contracts.

  The Council and Riaan had not contacted us either. Fine by me. I didn’t want the Council calling on us ever again. Screw Jane and Conrad’s clout. If working with the Council got us into this mess, I didn’t want to work with them ever again. And, hopefully, my parting gift to Phillip had sent a clear message. Surely he’d think twice before sending the Crusaders into the meat grinder. Or calling upon them again at all.

  But that didn’t solve my problems. Days passed. I did not give a rousing speech to mourn the dead and call for vengeance. I couldn’t handle doing that. And I don’t think it would have quite the same effect now.

  The Necro Lord was still out there. With the shem. Cops, Crusaders, Puretide…no one went into the slums. I had spoken metaphorically before that a darkness had descended on Hope City. That the Necro Lord had established a cursed earth, where we should fear to tread.

  I wasn’t speaking figuratively now. The sky had blackened over much of the slums. The putrid stench of the corrupt weyline had spread to Hope City proper. Even the most apolitical and ignorant Hope citizen could see the dark clouds on the horizon and know that evil had fallen on their fair city. And they all had to ask themselves: what was next? And when would the dark clouds be above their own heads?

  All we knew was that the Necro Lord now ruled his domain with impunity. Whatever dent we had made in his horde had been replaced by the steady supply of bodies from Hope City’s most overpopulated regions. And, for every hundred undead thralls, how many golems was he constructing?

  Ariel had disappeared after our confrontation. Conrad and Ismail only tsked when I questioned them about it. They had respected her, once. But now had the airs of children who had discovered the disappointing nature of their parents.

  The HQ was quiet. No one spoke. Even Jane struggled to maintain her practiced, cheerful grin. A cloud hung over the now completed Crusader HQ. We didn’t need the extra space anymore. So many had died. Among them, one of our original members.

  Hammond.

  Heather had seldom spoken. She had returned to her parents. No hunts for her.

  It seemed, even those who hadn’t died were disappearing and giving up on the cru
sade. And I couldn’t blame them. There was a huge difference between thinking you could die on the job and knowing it was a strong possibility.

  The battle at the flesh factory had given far too many people a reality check.

  But, I had already received a reality check. Countless times. And I wasn’t ready to give up. Ever.

  “What are you thinking, Kat?” Treth asked, whispering even though hardly anyone else could hear him.

  I shushed Alex as he purred and meowed for attention. Brett lay comatose in bed, knocked out by painkillers to cope with his wounds. The bullet had been enchanted to cause extra pain. To leave a corruption scar even if its target survived. He’d live but required more purification sessions. Painkillers, in the meanwhile.

  I didn’t reply to Treth immediately, as I put on my boots. It was the middle of the night and I didn’t want to wake Brett up.

  “You’re leaving your coat?” Treth asked, as we left our bedroom.

  “I don’t want people to recognise me,” I whispered back.

  “What people? And at this time of night?” Treth sounded exhausted. Not from physical fatigue. It was an emotional exhaustion. He had also felt the pain of loss. It reminded him of his final day.

  I left some food for Alex, distracting him, as I made my way to the apartment door. Opened it quietly and then closed it even more so.

  “Where are we going, Kat?”

  “The slums.”

  That woke him up. He manifested next to me, his eyes wide.

  “The slums? The Necro Lord’s territory? Why? What for?”

  “I can’t let any more people get hurt,” I replied. “Not anymore. No more scouts and spies. I’m going in myself, in disguise. I’ll see what I can find. And I won’t have to risk anyone else.”

  “You’re the Last Light. The Commander! They need you.”

  “And I need them, Treth. But this is something I have to do myself.”

  I couldn’t let any more people die. Not for my Crusade.

  I took my bike, despite Treth’s protestations, and embraced the cold night air, clothed in my old leather jacket and jeans. The stench of weyline corruption became starker as I rushed towards the cursed earth. And the moon was eventually covered in magical smog, as I entered the damned domain of the Necro Lord.