Resurrection

by Ryan Attard

  I couldn’t even shake her, just to see if she was alive.

  “Abi!” I cried. But unless her senses were active and seeing through the Limbo plane, which they sure as shit were not, she couldn’t hear me either.

  That didn’t stop me.

  I turned to the other body, Jack’s, and reached out to him. I was peering through Limbo now, searching for a life line. I found a faint one and reached out for it.

  In the real world, both Jack and Abi were being shook awake by Gil and Mephisto. They stirred. Abi was the first to come to, and she woke up with a start.

  Her expression was feral. “Where are they?” she snarled. My apprentice shook herself from Gil’s grip. “Where’s Greede?”

  “It’s too late,” Gil said. “He and Amaymon followed us through the Hell gate. They took Erik’s body.”

  “His body?” Jack asked. “Why?”

  “It seems that the Life magic still locked within Master Erik is one of the ingredients to resurrect the Demon Emperor,” Mephisto said. Then he cocked his head. “Former Demon Emperor.”

  “Amaymon was there too?” Abi growled. “Bastard.” She looked around. “Where’s Erik?”

  Gil pointed towards me. “See for yourself.”

  I watched as my apprentice peered through the ghost plane, allowing her to see me in my ghostly form, and gave her a pathetic wave. What else was I supposed to do?

  “I’m okay,” I added.

  Abi nodded at me. I could see dried blood and bruises through the dented mask. I didn’t have to peer at their life force to see that these two people—my students, the real heroes—had confronted an enemy that was far above their league. She and Jack had taken on an entire army—and suffered the price for it.

  Worse yet, they had tried holding back my nemesis and my former familiar. The man I should have ended months ago, and the monster I was supposed to keep under a leash.

  My problems, both of them. But I was dead—dead goddammit—and I could do nothing except watch as the students took on the shit that their teacher had left behind.

  This wasn’t how it was meant to be. I was supposed to protect them, not expose them to further danger. They were going to get killed, no two ways about it. Either through going balls to the wall in terms of violence, or avoiding reality and allowing the enemy to fester.

  This was my shit, and I had to deal with it.

  But like I said, I was a ghost. What the hell was a ghost to do against demons and centuries-old magically-enhanced men?

  Someone was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. Their voices grew duller and thinner, until when I looked up I was no longer in that dark, broken room that Gil kept hidden under the mansion.

  Magic in Limbo is literal. I wanted the world to swallow me whole, I wanted to retire to a corner and cry my eyes out. I wanted to scream and yell and beat myself up for my powerlessness.

  Most of all, I wanted to be away. To not watch as those I loved joined me in the afterlife.

  So Limbo provided a dark space devoid of any signs of life. A place where I found myself sitting with my arms around my legs as I huddled my head between my knees. Ghosts don’t have tear ducts, but that doesn’t mean they can’t cry.

  Ghosts can cry. Or at least, this one could. Because I cried. I cried and wailed and screamed, uncaring if I was heard, uncaring if every Wraith in Limbo marched towards me, and certainly uncaring if Gil, Abi, Jack, or even Mephisto heard me.

  There’s a reason we make that much noise when we cry in despair. Our words and actions have failed to ask for help, so we resort to crying. We resort to totally exposing our emotions as a request for help, hoping that someone offers a supportive hand and a word of encouragement.

  I didn’t get any of that.

  Instead, the four Wraiths that had gathered in front of me simply regarded me with mild curiosity. I saw the gold light emanating from my body, like a low-powered light bulb.

  I glared at the Wraiths. “Fuck off.”

  And fuck off they did.

  That was all I needed. A chuckle echoed, and I realized it was mine. I thought it was funny how some people had these mantras they repeated to give them courage, like an emotional anchor.

  Mine was those two words. And how apt they were, given that was my attitude towards ninety percent of everything that threatened me.

  I stood up, more resolute by the second.

  You get a handful of these moments in life, where you get to decide your own destiny. Sure, I was screwed eight ways from Wednesday and then some. I was powerless, weak, and still dead. In other words, the hole beneath rock bottom.

  But that’s when it counts. When you have nothing to lose, that’s when you get to truly control your destiny. That’s when you get to find out who you truly are.

  “Where have you been?”

  My reappearance had startled them, and Gil was the first one to voice her concerns.

  “How long was I gone for?” I asked.

  “A second,” she replied.

  “Good.” That meant I didn’t waste too much time. Limbo sucked but that whole time dilution thing seemed to be working in my favor.

  Let’s see how far I could push my luck.

  “Gil,” I said. “If Greede tried to use my body, my magic, he’ll inadvertently pull me towards him, right?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to do the math on that.”

  “No time for that,” I said. “Mephisto? Am I right?”

  He nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Master Erik,” he replied. “A body and the spirit that inhabited it are forever connected.”

  “But if you try to follow them, you’ll get lost,” Gil argued.

  “Not if I follow my life strands,” I said. “Look, I’ll explain everything once I’m back amongst the living, but for now trust me. I have a way to get back to my body once the resurrection spell takes effect.”

  “Can we follow you?” Abi asked.

  “I was getting to that,” I said. “And I think I know how you can.” I grinned at my sister. “And, yes, it will involve math.”

  ***

  I wandered through Limbo, allowing myself to be dragged around by the currents of magic flowing in and out of existence. It wasn’t long before I felt my own magic tug at me.

  It took the form of a single black tendril that latched onto me. The magic was not aggressive, but inviting. Almost as an afterthought.

  Oh, hey, you’re here too. Might as well join for the ride.

  I grasped the tendril, and my essence merged with the magic. When I reformed it was across town, far away from Gil’s mansion. I stepped through the threshold and peered in to the real world.

  “Welcome, Mr. Ashendale.”

  I grinned. This was like every superhero movie, whenever the bad guys capture the heroes and take them to their stronghold.

  The crypt was old and dank, and if I had a nose and functioning olfactory senses I would have probably gagged from the stench of mold. There were obvious signs of reconstruction, the most obvious of which was the massive stone altar—in the shape of a pentagram, of course.

  At the very centre was a pile of bones and skin sewn together with modern nylon string, the kind they make fishing lines out of. At four of the points were several carcasses, either lying bare or in jars. I could not identify the monsters, but I can tell you that whatever they were, they were once big, strong, and full of teeth and black poisonous blood. Some had wings, others several tails, some were squishy, others scaly.

  Whatever they were, they were now nothing more than ingredients.

  At the lower left was my body. Greede had taken it out of the tank, and now I lay nude, mutated, and covered in black viscous shadows on the stone altar.

  Surrounding the altar were the bad guys, along with a moderate collection of goons, myrmidons, and assorted hired muscle. Along with a battalion of black-clad soldiers carrying automatic weapons were several Black Ring Society members wearing either grey or burgundy robes.
I couldn't recall which one was the master robe and which was the student one.

  Either way, you can add fashion crime to the list.

  Amaymon prowled impatiently.

  Alan Greede was grinning at me. “Glad you could join us.”

  “Like I had a choice,” I retorted. “So this is it? A demonic summoning in a crypt? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

  Greede shrugged. “Seems to work well in the movies.” He spread his arms. “Welcome to St. Gremory’s Church. Can you feel it, Erik?”

  I could feel it, the Ley Line that was right on the cusp of the barrier between dimensions. A hairline fracture in space and time.

  Greede nodded and two of the men in grey robes approached. They lit candles. Someone started chanting from the back, a murmur that got picked up by more people until it became a baritone thrill.

  He opened the Necronomicon, and looked at me.

  “Last chance, Mr. Ashendale,” he said. “I know you can reenter your body now. Join me, and you’ll live longer this time. I promise.”

  I cocked my head. “You promise?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Okay.”

  Greede slowly turned his head towards me. He whipped his hand towards the chanting men, silencing them.

  “Say again?”

  “Okay,” I said. “What, did you think I like being a ghost? Nah, I wanna live, Greede. I wanna be able to touch and feel and be alive. And since you’re doing the whole resurrection thing, I might as well hitch a ride.”

  “You’ll be shorn from reality,” Greede said. “Belial will consume your essence as well as your magic.” He sighed. “I knew you were desperate, but I never imagined you’d be this desperate.”

  I shrugged. “You’re talking to a man with nothing to lose, Greede. Wanna see how far I’m willing to go?”

  “You can’t screw me over on this, Mr. Ashendale,” he said. “You have no cards to play.”

  “I have me,” I said. “And besides, you think I’m just gonna let you get away with it?” I looked at Amaymon. “You too, asshole.”

  The demon tsked. “Just get on with it, Greede,” he said.

  “Looks like you’ll get your wish, Mr. Ashendale,” Greede said. The chanting resumed. “You’ll be the first to see the Demon Emperor. Make sure to say hello.”

  I raised my middle finger. “Eat a dick, Greede.”

  Greede muttered the first syllable from the spell on the Necronomicon and I was sucked into Limbo.

  The world around me started to crumble. The familiar black tendril was now a cluster of shapes and images, interwoven with magic that was not even human, let alone mine. I closed my eyes and focused only on my own powers.

  Even through Limbo, my body was as it was. I could see the altar, except this time the carcasses revealed their meaning. One was the heart. The other was the body. Another was rage and hunger. Another still was control.

  I was black fire, pure, raw magic. The shadows had come alive and permeated every individual ingredient, creating a spider web of black fire.

  I dove headfirst into my body, and the resurrection spell hit me. It was like a torrent of magic, slamming me through multiple stages of reality until I was finally spat out into the land of the living.

  Focus. Focus.

  Eyes. I need eyes.

  Hurry, before I lose the connection to Limbo.

  Trigger it. Come on, Erik. Trigger it. Find the spell, find the spell…

  Got it!

  Go, go, go!

  I thought I was prepared for the sensory assault, having inhabited a couple of dolls and a child.

  But coming back to life is not about hitting the play button after a pause. It’s rewiring the whole damn system.

  I was aware of several things all at once. The first was that my senses were magnified a thousandfold, either due to inhabiting my own body, or because of the mutation.

  At the same time, I was aware of several acts of magic occurring simultaneously. Primarily, there was the resurrection spell.

  Secondly was the spell Gil had implanted in me before I left for Limbo. Taking advantage of the messed-up space-time in that dimension, I helped her rewrite a variation of the tracking spell she had put on my body (which Astaroth had burned out).

  Now, my allies all popped into existence, taking the enemy by surprise. There was Gil, glowing white and blasting everyone in sight. Abi, masked and violent, her staff smashing heads open. Jack, in his full metal body, barreled into anyone in sight. Mephisto was a lethal gust of wind, slashing bodies to ribbons. Luke appeared in a flash of brilliant flames and began torching everything in sight.

  The third act of magic was not magic at all, but held more significance than any of them. I looked up towards the damp moldy ceiling of the crypt beneath St. Gremory’s Church, and laughed.

  It was a sweet sound, but the feeling that came along with it was sweeter still. Laughter is the sound of happiness, and happiness is the reason why any of us are alive.

  And I was alive once again.

  So I laughed.

  Chapter 28

  A battle was raging on, and I was laughing. Sure, that makes me sound like a psychopath, but to hell with it.

  I was alive again!

  Magic flared from all directions as both friend and foe tried to blast the other into oblivion.

  I took stock of the situation. Mephisto, Abi, and Jack were holding off the enemy soldiers, while Gil went to work on the sigils burning around the altar.

  Greede was completely focused on the altar as well, but he pumped magic into the resurrection spell instead.

  Amaymon was nowhere to be seen—ditto with Luke. Both had disappeared two seconds into the fighting, which would have worried me, were I not occupied by more pressing matters.

  The black fire surged up again. The shadows emanating from my body were still feeding the flames—I was still part of the resurrection spell.

  And then it dawned on me. I had been feeling this sensation ever since coming back, something that was constant but that my subconscious had forced to the back of my mind.

  Pain.

  I had forgotten what real living pain was. Now it all came back, the agony of an entire year, the aftereffects of Gil’s magic, the pain of being thrown off a helicopter and falling a million miles.

  Worst of it was the new pain on top of the old pain.

  I felt my body being burnt alive, eaten by the black flames. I was helpless to do anything about it. My body was consumed by the black flames, and I knew I was about to be destroyed.

  Not killed.

  Destroyed. Erased. Bye, bye, Erik.

  The world turned grey and dull and dead. All around me were stony walls and a marble staircase I distinctly remember throwing myself off of.

  Samael’s dimension invoked in me nothing but dread and despair, but I forced myself to keep it together. The Angel of Death himself was at the top of the marble staircase, and descended gracefully, gliding down with flared raven wings and a robe of liquid ebony.

  “Erik Ashendale,” he said, raising his scythe.

  “Not this shit again,” I shot back.

  “I am owed a soul,” he said.

  “Sorry, pal. Looks like Belial is getting it first.”

  “No,” Samael said. “That abomination will never claim you. You belong to another.”

  The scythe flashed, faster than ever. I barely had time to raise my arm. The blade bit into my left forearm and stopped. Cold washed over me, draining every ounce of strength from my body.

  I had been kidding myself before. This was real death. This was death beyond death, a finality from where there was no chance of returning.

  I opened my eyes, surprised I was still there. The scythe’s enormous wicked blade was still curved over my arm. A small scar dripped blood from where it bit into my forearm. Samael flicked his wrist, and the scythe whipped up, slashing my forearm even deeper. The pain was cold and sharp but beyond a single deep wound there was no dam
age.

  I looked at the Angel of Death, puzzled.

  “I am owed a soul,” Samael said. “Or at least, the energy for one. Observe.”

  I peered at the silver blade of the scythe. Swimming within the metal was a living shadow, writhing and struggling.

  “My Life magic,” I said.

  Samael nodded, sending ripples along his robe. “Indeed. Your excess magic is enough to pay the toll.” He cocked his head. “As well as halt the resurrection spell.”

  I stared at him, wheels in my mind spinning.

  “The cut on your arm will never heal, not even with your magic,” he said. “Thus you are reminded, Erik Ashendale, of your humanity. Beware the price you paid on this day.”

  “You planned this,” I said. “You and Sun Tzu. The timing was impeccable. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Samael flared his wings. “Indeed you do not. Now, enjoy your return to the realm of the living, Erik Ashendale. We shall meet again.”

  The black flames exploded on the altar. An ungodly roar accompanied them before dying out.

  “NO!” Greede was on his knees, sweat covering his face. His glasses were on the ground, shattered. The Necronomicon slipped through his fingertips. “No, no, no, no!”

  I found myself liberated from the magic holding me down and swung off the altar. I noticed something strange on my legs.

  Jeans.

  I was wearing jeans. And a shirt. And my black leather trench coat flapped behind me. I smiled and looked at my hands. My normal hands.

  When Samael had taken my residual Life magic, he must have reversed the transformation. Not only was I back alive but also human.

  I laughed.

  A strong pair of arms suffocated me. I barely registered the red hair when Abi pulled back. She tore off her mask so that I could see her smiling face.

  Then she slapped me.

  “Ouch!”

  “Told you I would slap you as soon as you came back,” she said, putting the mask back on. But the mask had eye holes, and they did not hide the tears in her eyes. “Don’t you dare leave us ever again.”