“It will take considerable time, but we will enter the foreign lands in one long column. Once each regiment arrives, we will reform our ranks and begin the assault.” Ares paused for a moment to make sure the warlords understood. “Zeus will be otherwise occupied when we arrive, so it will make our mission as easy as taking candy from a child.” His lips peeled back in a toothy grin.
Although it was blatantly obvious that Ares meant to take the King of the Gods' throne for his own by force, the assembled warlords weren’t entirely sure how they were supposed to accomplish such a lofty task. Surely Zeus, even if caught unaware, would smite them before they could get close enough to the god to do anything to him. “When we encounter Zeus, how are we to subdue him?”
“Subdue?” The Black Knight couldn’t restrain his laughter, doubling over in nearly hysterical mirth. After regaining his composure, he glanced up at his men with a comical expression. “We won’t be taking prisoners when we get there, human or god. We will be killing my father, and thereby eliminating my only worthy competition for his throne.”
There was an audible intake of breath after the plan was revealed. “That’s not possible, is it? How are we supposed to kill a god, let alone the king of them?”
Ares wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused by the line of inquiry. In one respect, it infuriated him that his men questioned his ability to dispatch Zeus. On the other hand, however, their queries were laughable to him. The men weren’t privy to the surprise he had in store. When he rose from his seat upon the dais, every warlord in the room took a couple of steps back. It was difficult to maintain an expression of sternness, but Ares managed to keep a straight face until after he turned away from their panicked eyes. He strolled to the rear of the chamber and placed a hand on the replica of his head, which his worshipers had crafted and placed on a pedestal. The Black Knight tipped the bust backward at a forty-five degree angle and the room began to shake, as if by doing so he had triggered an earthquake.
As the chamber trembled, decorative sculptures tumbled from where they stood and smashed into hundreds of tiny stone fragments. The warlords were too preoccupied by the falling debris to see that the back wall of the temple was sliding to one side. It wasn’t until the tremors ceased that they reacquired their bearings and noticed the open aperture. From within the secret nook, an enormous weapons rack could be seen. What appeared to be thousands of gleaming swords hung from the mammoth fixture.
The Black Knight turned to face his subjects, making a gesture toward the rack like a game show host. “This, my friends, is the means you can employ to end Zeus. The blades before you have been dipped in the waters of the river Styx. A cut with them will not be lethal to a god, but they will grievously injure one. Once Zeus is incapacitated, slaughtering his followers will end his existence. Without them, he is nothing. And after being weakened by these special blades, he will be too feeble to stop you.”
“Won’t Zeus just call on Asclepius to heal his wounds?”
“The God of Medicine will not interfere. That, I can promise.”
Chapter 8
The last of Ares’ faithful from ancient Greece strolled through the black void to Desolace, their god following right behind. Not that his soldiers would recognize him now. Upon reentering the parallel world, the hideousness of his true form was revealed. At least, true in a sense that it was the shell his father had cursed him with, making it more difficult for Ares to use his powers of persuasion or his comeliness to his advantage. The Black Knight surveyed the battlefield for a few moments, noting that the only movement was from the armor-clad men of Earth. The Panzer tanks sat motionless, as if they were relics of a long forgotten era and just as useless.
Like an enormous tidal wave of bodies, the massive column of warriors marched toward the stone spire. They needed no further encouragement or instruction from Ares—their willingness to gain the god’s favor was motivation enough. At times the army would shift direction slightly, but only enough to move around an obstacle in their path. So far, there was no indication that Zeus was aware of their presence. No storm clouds building. No wrathful words raining down on them. A wicked grin appeared on the Black Knight’s twisted features, and greedy anticipation caused rivulets of saliva to drip from his elongated fangs.
As the men marched inexorably forward, Ares caught movement from the corner of his gleaming yellow eyes. He shifted his gaze toward the disturbance and saw what seemed to be a gigantic dust cloud in the north. If his calculations were correct, the anomaly was evidence that his mechanical army had cleared the dense forest. From this distance it was impossible to discern if the machines had dispatched the small group of humans who plagued him at every turn. Verin’s instructions had been to kill the mortals, then rendezvous with the Black Knight near the Throne of the Gods.
Focusing his thoughts, Ares attempted to communicate telepathically with the formless demon. No response. He growled in aggravation, the glowing orbs within his skull rapidly shifting to obsidian. The Black Knight knew his unanswered questions did not bode well for the mission to overthrow Zeus. Either Verin was being willful and confident, believing himself to be more powerful than he actually was, or the small contingent led by the wizard had somehow managed to silence the demon. Both scenarios could potentially lead to disaster. I’ve worked too hard for my plans to unravel now. Good thing I have another surprise to unleash.
The Black Knight turned his narrowed eyes toward the three portals he’d opened, one of which he had yet to step through. Previously, the sounds coming from the rift were drowned out by the ruckus of battle emitted from the other two. Now, however, the hungry noises of lips smacking and teeth gnashing together could distinctly be heard. An occasional groan of agony was mixed in with the commotion, the caterwauling pleas for mercy falling upon ears which no longer cared. The discord was like a relaxing symphony to the Black Knight’s ears. A malicious grin spread across his writhing face when he stepped into the void.
***
As the Black Knight emerged in future Earth his form altered to a ghostly black visage, which was similar to how his minions appeared. He soon realized that there was one thing he had failed to consider. While his insubstantial, ethereal form was garnering attention from the undead, would they lose interest in him if they found out he wasn’t comprised of flesh? Should he shift to the form he’d previously used in ancient Greece, taking on the familiar guise of the God of War? It would certainly hamper his movements, making the demonic speed in which he moved when on Desolace unavailable to him. His initial thought had been to use himself as bait, to taunt the undead into chasing after him. Once he felt there were a sufficient number of the zombies trailing in his wake, he had intended to lead the hungry corpses back through the portal.
Before passing through the rift from Desolace to the apocalyptic future Earth, the Black Knight had thought that rounding up the mindless creatures would be simple. Now that he was actually here, however, he found the daunting task to be much more difficult. It would have been significantly easier had he been able to maintain a more ghostly form, but since he didn’t want to risk losing their interest he had opted to appear human. Shortly after stepping through the rift, the few zombies feasting on the gentleman he’d heard attempting to scream for help rose their heads. They locked their glazed-over eyes on the new arrival. Although their stare appeared vacant, the Black Knight could feel the ravenous need to feed focused on him. Until the first of the previously eating zombies rose to its feet, the remainder of the horde had been milling aimlessly through the burned out streets of the city. That changed in the blink of an eye.
With a string of entrails hanging from its decayed and bloody jowls, the zombie made a sound that was part growl, part hiss, dropping chunks of its meal on the pavement in a sickening splat. As if they were one being, the shuffling undead craned their heads toward the lamentation. No longer was their focus undirected. Fresh meat had suddenly entered the equation and gained their undivided attention. Moving w
ith renewed purpose the hungry mob closed in, their ranks quickly circling their prey and limiting his options for escape, even though they weren’t exactly the fastest creatures.
The Black Knight’s mind raced as the zombies closed in. The rotting crowd was going to make matters more difficult than he’d imagined. There was no chance he could break through the wall of putrefied flesh, not without fighting his way through the wave of bodies or changing to his less substantial, ghostly form. The situation was far from ideal. If he could keep them focused on him as a black, misty shape, he could accomplish the task before him in the bat of an eye. It was far too much to risk, in his opinion, so he opted to remain human in appearance. He would be battling almost insurmountable odds by doing so. This was nothing like smiting human warriors in ancient Greece. They were mortal and easily dispatched, unlike the foe he presently faced.
The immediate threat came from the zombies that had been feasting when Ares arrived. All four of the foul creatures were now on their feet and shuffling toward him, less than a few steps away from being able to snag him with their grimy fingers. The Black Knight quickly surveyed his adjacent surroundings in search of a weapon. The only reasonable alternative to one that he saw was a battered hubcap, which lay on the asphalt between his most imminent foe and the rapidly approaching horde of corpses. He was going to have to eliminate his closest adversaries before he could even consider the chance of acquiring the dirty metal disk, or at the very least incapacitate them.
With bloody drool dripping from its chin, the first zombie to notice the Black Knight’s presence reached out for him. Before the foul creature could get Ares in its grasp, he grabbed on to the outstretched arm and twisted. His initial plan had been to wrench the limb with enough force to spin the corpse around and use it as a shield. Instead, the already sagging flesh of the zombie’s appendage caused it to pop loose from the shoulder socket. The wet, cracking sound was unlike anything Ares had ever heard, and probably would have made the stoutest of men heave the contents of their stomach. The Black Knight hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He held the slimy arm in his hand like an obscene club that was crafted by cannibals. In his moment of indecision, the one-armed zombie turned to face him and snarled. As its decayed breath washed over the Black Knight’s face, he swung the flesh-covered weapon at his foe. The blow struck the zombie in the side of the head, but instead of decapitating the foul beast it merely knocked its rotten skull to one side. The crack of its neck was loud. Even though it was obviously broken, the corpse blinked at Ares. Gray matter could be seen oozing from the lacerated scalp. While the injuries hampered its movement, the zombie’s hungry friends were not suffering from the same affliction. In seconds, they closed the distance between themselves and their potential meal.
Forced to defend himself, the Black Knight swung his weapon like a baseball player trying to hit a home run. With precious little room to maneuver, he still managed to connect a vicious blow. The result was almost comical. As the arm struck his adversaries, it whipped their heads to the side, the effect on his opponents being similar to a Three Stooges episode where Larry, Curly, and Moe all stood in line to be slapped simultaneously. The undead, however, were less than amused. They spun their heads to face Ares in unison, snarling their displeasure. I know how you feel. That blow should have taken your heads clean off! Where the hell is my godly strength?
He quickly shook off the thoughts and refocused his efforts. With his last strike his foes had staggered backward, giving him a fraction more room to work. Ares cocked his arm like a boxer who was going for a knockout punch, then swung the severed limb with every ounce of strength he could muster. The resulting strike was far more effective than his previous attempt, causing all four zombies to lose their heads. They rolled toward the approaching mob like bowling balls rushing down a lane, although they didn’t generate a remotely similar outcome. The only thing it seemed to do was piss them off and incite them to move faster. The snarling wave of undead rushed forward, leaving Ares a narrow path that would likely only stay available for less than a minute as the faster moving zombies left their circling counterparts behind. It didn’t take long for the rest of the horde to follow suit, but by then the Black Knight had dodged the first wave and gotten into open space behind them.
The army of rotten flesh spun around as Ares ran by, the mob gaining numbers by the second as more undead poured out from alleyways and vacant buildings. By the time the Black Knight had put enough distance between himself and the crowd to begin making maneuvers to direct the flesh-eaters toward the black rift, the street was filled with the putrid smelling creatures. There had to be thousands of hungry zombies pursuing Ares. Not like he had time to take a head count, though. The only thing that mattered to him was knowing the massive assemblage of the dead should be more than enough to take care of his little problem back on Desolace. Until now, however, his utilization of the hungry mob had but a single purpose. As Ares sped toward the portal, other questions surfaced in his mind. Should he steer the undead toward the Throne of the Gods, or send them north to decimate the pain in the ass wizard and his friends? The decision would be easier to make if Verin would see fit to answer him.
Chapter 9
It felt like several hours had passed since he’d taken command of the mechanical army, although the sun’s position suggested otherwise. George no longer cared, however, because there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Moments ago, the machines had broken through the last tangles of jungle foliage and moved into the open. In fact, he was almost tempted to leave the confines of the troll-like creature’s skull to relish in the relative freedom of the vast and sandy plains before him. Instead, he restrained himself from such behavior—it was an extremely difficult task, knowing his plans could unravel in the blink of an eye if he allowed himself that indulgence.
He wished he could close his eyelids, even for a moment, to clear the swirling thoughts from his mind. As a spirit, however, the option wasn’t available to him. It was impossible to shut something you didn’t have. George didn’t realize just how lost in his musings he was until he noticed the massive column of mechanical drones had stopped. No longer having obstacles in their path to destroy, it seemed they were unsure of what was expected of them next. For an instant, he nearly forgot to bring the troll-like machine he was inside of to a halt, and almost ended up stomping his way through the smaller machines before him.
As the army sat idle, awaiting new instructions, George contemplated what commands to give them. He stared off into the distance, noting two anomalies that seemed to demand further scrutiny. Both were extremely difficult to distinguish, but the closest one appeared to be some sort of red blob surrounded by a haze of dust. From this range the crimson aberration wasn’t much bigger than a dot. It was entirely possible that it might just be a mirage. Heat did strange things to the air in open, sandy expanses similar to this one. For all he knew, what he was seeing could be a trick of the ambient lighting, but there was only one way to be absolutely certain. Gazing toward the second incongruity, which appeared to be much farther away, the only thing he could surmise was that an army similar to the one he commanded was in the area. At least, that was his best guess. There seemed to be an enormous dust cloud in that location, although from his vantage point it was hard to make out, especially when he considered the coloration. It almost had a grayish tint to it, like a thick cloud of smoke.
George briefly considered his best course of action, but before he settled on one something else caught his attention. To the left of the mechanical army stood a familiar sight, one of the two-headed, six-legged monstrosities he had once been fond of was gazing in the direction of the metallic regiment. It seemed to be wounded, if such a term could be used to describe the creature’s condition. The beast’s chest looked as if someone had opened it with a giant can opener. He felt sorry for the mechanical horse, even though he realized the likelihood that it was inoperable was remote. The eerie red glow of its eyes told G
eorge that the machine was still functional. Despite his desire to once again grace the saddle of the metallic monster, he knew such things were in his past. Besides, the massive troll-like sentinel he was within now afforded him his best opportunity to succeed. Not that he felt he had more than an outside chance, although he had managed to persist beyond death. That had to count for something, right?
When the shining column of drones began to emit noises that George translated as meaning they were impatient to proceed, he forced the machine he was inside of to utter the appropriate series of clicks and beeps. He was far from certain if he had chosen the proper commands, but his mechanical counterparts seemed to have accepted their new orders. The best option—in his opinion—was to go after the closest target, which happened to be the reddish speck. If he wasn’t mistaken, the aberration was heading straight toward the billowing grayish cloud that would have been George’s second choice to investigate. This meant, in all likelihood, that the object which was closer to his position was almost assuredly the wizard and his friends. The crimson blob puzzled him, however. In his time on Desolace, George had only seen one thing which had been that color … the tiny dragon he’d witnessed being torn apart by the machines he now commanded. It was impossible for the anomaly to be the same mythical creature, but it forced him to consider the possibility that another such being existed, even though in his mind he truly doubted the odds were in favor of such a thing.
With nothing to hinder their progress, the mechanical army headed for its target at speeds they’d not been able to use for quite some time. At this rate of travel, they should be upon their prey in no time at all. Provided, that is, no further problems developed.
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