by David Moody
He’d been presented with an opportunity, one he’d been presented with a multitude of times before, but one he’d never taken. The chance to fight the Bleed on the side of all things not-demonic. The two greatest evils in the known and unknown universe, turning against one another.
He’d left Maddie on a Bleed-scoured world so he could regroup. He had to leave her. She would never have survived the process of shifting between realities in the way he could. The strange, intelligent, storm-inhabited planet, formerly filled with giants, was harsh and dangerous to her. Water was scarce; food alone wasn’t ideal to keep her sustained, and there was no knowing what threats remained.
Threats beyond the fact that the Bleed had a taste for Maddie’s blood, and the blood of those she’d somehow united with from across the stars. Samantha. Sandra. Jenny. As well as two brothers who were lost to the winds of time and space. A motley group that had somehow managed to put up a fight in the face of an evil that they had not the slightest chance of defeating.
Or did they?
And therein lay Kalandar’s melancholy.
He couldn’t speak his thoughts aloud here; on this realm, his deity could listen in, and any rumination of war or treachery were sure to get that True God’s attention.
True gods.
Not the creatures that so many had come to call “gods.” False idols that happened to be a little bit older than other intelligent races. Prophets of prophecies they caused to pass through lies and falsehoods, and the omission of attentive care. These “gods” grew powerful because they’d pioneered not only science, but magic. Their true power was sustained because, for some reason, all of creation saw fit to intertwine them with the very fabric of what made everything.
They were more real than almost anything else that lived. Only demons were as real, and they, too, were worshipped like gods.
The balance existed for a very long time. The scales tipped when the gods’ home was destroyed. Ruined by a natural calamity that even all their power couldn’t prevent. They were forced to leave, and when they left, not all of their kind were able to go.
Those that remained through the apocalypse became bitter, obsessed with vengeance over those who’d left them behind, and who then made the choice not to return to rescue them. And they could have, make no mistake about it. With all their power they could’ve stepped back into the wreckage of their old world like the angels many thought they were, and scooped up those that were not a part of their first, original rapture.
But they were left, and by intention.
They became the Bleed, and their quest for vengeance was leaving nothing but carnage in its wake.
They weren’t evil anymore; demons rejoiced in evil. Vengeance can be just, but the Bleed had become something else. They had surpassed evil, and become an indifferent, power-obsessed force of cosmic nature, an anti-force, bringing catastrophe, violence, destruction, and the apocalypse everywhere they were able to bleed themselves into.
Kalandar had been forming an opinion for the previous century. He’d kept his counsel, but with the opportunity presented to him now…perhaps it was time to make a move against the Bleed.
“They are going to consume everything,” he reasoned aloud. His demon minions paused in their service of his body. To ignore their master when he spoke would incur his wrath. “They have no desire to halt, or even be selective in what they are devouring. They will come to this world, just as surely as every other they have come to. What say you?” Kalandar asked the small demon filing down the claws on his toes.
“The only thing we fear more than you, my lord, is the Bleed,” the tiny creature whispered through a mouth full of fangs.
“You’re the smartest of your kind,” Kalandar assured the creature. “Practical and wise.”
“You honor me, sire.”
“You’re right; I do. Now then, tell me what demons will be able to do once the Bleed has only our worlds left to ruin? What do you think the Bleed will do? Will they, in their victory over all other things, sit back, and leave us to do what we do?”
“Their devastation will know no end,” the demon said, flapping its too-small wings and lifting upward. It still held the nail file in its clutches. “There can be no armistice. Not because our enemy are merciless, but because they are evil, and driven to sow chaos. Theirs is only to destroy. They are dangerous because they have nothing to gain.”
“Nothing to gain?”
“I believe that, my lord. They want for nothing other than the obliteration of everything. They seek not to build nor conquer. You cannot trust any being that desires no treasure. If something wants nothing, then they cannot be manipulated by greed. They carry nothing, therefore, nothing can be taken from them. You cannot exploit their ambitions, for their goals are entirely pure. They seek to consume and destroy; nothing else matters. They do not want allies nor will they tolerate neutrality. They seek no quarter; there can be no coexistence.”
“Precisely,” Kalandar said, sitting forward, sending his aerial servant-demons scattering. Only the enlightened nail-filing demon remained in his orbit. “There can be no coexistence.” Kalandar sat back, chewing on that conclusion like the unicorn meat he’d eaten earlier. “We have watched passively, and done what we have always done since the beginning of our time. This laissez faire has manifested as complacency in the face of a mortal enemy. We have treated the Bleed like a dangerous, albeit remote, wild animal, but we should’ve put it down like one rather than let it consume all the wildlife in the countryside.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And what do hunters do when the monster has grown too large to kill?”
“They become food, my lord. Food for the monster.”
“The armies of all Hells cannot be reduced to fodder for the Bleed. Demons have worked too hard to become the pinnacle of evil and terror only to be shoveled into the mindless maw of a foe that won’t even relish victory.”
“That would be a travesty, my lord.”
“You’re very wise for a lesser demon. Have you a name?”
“No, my lord. Creatures such as I are not allowed a name.”
“Of that, I am aware. But I am also aware that those such as you rarely follow the rules. You’re a demon, creature. If you weren’t at least a little unruly, you’d be dead by now. If you’ve given yourself a name, tell it to me now.”
The creature laughed. “Of course my lord. I think of myself as Rodrigo.”
“Rodrigo? Compelling. Well, Rodrigo, I ascend you to the rank of the named. You shall no longer serve me as you have. I will make you my advisor, and junior Castellan.” Kalandar reached out with one freshly sharpened claw and carved a simple rune into Rodrigo’s forehead, just above his thick, horned brow. “Fly to the dungeons and find the ascension chamber. After forty days and forty nights of torture, your body shall emerge anew, born for the elevated role I’ve given to you. Go.”
“An eternity of thanks, my lord,” the creature bowed midflight and departed the room as its fellow servitor demons applauded Rodrigo’s good fortune.
“See? Serve me well, and an eternity of opportunity awaits,” Kalandar said to them. “Now, I have given my word,” he said, hoping that the deity and power to whom he had dedicated piety had taken interest, “to a human. To a woman named Maddie. She and her little entourage have the potential to fight. With my assistance, I think we can claim a world, and there stifle the Bleed. I must rescue her from the oubliette I left her in, and lend to her tribe my unending might.”
The servitor demons floating in the room watched and listened, rapt. Kalandar stood.
“I can return to her…but how will we depart? She cannot traverse the worlds…and it is unlikely any of the machines that she can operate there are still functional…though I shall try.”
Father…
A whisper came through the room, and as it did, flames atop the torches in sconces flickered, and shrank to go out. Kalandar glared at the failing fires, and they returned to bright, h
ot form. Kalandar listened in with his keen ears for the voice he recognized.
Father, I have been trapped on a Bleed-ruined world with two half-gods I am trying to assist. I believe you should meet them. They have value to you. Within my words lies my location. Come soon. There are storms here that seem determined to kill us, and there’s little food and water for the humans.
“What are the odds that my son, along with the offspring of the arrogant gods, has arrived on the world where I left Maddie?” Kalandar asked aloud, his mouth cracking into a wry smile. “Signs and portents abound. This cannot be mere coincidence. In this, I see divine providence. I see the message my god wishes for me to lay eyes upon.” Kalandar closed his eyes and connected with the magic his son—his only son—had sent to him from across the void of time and space. “I must gather my tools of war, and I will soon be at your side, Timtar, my only son.”
The towering demon felt the message spirit away, and a smidge of concern surged in to fill that void.
Unlike many—most—demons, Kalandar actually gave a shit about something other than himself. Kalandar loved his family. And he didn’t want them to experience the end of all things under the mindless heel of the Bleed.
Concern melted away and fury stepped through the doorway.
“GATHER MY ARMOR AND WEAPONS.”
33
EO
“It’s been hours since he told you he was coming,” Arridon said in a quiet tone as he sat beside the still-sleeping Derrick. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
They’d taken shelter inside a store at the base of one of the massive towers that scraped the clouds. Enormous shelves held strange boxes and canisters that Timtar said were filled with abandoned food. He found some that they could eat, and after getting Derrick comfortable between aisles, deep from the open, smoke and dust-filled outside, they ate and drank. Arridon hated all of it; nothing tasted good or even edible. Everything threatened to come back up, keeping his stomach soured perpetually.
Soured perhaps, but full.
“My father gave his word,” Timtar said as he looked at the dressing on Derrick’s stump. Redness soaked through the bandages, despite the mending magic and restorative medicines he’d applied earlier. “He will come.”
“He’s a fucking demon. They don’t have reputations for honesty and reliability—no offense intended. Not a damn thing is going to compel him to do what he doesn’t want to do.”
“About that, you can’t be more right. My father cannot be made to do what he does not want to do. The thing for us to hold onto, is that, unlike other demons—unlike every full-blooded demon I’ve ever met—my father cares for his family and always keeps his word. As far as honesty and reliability goes, demons seem to have a rather dubious reputation where you’re from. There are as many demons as there are humans in the multiverse, and while most are evil by any generic definition, personalities vary widely. Rest assured, young Arridon. Kalandar will come, no matter what, or, if he is too late, he will utterly destroy whatever kills us.”
“Comforting.”
“Knowing that vengeance will be yours is a warm blanket to wrap oneself in.” Timtar carefully lay out the metallic wings that had sprouted from his back. The disconnected mechanical wings made of brass, copper, gold and steel were damaged to the point of being unusable. Half of one wing had a circular void made from the blast Oldros had hit them with, and other “feathers” were blasted askew or broken off entirely. Timtar fidgeted with wires, tiny gears, even tinier machines, all in an attempt to get the contraption working again.
“Can you fix it?”
“No,” he said, and sighed. “Not all the way. If I can make a few repairs here, it’ll heal by itself over time, but we’re talking about weeks or months. Time we don’t have.”
“A machine that will heal itself?”
“Does that idea surprise you? With all you’ve seen in just the last ten hours of your life?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. We need the wings to shift dimensions, right? That’s part of the whole…device you wear?”
“One of many devices, and, yes. We’re stuck here until it heals. We fix it, or we find a clockwork room.”
“Your dad can’t transport us away?”
“It’s possible, but the way demons pierce through and resubstantiate isn’t conducive to human health. He’s transported me before, but I’m mixed blood, and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I’d only do it again if it meant life or death.”
“Should we be searching for a clockwork room then? That seems like our best course of action.”
“Not without my father. I know you’ve got some neat powers up your sleeve, but that storm system that keeps dropping those bright blue beams down might get the better of us. Or worse, whatever it is those beams are intended to kill might get to us first.”
Arridon’s stomach soured a bit further at that thought. “Your dad is powerful enough to protect us?”
“I hope so.” Timtar looked up from his repair project to gaze out the windows into the haze of the dead world. Somehow, it’d gotten gloomier since they’d taken cover. The street-level winds were gusting sideways in greater intensity too. “Nightfall.”
“Why does that word scare me?”
“Nothing good ever happens at night on worlds you’re unfamiliar with. Try and stay vigilant.”
“I will. Can I…may I ask you an assholish question? It’s a genuine one.”
“Toss another on the pile. Sure, why not?”
“You’ve spent a lot of time trying to fix your wings, but you haven’t done much for Derrick. Why’s that?”
Timtar nodded, as if he expected the question. “There’s nothing else I can do for him. In a way, we lucked out that we landed here; it’s a dead world, not one the Bleed wanted to keep as a toy to play with. It leaves nothing behind, not even microbes. Therefore, his risk of infection is almost nonexistent with that bandage and the poultice I put on it. The injection I gave him was a slow-release aquifer with antibiotics and blood growth stimulant, so he’s hydrated and has blood supply for another…” he shrugged, “eight hours? He’s carrying a relic of Ampliman now, and the blessing that confers is an ironclad ward against bleeding. I don’t have the magic or the science to regrow his leg. Anything I do for him now is just fucking with the chances he’ll get infected. He’s sleeping, he’s pain-free, and he’s okay for the moment. I know you’re worried; I’m sorry he got injured.”
“I barely know him,” Arridon said, looking down at the kid sleeping on a blanket beside him. “But you ever get a sense on someone? You just know they’re okay? I get that from him. And we’re like…brothers, in a way, in our mutual sister issue.”
“Strife makes for strong bonds. I am hopeful that we can help you both with your sisters.”
“Me too.”
Another bright flash of light followed by a crash powerful enough to shake the dust off the shelves happened. The mismatched pair paused and waited for another obliterating strike, but nothing happened.
The ground began to hum. A gentle, grinding vibration that came from the depths far below their feet. Arridon and Tim both stood, but remained still.
“Oh what’s that smell?” Arridon hissed, his face wrinkled. He waved his hand back and forth to fan away a stench that churned his stomach.
“Brimstone,” Tim said. “Dad’s here.”
They exited the store, leaving a resting Derrick only after Tim assured Arridon he’d be safe.
In the wide street, flanked by buildings with odd, transparent walls made for creatures far, far larger than they, the surface rumbled and bubbled. Something from below pressed up, emerging from the depths, pushing up huge flat slabs of slate and plastics. A giant hand, each finger tipped in claws the size of daggers, pushed up through the alien road and gripped the surface for leverage. Soon after, the rest of Timtar’s father appeared.
He towered. Fifteen feet, if he was a foot at all, the red-skinned, shaggy-furred,
demonic creature rose. Covered head to toe in battle armor and armed with an arsenal of weapons from all manner of times, ages, and civilizations, he stretched tall and looked to his son. An aura of evil and menace exuded from him.
“My boy…I trust I am not too late to still be of assistance?” he rumbled.
“No, father. We still need you. A thousand thanks for your haste.”
“For my flesh and blood, I can do no less. I made a promise to you on the day you were born, and I intend to keep it. Introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Arridon Frost, half-blood. His bornworld is lost, and he seeks his sister, who fled with him via clockwork room. They got split in the process, and she is now is trapped on a moon, protected by an energy barrier. They are besieged by the Bleed.”
Kalandar’s giant black eyebrows wobbled and tilted in a curious expression. “Signs and portents indeed. Arridon of House Frost. Now, if you’ll indulge me.” He took a deep breath, then erupted into his introduction, ““I am Kalandar!” he bellowed. “Breaker of dimensions, destroyer of worlds, third conqueror of Aradinia, and soul-eater of ghouls! The right-hand demon to the possessor, first of my kind to go forth into the wilds and return. I am the bringer of chaos into order, the slaughterer of Bazzaros, second kin to Denderia (she of the famed raid on the heavens), and fabled defender of the Red Witch. My exploits so legendary as to span multiple tomes. I have borne witness to the descent and will be there leading the ascent. My might so feared, my skill so dreaded, my knowledge so vast that entire prison realms have been erected to keep me trapped; all have failed. I am the chain breaker, a gargantuan among gods, the one so feared I was removed from Hades. All that stand before me quake in awe. My name alone strikes foreboding into the hearts of my enemies. There are none alive, now nor ever, who could stand before me. Those who would oppose me are impotent in their challenge!” He paused, clearly happy with his moment. “It’s nice to meet one of my son’s friends.”
“I’m…yeah. It’s good to um, meet you, err, Your Majesty, sir,” was all Arridon could muster in the face of a demon twice his height, covered in red, shaggy fur, talons, armor, weapons, and canines large enough to tear a cow apart.
