cold stunned Tiamat. He didn’t know that dragons, or goddesses for that matter, could flinch, but Omar was sure that she did, arching her sinuous body away from the cold wind.
Omar gathered the fragile crystals and wove them with icy streams of air. Colder and colder, he wrought them, infusing them with all the strength he could muster, until he had created a web colder than the deepest cold of the arctic and stronger than the strongest forged steel. While he worked, Tiamat writhed in the mud pit, revealing more of her bloated, snake-like body. He had to finish his net before she emerged completely. His entire plan demanded it. Finally, when he completed the net, he tossed it over the steaming puddle of muck and the dragon in its center.
Instantly the boiling mud froze solid, a layer of permafrost coating it. Tiamat shrieked and struggled, her movements sluggish. Glass shattered through the bar, windows blowing out in the force of her outrage. The roof creaked and popped like it was going to peel away. A maelstrom of debris surged through the bar. Omar could only hope that none of the locals noticed, or worse, decided to investigate.
Next, he thought, a club. He searched the crazily flying items for something that resembled a bat. If he could find the right object and coat it in ice… He was so caught up in the search, he didn’t notice the six-top table barreling his way until it hit him with the might of a semi, forcing him back and pinning him to the wall. Snarling, he shoved the table aside. Even ensnared, Tiamat’s rage was something to watch. The items swirling through the room gave him an idea though.
He strode forward, and threw his hands in the air. With a twisting motion, much like a pizza chef tossing dough, he called forth a waterspout. Shaped much like an inverted tornado, the thick column of water stood a couple of feet above Omar’s head, with a circumference just a bit larger than what he could wrap his arms around. Using the cold air of the Wisconsin winter as a catalyst, he flash-froze the spout. He knew he needed more time to make sure the giant club of ice was solid enough to do real damage, but he could already see cracks forming in the frozen mud that trapped Tiamat.
To distract her while he finished the club, he sent arrows of frigid wind towards her captured body. Her angry screeches provided a soothing soundtrack to his current objective. He added more and more ice to his makeshift club, picturing in his mind a lump of coal being compressed into a diamond, harder than hard and shining bright. So, too, did he compress the ice until he held before him a great, shining club a mere fraction of the size of the original waterspout.
A crack rent the air as Tiamat broke through the frozen pit. The glacial temperatures ensured that her movements were still slow.
With a bellow, Omar charged, the club raised high above his head. “And with his merciless club,” he roared, quoting the Enuma Elish, “he smashed her skull.” He swung with all his strength. With a sickening crunch, bone splintered, and sticky matter exploded out. Blood rushed out, soaking into the frozen mud and ashy remains of serpents. The club, too, disintegrated into a pile of icy fragments. Immediately the shaking building calmed and the whirling items crashed to the floor, once again subject to the laws of gravity.
Omar released a heavy breath, his body shaking from exertion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked so hard. Actually, he thought, the last time he faced Tiamat had left him a pathetic puddle of weakness for weeks. This reminded him—he wasn’t yet finished. Based on the previous battle, he required one more step to vanquish the goddess.
With the last of his energy, he re-forged one of the longer shafts of the shattered club into a crystal-clear spear. The blade of the spear was as long as his forearm and sharpened to a razor’s edge. His steps faltered, dragged down by exhaustion. With a two-handed grip on the haft, he stabbed and slashed, severing Tiamat’s limp body cleanly in half.
Back at the dawn of time, it was said that after Marduk split Tiamat’s body in half, he made from her ribs the vault of heaven and earth, and from the blood of Kingu—Tiamat’s consort and the general who led her eleven monsters of chaos against Marduk and the Sumerian pantheon—humans were created. In payment for his great deeds, Marduk took the Tablets of Destiny and installed himself as the king of the Sumerian pantheon. Omar did not have such lofty goals. He wanted to make sure Lia was all right and for someone else to clean up the mess made by the brief battle. Gods! Though it felt like it had dragged on for days, the fierce fight had only lasted minutes.
Omar forced his body to change from demon form back to his human one. It took longer than it should have to rearrange his bones and sinews and it was unusually painful. After several long moments, he shook away the tingling vestiges of the change. He straightened the clothes that had reappeared on his body and walked to the office where he stashed Lia. The filing cabinet still blocked the doorway. He pushed at the sturdy metal object but made very little progress.
“I can kill a dragon-goddess-monster intent on destroying the world as we know it, but can’t manage to move a single piece of office equipment?” Omar grumbled to himself as he paused to gather his strength.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” For the second time that night, Duke’s smooth, urbane—altogether unwelcome—voice filled the room. The other man stepped forward and with the most casual of motions slid the heavy cabinet aside.
A thundering growl emerged from Omar’s chest. If it wouldn’t require more energy than he could muster, Omar would have punched the smug bastard where he stood. Instead, he rushed to where Lia lay, still ensconced in a cocoon of fog, unconscious. With a soft word of command, Omar released the fog and eased her slight form into his arms. He carried her to the bar that, much to his surprise, still stood, but with several new dents and scratches adorning the surface.
“She wasn’t supposed to come here, come after you. We couldn’t have prepared for that,” Duke attempted to explain. “I came back as soon as I sensed the confrontation. The force of your power nearly ruptured the magical plane. I had no idea you could control that much.”
“She’s the creator of chaos.” Omar snorted, not bothering to mask the derision. “You’re surprised that she didn’t fall in line with your oh-so-well-thought-out plans? I always knew you were an arrogant prick, but I never thought you were actually stupid. Or maybe you’re just that egotistical. Your plan was based on the premise that she’d follow you, not the ring.” Using the bottom hem of his t-shirt, Omar wiped at the blood smeared along the side of Lia’s face with careful motions. The nausea that churned in his gut was Omar’s only clue that Duke embraced his magic.
Duke watched the interaction closely. “I suppose you had something to fight for. A cause, a true cause, makes a world of difference. I can help her.” Duke reached towards the gash at Lia’s temple.
Omar knocked his arm away. “You want to help?” The words were quiet, but nothing short of pissed. “Take your damn Tablets of Destiny.” Omar yanked the offending lapis lazuli ring from his pocket and shoved it at Duke. “And clean up this place. There’s a membership meeting tonight and I don’t think local vets are ready for this kind of mess. I don’t have the time, or inclination, to take care of this. I’m taking Lia home.”
Omar lifted Lia off the bar and walked to the door without looking at the gruesome scene in the middle of the room. “Oh, and Duke?” He paused by the main door to the bar. “I don’t want to see you again for a very, very long time. In fact, if I do see you, ever, I’m going to do my damnedest to kill you. I won’t be used by you again.”
Omar walked down the ice-covered street, Lia cradled protectively in his arms. Duke could deal with the cleanup, he thought, Omar had more important things to do. Looking down at Lia, he resolved the get the explanations over with as quickly as possible. Then, when she was feeling better, he had a date with Lia accept.
BIOGRAPHY:
J. Leigh resides near Chicago and is a huge fan of the paranormal. When she’s not writing, she’s reading. She prefers it when the monsters are good, the princes are evil and the endings are happy.
Feel free to contact her at [email protected] or visit her website at www.jleighbailey.net.
The Twelfth Monster of Chaos Page 6
