by Michael Todd
You’d better shake your ass-kissing off, though. We have some serious training to do, Astaroth barked.
Yeah, I know. Can’t I be friendly? he grumbled.
The merc set them up in the facilities, which were very impressive for a smaller operation. London was a large city, and they were constantly shorthanded when it came to willing mercs. The two men went straight to work and used the equipment for cardio and weight training, practiced sparring with each other, and timed themselves on the running course. It was the kind of training he wished he’d had for Max from the start. There wasn’t much he could do about the past, but it was a necessity at this point.
It wouldn’t be a simple task to face the wizards. Even Damian wasn’t sure that he could handle it on his own. It was a job he wished he could call Katie in on, but he knew even from what he saw on the news that she had her own demons to battle—literally.
Brenton joined them for a little sparring and practice with Max, which allowed the older man to sit back and watch. Ravi sniffed deeply. Ahh, I missed this. The smell of dirty mercs and sweaty gym equipment. It’s like being home.
I would have to agree with you. He chuckled.
It looks like Max is starting to catch on, she pointed out.
Damian watched the kid move, dodge, and anticipate. He could tell he was better, faster, and less scared of the world they lived in. He had a look of determination on his face that was reminiscent of his own when he was younger. It was a good thing because he would need it.
Out on the mat, Brenton took a swing at Max, but the trainee ducked low and swung his legs. They struck Brenton in the ankles and knocked him off his feet. Without thought, Max lunged forward to straddle him and hold an imaginary dagger to his throat.
The merc smiled and clapped loudly as Max pushed off of him. “That’s what I’m talking about. It’s exactly what we would expect from someone who trained with the legendary Damian over here.”
The priest smiled. “He has a hell of a demon in him too. One apparently very handy with sparring.”
Astaroth snorted proudly. At least he can admit it when he sees talent.
“But here is the real test,” Damian said and stepped onto the mat. “Let’s hit the range.”
Max’s smirk faded quickly and his shoulders slumped. “Damn.”
His mentor chuckled and patted him hard on the back. “It’s all in your belief in yourself, young Padawan.”
They started out with a simple handgun which Max did fairly well with. He was certainly no expert, but he hit the target. From there, he gave him free rein to try whatever he wanted. He first selected a bow and arrow and stood proudly at the front. “I’ve always wanted to be Robin Hood. Take from the rich and give to the poor. Shoot arrows like a pro.”
Damian raised an eyebrow as he watched him pull the bowstring and arrow back and release. It shuddered for about fifteen feet before it nosedived onto the floor. He tried a couple more and ended up shooting the wall, and finally, he sent one practically straight up into the rafters.
From there, he graduated to the crossbow. He was a little better with that one until he failed to latch the arrow firmly enough and almost took his own foot off. Carefully, he handed the weapon to Brenton to put away. He disappeared into the armory room for several minutes before he emerged, armed with a huge gun that looked something like a machine gun on a turret except he had it strapped onto his front.
Immediately, the other two men took a step back, and then another as they glanced at one another in what came close to panic. Brenton put his hand up. “Just be easy on the trigger. It will knock you…”
Max pulled the trigger, and his eyes widened as he fought to retain control. Bullets sprayed all over the range. Brenton put his hands to his mouth. “Release the trigger!” he yelled.
Finally, the young man removed his finger and put the gun carefully on the table. The men looked at the dust and debris that fluttered through the air. One of the hanging targets swayed wildly before the rope snapped and it fell with a thud.
Astaroth sighed. Well, that was fun and all, but unless the demons are coming from either outer space or attacking from three feet beneath the Earth’s surface, we are fucking doomed. Otherwise, you might hit one if you get lucky enough. And of course, if you don’t shoot yourself first.
Max turned to Brenton. “I’m sorry. I told him not to let me use the range.”
Brenton stared at him for a minute and finally burst into laughter. “It’s all right. We all have our strengths and our weaknesses. No big deal.”
One of the other mercs—an enormous man about six-five and well over two hundred pounds of muscle—walked in the room. Brenton shook his hand, and they both looked at Max. “This is Jericho. He’s here to give you some real-life training with a merc.”
Astaroth groaned. This will hurt.
The trainee stood unhappily in the ring, while Astaroth tried his best to provide pointers on how to move. This guy is strong but big and he moves slowly, so you can pinpoint his attack early. He seems weak on his right side, so stay to that side.
And then what? Punch my fist into pure steel? Break my knuckles? I need to jab and move. Jab and move, Max replied.
The demon groaned. If you jab and move the wrong way, he will lay you the fuck out. Then I get to heal your ass.
The sparring began, and Max had a really hard struggle to release his control. For some reason, when he stood there and faced Jericho, he couldn’t bring himself to actually listen to what his demon had to say, even though he knew from experience he was always right. Still, he persisted with his own thoughts and basically paid not a lick of attention to Astaroth. It got to the point where his demon simply shut up and waited for him to have his ass kicked.
Jericho slammed his hand into his chest and rocketed him to the ground. Max laid there and wheezed for a moment. The large man walked up and stuck his hand out to pull his opponent to his feet. “You need to breathe, focus, and listen to your demon. I know you are ignoring him. Damian told us he helps you in battles.”
Told you, Astaroth scoffed. Now, square your shoulders and move with your thighs like I taught you. Don’t let him read your moves. Then, shuffle left and jab him in the neck. Do it.
Max bobbed and shook his hands out. He finally gave in to his demon and did exactly what he told him to do—squared, shuffled, and landed a punch in Jericho’s neck. The merc nodded with a smirk. “That’s right. That’s what I’m talking about.”
They were about to engage once more when the alarm blared throughout the gym. The lights over the doorways flashed to red and Max looked around. “What’s going on?”
Jericho grinned and slapped him on the back. “We’ve got a real deal call boy!”
Brenton turned to Damian and narrowed his eyes. “You guys wouldn’t by any chance want to come along, would you? Like old times?”
Damian looked at Max and back at the merc. Slowly, his lips curled into a smile, and he put his hand out to shake. “Why the hell not? But we’re not red shirts.”
“Never.”
Max looked at his mentor. “What are red shirts?”
The priest shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
They hurried after Brenton to the loading area. Immediately, they slotted in with the team and met each one as they crossed paths in their preparation.
Max packed a bag, unsure what to do, when Sheila—tall and muscular with dark skin and a perfect smile—walked up behind him and handed him a flak jacket. “Here, wear this. There will be a lot of bullets out there, and you don’t want to catch a friendly.”
Garth tipped his cowboy hat, a bulb of dip in his lip. “Shoot at anything close to you first. Then, after you cleared yourself a spot, you take out those further away.”
The team made it a point to be supportive of Max and gave him pointers for when they were out in the field. Damian slid his pistols into the holster Brenton handed him and made sure he had his gloves, his bible, and his special metal cross.
He slipped a few extra magazines into the belt and smiled as he threw one of the bags into the SUV. The situation felt right, like he was at home and had never left the mercs.
With everything now turned on its head regarding the church and the Wise Men, Damian and Ravi both needed a field trip like that. She hooted and whistled the whole time, ready for action. Gonna kick some demon ass, bitches!
Brenton loaded Damian in with him and Max with Jericho in the other SUV. As they pulled out, he looked enquiringly at the priest. “Is your church gonna be pissed that you’re out here with us?”
He shrugged. “I think with all the shit they put me through, this is my reward.”
Of course, the man had no real idea what kind of hell he was put through. Ravi, though, couldn’t have agreed more. Hell, yeah, this is a gift for the whole debacle fate done dragged us into. Fucking fighting wizards and shit. Who even thought that could be a thing? This is our day out, our bachelor party. I’m ready for it.
Yeah, and I think I could use a refresher out here in the field. Of course, I’ll try to exorcise the wizards, but I have a very low expectation for that. In reality, I expect that we’ll end up turning it into an all-out battle. This will get me back on track to be able to kick some ass without getting intimidated. Damian was done playing by the rules.
No one had played by the rules when they put his name in that book. And he was not about to let the situation get the best of him. Brenton and the team, including those in the other SUV who were on the comms in the trucks, cheered. They were pumped and fired-up, ready to take care of whatever the hell was going on. There was no question that these mercs had been at it for quite a while.
The SUV’s pulled up to the property—a small one-street-neighborhood-like setting for an old folk’s home on the outskirts of London. Dust blew everywhere as they slammed on the brakes and immediately hopped out and gathered their gear. When everyone was geared up, they gathered around Brenton and awaited instructions.
He spat in the grass and rolled his shoulders. “All right. I don’t think we need a fucking map. One street, seven homes, all old people, and way too many fucking demons. Sheila and Garth, you’re with Jericho on the right side of the street. Damian, and Max, you’re on the left with me. No friendly fire and watch out for each other’s backs. No injuries. No casualties.”
They all cheered and headed for their side of the street. Max turned and froze in place, his facial expression more than shocked. In fact, he was fairly certain it was one of the wildest situations involving demons he had ever been in, including the farmhouse where he had been locked in the closet. Damian jogged up beside him and drew his gun. “Breathe, Max. This is nothing compared to a full-on incursion. Focus, listen to your demon, and take it one step at a time. Got it?”
Max nodded. “I’ve never seen this many demons in one place before, outside the news coverage of the battles that take over huge sections of large cities.”
His mentor dragged him along and kept his eyes peeled. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s good, though, because they still won’t be as damn tough as the wizards will be.”
Brenton turned and looked at them both. “Do you have guns and enough ammo?”
Both priests nodded. “Yeah. We have plenty,” Damian said
The merc smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Do me a favor and exorcise whoever you can. As for the rest, blow their fucking heads off their shoulders, okay?”
Max chuckled. “Right on.”
Brenton leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Watch your shot. I don’t want to pry a bullet out of my ass cheek.”
Astaroth burst into laughter. Boy, do they have your number right now.
The older priest pointed to the first house. “You got this. You need to have it on your own.”
He watched the trainee run off toward the house. Nerves were stretched taut in both of them. Damian had no idea if Max was ready to be on his own or if it was even the time to try it, but they were running out of time. This was the perfect exercise for him, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Brenton, standing beside him, looked wary. “Are you sure about that?”
He snickered. “No. But it’s now or never. The training wheels are long gone.”
Chapter Eleven
Max raced toward the first house and aimed his weapon at the oncoming demon. The creature’s jowls dripped with blood and saliva, and the points of his jagged teeth gleamed in the light from the house. The young priest didn’t wait but aimed and pulled the trigger. Both Max and Astaroth held their breath as the bullet rocketed toward its target. It smacked into the demon’s forehead, and black blood erupted from the back of the beast’s head and sprayed the side of the house.
Astaroth gasped. That’s what I’m saying. Right there, dude! Don’t lose that momentum. You need it. Seriously.
I’m not planning on it. Not even for a second. He hurdled the body as it burst into ash.
He hurried up the steps and kicked the door open. To his right was a living room where at least five demons chowed down on someone’s poor grandmother. All he could see was a leg with an orthopedic shoe sticking up and a puddle of blood on the floor beneath them. There weren’t any Damned among them, so he drew his second pistol and double-teamed the two to fire into the room. Dust belched and scattered as the demons fell to his bullets.
Astaroth chuckled. I don’t know where Billy the Ball-busting Priest came from, but he is welcome to stay. Now, get upstairs. I smell a Damned.
Aye, aye, Captain, Max replied and swung to take the stairs two at a time.
Close to the top, he slowed to release the magazines from his guns and reload them. He slid one back into his holster before he stepped carefully around the corner and headed to the first room on the right. His cautious entry revealed an old man huddled in the corner while a Damned hissed at him from a few feet away.
Max ground his teeth, holstered his weapon, and pulled his gloves on before he retrieved his cross from the satchel around his neck. Astaroth sniffed. No bible?
I have it memorized now. I need a hand free in case.
He strode into the room, raised the cross, and immediately started the prayer. The Damned whipped to face him—another old man with one metal leg and a veteran’s hat on his head. “Sorry, sir, but you will have to release that demon.”
At first, it seemed the exorcism wasn’t working as the Damned hobbled toward him. Two steps later, however, he stopped and began to screech and jerk where he stood. Max finished the exorcism prayer, and the man collapsed and his back arched off the ground as the demon rose and burst into a bright ray of light.
He looked at the other old man, who seemed fit and feisty despite his age. “He should be fine, but keep an eye on him. Lock yourself in here, and don’t open the door for anything unless it’s one of the mercs. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”
The old man nodded and gestured at the medal pinned to the front of his green shirt. Max nodded and handed him one of his pistols. “Those are special bullets. Aim for the head.”
“Wouldn’t aim anywhere else.” He hefted the pistol with a grim smile.
Whoa. Astaroth chuckled. Old man Rambo up in this bitch.
Max closed the old guys in the bedroom and worked systematically down the hall to check all the other rooms. It seemed like no one else was there, and he barreled out of the last room into the hallway, then stopped hard in his tracks. One of the retirement home’s orderlies stood at the top of the steps, but there was nothing caring in his demeanor. This particular orderly had red eyes and blood all over his chin, and a look that said he was ready for seconds.
That’s kind of freaky, Astaroth said and grimaced. Like horror-movie creepy.
Max holstered his pistol and cracked his knuckles. I guess it’s time to throw down.
Brenton and Damian stood in the yard of the house next door and scowled at the lights that flickered in the windows. The merc put his fist out. “I’ll take the front and you take the ba
ck. Don’t shoot me.”
Damian bumped his fist cheerfully. “Don’t shoot me either.”
They separated and the priest moved down the side of the house and crept slowly toward the backyard. When he reached the edge of the house, he stopped and listened to the heavy breathing that seemed to come from close by. He narrowed his eyes and waited for a moment. Suddenly, a demon’s face appeared around the side of the building and hissed a challenge. He squeezed the trigger and the slug impacted between the bastard’s eyes at close range. A good sized chunk of the creature’s head blew back from the force of the bullet.
Two demons in the yard looked up from the dog they had backed into the corner. They growled as the first demon’s body dropped and turned to dust. With malevolent hisses, they spun toward Damian and launched an immediate charge.
Ravi laughed loudly as he raised his gun and shot both of them in the head. I swear those little demons are as dumb as fuck. It makes me wonder who the hell they were in their original human state.
Politicians, he replied.
The priest reloaded and resumed his journey to the kitchen door. He opened it and walked inside, his gun up and ready. At a noise from his right, he stopped and focused on his next target. A man stood at the open fridge, large in stature with beady red eyes and a gross spillage all down the front of his t-shirt. He shoved uncooked chicken into his mouth.
Ravi faked a vomiting sound. That bitch is gonna have Salmonella. I would hate to be him when he wakes up.
The Damned raced toward Damian, who fumbled to holster his guns in time to raise his arms and block down the man’s blow. They tumbled backward onto the kitchen table and wrestled violently. He kneed him hard in the stomach and shoved his heavy bulk onto the floor. The priest’s movements blurred into one another as he flung himself on top of his adversary, straddled him, and began to exorcise him as he yanked his cross from his upper pocket with his gloved hand.
His captive hissed and wailed until he finally succumbed to the exorcism. Damian rolled off him and took a moment to catch his breath. A loud crash seemed to come from the other room beyond the kitchen door. Quickly, he pushed onto his knees and checked the pulse of the human now sprawled in front of him. The man seemed to be fine, merely unconscious.
