by Jeff Gunzel
Avoiding their slow bites and slower movement proved easy enough as the skilled bladesman tore through them with relentless precision. It seemed as if it might be a rout, until he sliced one deep into its side, then their true strength was revealed. His blade sunk in, but it wasn’t like cutting flesh and bone. There was a gooey resistance, as if the body were made of tree sap or honey. Pulling his blade free proved to be impossible. The force only pulled the snapping creature closer to him, making him abandon his sword altogether.
With only one weapon still in hand, they were beginning to close in on him. Azek moved his head just as another tried to bite his face with a loud, snapping crack that left a ringing in his ear. He thrust his blade into the thing’s mouth, forcing the creature back and driving the blade out the other side of its neck. Not even fazed by the mortal wound, it bit down with astonishing force. Vibrations rattled up the hilt as teeth crunched through the steel, snapping the blade in half with a shrill piercing sound, forcing Azek to let go of the useless weapon.
The same creature leaned in again, mouth gaping open with the intent of taking off half of Azek’s face. Now weaponless, he pushed the creature’s chest to try and force him back in a desperate last attempt at trying to survive. But similar to his swords, his hands sunk in like the creature had a sticky body. Azek was stuck. Now permanently engaged, the warrior did the only thing he could do. What his training and instincts had taught him to do. Don’t give up. When backed into a corner, everything is a weapon...
He spun with the creature still stuck on his hands, then hit the next one as if whirling a sack of clothes. The impact was not that damaging, but it had the desired effect. The struck creature stumbled to the side, its jaw snapping like a wooden doll, and hit the stone wall. Instantly, hair-like needles violently impaled its body with a high-pitched hiss. They easily popped through every inch of the creature, as if it were made of silk.
Its body sizzled and steamed, then writhed in violent convulsions. Those barbs must have been coated with some sort of poison or acid. The rancid smell of searing flesh filled the hallway, nearly forcing Azek to be sick, but there was no time for that. He needed to fight his way through these things and find some way out of here.
Using the snapping puppet as a battering ram, he repeatedly struck them as he weaved down the hall. Lucky for him, these creatures were simpleminded and did nothing more than charge forward in predictable attacks, each one meeting a similar fate. They weren’t agile, and pushing them enough to hit the wall required minimal force. In fact, the bigger threat was right in front of him the entire time. The attached puppet constantly snapped at him in lurching strikes. It was like holding a snake by the body, and always having to dodge the head as it struck over and over. A deadly dance partner that he couldn’t just separate from.
After the last one sizzled against the acidic spines, it was time to find some way to remove this one from his hands. The limbs had proved to be more solid than the bodies, so he threw the thing onto its back and braced its leg with his foot. He pulled up, all the while leery of its relentless snapping jaw. The torso stretched, his hands slowly pulling free. One hand popped free, covered in a black sticky substance, followed by the other. A swift kick sent the snapping creature into the wall, where it was instantly impaled.
The warrior dropped to his knees, fingers trembling from the close call. He looked down at his hands and watched as the black, sticky coating turned to white ash and flaked away. Doubt and despair filled his heart. How was he ever going to get out of this place? Would these dark challenges just keep coming until his spirit finally broke? He felt no urge to move, no drive to push forward. What was the point if death was the only outcome? He sat on the cold stone and buried his face in his hands.
* * *
Verck slipped through the quiet streets. By now most of the dead had been carted away, and the men had resumed their search. Many were on the rooftops because that was where the assassin had last been sighted. A few still scanned the ground level, searching every alley, even peeking into empty water barrels. It was clear they were either running out of ideas, or simply didn’t want to be the lucky ones to find this killer.
He rounded the next corner glancing around nervously. “Are you lost, Verck?” came the familiar voice from behind. How did such a large man move so silently?
“Ah, just the man I was coming to see,” he said, rounding back on Arkare. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He was headed to Arkare’s hideout to check in, but had planned to throw a story together along the way. Now he would have to think a little quicker than anticipated.
“I find that most curious, since you’ve been missing for some time. And since you don’t seem to have the intruder’s head with you, I must admit that I’m a bit confused by the delay,” said Arkare, his voice dripping with suspicion.
“Don’t worry about me. I know more about Azek than any of your mindless pawns,” Verck replied. “I know him better than he knows himself.”
“And yet you still show up late, and empty handed. I’m disappointed in your efforts.”
Verck bit his bottom lip in frustration. Every fiber in his body wanted to brag to this arrogant swine that he had already captured the man responsible for killing several of Arkare’s men. To throw it in his face that his own plan was falling into place while Arkare’s town had been thrown into chaos. But the temptation was short lived. He knew that patience combined with careful planning had gotten him this far. To blow it all now because of ego would be foolish. Besides, Zool would crack the assassin’s mind soon enough, and then he could take credit for that as well. What to do with the krackanian after he had served his purpose was yet another matter, one Verck would deal with later.
“I came back with my head still attached, which is more than I can say for several of your men,” Verck grunted. “Who knows? Maybe I alone will survive this manhunt long enough to bring you your prize. It’s been made clear that trying to swarm the target with force is not working so well. Now if you will excuse me, I need to work on setting a trap to catch this animal before any more of your men fall by his blades.” Verck turned to leave, hoping he had said enough to steer Arkare’s suspicions away.
“And where is Zool?” asked Arkare, his voice returning to its smooth, musical tone.
“Wha– who?” Verck stammered, the words coming out far too quickly. Still facing away, he silently mouthed a curse at his own stupidity. Being caught off guard had forced him to blunder, and now he needed to recover. He straightened his face and turned.
“Yes, Zool,” Arkare repeated, the hint of a knowing smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “I think you would remember him if I were to give you a description.”
“Y-yes, of course,” Verck stuttered, dismissively waving away the sarcasm. “I haven’t seen him, that’s all. I would assume he is searching blindly in alleyways and barrels like all the others. I’m not his keeper, you know.”
The giant strolled over casually and threw his arm around Verck’s shoulder. It was all he could do not to shrug off the massive arm and run away. For some reason Arkare seemed even more intimidating when he was relaxed.
“Of course you’re not his keeper,” Arkare whispered. “I was only curious since you were the last one to be seen with him.” His arm tightened ever so slightly. “You, sir, are a trusted and loyal friend. I know you’re too smart to be hiding secrets from me. I can trust you, can’t I?”
Verck took a deep breath and held it in. He knew that action looked suspicious, but it was better than allowing his body to shake. “Yes, sir. Of course you can,” he replied, doing everything in his power to steady his voice.
Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting up the western sky. Arkare squeezed his shoulder again, and gazed down at the much smaller man. His light blue eyes seemed to reflect the waning light as night was creeping in, giving him the appearance of a wolf. “A fierce storm is coming,” he said softly. “I think you should start preparing.”
Verck bobbed hi
s head, then carefully slipped out from under the big man’s arm. It was all he could do not to sprint away. He wasn’t sure if the odd statement was some sort of warning, but he didn’t want to stay here a moment longer.
“Oh, and Verck...” Arkare called from behind. “Take care of that hand. It appears you’ve cut yourself.”
Verck stopped. He glanced down at his hand, then reflexively opened and closed it. Azek’s dried blood coated parts of his fingers and hand. He had completely forgotten about this. Whipping up a tale as fast as his mind could think of one, he turned back. “Oh, this. Yes, I was just...”
Arkare was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
His hands and feet felt numb. They tingled with pins and needles while he sat on the cool stone. How had this happened? Why was he here? Would these living nightmares ever cease, or was he sentenced to stay here, damned to face these visions of hell forever? These were the questions racing through his mind. Azek sighed, then got back to his feet.
“If there is a way out of here, I must find it,” he grumbled. “If I stay here, I die. If I keep going, I probably die as well. But a slim chance is better than none. If this is my fate, then so be it. I will face my end and look death in the eye.”
He started walking, blades drawn and ready. His knuckles turned white against silver hilts as he squeezed hard. “Do you hear me?” he shouted into the darkness. Renewed anger flooded through him as he clanged his swords together, announcing his approach. “I’ll not die like a wounded animal cowering in some corner. You want me dead? Then send everything you have and we’ll see who the true killer really is!” He crashed his swords together again, wanting the evil of this place to see him...feel him...to know the Shadow was here! He marched on, prepared to make a last stand.
He rounded the next corner, walking fast and no longer caring about what he may run into. He had turned this morbid game into a suicide run, determined to kill or be killed by the next encounter. Then the next...and the next. There was no longer any point in showing caution when this dark place seemed to be designed just to kill him.
“You think to defeat me with poisons and paper toys?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. Even to his own ears he was beginning to sound like a madman—a man pushed to his limits. Emotion was the only thing left to hold on to. A steady constant, while the rest of the world spiraled into chaos. “How many do you think have tried to silence me over the years?” He hooked left at the next crossing. “And where are they now, master of the darkness?” Picking up more speed, he hooked right. Nothing was going to stop him. He would find a way out or die trying. “They are all dead, and I plan for you to join them. Send and army, it makes no difference to me. Demons! The undead! They will fall in waves at the end of my steel. They will—”
He whipped around the next corner, then stopped dead in his tracks. All his energy fled his body like smoke in a windstorm. Swords he once held in an iron grip suddenly slipped from his weakened grasp, then clanged against the stone. Wobbly legs that could no longer hold his weight buckled, and he dropped to his knees. His slow breathing came in long, raspy breaths. “No,” he whispered softly. “No, not this.” Anger, aggression, determination, all drifted away, leaving him weak and helpless. Tears flowed down his cheeks, his face contorted with agony. “You can’t be here. No, not in this evil place. You’re...you’re dead.”
The little girl gazed at her brother, her dark eyes filled with sadness. He hadn’t seen her in over a decade, yet she stood, looking exactly the same. A girl of six winters wearing a light blue dress, pink stockings and a red ribbon which held back her long dark hair.
“Where am I?” came a soft, all too familiar voice. It was her voice, yet the girl’s lips never moved. She just stared at Azek, eyes pooling with moisture. “It’s so dark, I can’t see anything. I’m so cold. Somebody help me, please!”
Details of that horrible day came flooding back to him. Watching her flail about in the nearby pond as she called for help. He dove in and swam as fast as he could. Almost there, he watched helplessly as her head dipped below the water’s surface, never to emerge again. It was a moment frozen in time that would haunt him for years to come. A second too late had made all the difference.
“Trish, I’m so sorry,” Azek blubbered through his own heavy sobs. “There was nothing I could do. I would give anything to bring you back, but it’s too late for that.”
“I’m so cold,” Trish’s voice repeated, echoing down the stone hall as if the whisper came from everywhere at once. The little girl’s tears ran down her face in a thick stream, like someone pouring water directly from her eyes. Soon, it poured from her ears and mouth, pooling around her feet as she stood there. The voice gurgled now, as if spoken from under water. “I called out for you, but you never came. Why didn’t you come? I called for you!”
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but water spewed down like a waterfall. The water around her feet began to swirl around like a whirlpool, spinning and turning, threatening to pull her under. It ran from her eyes and mouth in such a thick spray that her features turned blurry and distorted.
“No!” Azek wailed, leaning forward and covering his face. He couldn’t bear to watch any longer. “I tried to save you. I swear I did!” Azek wept into his hands, trying to block out the sounds of heavy water crashing against the stone floor. “I tried,” he whispered to himself. “It was so long ago, and since that day I’ve come to peace with my failure.”
He lowered his hands and gazed at the image of his long-lost sister. It looked like her in every way. Her hair was the same, her eyes, right down to her favorite dress she got for her birthday. But deep down inside, he recognized the illusion for what it was: a soulless, nightmarish image of his failure to protect someone he cared about. A fear so deeply seeded in the darkest corners of his mind, that he had nearly forgotten about that fateful day.
He stood, eyes staring at the human waterfall, then slowly approached her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Her body was cold as ice. Her eyes moved, seeming to follow his own, but she never uttered a word. “I’ve failed you, Trish,” he whispered. “Nothing I do will ever bring you back. It’s the burden I’ve carried for years, but I will always carry your memory in my heart. There is another girl in trouble. Her name is Anna, and just like you, her fate seems to be tied to mine. I must go now, and do everything in my power to keep her from harm. My real sister would understand that. In my heart, I know Trish has forgiven me.” He kissed her icy-cold head, water still flowing endlessly. “Be at peace, dear sister.”
The girl looked up and smiled. It was only for an instant, so brief Azek thought he might have imagined it. Then all her features melted away as her body transformed into droplets of water, then splashed down into the swirling puddle. She was gone, and whether or not Zool had intended it, Azek was given a chance to make peace with himself. Peace with the image of his long-lost sister.
Chapter 10
Zool groaned, his face tentacles pulsing. Attached all over Azek’s face and neck, they throbbed with energy, dripping their dark poison while feeding on his spirit, trying to weaken his resolve. Zool groaned again, a sickly, bubbling gurgle that sounded faint and weak. Normally, he relished the opportunity to invade one’s consciousness. To sip the sweet nectar of their life force while probing the darkest corners of their mind, bringing to life their deepest fears. Usually it was over quickly, leaving behind a shell of a man with a crippled mind. A direct result of facing his own unimaginable horrors.
But this subject was proving to be most resilient. Too much so. In fact, no subject had ever held their sanity for this long. Fast approaching his limits, Zool was showing signs of fatigue. His tentacles were pumping at a much slower rate. His eyes grew heavy, and his hands were trembling. It just wasn’t working for some reason. Was the assassin’s mind really this resilient? This had never happened before, and now the krackanian had spent most of his energy.
Azek groaned and his head rolled to the side, face glist
ening with sweat. Zool tried to push harder, forcing his will with everything he had left. Azek murmured a second time, eyes still closed but his lips curling back in a snarl. His fingers opened and closed, then clenched into tight fists.
Zool reached out to the table next to him, hand probing around blindly while still trying to maintain his concentration. Regardless of Verck’s specific instructions, this was fast becoming a losing battle. These were uncharted waters now. It was possible he could still push Azek back down into his hellish trance, but krackanians weren’t known for their patience. Their race hadn’t survived being hunted for thousands of years because they took chances. No, this had become too dangerous. The subject needed to die.
He soon found the knife he had been reaching for. With a triumphant gurgling howl, Zool drove the blade into Azek’s side. The violent action was followed by a moment of confusion. The krackanian glanced down, but instead of gushing blood, saw only a loose rope hanging across the chair’s arm. His own hand, still gripping the blade, had been intercepted by a trembling fist. The strike never got home.
His large purple eyes grew even larger, and he looked into the face of his captive. He found himself face to face with a very alert and angry man. The dark eyes of a hawk bore into him, burning with all the hate and anger a human was capable of. Azek rolled the creature’s wrist with his free hand, cracking the joint like glass, then caught the released knife before it hit the ground. In a single movement, he slashed it across the creature’s throat before it could make a sound.
Severed tentacles fell to the floor, followed by a thick, dark blue ooze that ran from Zool’s neck. The creature’s knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground. Lifeless purple eyes stared up at the ceiling, even though the tentacles on its face still writhed and squirmed. Even the severed ones twitched on the floor while basting in the blue liquid.
