Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series)

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “Commander! Oh gods!” shouted a Reaver, and by his voice Yarek knew it was one of the two who were further afield.

  “What is it?!” shouted Yarek, spinning onto his knees and blasting another devil as it ran between towers.

  “Oh gods!” the Reaver shouted again. He heard gunfire from their distant position.

  Yarek slapped a Reaver’s back, then shouted into his radio, “Pull back! Pull back! I’m going for the others!” and the Reaver nodded. As one they rose and fired at oncoming reptilian demons as they fled.

  Yarek ran. Most likely three of his Reavers were already dead. He wasn’t about to let two more be swallowed up by this awful place. Not without a fight.

  He flew between the high towers. Pink, sickly light shifted about in his vision. He saw the charges set on several of the towers.

  These towers, he thought. These towers... what is it about...

  Padded footfalls pounded underneath him. He thought he saw eyeballs blink up at him, then disappear before he could be sure.

  These towers... they’re all one thing, a living thing. That’s how those demons were able to find us – it’s been watching us! It’s all one thing! And it goes down to… how the fuck far down does it go?!

  “Reaver Eleven!” he shouted. “DO NOT set off those charges unless I give a direct order!”

  “Sir!” came the reply. “But what if you die?”

  “Not unless I order it! No time to explain, but we might end up waking something bigger than we bargained for if we do!”

  Suddenly a deep humming sound vibrated through his helm, through his teeth, and a rifle clattered past his feet. Yarek rounded a thick, serrated tower, and saw one Reaver firing upwards while another hung in the air without any support.

  “Die! Die! Die!” screamed the firing Reaver. “Why won’t you die?!”

  The hum turned into a high-pitched whine and the suspended Reaver twisted about, torso bending opposite his hips, and his spine cracked loudly. The dead Reaver fell. The other dropped his empty rifle and ran towards Yarek.

  “The hell!” shouted Yarek.

  “Can’t hit it!” shouted the Reaver, and both ran back the way Yarek had come.

  Yarek looked to the side as they ran and saw a large shadow moving, saw tentacles whipping from tower to tower, pulling it along, then lost the thing in the maze. Then he felt a thousand hammerfalls rumbling along the crystal floor, looked back, and saw hundreds of ghouls charging – the very ones who had chased Bilatzailea’s victims earlier.

  “Damn it!” hissed Yarek. “Keep running!”

  “Sir!” said a voice on the radio. “Those lizards keep comin’! We gotta blow these charges!”

  “No! No, no, no! Just run!”

  Yarek and his comrade saw their brothers running in the distance, blasting at reptilian demons. He saw one Reaver limping as a brother held him up, both firing from the waist. Just then a great shadow hovered over the distant Reavers. Yarek heard the deep humming sound again, then an invisible wall of force slammed into several Reavers, scattering them about. Yarek skidded to one knee, slid, saw the hulking behemoth floating in the distance, saw coils of tentacles grasping and sliding along one tower. Yarek raised his rifle as he slid, fired, but saw only sparks of contact as if the thing was covered in invisible bulletproof glass. The shadowy hulk turned about calmly. Yarek saw dozens of eyeballs open behind the glass beneath his feet, then the invisible force crashed into him, shattered his helm, lifted his body, and slammed him against a hard tower. He dropped to the ground and the shadow of the bulk passed over him.

  He looked up, vision blurred with pain and confusion. He saw a Reaver grappling hand-to-hand with a reptilian monster. The ghouls caterwauled in the distance, drawing nearer each second. Then he heard the humming sound draw near once again.

  “Fuck it,” said Yarek. “Blow them charges!”

  “Yes, si-” was all he heard as two dozen high-powered explosives rocked the area. Shards of glass tore through on all sides, a great grinding sound numbed their ears as several giant towers slid alongside cracked bases, hovered ponderously, and a hundred thousand gallons of blood showered through the broken towers as they fell over. Yarek forced himself to his feet and ran, then changed direction as one great tower slammed into the ground and shattered with incredible force, spilling blood in a sickening torrent.

  Yarek saw the great tentacle-covered demon - the body of Zamael the Blind King - lose its grip as towers fell and crashed on all sides. One great tower slammed on top of Zamael. The beast lurched to the side, overwhelmed and thrown off balance, then it slid behind another tower. Yarek leaped over an oozing, fallen tower and chased after the monster. He unsheathed his massive handgun Teufelmorder and, just as Zamael rounded another corner and came into view, Yarek dropped to one knee, aimed, and fired. A dark tentacle jerked near the base and Yarek heard something like a wail of agony in the back of his mind. The giant demon lurched away and disappeared once again, then Yarek felt the entire floor shift underfoot. He found his balance, turned away from the fleeing devil, and saw his Reavers gather one another as they fled.

  Yarek directed some Reavers to fire behind them as the others carried the wounded. They ran toward the battle as the great crystal thing beneath them tossed and rumbled. Nearby, he saw hundreds of ghouls crushed under broken towers, blood flowing freely from ruined tower-stumps. Soon the Reavers were splashing through blood, an endless stream caking their boots as they fled. Yarek tossed off his ruined helm, then grabbed a hand-held radio and shouted, “This is Yarek Clash! What’s the situation out there?”

  * * *

  As soon as the battle started, Chris Kenny shimmied up a tree and assembled the Hargis sniper rifle. When the dogmen and ghouls became tightly packed as they pushed against one another, it was easy to get one headshot after another. Often the bodies were so tightly packed that the dead could not fall, and it looked almost as if the ghouls were being accompanied by a few nearly-headless and completely unenthusiastic allies. He slowed down in order to conserve bullets, counting them out with one hand as he watched the battle. Eventually he chose only to shoot when it looked like a dogman was about to be killed by a thrown spear.

  As the battle wore on, he sat hunkered between branches, worrying that the line of dogmen would break. He radioed Wodan many times, but received no response.

  Then the great red lizard devil joined the fray. The beast charged a solid wall of dogmen and knocked them down like bowling pins. It swung its arms about and cast heavy fighters into the air so that they fell into their comrades and knocked them down, where they laid panting and trying to force air into broken ribs and punctured lungs. Chris focused on the demon and tried to catch it in one of the few moments when its rampage slowed down.

  “Wodi, ol’ buddy,” he muttered, “sure would be nice to see some of those monster-slayin’ skills all the dogs said you had.”

  Chris heard the blasts among the crystal towers. He lifted his head and saw one tower lean, groaning as it shook off slivers of glass, then it fell slowly. Moments later he heard the unending echo of thousands of pounds of glass shattering, then a wind kicked up, pushed the mist away, and sparkling dust streaked past the fighters.

  “Guess them Reavers aren’t napping, at least,” he said, blinking and pushing his fist across his eyes.

  The earth trembled. Something groaned deep underground. Chris felt his perch shivering and saw leaves raining down as they were shaken loose.

  Chris’s radio hissed. “-is Yarek Clash! What’s - situation out - ?”

  “Yarek! This is Chris! What happened?”

  “Blew up some towers! Hauling ass your way! What’s the situation?”

  “Pure chaos! No idea who’s winning! And Wodan - he’s takin’ a nap or someshit! Just get over here! We got a big-red-devil situation here!”

  “Wodan’s doing what?”

  Chris put the radio back on his belt and saw the red flesh demon once more, one dog in each hand. The monster shri
eked, crushed their throats, then slammed their heads into one another. Chris glued his eye to the sight of the rifle and tried to ignore the vibration running through everything. The beast whirled, cast the dead dogs into the air, then turned on a group of bloodied dog warriors preparing to throw themselves at him. Chris sucked in air; the beast grew still as it prepared to leap; Chris exhaled and stroked the trigger - then fired just as the demon flew at the dogmen. Chris pulled away from the rifle, cursing, thinking he’d missed, then saw that the demon had fallen lamely atop one dog. It clutched the side of its face while the dog’s brothers beat at the monster’s back with their clubs and axes. The red devil rose up, unmindful of its attackers, and Chris saw blood streaming from a ruined eye-socket as the demon shrieked and stumbled to the side.

  Before Chris had a chance to aim and finish the beast, the vibration turned into a howling storm underneath him. The ground broke up, then rose and fell like a writhing ocean. Chris’s tree jerked sideways, he hooked an arm around a branch, and felt his feet pulled aside as fighters all around him lost their balance. A great creaking sound filled his ears and he saw a giant cylinder of pink crystal rise up, horizontal to him, and continue on into the sky. Chris fell, felt branches whipping all around him, and saw the pink crystal continue to rise. Others rose in the distance, hard and slender. The one nearest him bent at some joint, and as black earth rained down from the thing he realized that the cylinder had to be some giant living appendage. Other such appendages rose up from the earth, long and multi-jointed like a spider’s legs; the heavy base of one set down in the middle of the fighting, squashing dogs underneath. It was so thick that five men could not have encircled it, and Chris realized that the mysterious towers were only growths on the back of one massive demon covered in hard crystals.

  Dogmen howled in terror and cast their eyes into the heavens, cowering under the massive limbs of the god they had foolishly stirred to wakefulness.

  Chris grabbed his radio and shouted, “Yarek!”

  “Run!” Yarek hollered over the radio. “Tell Wodan to call a retreat! We’ll catch up!”

  Chris scrambled on his belly through the branches, through a host of hairy legs, then rose and ran toward Wodan. Wodan was no longer fixed in position; he laid on the ground, staring upward.

  “Wodi!” cried Chris, falling on top of him, pulling him up. “Get the hell up! Order a retreat!”

  Wodan’s eyes were open, but they were glassy and unresponsive. His lips parted, then moved slightly.

  “God dammit!” shouted Chris, dropping his radio and hauling Wodan up alongside him. “Retreat! You dogs - retreat! Retreat!”

  Chris staggered about with Wodan. He pointed to a dogman and said, “You! Help me! The Khan ordered a retreat!”

  The dog offered no argument. Throwing his eyes all about, the dog hooked one of Wodan’s arms about his shoulders while Chris did the same. “Retreat! Retreat!” the dog called out, as if he had heard the words from the Khan himself. As the earth shook they stumbled away from the battle. Some dogmen ran to join them. Others fought on, then found themselves outnumbered and alone among a horde of shrieking ghouls and singing spears.

  * * *

  The battlefield grew dark and quiet as the invaders fled with ghouls chasing behind them. Other ghouls crept through the mists of the field, bent low, sniffing, and then proceeded to feast on the dead and the dying. The green lizards watched the fleeing invaders, then turned away and joined in the feast as well. Only the blue lizard and his chameleon brother made a quick snack of one dogman’s leg, then cast the bones aside and moved on. The blue had already followed the invaders all the way from their camp, and was tired, but would follow them back once again.

  The great red lizard gripped a scaly hand to his ruined eye. A wad of coagulated blood soaked through his fingers and ran down his face. He concentrated on drawing in painful breaths. His brain was very, very small, but it was just large enough for a thirst for revenge to take root.

  The massive demon with flesh of crystals shuddered in agony, and the earth shook with him. He had not moved in decades. Now many of his limbs hung out from the earth, and his great torso leaned awkwardly to the side. Bilatzailea the succubus knelt on his back, her hands stroking one of his ruined growths. Gallons of blood flowed over her hands as she coaxed him to rest and heal.

  Within the smoldering, bloody towers, among chips of pink glass and smoking pools of blood, Bilatzailea heard Zamael flopping about in pain. She knew that a large bullet had torn into one of his tentacles and was lodged there, but she had to close many channels between them in order to shut out the pain he was broadcasting.

  Speaking aloud, she said, “Keep the ghouls hounding them. You did well, so well! Just rest, nephew.”

  Zamael attempted to open more channels to broadcast pain and share the agony, but Bilatzailea forcibly closed them again. “We’ll get the bullet out later. Just rest!”

  One tiny channel was squeezed open. She saw Zamael projecting an image of their leader. She saw that Zamael was able to broadcast directly into him, and distract him, because the leader believed that his leadership was a sham. The human upstart believed that he had risen beyond his station by means that were not of his own devising. In essence, he was crying out for someone like Zamael to step into his mind and prove him correct about his low estimation of himself.

  “By the Grand Mother, they came close to destroying us all!” said Bilatzailea. “How they fought! You were right when you had the idea to manipulate the ghouls, so many years ago.”

  Bilatzailea felt Zamael project the idea that for every dogman they had killed, three of their own had been killed. She felt his own fear radiate powerfully, backed by the terrible knowledge that if the invaders had come in full force the entire valley could have been lost. The fear was quickly masked by the transmission that Zamael had sent the blue and chameleon reptiles to watch over the camp. Now that the leader had been shamed, those two would watch for opportunities to take advantage of any sedition.

  “I will go as well,” said Bilatzailea, rising. Her brother’s blood dripped from her gore-caked hands. “I’ll watch their lair. As long as there are men hiding there, then I can foster betrayal. The humans will pay for this, nephew. I swear it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Freyja’s Choice

  They staggered blind through the marshes all that night and all the next day. The ghouls followed them, shrieking much of the time. But even when they ran in deathly silence, they were still followed by their eyes, horrid lifeless yellow orbs staring from the mist. Constant attacks and rumors of attacks came from the rear. Those in front dragged the wounded with them, and those too tired to continue sagged against trees with weapons ready, or guns if they were lucky enough to have them, in order to cover the brave or the weak who lagged behind. Over and again the ghouls charged or chucked their spears, then dogmen fell behind to fight them off in order to make a name for themselves. Dogmen who stood and fought in the rear often found themselves cut off from reinforcements and overwhelmed. The outlanders fleeing from the battle became a ragged, drawn-out line, either passing along information of attacks from the rear or lurching ahead in dogged silence, stifling the feeling that they were trapped in a nightmare with no escape.

  Wodan was utterly drained. Zamael’s psychic attack had wounded him to the core. He could offer no words of encouragement, nor any show of command. He envied those that could stagger on their own two feet, for he could only be pulled along by Chris on one side and the dogman Jago on the other, and while the miles of fear mostly went unnoticed by his pain-riddled psyche, he felt every inch of the endless length of the folly of his hubris. He decided that only luck had spared him during his first encounter with the demons of the valley. Now, his luck had run out.

  Chris was not so bad off. The cynicism he had learned in Pontius spared him from any great psychological torture. In fact, the failed crusade acted as an “I told you so” that bolstered his image of the world. As for Jago, the
young warrior was confused that the battle had gone so badly when he had fought so well. Drenched from head to foot in dry gore, he realized that he had been wrong to ever doubt himself. He also knew that Nilem had been right about their Khan all along. He was only a man, and not even a very great one.

  Yarek took over what command was possible of that ragged train of fools. He knew there was no defeating the mass of ghouls that harried them, and no way to scout the area ahead and prepare an effective defense. Only speed and the safety of the fort and the waiting tribes could save them, so he drove everyone forward as if he himself was tireless. Yarek hated the loss of their explosives, and hated that they’d nearly used up all of their bullets in the failed crusade. “Stop firing!” he often shouted at those in the rear. “The ghouls are just sucking up your bullets! They want you to fire! Run! Run! Run!”

  Yarek checked on his Khan often. Wodan could only wave him away feebly, too tired to respond, too stubborn to rest. Any time they did rest for a few minutes, the stories spread. Worst of all was the story of the flesh demon that could stop bullets, and even cast spells capable of breaking their Khan without a fight. Wodan knew that this devil had some of the strange power of the Cognati, the power which made no sense and yet still existed. He knew that Zamael possessed a power that could not be fought.

  Once when they stopped to rest, Yarek conferred with his Reavers. One of their brothers that they’d carried with them had finally given in to his wounds, and so they picked up his body and carried him some distance into the night. The Reavers had rites for the dead all their own, secret ceremonies designed for the battlefield and not to be seen by the uninitiated. Jago crept away from his Khan and saw the Reavers kneeling over the dead man, and heard Yarek saying, “... all that this man is, all that this man was before he was a Reaver, we consign to the grave. The battlefield has claimed him. We will move on. May he find some rest from the thing inside that made him into a Reaver. And may he be replaced by one just as brave.”