by Hunter Blain
My legs went numb below my waist, and my fingers began to tingle as my vertebrae began to break apart.
“Okay! Okay!” I desperately cried out between teeth that were being smashed together. My frontmost pearly whites cracked and then shattered under the pressure before Oberon stopped.
Oh, thank Lilith.
Might I suggest keeping your mouth shut for the remainder of existence? Baleius chided frantically in my ear. I rather enjoy being not dead.
Without so much as a word of warning or gloating, Oberon grabbed my collar again and lowered me back into place. He resumed flight as I continued to reluctantly point toward the cemetery, my hands alternatively rubbing my neck and jaw. I didn’t have the energy to heal my ruptured discs, cracked vertebrae, or shattered teeth. I fought back tears of pain and humiliation; I wasn’t going to give this sonofabitch the satisfaction.
We landed at the entrance of my home, Oberon keeping his tight grip on my collar to support my paralyzed legs. I pointed to the marble door, and Oberon used his free hand to punch the stone. It flew into the room, tumbling over the throne in the center before resting against the far wall. I gulped before pointing with tingling fingers to the hidden entrance. He tore it off its hinges with ease, and we started our descent into the Earth.
I opened the door to my home—trying to prevent the powerful king from destroying that too—and Oberon threw me inside with enough force to somersault over the couch. I cried out as the floor smashed into my broken face, sending a dizzying wave of nausea through me. It scared me how much King Oberon’s attitude and demeanor had changed since the street battle. This close to his goal, the time for bravado was over.
As my vision cleared, I noticed a fancy glass vial plugged with a cork under the table just inches from my face. There was a dark red, viscous liquid inside that called to me.
“Gabriel,” I mouthed as my numb hands reached for the vial and removed the cork with nearly limp fingers.
Behind me, Oberon began tearing open cabinets in search of his prize. He noticed the locked cabinet and, with a bark of joy, ripped the door off.
“What is this?” he demanded angrily. “Cups? What in the seven Hell’s is Battlefield Earth?” He turned to face me then, noticing the vial that I had placed to my lips, and was smashed in the face with a bolt of fire from across the living room. I suckled on the vial with all I had as my eyes looked weakly in front of me to see Locke in a defensive stance. As he stood, green fire circled the floor in front of him before crawling up his body. When the fire went out, Locke was donned in full epic battle robes with plates of iron and obsidian covering his torso along with his upper arms and legs. An obsidian helmet that looked like a dragon’s face covered his head as eyes began to glow a fierce purple that swirled with green.
“Warlock!” Oberon bellowed as he recovered. Using my hand to move my head, I saw him conjuring a ball of absolute darkness into his hand. I took note that it was different than his usual purple energy attack.
“He’s after the gauntlet!” I cried out as the beginnings of power began entering my veins. It had been angel’s blood what my friend had left for me. My vertebrae popped as they healed, and teeth formed anew. Discs reformed, and feeling returned to my hands and feet. I took in a deep breath and my eyes shot open wide and full of energy, like a dying man injected with adrenaline. It wasn’t what I needed to completely refill my depleted reserves, but it might be enough for me to live.
I leaped to my feet as Locke rolled to the side and dodged the shadow ball. It slammed into the wall where he had been standing and evaporated it like cotton candy thrown into molten lava. Locke had a new window to his room curtesy of the Shadow King.
Locke’s eyes shot to the wall and back to his opponent before he began chanting, causing all the light in the room to begin flowing to his hands like water down a drain. As the light built, Oberon moved into a defensive stance.
“Come on then, magic child,” Oberon challenged with a growl.
Locke worked skillfully as he extended his hands and an ethereal sledgehammer appeared in his grasp. With a confident smile at one corner of his lips, Locke smashed the ground in front of him.
The entirety of my Fortress of Solitaire shattered as if made of panes of glass—the walls, floor, and even the ceiling broke apart as if my home had been a cube inside of a much larger room. As the world around us disappeared with the deafening sound of breaking glass, I realized that we were now on a platform with a deep pit all around the outside. There was a gap between the platform and the black stone walls where torches lined sporadically all the way around and then straight up. Where there had once been a ceiling now stood an intimidating stone dome at least fifty feet up. There were sigils all over the platform that I didn’t recognize, as well as circles of iron spaced around the outside and center of the stage. Green fire erupted from the edges of the stage, removing all doubt that this battle was going to be for blood and bone.
“What the fuck?” I wheezed with a gaping mouth. Flames licked upward from the edge of the platform, spilling heat across the stage as they reached skyward.
The warlock took us to his training grounds; a mirror dimension of sorts, Baleius answered for me, having direct knowledge of Hell magic and its machinations.
Thought you couldn’t remember anything before me, I stated flatly as a passing comment rather than a question. Baleius didn’t answer, and I didn’t care at that moment.
“I will use your skull for my wine, warlock,” Oberon asserted with sickening confidence as he cracked his knuckles ominously.
I walked to one side of the platform, giving Locke and Oberon plenty of room as I continued to recover. Lilith, just how much energy had I used that not even angel blood replenished my tanks? Not just any angel’s either, but the Archangel Gabriel’s himself! I had a new substantial appreciation for my well of power now.
Locke chanted something as his fingers danced in the air, and a swirling vortex appeared on the ground just in front of him. Clawed hands reached from the purple-and-green swirling storm on the ground, lifting a demonic monstrosity the size of King Oberon himself from the abyss. The warrior had gray skin covering bulging muscles, with thick black chains wrapped around his waist, shoulders, and wrists. On his hip sat a scabbard that the demon reached for, pulling forth a skillfully crafted sword made of obsidian forged in the pits of Hell itself. Eyes glowed green on a face that held no emotions. This hellion was completely under Locke’s control.
“Holy shit,” I said in awe as the demon rushed Oberon, sword ready to strike.
King Oberon pulled out his celestial weapon and charged headlong into the demon’s attack. Angelic sword met demonic blade, sending a shower of sparks cascading all around like an industrial grinder on metal.
Where the demon was all power and wild attacks, Oberon was patient, calm, and smooth like water. He flowed with the attacks, taking little strikes where he could while defending himself from the fierce blows that would split an elephant in two with ease.
Viscous black blood flowed from the conjured demon’s gashes along his body, coating the floor in a dark mirror. The obsidian chains did their part and protected what they could, but Oberon knew what he was doing and was going to defeat the demon by a thousand cuts. Locke noticed this at the same time I did, and we both moved to attack.
As the swordsmen fought in the middle of the platform, both refusing to give up any ground, I moved in from Oberon’s left while Locke went to his right.
I manifested a bloodpike while I saw Locke clasping his hands together and separating them to reveal a long wooden staff complete with floating stones at the tip. Each stone was different and hovered around the end like a planetary model.
Locke chanted something to himself, and one of the gems—a sapphire—glowed bright like a cell phone in a darkened theater before blue lightning shot out to strike Oberon in the chest.
He saw it coming and gritted his teeth, betting that he could take whatever power was behind the
tiny warlock. King Oberon was both right and wrong. Though the bolt of lightning didn’t kill him, it did lift him off his feet and toss him back several feet. This allowed the demon to strike at a spot between the angelic armor as the Shadow King’s body shifted from the attack. Oberon roared in fury as he recovered, landing in a roll, and was back to his feet like it was all a skillfully choreographed Las Vegas show.
Locke shot out another arc that Oberon reflected with his gladius, sending forks of lightning in all directions. I barely dodged a small section of the blast as I charged forward. The demon, who was in melee range of Oberon, was not so lucky and took the brunt of the warlock’s attack. He crumbled to the ground in a curling mass of smoldering, bubbling flesh. The obsidian sword clattered to the ground beside me before sinking into the ground to join its master in Hell.
I gotta give it to Locke; he didn’t even hesitate. He removed his hands from the staff—which simply levitated just off the ground in front of him—and his fingers danced again. Two portals opened up this time. Locke’s brow was coated in sweat and exertion as four clawed hands reached from the darkness and into the pit.
Oberon saw his chance and rushed impossibly fast toward a vulnerable Locke. I threw my pike at his rushing legs, willing the manifestation to morph into a whip as it reached where I thought he was going to be. The bloodwhip wrapped around Oberon’s legs and he started to fall as I yanked with my borrowed angelic might.
He swung his gladius at my bloodrope, but I had anticipated this and had already willed the weapon back toward me as I ran to catch my falling opponent. I willed a shield and hammer into each hand and leaped to swing at Oberon’s head. He saw the attack coming and decided to go down in a roll rather than fight to remain on his feet and catch his balance.
My hammer shattered stone where it struck, and I had just enough time to bring my shield up as Oberon kicked out at me. The force was stronger than anything that had hit me in all my existence, and I was thrown backward, sliding toward the edge of the flaming pit. I quickly turned both manifestations into ice climber’s hooks and attempted to stop by slamming them into the stone beneath me. A pang of doubt entered my mind as the edge of the platform continued to rush toward me even as the spikes dug into the stone floor and tore matching lines several inches deep.
Then a section of stone near the end folded in on itself, creating a curb that I smacked into. I quickly got to my hands and feet and saw Locke with one hand out toward me, the cords on his neck standing out in sheer focus and willpower.
Holy shit. He caught me!
Focus! Baleius yelled.
Two more demons had been spawned in the time I had given Locke, but they were several feet smaller and covered in obsidian armor from head to toe. They had maws that snapped hungrily at Oberon as they charged on four thick legs. They reminded me of attack dogs covered in full battle armor as they stampeded.
Locke grabbed his staff again, and a ruby began glowing this time. He screamed as he hoisted his weapon into the air and slammed it into the ground, sending a rushing wave of crimson-colored flames that ran between the hellhounds.
Oberon leaped into the air, easily avoiding the attack. But Locke seemed to have anticipated this. As Oberon sailed over the wave, it collected and shot upward like a geyser to strike Oberon head-on. He screamed in surprise as the hellhounds took hold of both his arms while still in midair. With their collective weight, they slammed him down to the stone platform with enough force to shatter bone. The flames continued to shoot skyward around him, bathing him in an inferno while at the same time having no effect on the hounds, who had been created in Hell where fire reigns.
I got to my feet and ran toward the fray, leaping with the intention of landing on my Faerie meal. As I did, I called out, “Locke, NOW!” while morphing my hooks into twin daggers with armor-piercing tantos at their tips.
Locke took my cue and released his flame attack right as I landed on King Oberon’s stomach. His arms were being stretched out to either side, which created beautiful gaps in his armor that I took full advantage of. I stabbed one dagger into his exposed armpit and the other into his stomach and began siphoning his ancient life force with as much gusto as I could manage.
His blood rushed into me, filling my body with power that made me scream in triumph. Baleius and I lost focus on everything else in the world as we drank deep from his well of enormous power in an attempt to refill my own.
In my elation, I didn’t hear Locke calling out to me. After a few seconds of bliss, I drunkenly glanced toward the noise to see Locke waving his hands frantically and screaming at me. With a huge effort of will, I focused on the now, tearing myself from my blood stupor, and heard what he was saying.
“Move! Now!” Locke called out. As he did, I looked back at my target who had freed himself from one of the hounds and was swinging his gladius in an arc over his body. With only a nanosecond to act, I threw myself straight up in an explosion of stone just as the blade passed where I had been and through the other hound. With his other hand freed, he grabbed the throat of the remaining hound and squeezed its throat like a paper cup. A yelp was cut off as the beast fell to the floor, its tongue rolling out and black blood oozing as it spasmed.
Locke focused his will on a dark emerald. It glowed and a jagged beam of green shot out to latch onto Oberon’s exposed flesh. Light began flowing from the Shadow King and into Locke’s staff. I noticed he made a face of pleasure much like I did when feeding.
What the hell is he doing?
Siphoning his soul, Baleius said appreciatively.
While this was happening, I reached the cusp of my ascent and began falling back to the stone platform below, daggers ready to go again. Even with only a few seconds of feeding, I felt amazing, incredible even. I let my legs lift into the air as I began shooting downward toward my target like a bunker buster ready to bring some freedom to one of those countries that ended with “-stan.”
As I did, I had a front row seat as Oberon grabbed the beam of green light with his gauntleted hand and reversed the flow into himself.
Locke gasped and fell to one knee as his own soul started being siphoned out.
“NO!” I cried out as bloodwings manifested and flapped once to reach my target faster. Oberon wasn’t expecting this and recoiled as I crashed into him. I wrapped my wings around us both and pulled his arms in tight to his body. I jammed my daggers into his back in search of exposed flesh, and found one slit. Blood flowed as Oberon struggled mightily to free himself.
He raised his head back and slammed it into my forehead, stunning me. He did it again and again until I went limp and slipped to the ground in a daze.
A flaming green skull flew into and exploded on Oberon, impacting him hard enough to send him back a few paces. Another struck, and he took a few more steps backward. A third attack struck, and Oberon was a single step away from falling into the hungry flames of the pit before he regained his senses and grabbed the next skull that flew toward him with his armored hand. He smiled as he looked from the skull to Locke before taking one long step forward like a baseball pitcher. With a grunt of effort, Oberon lobbed the flaming skull back at Locke, who could do nothing but collapse to both knees in fatigue as his ironic fate approached.
I ran at preternatural speeds, my trench coat flaps cracking like whips, and stood with arms outstretched and eyes screwed shut between Locke and the flaming skull. Waves of green flames washed over my body, which wasn’t protected by celestial armor like Oberon’s, and I collapsed to the ground shrieking.
Oberon smiled, realizing his victory, and began making his way to where Locke kneeled and I writhed around, trying to extinguish the intense flames that were making my skin bubble. I noticed my silver cross was glowing with heat, burning through the remaining tatters of my shirt. A thought crossed mind; could I have just died if not for the pendant Father Thomes had given me?
As the last of the flames were frantically pat out by hands I could no longer feel, Locke sighed in exha
ustion, and the world streamed around us like water down the drain. In its place was my Fortress of Solitaire, untouched by the battle minus the initial blasts.
“Goooooood,” Oberon said, sounding like Emperor Palpatine. I stood to face him and willed a gladius into my hands; but nothing happened. He laughed as he saw the look of confusion on my face before backhanding me across the room and into the metal wall.
Oberon leaned down, wrapped a hand around Locke’s tiny neck, and hoisted him to eye level. He turned to keep his eye on both Locke and me without worrying about an attack from behind. He removed his helmet with his free hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
“Well fought, warlock. Now, where is the gauntlet? No more games.” His cheekbones cast shadows up his skull that blotted out his eyes except for two purple glints in the darkness.
“Do you give your word that you will leave once you have it?” Locke croaked on the edge of choking while sweat streamed down his forehead.
“You fought bravely, and I respect that. So, I agree to your terms. Give me the gauntlet, and I will depart,” Oberon promised.
“And you won’t harm us,” I added quickly.
Oberon’s eyes shot to me, and his brow furrowed for only the briefest of moments before returning back to its placid, regal state. “Of course,” he agreed, coldly this time, though.
Locke tried to turn his gaze toward me before giving up and saying over his shoulder, “John, it’s in my room, behind the painting.”
I walked to Locke’s room before Oberon called out, “No tricks, vampire, or I’ll make this one suffer an eternity in my dungeons.” To emphasize his point, he tightened his grip around Locke’s throat, causing him to cry out in a rasp.
I went into Locke’s room, saw the painting on the wall above his bed, and went to it. As I stood in front of the work of art from H. R. Giger, I looked down at my burnt shirt and noticed the silver pendant had charred a cross into my flesh.
“Thank you, Father Thomes,” I said under my breath as I grabbed the edge of the painting. It opened on a hinge, and there, on a shelf in the wall, was an iron box the size of the gauntlet. Underneath was another shelf that had an old-looking garment box with a black bow on it. I retrieved the iron box and walked back to the living room, where Oberon was waiting with an unreadable face. I set the box on the coffee table and stepped back.
