Fantastic Schools: Volume One (Fantastic Schools Anthologies Book 1)

by Christopher G Nuttall

  This massive head glowed purple, with yellow lines running over it like neon strips. Red streaks of blood passing through the pulsing yellow veins. I finished my grisly work on the stem and used my knife to tear open the flower's stomach. I pulled Cookie, then, the wizard, the psychic horticulturalist, from the maw. Cookie shivered and clung to me as I brushed her hair and pull roots from the pits the flower stomach acid had eaten out of her skin. The wizard was in a similar state, but he seemed excited more than worried. Wizards.

  "My my my! What a delightful exercise in large blooming life transmutation. Really bang-up job. Full marks, what." I and Cookie stared at him. "I'm pulling Griffinwald from both your heads. What a young scamp! Honestly, I love it when someone with as much potential as Griffinwald really struts his stuff." The wizard, Porticello Brimmer, stood up and stretched, brushing off the dying roots. His grin stretched so far I could count his teeth.

  I believe this was when he read my murderous intentions. I was working my way through the benefits of radical chainsaw amputation at the naval, age of Griffinwald be damned. "Of-Of-Of course, he did not stick around and put down his creation and he did damage school property. Not that the two of you are school property, oh no no no. No." Porticello pulled his wand, a long, unnaturally straight sprig of holly, and waved it. "I'll bring it all back to normal in a jiffy. I can accelerate or reverse organics through time, after all. I'll talk to the board and we'll punish Griffinwald. The lad needs to know the value of hard labor, oh yes." Glitter and lightning shot out of the tip of the wand and engulfed the monstrous flower.

  Cookie and I watched the flowers shrivel and shrink into themselves until they became their original size and shape. The sparkles dissipated and I could see the flowers were once again some kind of normal, if anemic looking. Other professors and students were coming in to help, and the nurse soon had me and Cookie back in fighting trim. Except for Cookie's mind, which became a little bit more skittish than it had been before. I spent my lunches in the cafeteria for a while, in some of the spots with no windows facing my gardening masterpiece.

  In the week ahead, Griffinwald was to spend a month in my care. The boy complained constantly, and immediately broke out in blisters. Had the puberty-reject never worked with his hands before? I didn't want his parents to hear about me abusing him, or something, so I eased up, just a little. Between the two of us, we repaired all the damage his spell had done, from the damaged plants to the torn-up paths and digested ambulatory benches.

  Near our last day together, I realized that I tolerated, nay, felt the barest hint of affection for Griffinwald. I didn't want to Cuisinart him any more.

  "You're not going to like this, but I was wondering if I could get out an hour early." The scamp. I shook my head. "But we're going to be experimenting with portals today. The moon is in the right phase, and the stars are in a most fortunate set of alignments with Mars and Venus." He rambled on and on about it, but I didn't listen to him. Instead, I just tossed him a shovel and between the two of us we shifted a composting pile from one side to another. Nothing worse than unflipped compost.

  We finished our day's work and I let Griffinwald go. I enjoyed another of Cookie's delicious cured meat sets and set to a night of relaxing after a hard day's work. I had just tucked myself into bed after seeing Cookie to her home above the cafeteria when I heard a bang and a roar that shook the clouds above. The sky glowed a deep, dark orange and I smelled sulfur. Someone opened up a hell portal. I should have expected this. I tore myself out of bed and opened up my dancing dresser's bottom drawer after I beat it into submission. Inside, familiar armor waited.

  I put it one, piece by piece. Thick metal comforted my chest, arms, legs and head. The helmet booted up, showing my ammo reserves, my body's health and the armor's integrity. I enjoyed the feel of it. Against the forces of hell, it was little more than a paper wall, but it was better than bare skin and toned muscles. I pulled out my shotgun and chainsaw. One of my requirements, in writing, was that I would have them both enchanted to never need ammo or fuel. Of course, the shotgun had been frivolous, but only until now.

  A small demon, bipedal and vicious, screamed as it saw me. The thing leaped up and went for my face. I blasted it with my shotgun. The thing's chest blew apart, spreading burning blood across my visor and armor. The helmet cleaned itself, and I grunted. Satisfaction is everything working together perfectly the first time. Another of those screaming little things leaped from the tree branches. Another shotgun shell sent it back where it came.

  I wondered if demon blood, bone and brain matter would be good for the plants. It really depended on the ammonia content. See, ammonia is a pretty decent fertilizer in the right conditions. Now, sulfur? Probably too much sulfur. I would have to treat the soil something fierce after this.

  A screaming ape with three arms and spikes for legs was charging a group of terrified students running for the statue of Warren G. Harding. I had no idea why they wanted comfort from that bald pate. I whipped out my chainsaw and ran on an intercept angle. I caught it in the midsection and let its own momentum saw it in half. I'm not going to lie, my job-site satisfaction ran at an all time high in that moment. The thing was still breathing, so I blasted it in its screaming ape face.

  I looked over the students I saved and saw a familiar face. "GRIFFINWALD." I didn't say it, but pointed very accusingly.

  "It wasn't me this time!" the boy shouted back. "Listen, there was some dude with a cult robe and-" An imp threw a fireball at an ambulatory bench. I cut off Griffinwald's excuses with a shotgun shell that cut the imp in half. Several more imps jumped out of a window and down to the quad. Flames burst from their hands in our direction. Griffinwald pulled out his wand and a shield protected us against the monsters' fire attacks. "One of the professors told me that the Harding statue can protect the campus. I have the animation spell." He stood up. I liked the glimmer in his eye.

  I pointed at the statue and the group ran for it. Something large, spike-filled and quite angry charged us from behind. When Griffinwald turned, I spun him around and pushed him at the statue. The spike-demon leaped nearly all the distance between the two of us and I got a good look into its slavering jaws that had just the right amount of teeth for a demon. It spent time roaring at me, and I reached down its throat and gripped its tongue. I jammed my foot where its nose should be and ripped the tentacled tongue out of its head. It screamed at a far higher pitch than its roaring.

  I stabbed the shotgun into the roof of the mouth and fired. More ammonia-filled brain matter splattered the flower beds. At least the fires hadn't taken to the trees yet. I stalked the outermost circle, the oak groves. I felt, rather than heard, the spells Griffinwald lavished on the Warren G. Harding statue. Principal Vanamander was throwing lightning from the roof of the metaphyscial sciences wing. A large wyvern battled a gas-bag that projectile vomited lava. The professors were taking care of themselves and any students they could find. The demons weren’t getting a claw-hold here. It would only be a matter of time before they were repulsed, as long as the portal was collapsed.

  "Less government in business and more business in government!" The bronze statue boomed. "And business is sending demons back to hell!" It leaped up and landed on the gas-bag in a titanic elbow drop. The wyvern flew off to rip the eye out of a floating, flaming cyclops head. A matter of minutes, perhaps. "You're the only depression my election is leaving!"

  I set my sights on the cafeteria, and Cookie. She cut quick with her knives, but chuck roast isn't exactly demonic sinew. It's a fighting spirit thing. Artists, cooks or what have you, aren't necessarily warriors at heart. A demon larger than any man, and a head like a mace burst out of a hedgerow. A punch sent me flying over the trees. My shotgun pellets bounced off its bone-dome. My head spun as I crashed through branches and through a wooden archway. I got back up in time for a shoulder check that sent me through the cafeteria's double doors. God must be watching out for me. I could have thanked the demon, but it would have wasted
breath.

  I rolled over and slashed a grasping hand with my chainsaw. I gripped the imp's head and twisted, snapping its neck. Mace-head charged me through the broken glass. I shot out its right kneecap with the shotgun. It stumbled and I kneed its forehead. It didn't blink, but that was more my fingers in its eyes. I twisted the head over. Its neck was more a mountain of shoulder muscles than proper vertebrae. I clawed at my armor, but it didn't have the angle or the leverage. I gripped its skull through the eyes as hard as I could and ripped the mace-skullplate from its position. I stomped its brains out.

  I heard Cookie scream, shrill and terrified. I saw an imp run up the stairs to the cafeteria's main room, from one of the classrooms, following the scream. I punted it into a wall and punched the hell-lights out of it. I kicked open the doors to the kitchen and saw Cookie stabbing another imp in its narrow chest. What a way to ruin her best knife. I grabbed her hands and turned her around.

  Cookie tried to stab me, but it didn't get past the chest plate. 'A' for effort. She opened her eyes, saw me, and began to cry. I gave her a one-armed hug, keeping my shotgun in one hand and always pointed to the most likely place of attack. I could hear Cookie's heart pump wildly. It calmed, but it never lost that pounding quality. It energized me. A nightmare with fires floated up to the second-floor bay windows. We were in the middle of dining room, and the tables were bolted to the floor, no cover to take the blast.

  I fired my shotgun at it. It laughed with a sound like glass grinding on metal and burned the pellets out of the air. A blue fire burned in its mouth and I pushed myself in front of Cookie and pumped my shotgun. "The fundamental trouble with wizards is that they have gotten too far away from Almighty God." Warren G. Harding's statue drop-kicked the blue-flame demon and landed on the gravel path in my garden. The energies gathered in the demon exploded, and Cookie and I saw Warren walk out of the flames unscathed.

  Thanks to the statue, we were unmolested as we gathered at the center plinth, where he used to stand. Professor Porticello Brimmer had survived, along with Griffinwald and the girl clinging on his arm. I gave him a respectful nod when we made eye contact. Principal Vanamander was missing an arm, but he stood tall. His lightning-blue hair, a sign of over-using his magical abilities, shimmered in the dusk. His eyes still blazed with fury and power, so I did not fear for him.

  "Listen, the portal is still open, but I can close it. We need to get to the theater, kill whoever is keeping the portal open, and seal it for good." He pointed at me, Porticello and a few of the other professors. "We're going in as a group." He slapped my arm. "Blaskowicz, you're going to be on point. Porticello, the rear. Here's sealing fetishes." He handed out little statues. "If all else fails, slap it on the air in front of the portal and it should close, at least temporarily. I've already sent my familiar to The Witch Academy. They'll succeed if we fail."

  He signaled me when the rest were ready. I walked forward, leading everyone to the theater complex. Warren G. Harding was beating one of the mace-heads to death with his bare hands the hard way. The statue turned to me without stopping its tasks. "I couldn't catch a ball or any of that stuff. I could do only what required brute stupidity." I gave him a thumbs up.

  The demons had thinned out since the statue had begun his work. We reached the theater's entrance. While the majority of the architecture on campus was plain and serviceable brick, the theatre was Greco-Roman inspired. Columns, splattered with blood and cooling lava, reached from the foundation to the lintel. The doors, now ripped from their hinges, had been cleverly inset into the walls so that the columns appeared both free-standing and a part of the wall. Windows, glass and metal, studded the gaps of the stone pillars. Across the top, just under the roof, a quote, "Proceed with the full realization that no spell of man can repeal the laws of nature." Harding, probably.

  "Blaskowics." Vanamander urged me into the building. I stepped into the half-light. The setting sun was behind us, so I had a little light left. Bone fragments, broken wands and paper crunched under my feet. A mosaic of Narcissus stretched from the entrance to the stairs. Echo's face was marred by an ice-bolt jammed into the floor. Narcissus was untouched. "Up the stairs." Vanamander whispered. The carpet smoldered, and I could see chairs on fire, facing the main stage. No want for light, at least.

  I stuck my head past the brass doors to the theater and pulled back instantly. An imp with claws longer than its head fell where my skull had been a bare second ago. I blasted its brains out with a shotgun blast. I charged and slammed my chainsaw into the brainstem of another imp. I heard Vanamander fire lightning into something on one of the balconies.

  I could see the orange portal now. The stage under it had been set up for some sort of German-Faustian tragedy. A man stood in front of the stage in a red robe and probably appreciated the decorations. I trusted the wizards could handle themselves and walked towards him. He chanted something, but it meant nothing to me, demonic gibberish. My shotgun didn't have the reach, and so I stepped closer.

  "I have always loved fire," the man intoned as if someone cared. "It always felt like power." A tendril of red light hit the chest of the demon-worshipper. He convulsed. The energies made him grow. I couldn't tell what skin color he'd had, but now, it was blood-red. His muscles and bones snapped and bent as he stood fifteen feet tall. What clothes he had left ripped off of him as it could no longer bear the strain. Horns stuck out of his forehead and his teeth became pointed and sharp. Yellow drool dripped from his mouth.

  It moved fast and before I could react, it stepped forward and kicked me in the chest. My armor took the blow, but I hit the balcony and fell down onto the broken theater chairs. My breath left me and I got to one knee. I had to stumble forward until I found my feet. Vanamander plied the chest and face of the demonic beast with lightning. It laughed and reached for the one-armed Principal. Porticello hit himself with a glow from his wand and grabbed Vanamander, pulling him out of the way quick as thought. One of the other wizards was not so lucky. The fist grabbed him and squeezed him like an orange.

  I charged forward, jamming the chainsaw into the cultist-demon's wrist. I saw his leg rise up for another kick and jammed the shotgun on its knee. I fired, blowing its kneecap with a powerful blast. It roared and collapsed onto its bad knee. The bones in giant red hand deflected the chainsaw down onto the blood-soaked floor. The wounded hand batted me back, nearly knocking me down. The horns on its head stabbed towards me and sought to gut me. I danced away, ignoring my armor's integrity warnings.

  Its jaws spread wide like the hood of a cobra, its maw detached from its skull and shot towards me, biting in thin air. I saw my chance and the chainsaw found the roof of its mouth. The mandibles closed around it once again, but the chainsaw wasn't deep enough to reach its brain. It struggled with the vicious, cutting gardening tool, but couldn't remove it. Its hands couldn't reach into its mouth, even as its own claws shred its cheeks.

  I ran up and, using its good knee as a stepping ladder, punched its chin. It screamed louder. I punched and kneed its jaw again and again, each time pushing the chainsaw deeper into its head. It fell backwards, spasming. I didn't stop striking it until it ceased twitching. In the corner of my eye I saw the surviving wizards slap their fetishes on the portal, collapsing it to a pinpoint and then nothing. I gasped, and every part of my body hurt. It reminded me of a full-body workout, more than the life and death struggle Hell brought to us.

  If I was being honest, I could have killed more demons with a smile on my face, but then it would put the students, civilians, and worse, Cookie, at risk. I'd take this victory gladly. Porticello was helping Vanamander up the stairs to me. The demons' corpses, now no longer powered by hell's energy, started to waste away, leaving blood stains and fires burning where their magic played havoc.

  Warren G. Harding had returned to his plinth, signaling the all clear. Cookie and some of the other noncombatants celebrated our returned by gathering up all the unruined food they could find and turning it into a feast. Cookie fed m
e some of her special sausages herself. The garden was ruined, and mostly on fire. It'd be a lot of overtime and I'd have an excuse to get really crazy with some fruit trees I've been eyeing up. Before emergency forces took us away to hospitals and home, Vanamander put his hand on my shoulder. "Good job, Blaskowics. I'll get you a raise." Cookie's sausages, demonic invasion, chainsaw practice, seeing Griffinwald become a man, getting to rebuild a garden and a raise? The day could not get better.

  Benjamin Wheeler has been writing stories for a while, and after being released from his crypt to feast on the flesh of the innocent one more, he can publish them. His hobbies include writing, video games and running down bicyclists who don't respect the rules of the road. He's 3000 years old, 6'1", a Leo, and the author of Tears of Elfland, Sheik of Mars, and numerous short stories available on Amazon through the Planetary Anthology series.

  Crucible

  Frank B. Luke

  Another world lies hidden alongside ours, invisible to most. Those few who can cross into it rediscover themselves as knights, rogues, clerics, and wizards. It runs along a very specific set of rules that exist in our world as a game, Legends & Lore. Seminary student Grant Von Wold crossed over four months ago as a Lawful Neutral wizard, to his dismay. He's had to fast track his training and now stands ready to take his final exam at the Tower of the Moons. It's not pass/fail. It's pass/die.

  Crucible