[Demonworld #4] Shepherd of Wolves

by Kyle B. Stiff

  You have to turn on, Wodan thought, hoping that his bluff could earn Vito’s obedience. I know you want to fight demons. I can feel it! But don’t you know that a devil can come in the shape of a man, too?

  Vito charged forward and whipped his body about in another bone-shattering punch. Wodan’s body flinched to the side in a fraction of a second, then he brought his elbow up as Vito flew by him and smacked it into the side of Vito’s head. Vito staggered, caught a handful of Wodan’s blood-soaked garment, and tore it from him as he fell. He whipped the thing to the side, turned, and saw that Wodan’s chest and arms were covered in muscles that simply were not there before. He was covered in blood, but the gunshot wounds at his side had sealed over with some kind of scabby growth. The muscles all along his body twitched and rippled, like maggots shivering on a corpse. Wodan pulled his lips back in a snarl and revealed the stubs of new teeth replacing the ones that had been knocked out weeks ago.

  “What are you?!” Vito shouted.

  Wodan’s mind was charged, and his thoughts connected in new ways. He felt depths of being that he never knew existed before. Vito may have moved mountains to become the Khan, but to Wodan, the great man’s question sounded absurd, the grunt of an animal encountering something that could not be easily bullied or beaten into submission. “What are any of us, Vito?” Wodan could see the pores along Vito’s worry-stricken face, the flesh shining with sweat. Behind the man he could see that the sky was dazzling rich purple, flashing here and there with explosions, living blossoms of light. He could pick out tones from the cries below, agony mixed with lust, all of it torn through with desire, a sort of craving stupidity. The stench was indescribably foul and complex and insistent. “What are we, Vito, but dancing lights on a stage we can’t begin to comprehend? This… this thing you’ve made… you’re not its master, you only ride on top of it. Let’s end this foolishness and figure out how we can-”

  “Bull... shit!” cried Vito. He darted forward again and released a flurry of blows that cut through the air. Wodan dodged to one side, then slipped past Vito and dodged the other way. Wodan coiled his body up and punched, fast, but Vito slid past the arm and cracked his fist against Wodan’s chin, knocking him sideways, then rolled low to the ground and kicked his knee upwards into Wodan’s gut such that he fell back and slapped into the hard stone floor.

  He’s more than I thought he was, thought Vito, but he’s too slow. He’s holding back too much to ever win. But even as he leaped into the air to grapple the boy into submission, Wodan had already rolled along the ground, spun, and rose to his feet. Vito feinted as if he was about to throw another punch; Wodan moved with incredible speed to block the blow that never came, and did not see Vito’s knee before it slammed into his gut and sent him crashing into a wall of stone.

  Wodan’s head smacked into the wall. He was dazed, and saw lights flashing and heard tinkling in his ears. Just as he tried to overcome the pain and gather what little energy he had left, he saw Vito hovering before him for one moment - then a fist slammed into his face, rocked his brain in its casing, shattered bone along the side of his skull, and his tongue was sliced up on a bed of jarring teeth. Vito’s fists flew again and again, smashing his head to the left and the right, staggering him senseless, then Vito leaped and, touching the wall behind Wodan with his fingertips, he grinded his powerful knee up into Wodan’s guts and ribs, smashing organs against one another. Wodan felt nothing as he slammed into the ground at Vito’s feet.

  Wodan was on the verge of blacking out, then he felt fingers wrapping around his throat. The will to survive thrashed about in him. He gave in to his body and reacted without thinking; he twisted and grabbed Vito’s wrist with one hand and tore it free, rolled over so that Vito was jerked off balance, then he gripped the fingers with both hands and squeezed until he felt bones crushing in his grasp and heard Vito wailing in his ears. Vito tore free, staggered away, and Wodan rose once more. He felt his body shifting about in his chest, drawing away still more of his energy as demolished organs gave out and new ones broke free from some kind of bond, working alongside the old and taking over abandoned functions. The cancer was blossoming even as the host died. New muscles rippled along his body and steamed poured from him as the reaction churned violently.

  “Give up, Vito,” said Wodan. “Even if you won this fight, your broken fingers would only make you a target for your next opponent. In more ways than one, you’re already dead if you continue on like this.”

  “You... pup,” hissed Vito, rising and tucking his ruined hand at his side. “You still don’t understand what it is to be a wolf.”

  The wolves along the tiers chanted, growled, and beat the butts of their rifles along the stone. Wodan and Vito drew near one another again. As they circled, Wodan felt his strength surging and ebbing, unsure of how to continue, as if caught in the paradox of trying to kill someone it did not want to kill, and trying to force into submission something that did not understand submission. His awareness raced mercilessly and in razor-sharp clarity he could see the sinews and bruised flesh heaving as Vito bounced on the balls of his feet, and could see the white points of light from his teeth flashing as he drew in great lungfuls of air.

  The two flew at one another, and Wodan’s mind sped up such that the whirl of Vito’s limbs seemed to tear slowly through hardened air. Wodan forced his exhausted body to keep pace with the whirlpool of violence; as Vito’s elbow arced upward, he connected with his own to protect his head and felt the impact along the length of his arm. Vito’s punches grinded one after another and Wodan blocked them all, but was pushed back. Agony shrieked in his forearms and his body worked to mend battered muscle, drawing more and more energy away from his will. Suddenly a knee bashed into Wodan’s stomach; as he flexed to form a shield, he knew that Vito’s own body must be stressed further than it had ever been, but the fighter seemed completely willing to throw himself at Wodan even if it meant he would die of a heart attack – or perhaps he sensed that Wodan was slowly being drained, and would soon give out himself. Just as Wodan pushed himself and landed a blow against Vito’s face, Vito did exactly the same to Wodan. Both staggered clockwise around one another, gulping in superheated air as they blinked and glared inches away from one another.

  “This is stupid,” growled Ramos, pacing back and forth as he watched the two fighters, fingering his submachine gun.

  “Down!” barked Naarwulf.

  “I’m not your leashman, dog!” Ramos shouted. He noted that even as Naarwulf protested, he made no move to stop him – he was all giant and no action. Ramos watched the pair and saw Vito stagger away slowly, hair drenched in sweat. Wodan moved to take advantage, he also moved slowly, and Vito cried out and pushed him away, knocking him against the stone wall. Ramos aimed at the boy who’d turned into a demon, and-

  A shot rang out and Ramos jerked, turned, and saw his own brains and a gallon of blood splash onto the far wall. He reached up delicately, felt something like a bowl of soup atop his skull, then fell over dead. The wolves on the ledge cried in shock, then saw a black-clad rifleman perched atop an advancing tank with a line of Reavers moving in a crouch alongside it. Naarwulf and the other wolves howled and fired at the oncoming attackers.

  We were too intent on the duel! thought Naarwulf. His mind raced to figure out a way to stop the outlanders just as a wolf beside him grabbed his own neck with blood spurting out between his fingers.

  As bullets blasted the stone arena and sparks showered down all around them, Vito and Wodan staggered near one another again. Wodan threw a punch that shattered Vito’s nose in a shower of blood, but when Wodan tried to follow through with a second clumsy blow, Vito caught his arm, twisted and backed up awkwardly, then flipped Wodan over his shoulder and brought him crashing to the ground. Vito stomped his foot down into Wodan’s torso, but Wodan caught it, twisted, and threw the man away from him. Vito hobbled about, shaking his foot to ease the pain, and Wodan lifted himself from the ground, staggered, fell on his ass, t
hen dragged himself to his feet once again.

  Unmindful of the storm of bullets crashing all around them, the two glared into one another.

  “Vito! Give up this madness! We can still salvage the situation!”

  “We... salvage... nothing!” hissed Vito, blood draining down from his purple face.

  “Vito, with this horde, we could take on the demons themselves! We could smash them and set this world to right! Put everything in its place! Vito, if you’re a man, give up these childish things! Give up your anger and your resentment of the treatment you endured! Be a man and let go of your hatred of the past!”

  Vito drew himself up and looked down at Wodan as he touched the ground to keep from falling over. His eyes burned and he said, “Wodan, don’t you understand anything? I’m not just trying to destroy civilization. The cities of man - they’re only symptoms of the disease!”

  “What are you talking about?” said Wodan, crouching to catch his breath.

  “I want complete purity, Wodan! I want to end the lie, to end the capacity for lies! Wodan, life... life is the greatest lie ever told in all existence!”

  Shocked to speechlessness, Wodan stopped and stood completely still.

  “Yes! Wodan! Did you think I wanted something else? I want the complete destruction of everything! I... want... pure... nothingness!”

  Wodan stood tall and raised his open palm. His hands were large, the fingers long, the knuckles thick, torn open, and spattered with blood. He saw a brilliant, dazzling halo of light dancing in his vision. A puzzle of a million pieces clicked into place within him, and he said, “Then you go this far - and no further.”

  * * *

  Didi cowered before the thousand shifting colors that raced about the NeuSen readout. The image of the mind flashed, shook, opened up into geometrical patterns of frenzied complexity, incapable of being properly display in the monitor - then the thing flared up into pure white, an explosion, a hive of lights bursting forth that signaled the birth of a new god.

  “My God!” shrieked Didi. “Wodan! It is you! You are the superbeing!”

  * * *

  Vito staggered forward, lips pulled back from fangs, and Wodan shouted, “STOP!” in a voice that blasted into all the nerves in Vito’s body. Vito hesitated and lost momentum - then Wodan dashed forward, muscles coiling like mad all along his body, eyes clear and sharp, and he exhaled once, violently, as his left fist flew out in a curving line and slammed into Vito’s body, shattering ribs all along his torso. Vito’s eyes opened wide with shock. He instinctively raised a hand to stop the next blow, and Wodan’s right fist slammed into his wrist, shattered the bones into powder, then continued on and blasted into Vito’s breast. The impact rippled through his torso in a shockwave that blasted ribs and tore his lungs to shreds. Vito felt his feet lifted from the ground as the shockwave passed through him, tearing his heart out of place so that blood pumped freely into his ruined chest cavity.

  Vito twisted through air. He saw stars twinkling in the deep red and purple sea far above, and since he could no longer breathe he rested, for once, truly rested, and he thought, Finally. He was filled with the great relief that he’d sought for so long. Finally... I’m free of the leash of the world.

  Wodan saw the body of the dead Khan crash into the earth. His exhaustion was replaced by white hot clarity as he strode between the groups of wolves and Reavers firing on one another. He turned to the wolves and bore his eyes into them; they glanced at their fallen Khan and lowered their guns when they saw his twisted, purple body and lifeless eyes. Wodan turned to the Reavers and held up his palm, and they lowered their weapons. Yarek took off his helmet, shook his hair from his face, and said, “So they were right. Wodan, is it still you?”

  In all the patterns of all the connections in his mind the question did not seem to apply to anything, and so Wodan turned away and strode to the edge of the hill. Confused, the dogmen slowly scampered down from their dugouts. Naarwulf approached Wodan and placed the heavy gray wolfskin cloak about his shoulders.

  Wodan looked at the city. Dogs poured over the walls. A tall tower of wood groaned and fell over. The invaders had already filled the gap cut through them by the tank. Artillery still rained on them, but the few defenders left along the wall were being slaughtered, their bodies thrown over the side to feed the mountain of dead piled up below. Wodan wondered if even the most powerful word in the world could stop this thing. Pontius was fallen. The wolf at the end of the world was victorious.

  The Reavers climbed up the hill and Yarek took his place by Wodan’s side.

  “Bring me a radio,” said Wodan.

  “Yes, Khan,” said Naarwulf.

  * * *

  Zach and Chris raced through the streets while the ravaging dogmen howled in the eternal night behind them. “Precinct Zero... is ahead,” gasped Zach. “We’ll have to make some kind of stand there.” The radios carried by his soldiers screamed in chaos, the news of defeat everywhere, of retreat, of stations abandoned to beasts.

  Zach and the others staggered into the great hall where dozens of generals of the Law shouted into radios and mopped their brows. Zach raced upstairs to the top floor, then brushed past Lawmen who crowded around the Director’s office.

  DeSark glanced at Zach, then said, “I know, I know. But we tried.”

  “We have to make the roof,” said Zach, then his heart fell, for he remembered the fall of his own land, where he’d fired from the rooftop at the endless devils.

  “Sir!” cried a Lawman. “On the radio!”

  A tinny voice cut through while they hushed one another loudly. The radio man at the large unit adjusted dials, and they heard, “... destroying your city. Pontius, you are at an end. The wolves are victorious. Admit defeat and we will withdraw. Repeat. Admit defeat and I will call off my wolves.” There was a long pause, then, “I repeat. This is Khan Wodan. My wolves are destroying your city. Pontius, you are at an end...”

  “All the gods of hell!” shouted Zach. “It’s Wodan!”

  “Some kind of trick?” said DeSark.

  “I don’t know, but we don’t have a lot of options. Let’s play along. DeSark - do it. Contact him and admit defeat. If we can even stall them, we might be able to set up again and… and fight them off later, or something.”

  DeSark shook his head, sighed, and waited.

  A woman’s voice broke through another channel on the large radio. “Director! Oliver here. Are you hearing this?”

  “Yes, Miss Oliver, I am.”

  “Well?”

  DeSark gestured to the radio man, took up the mouthpiece, then said, “Khan... Wodan. This is Director DeSark of the Law of Pontius. Do you read me?”

  “Yes, Director, I can hear you.”

  “Wodan... is that really you?”

  A long pause, then, “Give me the news of your defeat, sir, so that I may call off my wolves.”

  “Wodan, I can’t quite understand what’s happening...”

  “What’s happening is that Pontius is burning. The wolves are inside the gates, and they certainly aren’t going to withdraw from a weakened foe unless they see signs of complete submission.”

  “If we submit, will you withdraw the dogmen?”

  “The shepherd of wolves will do his best, Director.”

  DeSark looked about at his men, who sweated and swallowed the bitter pill of pride lodged in their dry throats. “Very well. We submit. Pontius admits defeat.”

  “Very good,” said Khan Wodan. “I will speak to my wolves, but this will not be easy. I can keep more from coming in, but the ones who are already inside your city will either have to be killed, or you can simply wait until they wear themselves out. Hopefully we will soon be able to gather in order to negotiate the terms of the surrender of Pontius. Over.”

  There was silence for a long time. “Terms of surrender...” said DeSark. “Is that... really... our Wodan?”

  “Wish I knew,” said Zach. He stared at Chris who stood beside him. Zach was g
rateful that he’d never had the chance to kill him over a misunderstanding, but he was still resentful of his presence all the same.

  “Well,” said Chris, drawing himself up knowingly, “this shit beats the hell outta me, but it sounds to me like he isn’t your Wodan anymore.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pontius vs. Wodan

  Khan Wodan and Chris stood over a grave they had dug for Jon Best on the battle plain. Beside it, they place a marker for Justinas as well. Chris occasionally glanced at Wodan, extremely uncomfortable because he now stood nearly as tall as himself. His shoulders were wide under the wolf cloak.

  Chris looked across the plain at the furry-headed savages crouching, swatting at flies, and growling at one another. “What do you mean to do with this gaggle?” said Chris.

  “I’ll be coming for you soon,” said Wodan, his eyes resting on the graves. “We have some work ahead of us.”

  “Not me. I got an appointment with about a hundred whores. I might even get a house of my own, maybe.”

  “You would not have left the walls of the city if that’s what you wanted. In a week, the despair will be more than you can handle. Don’t worry. I’ll come for you when you’re ready.”

  They heard a burst of gunfire in the distance, then screams. Some dogs had not yet accepted the new leash. Chris clapped a hand to Wodan’s shoulder, flinched at the strength he felt there, and returned to the gate.

  * * *

  Khan Wodan stood with Naarwulf and Yarek on either side of him before the funeral pyre while wolves all around chanted a death dirge. Vito laid atop the hill, burning, riding the black smoke to Valhalla with six dog warriors who laid around him. Wodan had been forced to beat one of those dogs to death every day for the past six days, for they still believed in the way of Vito and refused to end their fighting. Even after eating and resting, the first dog had still proved to be a powerful foe. The second died with surprising quickness. The third dog had tried to put up a strong guard and wear Wodan out, which only worked until Wodan shattered his arms and then sent his head careening into the ground. The other dogs blurred together in his memory, dull and stupid and dependent on intimidation and brute force. Wodan wondered if their lives had been more memorable than their short, senseless, violent deaths.