Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy)

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  In the darkness at the far end of the room, Bram and Claire found him.

  Tobias knelt upon the floor, hands pressed to his face, covering his eyes so he did not have to see what his betrayal had caused. The boy muttered beneath his breath, rocking to some silent death dirge that only he could hear. As they moved closer, Bram could just about hear what Tobias was saying.

  “I’m sorry . . . I’m so, so sorry . . .”

  “Tobias,” Bram called, finding it difficult to muster any sympathy for the youth who had sold out his fellow teammates to Crowley’s evil.

  The boy’s back stiffened, and slowly he turned to look at them. “Leave me alone. I have to do this . . . I have to suffer for what I’ve done.”

  Bram released Claire’s hand and she ran to her brother, wrapping her arms around him.

  “He’s come to save us,” Claire said, snuggling her face into the nape of his neck. “He said he would protect us from the bad man.”

  “The bad man,” Tobias repeated, his eyes glazing over.

  “Crowley has done this,” Bram said. “He put the two of you in places filled with fear and despair in order to control you.”

  “Crowley,” Tobias repeated, letting the foul word work itself around in his mouth.

  “There was an accident . . . a phenomena of some kind where the three of you merged together . . . forming one powerful magickal being,” Bram began.

  “Yes,” Tobias said, gazing off into space. “There was . . . there was an explosion of light . . .”

  “And the three of you . . . Claire, yourself, and Crowley . . . became one,” Bram explained.

  Tobias rose to his feet, holding his sister in his arms. “I remember now. He . . . Crowley wants to destroy it all . . . he wants to tear all the barriers down.”

  Bram nodded. “And we can’t let him do that.”

  “He’s stronger than us,” Tobias said sadly, averting his eyes.

  “But there’s only one of him and two of you,” Bram said. “You have to try . . . you have to try to take control.”

  A powerful tremor went through the floor beneath their feet, making the corpses of the dead to jerk as if suddenly alive.

  “You have to try,” Bram repeated as the floor began to shake even more violently and something began to push its way up through the floor.

  It was Crowley, looking larger and more powerful than ever before.

  “You want them to stop me?” the black mage asked, his voice booming through the chamber like thunder.

  “They’re more than welcome to try.”

  They had tried to make her leave, but Johanna would hear nothing of it.

  If she was going to be part of the team—part of the Network—then she was going to have to stick it out during the bad as well as the good.

  She hoped that she lived long enough to see an example of the good, ’cause things hadn’t been all that hot so far.

  The bad guys were on the move; storming across the open field, back to their camp, and right at the team.

  Her dogs had begun to bark and growl, taking up a defensive position in front of her.

  Johanna saw it all play out in a weird kind of slow motion even though it was really happening so fast. The first wave of screaming barbarian guys was met by what looked to be some kind of invisible wall. She guessed that the crippled kid Dez had to be responsible.

  He was kneeling beside Bram’s unconscious body, but he was looking toward the attacking army, and she could have sworn she saw sparks jumping off the top of his head.

  And then that giant turtle dude and the chick who was supposed to be Bram’s sister jumped in.

  A giant turtle. Hello, crazy town? I’d like my sanity back, please.

  The giant turtle—what was his name again . . . Booma . . . Beamer . . . Boffa . . . yeah, that was it. Boffa. Boffa stepped right to the line where the army had been stopped, pulling two enormous guns from somewhere—inside his shell?—and started blasting away, making short work of the first wave of attackers.

  Bram’s sister wasn’t doing too badly either. Johanna could see how the girl and Bram could be related. They both had an air about them; something that said, Hey, we’re a nice couple’a guys—but you don’t want to mess with us. Lita was using both a sword and a pretty big gun to take care of some of the Conan rejects that had managed to get past the turtle’s hail of bullets.

  Not that the Brimstone guys were any less impressive. Dez was holding them back with one side of his brain, while another was throwing the bad guys around like dolls, and Johanna was pretty sure that he’d set a couple of them on fire. The little guy Bogey was doing some pretty awesome stuff as well; opening up rifts beneath the soldiers, like trapdoors that they fell through and never came back from.

  Stitch and the wolf girl Emily seemed to be doing all the heavy lifting. The two were right there, literally side by side, tearing into any of the Specter soldiers that managed to make it past all the others. They had their job cut out for them because sprinkled in the mix were those monsters and they weren’t as easy to take down as Barnabas’s soldiers.

  Johanna would never have admitted it to anyone other than herself, but she was scared, with no idea as to whether or not she was going to survive this.

  Her dogs began to go wild, warning her of an imminent threat. Johanna spun around just in time to see one of Barnabas’s soldiers explode out from behind a tent, an ax ready to fall on her. She reacted instinctively, ducking beneath the blade as it fell.

  Jumping back, she silently commanded her dogs to attack and they did as they were told, bringing the armored warrior down and ripping through his armor as if it were made of paper. He didn’t even have a chance to get all ghosty before he was dead.

  Would she survive this? The question again echoed through her mind.

  Inspired by her teammates . . . by her friends . . . she was certainly going to try.

  Inside the mind of the creature called Trinity, Bram was getting his butt kicked.

  Crowley had manifested in the form of a behemoth, and before Bram had a chance to react, the evil sorcerer had grabbed him and tossed him across the room like a rag doll. Bram bounced off the wall and lay there stunned as Crowley pulled his massive bulk from the floor.

  “How dare you come in here,” the monster roared.

  Through blurred vision Bram could see Claire and Tobias cowering at the other end of the room as Crowley loomed above them.

  “He has no power here,” the mage told them, pointing to Bram propped against the wall. “This is my domain and you would be wise to remember that. Only I can protect you from the dangers of your mind.”

  Bram fought to stand. “He’s lying to you,” he said to Claire and Tobias.

  Crowley whipped around to face him. “You’ll die in here,” the sorcerer growled, bounding across the room tossing furniture and the bodies of dead Brimstone agents aside as if they were nothing.

  Bram tried to ghost, but his powers didn’t seem to work here.

  The black mage grabbed him in his enormous hands and again hurled him across the room.

  The point of impact shattered like glass and Bram found himself in a completely new environment. He was in the desert now, the place where he and his Brimstone Network had last faced off against Crowley.

  The place were the being Trinity had been born.

  Bram stood, wiping sand from his body. He looked around, and in the distance Claire and Tobias suddenly appeared, standing side by side. Bram started toward them, running across the sand, trying to get them to listen.

  “You have to fight him,” he warned.

  “But he’ll make the witches come,” Claire cried as she clung to her brother’s leg.

  “He’s too strong now,” Tobias said. “He’ll kill us if we fight him.”

  “Then you’ll die fighting,” Bram screamed. “You can’t allow him to have this level of power.”

  The ground exploded in a geyser of sand, and Crowley manifested again, this time
in the horrific form of a gigantic serpent.

  “They know who is the master here,” Crowley roared, his serpent’s form rearing back to strike.

  Bram knew that it was useless to run, that Crowley would only be upon him in seconds, so he stood his ground defiantly, staring up at the beast, preparing for whatever was to come.

  Crowley’s serpentine face smiled cruelly before he opened his mouth, surging forward to swallow Bram whole.

  But the giant snake’s face connected with something Bram could not see, the ferocity of the impact sending razor-sharp teeth spewing from the monster’s bloodied mouth.

  All Bram could do was stare.

  Crowley recoiled, his face smeared with blood. “How did you . . . ?”

  “He didn’t,” Tobias’s voice called out.

  Crowley looked toward the brother and sister, enraged.

  “We did,” they answered, holding hands, unified in their confidence.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” the giant serpent asked, slithering across the sand toward them.

  They did not move.

  “We know exactly what we’ve done,” Tobias answered. “We’re not going to be afraid of you anymore.”

  The serpent shook his head, a growling laughter filling its throat. “It’s not me you should be afraid of,” he said. He glanced toward the sky as three figures clad in robes of tattered black descended upon broomsticks.

  “It’s them.”

  And from the sand of the desert, figures began to emerge; the animated bodies of those who had died in the attack upon the Brimstone Network headquarters that Tobias had helped to orchestrate.

  Bram ran toward the brother and sister. “Fight him,” he cried as the sand became like cement beneath his feet, and he was trapped.

  The witches flew above their heads. Bram could hear their cackling laughter. Claire was shaking uncontrollably, holding tightly to her brother.

  The dead were crawling across the sand, reaching toward Tobias with bloodstained hands.

  “I can make them all go away,” Crowley said seductively. “I can protect you.”

  The witches grabbed at the little girl’s hair as they passed, tugging upon her clothes, and she screamed out in terror.

  The dead were holding on to Tobias’s legs, using his rigid limbs to haul themselves up.

  “All you need do is give me control again,” the snake said.

  Bram tried to call to them, but the sand sucked him down farther, threatening to fill his mouth.

  “Let me take away your fear.”

  The witches flew around again, a dirty, clawed hand reaching out to grab hold of Claire’s arm.

  The little girl’s eyes came suddenly open, staring at the long-fingered hand coming for her. “No,” she said as she stomped her foot upon the sand.

  The witches screamed in unison as they disintegrated, their ragged forms becoming like sand blowing in the wind.

  Tobias’s eyes were open as well, and the dead no longer clung to his body. They had returned to beneath the shifting desert sands.

  “You dare defy me?” Crowley raged, but Bram could hear something in the mage’s voice; something that had not been there before.

  Fear.

  “We’re done being afraid of you,” Tobias said.

  “We’re done being afraid of snakes!” Claire added angrily.

  Crowley’s body began to shift and change, and soon he was nothing more than a frail old man kneeling upon the sand.

  Straining his arms, Bram extracted himself from the desert’s grip. Exhausted, he looked about. On his hands and knees, he saw that Tobias and his sister now stood above the magician.

  Crowley tried unsuccessfully to fight them, magick sparking and sputtering from his long fingers, but he caused little damage. “I . . . I’ll destroy you both . . . ,” he said weakly.

  “No, you won’t,” Claire said, shaking her head.

  Bram was walking toward them as they all turned to stare at him.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We allow what was begun to finish,” Tobias answered.

  “What was begun?” Bram questioned.

  “To become one in both mind and body,” Claire said, stepping closer to the muttering Crowley. The sorcerer was still upon his knees, whispering to himself like a crazy person.

  “I still don’t understand.” Bram watched as Tobias and Claire laid their hands upon Crowley, and the three of them began to glow, the light seeping from their bodies flowing together to form one all-encompassing mass.

  It was as if the sun had dropped down from the sky.

  “You will,” a strange voice answered Bram—a voice that seemed to be comprised of multiple voices.

  “You will understand.”

  15. THE NETWORK AGENTS WERE STARTING to tire.

  They had retreated as far back as the opening that Trinity had almost completed in the magickal barrier separating Earth from the Specter forces.

  Stitch fought the monsters, using anything at his disposal to smash and pound the nearly indestructible beasts, but his skin was torn and bloody from the savagery, and he did not know how much longer he would last.

  Emily had lost herself completely to the beast. She didn’t even speak anymore, talking only in the language of violence as she continued to fight, her shiny black fur matted with the blood of their enemies.

  Stitch could see the wear most upon Desmond. The boy’s nose was bleeding profusely, dribbling down to stain the front of his shirt, as he tried to push the limits of his abilities even further. Even so, the walls of psychic force were becoming weaker, allowing the monsters and the soldiers easier access to the agent.

  Stitch chanced a quick look at the unconscious form of Bram. He wondered about the boy, and if his plan to unite brother and sister Blaylock against Crowley had succeeded.

  The blaring sound of a strange horn filled the air, and Stitch turned his attention to whatever new threat awaited them.

  The wave of attacks ceased and he saw the armored forces of the Specter moving aside to allow a figure riding upon a reptilian mount to pass.

  Barnabas rode as close as Dez’s mental barrier would allow.

  “Not sure how much longer . . . ,” the boy gasped.

  “I understand, boy,” Stitch said as he stepped closer to the warlord. “You’ve done just fine.”

  Barnabas held a golden horn in his metal-gloved hand, handing it to a blood-spattered lackey as Stitch approached.

  “A brief moment of truce before the inevitable,” Barnabas said.

  Stitch remained silent, staring at the bearded warrior astride his fearsome ride.

  “Cease your fighting and I promise that your deaths will be merciful,” the warlord said.

  Stitch laughed, rubbing a scratched and bloodied hand across his chin as he shook his head in amusement.

  “You find my statement humorous?” Barnabas asked, eyes glinting malevolently.

  “I find your statement ignorant,” the patchwork man replied.

  Barnabas’s mount hissed, stomping its cloven feet upon the blood-soaked battlefield.

  “We’ll never give in to you,” Stitch said, his two different colored eyes blazing. “And you’ll have to march over our dead bodies before we allow you to pass through that opening.” He pointed at the damaged magickal barrier behind him.

  “So be it,” Barnabas said.

  And then the turtle began to laugh. It was a strange sound, a bizarre mixture of a bird’s trill and a sound very much like air escaping from a flat tire.

  Stitch glanced over at the creature. Boffa’s body was covered in blood, and Stitch wasn’t sure if it was the blood of their enemies or the creature’s own. One of his arms disappeared inside his shell, reappearing suddenly holding what looked to be some sort of remote control.

  “Is there something I should know about?” Stitch asked.

  “Big surprise,” the turtle replied, a thick, black-clawed finger moving across the surface of the devic
e causing a red flashing light to appear.

  Barnabas’s steed grew nervous, shrieking and starting to jump.

  “Back!” Barnabas yelled to his troops. “Pull back!”

  “Wanted to bring them close,” the turtle said, a thumb hovering over a small button just below the flashing light. “Before I gave them big surprise.”

  Boffa gazed at the Specter troops, now in total disarray. “Surprise,” he said, and brought his thumb down upon the button.

  Multiple explosions rocked the encampment.

  And everything turned to fire.

  Bram awakened with the smell of smoke and destruction heavy in his lungs. Coughing, he struggled into a sitting position and saw the devastation that lay before him.

  The air was filled with thick black smoke, the entire encampment engulfed in flames. His eyes searched the blighted landscape for a sign of his friends.

  “Stitch!” Bram called out, stumbling through the thick, choking smoke.

  The ground was littered with the bodies of fallen Specter soldiers, some of them burnt beyond recognition. What happened here? he wondered.

  He was about to call out again for his friends when he saw shapes moving through the smoke up ahead. Instinctively his body ghosted, becoming transparent and almost invisible as he drifted through the choking black smoke.

  His heart skipped a beat as he saw them. All of his friends appeared to be, well, a little rough around the edges, but at least they were alive.

  “You’re all right,” he said, suddenly materializing before them.

  Boffa reacted immediately, a high-powered pistol appearing in his hand and pointed directly at Bram’s face.

  “It’s me,” Bram said, pushing the gun barrel from his face.

  “Yes, it is,” the Terrapene responded. “Good thing too, or you be dead.”

  Bram went to Stitch who was brushing dust from his tattered waistcoat.

  “What happened?” Bram asked him.

  “It seems that our shelled companion planted explosives,” the patchwork man answered.

  “Oh yeah,” Bram added. “Both he and my sister. They were supposed to be distractions.”

  Stitch smirked, stepping forward to give the boy a manly hug.

  “They certainly were that,” Stitch said. “Good to see that you’re well.”