Monster Hunter Nemesis

by Larry Correia

  The massive, lumbering footsteps were getting closer. The thing that the werewolf had called the Biggest was here. He no longer had a line of sight on the stairs, but he heard the metal gate fly open with a crash. “Smash the bad thing! Smash it good!” It possessed an extremely loud, deep voice.

  “The bad thing went that way, Biggest. Go get him,” the rifleman ordered. He was the one calling the shots. Franks made a mental note to pop the handler if he got a chance. Monsters weren’t nearly as dangerous when they lacked direction.

  The ground shook as the huge creature started toward him. Tarps were torn down as scaffolding was knocked over. Whatever that thing was, it weighed a ton, plus it sounded like it had brought more human help with it. He couldn’t afford to get pinned down. There weren’t as many lights in that direction, and most things couldn’t see as well in the dark as he could. Franks turned and ran deeper into the maze of the partially erected structure.

  The man with no eyes tackled him from the side.

  They crashed through a plywood wall and landed in a cloud of dust. The monster was on top of him, all its weight on Franks’ chest. The hammer rose. Franks got one hand up, trying to block, but he was too late and the hammer struck, splitting his forearm wide open. That hurt, but Franks ignored the sensation. The eyeless man was growling like an animal. Blood was drizzling out the hole in his forehead. The hammer was coming down again.

  Franks levered the Glock up and fired, causing the monster to jerk. The hammerhead only grazed the side of Franks’ skull, ripping off a chunk of scalp in the process. The monster used his other hand to grasp the Glock and push it away. It possessed fearsome strength. Franks got ahold of the monster’s wrist and they struggled, with the hammer waving back and forth in front of Franks’ eyes. His own blood and hair was stuck to the metal head.

  This thing was starting to piss Franks off.

  Franks bit the monster’s hand. But he didn’t just bite. He latched on. Franks chomped clear to the bone. Hot blood flooded his mouth. The monster tried to pull it away, but Franks held on tight. More importantly, with that hand and its weapon immobilized, it freed one of Franks’ hands to pull a folding knife from his waistband. He snapped the Emerson open and drove it deep into the monster’s side. He didn’t know if the thing had kidneys, but it had one less now. He jerked the blade up until he hit ribs, then he dragged it around the front, spilling its guts. Franks sliced through everything. Desperate, the monster let go of the pistol, so Franks shoved the muzzle against its chest and fired. The contact shots were so tight that even the expanding gasses of the muzzle blast did extra soft tissue damage. The overpressure sprayed more blood out the gaping knife wound. He levered the Glock’s muzzle to bisect the eyeless man’s heart and lungs and cranked off several rounds.

  That hurt it.

  The monster fell off him, gasping and moaning, blood pumping all over the tarps. Franks rolled over and got up as quickly as he could. He used the back of his hand to smear some of the blood from his eyes so he could see. From the crashing and breaking, Biggest was coming fast, but Franks didn’t want to have to fight this fucker again, so he lifted one boot and stomped the eyeless man’s skull flat.

  The big thing was closing too fast to escape. Franks listened to the noise, judged the most likely path, and walked calmly to the side. He did not know exactly what he was dealing with, but there were certain irrevocable rules when you were fighting something huge. Number one was to stay the hell out of its way. He took the opportunity to perform a tactical reload, stowing his partially expended magazine and inserting a new one. The oncoming monster’s roar shook the subway. Franks looked at the 10mm pistol in his hand. He would need a bigger gun.

  Two-by-fours broke and the hanging lights went swinging wildly as Biggest burst in. The thick grey hide, long black hair, generally humanoid shape, and the fact that it was over eight feet tall told Franks he was dealing with an ogre. Its momentum carried it through the area, destroying everything in its path. Franks let it go crashing by.

  There were humans behind it, fit and aggressive, so probably STFU operatives. They were dressed in plainclothes, but they were carrying long arms. It was difficult to tell what kind since they’d activated their weapon-mounted flashlights. He needed a bigger gun, and sure enough, they’d helpfully brought some.

  They were moving quickly, crouched, weapons shouldered and ready, but it was easy to get tunnel vision and focus in on a charging, rampaging, terrifying ogre, so the first man didn’t even see Franks step out of his hiding space right behind him. Franks drove the Emerson’s blade into the base of his skull and twisted. He let go of the knife so he could shoot with a two-handed grip. He swung around and put his sight on the next weapon light. The second man died half a second later. The third and final had time to turn and engage, but the only shot he got off missed Franks by several inches before Franks ended him with a pair of 10mm bullets.

  There were more men coming, but he’d gotten what he needed. Franks stepped back as the others reacted and opened fire on his position. Franks stuffed the Glock back into the bellyband, then picked up the M-4 carbine belonging to the man he’d stabbed in the spine. If he had time, he’d come back for the Emerson. It was a good knife.

  The ogre had realized it had gone too far, had turned, and was lumbering back. Its arms were so long that its knuckles nearly dragged on the floor. It was wearing a big blue blanket with a head hole cut out like a poncho. Its red eyes narrowed when it saw Franks. “I smash bad thing. Get a shiny to keep in my pocket, says I’m no monster. Hunters can’t hunt Biggest no more!” Then it saw the eyeless man. “The bad thing broke Putlack!”

  “Broke the shit out of him.” He aimed the stolen weapon at the ogre. It lifted one huge paw to shield its eyes from the blinding weapon-mounted flashlight. He flipped the selector to full auto and dumped a magazine of 5.56 rounds into the monster. Ogre hide was tough, but it wasn’t that tough, and some of the high-velocity bullets pierced through it. The monster bellowed in pain and charged.

  The bolt locked back empty. The ogre was almost on top of him. Its hideous face was scrunched up, squinting because of the blinding light. Thinking quickly, Franks placed the carbine on a workbench with the light still pointing at the monster, and then stepped aside.

  Sure enough, it had zeroed in on the light. The ogre crashed through the bench, and then through the wall behind it and out into the open platform. STFU operatives had to dive out of its way to keep from being crushed. The ogre tripped and fell, rolling through the construction site.

  He could hear the rumble of an approaching train. Shadows grew up the walls from its headlight. That gave Franks an idea, but he would need to time it just right. Drawing his pistol, he walked through the hole created by the ogre and began firing at the soldiers caught in the open. Some went down while others moved to cover.

  The ogre was getting up. Franks saw a length of chain on the ground, probably hurled from the busted gate. Running forward, he fired until slide lock and dropped the Glock. Not slowing, he bent down and snatched up the chain. Taking an end in each hand, he reached the lumbering ogre while it still had its back turned, threw the chain over its massive head, and yanked back with all his might.

  The ogre thrashed as Franks choked the hell out of it.

  But he didn’t want to kill it. Not yet. First he needed a gigantic meat shield.

  Franks stepped on the back of the ogre’s knee while he hauled on the chain, forcing it around, steering the beast until it was between him and the shooters.

  “Hold your fire!” shouted a woman. Either she understood that within three seconds Franks was going to be standing in front of a bunch of civilians or she didn’t want to hurt their ogre. “Hold your fire!”

  But some of the STFU operatives didn’t listen to her and started shooting anyway. Bullets hissed around Franks, but most of them slammed into the struggling beast in front of him. He glanced back. The train was almost there. Franks dragged the struggling ogre back towar
d the edge of the platform. Ogre strength didn’t mean much when you couldn’t breathe and a bunch of assholes were shooting you. There was a rush of air as the train blasted past. Franks noticed a lot of surprised commuters looking through the windows at the ogre, but the MCB’s mission of secrecy wasn’t his current problem. He was busy doing the math. The train was moving approximately forty miles an hour. Even with superhuman reaction times, this would be tight.

  Most of the STFU soldiers quit firing when their backstop turned into a tube filled with innocent bystanders, but not all. Bullets struck the train car. Windows puckered and broke. The small, dark-haired woman bashed a shooter over the head with a brick and that got the message through.

  But Franks had already let go of the chain and hurled himself against the side of the speeding subway train.

  He caught the damaged window with his shoulder and smashed through.

  The train was going very fast. Franks had no forward momentum to match.

  Physics was an unforgiving bitch.

  Franks slammed through the interior. Aluminum poles broke. Sheet metal bent as his body struck the back wall. The impact hurt so much that it even registered on the Franks scale.

  He lay there for a moment, taking inventory. He’d broken a lot of blood vessels, and had received several deep lacerations, but nothing was squirting. He had a few minor fractures, but no jagged ends were sticking out. The train was still moving. The driver had probably seen the ogre, and sure as hell wasn’t going to hit the brakes until the next stop. There were several people sitting there, or huddling on the floor, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. It had been sheer luck and the fact that the car wasn’t very crowded that he’d managed not to crush any of them. Franks didn’t enjoy damaging normals, but really, the worst thing about accidently hurting people was all the extra paperwork it entailed, and that certainly wasn’t a problem in his current situation.

  With a grunt, Franks lurched to his feet, shedding a lot of broken glass in the process.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” an old man asked timidly.

  The hospital scrubs were shredded and he was absolutely soaked in blood. “Do I look okay?”

  “Holy shit, no!”

  There was screaming. It was coming from behind him, from the last car of the subway train. Franks looked through the window and saw that the people inside were moving away from the rear. He caught a glimpse of a hairy red arm reaching through the back window.

  “Stubborn.” Franks wrenched the door open and walked through the swaying, rubberized junction into the last car. The humans inside were bunched up against the door, trying to get away, but Franks just shoved it open and forced his way through the jostling mass. He didn’t have much patience for this sort of thing. “Make a hole.”

  Kerkonen had transformed. That was quick. She must have run after them and leapt onto the back of the train as it passed. The werewolf was tearing her way through the back door. Her limbs were elongated, her movements fluid and powerful, and every inch of her was covered in red hair. She had razor-sharp claws and a long mouth full of sharp white teeth. Such a beast form probably would have been intimidating to anyone else, but Franks enjoyed a good fight.

  She was through and heading his way. Some of the humans were cowering on the floor, but the werewolf paused to step over them, rather carefully, almost daintily, like she was afraid to nick them with her claws. Franks was impressed by the display. He’d never seen a werewolf do anything like that. She cared a lot more about public safety than he did.

  Franks knocked the last of the retreating mob out of his way. Kerkonen saw him coming, crouched and spread her arms, claws reaching across most of the interior of the rocking subway car.

  Those claws could be a problem. If he was going to escape, he needed to keep all of his guts on the inside. Even a weak werewolf was potentially deadly, and this one didn’t strike him as weak.

  One of the passengers had discarded a big laptop bag on his seat, so Franks picked it up by the strap and swung it like a flail. He hit the werewolf in the snout with it. He would have done it again, but the cheap nylon strap broke and deprived him of his weapon. Jaws snapping, she flung herself at him, but Franks caught her by the wrist and spun her against the side of the car. The window broke, but she hooked her toe claws around a pole, and wouldn’t budge when he tried to shove her out. She came around fast and slashed him across the chest. His blood painted the wall. Franks tripped over a fat man and landed on the seat. The red werewolf was on top of him in an instant.

  Teeth snapped closed an inch from his throat. The fat man was trapped beneath him and screaming in Franks’ ear. It was very bothersome. Franks slugged Kerkonen in the nose. The werewolf yelped, and he used the opportunity to hurl her against the roof of the subway car. She crashed to the floor, then scurried back, as if nervous her landing might have injured any of the humans cowering there.

  Her humanity makes her hesitant. She could not commit fully without endangering the innocent. If she wasn’t so constrained, she might have had a chance.

  “You’re soft.”

  He rolled off the fat man, and went after the werewolf. He punched her in the elongated jaw. It snapped her head to the side. Franks followed up by slamming his fists into her hairy body, over and over, each shot driving her toward the open back door. She latched onto him, sinking her claws into his shoulder, but that just kept her in place while Franks beat her internal organs into jelly. Franks kept pounding her, left, right, left, right, until his fists ached, his knuckles bled, his joints popped, and his superhardened bones threatened to break.

  The werewolf collapsed to her knees, blood dripping out of her mouth. She’d regenerate in a moment, but for now she was too broken to continue. She looked up at him, and he saw eyes that still held a remarkable amount of human intellect inside.

  “Nemesis . . . Look it up.”

  And then Franks kicked her out the back of the moving subway train.

  He watched the werewolf bounce and roll down the tracks, and then she was swallowed by the dark. He turned back. The passengers were watching him, terrified of the blood-soaked giant who had just mercilessly beaten the snot out of what they probably thought was a wild animal. His shirt was missing, revealing a muscled torso covered in dozens of weeping, open wounds. He pointed at the fat man, who was now blubbering like a baby. “What size is your coat?”

  CHAPTER 8

  I had never had a body before. I’d never had a mind made of flesh. The world I knew was no more. I perceived through new, confusing senses, while my old senses were instantly severed. Most of my memories were burned away in an instant. Nothing made sense.

  I woke up in pain. I had never felt pain before. Now I was inside a body with a million severed nerve endings. I was made of bits and pieces from fifty different bodies and I could feel every single cut. Dippel was brilliant, but his tools were crude. Man’s overall knowledge of anatomy was pathetic.

  Basically, the body was a mess. There is a vast gulf between perfection and near perfection, and that gulf is filled with agony. I would have expired immediately if it had not been for two things: the Elixir forcing my body to live, and my stubborn refusal to let go.

  Though I’d forgotten much in that instant, I could still remember Hell and I would never go back willingly.

  The first thing I ever saw through eyes was my earthly creator, Herr Dippel. The first thing I ever heard with ears was his triumphant shout. He had done it. It was alive.

  Father thought that he’d unlocked the mystery of creation. Instead he had shown the Fallen how to destroy it.

  * * *

  Kurst stood in the shower and let the water remove the dried blood and iodine from his scars. The doctors had stitched the wounds closed on Kurst’s physical body after he’d returned from fighting Franks. It was remarkable how fast the wounds had healed. The other bodies he had tried to inhabit had been far inferior to this one, but that did not mean he forgave Franks for depriving him of those. Quit
e the contrary, the mortal sensations of pain and pleasure he’d experienced in his brief mortal existence drove home just how much he had missed over the last three hundred years. It made him glad that he’d not killed Franks yet, because when they met again, he’d take the opportunity to prolong Franks’ suffering.

  He left the shower still admiring his new scars. Every piece of glass had cut an exciting new path through his insides. Each hardened strip of tissue told a bit of story. Being hurt was fascinating. He stopped in front of the mirror and wiped the steam away with his hand.

  There was a face in the mirror. It did not belong to him.

  They were always watched. The cameras were well hidden, but the prototypes had learned where all of the cameras were located. They were far smarter than the doctors realized. Kurst moved his body so that he was blocking the camera’s view.

  The face in the mirror belonged to a red, twisted, sharp-toothed beast. “Greetings to you, Great Prince and General of the Host Kurst. We are pleased that you have found a way here to Earth.”

  This demon was known to Kurst. They had been of nearly equal status, though Kurst was unaware that he’d found another way out of Hell. What do you want? Kurst thought.

  “I have come to parley on behalf of my new master.”

  Whom do you serve?

  The water droplets on the mirror began to move. They disregarded gravity, moving in different directions, cutting a path through the remaining steam until they had created an intricate symbol. It represented something older even than they were. It was a force that had already been ancient in the time before the Plan. When the World Maker had organized matter from chaos, it had already been there, dwelling in the darkest places. Kurst knew the name, but it would not be spoken out of respect.