Monster Hunter Nemesis

by Larry Correia

  The gunfire tapered off. The Hunters would be cautiously approaching his last position. His boots clanged on the metal stairs. It was odd, thinking that Myers could die. He was angry, of course, but anger was normal. This was something else as well, and he did not like it. This unusual feeling rested in the pit of his stomach, making him uncomfortable. The door at the top of the stairs was chained shut, but Franks ripped the rusty old handles off and shoved it open.

  The factory complex was burning well now, but it had started raining, so the fire probably wouldn’t spread. It was a downpour. Good. Between that and the smoke, the humans’ visibility would be impaired. Franks could see the beams of powerful flashlights stabbing through the thousands of new holes that had been placed in the walls.

  Crouching, Franks moved through the broken glass and rusting pipes until he reached a window. Most of the Hunters had gotten out of the open and moved away from the burning SUV. One fire team was coming up on his last known position. Franks spotted the SUV with the mini-gun. Since it was so heavily modified, it would surely be armored to withstand 40mm, but the gunner in the turret wouldn’t be. Franks came around the corner, sighted on the man’s helmet, and fired.

  The gunner disappeared in a flash of light and meat. Franks leaned out and cranked off the next few grenades at the men searching for him, then put the rest into the remaining SUVs. Explosions rippled across the yard, but Franks didn’t see them. He’d already turned and was walking away before the Hunters returned fire.

  Finally, Franks understood the sensation he was feeling . . . Dread. Myers would die and Franks would be truly alone again. It was anger mixed with sadness and also fear. He did not like it one bit. He was not used to experiencing dread, so for forcing him to feel it, Franks decided to make his pursuers experience the same thing, but more. The Hunters were on foot now. Franks drew the combat knife from his vest. Now they would know what it felt like to be hunted.

  CHAPTER 11

  One difference between the famous book about my creation and the reality, I did not discover my true nature by seeing my reflection in a stream. I knew from the beginning that I was a monster. I’d observed enough to know this body did not resemble normal humans. It was of monstrous proportions, and the skin barely fit over the mismatched limbs and bulging muscle. It was grotesque, but it was mine. Neither did I learn to speak by eavesdropping on farmers, nor did I learn to read because I found a satchel of books discarded in the forest. I learned those things because, unlike the rest of the Fallen, I had come to understand humility. I could not do this alone. I had watched humans, but that did not mean I understood how they worked. If I was to survive in their world, I would need help.

  They believed that they caught me, nearly bled out and unconscious, but they only captured me because I allowed them to.

  Father’s men welcomed me home with nets and clubs.

  It was the age of the natural scientists, men like Newton and Leibniz, who used math rather than magic to unlock the mysteries. It had been Isaac Newton’s defense of London against the Old Ones that had inspired Dippel to delve further into the intersection of old magic and new reason. His studies planted the idea of my creation.

  Very few understood him. Dippel’s experiments in soul transference were considered heresy and he’d been sent to prison before, so he only worked in secret now. Dippel was banned from entering many countries, so he returned to the land of his birth to complete his great work. His laboratory had filled one tower of Castle Frankenstein with arcane machines. He had collected magical artifacts and ancient tomes from around the world and put them all to use. I had destroyed most of those treasures in a few seconds of madness.

  Dippel had been naive. Though he was a theologian of sorts he was grasping at straws now. He didn’t understand the true nature of the soul. At first he did not understand what he had wrought.

  We were alike that way. I did not understand then what it meant to be real. I was an aberration in the Creator’s plan. I was an angry ghost wrapped in a deadly, powerful body.

  Originally Dippel had dreamed of creating a new man that could be molded and taught. When he realized the magnitude of his mistake, he locked me in a dungeon, and began planning how to destroy the abomination he had created.

  Dippel was one of the greatest minds who ever lived, but he was a terrible father.

  * * *

  Kurst had only flown a few times before. It was a magnificent feeling, but he was discovering that was true about many things in the mortal world. It was hard to imagine that he had been deprived of this for so very long. Two Blackhawk helicopters, packed with Nemesis assets and their STFU handlers, were speeding south. Out one door were the scattered lights of human habitation. Out the other was the endless black of the ocean. Kurst did not possess enough poetry to see this as any sort of metaphor for his existence.

  All of them could hear Stricken’s words through their headsets. “Ladies and gentlemen, the playoffs have started. Paranormal Tactical’s snipers jumped the gun and engaged. The rest of them are moving in from the highway. It looks like the Germans are coming in from the ocean. Those clever Krauts are our reigning division champs, but this is still anybody’s ball game.” Stricken was watching the UAV feed on a small computer screen. “There are other Hunters nipping at their heels. Which one of these bitter rivals will get the ring and take on Franks in the big game? Who will take it? Who will reign supreme?”

  Eventually, I will, strange human . . . “I do not know, sir.”

  The albino looked up at Kurst. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you, First?”

  “I am no longer First Prototype. I have taken the name Kurst.” He stabbed two fingers against the name stenciled on the ceramic breastplate of his body armor.

  “Is that supposed to be symbolic or something?”

  “You gave me permission to choose a name as Franks chose his own name. I chose this one. Does this not please you?”

  “Sure, whatever. I’ll leave the psychoanalyzing to Dr. Bhaskara. You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood, Kurst, but anyway, there wasn’t a lot of sports in that educational feed of yours, was there?”

  His education had consisted of being continually bombarded with images and data while his physical body had congealed in a glass tube. He might not understand everything about the mortal world, but he at least knew the correct words. “A minimal amount. Enough for context.”

  “I should remedy that. You guys would be unstoppable. Fuck the draft. I should just sell Nemesis assets directly to the NFL . . . Come on, nothing, First? That was funny as hell.”

  Kurst forced the muscles of his face to smile.

  “Shit. Don’t do that. You’re unnerving as fuck. . . . This is exciting stuff right here.” Stricken went back to his monitor. “Looks like Franks brought some interesting toys. Fantastic. That son of a bitch is just standing there in the open . . . If this Air Force UAV we commandeered would have had some Hellfire missiles on it, Franks would be a meat cloud right now. I’ll need to remedy that in the future. Stupid Posse Comitatus act . . .”

  The albino’s continuing narration did not amuse him. Franks was a prince. He deserved a prince’s death. He would not be killed by some machine controlled by a human far from danger. He should die locked in combat with another warrior. Yet he could not correct his human overseer. Kurst knew that Stricken was incredibly dangerous. He had still not figured out all his dark secrets, for the albino had many, but he would know them eventually, and when he did, they would strike.

  “And Franks just blew the hell out of Paranormal Tactical. Boom. Got some secondary explosions. Nice. They should have seen that coming.”

  Kurst looked across the helicopter’s compartment at the twelfth and thirteenth prototypes.

  Have you made progress on deciphering the code?

  They were the most recently decanted. The male body was enormous, even more unwieldy with muscle than Franks, grown from the genetic material of humans who routinely won “str
ong man” competitions, but the spirit that had inhabited it was the least intelligent of them all. It had claimed its place in this body through brute force and the help of its self-proclaimed sister. That particular female form had been created from North African DNA, was of average size but great physical strength, and Kurst found her body strangely appealing.

  There has not been much progress yet, the female thought back at him. Stricken’s fail-safes are complex.

  These two had possessed physical bodies in the mortal world before, and had done so successfully for over two thousand years, surviving because of the female’s cunning and the male’s great strength. Her previous earthly experience was why Kurst had tasked her with finding a way to defeat Stricken’s kill switch.

  Do not fail me, Bia.

  I will not, General. I have made progress. I have been experimenting. There are ways to improve these new bodies. With sufficient willpower, this flesh is far more malleable than the human doctors expect. I can make us even stronger.

  She had once honed an inferior vessel made of clay into a weapon superb enough to elude Hunters for centuries. The humans had known the two of them as Force and Violence, though Cratos and Bia could not use their real names any longer, since the MCB had cataloged them, and their picking such names would be far too suspicious a coincidence. It was not time for Stricken to know who he had let back into the world yet.

  When that time came, Kurst was eager to see what manner of chaos Bia could wring from these superior bodies. Excellent.

  “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Stricken said. “Check your kit. Franks is going down.”

  Bia was careful to not let the albino see her snarl of disgust. Franks had been among those who had destroyed their last bodies, though it had been a human Hunter who had put a bullet through Bia’s ear and placed her in the path of a speeding truck. Kurst almost pitied that human, because when Bia found the one called Grant Jefferson, the demoness would make his suffering immeasurable.

  “We are not letting Franks get away this time, but it looks like there are a mess of Hunters converging on Franks’ position, so that’s probably not going to be an issue. We’ll hold back and let the Hunters tire him out, then we’ll swoop in and make sure the job is done. I don’t like paying out that much PUFF, but as much as we’ve dropped on Nemesis R and D, it isn’t like any of you are cheap dates either.”

  Figure out how to disable the kill switch soon, Bia, for I grow weary of the albino.

  * * *

  The Hunters of Grimm Berlin moved along the docks silently, communicating only with the occasional hand signal. It was raining hard, but they could still smell the smoke through it. Something was burning to the west and the red glow poked through the gaps between the buildings and containers.

  Klaus Lindemann was halfway down the line, trusty G3K in hand. Several old ships were still moored here, too stuck in the mud to make it worth pulling them free to scrap them. The Americans had declared this place too polluted to be safe to work in and then left it to rot. The only difference between this place and some of the old industrial sites Klaus had seen in East Germany was that the graffiti was in a different language.

  Their point man raised one fist. The Hunters passed on the signal and the entire group halted.

  “Reger, any luck?” Klaus whispered into his radio, hoping that their portable UAV had turned up something useful.

  “I do not have a visual on Franks. The last I saw he was in the biggest building to the west of you.”

  “Finding him would make life much easier.” Klaus had a sneaky feeling that Franks was already long gone.

  “I’m working on it. The rain is making it difficult to see. I’ve had to bring the drone closer to the ground, but that means a narrower field of view.”

  Their point man signaled for them to continue. It had been a false alarm. Grimm Berlin moved out.

  “Do you have anything else, Reger?”

  “Sorry, Klaus. Those other Hunters took heavy casualties and have pulled back for now. There are more cars entering the yard, though I do not know if they are from the same group of Hunters as before. Some cars left, but I believe they were evacuating the wounded.”

  “Could any of those have been Franks?” The golem had a reputation for being crafty. It would not have been surprising for him to try to slip away during the confusion.

  “I do not think so. His last position was not conducive for such.”

  “What about the other two unknown persons who were with him?” They were not part of the bounty, but it was possible they could be interrogated for useful information if Franks did get away.

  “Possibly. I tried to follow Franks instead of them. It was very confusing.” Reger sounded extra apologetic through the earpiece. “Sorry.”

  “Warn me when we get close to the other Hunters. I do not want any jumpy Americans shooting us by mistake. And tell me when the police arrive so we can get back to the boats.” Klaus had better things to do than be detained by American law enforcement. His last experience with them hadn’t gone too well.

  “I will warn—wait! I’ve got something. Franks is heading your way. He is one hundred meters to your northwest on the other side of those train cars.”

  They were all on the same band. The point man immediately took a knee and aimed his rifle in that direction. There was a brilliant flash of lightning, and Klaus caught a brief glimpse of that section of the yard. A building had once stood there, but it had burned down years ago, so all that remained was the skeleton of metal girders, now covered in creeping vines. The thunder followed a moment later.

  Reger’s voice was excited in Klaus’ ear. “He’s crossing the ruins now. He must be trying to escape by sea. You’ll need to move up or he will pass by.”

  Klaus gave several quick hand signals, and the men who had been behind him spread out and hurried forward. From what he understood of Franks’ physiology, they would need to concentrate fire and hit him repeatedly to have any chance of bringing him down quickly.

  “Wait . . . He’s stopped. Franks is looking right at the camera. He’s heard the drone! He’s aiming a pistol. Damn it! The feed is lost. I repeat, the feed is lost.”

  Franks had to be a very good shot to have plucked their tiny eye from the sky. Now they had to do this the old-fashioned way. If they held, Franks could slip past, or worse, the other Hunters might catch him first. Klaus signaled for all of his men to move up. They’d sweep the ruined building and either catch Franks there, or flush him out. They had an MG3 on one of the Zodiacs. “Reger, move your boat and be ready to intercept him if he gets past us. If he tries for the water, use the machine gun. Everyone go to Lucie.” Then Klaus let go of his radio and rushed to keep up with his men.

  The full moon that had been so helpful on their approach had been obscured by the black clouds rolling in. He flipped down the LUCIE night vision in front of his eyes. The world turned into green and grey pixels. It ruined his peripheral vision, but it had become so damned dark in the last few minutes that without it they’d be tripping over themselves.

  The building had been huge once, but after the fire, what remained was an ashen maze. Water was pouring down broken gutters and creating a racket against tin sheets. It would be dangerous, funneling them down into tight quarters, but delaying would give Franks the chance to escape, and he didn’t have enough Hunters to form a proper perimeter. Besides, his men were extremely well trained and experienced in close quarters combat. Klaus caught sight of Miesen, waiting for instructions. Klaus held up three fingers, then gestured for Miesen to go left. The young Hunter nodded, picked two others, and ducked through a doorway. Klaus sent three more in on the right. He indicated for another group to stay put in case Franks doubled back, then he signaled for the rest to follow him through the main entrance.

  It had been a large truck door, but the frame had partially melted, so now it was a big triangle. Weeds were growing through every crack, grasping at their feet. One of his men slipped as
a pipe rolled under his boot and he fell into an oily puddle. The storm was making so much noise though, that it was doubtful Franks heard it. Gerhardt was one of his best Hunters, and he pushed ahead of Klaus without being told. Everyone at Grimm Berlin knew their leader had a tendency to put himself in front, and it would not do to get the boss killed. The Hunters slinked on as quietly as possible.

  The poor vision within the warped skeleton made it feel almost as if they were in a forest. Rain washed across the ashen beams and turned the puddles into black sludge. Klaus was still wearing the wetsuit, with just his armored vest over the torso, so he was warm enough, but the air was moist and electric. They were close to their prey. An experienced Hunter could sense such things.

  One of his men stepped on a loose board and it made a loud pop. Klaus froze. Hopefully Franks wasn’t too close.

  There was a rumble of thunder, but there had been another sound beneath it. Klaus raised his fist to halt the group. They spread out and took cover, each one watching in a different direction. He clicked his radio twice, then counted as each group leader sent him a return click. There was only one response. Scheisse. He’d thought the mysterious sound had come from the left. He keyed the radio. “Miesen. Come in, Miesen.”

  There was no response. Klaus signaled for the main group to move in that direction.

  He was not certain which Hunter got on the radio, because his voice had become very high and squeaky. “Miesen is down. Franks came out of no—”

  He was cut off. “Come in. Come in!” But there was nothing.