I shook myself alert.
But that was just a trial to test my integrity. They only said such things to analyze how I’d react. To see what was in my heart . . . didn’t they?
Grislington licked his lips, reprising his hell-bound impression of a Cheshire cat.
Concentrate, Daemon. Pull it together for fuc– Nimrod!
Forgotten by all but me, Nimrod had at last maneuvered to within a few paces of where Cream now stood, blissfully unaware of his imminent death.
Nimrod made eye contact, and I was on him like a rash.
I can’t leave Grislington alone for one second. He’s up to something, and I don’t yet know what. I glanced toward Cream. But when you get an opening, kill that little shit where he stands. I think Strawberry’s in thrall, and we need Cream dead.
On the other side of the room, Tesla threw back his head, gulped down the contents of the goblet, and contemplated his new quarry: “Strawberry, my dear, be a good girl and place the sword on the floor, then kick it toward me. Do it now.”
Because my attention was divided, with Grislington getting in the way, I only glimpsed part of Strawberry’s reaction. She staggered, and the kris dipped, ever so slightly, toward the flagstones. Just as quickly, however, she righted herself, an ugly look of determination on her face.
A network of conflicting sorcery thrashed the air between her and Tesla.
“Fool,” Cream bellowed, “you chose the wrong target. Her mind is now obedient to me. She is my puppet to command, not yours.”
Puppet? I don’t think so, sunshine. Not with my girlfriend, you don’t!
Enraged, I called upon the full extent of my mundane capabilities. A reservoir of untapped potential flowed toward me. Seizing it, I tried to form something tangible — only to feel it skip away at the last second.
What?
I tried again.
Once more, the rippling energies that bound the hellspace medium together bent to my will, but just as they reached optimum mass, they pulsed and frittered off into the ether.
I cursed myself. Fucking retard! The security protocols must apply to me as well. I was confused. But the head warden promised me an accommodation would be reached. Unless something else is at play here?
On a hunch, I stabbed forward with my scythe and depressed the top button. The trigger clicked but the weapon didn’t activate.
Okay, if hell’s essence won’t operate, perhaps God’s Grace will.
I repeated the exercise, but this time flicked the second stud.
When the same thing happened again, my blood boiled.
Frustration added impetus to my rage. I tried to restrain my temper, but it was too late. A rising thirst for blood hampered my resolve. With scant regard for anyone’s safety, I switched to an alternate form of theurgy — deviltry of the darkest kind — and added a steadily increasing concentration of demonic power to my summoning.
This time, an agonizing bolt of pain nearly burst the top of my skull. Defeated, I was forced to release the accumulating reservoir of thaumaturgic malevolence or die.
How the . . . ? I’m not strong enough like this. I need to manifest.
Grislington’s eyes were as round as saucers. Fascinated by my efforts, he reminded me of an owl contemplating a fresh kill. Part of me wondered if he was reading my mind, but I couldn’t dwell on the angelic prisoner right now. Dismissing all thoughts of him, I plunged inside my heart, where majesty resided.
I called, and a heady free-for-all of Bãlefire rushed to do my bidding. As I assumed the mantle of the Phage, my awareness expanded exponentially.
A concussion jarred the local region of the Sheolspace continuum, indicating the Black Keep’s wards had been triggered. Nonetheless, I was confident they wouldn’t be able to resist the exuberance of the most puissant force in infernity. Neither would the artifacts within the chamber.
Tesla, an expert on theoretical physics, must have deduced what I intended, for he redirected his attack my way. Or to be precise, our way: Grislington was nearly on top of me again.
The all-encompassing halo of light surrounding the angel flared as it negated a barrage of abuse. Grislington neither broke a sweat nor looked away, but continued staring at me through the flickering curtain of his defenses.
So he’s protected, despite the wards riddling this place? Now that’s good to know.
Strawberry countered Tesla’s attack, and by the way those two acted I could tell their mystic stalemate had recommenced.
The glittering display diminished.
A movement behind her indicated Nimrod had reached a prime position from which to attack Cream.
Nimrod, this has gone on long enough. That little fucker isn’t leaving here alive. Take his head off, now.
With pleasure.
So silently even I couldn’t hear it, Nimrod slid his sword from its sheath and positioned himself for a killing blow. I decided to help by causing a distraction. Now empowered, I threw back my head and howled. A rippling wall of magenta flame sizzled along the extremity of my corona, and everyone looked my way.
Grislington chose that moment to make his play.
“Of course, those for whom the blades were originally fashioned also know a thing or two about their manipulation.” His voice was as chill as a bitter breeze skating across a forest of bones. “We were bonded to them, after all.”
The façade of beatitude dropped from his face, and I saw a deranged monster standing in his place. So bitter, so twisted was the hatred radiating in waves from every fiber of his being that had Satan himself been here, he might have been afraid.
I knew he was hiding something. Time to pay the piper.
My scythe swept up, charged and ready to strike.
Then two things happened at once:
Nimrod stepped forward, raised his sword and, with a mighty heave, slashed down.
Strawberry leaped into motion so fast her body blurred. But not at Chopin or Tesla, as I’d expected. Her target was . . .
Too late, I tried to shout a warning.
Strawberry landed on Nimrod’s back. Her legs and one arm wrapped about him in a lopsided bear hug as her fangs bit deep into his neck.
Caught completely off guard, Nimrod staggered and tried to counter. Although he managed to fend off the dagger, Strawberry’s teeth wrought terrible damage.
Blood sprayed across the walls and floor, drenching Cream in a crimson wash that sent him scrambling for cover behind the nearest column.
Chopin and Tesla hesitated, horrified, and their esoteric blitz faltered, frittering away to nothing.
A trained warrior, Nimrod adjusted his balance and threw himself backward, into the nearest stalagmite. A sickening crack resounded. Strawberry managed to hang on, but the Sword of Damocles fell from her grasp and skittered off toward the far wall. Nimrod tucked and gamboled, throwing both himself and his attacker to the floor, Strawberry underneath him. The sound of more bones crunching indicated that she, too, must be seriously injured.
Strawberry went limp, and Nimrod rolled away, onto his knees. With one hand, he tried to stanch the scarlet flow pulsing between his fingers, while with the other he groped for his weapon.
Our gazes locked. I could see his aura wavering as his life force waned.
Shit, he needs help fast, otherwise —
Nimrod’s eyes widened in alarm. The tip of a blade appeared, sprouting from his chest like the mutated stigma of an oversized lily. Cream loomed right behind him.
You cowardly little fuck!
Nimrod coughed, blood welled from his mouth and nose. Then he went limp. A sudden inrush of air warned me of what was coming next. Barely in time, I dropped to the floor . . .
Nimrod’s remaining essence crushed his body inward, like a collapsing singularity. Then it exploded outward, swatting everyone back against the walls. Weapons and artifacts were torn from stunned fingers, and prismatic reverberations chimed through the crystalline rocks around us.
My Phage was in full bloo
m now, and at last I had someone on whom to vent its fury.
“Cream!” I roared.
Jumping up, I scanned the room. The sound of feet running on flagstones drew my attention. Instinctively I let rip with everything I had. Still sprinting around the outer edge of the chamber, Cream ducked behind a stalagmite. A coherent beam of vitriolic menace scorched a molten path along the charmed walls and floor, pursuing him.
Somehow, Cream managed to evade my gaze long enough to be able to check his step and double back on himself.
Frustration multiplied, I sucked in more dark energy. My vision went black. My heart stopped. I became death incarnate.
Cream ventured out at last, and scooped a dazed Strawberry into his arms.
Strawberry! No . . .
A cutthroat’s razor snapped open. With his self-preservation gene working overtime, Cream held the blade to Strawberry’s neck and dragged her backward, toward one of the obsidian doorways.
I balked at the thought of hurting her, and my power wavered.
Two silver ribbons of lightning stabbed out, transfixing Strawberry by their light. The bolts intensified, growing to encompass her in an argent halo. Then the unthinkable happened:
One moment Strawberry was there in front of me; the next, the love of my life was gone, obliterated in a blinding flash.
I blinked my eyes clear in time to watch a smattering of ashen flakes patter slowly to the ground, like petals from a broken flower.
Oh, Strawberry. Not you!
Cream stared beyond me, open-mouthed in shock.
I turned, bristling with resentment.
Grislington stood beside the Sword of Celestial Arches. While the weapon remained safely ensconced within its restraining block of stone, the angel’s fingers rested lightly on its pommel. The jewel flashed as if a conflagration raged within it, straining to escape. The display drew a corresponding echo from the Sword of Damocles, which the angel held in his other hand. Grislington’s chains lay on the floor, cold and inert.
His eyes, completely devoid of empathy, still shone from focusing the onslaught that ended Strawberry’s life.
“As I said,” chided the angel, “those of us for whom the blades were originally fashioned know a thing or two about manipulation and mastery. Remember that, for next time.”
“You’re dead!” I screamed.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he replied.
He caressed the Sword of Celestial Arches, and it blazed once more. The white portal seemed to absorb the purity of the light emitted by the gem. At one with the nature of everything around him, Grislington meshed to the newly generated esoteric resonance and stepped backward into the newly-opened doorway. He disappeared.
I dropped my staff in surprise.
“You . . . ? You bastard. Come back and face me. Do you hear me? Grislington! I’ll hunt you down, I’ll —”
“Au revoir — au revoir — au revoir — au revoir . . .” His fading voice reverberated, taunting me. As did his final embellishment: “Brother — brother — brother . . .”
Furious barely described my feelings at that moment. I almost released the pent-up energy within me in a cataclysmic retort that would bring the Black Keep tumbling down about my ears. Almost . . .
As I fought to control myself, the ruckus of another argument drew me into the here and now. From the sounds of it, Cream was whining, for a change . . .
“. . . love of heaven. I beg you, take me with you. I prom–”
“I don’t know what disgusts me more,” Chopin said. “The fact that you’d make such a request in the first place, or your gall at imagining I’d ever agree. After what you’ve done, hell will freeze over before I’ll even want to think on your name. Let alone see your face.”
“No one is going anywhere,” I said, “except the Mortuary, where I’m sure the Undertaker will be only too ready to get ‘creative’. Let’s just say, by the time he’s finished, none of you will be ever in a position to contemplate rebellion again.”
I stomped toward them. While Chopin and Tesla held their ground, Cream was a different kettle of fish: The unworthy doctor scuttled away until his back pressed against the wall. He stared wide-eyed at my hands as I advanced, so I made a point of replacing my gloves, pulling them tight across the stretch of my fists.
“Don’t worry,” I assured them, “it’s not going to be quick or painless. For any of you.”
I contemplated my options. With the guts Chopin and Tesla had shown in the face of death, the choice was easy.
I phased and lifted Cream off the floor by his ears. He yelled and began kicking helplessly.
“You can’t do this. You can’t. Not now, it isn’t fair! After all the —”
“Oh. But. I. Can. And. I. Will.”
As I bit off each word, I slammed his head against the rock behind him until his skull ran red.
“Please,” Cream whimpered, “I beg you, show mercy.”
“Mercy? Like you showed to Nimrod? One of the finest warriors to ever grace the Seven Hells, stabbed in the back by a complete and utter waste of skin?”
My thumbs edged round to his eye sockets. With a jerk, I thrust as hard as I could.
Cream’s shriek of anguish almost drowned out the satisfying pop of his eyeballs. I meshed with his perception of the pain and multiplied the agony, reveling in the severity of his torment until he was on the verge of passing out.
Not yet, little bird. Not yet.
Keeping a grip on my victim with one hand, I gestured with the other, and my scythe flew from where it had fallen and into my outstretched grasp. Then I embedded it in the wall, right through Cream’s sternum.
I pressed my lips to his ear.
“Now, the shock of the impalement will kill you in about thirty, maybe forty seconds? So I’ll have to step things up a bit.” I released my hold. “But where to start?”
I rubbed my palms together as I inspected his pathetic body.
“I know. It’s always amazed me how intense the discomfort can be when you catch your fingers on something, or stub your toe. Such little bones. Such a lot of potential.”
“No, please. Don’t, don’t . . . stop.”
I grinned and commenced to work my way through the knuckle of each and every digit Cream possessed. He screamed. Oh, how he screamed. But by the time I’d finished, his wails had subsided to mere sobs, and I could sense his failing heart fluttering within the fragile cage of his chest.
I said not yet, little bird.
Cream’s skin had taken on a deathly pallor. Sweating profusely, he felt cold to the touch. The growing ruby stain on the floor indicated he’d lost more than half his volume of blood already.
Okay. Now it’s time.
“By the way,” I whispered, “I’m going to ask the Undertaker to take special care of your reassignment. Because on top of whatever else he does, I’ll make sure he programs your mind to relive the memories of these last moments. I want you to drown in them, over and over again, for all eternity, every time you start to fall asleep. Think of it as a sweet-dreams reminder from me.”
He could barely reply, so I gripped his head between my hands and pressed them together, tighter and tighter.
His final groan ascended into an ululating cry, and then a high-pitched squeak.
I bunched my muscles and squeezed harder.
A resonant crunch snapped through the air as I shattered his skull. His body went limp as gray matter splattered my face and the front of my jacket. Blood and mucus ran down my arms and across my boots.
Cream’s remains dissipated, leaving not a smear behind.
I stepped back, feeling more alive than I had for a long, long time.
And there’s more to come.
I spun to face my next delight, only to find the other idiots waiting for me, Tesla in the forefront with the Cup of Tartarus in hand.
“Just let us go, Reaper,” Tesla pleaded, “and we’ll stay out of your way.” Behind Tesla, Chopin hunched his shoulders as if a
nticipating a blow.
“And why would I want to do that, after the merry chase you’ve led me?”
“Be aware, the power of your Phage has shattered the safeguards surrounding this keep. Those restraints acted like a dampening field, soaking up lethal energy that otherwise would have destroyed us all. Now nothing prevents us from using this on you . . .” Tesla brandished the chalice at me. “Even as strong as you are, I doubt you’d be able to negate the full force of its Almighty compunction, manifested or not.”
Chopin winced and made himself even smaller.
Tesla’s hands were trembling.
But they’re not so sure.
“Let’s test your theory, shall we? You should know by now how dark my soul is. Even at the best of times, I can’t be tempted, bribed, or reasoned with. And despite my sense of humor, I don’t have a shred of empathy for anyone I’m sent to reap. And while on occasion I might respect the courage someone shows in the face death, it doesn’t alter the fact that I would still kill them as soon as look at them. Unfortunately for you two, today hasn’t been the ‘best of times.’ One of my closest friends got speared like a stuffed pig, and someone” — Oh, Strawberry — “very dear to my glacial heart was taken from me. Reassignments aside, I’m pissed and in the mood for a fight.”
I stepped toward them.
Tesla seemed reluctant to act, but Chopin shook him by the shoulder until the scientist put the goblet to his lips, evoking the full authority of the holy talisman.
I felt the first flush of intent begin to coalesce in the air about me.
Tesla lowered the cup, and simply said, “Die!”
Heavenly power bloomed, and rushed to swamp me. With nothing to impede its sovereignty, that force gained the impetus of an avalanche and smashed against the might of my mystic defenses. A storm-wind of celestial savagery lashed the room with tentacles of incongruous, livid destruction.
I moved toward them through the maelstrom.
The vitality of two opposing forces amplified each other, generating a supercharged tornado. Confined to our immediate vicinity, it ripped chunks of quartz from the ceiling and stones from the floor. Loose blocks were torn from their sockets and smashed to pieces. A shower of weaker stalactites followed. Then everything pounded together, whirling in a fusillade of lethal debris.
Hell Bound (Heroes in Hell) Page 39
