The Demon City

by Evan Currie

  Something nudged her, distracting her briefly before she saw what had drawn her attention and pulled her focus to a screen to her right. She immediately glanced at it and was surprised to see a tall, handsome human there on the screen. This one wasn’t beaten. He didn’t cower as the demons moved around him, but he didn’t seem to be popular with them either. She wondered if he was a collaborator, like that man, but there was no sense of that in his eyes as he looked in her general direction without any idea he was being watched.

  Tall and muscled, with burned-red hair and a thick beard to match, the man almost had a swagger as he walked in the open. He carried a hammer, a short but heavy-looking thing. Elan had little experience with such things, though she had used and seen one used at her childhood home. Her parents’ hammer had been smaller and lighter and looked to be a frail thing compared to what this man carried.

  With a snap, Elan pushed back to consciousness and rose to her feet in a smooth motion as she turned to focus on the image of the man in question.

  “You,” she said to no one, cocking her head to one side. “You’re different. Why are you not like the others?”

  She looked for a while longer, then turned on her heel and stalked out of the command and control room.

  *****

  Merlin examined the work as it progressed, watching the demons and human slaves as they quite literally bled and died to do the work they had apparently been ordered to accomplish.

  He was most interested in the actions of one of the leaders of the group, however, or perhaps it might be more accurate to call it a specialist.

  Merlin recognized the shriveled little demon from combat records and knew just how dangerous it was, despite appearances. Entire units of specialized combat groups had died screaming after being sent against just one of those things.

  Tentatively code-named “shaman” by the military authority, back when such a thing existed, the shaman-type demon was a specialist in engraving runic words of power. They had never been able to capture one to properly decode the system in its entirety, but the code had been broken in part at least.

  Runes, as they were known to humans—Merlin had no real idea what the demons called them—were symbols that were linked to the quantum state of the universe. Properly etched, a rune would link directly to the foundation of everything and cause it to change in specific ways.

  During the end days of the war, one of the last great research projects was to create a human runic language. It was a task that was never to be completed, but it provided him with a base to decode the work he was observing.

  I’m almost certain that sequence is to open a portal, but why would they go to this trouble for that? Merlin was honestly puzzled. The demons controlled the world and had no issues bringing more of their kind across whatever dimensional borders they’d previously crossed, so why go to this effort here and now?

  None of it made any sense to the elemental intelligence, but that didn’t stop him from observing and trying to make what sense he could of the situation.

  Intuition was a human trait, but it didn’t take any leaps of logic to infer that something important was happening here.

  Chapter 8

  Ser’Goth leaned over the rail, looking down on the city that lay sprawled out far below her. She had loved this view since the first time she’d stepped into the final city to fall. Lemuria had been one of three great capitals of the local population. The first two collapsed very early in the war, but the last—the city of Lemuria—had held out for far longer.

  Buildings of towering, angled spires, able to reach the skies and seemingly beyond, grew up from below her, but her own position was without question the tallest and most imposing. She remembered the original blue-steel colors of the buildings, but now most of them were a dull gray and red from the coating of dust that clung to them, even high up in the air.

  The fall of the city had signified the end of human resistance in a real way, the war going from one of field combat to interminable guerilla war. Lemuria was a symbol of demonic victory over the humans, just as it had been a symbol of human defiance of the inevitable.

  It was rather nicer back then, even I’ll admit that.

  Demons weren’t much for maintenance, sadly, and they were rather hard on humans who might have been. Over the years, decades and more, the number of people who could repair—hells, even the number of people who were capable of cleaning—the city properly had dwindled to near nothing.

  She’d never realized just how complicated cleaning a city like Lemuria was until she had tried to solve that problem. The tall spires of the ocean-bound city were rather difficult to clean for humans, and the demons who could manage it without machinery were not inclined to the task. The shorebirds that were an interminable pestilence, no matter how many of them she had killed, befouled it almost as badly as the Ninth Circle demons did.

  She sighed as she leaned back from the rail and turned around to walk back into her suite.

  Someday the building in which she now resided would fall into the ocean and be swallowed by time. Demons didn’t build things; they didn’t create.

  They only destroyed.

  I think I will put in for another frontier assignment once the elder are through, Ser’Goth decided. Let someone else watch this world fall apart over the next ten thousand years.

  “Call the generals,” she told her aide as she walked into the central suite. “I will hear their reports.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  She ignored the obsequious gestures and fawning, walking past the Seventh Circle demon with only mild disgust at the deformities it showed. Unlike Eighth and Ninth, at least body parts were mostly staying where they were supposed to on this one.

  Unfortunately, the more . . . impressive of demons were also too powerful to be properly tractable for playing games with. It was one of the many reasons—other than the obvious—she rather enjoyed her time toying with humans.

  Humans were such an odd contradiction to her.

  Cast in the form of the first, they were comely and alluring to one such as her, but they were so frail and weak. The first had been masterpiece, power incarnate the likes of which the universe had never seen before . . . and likely never would again. Humans were practically sacrilege, their very existence mocking the true form, existing in countless dimensions like a plague.

  Demons were little better, of course, at least until they reached the lowest circles, where true power lay waiting. But it wasn’t power that a demon lacked; it was the purity of the original form.

  She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror that made up the wall across from her.

  Ser’Goth found her own form a comfort. She was tall, muscled, with the right curves to meet the desires of the original form . . .but the signs of the demonic infection were there as well. The slightly curved horns protruding from her skull marked her even more so than the azure tint of her skin or the reddish glow that filtered out through her every orifice. Even her prized wings were more a mockery than a tribute to her strength, showing that she had not yet full restored her form to what it should be.

  She had time left to climb, to purify her form and power. Two more circles, and she would be of the First Circle, if not of the origin. She flexed her left hand, clawed nails biting into her palm as she clenched the hand into a fist to watch the muscles of her arm bulge in chorded unison.

  Almost to the top . . . or, I suppose, the bottom. She chuckled softly to herself at that thought, casually wrapping a robe around herself as she left the suite and headed for the council chambers.

  *****

  “What’s going on?” Jol asked as he leaned against the filthy wall, sheltering in the shadow of the building as he watched the mass of demons drive slaves through the streets. “That’s a big workforce, isn’t it?”

  “Geomancy takes muscle, Jol,” Sindri said simply as he too looked on from where the three of them were watching, unseen.

  “Geomancy?”

&
nbsp; Brokkr shrugged. “Stone magic, boy. Powerful but slow. See the scrawny forner there being carried in the palanquin?”

  Jol had no clue what in the hells a palanquin was, but since he could see only one “scrawny forner” being carried in anything, he assumed that Brokkr was referring to a covered carriage of sorts being carried by six Eighth or Ninth Circle demons. The brothers’ favorite obscenity aside, Jol could certainly see why the other little man referred to the demon as scrawny. He looked positively ancient, such that Jol was surprised that a stiff wind hadn’t blown the demon right out of the carriage.

  “I see him,” Jol nodded. “Looks like a crippled Ninth could kill him by breathing on the poor bastard.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Sindri snorted. “That would be a rune-master. He’s sacrificed his physical power for mastery of the language of the universe itself. Give him time, and he’ll bring down armies all by himself. He’s here to help complete the gates that will bring the elder through.”

  Jol looked on with a little more interest, hefting his hammer casually as he considered the distance between him and the frail-looking demon.

  “Don’t bother.” Brokkr laughed, reading him easily. “He’ll be protected. That’s what the palanquin is for.”

  “Runes engraved in the frame, you think?” Sindri asked idly.

  “At least. Probably in the bones of the poor bastards carrying him too,” Brokkr answered.

  Jol looked between them, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Runes are what the demons call the first language,” Brokkr answered, “the language that was used to write the universe into existence. Runes describe everything you see around you and everything you don’t. A master of the runic language can rewrite the laws of the universe in localized fashion to do things like create a shield of pure force around the frame of the palanquin, for example, or perhaps convert the poor forners carrying it to directional explosives designed to blow up in the face of an attacker.”

  “Or maybe this one has an imagination,” Sindri cut in. “There’s little enough limit to it if you’re truly competent with the runic language.”

  “Do you know it?” Jol asked, wondering if he could learn. Such a thing sounded worth more than all the hammers in the city combined.

  “A few words, half a handful of phrases.” Sindri shrugged. “The language of creation is not to be trifled with. A rune-master pays for his power with consequences few would truly be willing to endure. We learned some that was useful to our purposes and left well enough alone.”

  “I see,” Jol said, disappointed.

  The slaves and demons continued down the thoroughfare, eventually turning a corner and vanishing from sight as the trio watched.

  “Should we follow?” Jol asked, uncertain.

  The twins looked at one another and shrugged in unison.

  “Why not?” Brokkr said for them. “Might be something worth seeing. Not often you get to see a stone circle being constructed.”

  “Be amusing to see how many of them die in the attempt,” Sindri said with a nasty chuckle. “The planet, she isn’t bound to be liking this act.”

  “True enough.”

  *****

  Elan stepped over the lip of the security door as it rolled open and into the city of Lemuria, the city of demons.

  The ground was filthy. She grimaced as she picked her way forward, thankful for her sealed armor. She could almost smell it anyway through the armor, feel it through her boots. The demonic filth permeated the air, sat inches thick on every surface. It went against everything she knew about living and everything she’d been taught.

  How can any thinking beings live like this?

  She did her best to ignore it as she stayed close to the shadowed side of the buildings, working her way upward from the depths of the city to the open air. Things were moving around her. The armor was tracking motion from all quarters, but she ignored it for the most part. Unless something got close to her, she wasn’t interested. There were more important things to do than kill minor demons, if that was what they were.

  She curled the cloak she had taken from the village around her, the ratty cloth hiding her armor and weapon as she stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the sun, shivering as she felt the evil it exposed. Demons moved everywhere she looked. Her hand itched to draw her weapon, but she resisted the urge. None of them bothered to look at her as she moved, not more than in passing at least, so she in turn ignored them, despite the hatred she felt to her core.

  Someday they would get what was coming to them.

  Someday.

  Not today.

  Taking a deep breath, Elan centered herself and used the display on her armor to locate herself within the city and find a path to where she wanted to be.

  He’s moving inward, to the center. Demon concentration is highest there. Why would he be going that way?

  Something was going on; she could tell that from the security systems. They were counting demons. They’d started automatically when activated, but she didn’t know how or why. Something built into the system? Whatever it was, it was useful, which was more than she could say for much of what she’d found in the city’s systems.

  Everyone she passed was intent on keeping their heads down, clearly trying not to attract any attention. She didn’t have to think too hard on why that was. She’d seen the acts of violence and cruelty on the security displays. Attention here was rarely, if ever, a good thing, and anyone who felt no fear in standing out was either insane or powerful enough to survive the response that might be incurred.

  She trudged deeper into the city, eyes taking in everything she could.

  It had been a beautiful city once. An amazing city, if she were one to judge. She probably wasn’t, though, having been brought up in what she now was too aware was a simple stone hut. The human city had seemed splendid, but compared to even the rotting bones of Lemuria, it too had been little more than hovels.

  Our people built this.

  She felt awe at that.

  Humans had built the wonders she saw, however much those wonders had been tarnished since that time.

  Humans had been great once.

  That greatness had been destroyed by the demons, and somehow that struck at her heart deeper than she’d imagined anything could since the night she’d lost everything while cowering on a boulder in the middle of the badlands.

  *****

  “Ouch.” Sindri winced comically. “That had to hurt.”

  Jol looked away from the carnage where one of the giant stones had toppled, killing humans and demons alike as it crushed everything in its path to the ground. He’d seen a lot of violence in his life, had even caused a fair amount of it, but there was something wrong about watching any living being pulped under that much weight.

  “Oh yeah, she’s pissed.” Brokkr chuckled, shaking his head in clear amusement.

  Jol covered his mouth, refusing to look back at the mess until his stomach settled a little. “How can you find that funny?”

  “After a while you get used to it, boy,” Brokkr said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Besides, if you knew what they were trying to do with those stones, you’d likely be singing a new tune yourself.”

  “Some of them are being forced,” Jol said sourly, still avoiding looking at the carnage.

  Sindri shrugged. “That’s true enough, but it won’t affect the outcome one whit. When they finish, it’s the end for this world and every human on it. You too, boy, and them as well. Is it worse, somehow, that they die now?”

  Jol spat a foul taste from his mouth, spittle spattering across the side of the building he’d aimed at.

  “Still no cause for laughing at them,” he grumbled petulantly, hating himself for the childish petulance he couldn’t keep out of his tone even as he said it.

  Sindri gestured idly. “There’s truth in that, but we’re damned souls anyway. We’ll take our amusements where we can and thank you to save your moralizi
ng for someone who can be saved.”

  “Look.” Brokkr interrupted him. “The little forner is trying to do something to help things along.”

  Jol looked up, grimacing at the mix of blood and flesh that had squeezed out from under the toppled stone but looking past it to where the wizened demon was now casually walking through the carnage while . . . drawing on the stonework?

  “Is he . . . painting?” Jol asked, confused.

  “In blood.” Sindri nodded, now with a look of distaste. “Ugly way of things.”

  Jol didn’t have a clue what he meant by that, but even as far back as they were, he could see wisps of smoke rising from the lettering the demon had put into the stone. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “He’s using the blood of the fallen to bind the Earth Mother,” Brokkr said darkly. “It’ll poison the land here for ages to come. It’s time to be moving on, brother.”

  “Agreed.” Sindri shook his head. “That’s one sick forner. Stupid one too. I think we were wrong about him. Doubt he’s a master after all.”

  “Hopped-up apprentice, likely,” Brokkr nodded, “given just enough instruction to be dangerous . . . to himself and everyone around him.”

  “Someone wanted this job done, no matter the consequences. You think she knows?” Sindri asked almost idly.

  Jol looked up sharply, knowing they were speaking of Ser’Goth. They always were when they used that tone.

  “Not likely.” Brokkr shook his head. “She’s a piece of work, but she likes this city. She’d not allow that, not unless she were ready to abandon it, and we know she isn’t yet.”

  “Perhaps we could let her know then?” Jol offered hesitantly.

  The two brothers exchanged long glances, considering.

  “Tricky,” Sindri said finally. “You’d have to let it slip without appearing to know too much. Not sure you can pull it off.”