The Conqueror Worm

by Ambrose Ibsen

  The remaining cloaked demon let go of Elio's neck and proved a more formidable foe than the others had been. Batting at the priest with two broad, tendril-like arms, it was all Ossian could do not to be knocked off of his feet by the blows. With the scabbard of his sword, whose tourmaline inlays acted as a powerful repellant of all things infernal, the priest hammered at one of the tentacles, leaving a sizzling wound behind. When the creature, startled at this attack, paused in panicked confusion, Ossian found his opening and delivered his sword into the inside of the demon's skull. Whipping it to the right, he loosed his blade amidst a flurry of blood and brain matter, then turned to the bishop, who remained at the altar.

  All the while, Carnivale had not moved to intercede. He'd watched as Ossian and Elio had made a mess of things, as they'd cut down his followers and servants. “What are you doing there, just watching?” challenged the priest. “Come at me, you cowardly thing.”

  The black bishop did no such thing. “Kill a dozen of my men or a hundred. I couldn't care less, priest. For a human, you're rather strong. I'll grant you that. But it matters not. The purpose of this night will be met no matter what you do. There is no way for you to reverse the tide. In every church under Avignon's sway there are thousands preparing at this very moment to accept the dark sacrament and embrace a glorious new life. This has been no great loss. Does it please you, to know how futile this battle of yours has been? To know that it will have no effect on the outcome whatsoever? Like it or not, your age is finished, priest. Earth belongs to my kind.”

  “So long as I live, that will never be the case. I have been sent by the church of Rome to act as God's instrument, and I will not allow such wickedness to stand!” shouted the priest, sword leveled at Carnivale.

  “Is that so?” The bishop paced before the altar and sighed. “Then you are within your final moments, father. I will kill you this night, and will allow you to live just long enough to cry out in misery to that deaf God you so cherish. When your screams go ignored and your despair is at its zenith, I'll grind you into dust.”

  Overhead the lit candles began to flicker wildly, as though some great gust had just raced into the basilica. The air, though, was incredibly still, and as the dust settled Ossian became aware of some growing presence in the room with him. Scores of corpses littered the floors of the ruined church. To his back, Elio twitched and fought to regain his breath. There was no one else in the church with him at that moment except for Carnivale, though the priest couldn't help but feel as though he were facing down an entire army.

  With a quick pull, the bishop lowered his veil just far enough to reveal his ink-colored eyes, large as saucers. From all around him there issued a sudden bout of rumbling, as though the foundations of the very building were suddenly being strained. Dust fell from the ceiling, refuse was sent rattling across the floor and the desecrated statue of Christ that'd been left hanging from above came crashing down.

  The small, unassuming form of the bishop began to rapidly change. The black garb and veil were cast off as his body doubled―tripled―in size. Before long he stood the height of nearly four men, his white limbs darkening to grey and taking on an incredible thickness. Carnivale donned shoulders the size of cannonballs and a pair of immense hoofed feet replete with dense fur. They were impossibly huge even for a creature of his size, like something belonging to a saurian dinosaur, and they stamped about the stone floors with such force that fine cracks began to form. His arms became gigantic, obsidian tentacles fit for a Kraken, and from the temples there arose two curved, yellowed horns. The end of the metamorphosis was marked by the protrusion of a massive, pink tentacle, tipped by an ivory spike, which slithered forth from the bishop's open mouth.

  The faithful crusader, sword in hand, focused all of his strength just then in not shuddering for the figure his opponent made. He had faced creatures from the pit in the past, had done battle with demons of many forms. But the thing he faced now, which towered over him and dwarfed the pillars of the ancient church, was beyond imagining. That such things could even exist; that such darkness could be allowed to take shape, left his faith smarting.

  He raised his sword, put everything he had in that blessed blade, and took a deep breath. It was not a time for cowardice, for panic. Incredible though this threat appeared, he reminded himself that his was the armor of God, and that he had overcome countless hardships on the road to Bologna with God's aid. The only way you will come away from this the victor is by putting your faith in the Lord.

  It dawned on him, too, that if by some miracle he survived this bout, then Avignon would likely hold far worse than even this titan of Hell.

  Ossian shot Elio a glance from the corner of his eye. The man had managed to gain his feet, to somehow coax his shoulder back into socket, and he appeared frozen with terror. “Elio, go from here. Go to Cesare. This is my battle. I will avenge your wife and son, but you must escape now, while you still have a chance.”

  The man tried to speak. Perhaps he intended to protest, though the paralyzing sight of the mammoth demon robbed him of his voice. Elio staggered backward, took his orders without complaint and fled the church, never once looking back at the hulking monstrosity. The door was thrust open, and he limped out onto the Piazza Maggiore, dragging his hammer behind him.

  Carnivale's voice came from without his body. Stooping so that his titanic, horned head might cast a shadow over the priest, he said, “Where is your God, father? I don't see him anywhere.”

  Gritting his teeth till they quaked in their roots, Ossian brandished his sword and replied, “He's here, inside of me.”

  The towering demon seemed to nod. “Yes, I see. When I've dashed your body to pieces I'll play with your organs and see if I can't find a trace of him.”

  Thus began the fight for Bologna.

  With colossal arms that could break rock, the transformed Carnivale began landing hammer-blows upon the ground that set the entire building shaking. The priest fought to maintain his footing as he fled, darting past the cruel, black tentacles which whipped pews through the air and left crumbling stone in their wake. There could be no parrying such thunderous attacks; the force behind them was so great that his body would splinter at the barest touch. Instead he ran, Grand Inquisitor returned to its sheath until such a time when he might be able to use it.

  The demon's tongue, tipped with a white spike, slithered about the ground like a snake, narrowly missing the leg of the rushing priest. The needlepoint then sank with terrifying ease into the body of a fallen heretic, where by some nightmarish mechanism it emptied the cadaver of its still-cooling blood within moments. Turning its hoofed bulk to follow Ossian's movements, a booming laugh issued from without the monstrosity. “Yes! Run, you collared fool. Your soul will taste all the sweeter for it. Blood chilled by terror is the most refreshing.” Wrapping one of his abyssal arms around a stone column, Carnivale wrenched a chunk of stonework away and suddenly heaved it across the church. “Dodge that, you insect!”

  Breaking into a sprint, Ossian was forced to dive to avoid being crushed. The chunk of rock, which must have weighed half a ton, hit the far wall with a cacophonous crack and broke into several small pieces, which rained down all about him. Their sharp edges cut into him, left his cassock torn and opened a sizable cut above his eyes. Gaining his feet, Ossian broke once again into a run, barely evading a second projectile. The high stained glass windows were pulverized in the commotion, the ancient glass crashing down as the walls were rocked and strained.

  The rampaging thing seemed truly unstoppable. Taking refuge behind a standing pillar just long enough to reclaim his breath, the priest had a dalliance with hopelessness. Unless the Lord's angels should come down to Earth and strike down this monster, I don't believe it can be killed. It's too powerful, too large. A living Goliath.

  A pew cut through the air and crashed into the nearby wall, crumbling to pieces. “Surely you've more fight in you than that, priest!” came the demon's taunt. Marching across the
nave, its great horns raked one of the walls, leaving deep gouges. It turned, capturing Ossian in its enormous black eyes, and something of a smile crept across its sordid face.

  Claimed by terror, the priest doubled back and cut through to the other side of the church, scrambling to take cover behind another pillar. He couldn't find it in himself to respond; he was too filled with fright and disgust to offer a rejoinder. To his back, the demon could be felt to move again, sending the church into a fit of rumbling. If he did not quiet his mind and divorce himself of fear, and soon, he would never gain any ground against this incredible foe. Closing his eyes a moment and keeping one hand always on the hilt of his blade, he reached out to God for guidance.

  Show me the way, Lord. Show me the way!

  “At this very moment―among your last in this life―demons are being ushered into the world by the score. You survived just long enough to see the world change hands, priest. You should feel honored to have witnessed the grandeur of our feast day.” The tentacles struck the floor, shaking the ground and knocking Ossian to his knees.

  Show me the way! Peering around the edge of the pillar, Ossian saw the devil's spiked tongue shoot forth, gouging the stone and missing him by a mere foot. He staggered back and watched as the ivory spike negotiated the column, batting it to pieces. In a frenzy of fear and desperation, the priest yanked his sword free and slashed wildly, connecting with the dense, bony needle. His strike was parried effortlessly, the pink limb shifting to the right and nearly knocking the blade from his grasp. With unbelievable speed the tongue darted at him―from the ground, and then from the air above―threatening to skewer him with every pass. He was forced to the wall, unable to match the creature's strength, and took once more to running.

  “I've tired of this,” announced Carnivale. “This game of cat and mouse must come to an end. Accept your fate with some dignity, priest.” The great hooves clacked loudly against the floor. “Surrender. You and your God have been squarely outclassed.”

  Mind still reeling, Ossian ducked behind another pillar and did the only thing he could think of.

  He prayed.

  His arm shook so terribly that he could scarcely keep hold of his sword, but allowing his mind to focus on the recitation of prayers brought him a touch of stability. He wasn't even conscious just then of what he was saying, relying strictly on memory. The words, long-memorized and recited daily for many years, fell from his lips and echoed off of the nearby wall.

  “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ and His power, I cast you out! Unclean soul, begone! Diabolical spirit who would sully the chosen of God, you have no power here! This is God's dominion; His church is built on solid rock and I, His servant, command you to heel. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, turn away from here, infernal thing, and return to the hellfire!”

  It was one of the prayers he had used in his years as an exorcist. Standing behind the pillar, voice growing to a shout, he repeated it with gusto.

  “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, turn away from here, infernal thing, and return to the hellfire!”

  In the church, there was a sudden stillness. The demon, listening to the prayers intently as Ossian's voice echoed off of the walls, began to growl. “What is this nonsense you spout?” demanded the creature. “Enough of your empty talk. The God of which you speak is dead. He's no interest in you, priest.”

  Still, Ossian continued, screaming the prayers for all he was worth. “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ and His power, I cast you out! Unclean soul, begone! Diabolical spirit who would sully the chosen of God, you have no power here! This is God's dominion; His church is built on solid rock and I, His servant, command you to heel. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, turn away from here, infernal thing, and return to the hellfire!”

  “I told you to shut your mouth!” barked the demon, slamming the ground. The sound of splitting stone eclipsed Ossian's prayer for an instant, but when the devil grew still, the sounds of his voice rose up once again, inciting in him a profound agitation. From within Carnivale's chest there came a low growl, as of a wild animal becoming suddenly enraged. “Silence!”

  The prayers were having some effect. Though no formal exorcism would drive this monstrosity from the Earth, Ossian realized that the ears of demons were still susceptible to the rites, and that their utterance might send Carnivale into a frenzy. It was a dangerous move; the bishop was dangerous enough under the circumstances. Enraging him might prove deadly. Nevertheless, Ossian raised the Grand Inquisitor and continued to pray aloud, hoping to provoke his adversary into carelessness.

  As the prayers dragged on, Carnivale began to stomp around the church like a rabid dog, smashing and spitting as he went. Storming through columns and reducing them to dust, the bishop set his sights on crushing the priest. “Damned priest, come out from there and say those prayers of yours to my face!” He shook his head, as though his ears were ringing, and scanned the ground for his target. A thick cloud of dust had formed throughout the church for the destruction, and from every direction the edifice itself began to speak in the forms of creaks and cracks. With so many of its supports knocked loose, the basilica seemed on the verge of collapsing.

  Feeling the beast nearby, Ossian sprang from behind the pillar and continued his prayers, rebuking the demon. “You have no power here! In the name of the Holy Trinity, turn away from here and return to the hellfire, you unclean spirit!” His voice filled the church, resonated throughout the nave at tremendous volume. The chandeliers had been sent swaying for the demon's constant thrashing, and numerous of the candles had gone out, leaving the building dark.

  It was in the dust and darkness that Ossian found his salvation.

  He continued his prayer. It echoed from every wall, making it so that Carnivale couldn't discern its direction of origin. While the demon raged, turning this way and that in the murk in the hopes of smashing the priest, Ossian came to stand within a few feet of one of the monstrous hoofed legs. Crouching beside a heap of flattened heretics and the remnants of a fallen chandelier, Ossian uttered the prayer one last time before making a sudden thrust forward with his sword.

  Carnivale was so overwhelmed by the prayers that he did not hear the priest rushing towards him. The Grand Inquisitor was buried nearly to its hilt in the demon's towering calf, loosing a geyser of dark blood and sending the titan to the floor with a shriek. Managing to extricate his blade and roll to the side as the demon tumbled, the priest prepared a second attack, delivering a pair of wide slashes to the bishop's exposed abdomen. These, too, gushed with black blood, which rushed forth in such a torrent that Ossian's legs were nearly knocked from beneath him.

  The demon loosed a cry so sharp that the remaining windows in the church burst into glittering dust. Thrashing against the ground and searching with his great, black limbs for the priest, Carnivale struggled to right himself.

  Not to be bested, Ossian kicked up a great wave of the demon's blood, splashing it into those enormous, black eyes that'd looked down at him with such contempt, and then pinned his hopes on one final attack. He was within clear striking distance of the fiend's face, could use his sword to land one decisive blow. Burying the blade in Carnivale's temple, or in one of his eyes, might prove a coup de grace, and he was poised to choose between the two when the demon's sudden movement forced his hand.

  The pink column jutting from Carnivale's mouth sprang to life, and the white tip at the end of it jumped through the air, coming to rest within the priest's shoulder.

  He'd been careless. Though he'd avoided the bishop's arms, he'd neglected the spiked tongue, and it now found its way deep into the soft tissue of his shoulder, inciting a pain beyond description. With his movements limited and few other options on the table, Ossian used his good arm to take a swing at the only thing he could reach: The bishop's tongue.

  The pink length of tongue was hacked out of Carnivale's mouth close to its source. A wave of blood like a fireho
se's spray blasted out from the wound, and the ten-foot appendage squirmed against the floor as its nerves fired for the last. Ossian fell backward, hitting his head on the blood-slick ground and dropping the great sword. The ivory needlepoint in his shoulder was worked loose, and his own blood surged from the wound to mix with the bishop's, which flooded out across the stone floors.

  Dazed and choking on the torrent of black blood, Ossian crawled away from the demon on hands and knees, turning just in time to watch Carnivale shrink back to normal size. The hooves and tentacles disappeared, and the hulking beast evaporated, leaving behind a shuddering man-sized husk whose warped, grey face spouted still more blood. Carnivale, too weak now to maintain his transformation, pawed feebly at the river of blood that coursed from his body and gave a pathetic, gurgling cry.

  Staggering over to his adversary and retrieving the holy sword from the lake of pooling blood, Ossian wiped the gore from his eyes and stared down at the demon's weakened shell. Sunken black eyes stared back at him from the ground as the dust settled and silence reigned in the ruined basilica. His temples were pounding and his muscles felt as though they might burst. Taking a shuddering breath, the priest pointed the tip of the sword at the demon's breast. “This is where it ends,” he said simply.

  Carnivale, knowing the battle lost, closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate, though not before giving a parting remark. His voice, withered, drifted into the priest's ears from the very air, and was punctuated by the gurgling of blood. “No... this is where it begins. The transformation of Bologna is temporarily prevented, but all over this land the dark sacrament has been given and the legions of Hell now walk the Earth. The victory, despite your persistence, belongs to me and my brothers. You have bested me, a spirit of low caste, but the horrors that await you in Avignon dwarf me by orders of magnitude, priest. Heed my words: Savor your pyrrhic victory this night, Black Exorcist, because you shall never know another.”