Scarlet Night: The Complete Trilogy

by Megan J. Parker

  Maledictus stumbled back from the force—his jawbone, dislocated, hanging lamely at his throat—as Zane landed on his feet and charged forward, leading with his leveled pistol and squeezing the trigger.

  The room went alive with the roar of automatic gunfire, and the already bloodied, shrapnel-adorned torso of Maledictus took the force of seventeen rounds in less than five seconds.

  Though few of the bullets actually had a chance to pierce his scaly hide, the distraction had been enough to let Zane get close. The first pass of the katana—a straight-down swipe that would’ve cleaved Maledictus’ skull down the middle—was sidestepped at the last minute, leaving an opening to the monster’s windpipe for a pistol-whipping from Zane’s now-empty Glock.

  Zane gladly took the opening.

  As the butt of the pistol slammed into Maledictus’ throat, the monster heaved—its mouth gaping open—as it struggled to inhale. Remembering the horrors of what had emerged from that mouth in the past, Zane brought the Glock upwards; pinning Maledictus’ jaw against his knuckles and resting the barrel along the length of Maledictus’ jaw. Grinning, Zane ejected the spent clip and—sheathing his katana for the moment—retrieved one of the elongated 32-round ammo clip from the holster at his hip. Slamming in the clip and pulling the slide, he drove his freed hand into Maledictus’ face, dazing him further.

  “Let me sing you the song of my people, asshole!” Zane growled in his face as he squeezed and held the trigger, letting the stream of automatic gunfire roar directly in his enemy’s ear as the heating barrel seared into his face.

  Maledictus’ eyes widened as he cried out, lashing forward in a desperate attempt to free himself from the torture and, after knocking Zane back a few paces, clutching his head and teetering on dazed legs.

  “M-Mother… fucker!” Maledictus growled, his eyes spinning in his head as he tried to glare at Zane. “I’m going to make you—”

  “Shut the fuck up already,” Zane retrieved a second gun and, with a flip of a switch, leveled both automatic pistols at the staggering monster. “Just, for once in your miserable life, shut the fuck up!”

  He let the bullets fly.

  The task of getting the two therions across the gap and through the open window—well, the first open window; Zane had obviously felt that diving through an open window in the side of the building was too simple—wasn’t too difficult for Nikki. After Raith and Isaac had transformed, a process that Nikki wasn’t nervous to eavesdrop on at all the right moments—what was it about their kind that the gods saw fit to bestow such fantastic assets to? Not that she was complaining, of course—Raith had scooped her up in his bestial arms and awaited her orders. Though Isaac’s fear of heights wasn’t a secret by that point, he didn’t let it slow them down when she gave the order and the two had leapt from the building’s edge.

  Halfway across the distance the three had begun to feel the tug of gravity, and that’s when Nikki played her part. Calling upon her magic, she’d forced a swell of energy to push out from behind them. The force of the spell had lifted and pushed them through the first of the broken windows, landing them inside a room that looked like a submission from a struggling art student.

  Littered in bits and pieces of this-and-that and caked in a rainbow array of the still-dripping spray-paint that, along with the thousands of screws and nails and metal shards, adorned every surface. Near the center of the room, just as much a pin-cushioned kaleidoscope as everything else, was a vacant length of chain and a makeshift throne that, as far as Nikki could tell, had been constructed out of human bones—the bottom-left corner of which were badly splintered; probably from a particularly concentrated burst of shrapnel—that had been fitted together to take the proper shape and then bound in, of all things, duct tape.

  “What is it with men and duct tape?” Nikki had asked before remembering that neither of the “men” in her company could speak in their bestial forms.

  To their left, the wall—or lack thereof—that had divided the room they occupied to the one that Zane had crashed through allowed them to see that both rooms were, in fact, empty, though the myriad of bullet holes and spent shell casings on the floor of the neighboring room offered enough hints that Zane had started his own fun.

  So where was he?

  Nikki drew her sais and nodded to Raith to set her down. “Alright, boys, time to divide and conquer, I guess.”

  Raith whimpered and looked at her with worried eyes.

  “Don’t worry, baby,” she reassured him, petting his muzzle before planting a kiss on it, “I can handle myself. ‘Sides, if I get into too much trouble I’ll just whistle for you,” she said with a wink.

  Raith rolled his eyes, obviously not appreciating her brand of lap-dog humor, and started for the door.

  “Huh,” Nikki mused, looking around, “I wonder where that Celine-bitch wandered off to.”

  She knew it!

  She’d known it all along!

  But did anybody ever listen? Did anybody ever listen to poor, pathetic, dull-witted Celine?

  No!

  Of course not!

  Nobody ever gave her the credit she deserved!

  She cursed, dragging her fingers through the back of her hair and raking more of the paint from it before yanking the few nails and screws from the back of her shoulder that she could reach.

  The moment that the homemade bombs had crashed through the window—the very second they’d entered the room—Celine had seen them for what they were. Then, it was only a matter of jumping into overdrive and kicking in the corner of Maledictus’ repulsive bone-throne. With the broken bits, she’d been able to pick the lock to her chains—something she could’ve done at any time but had purposefully reserved for the right moment; that moment—and sprinted for the door.

  If it hadn’t been for her stumbling with the damnable door, she’d have made it out without taking any of the blast at all!

  “Fucking idiots! The whole lot of them; Zane and his pathetic bitch and that repugnant pervert of a lizard,” she muttered to herself, working her way down the emergency stairwell, yanking a First-Aid kit off the wall as she passed. “Let the whole brain-dead lot just rip themselves to fucking pieces, then I can get away. Just wait for them all to kill each other before I—AH! Bloody fucking hell!” she winced as she poured some of the rubbing alcohol over the back of her shoulder. Breathing out the pain and shaking her head, she continued down the steps, “Can’t believe he made me suck his—”

  Something thudded and clawed at the bottom of the stairwell.

  Celine froze, peeking over the railing and fighting the wave of vertigo from the view of the square-spiral of stairs beneath her.

  “H-hel-hello…” she could barely get the air to fuel the word past her quivering lips. “I-is somebody there? P-please… I need some help…”

  No response.

  No spoken response, at least.

  At the sound of her echoing voice, the thuds and scratches intensified—grew more frantic and eager—until, finally, a latch clicked and the basement door slammed open.

  “S-Stay—” Celine stopped herself, clearing her throat and fighting her wavering nerves to sound confident and strong. Pretend you’re the blonde bimbo, she thought to yourself, Just act like Zane’s stupid whore and you might get through this!

  Something rattled the railing at the base of the stairs and the sound of footsteps—more than one set?—started up towards her.

  Just like Serena, Celine reminded herself once more. Then, “Whoever the fuck is playing with me better piss off before I decide to rip out my tampon and choke a motherfucker with it!” she gaped as the words flooded from her. Bloody hell, did I say that? Holy shit! I’m a total badass!

  But the sound of lumbering footsteps on the stairs didn’t falter.

  Thinking better of trying to back up her newfound vulgarity with any real action, Celine turned and started back up the stairs.

  Maledictus wheezed as his aching throat screamed for oxygen. Zane
’s cheap shot on his throat had been bad enough without following it up with a headache from hell—ironic as that was—and finally proving that he wasn’t bulletproof.

  As it turned out, when over fifty bullets were shot at him fast enough, at least a dozen did what they were supposed to do.

  Good to know.

  He made a note to thank Zane—over and over and over again—for helping him discover this about himself.

  In return, perhaps he’d formally introduce him to each and every one of his internal organs; one by—

  “Do I not have your attention, shit-eater?” Zane growled, slamming the pommel.

  Maledictus stumbled. The pommel? He recalled a visit from a Japanese traveler teaching him that his people called it the kashira of a katana. He blinked. When had he had a Japanese traveler?

  Furthermore, why in the hell did it matter?

  “You hear me, Maledictus?” Zane lunged, drawing back the katana for another strike, “Time to—”

  “Oh, I hear you loud and fucking clear, Zaney-boy!” he hissed, blocking Zane’s attack by bringing his forearm under his wrist and pushing him back. “I’m just having a bit of an identity crisis.” He kicked Zane, connecting with his stomach and forcing him back down the narrow corridor. Shaking his head, he scoffed at their surroundings, “Can you fucking believe that those dumb cunts actually picked this shit-hole as the headquarters for their limp-dick clan? Place is a bigger fucking nightmare than anything even I could come up with!”

  “Kinda doubt that,” Zane glared, jumping into overdrive to end him.

  Maledictus followed after him, spotting the pair of katanas coming straight for his eyes. Ducking back, he wedged both of his arms between the blades and pushed them apart; slamming Zane’s wrists against the walls of the hallway. Gripping the vampire warrior’s shoulders, he charged forward, forcing Zane off his feet.

  It’s been fun, old friend, but it’s time to—

  Zane, using Maledictus’ hold on his upper-body, brought both knees up and into the Leiche’s belly—shifting the contents of his organs and forcing several of the bullets to roll uncomfortably within his guts—and head-butted him in the nose. Reeling back, Maledictus stumbled and faltered out of overdrive, carrying Zane, who started to slip free of his grip, with him.

  “—time to end you!” Zane growled, baring his fangs and, dropping the katana from his right hand and letting it fall behind Maledictus’ shoulder, drove a sharp right-hook into his ribs. Yanking his hand back, he darted his open hand under Maledictus’ arm, catching the still-falling katana and stabbing it into the back of the Leiche’s right calf.

  Maledictus hissed and stumbled as his right leg went limp under his weight, and Zane facilitated his condition by jamming his extended elbow into his freshly cracked ribs and slamming him against the wall.

  And now Maledictus had a pierced lung.

  Zane was such a giver.

  He really had to think of a way to repay him.

  “What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole?” Zane growled, punching him in the face.

  Had he been laughing?

  Oh well, roll with it.

  Maledictus smiled. “I’ve got some company coming to join us.”

  Raith growled.

  Though the act had barely registered with him, the echoes of the deep, ferocious sound reverberated along the length of the elevator shaft he was occupying.

  Hearing it come rolling back up, however, he realized that he agreed with himself and, aware of this new one, issued another, longer growl.

  He didn’t like the idea of splitting up; didn’t like the idea of Nikki wandering this waiting house of horrors to spring to un-life and turn into Maledictus’ war scene. He knew it was coming, and he knew Zane knew it was coming. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t begin to fathom how it was going to come.

  A Leiche…

  Damn!

  It was bad enough when the Maledictus was just a curse—some enchanted program that the rage-infected taroe tribe had cooked up as a punishment for him and Zane poking around their village—and was parading around in his own ykali body. Bad, but nothing compared to this. The Leiche essence—whatever his name had once been—had acquired Zane’s vampire traits and Raith’s own shapeshifting abilities, turning him into something that the world had not only never seen, but reawakening something that the world had already suffered from over a thousand years earlier.

  And Nikki was on her own in a building that all of that had been squatting in for going on a week!

  Who knew what sort of dangers occupied all those floors…

  Climbing, upside-down, down the lift cables of the elevator shaft, Raith kept his sensitive ears open for any sign of something on the lower floors.

  As well as the chance of Nikki’s whistle.

  He only hoped that her pride wouldn’t keep her from calling for help if the need arose.

  As he started to pass the third floor, he heard something and paused; his hands gripping the cable as he craned his neck towards the door. Sure enough, something—or, rather, many things—were crashing about on that level. Thinking that Zane and Maledictus’ battle might have taken them down further than he’d expected or that any of the others may have encountered some sort of trouble, he righted himself on the cable and then jumped to the ledge. Pressing his ear against the door, he verified the suspicions that someone was causing a great deal of damage, but, unable to hear any voices, couldn’t identify whom.

  Growling again, Raith wedged his clawed fingertips between the sliding elevator doors and yanked them apart, coming face-to-face with…

  A zombie?

  Raith blinked at the alien sight of a lumbering, living corpse—half of its face torn away to expose the rotting meat and vacant, maggot-infested right eye socket and a decent chunk of the back-left area of its skull caved in—before noticing shortly after that, just beyond the equally bewildered risen corpse, was even more like it.

  Well… shit! Raith thought to himself.

  The corpse, which seemed just as astonished by the sudden appearance of a therion just on the other side of the magically-opened elevator doors, finally shuffled to face him and let out a high-pitched, guttural sound from its throat.

  Then every corpse was facing him, and then approaching.

  Raith kicked out. The attack hit the corpse in the hip, making a wet popping sound, and—as a wet, clotted stream of reeking black blood began to trickle from the corpse’s rot-coated shorts—it slowly began to fold over under the caved-in portion that Raith had just torn out.

  Oh, gross! No fucking thank you! Raith stabbed his claws into the doors and slammed them shut before turning and jumping back to the lift cables, eager to get to the higher floors and warn the other of the massive—and disgusting—army that Maledictus had no-doubt brought into being.

  Nikki was eager to figure out what had happened with Zane and Maledictus.

  Though she knew that neither she nor Zane nor Raith had been responsible—let alone deserving—of the monstrosity that her people had released unto the world in an act of dark rage, she still felt, in some way, like she had to oversee its destruction.

  That, and she was more than just a little curious as to how a vulgar and destructive vampire like Zane and an equally vulgar and destructive monster like Maledictus could’ve gotten lost in the short time it had taken her and the others to arrive.

  After Raith and Isaac had split up, she’d stepped over the gaping divide between the two rooms and looked around for any clues. The area around the door, which hung open on one tortured hinge, was littered in bullet holes that, from a distance, created an almost comical outline that was far too tall to be Zane. Exploring the floor around that area, she’d found a number of warped bullets that hadn’t punctured Maledictus, as well as enough fresh ykali blood to prove that at least some of them had.

  Nikki smirked at this, whispering “You go, Zane!” to herself as she searched for any sign that Maledictus might have gotten a hi
t in, as well.

  Her smirk became a smile when none turned up.

  Keeping her sais poised at her side, she’d followed the “trail” through the door and into the hall—remembering that Raith and Isaac had parted at this point—and, scoping both directions, caught sight of a small smearing of ykali blood on the push-handle to the staircase two doors to her left. She followed, pushing open the door with her hip and holding up her weapons as she peered inside.

  Though nothing immediately presented itself, the sounds of something—a lot of whatever the things were, from the sounds of it—echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Sneering at the sound for a moment, Nikki decided that she didn’t want to know what was making all that racket; not on her own, at least.

  Luckily for her, a few drops of ykali blood leading upstairs gave her a simple enough out from exploring whatever it was.

  She continued after the trail up the double-flight—pausing to appreciate a sizable dent in the steel railing—and through the doorway to the next floor, once again preparing for any risk on the other side.

  But there was nothing there. Just an uncomfortably narrow hallway lined with office doors. To her right, where the hall ended abruptly, she noticed a trail of twin scratches leading down either side of the walls that led to a dead-end with a set of bathrooms—men’s on the left; women’s on the right—and the mangled remains of a drinking fountain that gushed belching torrents of water all over the carpet and a lonely, blood-coated katana.

  “Gods above and below, Zane,” Nikki marveled. “It’ll be a miracle if the building’s left standing!”

  Starting towards the water-soaked dead-end, Nikki puzzled herself with a riddle: