March till Death (Hellsong Book 3)

by Shaun O. McCoy

“Now!” Martin ordered. “Run!”

  His men bolted, leaving the temple as fast as they could. Martin lay down amidst the bodies, facing his wounded shoulder towards where he imagined La’Ferve would come.

  He saw La’Ferve now, jogging after his men. The man let loose a bullet, and Martin heard one of his men cry out.

  His aim is inhuman.

  “To the right!” Marcus’s voice called out over the chants of the Carrion men. “Keep the temple between us.”

  Martin wasn’t sure how long he could wait, lying like this next to one of his dead hunters. Each second he delayed meant there was less distance between himself and La’Ferve, but it also meant that another one of his men might die.

  But if I get shot down, they’ll have no chance at all.

  It was as good a reason to be a coward as any other, he supposed. La’Ferve was trotting forward, seemingly unconcerned about speed.

  And why would he be? He’s invincible.

  Invincible to bullets perhaps, but Martin was going to deck him in the head with a cobblestone. Let the Carrion men shoot him down—Martin didn’t care. What mattered was that his enemy died first.

  La’Ferve fired another shot, and there was another shout. Martin hardened his heart.

  La’Ferve was almost upon him—then the man’s grey form passed by, only a few feet away.

  Martin leapt to his feet, rock raised high. He rushed forward and swung it at La’Ferve’s head.

  The man’s reflexes were unbelievable. Even while running, La’Ferve turned his huge frame around, his feet dancing over the cobblestones, gun arm raised to block the blow. Martin’s rock impacted with the man’s Ruger, sending the weapon spinning across the cobblestones, its clip coming loose.

  Hell!

  Martin found himself only a few feet away from the hulking figure. The grey hood had two black bulbous protrusions in place of eyeholes. The Icanitzu hide was form fitting, and Martin could see La’Ferve’s rippling physique through it. The man’s balance and speed had been impeccable.

  Martin wasn’t ready for this fight—he needed to run—but then he heard his soldiers calling.

  “Mar . . . tin. Mar . . . tin.”

  Martin raised his fists.

  Arturus had never seen such slaughter. Galen’s sword whipped back and forth, his body moving in subtle ways to add its weight to the lightening quick strikes. Black blood erupted from the wounds, forced through the air from the tremendous momentum of the blows. Struck body parts would snap back as if they’d been hit by bullets. Some were severed. Skulls, seemingly made of sinfruit, gave way before the Infidel blade. The wights did show signs of fear, but they were never able to flee. Galen’s darting steps kept them in range. There was no escaping him.

  And where Galen went, Malkravyan followed. The infidel’s technique was impeccable. It was spare where Galen flourished. Tight where Galen was expansive. Textbook where Galen was artistic. Arturus felt chills tingling up his spine because with every step the Infidel Friend took, with each display of skill, Arturus became more and more sure that he’d had the same kind of training.

  Had his father not said that the Infidel owed him a favor? Had Galen learned from the Infidel Friend, or they from him? Or maybe there was one technique that was regarded as being right by all?

  No, Arturus knew those couldn’t be the answers. This was the way the ancients fought. The Infidel had been an ancient. Galen had said the Infidel was even their emperor. Galen was very old—it was not inconceivable to think that he had been an ancient, or if not that, then perhaps he had trained with one.

  “Help back here!” Kelly shouted.

  Arturus turned around and saw a pair of wights advancing. “Got it.”

  Neither Galen nor Malkravyan contradicted him. Arturus passed Aaron, Avery and Kelly, approaching the wights. He kept his left side forward, his sword in his rear hand to try and lure them in. The wights clawed at him, and Arturus stepped back with his left foot, switching his lead leg while striking upward with an underhand blow. His hips and footwork mimicked an uppercut, and the momentum of his body flowed into the strike. The tip of the gladius split the wight’s jaw.

  Leaving his weapon high, Arturus rotated his shoulder and struck again at the same wight, slashing sideways. Even as he did so, he pivoted on the ball of his right foot so that his weight would be added to the blow. The gladius tore through the cheekbone and nose of the creature, sending it sprawling to the ground.

  Arturus lowered his left shoulder so that his pivot brought him slamming into the second wight. It tried to grab him, but Arturus changed levels, dropping low. His left hand caught the thing’s ankle before he sprang back up. He threw the leg away as he spun, shifting his hold on his gladius into a backhanded grip and spinning so that the blade buried itself into the corpse’s neck. Arturus threw a back kick to separate his sword from the wight, dropping it to the ground.

  Kelly was staring at him.

  “I love you,” she said. “God damn, boy, I love you.”

  Arturus could see the blue and red glow of the destruction his father and Malkravyan were wreaking upon the enemy. Arturus hung back, trailing behind his friends, protecting them from the wights which came from behind. He hadn’t been properly trained for the sword, he knew that now, but he felt inspired by his father’s movements. The old lessons and footwork came back to him, bit by bit—and where his experience was lacking, he filled in his weaknesses with his hand to hand knowledge.

  This thing I’ve become, it’s nearly as good as they.

  It had never occurred to him that human beings could have such power. He knew that a single Icanitzu could kill a dozen men. Those devils were immune to bullets, and excelled at types of combat for which most human beings were simply not prepared. He found that these wights were similarly vulnerable to his blade.

  This is what Galen has taught me. He has made me a devil slayer. This is what we must teach every person who will lift a finger to fight the Devil.

  They descended down through the complex, lower than where Calimay had been when Arturus had left her, and into a red level. The light was more stable here, flickering only slightly at irregular intervals. They passed by the statue room where Arturus and Malkravyan had spoken before. All around them the wights died. Then Arturus heard hooves clacking against stone.

  One Horn.

  He heard Calista’s frightened orders and the shouts of her soldiers. Galen sped up to a jog, and Arturus was happy for it. Behind a flurry of strikes, Galen led them into a large complex of grey chambers out from under the red ironglass roof which had covered the rest of the level. One of the far walls had collapsed. On top of the rubble stood Calimay, Calista, and three other lavender robed priestesses. In a line before them were soldiers and slaves, each doing their best to hold off the mass of wights. With the Minotaur upon them, there was no hope. He was tearing through their line, his ham-fisted blows sending men sliding across the stones with broken noses, necks and collarbones. His quick head butts left slaves gored through the middle. He turned and kicked backwards, his leg striking with enough power to crack the skull of the man he’d targeted. He kicked again, crushing a soldier’s midsection between a wall and his hoof.

  The soldier he’d kicked dropped, bent over at an angle that was unnatural for a human body. The strength of the blow, even though it occurred across the room, had caused the entranceway to shake. Some of the stones over their heads were coming loose. Arturus hurried to the right, dragging Kelly with him. Aaron and Avery followed, but Galen and Malkravyan walked straight forward, their eyes on the Minotaur.

  One Horn turned to regard them, standing still amidst the ruins he’d made in Calimay’s line. Human blood covered its chest in streaks. In places the blood had dripped down its muscular torso before soaking into a now red tinged ring of fur at its waistline.

  Arturus stopped, transfixed by the massive figure. Kelly tore her hand loose from his grasp and picked up a rock from the floor. Aaron screamed, running along
the far wall and throwing himself into the back of the line of the wights. Kelly came soon after him, hammering away, swinging her rock in long arcs that ended with the head of a wight.

  Avery was more cautious, but as soon as a wounded wight tried to circle around to attack Kelly from behind, he sprang to action, wrestling it to the ground.

  After One Horn’s devastation, Calimay’s men and the wights had become mixed together. Calimay herself came charging down from the rocks, swinging a woodstone plank before her, trying to fill the hole where the Minotaur had killed her people.

  Aaron chose correctly. He’ll fight along the wall so he can’t be surrounded completely--and he’s away from the Minotaur.

  Galen and Malkravyan both dropped their packs. Arturus let his own fall off of his shoulders.

  One Horn didn’t seem to even notice Aaron’s assault. The bullman left the uneven line of men and wights, its hooves stomping an even rhythm against the stone floor. Malkravyan broke off to the left while Galen moved to the right. They began to circle the Minotaur, who himself turned around with every few steps, keeping one in his direct vision and the other in his peripheral at all times. Without communicating, Galen and Malkravyan switched directions, and the Minotaur had to step quickly to dodge Galen’s sword strike.

  I know this dance.

  He, Rick and Galen had practiced it around a pillar.

  I can do this. I should be helping. Were I a general, I would order myself to fight One Horn.

  But Kelly had lost her footing. Arturus came to her aid, slashing at the wight nearest to her and sending it reeling back. Kelly was on her feet again in an instant.

  One Horn’s roar pulled at Arturus. He turned away from the wights.

  “I’m joining,” Arturus announced.

  He felt Kelly’s hand grip at his wrist. He turned for a second, cutting down a wight with a quick slash, and she withdrew her hand.

  “Fuck him up, baby,” Kelly said.

  Arturus moved towards the Minotaur, gladius raised.

  Almost reluctantly, it seemed, La’Ferve raised his hands.

  He doesn’t want to view me as a worthy opponent. Well fuck him.

  “Mar . . . tin. Mar . . . tin.”

  All Martin knew about fighting was that he had a hard head. As a younger man, a bully had tired himself out beating him. At this point, Martin didn’t mind if that was what was going to happen here. He‘d found reserves of strength within himself in the last week that he had never known he had. It was time to use some of them.

  Martin leapt forward, slinging a haymaker at La’Ferve. He hit nothing. La’Ferve had moved back at an angle. The man’s feet were light on the ground, his huge frame seeming unnaturally mobile.

  What the hell is this guy?

  La’Ferve’s arms lowered.

  Martin swung again, he had no idea whether he hit or not, all he knew was that bright lights exploded into his vision. He stumbled backwards, finding his balance. He had not known it was possible to be hit that hard.

  It was odd, but the cobblestone covered floor seemed to be vertical.

  Oh, shit, I didn’t find my balance. I’m on the ground.

  La’Ferve was already walking away. There were shouts of alarm from his soldiers.

  “La . . . Ferve. La . . . Ferve”

  Martin struggled to stand, but the world wouldn’t stop moving.

  “La’Ferve!” he shouted.

  The man looked at him, those bulbous black eyes on the hood staring into Martin’s soul.

  Somehow Martin found his balance.

  He’s trained, but I don’t care. I won’t go down.

  Martin came forward again, his vision swimming. He threw another punch, and his vision was obscured by bright lights once more. Against his will, his body staggered to the left. He raised his hands high over his head, blocking La’Ferve’s follow up strike. Even though he blocked the blow, the force was unbelievable. Martin had not thought that a human could generate that much power. The next punch hit Martin in his exposed left side, just below his floating ribs.

  Despite his will, his body gave up. He toppled backwards to the ground. Martin had never felt pain like this before.

  I will not fail.

  Blood was pouring down from a cut he hadn’t known he received, blocking out the vision of his right eye. He staggered to his feet, but his torso wouldn’t straighten all the way.

  God, help me. I can’t win this.

  Martin looked to the gun on the ground. That wouldn’t help him. Even if he managed to get the Ruger, it would do no damage to La’Ferve’s armored body. He looked for weaknesses. Maybe if he shot him in the eye . . . but the bulbous black covering of the eyehole in the hood was the Icanitzu’s eye. That probably wouldn’t work.

  The hood.

  Martin managed to straighten himself.

  You fool, you don’t need to win, you just need to get the hood off of his body, then your men can shoot him.

  It wasn’t fighting fair, but fighting fair wasn’t what Martin was all about. He fought dirty. He would claw out the man’s teeth if he had to.

  He bent down and picked up a rock. He threw it at La’Ferve as a distraction and charged—not like a fighter—but like a football player. With his head lowered, Martin had no idea how his throw had done. All he knew was that when he ran into La’Ferve, it was like running into a brick wall. Suddenly the man’s weight was pressing down upon him. He felt La’Ferve overhook his arm.

  Then La’Ferve was beside him, a leg in front of Martin’s. Martin felt himself being thrown. His head hit the temple wall and he heard a tremendous crack. When he hit the ground, he couldn’t see.

  Wasn’t there something he had to do? Wasn’t there a reason he had to get back up? There must have been, and it was a very important reason too, only it took too much effort to remember. Maybe it was Katie. Did she need him? Of course, he had to do something for her. But he felt so comfortable. She would understand if he did it later. She would have to understand. He was tired—so very tired. And it was nice, laying here. She wouldn’t mind after he explained that to her.

  Galen and Malkravyan altered their positioning as Arturus approached One Horn. Neither seemed to care that he was too young to be in this battle. What mattered, Arturus believed, was whether he moved correctly or not.

  Galen was their lead man now because the Minotaur was closest to him. When Galen switched directions, Arturus copied him. When Galen juked back and forth, Arturus did too. He knew his father’s movements so well that he almost sensed them before they came. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep up with Malkravyan, but he would do his best.

  The bullman charged and Galen danced out of its range, circling off to the left.

  Hell, I’m up.

  Arturus darted towards the Minotaur’s back and slashed it. The thing’s skin was unbelievably tough, and the gladius’ point only pierced the skin in one place. A drop of fresh, bright red blood rose and beaded there.

  The Minotaur spun, head lowered to charge at Arturus.

  Now I’m the lead.

  Arturus faked left, and then circled right. The Minotaur stayed with him, not fooled by his feint. Since its head was lowered, Arturus guessed that an upwards swing with his sword might be the most effective. He got ready to pivot out of the way and give the strike, but the bullman stopped suddenly and kicked backward. The kick missed the closing Malkravyan who, using some instinct that Arturus would have thought foreign to the human race, had managed to dodge the strike. One Horn turned suddenly and fired a kick back at Arturus. Arturus ducked, surprised to see how close he was to the wall. The Minotaur’s foot sent cracks spreading through the stone behind him. Arturus sprinted forward as part of the wall gave way. He saw Avery and a wight go down under the rubble, but Aaron and Kelly managed to get clear.

  Arturus, Malkravyan, and Galen rejoined the circle around the Minotaur.

  He’s smart. Those kicks are going to make it more difficult to close the distance at his ba
ck. He can be unpredictable this way.

  Galen was already adapting, however, and was staying closer to the Minotaur. They needed to be closer. Their margin of error would be low, but it would be easier to strike. Such an offensive solution was pure Galen. Arturus and Malkravyan adjusted as well.

  One Horn charged at Arturus again.

  He thinks I’m the weakest link.

  Arturus began to move back, but stopped suddenly and charged forward, sword leading.

  One Horn tried to gore him, but Arturus got lower. The Minotaur grabbed at him, but Arturus guided the point of the gladius into its right bicep and pivoted towards that arm. The Minotaur adjusted, coming straight at him. Arturus grabbed on with his free arm, locking up with the beast as it came forward.

  That much force was more than Arturus could ever fight directly, so he absorbed the Minotaur’s momentum slowly, sliding backwards and circling. One Horn screeched in pain as it started to take damage from Malkravyan. Arturus tossed his gladius over his head towards his father.

  One Horn was driving him towards the wall.

  Arturus stayed locked up with the Minotaur, putting his forearm into the bullman’s neck and jumping right before the upcoming impact. He had meant to use his legs to absorb One Horn’s force, but the bullman kept pushing, and Arturus found himself walking backwards up the wall. Suddenly he was high over the Minotaur’s head. The odd angle let him slip out of the beast’s grasp. Arturus kicked as hard as he could off the corner of the ceiling and the wall. He hit the ground rolling and came to his feet. Blood was pouring out of a series of wounds on the Minotaur’s back and forearms.

  Malkravyan covered Arturus, stepping before the Minotaur, his blue sword flashing back and forth in a sudden onslaught. Arturus turned to his father and saw his gladius was already sailing back to him.

  He caught the blade. “Ready!” Arturus shouted.

  Malkravyan stepped back, fending off the Minotaur’s fury. He was the lead now, and Arturus attempted to keep up with his movements. Even though Malkravyan’s style was completely different than his father’s, the man’s motion was so intuitive, so smooth, that Arturus felt that he could simply stop thinking and move with his gut. It was as if this dance was a language all its own—a language of which the Minotaur was ignorant, but that the three of them shared. Galen leapt in, his red sword drawing darker red blood. One Horn ignored the strikes and stayed with Malkravyan. The Infidel Friend’s footwork was immaculate. Though the Minotaur tried, he could not close the distance, and Galen was catching up again. This time One Horn was ready for him. The bullman stopped itself by bending over and putting its hands against the floor. So sudden was the motion that Malkravyan, who should have been striking at the bullman’s exposed head and shoulders, had to catch his balance.