“I thought that we screened all of our prisoners,” he demanded answers from the nearest guard. “There were to be no krist-chins in here. They were all to be executed to prevent this very thing from happening!”
One of the nearby, zealous soldiers immediately ran his sword through the woman. She cried out as her life and bodily fluids quickly emptied of their vessel. The murder only made the shouts of the inmates all the louder.
Squeezed in amongst them, Shinna smiled at her brave children, even as she wept for her daughter on the killing floor. The prisoners yelled to their persecutors, “I am a Christian too! Turn to the Lord!” She joined them as they shouted praises and truths at their captors.
Krimko covered his ears and ran through the door, screaming. “Heresy! Heresy!” He ordered all personnel out of the prison as he fled. “We cannot be exposed to their dangerous words and doctrines.”
All soldiers had evacuated the building within minutes. The sounds of the spiritual riot still spilled through the walls; echoing shouts of forgiveness and pleas for them to join them in faith permeated the air.
Krimko ranted in disgust as he ordered the front door barred shut. His soldiers soaked rags and wood in lamp fuels and lit them. They surrounded the prison and chucked the torches through the windows. Seconds later, the entire site belched flame as the inferno licked the night air.
The wicked teacher basked in the flames of his great pyre. The only sounds that came now were the quieting sounds of some cultic praise song which rose above the rush and roar of the conflagration. It slowly faded away, succumbing to the crackles and hissing of the fire.
Only once the latter noise replaced the former could Krimko resume his diabolical grin.
***
Flaming, sparking swords, scarlet and cerulean, hammered against each other and rebounded. They struck with such fierceness that they were each flung from their owner’s hands.
Jorge locked into an arm hold with beh’-tsah. Both refused to give the other an inch. Their weapons lay at their feet—respective flames sizzling and lapping hungrily at the air as their owners’ grappled with each other.
The angel found a good purchase with his left arm; with his right, he seized the bovine tail of the demon and wrenched as hard as he could. beh’-tsah resisted the pressure until the bones in his own appendage cracked and he fell to his knees.
beh’-tsah collapsed to his knees before the angel, his arms still locked in the hold. The demon resisted with a snarl. Jorge head-butted him with a sickening thud. The first blow made his doglike face recoil, the following opened his veins, the next cracked the nose, and the last one broke the grasp that they maintained on each other. The demon fell away, intentionally angling for his weapon.
beh’-tsah snatched up his sword and rolled to his feet, bringing his blade to bear. He made the move with blazing speed, but the angel anticipated it and scooped up his own weapon in time to block the blow and swept the blade-tip upwards, splitting the demon’s garments.
The chitinous ribcage beh’-tsah wore fell away from his body, destroyed. The flames that sheathed his weapon singed the demon’s hide. His blood encrusted ribcage-armor evaporated in a cloud of smoke and dust when it hit the ground; the ethereal material it was composed of ceased to exist and the barely visible form of Absinthium, nestled deep within the figure, groaned under the intense, spiritual pressure.
***
Sitting in trance upon his throne in Paradise and tied into the lines of power, the demon groaned as his chest-plate disintegrated in flames. They burned sear marks upon the skin of his chest where the blaze flared. Blood ran down his face where his nose had been smashed in. Still, in deep meditation, the beast did not so much as flinch at the pain.
***
beh’-tsah lashed back at Jorge, beating back the angel’s defense. He timed his strikes perfectly, staggered the angel backwards, and delivered a roundhouse kick to the holy warrior. The connecting blow knocked the angel backwards—flinging him at high speed and smashing him into the steep walls of the quarry. The crash broke rock and embedded Jorge’s body into the strata.
As beh’-tsah turned and surveyed the scene, his blood boiled; the battle had gone nothing according to plan. The krist-chins seemed to have the upper hand in battle even though beh’-tsah’s armies still outnumbered the opposition. The cultists committed wholesale slaughter against the Luciferian opposition; if the krist-chins continued in this manner, those mortals loyal to him would soon break and be routed.
In the distance, he spotted the wounded angel slowly crawling out of the impact crater. The demon sneered—he’d emerged just in time to see the next of beh’-tsah’s contingency plans.
The air around the evil one crackled with dark, spiritual energies as he began the incantation. His foreign words manipulated ancient, necromantic powers. Vibrating through the air, the magic started as a low rumble, like thunder in the distance, until it crescendoed and beh’-tsah shouted the last audible phrase.
“…Koom Vrykolakas!” beh’-tsah bellowed mightily.
The words echoed through the night air, ascending high above the sounds of the battle, causing the ground to roll and buck. The quake continued shaking the ground and the tremors knocked both man and ekthro off their feet.
Around the quarry burst open old, boarded-over entrances to the mineshafts. Dust and fumes erupted as if they were capped geysers. For years, people had dumped bodies down the mineshafts as a cheap method of burial, or disposal of victims. The holes were filled with the rotted dead who lay forgotten in the shafts. The quarry had been a mass grave for the peoples of many generations.
Moaning and searching for flesh the animated corpses shambled from their holes. The long dead vrykolakas had been called to the battle, obeying the words which bound them to the demon’s service. They walked slowly, almost aimlessly, emanating a foul stench and the strained groaning of the dead whose immobile bodies had been forced into service again, however unwilling.
The dead slowly meandered towards the battle’s edges. They walked slowly; their decayed bodies lacked energy and enthusiasm but their sheer number bolstered the demon’s forces incalculably. At their speed, it would be several minutes before the dead would reach any actual conflict.
As they drew near him, Jorge crawled to his feet; bleeding, he was visibly worse for wear. Several vrykolakas staggered close enough to lunge at the angel. His sword flared to life and lazily swiped one in half as he turned back towards the demon that beckoned to him. The angel dashed through the air and again the two supernatural beings locked into the struggle.
The vrykolakas Jorge struck had fallen apart in two pieces, split at the waist. Its two halves continued to move towards the battle, writhing with evil energy like balled snakes. The top half of the corpse crawled back on top of its shambling legs and settled its base onto its hips with a moan, reforming the undead unit.
Chapter 12
“Grirrg!” Pinchôt shouted to his second in command, beckoning him to his side. Other than Pinchôt, the barbarian was the only one left from the Narsh Barbarians who had survived the onslaught of the werewolves. They had joined with the forces of King Rutheir and were now engaged in a battle where they had the upper hand.
His face streaked with blood, Pinchôt fumed as he hacked and slashed; Grirrg had gotten too far from Pinchôt to function cohesively with him. They’d done a fine job until now of cutting down their opposition, isolating the forces of the blacksmith brothers, but they both functioned more efficiently with synergetic teamwork. Working together was the only thing that sustained them through the wolfish assault.
Bringing his giant war hammer crashing upon the body of an over-extended Christian warrior, Grirrg shouted a victory howl. Now that the wolves had finally dispersed, they were dominating those enemies around them.
The massive barbarian tightened ranks with Pinchôt and raised his heavy warhammer. He roared with a guttural, berserker cry and the nearby stragglers
from the Luciferian and goblin forces formed up on the duo.
Pinchôt locked eyes with the blacksmith brothers—intent on ending their feud. They battled on, systematically taking apart their enemies as they worked towards Rondhale and Jhonnic. They pressed in on their foes as their company shifted the power struggle in their favor by flexing the strength of their superior training over the blacksmiths’ untested forces, beating down their flanks and separating the weakest of them, methodically culling them as the skirmish line shuddered.
***
Rashnir pressed hard, pushing his aching muscles through the blood and the sweat. His small, but talented company did likewise as they navigated through the fierce opposition. Mostly they battled a dwindling numbers of royal soldiers that stood in their way, but a large number of goblins also continued to charge against them.
He pushed his men hard; Rutheir’s squad was tearing up Rondhale and Jhonnic’s company. Rashnir’s crew needed to make only a little more headway so they could reinforce their friend’s foundering group.
The Christian warrior cast a glance in the opposite direction that they went, hoping for a glimpse of Kelsa’s brother, praying that he had somehow persevered. Rah’-be and Sil-tarn were overrun by goblins. Ekthro crawled over their position like insects on carrion. Rashnir felt the bitter stinging in his heart, feeling like he had betrayed Bomarr. He watched as the young man who would have been his brother-in-law succumbed to the wave of violent bodies. They crashed upon him hard, like the pounding surf, and cut him down.
Zeh-Ahbe’s kinsmen faltered, completely enveloped by the vile ekthro that had slain the young man they guarded. Goblins piled on top of the werewolves, hacking and stabbing. First Sil-tarn, and then Rah’-be erupted in an explosive upthrust as they threw off their attackers, scattering goblins through the air in one final thrust to escape. Routed, they leapt with superhuman strength, escaping back to the safety of their allies. Arrows and spear shafts protruded from their backs like porcupine quills; their hides had soaked with their own blood as they fled.
Rashnir’s heart pounded; the sounds of rage filled his ears. His pulse drowned out everything except the sounds of bloodlust echoing in his own head—pulsing like the sound of crashing waves. He shouted, venting all of the passion and rage of loss within him as he pursued his enemies. He’d have to live with his choice to abandon Kelsa’s brother—but he refused to think about it until this battle was won.
Fueled by the pain, Rashnir charged forward like a Mankran berserker, completely focused on the dissection of his enemies. Bomarr’s death would not be in vain.
***
Grirrg swung his giant war hammer, knocking back the krist-chins who attempted to rally a valiant, but hopeless, defense in the face of Rutheir’s forces. A short while ago this group had dominated the area and nearly routed the Luciferian forces. Once King Rutheir’s battalion ripped open their flank, the remaining members of the Narsh Barbarians Guild had swarmed in and systematically slaughtered the enemies with the help of Dyule’s militiamen.
King Rutheir fought alongside Pinchôt, Grirrg, and his own men. They hacked their way through the last defenders and moved to engage one of the blacksmith brothers: Rondhale. Grirrg swung his hammer downward at Jhonnic, the other brother. The blacksmith reeled back and the heavy mallet buried itself head-first in the ground, leaving Grirrg exposed.
Jhonnic stepped back in, sword blazing, anticipating a clean kill when Pinchôt leapt over the massive barbarian from behind. It was a calculated move and it took the krist-chin by surprise. Pinchôt pulled out a three pronged, fork-like sai and used it to lock up Jhonnic’s weapon. The blue flames of the supernatural blade beat against the alchemically imbued instrument, causing the weapon to spark and heat up. The metal turned red from the intense heat that flowed from the clashing weapons, sizzled and began glowing white.
The battle raged around them and the barbarian pulled his war hammer from the soil. Each conflict around him represented an individual life and death struggle. Pinchôt sneered: this one was just ending.
Rutheir thrashed Rondhale around with ease, nearby. Grirrg casually readied his weapon to aid Pinchôt. The barbarian used bare fists to beat back some nameless warrior who attempted to intervene.
Pinchôt held Jhonnic’s blade until his sai deformed under the forces of heat and pressure. Finally he jumped back as the blue flames sundered his weapon and the sai melted to slag. Pinchôt spear-tackled the blacksmith, keeping low so that he would not be harmed by his opponent’s blade.
Jhonnic fell relatively unharmed--taken down by the smaller man. Pinchôt quickly rolled off, scrambling back to his feet.
Maneuvering defensively away from the king, Rondhale screamed in anguish. He saw the set-up. He broke engagement with King Rutheir and rushed towards his brother.
Too slow to be saved by his twin, Jhonnic barely noticed the shadow in his blind spot. Laid out the way he was, he had no chance for defense as Grirrg brought his heavy hammer down once more, this time smashing the stunned blacksmith’s head as if it was made of eggshells.
***
Rondhale screamed as he ducked Rutheir’s weapon and ran for his brother, his eyes blurred with moisture and his heart shrieked in a grief-stricken rage. Lucky enough to evade the attacks of others as he ran for his fallen twin, he scooped his brother up into his arms; hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
Little remained of Jhonnic’s head; his face had been shattered by heavy steel. His brother paid no mind to the disfigurement but held the limp body in his arms. The pendant he wore around his neck easily slipped through the gore and off the stump where it landed in Rondhale’s hand. He clutched the jewelry in his fist and looked up to see the man who killed his twin brother towering over him.
“I guess it’s a two fer one, today,” Grirrg said darkly as he heaved the mallet high above his head.
Werthen crashed into the large Barbarian, knocking them both to the ground as the blacksmith’s reinforcements suddenly arrived. The white wolf, Zeh-Ahbe’, seemed to leap from nowhere, snatching up Pinchôt and dashing him to the ground. Rashnir charged past them both, seeking the wicked King Rutheir.
Rondhale was on his feet again—screaming with loss and anger; he and Werthen tag-teamed the bulky Barbarian who proved too slow to evade their attacks for long.
Pinchôt sprang to his feet and thrust a dagger into his attacker’s torso. He snarled and turned his snout back to the former ranger. The bestial Zeh-Ahbe’ raked his claws across Pinchôt and then mauled the man who remained too stunned by the lupine speed to react.
Grirrg whirled and spun with calculated, precise power-blows; with two opponents and no backup, he quickly found himself in trouble. Werthen sidestepped only a little too close and baited him into striking and Rondhale cut him down from the opposite side, howling with righteous indignation.
Zeh-Ahbe’ formed up on them and the trio turned to face off against the other highly trained men who surrounded the king, many of whom had served under the previous king. Harmarty’s court had employed assassins of the vilest sorts. Each brought his own devious talents and experiences into the king’s deplorable ranks.
***
Jorge and beh’-tsah continued their clash, locked in a combat of epic proportions. They had battled across the quarry and to the furthest reaches of the battle, stepping amongst the fallen bodies and the burning stones that were cast down from the heavens. The vrykolakas shambled onward, drawing nearer; they moved ever forward with a slow but determined gait.
The demon struck with his sword; the angel counter-thrust. They would parry and each would dodge or block the other’s blows.
beh’-tsah locked the angel’s sword against his own and they clasped wrists. Locked together, the demon spat harsh words. Each struggled to supersede the other’s position. beh’-tsah’s talons bit into Jorge’s wrist as claws dug into the flesh.
Jorge cried out in pain, a delight to the demon’s ears, and then lashed ou
t with an open-palmed strike to the foul creature’s damaged snout. The blow sent beh’-tsah reeling backward and flailing his sword.
With an opening created, Jorge struck again and again, but each flaming swipe seemed to meet with just enough resistance by the staggered demon. As beh’-tsah continued blocking, he seemed to shake off the dizzying effects of the facial wound.
The angel’s opening closed fast and left the two combatants again on nearly equal footing. They quickly locked blades again and replayed the scenario; beh’-tsah’s haymaker connected with his opponent’s face just as the angel threw a stiff uppercut. The force of impacts sent them both shooting back from each other and their locked weapons flung into the distance in opposite directions; the crossed blades acted like scissors and cut down several vrykolakas.
One of the fallen vrykolakas fell right beside the cast off weapons. The blades’ flames ignited the walking corpse and it quickly burnt to ash and cinder; the body did not reform. Seconds later, the crowd of walkers hid the blades within their swelling ranks.
The two supernatural warriors pounced for each other once more and pummeled each other with fists, feet, and everything else. As if they shared similar training, each used momentum and inertia to his advantage as they tumbled across the battlefield. The echoes of their brutal struggle sounded like a landslide.
Jorge ducked a lethal attack and leveled the larger behemoth with a roundhouse kick to the demon’s head. beh’-tsah quickly scrambled back to his feet and charged at his opponent, intending to tackle him and use his size as an advantage. The angel wrapped an arm around the demon’s neck in a headlock and rolled to his back, flinging the creature over and behind him; he rolled through the move intending to mount beh’-tsah’s chest where he could assail the demon with his fists.
beh’-tsah snarled as he crashed to the dirt behind the angel—suddenly recognizing the reversal he’d been suckered into. But the angel still remained on the ground, laid out. The demon skidded on his back and quickly rolled to his feet. He stood and walked towards his enemy who was pinned to the ground, groaning with pain.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 53
