MudMan (The Golem Chronicles Book 1)

by James Hunter

  The fat tentacle dropped the strange egg. It plummeted four or five feet to the floor and landed with a crack, the sound of a bowling ball rolling a strike. A network of fine fissures spread across the surface: a thousand jagged lightning bolts striking all at once. The fruit or egg, whatever it was, shuddered, rocked, bucked, then exploded in a spray of golden dust and bits of rocky shell. Where the orb had been before, only a black hole, two feet in diameter, remained. The hole wasn’t so much a thing as it was the absence of anything. A void where the material world should be, but wasn’t.

  Then, green bubbled through, pouring into the world like someone had turned the backyard spigot on full tilt. Tentacles, black flowers, bulbous abdomen, scuttling legs, pinching claws. In many ways—the most important ways, even—the thing tearing its way into their reality resembled the lesser guardians. This thing was just more.

  More of everything.

  An amorphous blog of vegetation, which quickly unfurled, revealing an arachnoid abdomen as large as a slug-bug, which in turn sprouted more legs than Ryder could count. A giant humanoid torso shook its way free from the thorax and from that sprouted a small forest of crab-clawed arms and sinuous necks—six or seven, though each head continually bobbed and weaved, making an exact count next to impossible—each with a strange flower face protruding from the end.

  Mega freakshow.

  The creature moved, an avalanche of snapping claws, scuttling legs, and swaying vines sweeping toward them. Chuck alternated between screaming hysterically and pleading for mercy. Despite the fact that Siphonei had been human once upon a time, Ryder knew she would offer no mercy. Ryder also knew they were screwed beyond belief.

  TWENTY-THREE:

  Belly of the Beast

  Levi and the professor skulked just outside of the inner sanctum, a massive room topped with an immense diamond and filled to overflowing with nightmare vines and greenery. With backs pressed against the wall, the two surveyed the scene through a hazy screen—a veil, the professor said—which masked their movements and words from unfriendly eyes and ears.

  A very handy skill. Levi couldn’t help but think about all the useful benefits such a talent might offer: Body disposal would be a cinch with invisibility. He could stalk his victims without fear of premature discovery. And the hunt … it’d be as easy as butchering a pesky coyote caught in a leg-hold trap. Unsporting maybe, but very effective.

  Even with the benefit of the invisibility, however, Levi wasn’t sure how they were going to save Chuck and Ryder from their plight. Both lay tightly bound in what looked to be cocoons—the kind of thing a spider might weave—and towering over them was a monstrosity the likes of which Levi had never seen. Nothing else he’d ever encountered came close. A Grecian hydra, maybe, though only if that reptilian nightmare had been genetically spliced with a black widow and a Venus flytrap. A Flower-hydra.

  Levi was never one to shy away from a worthy fight, but this was something he wasn’t prepared to handle. He wasn’t sure anyone was prepared to handle this, and that didn’t even account for the five smaller plant-guardians, which crowded around in a semicircle on the periphery of the room. Those, the professor had kindly informed him, were the lesser guardians. And the hulking thing in the middle? Not even the good mage knew what that was. In the end, though, Levi didn’t really care what it was, he only cared about how to murder it and send it on to whatever dark, humid jungle-hell it’d crawled out of.

  “Can’t you just blow it up with magic?” Levi whispered over his shoulder to the mage. “Or banish it from this realm of existence? Isn’t that what magi do?”

  “For the last time,” Wilkie replied, voice low, a grimace pulling the corners of his mouth down, “no. Magi are not all the same. You’re thinking of battle magi. The Judges or those brutish thugs who work on the Fist of the Staff. Inelegant dolts whose only talent is breaking things. They contribute nothing of any value to human wisdom, which is what magi are supposed to do. We’re not all heavy-handed ruffians. Most of us are learned men and women, who lead the way toward progress with the light of ancient and secret wisdom.”

  “No disrespect intended,” Levi muttered, “but we really need the blow-them-up kind of magic right now.”

  The professor sighed and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Look, this is quite embarrassing, really, but as magi go, I’m not very strong. In terms of my ability to handle raw Vis—the power behind our workings—I’m hardly strong enough to qualify for the Guild. As a result, I never studied battle conjuration. My specialty lies in language, archeology, interdimensional conjuration, and arcane rituals. This illusion is one of the only defensive workings I know. I’d be lucky to light a birthday candle with my offensive skills.”

  Levi grunted and turned back to the unfolding scene in the next room. The flower-hydra was squatting over Ryder, one of its clawed hands reaching toward her. Killing this thing—all those things—was too much, even for his broad shoulders. Unfortunately, if the professor could do nothing of use, saving Ryder and Chuck fell to him. “Do you have any pointers at all? Do these things”—he motioned toward the plant creatures—“have any weaknesses?”

  “Well, fire I should think,” the professor replied after a moment. “From my limited exposure to Siphonei, I can say with a fair degree of confidence that she does not care for fire. The plants are doing moderately well, given the harsh climate of the Sprawl, but the desert environment has taken its toll.”

  “Great,” Levi muttered. “If only we had someone who could blow this thing up with fire. Like a mage …” The words trailed off as his eyes landed on Chuck’s camp pack, which had been discarded not far from where they were standing. “A birthday candle,” he mumbled. “You said you could light a birthday candle? Could you make that much fire?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the mage replied, “though I can’t imagine what good that would do.”

  “Just keep me covered with this veil,” Levi said, sliding away from the wall and padding a few paces into the room, close enough to reach out and grab Chuck’s pack. He moved slowly, deliberately, so as not to draw the notice of the lesser guardians or the gargantuan plant creature fixated on Ryder. He held his breath and unzipped the outermost pocket of Chuck’s pack. A small, uneven smile broke across his face when he saw what he’d been hoping for: a two-quart plastic squeeze bottle of campfire fluid and a half-full pack of Instant Ignite Fire Squares—little cubes of highly combustible compressed wood-chips, animal glue, and red phosphorus.

  He grabbed the bottle and the fire starters, silently set the pack back onto the ground, and retreated for the hallway. He didn’t have long now—Chuck was shrieking like an overgrown child and Ryder was howling in pain as the crab claws began to work on her.

  Levi ignored his inclination to respond in frenzied anger, knowing that to rush in was to doom them all to a gruesome end. Once back to the relative safety of the entryway, he uncapped the campfire fluid—not having fingers on his left hand made the deed tricky—then upturned the bottle, spraying its contents along both hands and arms, coating both limbs all the way up to the shoulder, then splashing the liquid onto his chest.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” Wilkie asked, voice borderline hysterical.

  “What needs to be done,” the Mudman replied, not relishing the thought of what was to come. His mind momentarily turned to his kiln and the agony of immersing his hands in the flame to purge.

  No, this was not going to be pleasant.

  Hopefully he’d survive it, but he wasn’t certain. Fire might bake clay or scorch the ground, he reasoned, but only exceptional heat could destroy a stone. If he channeled his ichor into his arms and chest, the fire would feed on his golden blood, hopefully leaving his body intact.

  Maybe.

  Though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel every terrible second.

  He shifted his fingerless left hand into a scythe blade, then pressed a clump of Fire Squares into the clay below his elbow. He clutched the rest o
f the Instant Ignitors into his right hand, curling a tight fist around them.

  “Once I have those things distracted,” he said, turning to the professor, “you need to get my friends.” He pointed toward a pickaxe, discarded on the floor. “Get that axe, cut ’em out of those cocoons, and run if you can. Don’t wait for me, don’t worry about me, don’t come back for me. Get ’em out, you understand?”

  The mage gulped and nodded, his whole body shaking. Ryder shrieked again, an inarticulate scream that rang off the walls.

  “Do it now,” Levi said. “Light me up, like a birthday candle.” His flabby muscles tensed in anticipation.

  The professor lifted unsteady hands into the air, muttering under his breath as his fingers danced back and forth. After a few uncertain moments, a small globe of fire, no larger than a Ping-Pong ball, hovered between his outstretched palms. With another whisper, the ball split into two smaller marbles of flame, which streaked left and right, straight toward the fire starters.

  The blaze took in an instant—wildfire in dry brush—the ignitors sparked with a blaze; bright orange and yellow flames raced outward, eating up the lighter fluid and biting down into Levi’s skin, consuming the life-giving ichor running below the surface.

  Levi roared as he charged into the room, breaking free from the illusion masking his presence. The agony was incredible, like being flayed alive, then dipping the wounds in a swarm of angry fire ants. The nerve endings in his skin popped and crackled, every second bringing a renewed wave of sensation.

  Being a Christian man, Levi believed in Hell—he even knew where the gates were located—but he’d never fully appreciated the idea of what it meant to be cast into the fiery pit. Forever burning, never extinguishing, never dying. He felt a wave of sympathy for all those poor souls—demons, murderers, child abusers, each of them—to know this was their fate. He pushed those thoughts away, though—this was the time for decisive action, not reflection.

  The pain was overwhelming, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that he would survive and even recover from this pain. While, if he failed, Ryder and Chuck would both perish, an irrevocable fate.

  So he focused on the fiery brand burning in his chest, reminding himself of his purpose and mission. Protect the least, defend those who cannot defend themselves, bring retribution for the slain. Whoever sheds human blood, by humans shall their blood be shed; for in the image of God has God made mankind. Perhaps these creatures didn’t deserve retribution, but at the very least, he could put them out of their misery as he’d done with the flesh golem.

  The lesser guardians converged on him, leaping through the air on powerful arachnoid legs, claws outthrust. Levi snatched up the first one midflight, his good hand wrapping around its serpentine neck. The fire crawling over his skin raged and spread onto the creature, the blaze feasting, trying to satiate its never-ending hunger. Leaves curled and blackened, flowers withered and drifted free, burning as they fell. He crushed the thing’s neck, assuming that’s what it was, goopy green blood bursting out and sizzling in the inferno’s heat.

  The creature struggled weakly against Levi’s death grip, clawed hands nipping at his chest and stomach.

  With a quick flick of his left arm, he sent the flaming scythe blade through the creature’s torso. Its bloated abdomen dropped to the ground with a plop, its legs twitching. He hurled the upper half of the creature’s smoking body at another of the lesser guardians, currently fighting to get close enough to inflict some hurt. The corpse bowled the creature over, leaving the monster to battle its way free from the tattered and charred remains of its compatriot.

  Another of the creatures landed on the Mudman’s back; lanky vines snaked around Levi’s barely-there throat, while its pincers sought to dig into his innards. He grabbed hold of the vines around his neck and dropped to a knee, arching his back, dragging the creature over his shoulders. It crashed onto the deck, multi-jointed legs waving frantically in the air. Levi pushed the limbs aside and sunk his hooked blade into its guts, then jerked back with a harsh tug. A long gash opened along the beast’s splotched belly while the fire wormed its way inside.

  Levi stood in a blur, then brought down a thick foot on a flowery head, smashing and crushing it until only pulpy mush remained. The fiery heat still roaring along his arms—now licking at his chest and neck—kept him from thinking. He was rage and hurt given form, an earthen avatar of white-hot vengeance. He twirled, lashing out with arms and legs, feet smashing into overextended limbs, broad knuckles battering heads, curved blade removing legs and arms wholesale—shwick, shwick, shwick—and the whole while, flame spread among the fallen. Flickering tongues of gold and red, lapping at anything that drew near.

  Bodies fell—the lesser guardians unable to stand against his blind fury and burning wrath—until only the hulking, hydra-headed monstrosity remained.

  Levi didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait to see if Professor Wilkie had ventured into the fray. He stormed onward like a linebacker going for the sack: head down, shoulders bowed, thick legs churning, a single target in view. The beast reared back, roaring, a score of spiked-legs raking at the air. The noise, issuing from every flower scattered throughout the room, was like the sound of a hurricane making landfall in some tropical jungle: all howling wind, sighing leaves, and the rustle of dense vegetation.

  The flower-hydra’s legs, ropy strands of vine covered in tearing thorns, lashed out, trying to keep the flaming Mudman at bay.

  Under other circumstances, this thing would’ve likely mopped the floor with Levi, but he had three things going in his favor. One, this creature had just seen Levi breeze through its lesser brethren in a blink, which had to leave at least a seed of fear lingering somewhere deep inside its mind, even if only subconsciously. Two, Levi was still burning bright as a small sun, even though his skin was drying out and cracking as the fire consumed the ichor which nourished him.

  And three, he had momentum.

  The hydra’s legs whacked into his ribs and shoulders, whipped at his back like a cat-o’-nine-tails—the barbed hooks tearing away ragged swaths of clay—seeking to dislodge him from his course. Assuming he survived this fight, which was no guarantee, it’d take days, maybe weeks, of intense care to mend fully. With that said, the screaming agony of the fire demanded his full attention, leaving no room to think or feel the wounds which might normally stop him cold. He tucked in tighter, ducked low, and lunged, driving his bulk into the temporarily exposed underside of the great beast.

  The creature dropped its weight and scampered back a step, clawed arms swatting at Levi, eager to push him away. The Mudman would have none of it. Instead he pushed through the tearing thorns, pressing ever inward, keeping inside its guard, limiting its ability to utilize its pincers. Levi pounded at its chest, his fiery fist an industrial-grade piston driving home punishing blow after punishing blow.

  The hydra, tough as old bricks, hardly noticed.

  Time to shift tactics.

  The Mudman brought his scythe back and slashed at any exposed skin he could find. The razor glanced off hardened vines and green armor as unyielding as steel. Even the flame covering his body seemed reluctant to bite into the creature, as if it were afraid the creature might bite back. Levi had no clue what this thing was, but he realized it was made of sterner stuff than the smaller guardians he’d dispatched a few moments ago. He also realized his chances of walking away intact and alive were diminishing by the second.

  Oddly, the thought of his imminent demise wasn’t troubling, it was appealing.

  Though he hunted monsters and murderers, he had no illusions about himself—he couldn’t read his own aura, but if he could he was sure it’d be black as the heart of the earth. He was a monster as surely as the things he killed, so it seemed proper somehow that he should die at the hands of something equally monsterish—an unwilling abomination not so different from himself. Die while doing something genuinely good. Saving someone else, someone who deserved saving.

  That w
as a death and fate he could be proud of in some small measure.

  What’s more, he also found himself glad he would die without ever discovering his origins or his ties to the wyrm god buried in this place. He’d always wanted to know the why and how underscoring his existence, but the deeper he dug, the more he wished this secret had stayed buried. Buried deep in the earth, in this ancient temple prison, where it belonged. Some things were better left unknown. In this case, better for his soul. It was with these thoughts that Levi fought, no longer striving to survive, only concerned with the survival of another.

  The creature bucked up once more, a forest of legs slamming into Levi’s face, hurling him to the floor.

  The Mudman pushed himself upright in time to see the colossal and bloated belly split down the middle as if a seam ran along the center. Whatever was happening wasn’t his doing.

  The split widened with a pop, pulling apart like the lips of a giant mouth. Ropes of piss-yellow slime, thick and viscous, dripped from cavernous jaws loaded with foot-long saw-bladed teeth which lead into an endless gullet. A forest of tentacles shot out, wrapping around Levi’s neck, chest, waist, and thighs, pulling at him as though he were some prized catch. Then, pressure bore down as the tentacles constricted, working around his limbs, yanking outward in an attempt to tear arms and legs from their sockets.

  Death, Levi thought again, is not so bad.

  Instead of resisting, fighting off the vines or seeking to slice his way free, he leapt forward, embracing his fate, hurling himself bodily into the thing’s stomach-mouth. The sudden lack of resistance caught the creature off guard—a child playing tug-of-war, only to find the tension in the rope vanish—which left Levi momentarily free to act. He forced his way past the teeth and into the maw, then slammed his scythe blade into the roof of the beast’s mouth, lodging himself firmly in place. He smiled the whole while, envisioning the hydra choking to death while the fire burned up the monster from the inside out.