MudMan (The Golem Chronicles Book 1)

by James Hunter

  Behind them, chained to the wall near the altar, was Professor Wilkie. His hands were stretched taut above his head, his eyes were almost entirely swollen shut, and his breathing was irregular and ragged.

  Bad news, all around.

  The Mudman glanced down at a watch he’d donned just for this occasion. 1:06 AM They had minutes before the shaman would carve into Ryder, complete the ancient ritual, and bring a dusty old god back into the world of men once more.

  The brand in his chest thrummed with fire and fury, sending a surge of raw adrenaline blasting into his limbs, urging him to action, spurring him to cave in heads and pull the shaman’s limbs from their sockets.

  Sadly, between Levi and Ryder lurked a legion of filthy blue-skinned Kobos—sixty or seventy strong, at least—ready to brawl.

  Most sported only soiled loincloths, but a few were clad in crude armor cobbled together from hubcaps or grocery carts or corrugated metal siding. Each held a weapon, be it a broken beer bottle or a club studded with rusted nails, or, in one case, a horse’s jawbone. The blue-skinned creatures watched on with bewildered expressions; they’d been expecting Levi, no doubt, but no one could’ve ever prepared for Levi’s reinforcements. A sharp, whip-crack command from the shaman stole away the bewildered looks in a flash and sent the Kobocks rushing forward in a charge of manic fear and killing rage.

  Levi’s own forces sprinted across the open space, the geriatric trolls in the lead, long legs devouring the distance, while the halfies spread out to either side, like a defensive football line going in for the block.

  A boom shook the walls as the two sides collided together in a mash of meat and muscle. The front line Kobocks slammed into the trolls and halfies, throwing themselves in with reckless abandon: rotten teeth bit down, bottles lashed out, claws dug into exposed skin. The trolls held the line, however, and gave as good as they got: wicked talons carving channels in unprotected flesh or snapping overextended arms in sickening pops loud as gunfire.

  The brutish trolls fought with a strength and viciousness Levi wouldn’t have guessed at, and the halfies weren’t half bad either, especially for a bunch of junkies. The halfies fought as if they didn’t feel pain—which might have been true—switchblades flashing out, rusty chains whirling, lead pipes cracking skulls. One halfie, his hide the slick green of a toad, used his acid covered tongue, long as a bull whip, to scorch any Kobo that tried to break through the ranks.

  As much as Levi wanted to wade in, smashing and killing, this wasn’t his fight. The reinforcements would deal with the Kobocks, and Chuck would help Ryder and stop the shaman. That thought gave him pause—after all, if Chuck screwed this up they could all be dead before the sun rose on a new day.

  But the plan was the plan. What was the point of coming up with a plan at all if Levi didn’t follow it?

  The reinforcements for the Kobos. Check. Chuck for Ryder. Check. His job was to find Hogg and end him, since he was the brain behind all this …

  Still, much as he needed to move on, he couldn’t pass up such a great opportunity—all those Kobocks bunched together, practically begging to be obliterated. He planted his feet and snarled as he launched the boulder in his right hand, arching the four-hundred-pound stone over the front line and into the Kobock reserves. Four Kobos, maneuvering around the side, shrieked and howled as his hailstone of Judgment bowled into them: bones snapped and bodies exploded in a gush of sickly fluids.

  Satisfaction welled up inside the Mudman, his bloodlust taking hold.

  Hogg, he reminded himself, Hogg was his target, not these sniveling monsters.

  But it felt perversely good to end them.

  Surely a little more assistance for his team wouldn’t go amiss. He dug both hands into his middle, ripping free a clay pot from either love-handle. He could feel the ichor inside the pots as though it were a part of him—stone called to stone, and ichor to ichor—waiting patiently to be commanded and used. He hurled the first pot, aiming for a group of Kobos working to flank the right side of the halfie defensive line.

  The pot, a brilliant cobalt blue with splotches of green, exploded inches above their heads. With an effort of Levi’s will, the ichor transmuted, blasting out in a fine mist of glassy powder, which blinded eyes and flayed skin with equal ease. The creatures shrieked, breathing in huge lungfuls of the stuff, before dropping. They clutched at their throats, now ruined by glass particles that shredded esophagi and gnawed at their frail lung tissue.

  He hurled the pot in his left hand—a rust-red piece with a crackle finish—zeroing in on the filthy shaman behind the stone table, holding Ryder captive. At the last minute the pot burst, the ichor flowing and shifting into a hail of obsidian arrows. The shaman, lightning quick for such a decrepit creature, had his ceremonial knife out and moving in a blur. In one quick, clean, economical motion, he slashed his opposite forearm and twirled the knife’s edge—fat droplets of blood flew into the air.

  A flare of light followed as Levi’s earthen quills smashed against a wavering crimson barrier that stretched out before the shaman. Blood magic.

  Levi ground his teeth in frustration and reached for another pot, ready to wage war against the evil priest—

  An explosion of emerald light drew his eye back to the battlefield. The trolls and halfies were falling back now, step by step, but it no longer mattered because the leprechaun leg-breakers had finally entered the fray. They’d disappeared after entering the warehouse—leprechauns were gifted illusionists, one and all—and used their diminutive stature to wriggle amongst the Kobock ranks. Now, however, the leprechauns were out in the open, breaking kneecaps, wrists, or elbows indiscriminately with their black shillelaghs.

  The shifty little men didn’t stop there, though.

  They moved like a grease fire: fast and unpredictable. They’d be kneecapping an adversary one moment and the next, they’d be gone, phasing out of sight with a pop of emerald light, only to reappear behind their enemies. They dangled from Kobo backs like parasites while they used thin garrotes of gold—magical choke chains—to cut shallow grooves into Kobock throats. A few of the Leps worked in pairs, one blinding an opponent with a blast of swirling golden powder, not unlike the glass bomb Levi had deployed a moment before, while the other caved in their victim’s skull.

  Even though Levi’s forces were terribly outnumbered, two or three to one, the leprechauns seemed unstoppable—

  A bellowing roar as loud as a semi-truck’s horn split the air as four Thursrs stormed in from an exit on the left side of the warehouse. Their heavy footfalls rattled the walls as the beasts smashed into a pair of halfies on the left side of the line. The halfies—one, a paunchy beast with webbed hands and protruding eyes, the other, a thick-armed, scaled-covered man with Trog blood clearly in his veins—didn’t stand a chance. They fell before rending tusks and smashing fists.

  Hogg, Levi reminded himself again.

  As tough as the leprechaun crew was, they’d have their hands full with those Thursrs. He hesitated only a moment before grabbing another pair of pot-grenades from his center. The first he fast-balled at the Thursrs still entangled with the halfies. Trying to kill four of their ilk outright would be no easy thing, so instead he’d aimed the pot at the floor near their feet. The clay shattered, the noise lost in the din of battle, and the Dread Trolls didn’t even notice the ichor creeping and spreading outward in a puddle.

  They did notice when the ground shuddered and shifted beneath them, the floor liquefying into a knee-deep pool of sludgy black tar. It wouldn’t kill them, but it might halt their progress long enough for the leprechauns to do something more permanent. Levi couldn’t tarry any longer; he needed to find Hogg, and it was a safe guess that Hogg had sent the Thursrs in. He broke into a lumbering run, angling away from the action and toward the exit the Dread Trolls had come from.

  As the Mudman ran, he took the clay pot still in his hand and smashed it into his head, the ichor washing over him in a spray of gold and running down his chest, ar
ms, and legs. Then he shifted, his body tightening in some places and swelling in others: bristly white fur sprouted from his skin, wicked claws jutted from his fingers, and boar-like tusks shot out from his lower lip. Levi could transform his whole body at will, but the forms he was most accustomed to were the easiest to manifest and maintain. He’d never been a Thursr before, but with the added boost from the ichor, he could manage the change.

  This new body was uncomfortable and ungainly, though, the proportions not quite right. But he wouldn’t need to hold the disguise for long. Unlike in books or movies, Levi had no intention of bantering with Hogg: he intended only to kill him as swiftly and painfully as possible. With this rudimentary camouflage in place, Levi hoped to sneak close and strike before the mad doctor ever saw a thing coming.

  Back turned on the epic fight, he pushed his way through the exit door and into whatever lay beyond.

  THIRTY:

  Manacles

  A small room, devoid of people, with a stairway leading up to the second floor waited for Levi. The first thing the Mudman noticed was the water coating the ground in a shallow pool and misting down from above, courtesy of the sprinkler system overhead. The next thing he noticed was the overwhelming stench of Thursr—wild musk mingling with old meat and voided bowels—which wafted through the air, permeating everything. The stink was far more potent than a single Dread Troll could account for. Even the four he’d seen out front couldn’t explain this level of reek.

  Something wasn’t right here. He’d made a mistake.

  He saw no opposition, but his senses were screaming a warning at him. He skidded to a stuttering halt, his unfamiliar legs failing to cooperate, then backtracked toward the door while he reached into the floor with his earth sense. He couldn’t feel a thing, not with the water coating the cement underfoot. Hogg had said there was a trap lying in wait, and Levi had, perhaps foolishly, assumed it to be the army of Kobocks. His shoulder blades brushed the door behind him. Locked. He spun around raising massive fists to bash his way free—

  Something—he couldn’t see what—collided into his center, pushing him further into the room. The gamey scent of Thursr was far stronger now, like a mule kick to the teeth, so it wasn’t hard to guess what was attacking him, even if he couldn’t see his opponent. The Mudman managed to keep his feet, though barely, and flailed his arms, hammering at his unseen enemy, landing a few glancing blows, but nothing substantial.

  Surprisingly, the creature clinging to his middle didn’t resist, didn’t hit or kick back. Instead it clung to him like a tumor, hanging on despite Levi’s best attempts to shake him. A moment later a second invisible foe smashed into Levi’s shoulders—thick, bristly arms wrapping around Levi’s biceps in a bear hug that restricted his movements.

  Another beast joined the fray, hammering into one of Levi’s knees, which immediately gave out under the pressure. The Mudman teetered, body unsure which way to fall, before the press of hairy, smelly bodies finally brought him crashing to the floor with a thud and a splash. He lay face-down, struggling to pull his nose and mouth from the pooling water spreading throughout the room. The water wasn’t deep, only a few inches, but when lying face-down, even a few inches could be enough to drown a man—or a monster, in Levi’s case.

  He fought off panic, trying to slow his thudding heartbeat, which raced along like a horse at the track. He continued to fight, to struggle against the creatures pinning him down, but the water robbed the strength from his limbs even while stealing his breath.

  More bodies piled on, the weight crushing Levi into the ground, his fitful struggles completely useless. He could no longer maintain his Thursr disguise—his focus slipped away like water down a stream, and his body reverted to its true form. Not that the disguise had done a lick of good anyway. Hogg had clearly been ready for Levi’s trickery. Still the Mudman fought, bucking his hips, wiggling his legs, biceps straining against the colossal mass bearing down on him.

  Useless. Completely useless.

  More clawed hands joined the tangle of limbs and bodies, stretching out his arms and legs as though they intended to crucify him—which might’ve been the case considering what Hogg and company had done to Professor Wilkie’s research assistant out in the Sprawl.

  But no, that couldn’t be it. They were going to great lengths to restrain Levi without actually hurting him.

  “The shackles, you morons!” Hogg hollered from the staircase. “Get the shackles on him.”

  The rattle and rasp of metallic links drifted to Levi’s ears, sending renewed waves of dread coursing through him. Levi strained, muscles bulging, mouth a rictus as he tried to pull his hands and feet free, refusing to give up no matter how hopeless this situation appeared.

  Something cold slipped around his right wrist and clamped down with a click. Another slipped around his left hand. Then around his right ankle. His left. Thick steel manacles bit into his skin, digging in deeper with every second, as if the cuffs were constricting boas.

  “Enough!” the doctor hollered. “Off him now! Now! Before you buffoons damage him further.”

  And suddenly the pressure disappeared, the Thursrs pulling away at Hogg’s command, leaving Levi free. With a grumble the Mudman pushed himself onto all fours, then, with a heave, he struggled to his feet. He eyed the shackles on his wrists and ankles as he got his balance. Thick cuffs of dull-gray metal encircled each limb. They didn’t seem of immediate concern since they did nothing to restrict his movements or impede him in any discernable way.

  So instead he focused his attention on the Thursrs—once invisible but now plain as the nose on his face—lurking around the room, their hackles raised, lips pulled back in snarls as their beady eyes traced Levi’s movements. He counted five, and each wore a silver necklace with a blue sapphire, big as an egg, which glimmered with arcane power. Some sort of technomancy, which, Levi assumed, granted them the power of invisibility.

  No matter. Levi couldn’t care less about them, he only had eyes for the portly doctor loitering on the stairs. Even with the ichor bombs, Levi wasn’t sure he could beat five Dread Trolls, but he didn’t need to. He just needed to survive them long enough to kill Hogg.

  “Welcome home,” the doctor said with an oily smile. “My prodigal child, returned to the fold after all these years.”

  Levi didn’t waste a breath on chitchat. He broke into a heavy-footed sprint—bound on a crash course with Hogg, and anything that got in his way be damned. The Thursrs tensed, but made no move to stop Levi’s imminent assault. All the better.

  “Stop moving. Now,” Hogg said, his tone casual and unconcerned.

  Like Levi would listened to this murdering monst—

  Hogg jabbed at something in his hand, pudgy thumb pressing what looked like a key fob for a car.

  Pain exploded in Levi’s wrists and ankles and once more he found himself dropping to the floor, his body convulsing and jerking, jaws chattering while his body flopped and flailed in the tepid water. The manacles. They stabbed into his doughy clay: a ring of spikes, pencil thin and cold as dry ice, had exploded inward like a bear trap clamping down on some witless animal. The Mudman howled, not just because of the spikes, but because his blood, his ichor, burned like the surface of the sun. The pain he’d felt during his fire baptism in the heart of the Atlantean temple was the closest, comparable experience.

  Except then, the fire had been running over his outsides, melting his flesh and muscle, while this flame sprinted along his veins, stabbing every nerve ending in passing.

  “I’ve been hanging onto those for a long, long time,” Hogg said, indifferent to Levi’s suffering. “Fae workmanship, acid etched with runes of power and transmuted by dark alchemy. I built those over sixty years ago, crafted specifically to control you. I always intended to free my Master Cain, of course, but I wanted a little insurance that he would remain as loyal to me as I have to him. No honor among thieves, so always have a backup plan, I say.”

  He held the small black
remote and thumbed a red button. The spikes withdrew and took the murderous pain with them.

  “Like a choke chain, so I can train you properly. You will obey my every instruction, or you will know unending pain. The presence of the spikes creates an enzyme-catalyzed reaction, which agitates your ichor, causing it to shift uncontrollably through transmutation after transmutation. The process prevents transformation and healing. And, as a secondary benefit, it’s also terribly painful.” His cold gaze swept over the Thursrs milling about. “I have this well in hand now. Go, all of you. Crush our opposition and you will be richly rewarded. Money, food, women. There are many seats at the table in the new order we will usher in tonight.”

  A Thursr, even more massive than the rest, bowed his head and saluted, fist to chest, then wheeled around and slammed his way through the connecting doorway, which let out into the fray. Screams, shrieks, and the plaintive wail of the dying drifted through the temporarily open door. Doctor Hogg watched them go, a cruel smile gracing his lips, then glanced down at a watch on his wrist.

  For the first time in his long life, Levi felt utterly defeated. “How did you know I would come for you instead of the girl?” he asked from the floor, water lapping at his hands and knees.

  “Because, Golem,” he replied with a sneer, “I know you. Perhaps in that crude brain of yours you’ve convinced yourself that you came to rescue the girl, but the fact that you chose to hunt me over saving her shows the true intentionality of your twisted heart. You’re a creature of rage and hate and murder, nothing more and nothing less. I knew that. Just as I knew you would have an aversion and weakness to water. Despite your interference”—he stole another look at his watch—“my shaman will complete the ritual any moment and my master will arrive. And, to top it all off, I’ve recaptured a priceless piece of property. What a night. Come,” he commanded, “there’s still time to witness my victory. Upstairs now.”