Adrenaline tapered off and pain radiated from everywhere; most notably, my lacerated shoulder and my abdomen that left like it was getting tenderized by a spiked mallet. My arms grew heavy from fighting its superior strength. It growled and hissed at me madly, sending heated breaths that carried spittle on my face.
So foul was its breath that I couldn’t even begin to describe it; somewhere between rotten meat and ammonia.
Panic coursed through me when my arms buckled from the strain, putting its teeth inches from my face. There couldn’t be any other situation where I was more royally screwed.
Screwed? Son of a bitch.
I gritted my teeth and mustered what little strength I had and managed to give myself a few extra inches to work with. Supporting most of the weight with my left, I pushed. Drawing the screwdriver from my pocket at the same time, I drove it deep into the abomination’s eye.
Viscus black blood streamed onto my arm and face before the monster snapped its head back to screech. I leaned up and punched the bottom of the screwdriver, driving the flathead home with a loud, sickening crunch. The screech cut off abruptly, then it slumped over me, dead.
I slipped out from underneath the heavy mass and rolled off the table, falling gracelessly to the floor. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling until my breathing settled. Everything throbbed. As I tried to sit up, my abdomen sent waves of pain through my body. Once the swell died down, I sneaked a peak at my stomach. Soaking right through my white Ramones shirt were four holes with accompanying rings of blood around each. Not a pretty sight, and it hurt tremendously, but blood wasn’t coming out of me like a leaky faucet.
I fought against the pain and used the table leg to climb up. I might have a damn good excuse to be bellyaching, but I can’t waste my time bitching. Heart’s still beating and I have to move to keep it that way.
I stumbled and had to catch myself on the table and wait for the room to steady. I’m ninety-percent sure I had a concussion. Things spilled from my backpack from moving, then I remembered the swipe. I worked the sack off my shoulders and saw a massive rip that cut through almost all the pockets; had that claw met my bare flesh, well, let’s just say a little brain swelling isn't so bad. I ditched the tattered bag and started walking.
As far as I could tell, the library was deserted. The others had to have gotten out by now. Just had to catch up now and get out. The university was huge, especially the library, but at this point, it was suffocating.
Caroline.
As I limped past the reference desk, I heard a loud crash and a yell—from a person, a woman. I stood, actively listening as silence filled the space.
Nothing. The only sound in the stillness was my own raspy breathing. Things were still fuzzy on my peripherals, so I must’ve imagined it.
I took another step forward and heard the groan of wood and another faint sound. Nothing but books for days and the odd studying table every so often, along with the occasional podium display; otherwise, completely abandoned.
I turned to leave when the wall behind me erupted, sending debris and loose books everywhere. I fell onto my butt and stared at the massive hole in the reference section.
Further ahead from the hole was a path of destruction that obliterated several tables, low bookshelves, and two podium pieces. Amidst the debris was a dark man bearing an ensemble straight from the Middle Ages. Matte-steel scale armor edged with gold covered his torso, a pauldron protected a majority of his right shoulder and neck, and steel gauntlets gloved his hands. Lying further away from him imbedded in the floor was a hefty claymore.
My attention snapped back to the hole where another figure flew through and tumbled across the floor a couple times before they settled onto their feet at the ready. A woman.
She was tall and blonde, dressed similarly like the man, whom was rising from the rubble. Her hair was cropped short, stopping a little above her neck. She had razor-sharp features that complimented her equally sharp, mint-green eyes. Powerful curves graced her well-proportioned form. Pretty wouldn’t be appropriate because her features were far too fierce to be delicate in the slightest, but she was incredibly handsome, despite the murderous scowl.
Instead of scale armor, she wore tight fitting leather armor that revealed her trim figure. The only metal armor being on her shoulders, forearms, shins, and faulds that hung around her hips like a skirt, all silver and trimmed with gold. In her hand was a miniature crossbow, at her hips were a sheathed dagger and a pouch of short bolts, and on her back was a full-sized bow along with a quiver of arrows.
Her attention fixed to the hole, she aimed her crossbow and fired. The bolt flew off into the hole, and then she cursed under her breath while loading another bolt.
A figure stepped through the wreckage, and my breathing stopped; another black-cloaked figure. He looked to be a man of moderate build, about six feet, and though his hood hid most of his head, I was able to see a portion of his face. His skin was pale, so pale that it almost looked white, but the most alarming were his eyes: piercing blue irises set in black sclera. The thing that stood before the two strange characters looked like a man, but I knew it was anything but.
The blonde shot off another bolt at the figure only for it to be slashed out of the air with his curved dagger. Before she could load, the cloaked man charged. She parried the dagger with her crossbow, sending it flying out of her hands, then drew her own dagger to guard his follow up strike.
Steel clashed, sparks flew, and the blonde was thrown off balance. A kick in her stomach sent her flying back into a bookcase. Pasty-face followed through with his kick to avoid four feet of steel.
The armored man tackled him with his shoulder just as the blonde rushed back into the fray with her dagger held low. The cloaked man recovered from the tackle and parried the armored man’s sword with the dagger in his right and caught the blonde’s wrist before she could sink into his into his flank. With expert maneuvering, he toppled the big man by throwing his weight backwards and tripping him with his foot, and then leveraged the blonde’s dagger by a violent twist of her wrist. Her cry was choked off when Pasty-face seized her by the throat and hurled her bodily towards me.
I held out my arms to catch her, but grossly misjudged the force traveling behind her. She slammed into me like a linebacker and we both crashed into the floor. She let out a weak groan and I bit my lip in an effort not to cry.
“You okay?” I managed in a croak.
The blonde sat up abruptly and looked over her shoulder at me. She growled and pushed off my stomach, prompting another wave of agony, diving back into the fight.
“Bitch,” I groaned.
The big man needed all the help he could get. Even though he had a clear size and reach advantage, he struggled against the cloaked man, who danced around like a feather weight.
The blonde slid on the ground to slash at the cloaked man’s knees, but he jumped over her and cracked his elbow across the big guy’s jaw, causing him to stagger. She pivoted on her heel while still low to the ground and sent up a kick, which the cloaked man caught. She pressed herself up from the ground using the cloaked man’s grip as a pivot point and swing her other leg at his head.
He swayed back and used his momentum to throw the girl over and behind him. She flew through the air and crashed into the filing cabinet behind the reference desk. She landed on the ground with a hard thump, and then the filing cabinet teetered forward and fell on top of her.
The knight recovered from his hit and bellowed a war cry while he charged at the cloaked man. He swung his sword high over his head to cleave his enemy, but instead of committing to the swing, he stepped forward with a blinding step and slammed his pommel into the other’s face.
Black blood erupted from Pasty-face’s nose while he staggered back. He lashed out with a swipe only for it to be parried off to the side. Big man stepped in again and delivered a head butt to the already crushed nose, almost caving in the face this time. Once the cloaked man was sufficiently daze
d, the big man skewered him on his claymore. The cloaked man dropped to his knees and stared up at his slayer. The big man met his gaze with a nasty grimace then promptly twisted his handle, making a sickening crunch as it rended flesh and snapped ribs. He kicked the man off of his sword, and then swung it onto his shoulder, standing victoriously over the corpse.
His head turned and his eyes met mine. The bloodied knight was intimidating, not just for his stature, but his hardened expression and dark skin made his face looked like it was chiseled from solid granite. His eyes were similar in that regard, like two brown, polished smoky quartz stones.
He stared at me for a silent moment, then took a hulking step forward, followed by another. Panic coursed through me and I struggled to rise. I just realized that a man clad in heavy armor carrying a sword straight out of Game of Thrones was not normal and he could pose the same danger as those eldritch horrors lurking around.
Just as I managed to stand, he veered off to my left and picked up the miniature crossbow that was knocked from the blonde’s hands earlier. He walked a few paces further and stopped in front of the reference desk.
“If you’re not dead, get up,” he said in a deep, commanding voice.
Pasty definitely had to be inhuman with how he moved and managed to throw her some fifteen feet. Something may be broken, she may even be dead. To my surprise, a weak groan was heard, followed by the sound of the filing cabinet shifting.
She clambered to her feet with her back and shoulders slouched. She rolled her shoulder back and pushed her chest out until something popped. She cocked her head to the side until she got another pop. “Dead?” she asked.
“Aye.”
She hacked some blood from her mouth in the corpse’s direction. “Rot in the shadows.”
“Aye.” He chucked the crossbow to her and she caught it.
The blonde hopped over the circulation desk and rolled her other shoulder. “Where’d Neepa go?”
“I lost her in the commotion of the battle; this archive is like a labyrinth.” His eyes roamed over his surroundings before settling on me again. I tensed as his eyes lingered on me, but then he dismissed me shortly after.
“Let’s go before we run into any corruptions,” the blonde said. The big man nodded and they began walking off.
“Hey!” I shouted. They both stopped and turned, either having a dubious face. Mr. Swole-as-shit looked at me indifferently while Legally Blonde glowered. “Who the actual fuck are you two?” I demanded.
“This doesn’t concern you, native,” she spat.
“Damn right it does,” I spat back. “I almost got killed by a fucking monster. Cloaked men with daggers, nightmarish monsters, knights in armor; I’m seeing some fucking parallels here! What the hell is going on?”
“You’re wasting our time,” the blonde denounced. “Now go off and cower like the rest of you natives.”
I stomped over to them, undeterred. “What. The. Fuck. Is happening?”
She opened her mouth but was hushed by the big man putting up his hand. “This is beyond you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Go and seek refuge while you can.”
“Wha—you can’t give something cryptic and then tell me to go fuck off! What’s happening?” I demanded again.
“How about this,” the blonde proposed, “I’ll answer your question if you can answer mine. Where are your relics of power?”
“Reli… Da fuck?”
She plastered on a faux smile. “Hmm, see? Wasting our time.” The glower returned on her face just before she turned heel and left, her companion following.
Overwhelmed in confusion, I watched them walked away. Annoyed, and with a furious shake of my head, I stormed up to her side and seized her wrist.
“Listen here––” I started before she promptly grabbed my throat and slammed me into a nearby stack, knocking books from their spots. I prided myself in being strong from having a laborious life, but none of that strength seemed to matter in this woman’s presence. Her hand felt a few pounds shy of crushing my trachea.
“You listen,” she commanded, her calloused hand tightening. “As Iason gracefully put, it’s beyond you. You have no hand in our works.” She released her grip and I stumbled to the floor coughing. “Let’s go.”
She turned and continued on her way. Iason looked down and gave me a nod before following suit. They disappeared around the corner and it was just me again, slumped against a library stack with a bruised neck to add to the laundry list.
I dragged a hand over my face and absorbed what just happened. My eyes wandered up a clock built into the wall and I stared at hard, looking for any abnormalities. The second hand ticked in a steady manner, the numbers were arranged in their usual order, and nothing changed when I blinked. Not caught up in a dream.
I gave my cheek a final pinch then got up.
My total attention went to navigating library, to push that daunting exchange behind and to ensure I wouldn’t walk into another monster. I haven’t seen the two strange knight-looking characters; not sure if that’s good or bad. They raised the level of bat-shit crazy going on tenfold and I had so many questions, but they weren’t going to come from them.
‘Native?’ What the hell did she mean by that? ‘This is beyond you.’ What the hell is ‘this’ suppose to be? All the insanity was giving me vertigo. Or it’s portably the concussion.
I need to find the courtyard window.
I exited the mass of stacks and wandered onto the open floor in front of the circulation desk. This was the central hub of the library. Over a hundred year’s worth of history surrounded the area in the trophy cases: plaques of academic excellence for classes decades ago; junior photos of famous business men and women, some still around and some long since passed, and gifts and donations from various alumni. Standing here and staring at Melchizedek’s flag with the U.S. flag always gave me a flashback to the first tour, back to when I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life.
Now, of course, that was obvious: don’t die.
I started down the way that would lead to the study area when footsteps were heard approaching.
I scrambled between two stacks that would put me out of sight, but I felt really vulnerable. Should’ve dove behind the circulation desk. My heart hammered in my ears while I waited, listening to the footsteps coming out into the open. They sounded firm and evenly spaced, not like that of the monsters. The steps stopped in front of the desk, and then continued away from me and towards the rows of trophy cases on the far side.
Anxiety set its hands on my back and I broke out in a cold sweat. Something about the steps didn’t sit right with me; too steady, too calm, as if they were completely oblivious to what was going on. Or didn't seem to care.
I risked a peek around the bookcase to see who it was.
The fuck?
I had to blink my eyes several times to verify what I was looking at. I saw the familiar curvature a woman’s figure unearth a midnight-blue cloak with long black hair underneath a witches’ hat. I'm not a hat expert, but that was exactly what it was. It had a big round brim and a long conical top that tapered into a fine point that drooped to one side. The hat looked like it came from a costume shop.
I pinched my cheek again and felt for any numbness in my arms. Nope, didn’t have a stroke and wasn’t dreaming.
The witch was peering intently into the case and went from one side to the other. She dangled what looked like a pendant from a chain in front of the glass. I thought it was a trick of the lights initially, but when I focused more on the pendant, I realized that it was emitting a pulsing, golden glow. It maintained a constant luminescence that would flare up for a moment before dying down. She went from left to right, then hung the pendant to the lower shelf and went all the way back to the left. She repeated the process until she was squatting in front of the lowest shelf. She hung her head low and let out a small whine.
“Oh, where is it?” she asked aloud with a voice like a bell. She turn
ed and I ducked back behind the stack while she took a few steps. “It’s here, but where? Maybe there?” she said, walking towards the trophy case on the opposite side.
I slowly rose to my feet and pressed myself against the bookcase. She would see me clearly once she passed. She’s definitely not from around here and there’s no telling what her deal was.
I waited until she was a couple steps away and then pounced from hiding. She let out a surprised yelp when I drove her into the ground and pinned her arm into the small of her back.
“Who are you?” I asked, pressing her head to the ground. I was expecting either a strong silence or a threat, but instead I heard sobbing.
“P-please don’t… don’t hurt me,” she begged in broken cries.
Guilt ran through me like a chill while I sat atop a woman like a predator. I didn’t feel resistance under me, only the resulting tremor of her terror.
“I, uh….”
“Please, I, hic, I don’t want to, hic, please!” she sobbed.
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, just… please stop crying. You’re making me really uncomfortable.”
She stifled her sobs and looked at me from the corner of her eye. “You’re not?”
“Depends. Are you going to hurt me?”
She gave me a slight shake of her head. I released her and stepped a safe distance away. She sat up and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, watching me keenly.
I looked down at her a thought, Wow. Her eyes were big and honey-brown, set into a flawless face with skin smooth like fine porcelain doll. She had an oval-shaped face with high cheekbones and a cute little chin. Everything south was impressive: well-endowed and perky in the chest with generous padding on the hips. It was like staring at a supermodel in her Halloween costume who was crying because some asshole managed to upset her.
Heart of the Resonant: Book 1: Pulse (Resonant Series) Page 5
