Destroyer of Worlds

by Mark Chadbourn

  Shavi searched the surrounding buildings. ‘No sign of Mallory and Caitlin with the Extinction Shears or Hunter with the Two Keys.’

  Above the milling army, the air boiled, and amidst a thunderous sound of slamming doors that drowned out all other noise, Janus appeared. Floating in the air, he brandished the gold key, and from another door emerged a figure whose image eventually coalesced into that of a rotund oriental man at least ten feet tall, with a white moustache that drooped down to his feet. He was naked apart from a loincloth, but strands of human skulls hung down his body, clattering every time he shifted his bulk.

  ‘Who’s that git?’ Veitch asked.

  ‘His appearance suggests he is Yen-Lo-Wang, the Chinese god of death and ruler of the Fifth Level of Hell,’ Shavi replied. ‘A very powerful god, with an aptitude for tormenting souls.’

  As Yen-Lo-Wang raised his arms, the chaotic army became instantly silent and fell into step, as though he were a puppeteer pulling their strings. As one, the army turned to face Church and the others.

  ‘Ragnarok,’ Tom whispered. ‘This is it - all the prophecies lead here.’

  Shavi was distracted by the white stone flags of the arena. ‘Something is not quite right here.’ Deep in concentration, he caressed the flesh around his alien eye before he said, ‘Beneath the flagstones there is a force, like the Blue Fire, but opposite. Black as the flames on Veitch’s sword.’

  ‘The Libertarian calls it “the Bad Blood”,’ Veitch said uncomfortably.

  ‘It comes from the Void, like the Blue Fire comes from Existence. Normally there’s not much of it around, but it’s been getting stronger the closer the Void gets. You step anywhere near that, you’re dead.’

  ‘How are we going to get across there?’ Church said.

  ‘There is some kind of pattern,’ Shavi said hesitantly. ‘But I cannot see it.’

  The Army of the Void moved forwards.

  ‘Holy fucking shit,’ Veitch said. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘We fight,’ Church said.

  ‘I thought I had a bleedin’ death wish.’

  ‘I think I can beat you all on that front.’ Hunter was sitting on the edge of a balcony above them. Behind him, Laura stood sheepishly, with Miller and Jack hanging back where Hunter had ordered them to wait. ‘Come on, a little applause at the very least. I’ve fought my way through . . . ooh . . . thousands of these ne’er-do-wells. And I got the girl. That amounts to Epic Win in my book.’

  ‘Shut up and get down here,’ Veitch said. He nodded to Laura. ‘You better now?’

  ‘Better enough to give you a good kicking.’ She clambered down with Hunter close behind, and immediately gave Shavi a hug, and then, surprisingly, Veitch.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked, taken aback.

  ‘I thought you needed to know what a woman felt like. You know, final treat before you die.’

  Distracted and on the edge of sanity, Church said harshly, ‘We can trust you now?’

  Stung by his tone, she forced a grin. ‘Scout’s honour, Church-dude.’

  Slipping on the Balor Claw, Hunter turned towards the advancing army and pretended to count heads. ‘I’ll take the first hundred thousand. Split the rest up as you like.’

  ‘You people are going to die! What is wrong with you!’ Tom snapped, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.

  ‘You’re going to die too, old man,’ Laura replied.

  ‘I’m going to be running back through those corridors as fast as my arthritic knees will carry me while they’re turning you into mulch,’ Tom said.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Hunter said. ‘It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about dying in such a spectacular manner that it becomes high art.’

  ‘Actually, it is about winning for me,’ Veitch said.

  ‘Shut up!’ Church gritted his teeth and raised Caledfwlch over his shoulder. ‘And fight!’

  The tidal wave broke against them.

  Church fought like a fury with Veitch barely a foot from his side, one troubled eye always on his friend, noting with each passing moment how quickly Church was moving down the road towards becoming the Libertarian; it was etched in his face, in the brutality with which he despatched the Enemy, in his cold, unflinching focus.

  But soon both were left behind by Hunter, who moved through the ranks with the Balor Claw, bodies falling apart with every sweep of his hand; no one got near him.

  ‘Blimey, where can I get me one of them?’ Veitch shouted.

  ‘Sorry, one of a kind,’ Hunter responded. ‘Just like me.’ He moved with the easy grace of a fieldworker scything through long grass, but with every death his lips moved as he consigned the face to memory.

  ‘They’re too efficient,’ Veitch said. ‘It’s that bleedin’ god controlling them. They should be going crazy with us ploughing through them like this.’

  ‘Leave that to me.’ While the battle raged around her, Laura achieved a moment of absolute calm. Her attention focused on Yen-Lo-Wang floating above. The skulls hanging from him appeared to move with a life of their own as he controlled every thought of the advancing army and directed them towards one purpose: death.

  Plucking a seed from her pocket, Laura tossed it into the air. As it spun towards Yen-Lo-Wang, it sprouted shoots, its momentum increasing. Yen-Lo-Wang did not see it until the last. Inches from his face, a woody tendril burst forth and prised its way between his lips. An expression of surprise flourished on his face and then Laura let the Blue Fire rise up within her and shift through the spectrum towards green. Growing at an incredible rate, the tendril searched the intimate byways of Yen-Lo-Wang’s body, filling every space as it passed. When it reached its limit, Laura gave one burst of concentration and the tendril doubled in size. A loud PAK accompanied the explosion of Yen-Lo-Wang’s corporeal form.

  A wave of disorientation ran through the ocean of bodies. Church, Veitch and Hunter renewed their attack, so many dismembered corpses piled around them that they had built their own defences.

  ‘Nice one, darlin’,’ Veitch said, ‘but we’re only scratching the surface here.’ The glance he exchanged with Hunter expressed more clearly his fears that they would be overwhelmed in a very short time.

  Hunter brushed his forehead as his mind felt the gentle touch of his ‘brother’. ‘Cavalry’s coming. Maybe it’s not the Alamo after all.’

  From the rooftops, the Fomorii swarmed. Dropping into the arena, their gleaming black bodies snapped, shifted, mutated, sprouting wings, fangs, armour, razor-sharp cutting spikes, crab-like claws, barbed blades, hooked drills, crushing jaws. Efficient machines, they plunged into the middle of the packed bodies and were instantly lost in a whirl of activity that sent limbs and blood spraying high into the air.

  The utter confusion they caused was only the beginning. Close behind the Fomorii came the gods. Gleaming gold in the hellish gloom, the Tuatha Dé Danaan burst from doorways around the arena with Lugh at their head and set about the Enemy fiercely. Behind them were the others, wielding hammers, axes, spears, filled with the hopes of different cultures but all connected by the same threads of Blue Fire.

  Viracocha, burning like the sun come down to Earth. Ogoun, surrounded by the heat and smoke of a furnace as he wielded his machete. Benten, the sheer power of her beauty forcing the Enemy to lay down their arms. After a while, they became like flashes of light reflected off burnished metal, flitting through the darkness. Soon the Army of Dragons raced from the maze of corridors to join them, their power limited to the courage in their hearts, but no less for that.

  The blue light that surrounded the Brothers and Sister of Dragons dimmed as Church lowered Caledfwlch. Oblivious to the others around him, concentration turned his face to stone. An instant later he was looking at the churning army from the perspective of the Fabulous Beast, while at the same time facing the ranks of the brutish creatures struggling to get over the mound of bodies.

  Down he dived, swooping low over their heads, and then released a bla
st of purifying fire that gave him a shudder of pleasure. A smoking, blackened path scoured through the Enemy towards the Burning Man. As Church returned to his body, the Morvren flocked down to form a swirling black cloud around him, cawing and shrieking with voices that sounded almost human, and gleeful.

  Veitch was forced to back away a step. He eyed Tom and Shavi uneasily, and weighed his sword in his hands. Neither gave him the guidance he needed.

  Church’s angry voice broke through the deafening wings - ‘I can do anything!’ - and the birds rushed as one towards Janus. The god disappeared in the storm cloud and when the birds dissipated, he was gone.

  Veitch caught Church’s arm as he prepared to advance down the smouldering path. ‘You gotta watch out for the Black Fire, mate. One wrong step and it’s game over.’

  ‘When I was up there a minute ago I saw a pattern,’ Church replied. ‘We’ve had prophecies of this day tied up in the old stories for millennia, but there’s also been clues hidden in it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Spirals carved into rocks from Neolithic times. Spiral patterns in Celtic artwork. Their story of the spiral path as a journey through life. Those things were put there so we’d remember them, and think about their meaning. The Spiral Path marks how the Blue Fire runs in the land, but it’s also the way through the maze of Black Fire. Those clues were left for us to read now.’

  ‘Church, you have to prepare yourself for the possibility that Ruth may already be dead,’ Shavi said. ‘The Libertarian may be tricking you with hope.’

  Church glanced at Tom, who gave nothing away. ‘If she’s dead—’

  ‘If she’s dead and you let yourself become the Libertarian, you killed her.’ Laura caught his hand. ‘Don’t go down that road, Church-dude. You can fight it. That’s why you’re the big old chosen one, and not the rest of us losers.’

  Church turned and moved away along the Spiral Path before any of them had the chance to see if he had accepted Laura’s words.

  They followed him, as they always had, as they always would, cutting down any of the Enemy that attempted to impede their route. Around the arena they raced, always moving closer to the acrid smell of burning that was worse than any of the other fires raging across the Fortress.

  The feet of the Burning Man disappeared deep into an abyss separated by the bridge that ran between them. Beneath it a tunnel plunged, following the line of the bridge. Church knew he would have to descend into it even before he reached the yawning entrance. The vision he had received in the Forbidden City was as clear as if he had lived it: broken, on his knees before the Libertarian, in the dark beneath the arena with the abyss on either side and the legs of the Burning Man turning the cavern into hell. Despair gripped Church as he realised he couldn’t see any way that that future would not come to be.

  Steeling himself, he raced into the dark with the shrieks of the Morvren echoing in his ears.

  4

  Anxious, Hunter, Laura, Shavi and Veitch paused briefly at the entrance. Nearby, Tom held his head with both hands.

  ‘This is it,’ Hunter said. ‘We can’t hold back any longer. If it looks like he’s going to become the Libertarian, one of us has to stop him. And by that, you know what I mean.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Veitch said. ‘It’s my responsibility.’

  ‘You can’t,’ Laura said desperately. ‘He’s the king. That’s what you keep calling him. The king.’

  ‘Throughout history, when the land has to be saved or renewed, the king has to be sacrificed,’ Tom said.

  ‘Shut up, you old git!’ Laura glared at him.

  ‘I’m just saying. If you can find another alternative . . . If not . . .’ Tom looked to Veitch.

  A roar echoed above the clamour of battle. Shivering, Laura watched a figure silhouetted against the flames on one of the rooftops, part-beast, part-vegetation.

  ‘Oh God, he’s come for me,’ she whispered.

  Cernunnos, the Green Man, bounded into the throng. He was not alone. A flash, low and lean on the edge of vision, signalled the arrival of the Puck. A glimmer of blue light. A small figure, filled with a power that dwarfed the world.

  Time appeared to stand still. There was silence and a cold, cold wind as the Oldest Things in the Land drew rapidly closer, never in plain sight. And then Cernunnos was towering over Laura, and all she could see was his eyes filling her vision.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Do not be afraid, daughter,’ his voice boomed, ‘I harbour no ill feelings. You played your part well, and bore your own personal pain like a true Sister of Dragons.’

  A tear of relief sprang to Laura’s eye.

  Cernunnos turned to the others. ‘This road is nearly done, your parts played out. An end fast approaches, but its outcome is yet in doubt. Existence holds its breath, and here, in the heart of the final battle, all is still.’

  The shimmer of the Puck’s grin, there, then gone. ‘Fools and lovers, all. The clock has turned, the final moment beat. Stay your hands now. Only three - that magic number - can stand.’

  Cernunnos towered over Veitch. ‘You have learned of death, Brother of Dragons. That was your role. Go now, and put into practice all that you know.’

  Veitch nodded, and raced into the dark after Church.

  ‘Lovers,’ the Puck added in a quiet, enigmatic tone, ‘and fools.’

  5

  It was dank and dark for the first section of the tunnel, but eventually it opened out onto a broad stone bridge framed by the glare of the Burning Man, whose arms reached down into the abyss on either side. When Church glanced over the edge, it was impossible to see more than a few feet into the darkness, as though some quality of the place was draining the light away. The strip of rock overhead appeared to be pressing down upon him, adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere. Torches flickered all around in the gulf.

  Caledfwlch’s flames danced as Church advanced across the bridge, but even the blade’s light was dimmed.

  This is where it all happens, Church thought. Be ready now.

  Red eyes glimmered in the gloom ahead and he realised the Libertarian was there.

  ‘Where’s Ruth?’ he said.

  ‘Why do you care?’ the Libertarian mocked. ‘She’s moved away from you. She’s with me now. Which is you. Oh, what a strange and sweet paradox. If she’s attracted to you, she’d be secretly attracted to me. I don’t know why you never thought of that.’

  ‘Ruth’s stronger than me . . . and you. Whatever she might feel for us, she’d walk away rather than pick the wrong side. She’d sooner see us both dead and suffer a broken heart.’

  ‘I love it!’ the Libertarian exclaimed. ‘The romanticism! A broken heart! It’s like listening to yourself as a child. All that innocence. All that ignorance.’

  Ruth was nowhere to be seen, but Church knew she had to be close at hand.

  ‘You see, both you and the lovely Ruth have been on a learning journey,’ the Libertarian continued. ‘She has seen the real you, not the good, decent, pure-hearted hero that legend would have us believe in. Within you lurks the seed of me. And without that knowledge she would not have been so easily turned.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The Libertarian gestured flamboyantly. Behind Church, at the entrance to the bridge, Ruth stood, in the tight-fitting black outfit that Niamh had once worn. Consumed by the power of the Craft, bolts of energy crackled around her as she floated inches above the floor, her eyes on fire.

  ‘She’s mine now,’ the Libertarian said. ‘The only way you can get her back is by becoming me. You see, even though I’ve moved on, I still understand the human heart, and its many, many weaknesses. Despite all the battles and the great adventures, that, in essence, is what it’s all been about: love. It means more to humans than saving the world. It means everything.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ Church said. ‘It really does mean everything. That’s what you don’t get.’

  The Libertarian laughed. �
�Still playing the innocent, with your syrupy philosophies. Life has harder edges than that.’

  Church looked from Ruth to the Libertarian, weighing whether he could reach either one before he was struck down.

  ‘This moment, right at the end of time, is fluid,’ the Libertarian said. ‘It will already be deviating from the vision you had in the Forbidden City because your knowledge of your destiny now alters your choices, but without changing the outcome. You were never up to doing what needed to be done to prevent me coming into being. Because of love.’ His words dripped contempt. ‘You’ve reached the end of the pattern and found that it’s a maze that always leads back on itself. The only way to prevent me defeating you is to kill Ruth, and then kill me. Ruth is my Key. The key to your heart, your hopes. When I toss your bleeding body into the flames of the Burning Man, it is her power that will help you be reborn as me. Kill her, and end this now.’