Rise Of The Soulless

by Erik Lynd

  He didn’t have time, however, for sport. He had a job here and time was of the essence. As much as Christopher sympathized with the Weapon, saving lives was still more important. For the moment anyway. They could feast on damnation later, starting with these brothers.

  The sounds, normal big city sounds of traffic and music, the sounds of life in general, died away as he soared closer to the old market area. The crowds were missing. That made sense, he thought. There had just been a killing spree in the area the night before, and it would take time for the market to recover and tourists to feel safe enough to return.

  There were police there, stationed at various spots guarding; a handful still seemed to be investigating the crime scene. It had been twenty-four hours, but there had been a lot of bodies to sort. A medical tent nearby was in the process of being taken down. The emergency mostly over, the dead outnumbered the injured, but all had to go through triage.

  As he had approached, Christopher had been more careful, dampening his power and making smaller, precise jumps and taking to the ground when he could. The last thing he needed to do was startle anyone before he was ready to make an appearance. Some dark figure flying toward them was the last thing these folks needed to see after last night.

  He paused on top of a nearby building, scanning the area with both his eyes and his nose. If the dark souls were in the area he would smell their corruption. Every day it seemed his base sense grew stronger, more attuned to the hunt.

  There was nothing.

  He could see the auras around the police and officials wrapping up below along with the mix of colors flashing around their souls. For the most part, they had the same shades of light and dark that all humans possessed; nobody was perfect, but nobody was entirely evil either. He knew that if he went down there, if he got close to those police officers, he would be able to see and smell in detail the sins on their souls. But his eyes slid over them looking, searching for his real prey.

  Still nothing.

  He was nervous, something wasn’t right. He was acutely aware that Hellcat was not by his side. Just before he had traveled to Egypt, he had knelt and gave her head a good petting.

  “You can’t come with me on this one girl. Hamlin is going to be in danger and he won’t have me to help protect him. I need you to keep an eye on him, not so that he can see, but from the shadows.”

  She made a low, warm sound in her throat and pushed against his chest with her head. Christopher smiled, once again marveling that this was a creature born of Hell.

  “I know, but I’ll be okay, I’ve dealt with dark souls before. But Hamlin, if they come after him, he doesn’t stand a chance. We can’t be in two places at once. But you can’t let him know you’re there. He gets all grumpy when he thinks he’s being babysat.”

  After another minute of aggressive petting, she seemed okay with it. Now here he was. Alone. But this was a simple hunt; he could handle it. He shook off the lonely thoughts.

  It was night and the darkness that he pulled about him as his coat shielded him from the humans below. They would see nothing but an empty roof from that distance.

  That gave him a thought. He looked higher, scanning the rooftops. That’s when he saw him. The man from the video. He was staring at Christopher from atop a squat building about the same height as the one Christopher stood on. It was just across the street.

  He stared at him, frowning. Perhaps he expected something different? He couldn’t see Christopher’s face, but he seemed a little surprised by the sight of him. The man wasn’t covering his face this time. He was large, powerfully built and dark-skinned—obviously he was local and of Egyptian descent. His clothes, though somewhat modern, were loose fitting and baggy, reminding Christopher of Bedouins he had seen on TV. He looked both modern and ancient at the same time. Dust covered his coat and clothes, he looked like he had just ridden out of the desert.

  He glanced down and smiled. Christopher followed his gaze and found the police and officials. He knew what the man was thinking, but Christopher hesitated. He did not want the police to die, but what did it really matter in the grand scheme of things? What were the lives of these few mortals compared to stopping this murderer and other dark souls? It wasn’t his job to protect them, just to stop the dark souls.

  Then he could hear Eris’ voice in his head. Telling him that was his true purpose. Regardless of how his predecessor had done this job, Christopher’s strength was that he was human and understood them—their weakness, their strengths. He knew what it was to be human and why it was important to save them from the damned ones. Only he could be their champion.

  No more hesitation, it was time for Christopher to make an appearance in all his fury and damnation glory.

  Before the man across the street could move, Christopher leaped through the air and landed in the midst of the mortals. He brought out the Weapon as it transformed into a sword of blackest steel laced with arcing bolts of energy. Power surrounded him, radiating from him. Lightening of harsh blues and whites crackled through the shadow darkness that cloaked and obscured him.

  He let his aura wash over the police, like a crashing wave of energy. It didn’t hurt them, but it allowed them to feel the immense power on display in front of them. He needed their undivided attention if he was to save them.

  He brought the Weapon down, and it released a surge of power into the ground. The concrete cracked, and the ground shook with a low grade, localized earthquake.

  Several of the police officers cried out in surprise at his sudden appearance, others ran behind cars and other cover. Sudden yells and radio squelches rang out as the officers tried to call in or call out for help. Most of them pulled out their sidearms, several even shot at him, but the swirling mass of power around him obscured him and the bullets went wide.

  “LEAVE NOW,” Christopher boomed out over the crowd. His words had the power of Hell behind them and the mortals felt it. Some staggered back as though his words were like a physical blow. Others screamed and ran, whether they were taking his advice or running scared shitless didn’t matter.

  The Weapon in his hand surged with lust for souls. He held it in check, promising it would soon feast. He then lifted it above his head letting power arc from the blade.

  It was by far the best light show he had ever put on.

  “LEAVE! THOSE MEN HAVE RETURNED, AND YOU ARE ALL IN DANGER.”

  More gunshots rang out, a bullet nicked his shoulder. Christopher roared in rage and almost gave in to the desire and anger inside the Weapon. But he just let the power flow through him, guiding it differently, not fighting it. He directed it away from the police.

  “I HAVE NO WISH TO HARM YOU. THEY, HOWEVER, WILL NOT BE SO RESTRAINED.”

  “You’re that guy. The one from Mexico and New York?” a police officer, Christopher thought he might have been the one in charge, asked. “The one who fights the monsters?”

  He spoke in Arabic, but Christopher’s new-found powers made him fluent.

  “I AM, BUT WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO TALK. I CAN TAKE CARE OF THEM. RUN!”

  “They called you out in the video and you came? Why?”

  “SOMEBODY HAD TO.”

  He heard a noise from behind him. The man who had been on top of the building walked downs the middle of the street, strolling through the remnants of the chaos he had made. The bodies were gone of course, but the damage and the rust colored stains remained. He seemed pleased.

  It occurred to Christopher that there was something wrong with the man, something not quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  The police were getting into their cars and speeding off, others were simply running on foot as fast as they could. But a few cars and officers had stayed. They were no longer pointing guns at him though. They looked beyond him at the man approaching.

  “GO!” Christopher roared again. “YOU WILL DO MORE HARM THAN GOOD HERE.”

  And it was true. Even if they tried to stand with him, Christopher would have to
focus some of his energy on protecting them. He didn’t know what he was dealing with, but he didn’t need distractions. He was sure the police had seen what these beings were capable off. They, like everyone, had seen the video.

  It seemed to sink in. The officer in charge said something and they all started piling into the cars. The lead officer gave Christopher one last look and nodded before ducking down into the vehicle.

  That taken care of, Christopher turned to face his adversary.

  The man had come closer and stopped just a few feet away from him. He was tall, broad-shouldered. His face, covered in dust and grime, still gave the illusion he had just wandered out of the desert. Christopher thought he might be in his thirties, but deep creases covered his face gave him the look of someone experienced, someone with wisdom.

  “You look different,” said the man.

  “Well I did get a haircut recently,” Christopher said. Keep them talking, that’s what they did in the movies. Eventually the bad guy gave away too much.

  “You are not him.”

  “Who? I’m the guy you called out in your sick video.”

  The man shook his head slowly. “No, you are the Hunter, I can see that in you. But you are not the one we know. The one who imprisoned us.”

  “Ah! You must mean my predecessor, he was killed.”

  The man’s head came up sharply at that. “Killed? By whom? That is not possible. He was a great warrior.”

  “Um, yeah but I was there. And I’m here now.”

  The man nodded. “I know, I can see what you are. A pity, but if we can’t take vengeance on the one who imprisoned us for thousands of years, we will settle for vengeance against his office.”

  “Who are you? And why fight me? I haven’t done anything to you.”

  “We are Apophis, we are the first of the blood spillers. Normally we do our work in the dark, in secrets and shadows. But our need to find you was too great. We have no purpose other than death, and that purpose has found you.”

  Blades flashed out from beneath the man’s coat. Daggers large enough to qualify as short swords appeared in the man’s hands. Christopher brought the Weapon up, its large blade dwarfing the man’s twin daggers. The man moved forward, short swords weaving back and forth looking for an opening to start.

  Christopher rapidly ran through his training. He had spent months learning from the greatest warriors to have ever existed and with the time altering effects while working with the teachers, it was more like several years. Even so, he could tell he was dealing with a hardened warrior; his comparatively minuscule amount of training was probably a drop in the bucket against this guy’s experience. His only hope was that the guy was rusty—he said he had been trapped for thousands of years after all—or that his own power was enough to carry him through.

  The man darted forward, and their blades met. Power raced along Christopher’s sword, giving strength to his blow. The man was knocked back, surprised, but he recovered quickly.

  He slipped past Christopher’s guard, and the long knives found him. One slid across Christopher’s stomach as he darted again back out of reach. Christopher felt the lance of pain and stepped back. Luckily it wasn’t deep, but he could feel warm blood seeping from it.

  The man was on him again, blades cutting up toward Christopher’s exposed gut. Then gunshots rang out and bullets ricocheted off the ground near the man. He took a step back, but Christopher thought the move was more out of surprise than real fear of the gun.

  On the nearby rooftops several police officers, the Egyptian equivalent of a SWAT team, had taken up position for sniper cover. There were three that Christopher could see, dressed in black and wearing bulletproof vests.

  More bullets rained down, concentrated on the man in front of him. He moved quickly and most of the rounds bounced off the street, but one found the man’s shoulder. It punctured clean through, but instead of blood splatter, a puff of dust or sand came out of the exit wound. That’s when Christopher knew that bullets were only a nuisance to the being.

  This was precisely what he didn’t want to happen. He had told the cops to get away. They had to know the danger they were in, although a part of him was happy they were concentrating their fire on his adversary. At least he was getting through to somebody that he was the good guy. They had stayed to help him.

  The man glared up at the officer who had shot him. Then Christopher saw the others. This man’s brothers were darting across rooftops, almost flying, toward the unsuspecting police.

  The man in front of him grinned up at the impending slaughter. The sword, the Hellpower inside, the need to harvest souls, all screamed at Christopher to strike now, while this creature was distracted. The bullets had thrown him off. The man was skilled, and this might be Christopher’s only chance to win.

  All this ran through his head almost instantaneously. He made his decision. Christopher jumped, tendrils of power lanced out and propelled him toward the nearest rooftop.

  The police officer stopped firing and watched Christopher arc through the air toward him. The officer was halfway to his feet when Christopher picked him up.

  “Run you fool,” Christopher roared into his face, putting as much of the Hellpower into his voice as he could. He wanted this man to understand the danger. The man screamed in terror. His approach seemed to be working.

  “Run,” Christopher repeated as he tossed the officer toward another rooftop. It wasn’t too far, but Christopher hoped he didn’t break any bones. He didn’t have enough time to be considerate.

  Even as he released the officer into the air, he felt the blade sink into his back. Christopher fell forward, spinning his sword around. There was no skill in it, just a desperate strike to get some distance. It worked. The cloaked man surrounded by a thin cloud of sand danced backward.

  Christopher fell to one knee as the pain from his wound passed through him. It felt like the man had punctured his kidney. Christopher had time to bring up the Weapon before the man came in for a strike again. He barely deflected the knife blades; in fact, one skittered across his sword and sliced into his shoulder.

  These beings, for they were no mortal men, were fast, maybe even faster than him and they wielded their weapons with expert skill. He would not be able to fight a battle of attrition with these things.

  The wound in his back wouldn’t kill him, he could feel it already healing, but if they got too many blows through, eventually he would be cut apart. He slammed the Weapon up and into the thing’s face, it flinched back enough for Christopher to buy some time.

  Across the street, a third of these beings were approaching another police officer. Christopher ran and jumped, ignoring the pain lancing from his back and shoulder. He cleared the distance and had his sword between the prone police officer and the what would have been a killing blow.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Christopher yelled. And the cop immediately took his advice.

  Christopher shifted into a fighting stance that he had learned and tried to arrange his training in his mind. Reality was nothing like training. Luckily his teachers had been brutal.

  Christopher smashed the hilt of the Weapon into the man’s face. Dust and sand flew, but no blood. He didn’t have time to celebrate the blow. He felt rather than saw the horizontal slices across his gut. Somehow the man had gotten a cut in even while being struck in the face.

  They were so fast! At least Christopher had bought enough time for the officer to get away.

  Then the man was backing away, guard up. That made Christopher nervous. Why didn’t they come in for the kill?

  Something hit against his leg. He looked down at a severed head. It took him only a minute to realize it was the third police sniper. Across the rooftops, he could see Apophis standing over the decapitated corpse. Blood was still spurting from the neck.

  The being took three long strides and jumped off the roof. Christopher reacted on instinct and leaped into the air. They shot towards each other weapons drawn. Power, lik
e writhing shadows, whipped around Christopher and the streaks lanced out to the nearby buildings.

  They slammed together in midair above the street. Christopher was able to deflect one of the man’s blades with the Weapon, but the other cut into his side. They were too close for Apophis to get any power behind the blow, but just because it was shallow didn’t make it any less painful.

  They were falling fast, but Christopher had another strategy. With his free hand, he had grabbed Apophis’ coat. Part of his training was to incorporate his new abilities into his fighting. The power tendril that had found the other roof flexed and pulled. He spun with Apophis in his grip. The pull of his power was subtle but changed their trajectory toward the side of a stone building.

  Christopher added his own strength and at the end of the spin, threw Apophis at the stone wall. The man slammed into the solid wall with a thud, sending a spiderweb of cracks across its surface. Even the stoic face of Apophis registered pain and what might have been surprise.

  Christopher landed on the roof above as Apophis slid down the wall. For a moment, Christopher thought he might be able to win this, if he could just find clever ways to use his power.

  Then pain exploded in the back of his head. The world grew dark as streaks of pain, like fireworks, lit up his vision. Somebody had hit him in the back of his head, hard.

  Dazed, Christopher turned but only had a moment to see it was one of the brothers before a club-like piece of metal—something the brother had found on the rooftop perhaps—slammed into Christopher’s face.

  His head snapped back and then he was falling. The sky, what he could see through the haze of losing consciousness, spun. The walls of the nearby building stretched toward that spinning abyss, as though he was falling much further than he should be.

  The ground hit him like a concrete mattress. He felt bones break and hoped they weren’t the ones he needed to get up. Not that getting up was happening soon. He was surprised he had retained consciousness. Dust and dirt puffed up around him from his impact.