Rise Of The Soulless

by Erik Lynd

  His blade was a blur of power, pulsing with hunger and need to taste Golyat’s dark soul. It had a thirst and would not stop until slaked. Even Christopher with his new control couldn’t fight the hunger. It radiated through him. He longed to rend Golyat soul and put an end to him.

  Golyat didn’t move as Christopher shot through the air at him. Only his eyes betrayed fear as they widened just a bit. The blade hummed as it swung through the air, straight for Golyat’s giant head.

  Inches before it was going to sink into that dark soul flesh, there was a blinding flash and another blade was there, blocking Christopher’s blow. The Weapon was stopped dead like it had hit a brick wall, not just another sword.

  Then there was a force pushing Christopher back. He had reached the edge of the balcony, but now was thrown back, the blade pushed back against him. He fell to the floor, smashing into an end table and bruising several ribs.

  He tried to roll to his feet quickly, but the injuries he had just taken and the stress of his body not quite recovered from dehydration made him move slower than he would have wished. He staggered to his feet just as Apophis jumped down, landing with a resounding thud, causing the floor to shake.

  In his hand he held a large, hooked sword. The Christopher of old would have had no clue what it was, but now he could recognize it as a khopesh, and ancient Egyptian sword shaped like a sickle. It shimmered with a silver glow as though it amplified and reflected all light that hit it.

  Golyat chuckled.

  “It’s called a Relic, and you won’t be able to survive the wounds it gives you,” Golyat said.”

  Instantly Christopher went cold. He was caught off guard; fear seeped into his armored mind. Apophis raised the khopesh. For a being lacking true emotion, he was doing an excellent job of looking menacing.

  “I don’t suppose you recognize that weapon,” Golyat said. “It is the very same sword that gutted your predecessor.”

  29

  When Hamlin faded back into consciousness the room was empty. Grace and Apophis were gone, but he had no idea how long he had blacked-out. He suspected it wasn’t too long because his wrists were still throbbing with pain from hanging. If he had hung for too long he wouldn’t have felt anything at all.

  He felt unconsciousness trying to pull him back, and shook his head trying to wake himself up. It worked; it was hard to focus, but it was a start.

  He had to do something. His body was in a lot of pain, but if what they had said was true, he had to find his way out of here and get help for the kid.

  None of the tables, with their various tools, were close enough for him to snag with his foot. His pockets had been emptied and the contents on another shelf across the room, so no pocket knife.

  He looked up at his hands. They were bound at either end of a short cord that looped up and over the wooden beam above him. It was not the best way to secure a prisoner, but the tattooed guards had struck him as some sort of supernatural henchmen, not professionals.

  The knots were tight and efficient though. His own weight and struggles caused them to cinch up tighter. He would not be able to work his way out of the bindings while hanging. They were just too tight.

  He looked up at the beam and silently moaned. He didn’t have a choice. This was going to be painful.

  He lifted himself higher with his arms. The sore muscles cried in protest, but he pushed through. Then the hard part, he lifted his legs up to his chest.

  The bruised ribs and various lacerations tried to tell him how bad of an idea this was, but he gritted his teeth and allowed himself only a few grunts as he brought his legs up over his head. Just when he thought his muscles would give out, he hooked his leg over the beam.

  His body was shaking from the pain and exertion, but the worst part was over. His other leg hooked the beam, and he took a few seconds to rest before he moved on to phase two.

  With more grunts and a soft cry of pain, he was able to get his arm around the beam also and pull himself up until he was straddling it. He lay there a little longer, resting on the narrow beam.

  Now that the tension was gone, blood and sensation were rushing back into his hands like spiteful fire. He stayed as quiet as he could, imagining that the quiet whimper was not him as the nerves in his hand came back alive.

  His hands now hung off either side of his wooden platform, connected by a rope that now hung loosely below the beam. As soon as he had enough feeling back in his hands, he started working at the knots.

  They were tight and well tied, but any knot can be worked loose if you have enough time and easy access. With the rope slack between them Hamlin found plenty of room to work. A minute later he had one of his hands free.

  Later he planned on telling the kid how he had nimbly jumped down from the beam, but the reality was that he was more like a sack of potatoes dropping to the ground.

  He landed to more bruises and the loudest moan yet. He lay on the ground only long enough to confirm he hadn’t broken anything else before coming to his feet as fast as he could.

  There was a crash from below that shook the whole building. Hamlin didn’t have time to worry about that; he was sure he would discover whatever it was soon enough. He needed to get out. The question was, how?

  Then his eyes caught the glow from the shelf. He couldn’t leave without that prize. He snatched the crystal container holding the shard of Christopher’s soul.

  Next to it, hanging from the shelf on a leather strap was a small pink purse with an inordinate number of rhinestones. But it looked in good condition. He pulled on the purse so that the strap ran across his body and slipped the soul shard right in. Tight, but secure. If it weren’t pink and sparkly, he would have an Indiana Jones vibe going.

  There was another building-shaking rumble. Something was going on, something causing considerable damage. He wondered if Hellcat was back.

  Then the bedroom door was opened violently. Without thinking Hamlin dove behind another shelf unit.

  Grace stormed into the room grumbling.

  “Some help your henchmen are Grace… why don’t you go get the soul shard Grace… save the day again Grace. Fuck you Goly—” she abruptly stopped when she noticed the lack of a body hanging from the wooden beam. “Fuck!”

  She immediately spun to where she kept the soul shard.

  “Fuck!”

  She ran over to the empty space on the shelf where her prize trophy once sat. Hamlin slid deeper behind the shelf unit. He stayed low, crawling on his stomach.

  “Fuckinggoddamnit!” she screamed and spun, searching the room. She started toward the shelf he was hiding behind. A large steel table was just behind him. He wished it was better cover, but it was the best he had. He rolled under it.

  He lifted his legs to the brace running between two table legs. He grabbed a cross beam support of the table and lifted, doing what amounted to the hardest pull up of his life.

  Her footsteps approached and then paused. He had no idea if she was bending over to look or just scanning the room. For a long moment that felt like hours, he held himself suspended above the ground.

  His body was once again close to failure. The damage he had taken over the last few days had taken its toll. Sweat formed on his brow and ran down the side of his face. Muscles groaned but he held them flexed. His body shook so hard he worried it might start moving the table.

  Then she was walking again, her footsteps retreating to the door.

  “Fuck! Goddamn,” she yelled. “Guards!”

  More footsteps—heavy like large men—they stopped near the doorway.

  “He’s gone!” She screamed.

  “But, that’s impossible—” one guard started.

  “Are you calling me a liar? Look! Do you see the piece of meat hanging anymore? He’s gone. Escaped, you fucking losers! Now, go find him before he can help the Hunter. Can you manage that simple task?”

  The kid was here? That would explain her panic and the building shaking. Maybe he wasn’t trapped? Had he
escaped? Was it a lie?

  “Yes, Grace,” the guard said.

  “Wait,” there was a long pause as though she was thinking. “Call me Your Majesty.”

  “Um. Okay, I guess. Your Majesty,” he said it more like a question than a statement. Even the guard suspected she was a little off her rocker.

  Then they were gone, and the room was silent for a moment before another thud shook the floor. The vibration was just too much; his muscles gave out and he dropped to the floor. Luckily, from what he could see of the door, he was alone.

  He paused for a moment, letting his body rest. Every part of him ached and his body begged him not to move. He knew that if he lay there a moment longer his body would win, and he would drift back into unconsciousness. All he had to work with was his rapidly dwindling supply of adrenaline.

  He rolled out from under the table and used the nearby shelf to help him get to his feet. He was a mess; it would be next to impossible for him to get out of this place alive. Not with a building full of those tattooed guards. But he could find the kid. Hell, Chris was probably here to rescue him.

  With his next step outlined, no matter how vaguely, he poked his head out of Grace’s laboratory-bedroom. The hallway was empty for now. Out here the sounds of fighting were much louder. They seemed to be coming from one floor down, although it was hard to be sure.

  He made a call. He needed to head to the battle; the kid needed him. He made his way down the stairs as fast as his broken body would let him.

  30

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Juan said through his earpiece.

  “This will be a short fight with Captain Obvious whispering in my ear,” Christopher said quietly.

  “Good news, Hamlin’s out. I saw him on the security cams. I think he’s heading your way,” Juan said.

  “What?” Christopher said a little too loudly. “Wait.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Apophis.

  He leaped at Christopher, and the wicked-looking blade carved a bright arc flashing through the air.

  Distracted, Christopher brought up his blade just in time. The Relic and Weapon collided again, this time with force behind both sides. Energy surged around them. Bright light flashed from the Relic, darkness laced with an evil red glow radiated from the Weapon as the two powers connected. The few remaining windows exploded outward at the display.

  The force of the concussion traveled back through the blades and Apophis looked as surprised as Christopher felt. They both stepped back a few feet, knocked off balance.

  Anger whipped through the Weapon, drawing on the Hellpower inside of Christopher. He could feel the hatred of the thing. Normally it only did this when the soul hunger was strong in it, but this was almost like it was angry that something was challenging it.

  Wind ripped through the broken windows of the penthouse, tearing at their clothes. Christopher drew upon the experience of his recent year's training. He emptied his mind even as the Weapon raged for him. The sounds of the violent wind faded into the background, even the raging Weapon was distant.

  Behind him Hellcat was ripping at the last remaining brother, tearing its sludge filled arm off. The brother did not scream, but he looked to Apophis in obvious pain. There was nothing he could do; the cat was destroying him.

  Then Apophis was on him, his sword striking quick. Christopher flowed, letting his blade counter every attack. He allowed himself to feel everything around him, and soon he was moving with the wind, swaying with the building, and strong like the blade he carried.

  Apophis was doing the same, Christopher could tell. He attacked viciously, but with perfect control of his khopesh. The Weapon met the Relic at every turn. Energy radiated down the blades each time they struck. Billowing darkness formed around Christopher as the intensity of the colliding powers grew.

  Their skills were almost equal. Almost.

  The Relic sliced in toward Christopher’s mid-section; reflexively Christopher brought the Weapon to meet it, but it wasn’t there. It had been a feint. At the last minute, Apophis reversed the blade strike so fast it was as though the Relic was weightless. Christopher realized his mistake too late. He was off balance but able to partially catch the reversed cut. The khopesh skittered along the Weapon sending off fiery sparks of power.

  He almost made it, but the Relic glanced off his shoulder, trailing a shallow cut behind it. Christopher’s arm felt like it was suddenly on fire. Though the cut was small, it felt as if his arm had been split open.

  He cried out and fell back, a feeling panic rising in him despite his training. The Hellpower inside of him screamed in anger but did not reach out to heal this new wound.

  Apophis smiled and nodded in satisfaction.

  “So, not quite the same warrior as your predecessor,” Apophis said.

  Christopher lifted the Weapon. His arm hurt but he dismissed the pain. It hurt worse than any wound he had ever felt, but it became background noise once again. And he tried to focus.

  Apophis fought in an efficient but ancient style, the khopesh was designed to hook a shield or opponent’s weapon beneath the curve of its blade where it straightened out near the handle. Perhaps it was time to give it something to hook onto.

  Apophis came at him, the Relic darting forward. Christopher let it come just close enough that he could almost feel Apophis’ sense of triumph. The Weapon slid past the curved part of the blade. Christopher turned his body just enough for the thrusting tip to miss his side. Then the Weapon shifted.

  It became a battle-ax with its own curved hook, Christopher nagged the curved part of the khopesh and pulled the Relic even closer along his side, but this time he put the strength of Hell behind it.

  Apophis’ eyes widened in surprise as the ax locked with the khopesh and he flew forward off balance. But Christopher did stop there. Apophis and the Relic continued forward as Christopher threw him toward the largest piece of furniture in the room, the large wood and glass bar against one wall.

  The golem smashed through it, raining wood and glass down on him as the bar disintegrated on impact. The glass top and shelves beyond dropped on top of him, slicing him in a multitude of cuts and lacerations. This wouldn’t stop Apophis, Christopher knew that, but it slowed him down.

  “You’ve got company coming,” Juan said through the earpiece. “Large group of guards coming through the main hall.”

  Christopher ran over to the large couch and picked it up just as the group of tattooed guards came bursting into the room, guns up and ready. He threw it straight at the front line. It was a large couch made of steel as well as wood. It had cushions but was built more for looks than comfort.

  It smashed into the front line with enough force to continue through like the world’s largest bowling ball, and they were unlucky bowling pins. Guns went off randomly as they went down. Some rounds hit their own men. There were cries of surprise and pain. But the pain for them had just begun.

  Christopher leaped into the fray. His single battle ax became two; they began to spin in his hand like saw blades. He carved into the group, killing before they could even get to their feet. A few bullets hit him, but out of luck, not careful aim. He ignored them as the hunger for souls flowed from the Weapon and through him.

  Like a starved man, the Weapon drank its fill. These guards were men, magically enhanced men, but they had souls and the Weapon was a glutton. It ripped souls from bodies with childish glee, as the souls peeled away from their hosts like stringy cheese, screaming in mortal terror. As fast as he could kill, however, others were recovering from the blow of the couch. They would be able to do quite a bit of damage with their firearms if given time.

  “Good news, Hamlin found a toy,” Juan said, and Christopher could hear the smile in his voice.

  As the remaining guards got to their feet, automatic fire rang out from behind them down the hallway.

  “Get out of the way kid,” yelled a familiar voice. Hamlin had found a toy.

  Christopher dove to the gro
und and rolled out of the way as bullets riddle the guards in front of him. Some turned to return fire, but they had no cover and were out in the open. Christopher couldn’t see Hamlin, but he had a feeling Hamlin was a little more prepared for the ambush.

  “You idiots!” Came a roar from the balcony. It seemed Golyat was not happy his plans were being foiled by a kid and a beat-up cop. “Kill the Hunter, nobody cares about the mortal!”

  Apparently, the guards did care about the guy with a fully automatic weapon shooting at their backs because only a few turned away from the firefight. Christopher was on them instantly, severing limbs and damning souls.

  Then Hellcat was with him, laying into the guards with claw and tooth.

  “Behind you!” came a cry from Juan.

  Christopher spun, leaving Hellcat to deal with the remaining guards. Apophis, covered in hundreds of little cuts leaking sand and blackness, was swinging the Relic straight at his head. Christopher dropped without thinking and the Weapon, reacting to his almost unconscious command, shifted from dual battle axes into two short blades.

  One blade came up to defend against the khopesh, the other he drove into Apophis’ gut—wrenching it sideways at the last minute. For a mortal, the blow would have spilled his guts all over the floor. With the golem, however, sand and the black sludge spilled out.

  Apophis screamed, more in frustration than pain, and backed away holding his stomach together. In his weakened state he tripped over a broken piece of furniture and fell backward. He looked up from the ground at Christopher, covered in his own blackness and sand.

  “That is a nice weapon you have. It is just full of tricks. It is not something I remember from fighting the one who came before you. I can promise you, I will be ready for it the next time we meet.”

  “There won’t be a—” Christopher started.

  “Jesus, he’s fast. Behind you!” came another cry from the Juan.