[Demonworld 3] The Floyd Street Massacre

by Kyle B. Stiff

  Demonworld Book Three

  The Floyd Street Massacre

  By Kyle B. Stiff

  For news and info about Kyle B. Stiff’s other writing projects, including Demonworld and Heavy Metal Thunder, visit his web site at www.kylebstiff.wordpress.com and www.heavymetalthunderseries.wordpress.com. To contact the author, send a letter to primeentertainer@gmail.com.

  This book is copyrighted and belongs to the author.

  Of a man I sing, and of weapons of war.

  - Virgil, Aenead

  Those who live by the sword die by the sword.

  - Wasteland saying taken

  from the Red Book

  Table of Contents

  Part 1: The Road to Pontius

  Chapter 1: On the Face of the Deep

  Chapter 2: City of the Sun

  Chapter 3: Alien World

  Chapter 4: Sing, Devil Syrens, Sing

  Chapter 5: The Floating World

  Part 2: Live by the Gun

  Chapter 6: The Corpse Politic

  Chapter 7: One Year in Pontius

  Chapter 8: Bacchanal of the Entertainers

  Chapter 9: Master of Chalices

  Chapter 10: Enter the Serpent

  Chapter 11: The Night of Blood

  Chapter 12: Precinct Zero

  Chapter 13: The Balls of the Ugly

  Chapter 14: The Risk of Saying Something

  Chapter 15: Seven Skulls of the Serpent

  Chapter 16: The Church and the Child

  Chapter 17: Climax of the Ugly

  Chapter 18: The Black Valley Investment Group

  Chapter 19: Countdown

  Chapter 20: Wodan’s Revenge

  Part 3. Die by the Gun

  Chapter 21: The Throne of Pontius

  Chapter 22: Anything That Eats

  Chapter 23: Status: Red

  Chapter 24: The Floyd Street Massacre

  Chapter 25: The Killers

  Appendix 1: Cast of Characters

  Appendix 2: Overview of the Gangs of Pontius

  Appendix 3: Hierarchy of the Coil

  Appendix 4: Most Holy Order of the Smiths: Hierarchy and Beliefs

  Appendix 5: Hierarchy of the Law

  Appendix 6: The Laws of Pontius

  Appendix 7: Gods of the Wasteland

  Part One

  The Road to Pontius

  Chapter One

  On the Face of the Deep

  Cast out from his homeland and diagnosed with a death sentence, my Lord set out on a path that would take him to the city of blood. Revenge was in his heart, so he began the work of cutting off the many heads of the hydra. He did not care that his enemies were ancient, numerous, and made up the very foundation of my society. I heard him speak of a better world as he drowned the streets in gore.

  And it was there, under the black sun of the wasteland, that he learned the value of friendship.

  - from The Entertainers: Chapter Jarl: 47:1

  * * *

  Days bled into one another as the little boat sputtered through the ocean of his exile. In the light of day he laid back and watched the clouds scrape across the blue. During the dark nights he often forced himself to look over the side of the boat and into the vastness of the deep. Starlight played on the thin film of the surface. He knew that if he was just a few feet under the water he would be terrified beyond belief. Then he would imagine that that darkness stretched down, down, down, deep and unutterably black, and he would imagine the things that might live in that darkness... he would reel back and lie flat in his boat, clutching at the sides. He was humbled at the knowledge that he was only a part of the thin film stretched across the surface of an unimaginable world.

  On the ocean there was so little to do that most forms of thought simply broke down. He checked the compass, ate his food, drank his water, and slept under his cloak. Living became automatic and unconscious. He took to singing softly to the scarred face of the moon. It grew bulbous and red as he approached the wasteland.

  He was an exile, stripped of name and citizenship from a civilized land that, until now, was free of demonic influence. He was a murderer, but also a truth seeker, so they had wished him out of their synthetic world and into this floating non-world. As days passed he could feel unnecessary layers peeling away from his core. Memories and ideas became shadows, mere baggage carried by a fading phantom. His will became clear, pure, untainted. He saw the Ugly in Pontius and the unquestioned assumption that granted them power. He wondered what was more powerful: An assumption held by thousands, or his own dream of a better world. Eventually there was only the force and violence of the dream. Thoughts that cluttered his dream came fewer and fewer between, lost in the troughs of the endless sea.

  One night he saw a star moving against the field of its more docile kin. It moved, then blinked red. He wondered if it was an alien life form, a wanderer from another sea. He shook in terror. The light disappeared. He told himself that the light had never been there at all, but was only a dying neuron firing aimlessly. It was a reflection of himself, the southbound star.

  He dreamed of a black goblin sitting inside his gut, staring at him. It was hollow and grew without purpose. It was immortal, not programmed to die. His own body was feeding it, and would feed it until it grew so hungry that it would kill the host and then die itself. He woke and clutched at his possessions, then remembered the literal cancer he had been accused of harboring. He forced himself to believe that it would not matter, so long as he had the chance to throw himself at the world.

  He ran out of food, then ran out of water. In pain he handled his submachine gun and his bag of jewels. It was a wonder to him that these luxuries should still exist after the sustaining resources were gone, then he wondered if these dangerous toys were the main event all along.

  The nine day fall ended. Early one morning he started awake. The air was cool and full of mist, and he rose and saw the outline of a harbor lit with several fires. As he drew nearer, he remembered who he was. The computer-guided boat, having come to the end of its journey, bucked under him. The engine died. He saw water welling up from below as several plugs worked themselves loose. He gathered up his jewels and slung the submachine gun’s case over his back just as the boat fell out from under him. He dog-paddled forward, laughing.

  An armed mercenary saw him haul himself over the side of a dock. The man blinked sleep from his eyes, but did not offer to help. “Where’d you come from?” he said.

  “Went out for a little swim,” said Wodan, smiling. “But I’m back home now.”

  Chapter Two

  City of the Sun

  Wodan ladled a cup of brown water from a trough and considered his options while a street vendor cooked a fish sandwich for him. He had already asked about transport across the wasteland, but was only laughed at. Didn’t he know the holy day schedule? No caravans would make the trip to Pontius for several months! Wodan knew that the only way to travel across the wasteland was in a large group that was heavily armed; it was said that the flesh demons often ignored such caravans.

  Frustrated, Wodan had settled on haggling with a merchant and sold a third of his jewels in exchange for Sunport paper money. He was sure that he’d been ripped off, but he knew nothing of the local conversion rates. It looked like he would either have to live on the streets to save money, or rent a room and do pushups in order to prepare for his climactic battle against the Ugly in Pontius. Both options seemed ludicrous.

  The vendor handed Wodan his sandwich and he stood and ate the thing. He was in a sparsely populated area near the docks. The sun beat down on the dusty avenue, baking the brick buildings. The vendor went through the motions of preparing
to feed the dock workers come noon, wiping his forehead and grunting in dull expectation.

  I can’t stay here, he thought. I have to keep moving.

  Wodan saw a giant approaching. The man wore a brown cloak and a large hood concealed his features. He had broad shoulders and was at least two heads taller than Wodan. A large, flat bundle was tied to his back. As he drew near, Wodan could see that he was young and had curly brown hair. Wodan immediately felt that the giant was trying to watch Wodan without giving the appearance of doing so. He stopped before the food vendor, then froze.

  “Gods below, son!” said the vendor. “I bet you could put down a whole hog and ask for seconds! Am I right?”

  The giant stood about awkwardly and glanced at Wodan, then turned away quickly when he saw that Wodan stared directly at him. If he is some kind of spy, Wodan thought, he’s not a very good one.

  “You forget your money?” said Wodan. He turned to the vendor. “Fix him one, I’ll pay for it.”

  “Hoo wee!” said the vendor. “One sammich? We might be here all day feedin’ this big sumbitch!”

  Wodan laughed and the giant’s pale face grew red. Wodan thought at first that someone powerful in Sunport might have sent the giant to see why a stranger would suddenly come in from the ocean, but surely they would send a smaller, craftier person who could go unnoticed. His interest was piqued.

  “My name’s Wodan. What’s yours?”

  “Wodan!” said the giant, as if the name was some kind of revelation. “Uh, my name’s Justyn.”

  “You’ve got some kind of accent. You’re not from around here either, are you?”

  Wodan could see wheels turning behind Justyn’s eyes, as if revealing this tiny bit of information might destroy him. Finally Justyn shook his head quickly. Though Wodan could see some strength in his face, he lacked the hard edge and posturing that seemed to be a part of being a mercenary in Sunport. Wodan’s confusion grew.

  “Where you headed?” said Wodan, taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “I’m… uh… well… the thing is… but, what I mean-”

  Justyn’s story was interrupted by a distant explosion. Wodan jerked in surprise and his sandwich flew from his hands, and a group of people across the avenue leaped and threw their arms about. The vendor set to cursing and they watched a plume of smoke rise over a faraway avenue.

  “This happen every day?” said Wodan.

  “Hell!” said the vendor, his eyes glued to the rising smoke. “You kidding?”

  Wodan kept his face turned toward the smoke, but from the corner of his eye he saw Justyn swipe a piece of fish from the grill. He eyed the part that had touched the grill, then brushed off a few dark flecks and ate the thing, which was mostly raw, in one gulp. He picked up a piece of bread, inspected it, then swallowed it in two bites. Wodan laid some money on the vendor’s stand, then he and Justyn exchanged a look.

  Three Ugly ran down the street. They were armed and lines of sweat streaked their dusty, panic-stricken faces. They pushed and knocked over a few people, then took turns tripping over one another. They passed Wodan and he saw one had blood on his back. As soon as they disappeared, Wodan followed.

  “You’re following those guys?” said Justyn, shadowing Wodan.

  “Are you one of them?” said Wodan. He was annoyed that he could only see a small patch of Justyn’s face, and even that was darkened by his hood.

  “No! Why would I be?”

  “Good.”

  They lost sight of the Ugly several times, but it was easy to follow their path: Every corner they turned, they left a trail of stalls and people knocked over. They were in a hurry. A sense of chaos and excitement crackled in the air and overcame the exhaustion of living on sun-baked, dust-choked streets. Wodan broke into a jog, then noted that Justyn was following him with long, determined steps.

  “Why are you following me?” said Wodan.

  “I’m not!” said Justyn, stopping while Wodan glanced around an intersection, then following directly behind him once he found his way.

  They reached a busy avenue filled with shouting vendors and heavy foot traffic. A man in a purple bathrobe ran near Wodan. With a smile on his face he shouted, “Emergency transport! Emergency transport!” Another explosion shook the avenue, people jumped and yelped, then the man stopped and swung about wildly.

  “Sir!” shouted Wodan. He approached and said, “What’s going on?”

  “The Ugly, man, they’re getting run outta the city! Can you believe it? About time, I say!”

  “The people are rising up against them?”

  “No… what? No, Filius Bilch is hittin ’em, man, with every merc he’s got!”

  Wodan remembered the cruel, tiny merchant from whom he’d stolen a ship and a slave captain. “Why would Bilch care anything about the Ugly?”

  “Don’t you know? The Ugly denied Filius Bilch one of the three wishes they owed him!”

  “I’ve been out a while, sorry.”

  “Alright, it’s like this. Some Ugly big shot got a steam warship from Bilch in exchange for three wishes. So Bilch, he came callin’ for his first wish; he wanted the Ugly to advertise on all their flags whatever deal he had goin’ on at the time. So under that scary skull and crossbones, Bilch wanted them to write somethin’ like ‘Gently-used Bilch slaves on sale half-price this season’... and the Ugly refused him! Well now, the Ugly, they just got whipped in some kind of foreign war, and they’ve got no reinforcements to back up their boys here. Now Bilch’s army of mercenaries are just stompin’ ’em but good!”

  Wodan smiled wickedly. Evil was killing evil. Justyn stood with his arms crossed as he studied Wodan’s face.

  “You said something about an emergency transport?” said Wodan.

  “Yeah, the last of the Ugly stationed here are desperate to get to Pontius and regroup. They’re haulin’ ass to the front gate and knockin’ on every merchant’s door. I work for Holy Day Transport, see, and my boss is takin’ ’em up on their offer, chargin’ an arm and a goddamn leg. They’re either getting to Pontius or dyin’ tryin’!”

  “Which way?” said Wodan.

  The man pointed and shouted instructions, and Wodan raced through the streets.

  “You’re going to Pontius?” said Justyn, his long legs easily keeping pace with Wodan. “What a coincidence. I’m on my way to Pontius, too!”

  Wodan scoffed and gave Justyn a dirty look. It was obvious that he was no mercenary; none of the powers-that-be in Sunport would have a man tailed all the way across the wasteland just to determine why he’d been doing swimming around the docks. Even though he was annoyed, Justyn did not seem like an immediate threat. Getting rid of him might be more trouble than it was worth.

  “With what money?” said Wodan. “What money will you use to get on a caravan?” Wodan let the words sink in, then said, “If you want to go to Pontius, you’ll have to work as my bodyguard. Sandwiches and travel fare don’t come cheap. Think you can look intimidating enough to keep me safe?”

  “I’m not gonna kill anyone for you!” said Justyn. For the first time, he sounded determined rather than confused.

  “That’s fine,” said Wodan. “But you might need to break arms, choke people out, head-butt them, things like that. Understand?”

  “I guess, bro.”

  At a wide intersection he saw merchants hollering at servants hauling carts full of goods, ready to take advantage of the unscheduled, emergency transport. He heard gunfire far away, then another terrific explosion. He saw a young merchant laughing and hopping about, necklaces jangling as he carried boxes alongside his servants. A half-naked woman cried in a doorway and screamed at the merchant, her voice raw. “Business, baby, just business!” said the merchant, ignoring her cries. “I’ll bring you somethin’ nice from Pontius!”

  Wodan saw a high wall with a giant wooden gate grinding open. The avenue was packed with carts, horses, men shouting and running. He saw Ugly jogging about the avenue, guns held high, eyes and lips quiveri
ng, some covered in blood. Wodan wondered how he was going to negotiate for admittance when a huge-eared man ran up to him, face wild and hair unkempt as if he were running for his life. Wodan sidestepped away from him and the man shouted, “HEY KID YOU WANT ON THIS TRANSPORT!”

  “Yes sir!” Wodan shouted. “Two tickets, please.”

  The man shrieked an amount, hands shaking and full of tickets. Wodan grabbed his wad of cash, counted out the amount, then grabbed the tickets as the man muttered, “Oh gods below... amazing, just amazing!” then immediately took off, screaming at another prospective customer.

  Horses bucked and kicked as owners tied them to their carts. Other carts were already pulling out of the gate. Wodan wondered where they should get on the caravan. Ugly on horseback raced into the avenue and Wodan jumped to the side to avoid them. Another explosion nearby, then gunfire and death-cries. An Ugly with one arm shouted, “Hode ’em off! Hode ’em off!” until a younger Ugly pushed him away, face contorted as he screamed, “Screw you! Screw you!” and made his way toward the opposite end of the intersection.

  Wodan jumped onto a floorboard projecting from a large, closed wagon. The wagon shook and nearly tipped over as Justyn leaped on beside him. Wodan smelled the reek of animals inside and heard the stomping of panicky hooves. His heart raced with the rush of it all and, as he passed through the massive gate, he realized he hadn’t needed to buy any tickets at all. He looked at Justyn and the young giant was laughing, thrilled by the chaos. The line of horse-drawn carts filled with merchants, travelers, and Ugly curved outward over the horizon and Wodan whooped loudly. He was on his way through the wasteland to Pontius with a strange bodyguard as well as the very killers he had sworn to destroy.

  Chapter Three

  Alien World

  The caravan rolled through white sands for the first few days of their journey. They saw no vegetation, nor any color at all between earth and sky, but only glaring white and unmerciful heat. Wodan and Justyn hunkered down in their cloaks to escape the sun. It was exhausting just to sit, and they knew that leaving the caravan meant death. They had no food of their own but there were plenty of merchants, and so they moved from cart to cart, dropping money and eating and making small talk. Wodan was surprised at how determined, how crazed, most of the merchants were. It took a certain sort of merchant to leave town outside of holy day travel. These were a wild sort, and their true home was in their purse and stock. Through their talk they learned that it was not just bad luck, but a bad idea all around to travel with the Ugly. The Ugly were often ill-equipped, besides their guns, and ill-tempered and argumentative. The mercenaries that guarded the merchants kept a close watch at all times.