Clearly, this is the first time they are seeing their "comrade" in his true form.
A smile tugged at the corners of the Hunter's mouth. It was high time the Order of Midas felt the fear they spread through Malandria.
"Release him." He held Toramin's gaze with his own, steady and calm.
Toramin mulled it over, then nodded. "So be it, Bucelarii." With deft strokes of the blade, he sliced the ropes binding Bardin's unconscious, unmoving form.
The Hunter held his hand out to Toramin, trying to hide his relief. "I accept your offer. I will stand by your side, but not as Abiarazi and Bucelarii—progenitor and progeny—but as equals."
Toramin gripped the Hunter's hand. "Together, good Hunter, we will rule not only Malandria, but the entire world!"
"I say," Arette sputtered in the background, "what are you —?"
Toramin moved faster than the pasty-faced man could react. Almost casually, he dragged the edge of blade across Arette's throat. The man gasped and sank to his knees, clutching frantically to stop the gush of blood.
Toramin stood over his victim, an ecstatic smile on his face. "By the Great Destroyer," he breathed, "how wonderful that feels!" With a cry of pleasure, he thrust the dagger into Arette's bony chest.
A rush of vigor washed over the Hunter as the blade drank the dying man's blood. His fatigue drained away. His wounds no longer stung, and even the pain in his eye dimmed. Even as it stole the unfortunate man's life force, the dagger fed the Hunter the power he had been missing for so long.
But it was not the same. Beneath the sweet, seductive taste of power, there was a taint, like a thick coat of tar. It left him feeling stained and unclean, twisting his stomach.
Toramin laughed. "Long have I desired to do that!" He raised the blade and pointed it at the rest of the men in the circle. "Now that I have the Bucelarii at my side, I have no need for you! I am the true power in this city, and I will do what I will."
He moved toward Erodon, and the fat merchant scuttled back with surprising speed. Apus looked as if he wanted to fight, but he, too, retreated.
"All of you, cowards! Every one of you thinking you are my equals, when you are nothing more than pitiful humans." Toramin spat the last word as an insult. "But now, you will die, and you will feed my power."
He turned to the Hunter and beckoned. "Come, Bucelarii. Let us slay them. Let us fill the streets with blood, and together, we will find a way to bring back the Great Destroyer."
The name hit the Hunter like a sledgehammer to the face. He recalled the vision he had had in the Serenii tunnels.
Graves filled with hundreds—nay, thousands—of bodies, mountains of skulls and bones. Demons feasted on the carcasses of women and children. Men tortured to a slow death.
Atop the pile of bones lay a familiar figure. The lifeless face of Farida stared back at him, her eyes empty and accusing. The faces of the dead of Malandria peered back at him from among the mound of corpses. There, next to Farida, lay Bardin, the insane, gentle man who had been a companion—a friend.
If Toramin succeeded in his plan, if the Great Destroyer returned, Bardin and all of humanity would meet a horrible fate. The Hunter couldn't stand by and allow it to happen.
"No."
The Hunter leapt at the demon, spinning him around and slamming his fist into his face. The demon tried in vain to block the Hunter's strikes, but the Hunter, invigorated, rained blow after blow on him, smashing his face, ribs, and stomach. Toramin grunted and backpedaled, but the Hunter refused to let up. He used every shred of anger, pain, and rage within him to fuel his blows.
Toramin didn't remain stunned for long. He retreated only a few steps before he found his footing and lashed out with the dagger, forcing the Hunter back. He kicked the Hunter's knee, knocking him off balance.
The Hunter hurled himself backward to dodge a swipe meant to carve open his throat. Too late, he realized he had moved away from the altar—and Bardin's still unconscious form.
Toramin glared at him, panting, his face red with rage, blood trickling down his face from a shattered nose and shredded lips.
"You dare! I offered you my hand in friendship, and this is how you repay me!"
"You offered me nothing," the Hunter spat back. "You offered me an empty, dead world, and a chance to serve your kind. You would condemn me to a pitiful existence and call it a favor. I know your kind, demon. I have stared into your dead eyes as you smile and lie. Now the Bloody Hand of Voramis is no more, thanks to you and yours."
Toramin spat blood. "What does the Bloody Hand…?"
"The First was an Abiarazi, and where is he now? He lies buried in the tunnels beneath the city, and his Third alongside him. The Demon of Voramis is no more. The Demon of Malandria will soon join his comrade in the fiery hell from whence he came."
"B-But…" The demon looked stunned. "But this is your calling, the very reason you were created! How can you refuse your destiny?"
The Hunter snarled. "Destiny? Destiny condemns me to becoming a monster, something to turn the world in which I live into a hell of endless torment. Why would I want that destiny, even if you were to offer me everything in return? You would have nothing to give!"
The Hunter edged to one side, trying to maneuver Toramin away from the altar. If he could get himself between the demon and Bardin, his friend would be…
A slow, wicked smile spread across Toramin's face, and he stepped back toward Bardin's unmoving form.
"If I cannot have you, Bucelarii, I will content myself with taking away the things you care about most in the world." Toramin raised the dagger over Bardin's chest.
Too late, the Hunter lunged forward. With a vicious smile and a bark of laughter, the demon drove the blade downward.
Chapter Six
The dagger plunged into Bardin's chest. The Hunter clapped his hands over his ears to block out the cry in his mind. Power flooded over him in a torrent that sent him to his knees, yet it felt…foul, unclean. He wanted to vomit, to slice open his veins; anything to get rid of the taint coursing through him.
A scream tore his from throat. "No!" His voice cracked. Not again!
He tried to climb to his feet, but the weight of defeat rendered him immobile. He couldn't move, couldn't think. He felt nothing but the energy pulsing through him, saw nothing but the blade buried to its hilt in his friend's body.
In the orange light emanating from the jewel in the blade's hilt, Toramin's leering features looked truly horrifying. The flesh and bone of his face writhed like a pile of maggots. Darkness filled the void behind Toramin's eyes. His expression was rapt; he enjoyed the Hunter's anguish.
"Oh dear," sneered the demon, "it seems the little brzt-ith has lost a plaything. He looks so angry." Bones cracked and flesh tore as he ripped the blade free.
The taunting, patronizing grin on Toramin's face fanned the Hunter's fury. It quieted the whirling chaos in the Hunter's mind, pushing back the disgust he felt at the tainted power coursing through him. His wounds no longer ached. The throbbing in his eye had stopped. He had only one thought: kill the demon.
With a roar of rage, the Hunter hurled himself forward, reaching for Toramin's throat. Toramin leapt back, but the Hunter wrapped his arms around the demon's knees, throwing him to the floor. Toramin's skull struck the hard stone with an audible crack.
The Hunter leapt atop Toramin. Heedless of the other robed figures in the room, he rained blow after blow on the stunned demon. Skin and bone morphed beneath the onslaught. The Hunter's knuckles cracked as he struck the angular, chitinous contours of Toramin's face—his true face, the face of the demon hidden by the mask of flesh. Horrible empty eyes stared up at the Hunter.
Demonic laughter bubbled up from the creature's chest, and Toramin responded with a blow of his own. Bone shattered beneath the impact. A single punch to the Hunter's chest snapped bone, knocking his breath from his lungs and hurling him backward into the stone altar.
The Hunter gasped for air, desperately trying to climb
to his feet, to keep fighting. His strength failed him. It was all he could do to breathe; every movement sent pain radiating through his body.
Toramin climbed to his feet and wiped the blood from his face. "I'm surprised, Bucelarii. That actually hurt. In all of my years on this miserable earth, none have managed to do what you did. For that, I salute you." He hefted the blade, still stained with Bardin's blood.
The Hunter gasped, still struggling to breathe. "You bastard! You killed him!"
"So I did." Toramin bent and placed his face uncomfortably close to the Hunter's. "I killed him, and I've killed thousands more just like him."
The demon seized his throat, his long, delicate fingers crushing with terrible force.
"He…was…innocent!" The Hunter tried to move, to fight back, but the pain in his back and side immobilized him.
"Innocent, guilty—in the end, the Destroyer cares not at all. He demands only their souls. Thanks to this"—he ran the edge of the blade along the Hunter's cheek—"I have the power to feed Kharna. Your soul will soon join the multitudes that have gone on before you. Your death opens the way for the Great Destroyer to return to Einan once more."
The First had said the same thing that night in the tunnels beneath Voramis. Could the Hunter's soul be the key to unlock the prison in which the Great Destroyer had lain dormant for millennia? But that couldn't be. Nothing had happened when he killed the First or the Third. Their deaths had not brought about Kharna's return. Something didn't make sense. He was missing some piece of the puzzle…
Toramin pressed the tip of the blade into his eyelid, but he refused to scream. He saw only the crimson staining the blade—Bardin's blood. He watched in horror as the dagger absorbed the blood, soaking it up until only bright steel glinted in the candlelight. It was as if his friend's life meant so little that not even a trace of his death remained.
Dots of blackness swam in the Hunter's vision, and the room blurred. Panic pressed at the edges of his consciousness. His struggles to break the demon's grip grew weak, and his lungs burned for air. He had seconds before he passed into unconsciousness. Here he hung, once more helpless in the clutches of a demon.
A familiar voice spoke in the Hunter's mind. Avenge me.
He tried to focus, to clear his vision. A figure materialized behind Toramin.
Bardin!
Fire blazed in Bardin's eyes. Avenge us. All of us.
The Hunter's feet, kicking in the air, found the edge of the altar behind him. He braced himself against the solid stone, and with a violent surge, pushed forward into Toramin. Caught by surprise, the demon's grip faltered, and he fell back beneath the sudden weight. They hit the ground hard, the Hunter atop Toramin, and the breath whooshed from the demon's lungs.
The Hunter flailed blindly at the hand crushing his throat. His fingers closed around solid flesh, and with every shred of strength, he squeezed. The demon's grip weakened for a heartbeat—just long enough for the Hunter to break free.
He dove for the dagger in Toramin's hand, and a moment of struggle ensued. The half-stunned demon refused to release the blade, but the Hunter slammed his hand into the floor over and over. The moment Toramin's grip weakened, the Hunter wrenched the accursed blade free from his grip and rammed it deep into the demon's side.
Toramin's scream nearly shattered the Hunter's eardrums. The demon writhed beneath him, struggling to push him off. The Hunter clung to the thrashing creature and drove the blade deeper between Toramin's ribs, questing to find a lung. Toramin's scream turned into a wet, choking cough. The bastard deserved every moment of agonizing torment for what he had done!
The demon's struggles weakened, its movements growing jerky and uncontrolled as the blade consumed its soul. Toramin coughed, spraying the Hunter's face with dark blood. He ripped the dagger from the demon's side, and raised it high.
His gaze locked onto Bardin's unseeing, empty eyes. "You are avenged!"
With a savage cry, the Hunter plunged the blade into Toramin's chest. Toramin's agonized screams rang loud in his ears. The Hunter felt the moment the dagger's tip pierced the demon's frantically beating heart. Warm, dark blood gushed over his hands, and a coppery tang filled his nostrils.
Twisted, tainted power engulfed him. He writhed atop the dying demon, pain tearing at his consciousness. The agony far eclipsed the torment that had wracked his body when he killed the First and the Third. Every muscle in his body pulled taut, threatening to tear. He closed his eye and clenched his jaw, struggling to retain his grip on sanity. He felt his consciousness ripped to shreds and pieced together a thousand times in the space of an agonizing heartbeat. The sensations flooding him were almost unbearable…almost.
The jewel set into the dagger's hilt flared bright orange. Light washed through the room, illuminating the horrified expressions carved into the faces of the hooded figures. The Hunter's body twitched and jerked with the power coursing through him, spasms coming in waves. It felt as if molten lead dripped across his chest; his newest scar would be an ugly, twisted thing.
The Hunter climbed to his feet, trying to hide the quiver in his legs. He drew in a ragged breath, then another. The throbbing in his left eye had all but gone; only a mild itch persisted. The flesh no longer felt angry and inflamed. Indeed, he could feel it knitting back together.
The dagger's corrupted voice sent a shudder down his spine. Slowly, it faded to a distant presence in the back of his mind, as Soulhunger did after he sated its desire for blood. The Hunter welcomed the silence; he needed no more voices filling his thoughts.
The sound of shuffling feet reminded him he was not alone. He whirled on the Order of Midas, dagger extended, blood boiling. They had helped to kill his friend, and by the Watcher, they would pay.
"Now, which one of you bastards is next?"
Chapter Seven
None of the "wizards" spoke, none dared so much as breathe. They had removed their hideous masks, and terror showed plain in their wide eyes and gaping mouths. A terrible, ominous silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of dripping blood.
"Your time for atonement has come, wizards!" He spat the last word—half curse, half ridicule.
The voice in his mind howled for him to kill them. Even the demon's death had not satiated its lust for blood.
Be silent, Abiarazi. I have given you death. Now leave me in peace.
'But they deserve death for what they have done. They killed Bardin!'
The Hunter stifled a snort. The thing in his head cared nothing for his friend. It only sought to use his anger.
I am in control, demon. I decide who dies tonight.
He stalked toward the men, the bloody dagger gripped in white knuckles. They shied away from him, huddling as sheep in the presence of a wolf. A vicious grin spread across his face. He could almost taste the terror rolling off them in waves.
One brave fool attempted to stand against him. The rangy man who smelled of spices and wine pulled a long knife from within the folds of his cloak. He lunged for the Hunter, thrusting the blade toward his throat.
The Hunter snarled at the onrushing man. He didn't bother to block the thrust, but twisted out of the blade's path. The man's rush carried him past the Hunter, who stuck out a foot. The robed figure stumbled and tripped, hitting the floor with a grunt and cough. He didn't get up.
Apus drew a cosh and struck at the Hunter's head. The Hunter caught the burly man's wrist and squeezed hard. Apus cried out and fell to his knees, the sap falling from nerveless fingers. The Hunter slammed his knee into the man's face. Blood spurted and Apus fell backward, clutching his ruined nose.
One of the wizards, a man with pale, sagging flesh and spots dotting his skin, tried reasoning with the Hunter. "Wait! It was his fault! He made us do it!" His thin, bony finger pointed to Toramin's corpse.
It was a lie; the way the man's voice quavered told the Hunter as much.
He fixed them with a glare. "You aided the demon in his quest. For your sins against the men and women of t
his city, you will join him in the twisted hell that spawned him."
"Yes!" Apus fairly shouted from where he knelt on the floor, clutching his bloody face. "Yes, we chose to help him, but that doesn't make us the same as him. He is a…demon!" A shudder shook the bearded man's frame and he stared with naked horror at the twisted visage of the thing that had once been Toramin.
"How are you any different? You chose to kill, just as he did. Whatever you tell yourselves, you are the same as he is. Monsters, every one of you!"
The elderly man spoke up, mewling. "We never intended to go so far! We were only doing what he told us to!"
The Hunter sneered. "Please! All of you just stood by and watched an innocent man die. You may not have wielded the knife, but your hands are stained with the same blood that tarnishes his."
"Perhaps, but what choice did we have?" Another man, this one nearly as wide as he was tall, spoke, his voice plaintive. "He said he would help us bring peace to our city. Have you not seen the beauty and purity of Malandria? It is because of what we have done!"
"I have seen the streets of the city, but I have also seen the miserable conditions in which many of your citizens live. You force them to live in squalor and poverty, condemning them to a life of suffering, for what?"
"You think this is bad?" Apus spat, his teeth bloody. "You would think this tame in comparison to life beneath the heel of the nobles and lords of Malandria."
"What are you talking about?" The Hunter remembered Bardin speaking of the revolt against the nobility of the city, many decades ago.
"The lords charged taxes so high that none but the wealthiest could afford to pay." The man who spoke had a florid face, a thick nose, and far too many chins. "They spent fortunes on frivolous parties and lavish banquets, while the common man suffered. Filth blanketed the streets, children starved, and lawlessness ruled the city, all so the nobility could enjoy their fetes and soirees."
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 27
