Given a quest by the crown
To defeat an impossible foe
The Elf Queen had spoken to me. Dreamer. One last thing. Ya’ll got a mission. Don’t screw up. Or we all git dead. This here is serious, and I ain’t just funnin ya . . . As Queen of the Enchanted Forest, I order ya’ll not to fail. Kill the bad ’un, or it’s all over. I had accepted her quest. It was my quest to stop the Cursed One that had landed me half-dead on this altar.
Possessor of visions
My brave friend Trip, now probably dead. You talk with ghosts. You see visions. You even managed to turn back the clock. Explain that if it isn’t a miracle.
Leader of men
Earl Harbinger, smoking, trying to hide a slight smile, confident in his wisdom as the most experienced Monster Hunter in the world. I’ve got three Newbies that seem to think you’re their leader. Trip, Holly and Albert would follow you anywhere. Whether you know it or not, you’re a leader. That’s good enough for me.
Ally of dark forces
The Wendigo loomed in my mind. Billowing skins under an antlered skull. Special Agent Franks, still in mud-covered armor, snapping his hand to his forehead in a salute of honor.
Friend of monsters
Skippy and his tribe dancing and rejoicing. A mighty werewolf tearing with fang and claw as he battled the undead.
The line of text shattered in the darkness.
I knew now.
The artifact spun, shrieking, casting off insane energies, piercing screams inside my head from the trapped souls within its prison. It was not just a key. It was a manifestation of all that was bad. It had been forged by a being of unnatural law. Placed here as a tool of invasion. Held in place, waiting for that one mortal with the will to use it. The Old Ones were patient. They were smart. They had steered their pawns into place, taking thousands of years, and generations of human toil to bring this meeting about. It recognized me. It welcomed me. It called out to me.
I called back.
The priestess shrieked out an alien command. I was fully engulfed now in the whipping black energy. Lord Machado swung the weapon. The ax blade descended, screaming down toward my unprotected chest.
“No.”
Time jerked spasmodically. There was a thunderous explosion and the ax was blasted spinning into the air. The Cursed One was flung across the top of the pyramid, slamming wetly against the ivory blocks.
I was in control now. I felt the power of the Old Ones coursing through my body. I could move again. Strength surged through my limbs. With one tug, the chains binding my wrists were shattered. I rose, forcing my way through the walls of black energy, a taste for violence in my mouth. I had been pushed too far, and now I was pushing back.
The Master vampire screamed in rage. Somehow I had harmed his lord, and now he descended on me in its full wrath. Jaeger twisted into his killing form, surging toward me at hundreds of feet per second. Claws descended in a flash of speed sufficient to turn rock into powder.
I blocked the claw, smashing the hardened bones of his arm into splinters. The vampire halted in shock. I wrapped my hands around his neck, spun him around and shoved him into the altar. Cracks rippled across the structure as I forced him down. He hit me like a freight train, hammering me with unbelievable force. I tried to tear him apart, but he was the strongest of all vampires. I could not destroy him.
There was a presence. I could sense it coming from the artifact. One of the prisoners, desperately calling my name. I stuck one hand back into the energy and felt something heavy and solid land in my palm.
It was Mordechai’s cane.
I roared as I slammed it through Jaeger’s chest. It served as a mighty stake, piercing the black heart. He screamed in impossible pain as the cane began to burn in blue fire. For six decades this thing had reigned nearly supreme in his world of undeath. Cursed with powers beyond comprehension, yet bound in servitude to another. Before that he had been just as evil, just as brutal, only in human form he had been a mere cog in the machine of death that had been his calling. He was a murderer, a tyrant, a king of evil. We stood face to face as the vampire tried to pull me into the conflagration. I slammed him back into the altar, again and again, gaining in strength and velocity. I crushed his form into the ivory, pulverizing it into bits.
He tried to crawl away, withering and burning. The flames of the cane would not allow him to change form. There was no escape. I snatched up my ganga ram, lifted the mighty weapon, and brought it down on the vampire’s neck. The heavy blade struck true, and driven by my new strength, the hardened spine shattered on impact. His head landed at my feet. Black lifeblood streamed down the pyramid. His eyes looked up at me in confusion as his mouth tried to form words.
I kicked his head into the woods.
The energy release from the artifact was growing in intensity, far greater now than it had been during my vision. I walked through it, unfazed by the lightning. Stepping over the smoldering body of the vampire, I headed toward the Cursed One. The artifact lifted into the air, higher and higher, until it was suspended at the midpoint of the tiny little world. The roar of the unleashed power was deafening. The winds picked up the snowfall and spun it like we were in a blizzard.
“Machado!” I roared. I was whole again. I could hear. I could see. I could move. “Machado! Face me!” I tore off the remaining scraps of my armor and threw them aside. I strode toward the fallen form of the Cursed One. It ended now.
Boy. Wait. You must stop.
Freed from the bondage of the Cursed One, his murderer destroyed, the Old Man reached out for me, trying to help. I ignored him. I was filled with rage. Lord Machado had attacked me again and again. He had threatened my loved ones. He had threatened my world. He had tried to take our lives. My blood thundered and I demanded vengeance. His death was inevitable. I demanded it.
The energy grew in power relative to my anger. It spun high above, now a solid globe of black, so thick and great that the trees were bending, breaking and being sucked upwards. I walked through the fury.
Stop. They use you. Use you like pawn.
Lord Machado appeared out of the whirling snow. He bombarded me with his power. Telekinetic forces striking against me, trying to invade my body, rupture blood vessels in my brain, clamp down the valves of my heart, or pop my lungs like a balloon. He had the power to kill with his very mind.
Nothing.
His powers could not touch me. He belonged to me now. I lost control, washed away in a river of fury.
“Die!” I shouted as I slashed my blade through his neck, spraying oil high. He lashed out with a tentacle. It struck me like a whip, burning me. I swung as it withdrew, taking the end off and leaving a trail of black. He encircled me, whipping and tearing, trying to ensnare me. I snarled and cursed, swinging the heavy blade, chopping through the flesh of the Old Ones. The armored bulk crashed into me, knocking me backwards. A tentacle lashed around my wrist and yanked my blade away as I fell.
I landed next to something—Lord Machado’s ax. It was embedded in the ivory. Surging to my feet, I dodged as tentacles crashed into the ground, and wrenched the blade free. The polished wood felt natural in my hands, as if it belonged there. I twirled it overhead, and brought it down on his limbs, severing them in a smear of ichor. The black flesh tore at me, trying to pull through my ribs and into my heart. If I had not had the power of the Old Ones coursing through me, I would have died instantly. I grabbed the slippery tentacle with one hand, and tugged the Cursed One toward me. I slammed the spike of the ax forward, driving it between the crimson eyes. The scream echoed inside my skull. He may have been immune to all normal weapons, but there was nothing normal about his family’s battle-ax.
He pulled away, knowing fear for the first time in centuries. I followed him, driven forward in a berserk frenzy. I brought the ax down, chopping, hacking and stabbing against the withering mass. Overhead the black sphere was growing, now filling the whole center space of the world. I drove the Cursed One back, until he balan
ced precariously at the edge of the pyramid. I swung the blade up, tearing through the face, striking the ancient bone beneath, and launching the helmet into the air. It disappeared upwards, engulfed in the maelstrom of the artifact.
The Cursed One was defeated. Limbs severed, fluids pouring out, shattered skull dangling, he stood on the edge. In the distance the walls of the world were shaking. The created dimension had come loose from its anchor, and we floated just above the surface of Alabama. The ground behind the Cursed One faded away, trees and rocks dropping toward the earth below as the created world began to disintegrate.
The armored breastplate was a target. It beckoned me. I was sure in my knowledge that the organ keeping the unnatural thing alive was beneath. I could feel it beating.
HOW CAN THIS BE? IT WAS MINE. MINE TO CONTROL. YOU HAVE TAKEN IT FROM ME. I HAVE BEEN BETRAYED.
Boy, stop please. Control your anger. You know now who you are. This is not way to finish this. This is what she wants. This is what Old Ones want.
SPARE ME. PLEASE.
The blade impacted the ancient armor and easily pierced through. The pump that served as Lord Machado’s heart was cleaved in two. I tore the ax free. An explosion of gas and liquid erupted out of the hole in the armor, spraying me in the face. I gagged as some of the stuff entered my mouth. Lord Machado toppled, and rolled down a level, landing in an oily clump. Some of his blood drifted upward, caught in the pull of the artifact. The droplets disappeared into the mighty sphere.
No. What have you done? Mordechai cried. You doom us all!
The words of Earl Harbinger, Hunters can’t lose control. Got that? You never lose control.
I had said it to Trip myself the night he had talked me out of quitting. When I get mad, when I lose control, people get hurt.
I was the one. I tasted the foul blood in my mouth just as Lord Machado had tasted the copper in his own five hundred years before . . . What had I done?
“The sacrifice is complete,” Koriniha said, her voice now clear.
I spun around, ax in hand. The priestess stood at the opposite end of the pyramid. One black arm encircled Julie’s neck. A ceremonial dagger was pressed into her throat, unleashing a thin trickle of blood. I began to move forward, but the priestess pressed the knife harder and Julie cried out.
“That will be enough, Hunter,” she said. The power of the Old Ones evaporated from my body. Suddenly I was dizzy and weak. Stumbling, I went to my knees, feeling empty without the power. “You’ve had your taste.”
“Let her go,” I ordered. Julie was frightened but angry. She fought against the priestess. Her chains had been broken, but she could not break free of Koriniha’s steel grasp. The priestess was still a patch of oily darkness, but her features had changed to the point that she looked almost exactly like she had in the memory. The red eyes had been replaced with the cunning human eyes that I remembered. She was looking at something behind me.
There was a bellow, sounding even over the hurricane above, the battle cry of an unstoppable force. I turned just in time to see Abomination’s blade tearing toward my throat. There was no way I would be able to move in time.
Koriniha’s eyes fixed on the bayonet.
It stopped instantly, the edge pressed into the flesh above my jugular. Abomination vibrated, the silver blade dissipated friction heat from the sudden stop into my skin. The Tattooed Man looked at me, pitch-black eyes wide in surprise, then down at the shotgun in his thick fists, then at the priestess. She glared at him, and suddenly he was slammed backwards as if hit by a truck. He rolled across the pyramid, instantly springing to his feet near the vampire’s now skeletal corpse. Thrall lifted my shotgun, the skull image on his face twisting into grim determination. The black lines on his body moved in unison with the crackling energy above. He began to walk toward me.
“What took you so long?” the priestess asked nonchalantly.
“T’was a mighty werewolf about. There was a great battle to gain entrance to this foul place. Who art thou?”
She laughed. Julie cringed as the knife twisted against her neck. “Do you not remember me, Captain Thrall? It was I who led your general to his fate.”
“Thou evil thing. I took thy life once. I shall do so again.” Thrall’s voice raised in volume and intensity. He changed direction away from me, now heading toward the priestess. “Thou stole the artifact from my hands. Thy minions left me buried beneath a mountain, but I will not die. I have vowed to keep the power from all. I have vowed upon the spirits of my Jarl ancestors. I have—” Koriniha’s eyes narrowed and the Tattooed Man was again hurled through the air.
“Fool. I tire of you. Your use to us has ended,” she hissed. He landed with a sickening thump. Abomination bounced out of his hands. “We needed you then. We needed a protector for the Kumaresh Yar, but no longer. Lord Machado had to work for it. He needed a nemesis. We could not just give him the artifact before the time was right. Thank you for your services, good Captain.”
Thrall surged to his feet. He must have retrieved all of my weapons from the snow. He drew both of my .45s from behind his back and pointed them at the priestess, fingers seeking triggers. The priestess pushed them aside with a thought. Bullets struck the pyramid and ricocheted harmlessly into the distance. The STIs were torn from his massive hands and sent spinning away.
The unkillable man charged her with a roar. For five hundred years he had protected the device from any mortal who would dare to unlock its powers. He had sacrificed his life, always in hiding, constantly in battle, always struggling to protect the object from the minions of the Cursed One. It had been stolen once before with the help of the Nazis, and he had regained it. It had been stolen from him again by the hands of seven Masters. He was here to get it back, and destroy any who thought to use it. He was the Guardian.
But the Old Ones no longer required his services.
He stumbled to a halt, clutching at his face in alarm. “What foul sorcery is this?” he bellowed, and then roared in pain as the twisting magic tattoos were ripped from his body, taking parts of his flesh with them. “No! ARRGGHH!” He gnashed his teeth together in agony as his skin was torn off. The black curling lines snaked upwards, crackling into the black sphere, returning to their home. His clothing rustled as the blood-stained lines searched for an escape, poured through the fabric, leaving it clinging to the now blood-soaked form. He went to his knees, twisting and convulsing as he was peeled like a piece of fruit. I had to look away. I had never seen anything so horrible.
He fell onto his face, now all visible sinew and twitching muscle, barely conscious in a spreading pool of red.
“It must hurt. To be a mortal, and to be branded with such glory. Immune from age, sickness, death—” Koriniha appeared to be enjoying his suffering. “—only to have it all stripped away.”
“What art thou?” Thrall gasped through his gash of a mouth, white teeth glistening in the pulped mass. The black had been torn from his eyes, and the things were now huge, milky orbs, quickly covered in blood. Eyelids gone, he could no longer blink it away.
“I have been known by many names. You knew me as Koriniha, but that was just a part to play. Oh, how I tired of that act, fawning over your Lord Machado. He should have been the one, but he lacked the will. I have lived a thousand lives. I have trespassed upon this world since the beginning. I am Unwelcome, Uninvited. O mighty Captain, your people knew me as Azgeroth. The tribes that conquered your people thought of me as Hel.” She turned to glare at me, her oil-slick face dripping onto Julie’s hair. “I am a thing of legend. To your mentor, the ghost, to his people I was Lilith, though they have the story all wrong. To the nation that carried them away into captivity I was Zaltu, daughter of Tiamat. Temples have been built in my honor across this world, all forgotten now. I am a false god in your pathetic mortal pantheon. You sad apes have made idols of me for ten thousand years. I have waited patiently while you fools were sacrificing slaves and forming cults in my name. But who I am is not important. All you m
ust know is that I am the one who prepares the way for the return of the Great . . .” she hissed an impossible sound that hit my brain like a sledgehammer. Julie cried out in pain and tried to lift her hands to cover her ears. The name of her master left me nauseous and stupefied.
“Do you understand now? In your visions, I was not speaking with that fool Machado. I was speaking to you. You are the one. Infinite power is at your fingertips. You are the rightful ruler of this world. You are destined to be a prince of . . .”
The impossible sound again. I clamped my hands over my ears. Julie screamed.
“Use your will to unlock it. All you have to do is wish for it.” She glanced upwards at the roaring sphere. “Do it now or I will kill your love.” She pressed the tip of the knife in deeper. Julie cringed.
I understood now, understood more than the priestess thought I did. I knew what was waiting on the other side of that gate. They could not exist in a plane like ours. They were outside time. They needed the fabric of the universe twisted into their image, and that was something that they were not able to do on their own. If I were but to will the sphere to open, then the Old Ones would descend on this world to rule. It was a trick. It was all a trick. Lord Machado had just been a pawn, a man used and broken by them to lead events to this moment. A pawn like me.
“Don’t do it, Owen. Let her kill me,” Julie shouted. Koriniha tightened her arm around her hostage’s throat. Julie was undeterred. “Do it, you whore. I dare you!”
“I won’t open that gate.”
“That is up to you. You are the one. The one prophesied by the great ruler itself. You can control time and matter. You have been tested before and you have proven yourself ready. Now all that remains is for you to satisfy the rest of the prophecy.”
The last lines appeared glowing in my mind, obsidian chips flying, ax madly descending.
The Monster Hunters Page 56
