by N. J. Mercer
All eyes in the chamber were now fixed on the events taking place around the wormhole, all except those of Edward Devilliers, who continued to sense subtle anomalies that bothered him. Even the most capable of his minions remained oblivious to the worrying Presarium shifts he could detect; maybe he was expecting too much of them, sometimes it was easy to forget how far his ability exceeded theirs. He put these concerns aside briefly and turned his attention back to the ceremony. “More!” he ordered, his great voice projecting all the way to the furthest Disciple, and the chanting, gyrating figures became manic. “Orbok! Orbok!” their cries echoed around the cathedral. They were the giant, living generator that powered the wormhole, and their actions hastened the arrival of the Demon King.
**
Boyd, wrapped in chains at the centre of all this commotion, witnessed everything. With the wormhole fully activated and the arrival of Orbok imminent, it looked unlikely that the Disciples would need another sacrifice. He found some consolation in this, not for himself – for the three innocent girls. Remaining alive meant he was still in with a chance of stopping the dark proceedings and preventing any harm befalling them. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt the chain around him inexplicably loosen; he wondered if one of the mighty links had broken through his struggles. Then it started to slowly unwind by snaking away from his body, and he knew this was no chance occurrence; there could be only one explanation – Johnny! His friends must have made it here! Even in his injured state, his body battered and bruised from road accidents and battles with demons, Boyd managed to grin. Whether he would live or die he did not know; whatever happened, he would make sure there would be some payback first. The chain stopped moving. Although it still covered him, it was now loose enough to be thrown off. He felt the circulation and sensation return to his body; it made him feel stronger. One more round, he thought as he lay there, one more round …
Chapter 40
The feverish excitement gripping the crowd suited the three intruders; it made them even less likely to be noticed. Probing the mind of the Disciple on the stone stairway had most conveniently revealed the layout of this underground labyrinth to Johnny, and it allowed him to warp with his companions to the very rear of one of the enormous viewing balconies. To do this and remain unseen, he had distorted space–time to the point that they were able to move merely as a ripple through the air. Before infiltrating the ceremony, Johnny and Sascha had disguised themselves in the robes of the Disciples while Baccharus had concealed himself by hovering low amongst the folds of his keeper’s new garb. Once they were amongst the enemy, the two humans had edged their way forwards through the seething mass of bodies, and the familiar had flitted to the shadows high up in the ceiling; in this way, each was able to look down onto the central region of the cathedral.
The companions had arrived just in time to witness the fearful scene of the naked, injured man, whom they did not recognise, being stretched across dimensions. Johnny regretted not being there soon enough to aid the poor wretch. The sense of horror he had felt at the unknown individual’s fate was equalled by the awe inspired through his first sighting of the wormhole – the source of the psychic disturbance that had started their journey. Recalling Theodora’s words from his vantage point, Johnny saw first-hand how the once placid pool of the original portal, so necessary for balancing Presarium levels on Earth, was entirely dominated by the malignant spinning dimensional corridor of the wormhole; a sight that filled anyone who viewed it with amazement and wonder. To those less psychically adept than him, it was mostly a visual spectacle, but he could also sense the link to the worlds of Disorder through it and feel the psychic hyper-stimulation that Edward Devilliers had experienced earlier. Once again, he understood how seductive the path of Disorder was to so many, although he could not bring himself to submit to it; he still found something obscene in it.
After managing to pry his eyes away from the wormhole, Johnny had taken the opportunity to examine the hall further and spotted Boyd, bound in the wooden cart. He had not been able to recognise the chained man straight away, only after carefully scrutinising his build and noting his blunt psychic signature had he concluded that it was indeed his friend lying there. Through a subtle exertion of his will he had set him free. Johnny had loosened the chain; it was up to Boyd now to decide how and when he would take advantage of his new-found freedom.
Johnny observed the proceedings closely. Outwardly, he looked a picture of calm; inwardly, his mind worked frantically as he planned his next move. The main source of consternation now was the glowing light at the centre of the wormhole taking on the shape of a giant humanoid, the form of Orbok. Although it did not yet contain the Demon King’s substance, it was already terrifying in what it represented.
Johnny glanced up at his familiar, who was getting dangerously close to moving out of the Qrwshan amulet’s protective range. Johnny hoped the high Presarium count here would cover Baccharus’s tracks. He then looked towards Edward Devilliers to see if he had noticed their presence. The leader of the Disciples was becoming distracted from the ceremony; his dark, dangerous eyes glanced around the cathedral hall suspiciously, sure there was something going on. Johnny knew the psychic disruption caused by warping into the chamber and freeing Boyd had alerted Devilliers to their intrusion, however, at this range it was being seen which would be more likely to give him and his friends away rather than the detection of their auras. He had to act soon.
From Johnny’s vantage point, Edward Devilliers presented a tempting target. He realised that opting to attack the Lord of Disorder directly would only give him one strike before he and his friends were overwhelmed by the legion of swaying and chanting Disciples around them. One strike to end an adversary as powerful as the High Lord was not enough; there would have to be an alternative plan.
Johnny appraised the situation further as he stood amongst the naked, heaving bodies of the enemy. He and his friends were still seriously outnumbered here, but something favourable had occurred. Earlier, the warp phantom Lord Arkkun had given the order for his guards to leave the cathedral and search the complex for intruders. The tunnels of this underground network were a maze, and so the guards would be gone for a while; slightly fewer enemies to face. Yet another factor to consider was how dangerously exposed the three girls were, still fixed in their chairs and positioned over the wormhole; in an all-out attack they were very likely to be injured, as was Boyd. Unfortunately, Johnny could not see Mr Kreb, who remained hidden from view beyond the arch; his Firehound was there too, pacing restlessly as if it were pre-empting disquiet.
Hidden amongst the Disciples, Johnny knew he still had the advantage of surprise, and it would have to be exploited soon. He thought hard about a suitable plan of attack before finally deciding on an insidious strike. Remain under cover and throw the enemy into disarray – fight Disorder with chaos. He whispered his thoughts to Sascha who was standing beside him. In agreement with the proposed strategy, Sascha, with a pistol concealed amongst the folds of his hijacked robes, drifted away from Johnny into the sea of Disciples, even joining in with their insane chants at times to preserve his disguise. He was to remain under cover and look for an opening to covertly wreak havoc amongst the forces of Disorder. Next, Johnny communicated psychically with Baccharus, who was secreted amongst the gargoyles decorating the vaulted ceiling. His message was kept as brief as possible and timed to coincide with some particularly powerful energy feedback events from the wormhole so that it might avoid detection. His orders were simple, and moments after receiving them the familiar struck stealthily.
Johnny quietly watched Baccharus whip up the flames from a large brazier in a dark corner of the hall. Tongues of the psychically enhanced fire leapt unnoticed beyond the metal basket that held them. The robes of three Disciples who were standing nearby caught alight; they thrashed around trying to put out the flames with their flailing arms, unintentionally inflicting burns upon their nude companions in the process.
The
wildly unpredictable fire threatened to set further robes alight, and in the resulting confusion the chanting started to falter. Since the recent enhancement of his psychic ability, Johnny had been in uncharted territory and was still learning how to fully harness his skill. With this in mind, he improvised his next attack, never having attempted anything like it before. If he pulled it off, it would be no end of help to them.
With eyes closed and a frown of deep concentration marking his face, he drew Presarium and any nearby matter into the shape of a dozen glowing orbs of thermal energy which he duly unleashed to race around the cathedral – a collection of miniature speeding suns. The chanting was replaced by the wails of the injured as each ball of hot plasma made contact with a body. Disciples scattered around the great hall, trying to avoid the lethal orbs; some lay on the floor, presumably dead, while many hid and nursed their injuries. Johnny even had the audacity to pursue the High Lord with his new weapons; it only took a casual wave of the hand for Edward Devilliers to deflect the orbs that were heading towards him. By doing so, he spared a whole section of the hall and many of his Disciples from the psychic attack. Earlier, Johnny had been observing the confusion on Devilliers’ face; now he could see that his foe understood exactly what the energy anomalies he had previously sensed were.
“Show yourself, worm of the Equilibrium!” cried out Devilliers in anger, his powerful voice reverberated throughout the cathedral and was audible even above the screams and shouts of the burning men and demons. Disciples started looking at each other suspiciously, wondering who it was that their master addressed.
Johnny felt a nudge; Sascha had sidled up next to him and was pointing towards the wormhole. He had noticed an important phenomenon. As the chanting had faltered and eventually stopped following Johnny’s psychic assault, the pulsing of the wormhole had slowed down a fraction and the glowing shape at its centre had ceased growing. Johnny acknowledged this observation with a gentle nod.
“Continue the chant!” cried out Edward Devilliers; Sascha drifted back into the confused throng. Johnny looked to the cathedral floor, some of the orbs were still dive-bombing the Disciples; most of their energy had dissipated to the point that they were becoming transparent and fading away. He observed the charismatic Edward Devilliers crying out to his people, rallying them. “True Disciples of Disorder, call out to Orbok – Demon King. Do not become distracted by what is happening in the cathedral. I, the one who loves you, will protect you as I always have done!”
Johnny would have to face this man soon; he had to find more room first or he would be trapped by his followers. As he looked around, he spotted Sascha, who was still under cover. Johnny watched his friend trying to disrupt the proceedings by bundling into a group of gathering chanters, acting as if he were one of the many in the cathedral injured by the orbs. With this tactic, Sascha managed to delay their attempt at restarting the chant. Regrettably, his determined actions had made little difference to the progress of the ceremony overall because the Disciples nearest Edward Devilliers, the ones who had escaped the worst of the orbs, already had the accursed mantras of Disorder on their lips again.
Johnny eventually found a way from his balcony to the large mezzanine. He carefully watched Edward Devilliers, whose hawk-like eyes continually scanned the cathedral for his enemies. He sensed the High Lord project a great psychic shield; it didn’t alarm him, in fact he was mildly amused – he was already within its boundary. Devilliers must also have realised this because soon there was no shield present; instead, there was a probing field of energy individually caressing the aura of all those present, hunting out the unwelcome. Johnny became aware of what the High Lord of Disorder was doing. One could only hide from a potent psychic such as Edward Devilliers for so long.
Baccharus was the first to be discovered; he had drifted a little too far out from his hiding place. Johnny saw Devilliers raise an eyebrow and leer at the winged figure hovering amongst the shadows in the grand vaulted ceiling. Almost immediately a beam of purified psychic energy blazed a trail from the forehead of the High Lord to Johnny’s little companion. The bright line of concentrated Presarium oozed with power, and Johnny had no doubt that it would disintegrate its target; he had anticipated something like this and replicated what he saw. Almost instantaneously, another similar line of energy shot out from under his cowl, and the two beams met, cancelling each other out in a shower of multi-coloured sparks. By sparing Baccharus from annihilation, Johnny had revealed himself.
Having forced the intruders from concealment, Edward Devilliers could not resist a satisfied grin. The beams remained locked into each other, his concentration deepened, just as Johnny’s did, and the smile faded. Each combatant vied to exceed his opponent’s psychic strength. The electrical disruption from the beam weapons sent most Disciples scurrying for cover while Baccharus managed to dart down from the ceiling to lose himself amongst the frenetic activity below. The strain showed on the faces of both psychics. The Disciples nearest to Johnny turned towards him; they watched as he projected the lethal energy, unsure what to do. To have an enemy amongst them, in this of all places, was unimaginable and some even thought he was a part of the ceremony.
“Kill him!” commanded Devilliers, obviously frustrated at the indecision from his followers. The momentary lack of concentration in giving this order weakened his beam, which was duly driven back by Johnny and threatened to blow his head off. The minions of Disorder around Johnny, faithful to their master’s command, moved rapidly. They were a fanatical collection of naked, masked humans and sinuous blue-skinned demons who howled foul oaths and curses in the objectionable tongue of Disorder. A few of the robed guards, who were further away, advanced with drawn knives, and one, a pistol. Now it was Johnny’s focus that was interrupted and Devilliers’ turn to force his beam back. The enemy closed in and Johnny was trapped. His psychic power was focused on resisting the High Lord, he could hardly move; to do so would further disturb his concentration and then surely Devilliers’ energy beam would make contact. The first of the cultists was almost upon him when there was a loud crack and he dropped to the ground. Further gunshots downed more Disciples and there was disarray in their ranks. From the corner of his eye, Johnny saw Sascha discreetly drifting amongst the robed and naked throng with pistol drawn, barely noticeable beneath his leather robes. On witnessing his followers cut down and further evidence of infiltration, Devilliers was enraged; it was all Johnny needed. With a supreme effort of willpower he drove Edward Devilliers’ beam back, causing the High Lord to recoil suddenly before being thrown off his feet. Finally, Johnny was able to launch a psychic attack on the few Disciples who continued to threaten him despite Sascha’s admirable defence. He produced a giant wavefront of energy, similar to the one he had used earlier in the garden. It pushed out from around his body, repulsing the approaching Disciples, sending them tumbling away; many were thrown off the mezzanine and onto the hard stone floor beneath. As Johnny tried to recover from the effort of his psychic activity, more powerful adversaries made their way to meet him.
Mr Kreb had already reached the balconies of the gallery level; his long strides carrying him closer to Johnny, who was making his stand on the mezzanine. The Firehound rushed ahead of him, towards Sascha. For many of the Disciples, this was the first sighting of Mr Kreb and his familiar, and they parted fearfully to let the pair through. Johnny could see the Firehound charging at his friend with its muscles rippling and bulging. Fatigue prevented him from summoning an effective psychic strike so he shouted a warning instead. Sascha had just finished reloading the revolver, which was raised before him, and he started to fire. Each shot bit deep into the hound’s flesh, prompting a howl. The creature advanced relentlessly; it seemed that all the bullets had achieved was to enrage it further. Sascha retreated whilst attempting to shoot, and the revolver was soon empty. Johnny tried to rush to his friend’s aid, unsure if he would be able to produce anything psychically once he got there; the hound was well ahead of him. Sascha reach
ed the edge of the mezzanine, and as he tried to reload again the creature pounced. Sascha raised his arms. Johnny shouted; it was all he could do. At that moment, Baccharus suddenly re-emerged from hiding; he was hovering over the balustrades behind Sascha. The familiar was on the offensive; his little arms were a blur of movement as he produced a hail of fiery psychic bolts. He managed to hurl a barrage at the creature’s face as it leapt though the air, burning hair and flesh off bone. With parts of its skull exposed and dripping phosphorescent life fluids, the Firehound appeared more hideous than ever. It was a valiant effort on Baccharus’s part, but the familiar’s projectiles did not kill the beast, and they could not stop its momentum. The hairy, muscular mass knocked Sascha, spinning, over the top of the mezzanine balustrades before following him over it, howling.
“Sascha!” screamed Baccharus over the noise, diving to catch up with his falling friend. As Sascha tumbled towards the ground, all the smooth stones, the psychic grenades, rolled out from the trousers and jacket he wore under his robes. They hit the cathedral floor with a massive explosion of psychic energy directly beneath him and the Firehound. The intense wave of released Presarium deflected the creature’s body and caused its brain to implode. Sascha was also repelled by the explosion. The force of the blast beneath him actually helped to break his fall, and not being psychic meant he was spared any significant neurological damage, unlike some others in the cathedral. All Disciples with psychic ability on the lower level of the cathedral were sent sprawling to its edges, their higher cerebral function permanently impaired – most of Lord Arkkun’s initiates were disabled in this way. On witnessing so many of the enemy overpowered at once, Baccharus celebrated.
