[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  With renewed intensity the monster swung at him and it was all Wodan could do to stay on his feet and draw in air as the blades tore past him. In mid-attack the beast opened its mouth and howled with such force that Wodan felt his chest heaving, lungs too shocked to pull in air. He staggered away, knowing full well that only a few weeks ago the hellish sound would have knocked him unconscious. As he staggered away, he was covered by dust raining down from a falling column, which nearly blinded him.

  Fear gripped him, the horrible fear that the monster outmatched him. The fear was even greater than when he’d faced the lion, for at least then he’d had a plan. Wodan staggered behind cover, but the monster simply tackled the column, blasting through stone and nearly burying him. Wodan leaped to the side and, seeing an opportunity as the monster blinked and lashed out at falling stone, he jerked the green blade upwards and tore through one scaled arm. He nearly became hung up in bone and armor, but finally the limb fell and smacked against the floor. He tried to catch his breath, already worn out, but without pause the insane monster whirled and swung at him. Wodan held his sword to stop the blow, but his stance was weakened, compromised from having leaned in to attack. The blades connected and Wodan was smacked by both red and green blades, then flung off his feet and sent rocketing backward.

  There was a terrible impact as he crashed against a column, ringing his skull even as the stone fell apart. He hit the ground, sword clattering away from him, legs splayed out. The one-armed monster charged at him, then he was blinded by dust, then Wodan felt only hard, freezing stone as the shattered column fell on him.

  An eternity, an endless moment of pushing against stone, ears clogged with the sound of a gravel waterfall. Finally he stood on a pile of rubble, legs half-buried, choking on freezing dust. The monster was buried, his red sword-axe marking his position like a gravestone. Wodan cast about for Capricornus, then lost his balance and fell the length of the rubble. Saw a hint of green light - then the rubble heaved and the monster rose from its grave. Howling, red eyes boring into him like drills. Wodan could barely turn over, much less rise, as exhaustion overcame his terror.

  Realization wailed in Wodan’s mind. He knew beyond any doubt that this unstoppable beast was no mere robot. It was the concentrated essence of everything dark and loathsome suppressed by Setsassanar, given form and trapped so that it would not run wild throughout the entire structure.

  I was right, he thought, this isn’t a test at all. That means… I’m really going to…

  “Master,” he cried, giving in to his anguish. “Forgive me! I can’t do this on my own! I need… I need help!”

  A shrill whistling sound erupted from the shaft in the ceiling, then there was a flash of light as something fell through the opening and crashed into the center of the chamber. Glowing white among the rubble, surrounded by a hissing cloud of burning nanomachines, stood Setsassanar. He wore violet and black mesh armor that Wodan had never seen, and his pale face was shining fiercely.

  “Get back, Wodan!” shouted Setsassanar. “I never should have sent you down here! This is my fight!”

  Setsassanar and the monster collided in a flash of limbs, moving almost too fast to see. Setsassanar leaped and whirled around the beast, striking armor with his hands and feet. The monster swung about, dashing his sword-axe against the Master, tossing him again and again, crushing him against columns and dropping him on the floor. In a terrific blow Setsassanar slammed his fist into the beast’s belly, shattering armor with such force that Wodan was sure the monster’s insides were demolished. Instead, the monster did not pause, but cracked its own hard skull against Setsassanar’s head, then jammed an elbow into him and flung him against the far wall so hard that dust and ice fell in a shower all around them. The beast charged but Setsassanar raised his hand. An inferno burned all around the beast. It howled and crashed into a column. Setsassanar rose to one knee, shaking. The flames sputtered, then the monster pulled itself from the rubble. Still on fire, it charged once again. Setsassanar limped sideways, leaning against the wall.

  He’s going to lose! thought Wodan. His eye caught a glint of steel. He ran and picked up the rifle, then leaped, braced himself against one column, pushed off of it, and came to rest atop another. He aimed – then realized that the rifle was wobbling in his hands, its inner workings broken and disjointed.

  Hissing in pure frustration, Wodan felt the chamber shake as the monster tossed Setsassanar against the wall, then through another column. In a shower of rubble, Setsassanar rose weakly. The monster slammed its sword down alongside his head, cracking skull, splashing the floor in blood. Still the Master stood, staggering away.

  “Slave Circuit!” Wodan shouted, holding the rifle upward. “Fix the rifle! You hear me? This is a command! Fix the gun!”

  A flash of invisible fire, heat against his face, as a cloud of nanomachines poured throughout the rifle, searing and healing the weapon. In a crackling mist of dying embers Wodan felt the thing solid in his hands once more.

  With razor-sharp clarity he aimed down the barrel and fired. The beast staggered. He fired again, and the monster’s sword arm swung about as it reeled from the impact. Wodan fired again and again, the rifle bucking in his hands. Steam billowed from the beast, the sizzle and stench of acid eating at internal organs, destroying joints. The monster bellowed as Setsassanar rose once more. Wodan aimed again, pulled the trigger, but the gun clicked empty as the Master and the beast collided.

  Wodan could not follow the battle. He saw the monster’s other arm fly free and smack against a wall. The two fell still, clinging to one another. One of Setsassanar’s arms was stuck nearly shoulder-deep in the thing’s mouth, its jaws working to tear his limb apart. There was a flash of fire from inside the beast’s head, a brief outline of black skull against white light. Then the jaws clamped down, slowly, severing the entire arm. Setsassanar pushed himself away and the monster toppled backward, a smoking corpse.

  Wodan ran to Setsassanar and knelt over him. The armor was blasted, his torso strangely flat, the head a demolished ruin of blood and bare skull. One purple eye gazed upward.

  “Master,” said Wodan.

  The purple eye turned to him.

  Wodan saw that the jaw was out of place. He moved it gently, then Setsassanar cleared his throat. “Should not have... sent you...” he said.

  “We both did what we felt… was right.” Wodan choked on tears, his face burning in the cold.

  “Guess so. Life, so… strange. Hard. To live.”

  “You can regenerate, can’t you, Master? Do you need… I can get you a…”

  “Organs ruined. Body ruined, beyond repair.”

  “But you can grow a new body, right, Master? There's no reason to… feel sad, is there?”

  “Yes… and no.” Blood seeped from either side of Setsassanar’s mouth, like throwing up without any movement. “This body… this robot… it is my conscious mind. Consciousness is only… small part of the mind. Largely unimportant. When I am dead, the rest of me… dreaming. Conscious mind, no longer in control. I… may not know… I may… forget…”

  “No, Master, no. You’ll remember me. You can’t… you can’t leave me. Come on. This is nothing. This is nothing! You can…”

  “Listen. Listen, son. There are things you have to… sorry, I’ve left you alone… in this… world. Things you have to know. I didn’t take Dove for nothing. A part of me did… yes. I wanted her. But I took her to… to control her. Manipulate feelings. Wodan, you need her. Powerful.” Again the crushed body puked up blood, a slow seepage that ran through mouth and nose. “Make her love, Wodan. Can’t save world. Can’t stop demons. Without her. I took her for you. Wodan. I took her for you.”

  “But… gods, Master, why! Why would you…?”

  “But part of me… wanted her too, Wodan. I may forget. I may forget… that I took her... for you…”

  Setsassanar fell silent. The single eye stared beyond Wodan. Wodan let the awful feeling run through him as he to
uched the face of his Master and put his forehead on his corpse.

  “Is this enlightenment, Master?” he said bitterly. Finally he wiped his tears. “Yes and no,” he said quietly.

  Wodan felt the growing cold, loneliness as he’d never felt. As the room grew dark he saw the green outline of his sword, the sword his father had given him. He retrieved it, then began the long ascent.

  ***

  Wodan walked the empty halls of the Tower. He heard only the hum of machinery, a dull nothingness that added to his sense of loneliness. He found Yohei sitting alone, slumped forward.

  “Yohei,” said Wodan. “Take me to the growing room. Take me wherever the new body will be grown.”

  Yohei raised his head for a moment, then let it drop again.

  “Take me where the brain is kept, then.”

  Yohei did not respond.

  Wodan found SexBot laid out on her bed. The ridiculous colors, the pastels and pinks, had faded to gray. Wodan lifted her limp arm, then let it drop.

  Wodan walked through an empty white hallway. “Robot Number Two,” he said, gazing at the ceiling. “Slave Circuit.”

  “Yee-e-ssiksik?roowwwmp.”

  “What’s going on?” said Wodan. “Is this... are you asleep? Unconscious?”

  “Rwmp.” There was a clicking of static, then silence.

  Again Wodan felt hot tears. He fought them down, then leaned against the wall and slid down. “Don’t you have anything else to say?” he said, chest heaving. “Some kind of… words of wisdom… stupid wisdom?”

  Feeling childish, Wodan forced himself to rise. “Take me to Langley, then,” he said. There was no response. “Take me to Langley! Do you hear me?” There was nothing. He was speaking to himself in an empty house. The unfairness of it lashed at him. He slammed his fist against the wall, cracking it, and shouted, “I said take me to Lang-”

  The wall flashed to life, and he saw images as in a dream. He saw Lucas trapped in a horrifying vision. He saw blood, saw people screaming, saw madness unleashed.

  “Is that real?” Wodan shouted. “Is… is that really happening?”

  The images were a jumbled mess, an absurd vision of hell that wouldn’t have seemed real if he hadn’t been through what he’d been through. He turned and ran.

  ***

  Wodan raced across sand the color of blood in the sunset. In the distance he saw Matthias standing over two bureaucrats who knelt before him. Wodan knew that Matthias must be concocting a story to keep the imperial servants from sending word that Dove Langley should be destroyed. As he raced to the Gul-in Kami, Justyn rose from a crouch and stood before him.

  “Wodi,” said Justyn, his friendly face now lined with skepticism. “I gotta say somethin’ to you, man. We got problems that-”

  “Listen to me, Justyn,” Wodan said as he came to a stop. “I don’t have time to explain. But do not let those men kill Langley. Do not let them leave, do not let them communicate with anyone. Kill them if you have to. Understand?”

  “Well, I guess, but we have to-”

  “Just do it! I need time! Do you understand?”

  “Wodi, I get all that, but you need to explain what you-”

  Leaping forward, Wodan extended his elbow and cracked Justyn on the jaw. The giant’s eyes slowly rolled back as he hit the sand. Wodan ran and leaped into the Gul-in Kami. He started the engine, praying that there was enough time to stop the cycle of death.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Passion of the Clone

  From a high window in the Temple of the Summons, Jared the Cognati looked down on the teeming rabble far below. The dancing, shouting, happy rabble. He leaned out slightly; down below, red pennants fluttered at the base of the Temple. Red pennants with black suns.

  “Well, Rabbi,” said Jared, “foreign invaders have laid claim to the Temple. Wealthy dilettantes armed with guns are getting high and throwing money at whatever non-establishment church catches their fancy at the moment. And now, best of all, and no doubt a part of your “grand scheme”, that heretic Lucas and his gang of lunatics are riding into Temple Grounds on donkeys and the people are hailing them as heroes.”

  Jared listened as Globulus shifted his weight behind him. “You doubt me,” the old man croaked.

  At once Jared whirled, finger extended like a weapon, and shouted, “I grow tired of crawling on my knees before weaklings! And you and your excuses! How many fools have to screw us before you’re satisfied?”

  The High Priest did not flinch. He sat like a sack of beans on a bench, legs dangling, gray cloth wrapped around his black robe. “You disappoint me, student,” said Globulus. “I thought that you were interested in the greater power that comes in the long term.”

  “Oh! Such… such bullshit!” said Jared, and Globulus winced at his language. “You and your power! Promises, that’s all it is! Promises of ruling an empire, promises of summoning a god. Gods! To you, the ultimate power is when your master goes to sleep and you can slip a few dollars out of his purse! ‘Rule from the shadows’? That only means you wear a leash during the day! You even think you’ve pulled one over on that outland king because you’ve got his top dog eating out of your hand. Ha!”

  “Be still, son. You should pray that the Lord increase the virtue of humility in your heart.”

  Jared caught the note of scorn, and felt it so deeply that he wanted to hurt his master. “Pray?” Jared hissed. “Pray to what god? What force in this world is greater than me?”

  Globulus turned away, disgusted.

  “Rabbi, master, why won’t you listen? The Cognati... years ago I fought against hundreds of men, thousands, men armed with guns, men trained to kill. I threw them around like rag dolls! Sometimes even my reputation did my fighting for me! It won my battles for me, before I entered city walls! I brought this Temple wealth that generations of farmers couldn’t match!”

  “Jared!” snapped Globulus. “That lust for murder is a distraction. You stay away from the foreigners. True power is manipula-”

  “What is power but the ability to threaten men with death!? To grant them life in return for servitude, but to leave the constant fear of death hanging over them!”

  Globulus sat silent for a while. “I understand you have passions that set you apart from other men,” he said quietly. “Cooperate with me, and you’ll be allowed to vent those passions in the coming days.”

  Jared stormed from the hall.

  Globulus contented himself with the knowledge that Jared could have twisted his head off with a thought, but did not.

  ***

  Lucas returned to the land of his birth riding on a donkey, and everyone was cheering, their faces filled of light. They waved palm branches and set them before him and his disciples in imitation of a royal carpet. Yardalen and Roc rode on either side of him, and Lucas was proud of them, for they had both worked so hard to prepare the people for his coming. He heard Roc laughing loudly; children surrounded him and the massive man leaned over and picked one up in each arm, nearly toppling his donkey as he bounced the children on his knees.

  When they reached the center of the village of Temple Grounds, the people surrounded them so that they could move no further. The sick were brought forth, the crippled, the miserable. Lucas felt his hands burning. The cloud of holy power that surrounded him knew that it was time to do the work that the Temple could not do.

  ***

  Lucas got no rest for the next few days, besides a few hours of sleep at night. He healed the sick by placing his hands on them, even going so far as to cure blindness. He turned no one away, and even healed soldiers from San Ktari. When the people asked if he served the Temple, or Srila, or their conquerors, he would only reply that he served the Father.

  The black robes began following Lucas, watching him heal the sick and speaking out against the Temple. The black robes often took people aside and tried to correct their thinking. One day a Vallier approached Lucas. He was a wealthy man whose son was mute.

  �
�He deserves to be mute,” said a native Srilan. “That much wealth attracts the attention of evil spirits. Obviously his son was afflicted because his father gave false counsel.”

  “That's not so,” said the Vallier, but was unsure what to say after that. Though he was wealthy, it was a fact that his hands had more calluses than any black robe's hands.

  Lucas gestured for everyone to be silent. He put his hands on the child’s mouth, then forced his fingers in among the teeth. In a few moments the child hacked and coughed violently, then spoke. The Valliers in the crowd cheered and clapped Lucas on the shoulders. “This calls for a celebration!” one of them said, and he held his fingers up to his lips, mimicking smoking.

  “There!” shouted a black robe. “You see? He helps sinners, outlanders who use all manner of drugs!”

  “You blind fools!” said Lucas, unafraid of the authorities. “It’s not what you put into your mouth that makes you filthy, but what comes out of it. Your own petty hatefulness is charge enough against you.”

  “I know how you drove the evil spirit out of that boy,” said another black robe. He was emboldened, seeing that the crowd was divided between Lucas's miracles and the influence of the black robes. “It obeyed you because you speak the same language as the spirits of hell! You drive out spirits and heal disease using black magic!”

  The Srilans in the crowd became nervous when they saw that the black robes, the elders of the community, were against him. They felt a sense of dread that the “party was over”.