by Tim Marquitz
How’s that saying go? Wish in one hand, shit in the other?
Focused on the neighborhood ahead and the sniper behind, I didn’t see the heaping mound of dirt move until it was too late. My peripheral vision suddenly went dark. I turned my head to see a fist the size of a lunchbox right before it plowed into my face. The world exploded with light and I was flung sideways through the air, slamming into the wet ground. The mud cushioned the impact, but my head rang like an anvil.
Instinct took over and I went for my gun. A spear of agony blew through my forearm, and I watched in stunned silence as the inside of my arm exploded in a gush of blood. The pistol fell from my limp hand just as what little light there was went away. I raised my eyes just in time to see another giant fist crash into my face. This time, my shield was gone.
I heard a muffled crack as I flew backward from the uppercut, my brain sloshing around inside my head as though it were in a blender. Cold mud filled my eyes, nose, and mouth when I hit the ground. I went to raise myself up and my wounded arm gave way with a lightning bolt of pain, and I crumpled onto my side, spitting out chunks of mud. My vision blurred, I only heard the hulking behemoth stomping toward me. I willed my magic to work. Nothing happened.
There was nothing I could do but laugh. I wiped the crust from my eyes and stared at the approaching mountain, doing my best to make my eyes focus. When they did, I felt the sudden urge to pucker up to keep me from shitting myself.
The Nephilim, Jorn, stood before me.
His lips were pulled back into an ugly sneer that probably burned a couple hundred calories just to maintain. The grunting he was doing as he lugged his six hundred pound frame across the mud was probably another fifty, or so. His bald head glistened in the rain, drops of water sluicing through the crevices of fat that defined his hound dog face. Every footstep shook the ground as he came toward me, his splotchy cheeks a dark red. He looked really mad.
I guess he had a right to be.
Just a few days ago I’d put my gun to the head of the guy’s best friend, Zellick, and pulled the trigger. It probably didn’t feel good to have his buddy’s brains splattered all over his side and not be able to do anything about it. Unfortunately for me, he’d found a way to rectify the latter part of that.
My gun off in the mud about ten yards away, I thought it’d be a good idea to revisit my first meeting with Jorn. I’d set his ass on fire. I willed my power to life and was very disappointed when, once again, it didn’t answer. Jorn thumped closer as I tried to clear my head.
The worst part about magic was that it took serious focus to manifest and maintain. That wasn’t something I’d yet mastered. Still new to the power, it took a lot of effort to draw it out. Wizards like Rahim or McConnell could do it in their sleep, their magic such an integral part of their being; it was the true them. For me, my first instinct was to crack a joke or pull my gun. That didn’t work so well with a broken jaw and my .45 a million miles away.
Jorn didn’t seem to care about my problems. He snatched me up by my throat, both of his meaty paws wrapped around my neck. That limited my third option: crying like a little girl and begging for my life.
My fourth choice was punching him in the face, so I went with that. It seemed a reasonable decision at the time. Didn’t do much good. My fist crashed into his flabby cheek and he barely grunted as folds of fat rippled at the impact. It was like hitting cookie dough. He growled and lifted me further into the air while dots danced in my eyes. Before the signal to kick him could run from my brain to my foot, Jorn slammed me to the ground.
The dots went postal and spewed across my vision when I hit. The ground being soft was the only consolation I had. I sank into the mud, every bone in my body creaking in protest. My face was buried several inches into the topsoil, and I couldn’t breathe. Jorn lent a helping hand; or foot, as it were.
His boot crashed into my stomach and launched me backwards, mud and bile spewing from my mouth. My only thought, as I tumbled through the air, was that I was racking up some serious frequent flyer miles. Oh, and that I needed to practice my landings.
I hit the ground and what little sense I’d stored up over the years was knocked loose, along with a couple of my teeth. Blood filled my mouth, adding its coppery tang to the crunch of moist dirt. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Jorn lumbering toward me again.
I scrambled to get to my feet, but either I was moving much slower than usual or he’d sped up because I caught another boot before I’d managed anything more than getting to my knees. The world whipped by as I tumbled back, and braced for impact. It didn’t come right away. There was a strange sense of still falling just as I expected to land. The crash happened an instant later. The last of my breath rushed from my lungs as I slammed onto my back. I felt the solidness of concrete beneath me. My skull hit a split-second later and the dots came back full force. I groaned and tried to blink away the flashing lights that tangled my vision. Only partially successful, I pulled myself up and felt a solid wall behind me. I leaned into it as I heard Jorn’s huffing breath a ways above me. It seemed out of place, despite his height.
A wavering shadow encroached on my sight and something metal and heavy clanked down beside me. I’d heard my gun fall so many times I knew exactly what the sound was. I snatched it up and sighed as my fingers instantly recognized the clip had been removed and the chamber had been cleared. It was useless.
“Now it’s time for you to die, demon.” It was the first time I’d heard his voice, if you don’t count the shrieking when I’d set him alight. He sounded almost childish, his voice soft, with the tiniest of lisps, as though he had difficulty forming the words. If he hadn’t been kicking my ass, I would have laughed.
I blinked away the last of the static and found myself staring at Jorn as though he were standing on a ladder. It took a second for me to realize he wasn’t on something, but that I was in something. My gaze drifted and I saw the concrete walls of the burial liner that surrounded me. I was in a grave…again.
Dirt fell over me, and my heart ground to a halt. I looked up to see Jorn dumping handfuls of mud into the hole. He clearly intended to bury me.
Terror welled up as I remembered Karra’s zombies doing the same thing, the fear of being buried alive filling me with frenzied adrenaline. Karra had provided me with a means to breathe, knowing I would survive. Jorn had no such kindness planned. Another handful of mud struck my face and panic set in. I was suddenly sick, my skin feeling as though it had been doused in ice water. My heart sputtered limp in my chest and a tingling sensation drowned out all my pain, leaving me numb and weak.
Wisps of black wafted up inside the liner, like serpentine tendrils. I watched as they thickened and grew darker, becoming a swirling obsidian. Jorn growled but it sounded far away. I wondered if this was what death felt like. Was I having a heart attack? A stroke? I pressed my back against the wall in hopes of settling the nausea that seemed ready to boil over. The darkness grew thicker and thicker, and I could feel it against my fingertips, taste it in every panicked breath as it filled the liner and stole my sight. I glanced up at Jorn and he looked like he was shrinking into the distance, the blackness eating away at his massive shape. He howled. His dwindling face was a bright crimson.
I cried out and the mist swallowed my voice. Then there was nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
As quick as it appeared, the blackness went away. I could see.
Tiny wafts of it clung to my legs as I stared at the unexpected whiteness of the ground. The sudden coldness I’d felt was still there, but it was less ephemeral, more wet; more real. I blinked my eyes and realized I wasn’t sitting in in a concrete liner any longer, but on the soft ground; in a foot of snow. I was still in a hole, but Jorn wasn’t standing over me and I could see tall, frost-covered trees looming in the distance.
I had no clue where I was, or how I’d gotten there.
I was still in a grave, though. The first thing I wanted was out. I could worry about th
e rest once I was above ground. My empty gun stuffed in my waistband, I made a frantic leap at the edge of the hole and dug my fingers into the wet ground. It held just long enough for me to pull myself free of the grave. The effort was exhausting.
As soon as I was out, cold air in my lungs, a wash of mystical energy hit me; alien, hostile. My head went on a swivel and I spied the source of it. Not more than fifty feet from where I stood was Mihheer. His back was turned to me, and it didn’t look like he even knew I was there. I tried to summon my magic. It flickered inside, but the fuse failed to light. I was too tired and hurt to draw it out. A beautiful string of descriptive epithets ran through my head, begging to be released, but I swallowed them back; just barely. I had no clue how I’d ended up in a frosty wasteland with Mihheer, but it was as close to winning the lottery as I was gonna get.
Knowing it would only be a second or two before he realized I was there, I dug the vial of Lucifer’s blood out of my pocket and downed a couple of drops while I advanced. Though I could use the boost, I couldn’t afford to drink more and risk being caught up in the swell of power. A quick heal would have to do.
The blood went to work as I closed on Mihheer. He saw me coming at the last second. With a toothy snarl, he spun around and raised his hand. Still too worn down to draw upon my magic, Lucifer’s blood not quite there yet, I drew my gun in a swift motion and pointed it at Mihheer’s head. We were about fifteen feet apart.
He growled and froze as he saw the weapon. Having seen me use it before, he understood its function. Fortunately for me, he didn’t know the stupid thing was empty and useless. I didn’t even have time to close the chamber. As long as he didn’t figure that out before I was fully healed, I might have a chance.
“Looks like we’re at a standoff, Mihheer,” I told him, hoping to play it up to buy myself more time.
He stood with his hand raised and tiny flickers of energy sparkling at his fingertips, but he didn’t attack. “So it would seem.” He raised his other hand to show me what was inside. In the palm was a small block of ice, a shimmering red vial encased inside it. “You are not Lucifer.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for finally noticing.” The ice in his hand gave off a subtle ping of essence. I realized the blood was mine. My pulse raced, and I wanted to look around to catch my bearings, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off Mihheer.
“You are of his bloodline, though. Am I right? I feel his aura about you.”
“Are you working on our family tree, or what? What the hell do you want?” While he might be sensing my heritage, the fact that I’d been carrying a vial of Lucifer’s blood every time he’d come across me was probably throwing him off.
“My master summoned me to find Lucifer. Tell me where he is.” The magic at his fingers flickered as he dropped the ice chunk from the other. He looked like he was ready to draw down, but that was okay with me. I was finally feeling up for a fight.
“If I knew where he was, I’d draw you a map so you could go and get your ass kicked. I would so love to not have to deal with you anymore. I’d even draw it in crayon to make it easy, but he’s not exactly around these parts anymore.” It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t know where Lucifer was, even if I did, technically, know how to reach him. As much as I wanted to send Mihheer packing off to foreign lands in tiny little pieces, it didn’t seem like a good idea to send him to Baalth’s room of magical wonders.
He shook his head. “If you will not lead me to Lucifer, then I must find a way to bring him to me.”
I laughed. “You think he’s gonna drop what he’s doing to come and rescue poor little old me? You’ve got another thing coming, buddy. I hope you like disappointment because you’re gonna get it in spades if that’s your plan.”
Predatory smile in place, he laughed. “Gorath will have his revenge if he must level this lowly universe to do so, but he would rather vent his fury on the creature that enslaved him.” He gestured to the vial of my blood on the ground. “You are powerful enough to delay my master’s vengeance for a short time, though you can never hope to stop it. Surrender Lucifer to Gorath and my master’s hunger will be sated. He will leave this universe behind, unharmed. Continue to resist and he will show no mercy to you, or your world. Choose now.”
I stared at Mihheer, looking for any hint he was lying, but I saw nothing. He believed Gorath could defeat Lucifer and destroy the world, but something didn’t make sense. So far it had been Mihheer doing all the heavy lifting, and he hadn’t even realized I wasn’t my uncle until just now. From what I could tell of Mihheer, though he was powerful, he certainly wasn’t in Lucifer’s league. Gorath would have to know that having had his ass kicked when he first came to Earth. He’d been locked up as a trophy in Lucifer’s house for a thousand years. So, while I could understand the desire for revenge, I couldn’t figure out why he thought he was capable of it outside of pure insanity.
Then it hit me.
I suddenly remembered Hasstor mentioning his power being depleted by the trip to Earth. He needed Xyx’s help to get home, so it only made sense that Gorath was also weakened by the trip here. He’d come across Lucifer in that state, and had his ass handed to him, and then imprisoned. If Lucifer knew just how powerful the guy was, which seemed logical seeing how he locked him away, then the case probably drained his power and kept Gorath weak. That explained why Mihheer was making first contact. Gorath was either testing the waters, unsure of how powerful Lucifer has become in the intervening years, or still recovering from his millennium inside.
Both were fine with me. It gave me time.
“I think I’ll go with answer C: How about you go fuck yourself.”
Mihheer growled and dug into the mouths of one of the faces on his armor and pulled out a small, soft-cover book. Having already experienced what he could do, I chucked my gun at him and reached for my magic. He dodged the pistol, but his power went off first. The book glistened with bluish energy and he tossed it aside, just as the fireball I’d made as payback flew at him.
He ducked and created a shield, but only managed to partially block the shot. It exploded and sent him careening across the snow. His arm singed, the faces there drooped and melted, he scrambled to his feet. I chased after him, hurling yet another fireball. He managed to deflect it, but I followed up with a Superman punch even Georges St. Pierre would be proud of. Georges never had to deal with a magical force field. Lucky him.
My fist crashed into the shield and it felt like punching a steel girder. Mihheer stumbled back a few steps as I winced, a full blown smile splitting his ugly mug in half as though he’d just been named the intergalactic beauty queen. It made me nervous. The massive crunch of ice behind me clarified things pretty quickly. He’d gotten his spell off.
“You have chosen your fate. Since you will not summon Lucifer, we no longer have any need of you.” A monstrous thump sounded in the snow to emphasize his words, and he laughed to make it worse.
“You won’t find him without me,” I shouted, hoping to delay him.
He only laughed louder. “There is another of your blood we might yet convince to be more cooperative. Let us see if she cares more for her life.”
Scarlett!
“You motherfu—“ I didn’t get a chance to finish as a wall of ice crashed into me. Shards of frozen crystals exploded around me and sliced into my flesh as I was knocked sideways. I hit the snow and rolled to my feet just in time to see Mihheer’s energy erupt around him. He disappeared right after.
Mihheer gone, I glanced over to see what he’d left behind. I’d have wet myself if I wasn’t afraid of cutting my dick off with a stream of frozen piss. Before me was a dragon made entirely out of ice. Not a cuddly, My Little Pony kind of dragon either, but a full blown, Lord of the Rings, I’m gonna eat your skull kind.
Its head turned toward me with a loud creak, its crystalline eyes whirling in massive frozen sockets. Huge wings jutted up from its back and stretched for the sky, reflecting flickers of dim sunlight across the snow. Ea
sily twenty feet tall, I could only imagine how many margaritas I could make out of the thing. It dropped its front end low like a puppy fixing to pounce, and roared. The temperature dropped twenty degrees, in an instant, and cold droplets of water peppered my face.
Before its voice faded, it came at me. It soared into the air with a quick leap and came swooping down at me. I might have pooped a little right then, but don’t hold me to it. No time to check my underwear, I ducked out underneath the thing and rolled away as it crashed into the snow. Its mouth slammed into the ground and the resulting crunch of chewed earth sent a shudder down my spine. That could have been me. It raised its head and swallowed, turning back toward me again.
As it did, I whipped up a fireball sandwich and hurled it at the dragon. It smacked it right in the ass, the thing way too big to miss. Unfortunately, the spell didn’t do what I hoped it would. Rather than shatter or melt the dragon, it sailed right through it. The fireball burned all the way to the other side where it fell into the snow and flickered out.
Unhurt, the thing came at me again, the ground trembling as it leapt once more. I dodged out of the way, but it was smart. It shifted mid-jump, changing its direction. The edge of its wing slammed into my stomach and swept me onto my back. It felt like being hit by baseball bat swung by Conan. My ribs thrummed as it pulled its wing back, leaving a long, broken shard of it still on top of me. I grabbed it out of instinct and rolled away to force the dragon to turn so I had a few seconds to think. Beneath me, I heard the crunch of paper.
I looked down to see the book Mihheer had used to summon the ice dragon. Despite it all, there was nothing I could do to stop a harsh laugh from spilling out. It was a World of Warcraft game manual. The freaking alien was trying to kill me with WoW…just wow. I watched as the dragon turned to face me once more, splitting my gaze between the picture of the dragon and the real thing in front of me. They looked exactly the same. I shook my head.
