Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three

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Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three Page 35

by A and E Kirk


  With one final bellowing howl, the wind died, leaving an unnerving silence. Oxygen returned. I inhaled with a hacking wheeze. My fingers no longer spurted white lightning, but it didn’t matter. I’d done it. I’d opened the gateway that could save the Hex Boys.

  Nice work, Aurora. Man, I could use a nap.

  Cristiano set me down, and we stared at the large circular opening in the rock, the window to the Waiting World. For a moment, it quivered with a shimmering blur, then it sharpened into focus giving us a clear view of the land beyond.

  Just one problem.

  Cristiano readied to move through, but I caught his arm and held him back. “Uh, wait just one minute. That’s not the Waiting World.”

  “What?” Cristiano and Horus said.

  Hey, I was as surprised as anyone. Maybe more so, because I knew the Waiting World. Red sky, black clouds, lava, dune-like cliffs, along with miles of barren ground layered with a zillion rotting corpses. That was the Waiting World. What lay beyond this supernatural threshold was something different.

  Voices rose from the tunnels as the sound of racing footsteps echoed.

  “Guards are almost here,” Horus said, his voice tight with tension. “It’s do or die time.”

  “Aurora.” Cristiano slipped his hand into mine. “I stand with you, whatever you decide.”

  Not much of a decision. The Hex Boys were in trouble. I had only one chance to save them. I took a deep breath and jumped through, taking Cristiano with me.

  CHAPTER 91

  Once we entered the Waiting World, the portal vanished. As usual. Simply closed with a blink, leaving us in the midst of a vast landscape. One I was entirely unfamiliar with.

  We stood in a forest. The thick-trunked trees had unusually long branches completely devoid of any foliage. The limbs jutted out in harsh, ugly shapes, crooked and twisted like arms that had been brutally broken and never set properly, left to heal in their ravaged, mutilated state. The bark was the cold grey-blue of sharkskin, but the texture was rough and uneven, full of knots, with varying lines of black and silver running through it, almost like veins.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the false confidence in my voice. “I’ll figure this out.”

  “I should hope so,” he said, a vague annoyance filtering through his tone.

  Well, sor-ry. I was doing my best.

  There were the usual corpses littering the ground in their various forms of decay, but here they were half-covered in dirt, as if they’d clawed their way up through the damp, dark earth. A green, mossy fungus sheened over parts of their skeletons and what was left of the putrefying and peeling patches of skin. Worms mingled with scaly, multi-legged insects and other slimy creatures which gleefully squirmed and crawled in and out of eye sockets, mouths, noses, ears, and other orifices, feeding on the smorgasbord of rot and ruin.

  “This isn’t a problem at all,” I said, coughing against the stench, so heavy with the sickeningly sweet scent of fetid flesh that it triggered my gag reflex. The underlying layer of sulfur didn’t help.

  “Aurora, may I ask—”

  I waved a hand to cut him off and clutched my queasy stomach. “In a sec. Please.” While I determined where we were and how to get to the Hex Boys. It wasn’t looking good.

  “Of course,” Cristiano said, sounding distracted.

  At least he was being patient.

  I squinted into the dense, ashen mist, taking a few steps in every direction, bones cracking or squishing into the damp earth, but I couldn’t determine a path or what was on the horizon. The fog shrouded through the trees on a hot wind, twisting and twirling into different ghostly shapes which I frantically swatted at, worried they were alive. Any deadly thing could leap out of this murky vapor, and I’d never see it coming.

  My nerves wracked with terror at the horror story possibilities. My breath quickened. I gulped warm, steamy air through my mouth to minimize the appalling smell, but it only clogged my throat and made me feel like I was drowning.

  In a sewer.

  I strained to hear a sound that might give me a clue to a direction, but the world was dampened by an eerie, unnatural silence. Suddenly, the hairs on my body rose to fight-or-flight attention. I could swear we were being watched. We needed to get moving. But where to, Aurora? I didn’t have an answer. Yet.

  “I can suffer waiting no longer,” Cristiano said, cutting into my paranoia and making me jump. “And forgive my language, but what in the hell is this?”

  So much for patience.

  “I told you,” I sighed. “I’ve never been to this Waiting World so I don’t really know what to tell yo—” I turned toward him. “Whoa! Holy crap, what the hell is that?!”

  His eyes narrowed in aggravation. “Is that not what I just said?”

  I stared at him, lifted my jaw off the ground—figuratively speaking because, if my jaw actually touched this ground, ew, super gross—and then I started laughing. I tried to talk, but couldn’t, then doubled over and laughed some more.

  I worked on composing myself, but it wasn’t easy. Cristiano no longer had the runway model look. Well, maybe for ancient times. He was dressed as an honest to goodness gladiator.

  His broad shoulders and chiseled torso were bare but for a wide leather sash strapped diagonally across his chest. Lethal looking knives were sheathed in the sash. Settled below his rippling abs was some sort of leather skirt or shorts or skort tooled with various ancient markings, the overlapping layers secured in a metal buckle resting low over one hip. A short sword with a wide, slightly curved blade hung off one side.

  Wow.

  My gawking gaze traveled down, taking in his oh-so-heavily-muscled bare thighs above the over-the-knee boots that sported swirly metal decorations and the hilts of more knives. A gauntlet on one forearm was decorated with spiraled strips of metal which left his bulging bicep in plain view. On his other arm, pieces of leather layered like animal scales covered from shoulder to wrist, giving the illusion that a giant snake slithered around his arm.

  It was quite the getup.

  “Is that thing like a skirt? Or, I guess, more of a kilt? Does it have—” I reached out toward the hem of the…whatever it was.

  He jumped away. “Fiamma, please!”

  I snatched my hand back. “Oh, sorry. Yeah, that was rude. Don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just that, I mean…wow.”

  He smoothed his hand self-consciously over the leather sash across his chest and then his, well, let’s call it a kilt for the sake of his manliness. “I am sorry. Aurora. It is just that I feel…ridiculous.”

  He did look uncomfortable.

  I clamped down any remaining laughter. “Actually, you look good.”

  “Really?” He spread his arms out from his sides and studied the costume closely.

  “Absolutely,” I assured him. “You totally pull off the whole super gladiator Spartacus thing, and all your scars make it even more authentic.” I wasn’t lying. “It’s perfect.”

  The ground shuddered. Dirt crumbled and shifted, seeming to spurt the bodies a few inches out from the earth. I screamed and danced around, lifting my knees high to avoid whatever monsters were about to attack. Cristiano pulled the curved sword from his hip and slashed at least three jiggling corpses into multiple pieces before the shaking subsided.

  I stopped hopping when the bodies settled. Armani remained crouched in a fighting stance.

  “Must be earthquakes,” I said, trying not whimper, then gestured to the recently chunked body parts lying at his feet. “But see, perfect outfit for the perfect warrior.” And a warrior is what we’d need to get out of here alive.

  He nodded. “I admire your attire as well.”

  I’d been delaying the inevitable—examining my outfit, having already survived several other ridiculous Waiting World getups in the past. So seeing his outrageous ensemble, I was especially terrified to check out mine. With hands that I now realized wore delicate white lace gloves, I touched my only
familiar attire, the umbra stone around my neck, and looked down.

  It was another dress, of course. The top was a strapless corset, tight but comfortable, smoothing nicely over my waist and hips with the help of stiff strips of plastic vertically embedded in the material. Below that, a flowing skirt blossomed out in yards and yards of silky material. Not the most ideal, but I’d dealt with worse. At least I had boots. No decaying bodies oozed between my toes.

  Although when I stepped…

  Squish, squish.

  I cringed. That sound just never got any less gross.

  Cristiano pulled out more sharp weapons, checking their weight and feel, swinging and twirling the sword a few times, seeming generally pleased with what he found.

  “Is there a reason for the change of clothing?” he asked, stepping into a deep lunge and thrusting the sword at an imaginary foe.

  “There must be, but I have no clue.” I looked around, also still clueless of our whereabouts, when I noticed Cristiano staring.

  Below my chin.

  “Ahhh,” he said, still staring intently. “I did not notice before. That is quite impressive.”

  “Okay, really? Not cool.” A hot flush burned my cheeks as I glanced down at my boobs bubbling forth. Sure, even I had to admit the effect was impressive, but… I gestured at the corset. “Trust me when I say this thing has a lot of heavy lifting going on. If you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, it certainly does.”

  Well, he didn’t have to agree so readily.

  He reached a hand toward me. Now it was my turn to jump back. “Hey!”

  “No.” He stopped and raised his palm. “I do not think you understand that—”

  “Oh, I understand, all right.”

  He gave me a look. “Simply hold still for one moment.”

  He reached again, this time very slowly, keeping his eyes on my wary expression. When his hand touched the corset over my ribs, I flinched. He paused, then took hold of what I’d thought was a decoration, and tugged it softly. He kept pulling out something long and shiny and held it up.

  I stared in disbelief. “A knife?” I said, taking it from him.

  “Technically more of a dagger. There are several hidden in the lining of the corset. I am not the only one armed. It is an excellent fighting asset. As I said, quite impressive.”

  “Oh. You were talking about my weapony attire. Sorry. I thought—”

  “I know,” he said. “Not that I did not notice your other, ah, assets, and find them equally impressive.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The blush was back. “Don’t make me regret the apology.” I checked the corset and sure enough, instead of strips of plastic, I found more daggers sheathed in the lining. “This is so cool.” Whatever creatures thought they could get between me and saving the Hex Boys, better watch out. “Let’s get going. I still don’t know about the time factor, and we’ve got to find the high ground. Help me look for a clue as to where that might be. Aaack!”

  Behind him, a creature rose up out of the mist. Half of its face was gone, the flesh hanging in long shreds of rotting skin, worms wiggling on the ends. The corpse, suddenly not as dead as I’d thought, reached for Cristiano.

  My arm reeled back, then flew forward. Cristiano ducked smoothly as the dagger left my hand, sailed over him, and buried deep into the monster’s one remaining eye. The body crumpled to the ground.

  Cristiano stood over it, sword drawn, but the thing didn’t move.

  “Nicely done,” he said.

  I started to say “thank you,” but when something grabbed my ankle, I screamed instead.

  CHAPTER 92

  Another corpse latched its boney hand onto my ankle. I kicked-in what was left of its teeth and wrenched free. Cristiano plunged his sword into its chest, and we backed away. In my peripheral, I saw things starting to move.

  “Uh-oh.”

  On the ground, countless bodies began to twitch and wiggle. Not all of them. But a lot of them. Too many of them. The ones that were the least decomposed.

  They rose to their feet with jerky movements, then seemed to build up coordination and speed and came at us hard, snarling and slashing, making weird gurgling noises.

  Sword in one hand, knife in the other, Cristiano took them on, swinging and stabbing, sending limbs and heads flying in all directions. As we backed away, I pulled out two daggers from my corset, using them on anything that rose around our feet, but more dead kept coming to life.

  “Go!” Cristiano told me, pausing to sever a head from its shoulders. “Find your high ground and jump. I will take care of this.”

  “No, you have no way to get out.” And at this point, neither did I. “Gloria!” I screamed. “We need help!”

  Nothing. Not a freaking thing. So much for my guardian angel. I’d like to think she was busy keeping tabs on my family, but she could be such a space cadet.

  Something howled loudly, drowning out the gurgling noises. The sound shook me to the core. The attacking corpses stopped moving, tilting their heads as if to hear better. More howls filled the air until the atmosphere around us vibrated with the eerie sound. The corpses turned away from us, staring behind where the mournful wails seemed to be shaking the fog itself, making it shimmer and shift.

  “What is happening?” Cristiano whispered.

  “I don’t know,” I murmured back.

  Dark silhouettes broke through the haze of white. They were blurry and misshapen forms until they stepped into the clearing.

  “Oh, God,” I choked. ”It’s the ghoulies.”

  CHAPTER 93

  “Ghoulies are bad?” Cristiano asked without turning his head.

  “Do they look good?”

  They towered well over seven feet tall even while hunched in a menacing crouch. That was taller than I remembered. Or maybe I just hadn’t been this close to them before. Skin of mottled dark blue, black and purple, the color of an ugly bruise, stretched in leathery scales over bone. Pronged spikes jutted out the back of their heads, arcing down their spines.

  The mass of ghoulies stopped in unison, almost in a military fashion. Their black lidless eyes glistened like wet obsidian. They stared at the risen corpses. Then, the fathomless eyes of every ghoulie moved in complete accord, and tracked onto me. I felt their gaze like a slime oozing over my skin.

  In unison, the ghoulies lifted their faces toward the blood-red sky and howled, the uproar traveling over multiple rows of jagged fangs and hitting like a physical force that rocked the walking corpses back a little on what was left of their heels. The bodies still half-submerged in the ground jerked and quivered, trying to bury themselves deeper into the layers of rotting muck.

  The howls stopped abruptly, and all the shiny black eyes returned to the prey in front of them. The biggest ghoulie led the pack. It slowly raised a long, sinewy muscled arm, clenched its clawed hand, waited a heartstopping moment, then with a ferocious snarl, jerked it down and bolted forward.

  Behind him, the gang of ghoulies followed.

  Cristiano braced, weapons ready.

  I crouched too, a dagger in each hand, as the two sets of monstrosities collided, the ghoulies hitting the pack of corpses in front of us like a hungry mob. The violent rush brought with it a blistering wind filled with the disgusting stench of rot, festering flesh, and fear as the ghoulies gorged with malicious glee, tearing and chewing through what was left of decaying skin and bone with a rabid, wild abandon.

  Cristiano and I backed away, glancing behind. The gust created by the ghoulies attack swirled past us and pushed the fog aside revealing a break in the thick, dead trees and a path leading away from the carnage. I took the lead and ran, Cristiano, needing no encouragement, joined me.

  The mist began to thin, as did the dead bodies under our feet, until other than a few bones and skulls scattered around, we were squishing on only damp earth. A nice change of pace. Sucking wet air, heart pounding, I kept moving until the sounds of the battle behind us faded, and an empty silence surrounded
us once again. I started to slow. A hushed rustling sound scurried in the trees. A shadow flashed above.

  I cried out a warning and raised an arm to protect myself from the unknown threat just as something long and dark swept Cristiano up into the air and out of my sight.

  The sword he’d carried thudded to the ground. Another dark shape flew in from my right. I dove for Cristiano’s fallen weapon, grabbed the handle in two hands, then rolled onto my back and blindly swung the heavy blade in a wide arc.

  The steel hit resistance for a moment, then kept going, cutting through whatever was attacking me and severing it in two. I kept rolling and lifted up onto my feet, slashing the sword through the air, but nothing came at me again. Lying on the ground was the stark, leafless limb of one of the trees, the severed end leaking thick black liquid, the steam rising off reeking of sulfur. I pressed my arm over my nose to block the stench.

  “Cristiano!” I yelled as my brain tried to register what was happening.

  “I am here!” he said. “But be careful of the—ungh!”

  The sentence ended in a grunt, followed by the sounds of a struggle. A shadow hovered over my head, then also to my right and left and suddenly I knew. These weren’t shadows. It was the trees of the dead forest, their limbs reaching like gnarled arms and boney hands. Some of the knots in the grey wood blinked, dark eyes blazing with malevolence. Other knots opened to reveal a circle of needle-like teeth. From the open mouths, silvery, wet tongues slurped out, tasting the air.

  And craving a taste of me.

  I kept swinging the sword, turning this way and that, keeping the clawing limbs at bay, trying to move toward the sounds of Cristiano’s struggle. He was somewhere in the depths of the mist-ridden forest. The ends of the branches acted like skeletal fingers, tugging at strands of my curls, nicking bits of skin off my arms and cheek, then ripping at the billowing skirt of my gown, almost as if playing with me.

  As the trees moved in their attack, the bark made a creaking sound, reminding me of hollow laughter. I didn’t have time for these games. I needed to get out of there.

 

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