Consecration

by Ira Robinson

  It opened with a crash, the crunching and grating filling his ears as the low vibration he heard from outside widened into an intoning chorus as, twenty feet into a large room, a group of people chanted in a circle.

  Pain shot through his left arm as his shoulder bounced from the door, weakening his grip on the shotgun for a brief second before he got his fingers around it again and held tight. He wailed as he stumbled into the room, Jessup only a few feet behind.

  Five people stood encircled, their bodies clad in long, deep ruddy robes marred by gleaming symbols in white. Men and women both, all turned in his direction as he caromed into the space and raised the gun to point at them.

  "Nobody move," he yelled, his voice carrying across and through the room to rebound back to himself, the lamps close to the windows wavering as they recovered from the door smashing into the wall. Ahead, near the group, three tall candelabras with lit tapers lining their tops stood erect.

  The floor was pasted in a snowy color with a large circle, the people gathered around it at the edges. Inside the shape was a pentagram, its form, too, created, perhaps, from paint.

  Two of the men whirled on Carver, their arms raised upward the way they had been while the gathering chanted, but they otherwise did not move. Their eyes widened like their companion's as they gazed into the barrel of his gun.

  The sickeningly cloying scent of incense was thick, nearly as much as the fog outside of the walls, and he stepped forward into it, the trails of the vapor following in his wake.

  "Hands up," Carver said as he shook the gun in his fingers.

  "Fool," one of the men, the tallest, thick chest beneath the rob evident. "Do you know who we are?"

  "Of course I do," Carver hissed. "Why do you think I'm here?" He inched ahead. "Now get them up!"

  One of the women, young with blond hair that hung below her shoulders, moaned a little as she tried to sidle away from his sight. Jessup growled, his nails raking across the hard wood, grime covered floor.

  "I wouldn't do that," Carver ordered. "My friend is hungry."

  The woman stopped moving as she stared at the still blood-drenched jaws of the wolf Jessup had become, her throat clicking as she swallowed.

  The rest stare at Carver, their faces marred with paint, etching symbols Carver recognized as belonging to the unholy.

  One of them, a short man with bulky arms and a pot belly, lunged out, bringing a long knife with him as he crossed the feet between them, his shout piercing the darkened room.

  Carver's finger twitched only slightly, the sensitive trigger taut enough it took nothing else. A caress, a single stroke, to engulf the front of the gun in flame, flaring forth in a gout of death that headed straight for the man running toward him.

  The bullet smashed into the top of the robes, scorching through it in a heartbeat and into the bone and flesh beneath.

  The man yelped as he was spun by the force of the projectile, whirling once before going down to the ground in a heap. Screams of terror and eruptions of movement from the other side of the room accompanied his fall as the remaining four reacted to the gunfire.

  Through the ringing in his ears, Carver screamed, "Nobody move, damn it!" He kept the gun trained on the man who went down, the guy's movements weak as he tried to flip himself over.

  It was ineffective though. Blood was already beginning to seep from his mouth as the his breathing thickened, the pierced lung barely working. The rest of the bullet must have torn through heart muscle, as it was only seconds before all movement stopped.

  "That didn't have to happen" he said, returning his gaze to the four gathered around the circle. "Anyone else want to be stupid?"

  He had to force his finger away from the trigger, his nerves twitching so hard he feared accidentally firing again, but none moved except for one of the men and a woman moaning. That woman's arm was at her mouth, teeth biting into the flesh of her hand to keep from screaming.

  Hatred, however, was written on all of their faces as they stared at him, their gazes slipping once in a while to their companion as Jessup sniffed the air beside him.

  "Right," Carver muttered, then, louder, said, "You, come here."

  He pointed the rifle at the young blond, not much more than twenty. She cringed as the barrel rounded on her, her face rapidly shifting between fear and rage, the movement of her eyes passing over the gun, the body, and the wolf.

  "Come here," he intoned again, gesturing. His left hand fell away from the gun and unzipped the pack at his waist, deftly reaching in and pulling out a few zip-ties near the bottom.

  She stepped nearer, but only a few paces. He tossed the ties her way, skidding them across the floor, then grabbed the gun with both hands again.

  "Bind their wrists."

  She shook her head no, but then moved to pick the ties up when he gestured with the gun again.

  She went from one to the next, putting their hands in the binds behind their backs until she was left with only herself and a couple ties left.

  "Hold them out." He edged closer as she did so, taking the black plastic and spinning her around with his hand. "Stand still, or my dog's going to have a little fun. Understand?"

  She nodded, but was trembling like a leaf in an autumn gale as he put the gun between his legs, tightening his hold with his thighs as he pulled the binding around her wrists. A slight sloshing sound and an acrid scent hit the air as he backed away, the urine trailing down her leg to the floor beneath her as she turned again, her shoes slipping a bit as they passed through it.

  "What do you want with us, Hallow?" the tall man asked, the calm of his face belied by the tremble of his voice.

  So they recognized him. That wasn't surprising to Carver; his reputation with demons was infamous, it made sense minions who followed their path would know of him at the very least.

  "I want my daughter, and you're going to help me find her."

  "We don't have her." The tall one held his chin up. "See for yourself. She's not here."

  "I didn't think she was," Carver said, using the opportunity of the exposed haughtiness of the guy to press his gun into the flesh of his throat. "You're going to help me, just the same."

  "How?" the man asked, bucking his head backward from the metal of the gun.

  "By doing what you do best. Talking to your masters."

  "No," the woman who had been silent until now murmured. "No, we can't."

  "Can't?" The word came out like an order. "You can't? Or you won't?" He whirled on her, the gun dropping from the neck of the man who seemed their coven leader and pointing at her. She winced. "Because I know you can, and if I have to put each and every one of you pieces of filth into agony to do it, you're going to."

  "Mark, do something!" the blond shouted, trying to withdraw. She slipped in the puddle of her piss and nearly lost her footing.

  "Sandra, stop," the tall one said, his voice loud and sure.

  It was too late, though. Jessup, bound until now by Carver's actions, uncoiled and leaped at the woman, his powerful legs carrying him from a dead stop to her side in a split-second, and before she could react he clamped down on her leg, his inch-long teeth scoring into her flesh.

  She screamed and kicked out, her arms still tied behind her back, giving her no leverage against the animal tearing into her calf. Jessup backed away with a chunk of that muscle in his teeth and swallowed it in a gulp as the woman crashed to the ground, spewing blood from the gaping wound.

  "Stop!" Carver shouted, halting Jessup in mid-move from attacking again. He looked to his human with eyes red and shining, nearly glowing, in the light of the candles before them. The rage was there, hungry and open, but he backed down despite the berserk anger coursing through his body. He did give Carver a grimace, the lips parting enough for the man to see teeth that signaled he could, as easily, tear into him.

  The woman's screams were unending as Mark, the leader, struggled to scoot closer to her, the terror in his eyes as the other two shifted away, remaining quiet
but just as horror-riddled.

  This was not going well. Carver's head spun as he sought to think, to gather his mind and focus on what he needed to do.

  "You've not many people left here, Mark," Carver said, his gaze shifting between the tall man and the now-whimpering woman trying to right herself as the blood poured from her leg beneath her. The crimson mixed with the yellow of the other fluid that had come from her, droplets scattering everywhere as her legs flailed for purchase.

  A few seconds later, she fell into silence as shock shut her brain down; a loud thump accompanied her head hitting the solid floor. Her eyes closed, but Carver saw how glossy they were in the candlelight before the lids went down. She wouldn't last long.

  "You bastard," the tall man muttered, but he did not move to attack, his eyes plastered on the woman. "You mother-"

  "Call your masters, Mark," Carver interrupted him. "Tell them I want my daughter back, or the rest of you are going to go the same way these other two have." He pushed the gun into the cheek of the man. "Do you hear me? You're going to die, and badly, if you don't do it right now."

  He winced as the metal pressed his flesh. "They might kill us, anyway, if we summon them." His voice hissed through his clenched teeth.

  "Maybe they'll thank you for it," Carver replied, backing a few paces to give room to work. "Either way, you're going to do it. Once you're finished, I will leave, and you can get Sandra the help she needs."

  The man closed his eyes for a moment and sniffed, his breath shaking. He nodded, once, then opened them again.

  "I'll do it. Let's be done with this damned business."

  "We're all a little damned," Carver said, and gestured to Jessup to back away with him. "Now work. I want my Lisa."

  Mark steps closer to the circle and the other two follow suit, their hands behind their backs still tied together with the plastic straps. They skirted the edges of the paint, touching it with the tips of their toes but not breaking through. All three bowed their heads and the chanting he hear when he crashed into the house began anew.

  Words he could not recognized flowed from their lips as they each closed their eyes and muttered. Though the wind outside was kept at bay by the walls, the candles in their holders appeared to flutter, flicking from side to side as an unseen force shifted them around.

  A few moments later, Carver's stomach dropped and his grip on the gun loosened slightly as the familiar pull of the presence of demons started inside of him, small glimmers at first but within a few short seconds becoming powerful.

  He turned but could not see anything, and Jessup, too, seemed on edge, his nose in the air looking for a scent.

  "You have nobody," the voice of Mark cut in through the chants of the other two, breaking off the words he had been saying. "You have nothing. You are nothing." His singular voice flattened out, deepening into something inhuman and low. "You have nothing. All you know is lost."

  The man whirled around, and Carver's mouth opened in surprise as the whites disappeared, a flow of black inking out everything that was once there.

  "Time to die, Hallow," the demonic rattle spoke again and Mark's mouth gaped into a grin as his hands snapped free of the plastic straps binding them.

  A thousand rushing wings carried by the wind slammed into the house from all sides, shattering the windows and cracking the walls so deep the fog poured in.

  "Shit!" Carver shouted as he pulled the trigger, the gun lighting up the room in orange as the bullet flew across the chamber and smacked the man. He was pushed back a few inches but kept going, as the other two broke their own bonds and started to turn for him, their eyes matching those of their leader.

  The monsters had arrived, and in force.

  Howls from outside joined Jessup's own as he leaped forward, shaking the woman still standing to the floor as his jaws gnashed into her shoulder, but she fought him as she tumbled, pulling her own hands around his throat and punching his snout. He let go and backed away, readying himself for another burst.

  Carver raised his hand and lit the place in ivory, the white-hot glow of his power blinding the demons inside of the human coven. They screeched as the holy fire blazed into their vision, and he turned to see another three creatures stalking through the door.

  He caught the flash of movement beyond them as four beasts came up the stairs to the porch.

  The gun dropped form his hands and he grasped the hilt of his blade at his hip, drawing it out with a metallic snick.

  He whipped the sword toward the first, the bravest of the demons, a long, thin one with claws the length of Carver's own hand. The tip of it skimmed the skin of its arm and a blue glow emanated from the metal, the etchings on it lighting up as the demon burst into flame. Carver's eyes widened as he saw what happened, the demon skidding backward as its body shredded in an instant.

  The rest paused, turning to each other as they fell into silence, the power of the blade something they did not expect. Behind him, Jessup let loose a snarl as he attacked the possessed coven.

  The hesitation lasted only a few seconds, though, giving Carver time enough only to take a few breaths before they came for him again, rushing him as fast as their legs could manage.

  He pierced the chest of the closest, but did not wait before he whirled the blade at one of the others, missing it. The creature moved in and slashed at his arm, opening a wound atop where he already had been gouged.

  Carver screamed and unconsciously reached out with his other hand to cover the wound, gritting his teeth. The light from his scar guttered, flickering an incandescent strobe as his concentration broke.

  That was enough for the other demons to grab him, pulling him from the doorway and into the room, carting him across the floor until he slammed his back into the wall.

  He cried out as the blade slipped from his fingers. It hit the floor and was kicked away by the clawed feet of a monstrous demon that entered, barely fitting through the door.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jessup leap after this one, his own body massive as the blood oozed from the gash on his side, broken again in the strain. His fur was drenched, not just from the water of the dewy grass outside, by the ichor of those he already took down in his fight.

  Carver shook his head as his chest was gashed open by another set of claws, his own blood beginning to pour forth as his flesh was ripped away.

  He opened his hand again and shot out a gout of light, the pure fire beaming toward those nearest him with a blinding brilliance. Those touching him shattered, pulled apart into the aether as they were exorcised, disappearing with a wail.

  He fell as the hold on him released, the pack at his hip coming open all the way and spilling out on the hard wood. His arms were still outstretched, the glow fading again as his strength flagged.

  Got to. Got to get more.

  Another demon approached him and he reached out for it, keeping the spiritual flame inside of him as he did. When his hand touched it, he called out, "Appara unum!"

  The creature's eyes widened and a cry of agony spewed from its mouth as it was pulled out of the world and into Carver through the scar on his palm into his meat.

  The scars on his right arm began to emanate with a red fire, magma and heat burning his flesh as the demon's essence was taken into his own body. It fought and his vision dimmed, the veil of ocher overpowering his mind as he and the demon became one.

  He could not hold it, could not keep it, it's own power an order of malevolence that would overtake him if it lasted... but he could use it.

  He stood, his body trying to fight him as he got his legs underneath him and pushed up until he was erect. His hand aimed for the group coming through the door and power flared through his scar, augmented by the demonic force he held within.

  The charge that assailed the creatures stalking in hit them with such fury they were forced back to the grass outside, their bodies tumbling head-over-heels until they slid for feet across the damp ground.

  He glanced to see Jessup a
nd the monstrous demon dog locked tooth-to-jaw with each other, their snarls so massive it shook the wall behind them.

  He scrambled for the small, dark box that landed on the floor and rushed outside, his fingers tapping a code the trader told him to do, tracing the outline of the eye on the lid.

  He opened the box as he tromped down the porch, the demons surrounding him.

  "No!" one of the closest screamed as the top pried aside and the interior was exposed to the foggy sunlight.

  A bright shaft of yellow reached down, cutting through the haze. All shadows fled, the light bathing everything around in a brilliance so intense that for a moment, his heart stopped beating, any sense of vision he once had washed away.