Occult Assassin: Ice God

by William Massa

  The gargoyle hurtled toward Artan and the king brought up his sword in a wild arc that sliced across the beast’s torso and opened up its belly. Gore spilled into the pit and the downed creature recoiled, claws clutching its exposed innards.

  Artan advanced, a man thirsty for blood, but before he could put the gargoyle out of its misery, one final task remained. Artan took one more step toward the gargoyle and intentionally lowered his guard, giving the dying brute an opening. It would think the human warrior had grown overconfident in his victory. The creature fell for the ruse and its lightning-fast jaws snapped out, fangs sinking into the flesh of Artan's arm.

  The gargoyle let out a triumphant roar.

  The king cried out in pain and backpedaled.

  We’ll see who has the last laugh, Artan thought.

  His blade lashed out once more, a blur of gray steel in the dark pit. This time the weapon plunged deep into the monster’s broad chest. It tore through skin and dense muscle, finding Artan’s target – the gargoyle’s pulsating heart. The monster exhaled, its guttural bellow turning into a barely audible whisper as the fight fled its powerful form. Artan drove his blade into the gargoyle’s skull and ended its agony, showing a mercy the beast would not have allowed him were their roles reversed.

  Artan took a step back from the corpse and regarded his bleeding arm. Dark pulsating holes marked where the teeth had penetrated his skin. His lips bent into a bleak smile – phase one of the plan was a success. He peered up at the latticework of tree trunks, catching a glimpse of the blood-red sun making way for the pale orb of the moon. Night had descended over Kirkfall and moonlight speared into the pit.

  “IT’S DONE!” Artan yelled to his men.

  Above, the knights heard Artan’s voice and Rael’s face filled with relief. He turned to the rapt knights who had followed the battle in the pit with bated breath. “Open the pit!” Rael commanded.

  The knights jumped into action and began tethering horses to the lattice of tree trunks. Moments later, the animals began to pull the massive trunks away from the hole. Moonlight plunged through the newly formed rift in the earth and washed over Artan’s expectant features.

  The king closed his eyes and awaited the transformation.

  Already he could feel the gargoyle’s dark blood roaring through his veins, becoming part of him, infecting every aspect of his being. A flicker of doubt flashed across his face but was quickly suppressed.

  The plan would work.

  The winged hordes clouding the sky were under the control of one man: Cael, the warrior-druid. He had challenged Artan’s claim to the throne and used black magic to create his gargoyle army. If Cael fell, the gargoyle army would follow. Without the druid’s magic, the winged beasts would turn back to stone, the element from which the monsters were spawned. With Artan’s army in shambles, outnumbered and outmatched in every way, getting past the winged legions that protected Cael seemed an impossible feat. But Artan had found a way. The plan was simple but required a great sacrifice. To infiltrate an army of monsters…

  One man would have to become a monster.

  The king’s eyes snapped open, the icy blue of his pupils becoming an inhuman, spectral green. Artan’s mouth warped into a scream, which slowly grew into a bestial roar. His incisors lengthened and his face morphed into the horrible visage of a monster. The transformation had begun. Artan was turning into a gargoyle.

  His skin thickened and hardened, becoming an armor made of flesh. His bones lengthened as the dark blood reshaped his anatomy. Wings burst forth from distended shoulder blades. A demonic shadow fell across the wall of the pit. Artan differed from the more animalistic gargoyle that had infected him. The proportions between his arms, torso and limbs remained humanoid. He had become a hybrid creature, occupying the crossroads between beast and man.

  Another terrible sound erupted from Artan's lungs and he took flight. The transformed warrior shot out of the open pit, his knights blanching as this demon streaked past their faces. Artan soared into the night sky, leaving the smoldering ruins of Kirkfall behind.

  His thoughts filled with savage anticipation. Soon the Blade of Kings would find its next opponent — the evil druid Cael.

  Cael, who had tampered with the old magic.

  Cael, who had taken Artan’s family from him.

  Cael, who once upon a time Artan had been proud to call his brother.

  The young king let out another monstrous shriek, one final lament for his lost humanity.