Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “So many promises, demon. I have but one question: Are you a true believer?”

  He sees the demon Ahtsag Znuul cock his head to his question.

  “I have many beliefs to which I hold true. Your question is really, do I hold to your faith? That answer is no. But I don’t begrudge you your beliefs.”

  “Then you cannot be trusted, demon.”

  “What if I was Shi’ite? Would you like me better then?”

  “Kill this demon and bring me his head!”

  ⁂

  The AI warns of a cluster of combatants behind him, on the upper scaffold walkway surrounding the plant. Znuul disregards the warning until Adan Deir Ezzor screams for his head. Znuul swings one hand backward, calling up a arcane shielding and brings up his other as the soldiers surrounding Adan Deir Ezzor bring their weapons to bear.

  Znuul’s will pushes into the shielding, so well-trained that it is little more than an extension of himself. It absorbs the punishment of the guns as he pulls himself inside the walls of protection. The bullets stick to the shielding, accumulating as mushroomed heads in a wall of nothingness.

  “Larger weapon incoming from the rear contingent,” the AI advises.

  Znuul hears the rocket-propelled grenade launch and pushes the shielding off his left hand, to the rear toward the incoming missile. It meets the projectile about thirty feet from his rear, and the explosion backsplashes over the men on the scaffolding.

  Znuul stands, his attention now forward, seeing that Adan Deir Ezzor is being directed inside to the office. Znuul turns the shielding toward the left part of that contingent and pushes it forward into them, crushing them into the wall of the office.

  Znuul hears the doors fling open before the AI can warn him of the soldiers flooding into the building. A bullet winks off the warding of his body and armor. He turns to that soldier, concentrating, then sending energy through his eyes to assault the shooter, who falls.

  He reaches back and pulls off the swords from his back with large clicks of the magnet as they disengage. He concentrates and wards himself again, renewing his shields and smiling as those shields extend to his swords via the embedded script. He turns to the incoming mob and runs toward them. He takes to wing at the last second, lifting up from them. Bullets fire and miss terribly. Znuul, now directly above them, folds in his wings and drops into their midst.

  He brings the huge swords to action.

  The first swipe with his righthand sword cleaves soldiers on his right from shoulder to waist. The next swipe with the left sword takes the head of another, and the top of another’s skull in the finishing arch. Znuul flexes his wings to create room and then starts swinging around as if a mad dervish, the result being large pieces of the soldiers being cleaved off. Guns fire but the swords are like an insane weed-whacker, and the soldiers are the weeds, falling in chunks of limbs and parts.

  Znuul’s tail lashes out also, with soldiers finding instant death from the venom in the stinger inside.

  This contingent no longer a threat, Znuul turns to the group behind him set to cover the office. The AI announces the wards have broken, and his armor is taking light damage.

  Znuul turns around slowly to the group behind him, now reloading their guns. He takes a moment to recast his warding, then holds out his right hand with the sword and calls the shielding. He stalks ahead toward them. They shoot in futility at him, their bullets meeting the shielding. Having closed the distance, he throws the shield, knocking two of them into the wall.

  One powerful slice cleaves a soldier, leaving a weaving torso as his shoulders and head fall to the ground. The strike from his righthand sword cleaves off the shoulder and arm of another.

  Znuul smiles as a soldier drops his weapon and runs. Another drops to his knees, groveling. The sword comes down brutally splitting his head.

  “You shot me first, worm. No hope for you,” Znuul mutters.

  He hears the office door slam shut and feels automatic gunfire wink off his wards from a soldier on the catwalk who found some courage. Znuul turns and waits for the shooter to present himself, the energy built to project from his eyes at the ready.

  ⁂

  The captain slams the door shut and turns to the group surrounding Abu Adan Deir Ezzor. “Get the commander out of here. Rear exit, now! We will lure the beast to the streets and use large weapons fire.”

  Abu Adan Deir Ezzor, looks at his fourth, rushing to push whatever he can in front of the door. He shrugs off an attempt to pull him out with them.

  “Our soldiers?”

  “Dead, horribly. Go! You two stay with me. We will try to hold it back.”

  Abu Adan Deir Ezzor heeds the advice and takes the escort out the back of the office. Sounds of screams echo through the phosphate plant. As they rush outside, he barks orders through the radio: “Bring the trucks with the fifty calibers. We will mow this thing into pieces.”

  The group rushes him out through a short area of the plant, his second, Adnan, shouting into his own walkie-talkie. Once outside, Adnan points toward a building, and they rush in its direction.

  As they run, he tells Abu, “We have a helicopter to pick us up on the roof of the refining building. It is on the way.”

  As they run, he sees the Toyotas with rear-mounted machine guns tearing toward the main processing plant that they just left. They stop briefly and see the demon burst through the door, out into the street with two huge swords in hand.

  Abu meets its eyes and freezes momentarily, fear starting to overwhelm him. The moment is broken as Adnan pulls him away.

  “Come now! The guns will stop it. You must go!”

  Adnan follows, and they round the corner of the building across from the main processing plant. Abu feels the pressure of the fear lift, but the reality of the situation hits him: this thing is coming for him, and it has cost him many men already.

  He hears the fifty caliber machine guns fire. He stops and smiles.

  “Don’t stop,” Abu’s second shouts. “We must get you to safety first. You did not see what I did in the plant.”

  ⁂

  Znuul bursts through the doors of the plant and immediately sees the fleeing group. He figures the one in the middle must be Abu Adan Deir Ezzor. When the man turns to him, he knows it is. He begins a fear-cast, but his line of sight is interrupted when another drags him away around the corner of the building across the dirt road.

  “Aggressors with larger weapons incoming,” the AI announces.

  Znuul slaps the swords to the magnet on his back and crouches down. He pulls up his shielding, forming a triangle in front of him.

  “Yes, those are fifty caliber guns and would cause some harm to you, my fine armor.”

  The trucks slam to a stop as the gunners swivel the guns toward him and open fire. The hateful gunfire slams shell after shell into the casted shield. Znuul pulls into his personal reserves, keeping the shields up. The guns fire and fire, then stop.

  Znuul stands, maintaining the shields, then shoves them forward into the trucks, causing little damage but enough commotion. At the same time, he takes to wing, vaulting into the air. Once well up in the air, he sees the helicopter coming. He also sees the three Toyotas beneath him. The Toyota that wasn’t a recipient of a shield bump trains the gun on him. Znuul dives for the right-most truck, the fire missing.

  He lands in the bed of the Toyota next to the gunner. The fire from the nonshielded truck follows him, tearing up the driver’s compartment and bouncing off the small shield on the machine gun. They stop quickly once they realize they’ve killed their own.

  Znuul snaps a sword off the magnet and cleaves the gunner in half. Then he’s to the air again. He wastes no time plummeting down on to the next truck. The gunner’s head rolls off at a swipe of the huge sword. He drops the sword, takes the gun, turns it on the remaining truck. He breaks out in a huge grin. Znuul squeezes the trigger, spewing death into the other truck.

  ⁂

  They bolt up the stairs, noting
that the gunfire has stopped. There is one short radio communication to the effect of “Aieeee!”

  Adnan calls out, asking for status.

  The silence tells him it’s not good.

  “Did we kill it?” Abu asks as they approach the door to the roof.

  “I have no communication from the trucks.”

  The look Abu Adan Deir Ezzor gives him conveys disbelief.

  “Outside,” proclaims Adnan. The lead soldiers burst through the door, and the group follows. They take a defensive formation and see the helicopter coming to set down.

  “Go,” screams Adnan over the din. “We will ensure your escape.”

  “You come, too,” yells Abu.

  They start to make their way to the helicopter but stop when they see the large, black, winged figure with one of the caliber chain-fed guns from one of the trucks in its hands. It sets down on the rooftop and rips into the helicopter, shredding the prop and mount.

  Adnan, seeing the carnage, grabs Abu and drags him backward. The soldiers with them start firing at the winged abomination. Adnan and Abu duck back into the stairwell. The sounds of gunfire and devastation come from behind them.

  “This demon is not like the others,” Adnan says to Abu, who appears in shock. “We must flee. This one is not as easily overrun.”

  Abu snaps back to the moment, nods to his second, and runs down the stairs, the sounds of gunfire punctuate the violent shaking of the building from the helicopter’s destruction.

  As they run down the stairs, Adnan barks orders into his walkie-talkie, trying to rally troops to their location. They are almost on the ground floor when they hear the roof door slam open followed by the deep bellowing of, “Abu Adan Deir Ezzor!”

  Panic sets in, and Adnan takes Abu by the arm. “We must flee this place. Go to the exit and wait for me.” He pulls out a grenade and quickly begins setting a trap at the door. Trap finished, he runs to Abu and locks eyes with him. They communicate silently, Abu knows that Adnan is going to lead the way. Adnan pulls his service revolver, takes a deep breath, and bursts the door open. He looks around then beckons Abu outside.

  “We must move; it comes. Quickly, we must find a vehicle.”

  Abu steps outside, following his second’s direction. Adnan looks him in the eyes, then turns to indicate the direction they should run. Abu stops, noting some kind of movement behind Adnan – a formless shimmering of sorts. Adnan picks up on Abu’s facial expression and starts to turn around.

  But he can’t because the large hands of Ahtsag Znuul wrap around his chest, camouflage dropping. Abu sees him pick up Adnan, the dark fingers sinking into his ribcage. Adnan is trying to scream, but no words come out. There is no blood coming from where the creature’s fingers have entered his chest.

  Abu starts to turn to run back inside, but one great stride and a kick closes the door. Abu looks at the monster which is holding his gasping second. It smiles at Abu, then leans in closer to Adnan’s ear and whispers just loud enough for Abu to hear.

  “Yes, fight it. Fight harder. Aww, not hard enough.”

  Abu looks in horror as Adnan literally wastes away in front of him, steam coming from him as the life drains from his body. Now a dry, shriveled husk, Znuul releases him, and he falls to the ground, skin breaking off in large chalky pieces.

  Abu screams and unloads his gun into Znuul at point-blank range.

  Znuul smiles back at him.

  “Do you know what they called me, Abu Adan Deir Ezzor?”

  “Foul demon, I deny you!”

  “They called me the Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls. Well… you just saw the devouring. No virgins and milk for him, eh? He’s just… food for the beast.”

  Abu ejects the magazine from his gun and goes for another. He quickly inserts it, despite trembling hands.

  “I deny you,” he shouts and lifts the gun toward his head.

  Znuul stops the effort to escape via suicide, his large hand engulfing Abu’s. A sudden twist is followed by the pop of bones breaking and the gun clattering to the ground. Znuul leans into the pained Abu Adan Deir Ezzor.

  “Suicide is a mortal sin. You know that. There’s no martyrdom for being a coward. How did that verse go? And do not kill yourselves; surely God is most merciful to you. But as you may have guessed, I am not merciful. I came to you in peace, seeking a common enemy.”

  He releases Abu’s broken hand. Abu looks up to this monster with defiance in his eyes despite his pain.

  “One cannot trust the words of a demon. Allah shall strike you down.”

  “Maybe so. But he better move fast, if he’s going to save you.”

  Silence hangs between them.

  “Very little hope for you, but, there is some. Tell me everything your intelligence has gleaned about the Dzemond ambassadors, and I may be inclined to let you go.”

  “You lie.”

  “No, I do not. Deceive, certainly. Lie? No. Tell me, are you a true believer?”

  “I am,” Abu says, posturing up as he finds strength in that statement.

  “Good. Now ask yourself, are these demons worth losing your seat in heaven? If I devour your soul, well… we’ve covered that with him, didn’t we? You attacked me. Your life is forfeit. Unless I choose to let you go. This is the law of retribution. So, keep your soul? Or does the beast feed upon you and move on to the next in command?”

  “I cannot remember everything, all the details,” Abu says shakily.

  “Good enough. Let’s step back inside and talk of this. I believe I hear more trucks coming. Best we stay out of sight. You wouldn’t want more of your army to die unnecessarily, would you?”

  Chapter 42

  It was too much to expect that Znuul’s intelligence-gathering mission would be only that. After four days of almost solitude, the media is shouting the news: “Demons Attack Again!”

  Well, really it was just Znuul. I’m watching the grisly footage of bodies and blood, all the while reading the subtitles. Apparently, he attacked ruthlessly, without provocation, and totally by surprise, according to whoever was talking to the media.

  The image changes to a long-bearded man, who is apparently a field commander for the People’s Islamic State: Abu Adan Deir Ezzor. He’s very impassioned in his speaking, though I don’t understand a word of it.

  Thank goodness for captioning.

  “The demon threat is real. We, the true believers, are the only ones who have been able to repel this threat. This demon, Ahtsag Znuul, attacks us without provocation. Many were lost in the battle, but we prevailed, thanks to Allah, blessed be his name. The demon fled us. We call all true believers to join us to fight against these monsters and nonbeliever infidels. There can only be true safety within the People’s Islamic State.”

  I watched this circus repeat for about three cycles and had to turn it off. Man, did Z pitch them up a public relations softball. Maybe it’s my more jaded nature, but I’m not ready to get all up in arms that Z went off the reservation yet. The biggest thing making me raise an eyebrow is they claim they ran him off.

  It really doesn’t look like he ran off.

  I’ll hear his side first. Though … damn. He left a bunch of bodies in his wake along with a helicopter and a bunch of those hopped-up Toyota trucks. He did say if they picked a fight, he was going to make a statement.

  I reach down and give Hjuul a scratch on his huge head. He wouldn’t be much help fixing the damage done down in the Vatican Library. So, he’s been with me. It’s been a while since it’s been just us knocking about.

  “Well, Z really stirred the pot, eh?”

  Hjuul responds with a light chuff.

  “It’s time to call the group back, big boy.”

  He bounds his hulking self onto one of the large sofas in the main living area. I go freshen up my coffee, then join him and roll up my sleeves. At least when Arix returns, we can get Hjuul back to a more regular, wolf size; we’re running low on the dog chow Znuul stocked from last time we were here. I’m su
re it’s a bit on the stale side, but Hjuul would never let you know that.

  First up is Sheyliene. I draw my finger along her sigil saying, “Return.” Then I run my finger along it again saying, “Come.” The air ripples, and there she forms, wearing her light gossamer-like Fae battle dress. It really doesn’t look like a battle dress, but with all the weapons and stuff she pulls out of it, no question that’s what it is.

  She doesn’t look happy.

  “Fucking Protectorate assholes! Dirty scum-sucking, troll-licking, bottom of a death-cap mushroom-sharing backstabbers! They chained up Gauranthixmetaheminrfrbil! That Gregowaile wouldn’t hurt a firefly. Unless his dragon masters told him to – then he’d be all claws teeth and grrrr.”

  I take a moment to process her outburst.

  “So The Protectorate came and interrogated you all?”

  “Yeah. They were all like, where is Arthur? Where is Znuul? What are they plotting next? I will destroy you! That half-pint mage that’s always hanging on Alistair’s coattails thinks he’s a real badass.”

  “He didn’t hurt you or Vets, did he?”

  “You didn’t ask about Arix.” She giggles. “They tried. Well, they kind of slapped us around a little, maybe broke a bone or two. But when they tried to do really bad magic, Arix stopped them. He can cast a dispel really fast. I didn’t think The Protectorate allowed the use of black magic. Maybe that little half-pint doesn’t care.”

  “Hold that thought, Sheyliene.” I immediately re-call Vets and Arix to holding. Then I summon Vets. She ripples to existence in front of me, fully armored. Her fist bumps against her chest and takes to a knee.

  “We told them nothing, my Wielder.”

  “Yeah, Vets was incredible,” Sheyliene adds. “They broke her leg, and all she did was growl at them. I cussed up a storm when they put the thumb-screw on me.”