Would he die here?
Instantly, he refused. Shunting the idea from his mind, he used his remaining strength to roll backwards, pushing his leg free from the mighty grip of the beast. Expertly rolling away, he launched onto both feet, his eyes alive with anticipation.
The Gorgoma roared, its mighty voice shaking the walls around them.
It bounded towards Argyle, the room shaking, and the mechanical cogs behind it were drowned out. As it approached, Argyle ran towards the beast, ready to meet it head on. Inches before they collided, Argyle shot the Retriever into the throat of the beast, the alien metal piercing its neck and latching to the bone.
It was locked in.
Argyle leapt over the beast, landing on both feet before leaping over the cogs, the jagged metal plates that systematically turned to keep the clock working.
He began to pull.
With blood gushing from its neck wound, the Gorgoma tried to fight, pulling back against the unbreakable cable that hung from his wound. Argyle began to reel it in, shifting his entire body weight to haul in the beast.
Slowly it began to move.
Roaring and frantically flailing its mighty claws, it tried to resist.
Argyle, blood pouring from his wounds, refused to budge, yelling loudly as he pushed himself through the pain barrier.
Very slowly, the arm of the Gorgoma became lodged in the cogs, the metal slowly turning and crushing its bones to paste. The shriek of agony was one tainted with an acceptance of fate.
Once the arm disappeared, so did the shoulder, closely followed by the skull.
After a few harsh minutes, Argyle recalled the Retriever, the blood trickling from the gauntlet that clung to his wrist. With slow, heavy steps, he collected his sword before venturing towards the staircase.
The ten humans hung from the wall, oblivious to the battle they just witnessed.
Two others lay prone. One lay dead.
Jessica was motionless, grasping to life on the thinnest straw.
The cogs of Big Ben continued to turn, caked in the blood of the Otherside as it gushed from metal slabs.
Argyle pushed open the door and tackled the first step, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SWEAT POURED DOWN BERMUDA's spine as he clambered up stair three hundred. Peering over the banister, he imagined how it would feel to soar down to the ground below.
He had to push on.
With his hand pressed against the wall for support, he continued, each step more laborious than the last, each one pushing his body to breaking point. Blood slid from the cuts across his face, merging with the sweat that dripped from his chin.
He had lost count of how many ribs had been destroyed.
Step by step he finally clambered over the final step, a small concrete landing awaited him. As he shuffled towards the wooden door before him, he made an empty promise to quit smoking.
With more strength than he cared to muster, he pushed open the door. The brightness of the clock face almost blinded him, the magnificent timepiece illuminating all four walls. Each one was dissected by two thick hands, showing the time to be 12:15. The face itself was a myriad of glass panels, curved and slotted together to create the most recognisable clock in the world.
In the centre of the room, hanging from a sturdy clasp attached to the roof, was Big Ben itself. The giant chrome bell hung dormant; the power and volume it could generate was not something Bermuda was keen on testing.
Underneath the bell, the floor was barricaded off, a wooden bannister that surrounded a large square gap that led to a three-hundred-foot drop to the floor below.
That was when he saw her.
Sophie.
Lying motionless on the floor, he raced towards her, ignoring the pain that latched to him like a straitjacket.
He took a few steps through the door when a hard fist caught him in the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the floorboards. His brain shook, rocked by the impact.
Barnaby stepped into view, his measured steps echoing this high off the ground.
'Welcome, Bermuda.'
Bermuda pushed himself up, shaking the dizziness and checking his jaw wasn't broken.
'Let her go,' he demanded, struggling to his feet. Barnaby smirked.
'Now, now. She is the final piece. The last drop. Look at her, Bermuda. Look at how beautiful she is. Tell me, what would you do to save her?'
Bermuda managed to stand, wobbling slightly and slowly circling. Barnaby kept his back to him, approaching Sophie with calculating steps.
Rain crashed against the four faces of the tower.
'I'd kill you.'
Barnaby turned, raising an eyebrow.
Bermuda shrugged. 'You asked.'
'Quite.' Barnaby stopped as he arrived, his feet a mere few centimetres from her motionless head. Her hair cascaded freely across the wood. 'She is so peaceful. So blissfully unaware of how insignificant within her own race. Yet to me, she is everything.'
Bermuda took a few more steps, his feet bleeding from the mammoth staircase. He looked down at Sophie, cursing himself for including her in a war she never knew existed.
She was here because of him.
'If you need to take someone, take me,' Bermuda offered, surprised by his sincerity. 'This is a fight that she is not a part of.'
Barnaby began to chuckle, his laughter like broken glass shattering. It made the hairs on Bermuda's neck leap upwards.
'Oh, Bermuda. That is good.' He chuckled more, slowly turning. 'However, this is all about her. And you!'
Suddenly, a burst of speed and a black-and-grey blur exploded towards Bermuda. Unable to move quick enough, Barnaby caught Bermuda with another firm right, the punch sending Bermuda sprawling to the ground. He spat, a puddle of blood circling one of his teeth.
Barnaby moved quickly, another burst of acceleration that Bermuda could barely detect.
He was thoroughly overpowered.
Barnaby took one more gaze at the peaceful Sophie, cracking his neck and pushing his tongue around his cheeks. She was too perfect.
The pain it would cause Bermuda was too much.
Without a regard for where his adversary was, Barnaby stepped forward, his menacing frame a silhouette in the bright lights of the clock face. A large, top-hat-wearing shadow. He reached a thin, grey hand into his blazer, beyond the latch stone that held his connection.
He withdrew the Gate-Maker.
Jagged, crude, and with twelve sides, he held it in his hands, summoning the power to once again combine the worlds.
Create an illegal opening.
A doorway.
Bermuda slowly sat up, blood dripping from his lips. Suddenly, a burst of light flew from the glass as Barnaby placed the device against it. The whole room shook; Bermuda reached a hand to cover his eyes as the room was bathed in a tremendous glow. The floor trembled beneath him and slowly, in the face of the clock, a doorway forged.
Burnt into the gigantic, round glass, an archway crudely burnt its way into existence, the portal between worlds a dusty purple colour.
The Otherside.
It called to him.
'Can't you see, Bermuda? I will be the dawning of a new era. A second chance for this world.' Barnaby gazed into the doorway, his black eyes reflecting the purple energy as it danced before him. 'I will be the god that your race has feared.'
He slowly turned, the jet-black eyes latching onto Bermuda like two hooks.
'I will be your extinction.'
With a sudden surge of power, Barnaby turned and threw his arm out, his hand open and palm facing Sophie, as if urging her to move. Sure enough, with the pull of the portal and the increase in power, Sophie slowly began to lift, a force more powerful than gravity hoisting her off the wood. Bermuda began to panic, watching as she lifted completely off the floor, suspended in the air like a marionette.
'For God's sake, let her go,' Bermuda pleaded, struggling to his feet, the air
in the room alive, a gale-force wind trapped within the four walls. With forceful steps he pushed against the onslaught, his eyes watering as the wind force rose.
Sophie hung in the air, her mind elsewhere as Barnaby stared at her. Slowly turning his head, his black, cavernous eyes met Bermuda's.
A sickening smile spread across his scarred face.
'This world belongs to me now.'
Slowly, Sophie began to move towards the doorway, an unseen force wrapping its cold grasp around her and began to reel her in. Bermuda broke through the pressure, racing towards Sophie as fast as he could, one last, valiant attempt to save her.
Barnaby whipped across the room, colliding shoulder-first into Bermuda's chest and knocking him across the floor. He rolled to a stop, precariously close to the opening that led to certain death.
His chest broken and his pain threshold decimated, Bermuda once again pushed himself up, blood dripping from his face, and instantly, Barnaby approached him.
'Resist,' Barnaby commanded.
Bermuda responded, cracking a firm fist against the crooked jaw of Earth's conqueror. It had little effect and a severe uppercut sent Bermuda hurtling across the room again, his brain almost shaken loose from its cranial confinement.
He lay for a moment, the acceptance of being beaten to death trying its best to dissuade him from getting back to his feet.
His blurred vision focused on Sophie, her slow journey to extinction playing out in front of him.
Again he clambered to his feet. Broken, bruised, and bloody, Bermuda stood a few feet from the demonic force before him.
Barnaby looked him up and down.
'There is no happy ending, Bermuda.' His words were heavy, laced with satisfaction. 'You will die here tonight. Your entire world will.'
Bermuda thought of Chloe.
His beautiful daughter, the innocence which bathed her world and the experiences she was yet to have.
'Then I'll die trying to save it.'
Bermuda launched himself forward, catching Barnaby in the centre of his stone-like face with his fist, the impact shattering a bone or two in Bermuda's hand. He stumbled forward, his hands planted against Barnaby's chest to steady himself. Furious, Barnaby struck him in the stomach with venom, the impact crushing his intestines.
Dropping to his knees, Bermuda wasn't sure how much he had left.
Barnaby circled him, like a shark smelling blood in the water. Carefully sliding a hand to the bottom of his spine, he reached a long, thin hand and clasped the handle. Unable to move through the pain, Bermuda heard the blade slide from its latch; the jagged sword would soon be his end.
He couldn't fight anymore.
He watched as Sophie drew ever nearer to a world that would destroy her.
He wished he could save her.
With both hands clutching the handle, Barnaby rested it slowly to the back of Bermuda's neck, the razor-sharp, jagged metal slicing through a few strands of hair.
He could feel the coldness of the blade.
He took one more glance at Sophie as Barnaby lifted the blade, closing his eyes and accepting his failure.
The world would end tonight.
Barnaby swung the blade down as hard as he could.
Argyle's blade caught a mere foot from Bermuda's neck, knocking it backwards and sending Barnaby off balance. Having raced up the stairs and seeing his partner about to be executed, Argyle had leapt across the room, his blade deflecting death and saving Bermuda once again.
Scowling and spitting venom, Barnaby regained his composure, snarling in Argyle's direction as they circled each other, their blades drawn.
To the death.
The silent promise to each other was made and Barnaby launched at Argyle, the blade slicing the air to the side of his head, Argyle weaving to the side before deflecting the next swing with his own sword.
The mighty clash echoed around them, the two swordsmen taking calculated swipes, both blocking and deflecting.
After a few more wild swipes, Barnaby lunged towards Argyle, who sidestepped before striking his adversary with the handle of his blade. Barnaby stumbled back, angered as blood seeped from the wound under his eye.
He dabbed at it with his treacherous fingers, the blood thick and black, like oil.
'These scars belong to you, Argyle,' he snapped, pointing to the permanent damage that stretched across his face.
Argyle silently stood, sword drawn, ready to continue the battle. Both men stepped towards each other, their swords clattering as they swung with the intent to kill.
OPENING HIS EYES TO find his head still attached, Bermuda quickly backed away from the two swordsmen, their blades swinging in a whirlwind of skill and murderous intent.
Sophie was a few feet from leaving the world, and despite the agonising state of his body, Bermuda launched himself towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and desperately trying to halt her course.
She continued to move, the pull too strong for the human spirit.
A few feet now—she was almost gone. Literally sliding through his fingers.
He couldn't stop her.
Taking a deep breath, he limped to the doorway itself, the smoky purple portal calling to him, beckoning him through with mystical fingers.
He turned his back on it, facing Sophie, whose waist was inches from him.
'This is gonna hurt,' he muttered to himself before throwing his arms out to the sides, his fingers latching onto the edges of the doorway, jagged glass cutting into this fingers.
The Otherside latched onto his back, one strike, like being whipped by fine cable wiring, slicing the skin on his back.
Sophie pushed into him, adamant on passing through the door. Bermuda dug his feet in, his fingers dripping blood as his knuckles turned white, refusing to lose.
To let the Otherside take her.
She pushed him backwards, his back tipping over the threshold, and the Otherside gratefully received it. It collided with him; he could feel it ripping the skin from his back, the ink-covered skin slowly disintegrating as the world tried to claim him.
Claim them both.
With a roar of agony he gritted his teeth, his eyes watering as the pain caused him to shake.
The first layer of skin was burning away.
Soon the rest of him.
He refused to let go.
The world could have him. But not her.
Not her.
The roar of anguish echoed through the room and Barnaby turned, his face distorting with fury as he saw Bermuda's defiance. Ducking a blow from Argyle, Barnaby caught the warrior with a firm punch to the kidney before swinging his sword wildly in the hope of decapitation.
Argyle ducked, launching forward and hooking his arm under Barnaby's, flipping him over onto his spine. Taking a few steps back, Argyle heard another cry of agony from Bermuda, his eyes frantically searching for him.
Stood in the doorway, he was refusing to let Sophie through. His world was trying its best to dismantle him: the screams of anguish were testament to that.
Bermuda needed him.
Suddenly, the blade shot through Argyle’s armour and through the left side of his chest. It pierced through the armour, blood spraying out like a wet firework.
His grey eyes opened wide, the life draining from them as Barnaby sneered behind him, his hands planted firmly around the handle.
Argyle slowly went limp, feeling the life draining from his body as he reached out a hand towards Bermuda.
He knew Bermuda could see it, the fear in his eyes evident as Barnaby slowly twisted the sword, the blade slicing through tendons that held his chest in place.
Instantly, Barnaby spun him around and then launched a vicious kick to his chest.
Argyle slid effortlessly off the blade and clattered through the wooden barrier, plummeting three hundred feet to the concrete death below.
Bermuda tried to scream, his final hopes disappearing with his partner as he fell to his death.
Argyle was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WITH THE CROOKED GLASS edges covered in his blood, Bermuda gripped them tighter. Behind him, the Otherside was lashing at his back, fragments of his skin slowly etching away. The connection between himself and a world that wasn't his was growing.
Pressed against him, the woman he was falling for was trying her best to get through, the unstoppable force dragging her to an undeserved end.
His refusal, her final chance.
Tears fell down Bermuda's cheek as he watched Argyle slide off of Barnaby's blade, his limp body falling through the gap and hurtling towards the earth. A warrior who had given everything, including his life, to preserve his own.
Now he was dead.
The world would soon follow.
Broken splints of wood whipped up into the air, the blast of wind from the open portal causing mayhem within the four walls, each one ablaze with the lights of the clock face.
Barnaby slowly turned, the light ricocheting off his eyes like two shiny black marbles.
They focused on Bermuda.
With slow, measured steps, Barnaby's boots slammed against the wood, each one bringing the end of the world ever closer.
Outside, the rain lashed against the clock tower, its drumming echoing like a backing track to the chaos. Barnaby grinned, his broken smile mocking Bermuda as he clung to existence.
'Your futile attempt at survival is admirable,' Barnaby mused, impressed as he slowly approached. Between them, Sophie hung in the air, still pressing her entire body weight against Bermuda, trying her best to pass through.
Barnaby slowly swung his sword, the bloodstained blade cutting the air like a knife through butter.
'Just let go, Bermuda. Just allow the inevitable to take its course. You will die a hero, a man willing to sacrifice himself. A man who tried.'
Bermuda gritted his teeth, the glass digging further into the joints of his fingers. His ribs cried for mercy, the majority of them shattered.
His face was decorated with blood, the finger-marks of another world slashed across it.
His back was merging with the world, its force trying to pull him through the doorway and merge with him completely. His skin was slowly ebbing away.
Doorways Page 23
