by Walter Lazo
arrogant god. Tell me, Bart, can you kill a man without hatred, fear, or indifference in your heart?”
Bart sat down on the floor and rested his head in his hands. He tried to empty his mind. “I don’t know if that’s even possible,” he said. “What am I supposed to feel towards my victim, compassion, pity, friendship, love? That would be a perversion. I could not do that without massacring the meaning of these words, these feelings.”
“Then, I fear, we must prepare to die, or worse. The servants of Marduel cannot be defeated by hatred, rage, or malice. These are the very foundations of their strength. If you cannot fight them, then they will kill you, or convert you.”
Four
Bart shifted his eyes to the empty beer glass; he wished Selena had left him a drop. From the corner of his eye, he saw Anthony entering the bar, and four monks accompanied him. It was time, he knew, and this thought filled him with dread, evoking in his memory not remembrances of danger but of the violence he had always striven to forsake, the one that in days past had threatened to overwhelm him, perhaps turning him into something like these creatures that now stood before him—if not in physical appearance, then in soul.
“Choose,” Izani all but growled.
Bart looked up at him, making contact with those terrible eyes as his left hand slid down his leg to the hilt of a double-edged combat knife. He could tell by Izani’s smirk that he had either seen the knife or guessed at his intention. Just as Bart had anticipated, Izani showed no fear. This, too, is human, Bart thought. As he looked at Izani, he could not help thinking that this man had a mother, a father, hopes and dreams, people he loved and who loved him…how had he become this thing? Bart turned to Selena, saw the fear in her eyes, the tears snaking down her cheeks, and this made him wonder if Izani had been forced to sacrifice—yes, sacrifice—his love for some promise of transcendence. “You are me and I am you,” he said, drawing his knife, waving Selena behind him. “I’ve made my choice. I choose myself.”
“How noble of you,” said Izani, his nose, lips and jaw popping outward, forming a snout.
Somebody screamed.
“You believe yourself the redeemer of the weak and unworthy,” said Izani. “How utterly pathetic. The weak cannot be redeemed; they just drag the species down, until everyone loses the will to live.”
Bart shook his head sadly. “I do not value people enough to be willing to die for them,” he said. “There fate means as little, or as much, as the extinction of a predatory species—I may pity them, sure, but am not motivated to sacrifice myself for their sake.”
“Then tell me why you would choose yourself,” said Izani, struggling to speak as his body continued with its changes, and his shoulders burst through his leather jacket, tearing it at the seams.
“Because I finally understand what it means to be human,” said Bart. “It means drawing a line in the sand and saying ‘I will not cross, even if it dooms me.’ Do you understand this, Izani, what it means to hold yourself up to a high standard, above your hopes and desires, your fears and insecurities?”
But Izani could no longer understand him, Bart realized; he, and those with him, had transformed into an awful creature, a hybrid of a gorilla and a bear.
The complacent, confused people in the bar reached their breaking point: they panicked. Rising from their chairs and stools, like a herd that has seen the lion, they ran towards the exits, clogging the doors with their bodies in their desperation to get out.
Izani turned his head towards the commotion. Bart knew this was his chance to strike while the powerful monster was distracted. He saw Anthony and the monks struggling against the crowd, trying to reach him. They would not be able reach him in time; he was alone. But even in this moment, when he faced a creature from the deepest pit of hell, he could not stop being who he was. He would not murder a man from behind. “Izani!” he called out.
The monster turned to face him, its face a bulging, pulsating, puss-secreting mess.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “Stop being a pawn to your dark god. He offers you nothing but misery, a world of suffering and hatred. We have that already. Choose something better.”
Izani laughed and growled, and in a movement that surprised Bart with its speed, seized him from the shoulders.
“Come, lamb, poke me with your little blade,” said Izani, the words struggling to form in his throat. “The Lord of Filth has made me immortal. No weapon in existence can now harm me. I will never be vulnerable again.”
“I’m truly sorry,” said Bart, as he plunged his knife into the werewolf’s gut. Hot blood splattered his hand and arm, burning blood like heated oil. As he pulled the knife out, feeling both his hand and arm go numb, he looked into Izani’s eyes. There, in those yellow and black spheres, he saw disbelief struggling with fear and rage.
Izani took three steps back, and became a man again, a dying man with big, round brown eyes. His face was smooth, untouched by time. “This is not possible,” he said. “I can’t die, I can’t. I’ve swallowed the blood of a god. Marduel made me immortal. No weapon has ever pierced my flesh.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bart.
Izani reached for Bart. He ground his teeth, tried to say something, collapsed to his knees, and toppled over. He convulsed, flailing his arms and legs like a drowning man trying to swim, and then he moved no more.
Bart looked around, trying to spot the other werewolves, and trying to find Anthony and the monks. But he could not see anything but screaming, panicking people smashing against the entrance, trying to get out.
Someone grabbed him from behind and turned him. He raised his numb arm, but he had dropped the knife. It was Anthony.
“It’s over,” said Anthony. “Now we must leave before the authorities arrive.”
“We fucked it up,” said Bart. “People got killed.”
“It could have been worse. We did what we could, but we can’t control panic. I will assure you this: none died at the hands of the wolves. We did that much. Now come.”
“I have to find Selena.”
“Don’t worry, she’s with us.”
“You got her out?”
“She got us out. The danger to her is no longer physical. What she has seen and heard can destroy her. We must help her the best we can in the coming months.”
“What about all these people? What about their suffering?”
“We will be near for those who need us, but my experience has taught me that by tomorrow people will have a rational explanation for everything that happened today. If we try to approach them and convince them that what they saw was real, we would do them damage. Now come.”
They left the bar through the kitchen. Outside the monks were waiting in a green van, and Selena was also waiting, outside the van.
“Selena,” said Bart. “My God, are you hurt.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but she would not look at him. “What are you involved in, Barty?”
“There is a war,” he said. “I guess I’m fighting it.”
“I can’t handle this shit.”
“I know.”
“It’s going to give me nightmares.”
“Face it, and it can have no power over you.”
She nodded. “I want to see you again. Don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“I won’t. I promise. If you need me for anything, I will be around, at least for the next few days. I think several of those creatures escaped, and after what happened today, I think I may be able to reach them.”
She gazed at him and shook her head. “Some people don’t have any good in them, Bart,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I can’t allow myself to think that way. If I have any faith left, it’s in us, human beings.”
They heard sirens in the distance. He kissed her on the forehead and jumped into the van.
From The Author
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