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Prophet Of Doom td-111

Page 26

by Warren Murphy


  The crowds had swarmed around her when the shooting started, but by this time most had fled screaming to safety. Aside from her Truth Church acolytes, Arapahoe Street was all but deserted.

  She had no idea who the old guy with Cole was, but when she heard the last of eight bullets fired and didn't hear another as her men approached the booth, she was certain that the senator was finished.

  And then the Asian had surged out of nowhere, arms high, face a thundercloud of righteous wrath.

  He was the same old Asian who had come to her ranch with that Remo. The one who had broken her nose. The one Kaspar called the Master of Sinanju.

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  Esther had looked forward to seeing that old fossil again. She wanted to teach him a lesson that would never let him contemplate again blackening both all-seeing eyes and impacting her holy sinus cavities.

  And it was just fine with her if her loyal acolytes did all the maiming and bone busting for her.

  The old man was quickly surrounded. He disappeared under the bigger and taller bodies that closed in with slow, steady menace.

  Esther Clear-Seer smiled. This would be worth waiting for.

  When the bodies of her Truth Church acolytes began dropping around the feet of the old man, she changed her evil mind. It might be better for her own personal safety if she watched the proceedings from an even greater distance, after all.

  In a blind panic Esther Clear-Seer turned and ran after the last remnants of the fleeing crowd, and her ears filled with the ugly, too-familiar sound of bones breaking and shattering.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  first the blackness was complete.

  But then slowly, almost imperceptibly, scenery began to resolve from the darkness around him. Shades of gray appeared as the ink of total blackness bled away, illuminating some areas, highlighting others.

  The flickering mirage congealed into a familiar setting.

  It was the expansive plain on which the two warriors had battled. As the lighter shades of gray took hold in the lowering sky, Remo knew now that it was no longer the scene of his tortured visions, but the actual field itself. He didn't know how he knew this.

  As he walked along, Remo felt the solid earth beneath his feet, breathed the air of the strange perpetual twilight.

  Were he to walk a hundred yards or a hundred years, he would never be able to tell.

  The plain was perfectly flat and bare. He detected no vegetation, no animals. As far as the eye could see, there was not even a solitary stone. Just more of the same bleak, barren expanse stretching limitlessly off to the unreachable point where land met sky.

  And the sky itself seemed nothing more than a va-

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  cant extension of the land. It was a sky without sun or stars or moon. Without life.

  Remo walked on to a point that he knew instinctively to be the center of the plain. He had no idea from where this knowledge came, but when he reached the middle, he stopped and turned.

  And there behind him was the weird figure who had struck down the helpless combatant of his thoughts.

  Remo could see the warrior clearly now, though his mind still couldn't reconcile the image. A creature dressed in yellow smoke, the foul exhalations of the pit. Remo knew it to be the Pythia.

  Their roles now were reversed. Remo could see the giant looming shape of his prior visions floating at some indistinct point in the distance. He realized on some primal level that this was where he should rightfully be. Apollo had assumed control of his body, and the Pythia now stood guard against the threat from within.

  That threat was Remo.

  The figure of the Pythia raised its hands and took up a menacing posture.

  "Night tiger of Sinanju, you continue to fight." It was a statement of fact.

  Remo stood his ground. "I do," he replied.

  "That which you consider your soul should have fled into the Void when my master assumed his predestined place in the world of mortals. If you fail to leave of your own volition, Sinanju, it is within my power to destroy your essence for all eternity. You will know neither pleasure nor pain nor hope nor sorrow. You will not be wept for, for you will not have existed. Is this your desire?"

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  This creature had mocked him in his thoughts, usurped his mind, spirited him from the physical world into this hellish twilight. And now it threatened to rob Remo of his soul if he didn't go peacefully into the Void.

  It offered him a simple choice...but Remo was prepared to make neither. He instead chose that which the Pythia did not offer.

  In the vision in his mind, Remo forced himself to smile.

  "Take your best shot, smoky."

  And a deadly hand lashed out at Remo's indomitable form.

  Esther Clear-Seer was breathless when she burst into the Pythia chamber. She began gagging on the thick sulphur smoke as she tried to suck down lungfuls of air.

  "That old Sinanju guy is in town," she panted to Kaspar, repressing her gag reflex at the noxious stench.

  Kaspar, poised expectantly at the apex of the Pythia platform, was indifferent to Esther's report. "It does not matter," he said with a wave of the hand.

  "Like hell it doesn't," Esther said, mounting the stairs. She noticed Lori Cole sitting off to one side of the platform. "When I took off, he'd already taken out at least a dozen of my crack acolytes. It took me three years to build my following back to this level, and you've got jne sacrificing all of them like lambs in one afternoon. Plus I think Cole got away."

  This news nearly got a reaction out of Kaspar, but at that moment the eyes of what had been Remo Wil-

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  Hams fluttered open. The head moved around, as if testing the bones and muscles of the neck for the first time. The eyes this time seemed more focused than those of the others who had straddled the wooden tripod.

  Kaspar appeared to be fascinated by every movement the man on the stool made. Esther realized that she wasn't going to get any sympathy out of him for the great setback the Truth Church had suffered that day.

  "So he came back after all, huh?" she said, nodding to Remo.

  When Kaspar looked back at her, his eyes were moist with barely containable joy. "He has indeed come back," he said reverently.

  "Yeah, well...right." Esther shot a baffled look at Buffy Brand, who was still manacled beside the crevice. But the young girl was staring fearfully at the man on the stool.

  And what had once been Remo spoke.

  "I live," Remo pronounced to Kaspar in a voice that was not his. "East has met West. The prophecy is fulfilled."

  And the eyes of Apollo incarnate looked with fiery satisfaction on the modern world.

  Though the smoke of the Pythia's body appeared insubstantial, Remo's hands felt as though they were striking solid flesh and bone.

  It was not as it had been in his mind.

  Here, in this netherworld of his own thoughts, unencumbered by distractions of the natural world, Remo stood on an equal footing with the Pythia.

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  More than equal footing.

  A fist snaked out with lightning speed from the cloud's left node. Remo deflected the blow easily. His own hand shot out, connecting sharply with the creature's midsection. The sound of expelled wind came from the Pythia, and Remo didn't know if in this strange ethereal plain he was seeing things as they really were—or fashioning in his own perception responses that were easier for his mind to understand.

  He only knew the Pythia was injured.

  The thing had been attempting to block him from passing over toward the spot where Apollo resided, but it now staggered to one side.

  Remo's hand snapped out once more, and again it landed where the thing's belly should have been. Another gasp for air, and the Pythia weaved farther to one side. It raised its hands defensively.

  It was almost too easy. Remo brought the side of his hand in a chopping motion against the temple of the Pythia.

  The creature dropped to the plain, gasping for b
reath in a desperate, feeble gurgle.

  Remo stepped beyond the stricken form. Apollo waited beyond.

  Kaspar-s delight was boundless. Esther stood dumbly behind him. They faced the new Pythia.

  "Your humble servant waits breathless to perform your earthly bidding," he said obsequiously. "I am eager to rule this land in your name."

  The thing within Remo gave the appearance of looking down on Kaspar even though, seated, it was a good foot below the little man.

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  "All will be as my servant predicted," the voice said sonorously.

  "The prophecy?" Kaspar said, licking his lips anxiously. "I will govern the land in which I dwell?"

  "All will be as I have foreseen."

  Kaspar couldn't contain his ecstasy. This was no longer the Pythia he spoke to. The servant of Apollo had been banished to some unimportant corner within the vessel. These words were spoken by the sun god himself—and they confirmed that he would rule the United States of America.

  "I am humbled by the gifts you have bestowed upon me, my master," Kaspar said, bowing. "The sacrifice we now make is a homage to your ineffable greatness."

  He pulled the ceremonial dagger from the scabbard at his waist and, turning, summoned Esther Clear-Seer to him.

  Esther wasn't sure what was going on, but she understood enough to know that it was something more vast and powerful than she had ever encountered. Dumbly she walked over to Kaspar and took the proffered knife. He gestured to Buffy Brand, and like an automaton, Esther began walking stiffly over to the girl, all the time never taking her eyes off the creature on the tripod.

  Buffy, as well, was fixated on the man on the stool. But as Esther approached, knife in hand, she began struggling fearfully, trying to pull away. The heavy chains at her wrists and ankles prevented her from moving.

  As Esther raised the knife, ready to bring it slashing down and across Buffy's throat, a sudden scream dis-

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  tracted her. When she turned, she saw the mouth of what had been Remo opened in shock. The cruel face was a mask of rage and hate.

  Kaspar stood before the tripod, surrounded in furious puffs of sickly sulphur smoke, a look of helpless confusion creasing his narrow features.

  Before Kaspar could say or do anything, the head of Apollo slumped back to the body of its host vessel.

  "Little man from Sinanju, you think you can best Apollo?" The voice was filled with anger and scorn.

  Apollo appeared on the plain the instant Remo had stepped past the prone figure of the Pythia. He barred Remo's way.

  The sun god wasn't as huge as he had appeared in the previous visions, but he was a powerful being nonetheless. He towered several feet above Remo. A giant among mortals. Around his shoulders was draped a cloak of fire, and across his back was slung a quiver filled with golden arrows. In his hand he held a mighty longbow. His face was a radiant bronze shield crowned by hair the color of sunshine. The eyes were reddish gold.

  Wordlessly Remo took a step forward.

  A hand flew faster than Remo's eyes could detect. Up, around, behind. A golden blur raced from the center of the bowstring.

  Remo felt the arrow strike his shoulder. It thumped him back a pace, throwing him off stride. A second arrow flew, striking just below the first. He tried to take another step, but a third arrow, then a fourth and fifth in rapid succession knocked him back in place.

  The arrows continued to fly. Each time Remo was

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  sure the quiver must be empty, another deadly missile hurtled through the air of the netherworld.

  His body was racked in pain. Blood flowed freely from hundreds of open wounds. Through it all, Remo did not fall. He refused to.

  When the pain became too great and Remo was certain that his mind could no longer endure the torment of this other world, he suddenly felt another presence explode in white-hot brilliance in his thoughts.

  It was something that was vast beyond his comprehension, but it didn't belong to the sinister creatures that had inhabited his thoughts of late. This was a presence that was neither evil nor judgmental, but was, incongruously, fierce and violent all the same. It was a force so powerful that it could not be reconciled to the modern world.

  And it was familiar.

  The force took over his will, but didn't attempt to obliterate Remo's consciousness. He remained a detached spectator, as he had been in the previous battles—but to a lesser degree. He was still his own self—yet now that self had become part of a greater whole.

  And the force within him spoke and it did say, "Foolish minion of Greece! Save your simple tools of destruction for the ignorant who fear and serve you."

  And in his mind Remo's hand swept down and yanked the arrows from his body as though they were nothing more than feathers. When he again looked up, he was on a level with the creature before him.

  "I will have my due," Apollo sneered. "Atonement for the destruction of my earthly temple by the fool

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  Tang. It is as I have foreseen—East has met West. The night tiger belongs to the gods."

  The being within Remo threw back its head and laughed loudly at the endless black sky. "East has met West, fool," it spit. "But / am fulfillment of your prophecy."

  Apollo grew angry of tone. "Who is this who speaks to me from the mind of my Sinanju vessel?" he demanded.

  And the voice within Remo intoned, "I am created Shiva, the Destroyer—death, the shatterer of worlds. The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju. Prepare to pay with blood, corrupter of my avatar, Shiva Remo."

  He advanced on Apollo, hands floating before him like questing python heads, ready to strike a deadly blow.

  And in this place of immortals that knew neither time nor space nor dimension, the spirit of the sun god felt fear.

  "What's happening?" Esther Clear-Seer asked fearfully. The knife was forgotten. She had dropped it at the feet of Buffy Brand when the voices started emanating from the mouth of the vessel on the tripod.

  They were strange and alien voices. Loud and fearful. A struggle was taking place somewhere within the heart of the vessel. The body twitched in tiny spasms as cries of pain and anguish issued from its mouth.

  All at once the sounds ceased, and the body became still once more.

  Kaspar shot a worried look at Esther Clear-Seer, who had backed fearfully to the top of the stone stair-

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  case. He stepped closer to the tripod, afraid that some unseen internal force had destroyed the integrity of the vessel. Remo's dark head was still slumped down on his chest, and there appeared to be no breathing coming from the vessel. Carefully Kaspar took a thick wrist in his hand, seeking a pulse.

  The head suddenly rose. A pair of dead black eyes lifted, then bore into Kaspar's soul.

  "Boo," said Remo Williams in his own voice.

  Kaspar jumped as if shocked by electricity. He tried to pull away, but Remo had grabbed him by the arm. Kaspar stood rooted in place atop the metal grate as Remo got to his feet.

  "This is not possible!" Kaspar yelled. He could feel the bones of his wrist shattering beneath the pressure of Remo's viselike grip. "My master prophesied my greatness! I will govern the land in which I dwell!"

  "That is true," Remo said, and the smile that spread across his features was one of cruel joy. "But the land you govern is your own grave."

  And with that Remo swung his other hand around and clapped it firmly atop Kaspar's head. As he held Kaspar in place with one hand, he pushed downward with the other.

  In all, it took less than a minute. Remo made certain that Mark Kaspar was conscious until the last possible second. Kaspar's screams as his legs were shredded through the grate of the Pythia Pit grew more frenzied as his pelvis and torso passed into the crevice beneath.

  It was as if he were being swallowed up by some breed of rock-dwelling shark, and the screams subsided as his heart muscle passed out the far end of the grate in three distinct sections. When it
was all that

  >

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  was left, Remo pressed down with the sole of his shoe on the skull, delivering Kaspar's brain with a final,

  n< feeble snap into the belly of the dwindling yellow

  v smoke.

  f He turned on Esther Clear-Seer.

  | She had watched, horrified, the whole time Kaspar

  I was being shoved like a blob of pasta through a noodle maker. But when Remo turned his deep-set eyes on her, she began stepping backward down the stairs. Her hands lifted defensively. "He made me do it all," she said desperately. "I didn't even want to kidnap the girls. I thought it was stupid. Bad for business. He made me do it. He was the devil and he made me do it!" Remo hadn't moved. He stared at Esther as she continued inching down the stairs. ! "You kidnapped the girls," he said flatly.

  "Hey, it was just another way to make a buck,"

  , she said. Behind Remo she noticed that the yellow smoke began to pour more freely from the crevice beneath. She bit the inside of her cheek, stalling for time. Remo still hadn't moved. "I'm just a businesswoman at heart," Esther said with a shrug.

  The smoke had gathered behind Buffy Brand, whose eyes were zipping back and forth between Esther and Remo. She never saw the thick yellow fog even as it shoved through her thin blouse and disappeared with her. The girl's back suddenly arched as if she had been stabbed between the shoulder blades. A glazed expression settled across her features and, without any warning, she threw the metal chain that bound her wrists around Remo's exposed throat.

  Esther had been backing down the stairs slowly, but

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  when the chain bit into Remo's flesh, she stopped completely.

  Remo didn't struggle. He simply reached up and snapped one of the metal links. The two halves of the broken chain slithered uselessly over his shoulders. He broke the chain at Buffy's legs and lifted her away from the rocky crevice, setting her carefully atop the platform.

  Esther took this as her cue to leave. Heart beating like a trip-hammer, she turned and raced down the remainder of the stairs.

  Once Buffy was safe, Remo bounded to the top of the staircase and, with a simple flex of his calf muscles, launched himself from the edge of the Pythia platform. He moved at an angle through the dwindling yellow smoke and, at the apex of his turn, his back barely brushing the vaulted concrete ceiling, he tucked his legs in close to his body and executed a flawless somersault, landing on both feet at the bottom of the stairs.

 

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