Eater of Souls

by Erik Lynd

  They heard a crash from behind them, and Christopher knew the creature had just come through his window. Dammit, I just fixed it from last time, he thought. They ran faster.

  They made it to the top of the stairs before the door to his bedroom blew off its hinges and smashed into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Luckily, the top of the rear stairs, the servant stairs in days long gone, were around the corner from his room. The creature would pause for a second while it tried to determine which way they had gone. It was a large home with three different ways away from his room. But the hound could track him, they had only moments. They would never make it, not unless he bought them some time.

  "Hamlin. Where is your car?" Christopher asked.

  "Around the block, parking here sucks. Why?" Hamlin said.

  Christopher tossed him his keys. "Mine’s in the garage. I'll meet you in the alley." He handed his clothes to Eris.

  "How?" she asked. "You couldn't stop it before?"

  "Before I was trying to kill it, not slow it down. Now go."

  Christopher gave her a shove and then turned back to the hallway.

  "God dammit, kid," he heard Hamlin say, but they kept running down the stairs.

  Christopher stepped into the hallway. The Hound saw him and made a deep, menacing sound. Christopher imagined it was the sound granite would make if it could howl. The Weapon exploded into a large sword in his hand. Power swirled along its blade and around his body. He could feel the Hellfire burning inside of him, purifying his hatred. It seemed like the Weapon's thirst for souls was ten times stronger than ever before. Christopher was overwhelmed. For a brief moment, he almost lost himself. It was like he was at a dark precipice, and at the bottom was all the anger and hatred he had ever felt. Falling in, giving in, would be the end of who he was. What scared him most was that part of him wanted to give up, and the power of the Weapon fed it. With a surge of will, he reasserted himself over the Weapon and held it in check.

  But that hesitation was all the creature needed. It charged.

  Christopher barely brought the weapon up in time. He didn't have time to strike. He lifted it, hoping to use it as a shield, and instantly the Weapon broadened into a large, wicked-looking axe. The creature’s claws skittered against the axe head, sending up sparks of power. It stumbled to the side in surprise as power lashed out at it. It recovered with that same blinding speed that made even Christopher’s enhanced reflexes seem sluggish. Before he could strike, the werehound jumped back, watching him wearily.

  But they both knew it was just a matter of time. Christopher would not be able to defeat it one on one.

  The creature moved in again, and Christopher swung the axe. It ducked under and struck Christopher with the back of its arm. Christopher flew through the hallway wall from the force of the blow, sending wood splinters and drywall dust everywhere. Pain shot up his back as he skidded across the floor of the guestroom and into an antique desk.

  He rolled to his feet and brought the axe up moments before the werehound was on him. He swung as the creature charged, again it dodged out of the way of the massive blade. But this time Christopher reversed the strike faster and brought the blade back up as the creature struck. The edge of the Weapon cut into the creature’s bicep, but the cut was shallow, and just as Christopher felt the Weapon latch onto its soul, the monster pulled away. The dark soul slipped away.

  Christopher could almost hear the Weapon scream in frustration. The werehound jumped back across the room. The sting of Christopher's axe had shaken it up.

  Christopher didn't wait for it to get its nerve back. He ran out of the room and down the hall towards the back stairwell. Before he could reach the stairs, the werehound exploded through the wall in from of him, blocking his path.

  Knowing any hesitation would get him killed, Christopher immediately changed direction and charged through the door next to him into the bathroom. He would have to go through the window at the far side of the bathroom. He was three steps into the room when he heard the werehound come through the door behind him. It was big enough to take some of the doorway with it as it entered the bathroom.

  Christopher was almost to the large window when he felt the claws sink into his back. The force of the blow spun him around. Without thinking, he gathered the power within him and leapt backwards. But the werehound was right on top of him and caught hold of Christopher with its massive claws. Together, they smashed through the window and out into the New York evening air, three stories above the ground.

  The creature opened its jaws wide, obviously planning on taking a large chunk out of Christopher's neck, but Christopher knew it wasn't just his flesh he had to worry about. With a surge of desperate strength, he brought the axe up between them. The werehound's muzzle bounced off of it with a crackle of power and the monster was falling away from him.

  He had no time to enjoy his relief. He slammed into the earth with a bone-jarring crash. If he had been strictly mortal, like he had been just a few weeks ago, his body would have been shattered, and he would be dead from such a fall. But with the power of Hell flowing through him, his body absorbed the damaged.

  But it still hurt like a motherfucker. The air was kicked out of him, and for a brief moment the world spun.

  Get the fuck up! A voice inside of him screamed. It is going to be on you any second!

  He rolled to his feet with a moan only to see the werehound already on his own feet and slowly stalking forward. The Weapon in Christopher's hand flashed with power, and suddenly he was holding two slightly smaller axes, one in each hand. Apparently the Weapon felt quantity was what was needed here. They were still connected, Christopher could feel it, and both screamed at him with the hunger for more souls. Somehow he was again able to overcome their command and stay in control.

  The werehound approached, and Christopher brought up both the blades. He had no idea how to fight with two axes, but then again he had no idea how to fight with one or the usual sword it became. He longed for the day when he might actually know what he was doing. But for right now he needed to focus on living to see that day.

  The creature came in fast, claws out and jaw snapping. Christopher used the axes to block the blows, but that was all he could do. The creature was so fast, he could barely muster a defense, let alone any sort of attack. He focused on blocking the thing's muzzle, it could do the most damage. But the claws got through. He felt the claws slice through the skin on his right arm, causing him to lower the Weapon in that hand. The werehound tried to seize the advantage, but Christopher was able to bring the other blade up in time. The move, unfortunately, left his other side exposed, and the claws sunk into the skin across his ribs.

  He sprang back out of the creature’s reach, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He was bleeding from multiple cuts, and his healing did not seem to be keeping up with the rate at which the werehound was hurting him. He would not last much longer.

  Then he heard the blaring of a horn behind the brick wall of his backyard. It was getting closer.

  Gathering all his remaining energy, he swung the axes as quickly as he could at the monster. It avoided them easily, but was forced back. Hoping it was enough, Christopher turned and jumped over the wall behind him, expecting to feel the pain of claws digging into his back at any moment.

  But he didn't.

  He cleared the wall and landed on the ground just behind his car. It was slowing to a stop. That was no good.

  "Don't stop!" Christopher said. "Keep going, dammit!"

  "What?" Eris—or Dark Eris, Christopher couldn't tell—yelled out of the window.

  "Keep moving! Go, go!"

  Hamlin caught on. He hit the gas.

  Christopher jumped towards the car just as the werehound cleared the wall and hit the ground less than twenty feet from where Christopher had landed. Axes in front of him, he smashed through the rear windshield of the car and fell into the back seat in a shower of broken glass. He immediately sat up and looked out the b
ack window, just in time to see the werehound land on the trunk.

  The Weapon shifted and was once again a short sword blade. The Weapon knew the large axe would be inefficient to wield in the backseat of a car.

  Christopher swung at the werehound through the broken back window. He couldn't get much leverage because of the awkward angle, but the mere threat of the powerful blade caused the werehound to rear back. At that exact moment, Hamlin hit the gas and the car shot forward, sending the creature tumbling to the ground.

  Christopher was glad he had convinced his dad to get the super charged version.

  The were-hound rolled quickly to its feet and leapt again. Just as it was about to land, the car swerved and made a hard left out onto the main street. The werehound shot past the car and slammed into the side of a large truck, sending it skittering to the side.

  Hamlin sped off down the street and made another sliding turn to the left. Fast as the car would let him, he turned down other streets in a slightly less aggressive manner, all the while putting more distance between them and the monster behind.

  "Talk about defensive driving," Eris said. "Do you learn that stuff in cop school?"

  "Some. The rest I picked up in my not so innocent youth," Hamlin said.

  "We need to get off Manhattan as soon as possible, head towards the Lincoln tunnel," Christopher said.

  "Are you crazy? This time in the evening? No, Holland tunnel is the best choice,” Eris said.

  "Neither," Hamlin said.

  "I hear that Lincoln has gotten better..." Christopher started.

  "Oh, I don't know," interrupted Hamlin, "do we listen to the rich kid who never had a job or the transient girl that doesn't own a car? I know, why don’t we listen to the only guy in the car who has to commute every fucking day to work."

  "Good point," Christopher acknowledged. Eris nodded her head.

  "We are heading north. We need to put some distance between you and this thing so it can't hunt you down so quickly. We need some time to think,” Hamlin said.

  His words echoed Christopher's thoughts. Time to think, was that so much to ask?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "So, budget tight in the NYPD?" Eris asked.

  Christopher had to admit she had a point. The apartment Hamlin had brought them to was a little on the rundown side. They had stopped at an apartment building just past the Bronx Zoo. It was small compared to some of the other buildings in the neighborhood and older as well. They were on the fourth floor with a great view of the other drab building across the street. A layer of dust covered the small dining table and most of the kitchen counters.

  It was a one bedroom, with a kitchen, living area, and bathroom. At least it wasn't a studio, but if they were all going to sleep here, it would be tight.

  It smelled of a mixture of disturbed dust and faint mildew. Christopher would have guessed it had been months since someone had been here to open the widows and let in some air. But it was safer than his house, at least for the moment.

  "I picked one that wasn't in regular rotation, something off the NYPD grid or at least not at the top of the list," Hamlin said. "This one doesn't get much use. Kind of a reserve safe house. I think the only reason it’s still owned by the police is its virtually zero cost. I thought it our best chance to remain disturbed by my colleagues."

  "It's not the police disturbing us I’m concerned about," Christopher mumbled.

  "We'll be okay here, for a night anyway. It took that thing what? Twenty-four hours to find you at your house, and you said it would have an easier time finding you at a place you frequent. You've never been to this place,” Hamlin said. "In fact, have you ever even been to the Bronx?"

  "Yeah, of course. But not very much."

  "So we should be good here for at least a night. I got a few more places we could stay at over the next few nights. They're spread out around the city."

  "Then what?" Christopher asked. "Head out of state? Run?"

  Hamlin ignored him. "I'm gonna head out for some food. There's a grocery on the corner, I'll get us some snacks. Keep the door locked and keep quiet. The neighbors are going to be suspicious enough as it is that somebody is using this place again." He looked carefully up and down the hall before he left.

  "You should go a little easy on him, it's not like it's his fault," Eris said as she sat in a chair by the window and gazed out.

  Christopher sat carefully on the couch, his body sore. It seemed like just as his battle wounds were healing something happened to give him new ones.

  "I know. I'm just tense. I hate this," Christopher said.

  When she didn't say anything, he looked at her. She was quiet as she stared out the window. Then he noticed the tear running down her cheek.

  "Hey, everything is going to be okay, you know," he said, although he was far from believing it. "We’ll figure this out."

  "You're lying, but that's not why... not why."

  Christopher stood up, ignoring the stabs of pain from his slowly healing wounds. He sat down again closer to her.

  "What's wrong then?" asked Christopher.

  "I... I tried, I really tried," she started.

  "Tried what?" Christopher asked. He could see the aura of her soul, or rather the combination of two souls rippling around her, flowing against each other, but not mixing, like oil and water.

  "When you were fighting the werehound, I tried to get Dark Eris to come... to take over I guess, but she wouldn't,” she said. The tears were coming more freely.

  "No, no don't be upset. This wasn't your battle, or Dark Eris' for that matter. This is my fight." Christopher was not sure if he should reach out for her. He wanted to, he wanted to comfort her, let her know everything would be alright. But she was right, it would be a lie. Still, he wanted to hold her, maybe even more for himself than for her. But he didn't, something stopped him. The image of Dark Eris in demonic form loomed in his mind.

  "I really tried, I begged. At least I thought I did. It is so hard to describe how we... exist inside of my body together."

  "It's okay," Christopher said.

  "No, it’s not. We should be helping," she said. "I don't think she knew what was going on. Sometimes, when you aren't the one in control, it’s hard to understand what is happening. What I'm trying to say is, I don't think she abandoned us on purpose."

  "No, of course not..."

  "It was like she was hiding," Eris said and looked at Christopher suddenly. "But I don't understand what she would be hiding from. She is not the hiding type."

  "True. She does seem to go at things head on. But I don't want you to beat yourself up like this. It isn't your fault this creature is after me, and it certainly isn't your fault that Dark Eris wouldn't listen to you."

  It was then Christopher realized he had reached out and was holding her hand. But he did not pull it back. Somehow it felt right.

  "I just feel so useless," Eris said suddenly seeming restless. She stood up and paced. "You have these powers and she has, well that demon thing, even Hamlin has his safe houses and cool logic. What can I do? Besides cry and be a burden."

  "No, you’re not a burden."

  "I just wish I could do something, anything to help. You don't know how it feels to be so useless."

  "But I do. Look at me, literally the Devil's bounty hunter, all this power and that thing swats me away like a fly. I mean it's destroyed my home, I'm on the run. Hell, I’m hiding out in a rundown apartment in the Bronx. Some emissary of the devil I turned out to be."

  As he said it, his feelings of uselessness truly began to sink in. This had all been a mistake from the beginning. "I thought I could be this... this whatever it is that I am. I thought for a brief moment that it was important. But no, I was just a mistake. And now I have no clue what to do."

  They both sat in silence until Hamlin returned from the store with food and supplies. They didn't speak, and they didn't let go of each other's hand.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ammit slipped out
of the shadows and into her bedroom silently. From the moment he entered the house, Anabelle knew he was there, of course, but it amazed her that something embodying such destructive power could be so quiet when it needed to be. Any mortal would have been surprised by the sudden arrival of the werehound.

  He came up behind her and gently rested his massive claw on her shoulder. It should have been a heavy weight, but he held it there gently. She knew what it meant, what he wanted, but it was creepy. All males wanted her in some way, as well as many females for that matter, but at the same time it meant all males wanted her. It was her gift and curse rolled into one. She shuddered in disgust and shrugged off his claw.

  "Do you have his head for me?" She asked, turning around. She let her dressing gown fall open, just enough to show off the inner swell of her breasts. She was disgusted, but control was more important at the moment. And she knew how to control men, human or otherwise.

  "There was a problem," Ammit said.

  With a grunt Anabelle pulled her robe closed, stood up and shoved him back. "A problem? You had a simple task, one you had almost accomplished before. What could have possibly gone wrong?"

  He growled at her sudden change, but she was not worried. It was just typical male frustration. She used it like a weapon.

  "He ran. I was expecting him to fight, but he ran like a coward."

  "And why did you not catch him? You are faster, stronger," she said.

  "I would have chased him down, but he had help."

  "What? Those mortals that were there last time?"

  Ammit looked down in shame, unable to meet his mistress' eyes.

  "I thought him alone, but his friends showed up. They got away in a car," he said. The deep menacing rumble of his speech belied the slumped shame of his body.

  Good. He should be ashamed.

  "They got away in a car? You could not keep up with a car? Hell, in New York a cripple on crutches can catch up to a car in traffic,” she said. This was not good, if she didn't get the hunter's head, and soon, Golyat would destroy her.