Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  Chapter 44

  A moment of fear slithered down his spine as he saw the first of them approaching in the darkness. He shoved his shaking hands into his jacket pocket, hoping they’d go unnoticed.

  I’m going to die now, he thought, and somehow, odd as it was, the simple acceptance of the thought calmed his nerves. He took a steadying breath and for the first time, felt at peace. Let them come.

  The approaching group appeared to be human, but he didn’t see the uniforms of the Brotherhood. The were-dogs, then. A moment later he spotted Howard at the front of the pack. He’d brought a huge group, but Bert doubted it was all of them. The bulk of his force probably remained in the surrounding forest.

  Next was the Brotherhood, and there was no mistaking them. The assault troopers marched forward, assault rifles held at the ready. Among their ranks were several knights in full plate mail wielding giant swords. He’d not seen these fellas before. The Executioners Robert spoke of, perhaps? Standing at the head of their herd was the leader he’d met in the Underbelly.

  And then Nero and his band of hipsters appeared. Their numbers were vast as well. Certainly more than he’d expected. He spotted Mohawk first, then noticed Chance and Jacqueline as well.

  The vampire gangster wannabees appeared next, also in force and carrying automatic weapons.

  His little meadow was filling up fast, and the groups eyed one another warily, each wondering why the others were present. He’d worried that some of them might bolt the moment they saw the others, but so far they were still pouring in. Perhaps their desires to be the ones who secured the object was too strong. Or perhaps they were all just arrogant assholes. Either way, they still approached him, edging closer together with each step.

  He couldn’t help but let a grin slip.

  Dasfarus appeared out of thin air and stood off to one side of the rock alone, his presence enough to convince the others to give him plenty of space. He cast one casual glance at the others, then turned his attention toward Bert, disinterested in the other factions. They didn’t seem to mind.

  And last came the clowns. They trudged through the field like a living nightmare, garnishing open terror from the other gangs and hogging up all the attention. They strolled right through the middle of the crowd, and everyone gave them room. Even Dasfarus turned to watch their approach. Naturally, they were putting on a show, as though the circus were parading through town. He wasn’t sure if it was the same clown as before, but one rode a child-sized tricycle. He weaved around and in between his fellows, circling the group and doing figure eights while he tooted his little horn. Another was on stilts and juggling pins. No body parts this time. Not yet, anyway. Another was doing cart wheels and flips. Ding Dong stood in the center.

  As all of his enemies closed around the rock which made Bert’s stage, there was a moment of eerie silence and a tense feeling of unease as they all watched one another. Well, everyone except Dasfarus and the clowns, none of which seemed the least bit interested in what was going on.

  Bert didn't say anything or move. He just waited.

  Except for Dasfarus, who apparently was such a dick he didn’t have any teammates, Bert suspected each group had backup hidden in the forest. At a very rough estimate, he guessed there were around two hundred assholes present, not dis-including dickheads, shit bags, and fuck faces. There was likely twice as many, if not more, hiding in the forest. There was no way to know, but he suspected it was a lot.

  Huddled together like they were waiting for rock a concert to start, their hate-filled gazes slowly turned toward him.

  “Holy shit,” Sharp said. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”

  Bert grinned and addressed the crowd. “Hello, everyone. I’m glad you all could make it. Now, if you’ll all join hands, we’ll have a quick prayer and get this thing started. Whaddaya say?”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Howard asked.

  “Great question, Howie!” Bert said, nodding in his direction. “Please be patient while I try to explain. You see, you’ve all been fooled. Bamboozled and hoodwinked. Bushwhacked and tallywhacked… Wait, no I think that last one means something different… Anyway, my point is that while each of you were trying to fuck me, someone else was fucking you.”

  The crowd remained silent, but he could feel their hatred boiling. He wondered who wanted to kill him the most.

  “You each came to me for the exact same purpose. You each threatened me the exact same way. You each said that someone gave you my name. You each gave me until tonight.” He paused, giving time for his words to sink in. “What a weird coincidence, right?”

  This was met with a murmur of grumbles, a few barks, and a hysterical laugh from one of the clowns.

  “What?” Bert asked. “You don’t buy it? Me neither. Anyone want to tell me who played you all against me?”

  No one responded.

  “I rather thought not,” he said, pulling back his sleeve and raising his bloody hand in the air. “But this is what you’re after, right? This is what each of you threatened me for. You all made the exact same demand. Find this and bring it to you.”

  He scanned the crowd, looking for their leaders. Howard bore a confused scowl. Nero crossed his arms and glared daggers at him. The vampire boss leaned over and spoke to one of his cohorts, as did the Brotherhood’s field leader. Dasfarus remained impassive and Ding Dong grinned like an idiot.

  “But who to give it to?” Bert asked. “You must see my dilemma. How can I choose one of you, my dear friends, over the others? I thought about chopping it into pieces and making you share, but I knew some of you wouldn’t approve.” He pointed toward Ding Dong. “Looking at you, clowns. You guys need to learn to share.”

  The clowns found this statement wildly amusing. They whooped and hollered, clapped and whistled, and one did a flip. The tricycle clown tooted his horn several times. The other groups squeezed closer together, trying to give the clowns more room. It was doubtful most, if any, new what they truly were, but they were scary as hell.

  “And then I found this,” Bert said, wriggling on the white thorn. It pulled free from the vine and he held it up between his fingers for all to see. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s a key. No clue what door it opens, but I’m guessing this is what the forces who hired you really want. And I know you don’t know who they are, and you probably don’t really care. Well, the Brotherhood might.” He pointed toward them. “Bad news, guys. I’m pretty sure you’re working on the behalf of dark wizards. Should’ve checked references first.”

  No one in the Brotherhood responded, but a few passed furtive glances between one another.

  “That’s enough, wizard,” Dasfarus said, his voice rising above the crowd. When he spoke his voice lacked its usual malice. “Its purpose does not concern any here. Some questions are better left unanswered.”

  “Fair enough,” Bert said, tossing the key up in the air and catching it. He repeated the motion, again and again, as though it were a ball and he was just passing the time. “I don’t really care what it’s for. It seems such a foolish little thing for you to threaten my life over. It certainly wasn’t worth the lives you’ve taken it to get it.”

  The crowd didn’t seem particularly moved by his moral lecturing. Big surprise. He knew he was running out of time. He knew how sneaky the Brotherhood ninjas were and he’d witnessed one of the vampires going invisible. Any second now he expected a knife in the back, and while he didn’t plan on making it out alive, he needed to live just a few moments longer to see his plans to fruition.

  “So, why have you summoned us all here?” Nero asked. “Seems rather foolish to invite all of your enemies here when you can only deliver the object to one of us.”

  “Good question, Hipster King,” Bert said, flashing him a grin. “My friend Ozark lives by this idea that if you want to claim something as your own, then you must be strong enough to take it, and strong enough to keep it.”

  A murmur tor
e through the crowd and heads whipped back and forth as the factions assessed each other once again. They were starting to get the idea. He was going to make them fight for it. No one made a move, but the tension multiplied and an unease spread through the crowd like a plague. Only a few maintained their composure. The clowns laughed their assess off and gave Bert a round of applause. At least someone approved.

  “Whoever gave you my name,” Bert said, glaring back at them the now, his smile forgotten, “there was one thing they didn’t tell you about me… I’m not someone you want to back into a corner. I’m not someone you want to threaten. Above all, you should’ve never threatened the people I care about.”

  He stepped closer to the edge of the makeshift stage, his eyes blazing with power. “My name is Waylon Drake, but my friends call me Bert. I’m the one who killed the dark wizard Senechal. I’ve been called Death Bringer, Hero of the Underbelly, and sometimes, the Moonshine Wizard. And I have my own creed that I live by… Why waltz when you can rock n’ roll!”

  That was the trigger.

  What happened next was pure chaos, orchestrated by a foe they’d all underestimated. They’d thought him weak. They’d thought him foolish. They’d thought they could push him around. That they could manipulate him to do their bidding. That they held the upper hand. They were wrong. Any who lived would remember. They’d remember the day the dumb hillbilly kid pulled out all the stops.

  He hurled the key into the air and their eyes followed, watching for where it would land, noticing only too late the rumbling beneath their feet as the rock on which he stood came to life.

  Ozark rose to his feet and, as planned, hurled Bert into the air. As he ascended skyward, he snagged the key back out of the air and secured it in his pocket. Then, with his hand conveniently still in his pocket, he triggered the detonator hidden there.

  The meadow lit up in a fiery explosion, like a scene from a Michael Bay flick. Bodies and debris flew every which way, and Ozark charged into the crowd.

  As he continued upward, Sharp said, “So, the Moonshine Wizard?”

  Bert shrugged. “I don’t know, Sharp. It just kind of came out.”

  “I kind of like it,” he said, chuckling. “Moonshine Wizard.”

  Chapter 45

  Bert watched the scene as he continued ascending upward. It was all happening so fast.

  Ozark bellowed a war cry as he stomped on foes like an angry toddler. In the darkness of the cave, Bert hadn’t fully appreciated the size of the troll. Out here, between the bright Hunter’s moon and the fires burning across the meadow, he could see him clearly. He was like a building with arms and legs. Enemies tried to flee, but in a single leap he was back in the middle of them, squishing the little human things like ants.

  For the first few moments, it was utter chaos as panicked assholes pushed past each other and tripped over one another’s feet trying to flee the troll. Teams were forgotten. All hell broke loose.

  As he fell back toward the earth, Bert summoned magical energy and felt the thorns tighten around his arm. He gritted his teeth against the pain and focused on the power at his command. It was exhilirating.

  Below, most of his enemies were still running, but a few were fighting, and many were dying. Some tried to fire guns at the trolls. Others hurled magic. Neither had any real effect. They might as well have been shooting spit wads at the big guy.

  Using the power from the thorns, Bert made a soft landing right beside Ozark. They’d worked out a strategy beforehand. Despite his size and destructive ways, Ozark had assured him he’d be perfectly safe right beside him or even beneath him. Bert hadn’t been convinced, but now, seeing him in action, it was clear the troll knew exactly what he was doing. He was a wrecking ball, but his movements were precise, calculated, and even graceful.

  The agreement was, when Bert gave the trigger phrase, Ozark was welcome to pummel everyone in sight. If anyone else showed up, like the Hand for instance, Ozark would confirm with Bert before smashing them. When Bert had promised him there’d be at least a hundred enemies he could kill, Ozark had not only proved amiable, but downright friendly. Now that it turned out there were more than a hundred, Ozark appeared to be having the time of his life. He cackled with delight with each new kill, his laughter bellowing through the meadow.

  Bert darted between his legs, trying to not worry about getting smashed. The upside was that if he did get inadvertently crushed by the troll, at least none of the other assholes would get to claim the kill. That was something.

  A were-dog darted in to attack and Bert hammered him with a lightning bolt. His yelp was stifled as the stone foot came down.

  To the right, one of Nero’s mages hurled a ball of green energy at him. Bert shielded against it without effort and pummeled the hipster with a ball of raw energy, knocking him from his feet.

  Realizing their bullets were no use against the troll, a few of the Brotherhood jerks took aim on Bert instead. Their assault rifle rounds bounced helplessly off his shield and Bert drew his own gun. Before he could fire, Ozark scooped up a screaming foe and hurled him at the shooters, knocking them aside like bowling pins.

  “Left,” Sharp said. “Incoming.”

  Bert glanced left and saw Dasfarus calmly strolling toward him, as though he didn’t notice the chaos all around him. Bert holstered his gun and drew Sharp while bolstering his defense.

  Dasfarus fired a ball of energy at him, just as he’d done that first day at Bert’s house. This time, he blocked it with ease, grinning back at the dark wizard. The odds were more even this time.

  At least that’s what he thought. Then Dasfarus took another step forward and opened his mouth in a banshee scream. Waves of raw energy poured from his throat, rippling across the battleground like a shockwave. Enemies were blasted from their feet and a few flew past Bert as he attempted to block.

  He held for a moment, but even with the thorns, he was no match for the dark wizard. He fell to the ground, sliding across the grass as the force pushed against him.

  Unperturbed by Dasfarus’s scream, Ozark took notice and set his sights on this new, worthy adversary. He charged. Dasfarus ceased his scream and instead hurled a giant ball of raw energy at the troll, pegging him in the chest, and staggering the giant. Ozark howled with delight and started forward again, drawing back his fist to punch. Dasfarus waited until Ozark made to strike and fired the next ball of energy directly into the oncoming fist, throwing Ozark off balance and nearly causing him to tumble. Ozark laughed even harder and charged again.

  The two established themselves as the titans of the battlefield. Equal of might, neither giving ground. No one else bothered to get in their way. Nero or one of the clowns might’ve been able to go toe to toe with either, but didn’t. Nero was busy trying to gather his marauding band of hipsters and the clowns had disappeared. Which meant everyone was else was free to get back to killing Bert.

  There were flashes of gunfire from the forest and he knew his suspicions were correct. There were reinforcements there, and they’d been drawn into the fray.

  A group of vampire thugs moved in to flank him from the right. Some wore expensive suits like their leader. Others wore baggy jeans and looked like gang bangers. At least they were diverse.

  The first opened fire and Bert shielded, replying with a burst of raw energy. The suck-head sidestepped and flashed his fangs in a show of arrogance, just before a were-dog lunged at him and ripped out his throat. The other vampires forgot about Bert and opened on the were-dog mutilating their pal. They shredded the poor mutt in moments, but of course, other were-dogs noticed and charged in to get their revenge.

  All around him, Bert saw nothing but chaos. It was beautiful. Better than he could’ve hoped. All his foes were hellbent on killing each other now and the losses were staggering.

  He risked a glance toward Ozark and saw that he and Dasfarus were still at a stalemate. Neither had given any ground. Then Dasfarus disappeared into thin air. Ozark looked around, turning in a full cir
cle. When he couldn’t find the misplaced wizard, he shrugged, and marched toward Bert, crushing everyone between them.

  Bert glanced around cautiously, thankful Ozark was headed his way because he had a sneaking suspicion Dasfarus might be trying to get the jump on him. It was the key he wanted, after all.

  A short distance away, Bert noticed the clown on the tricycle had reappeared, pedaling like a maniac and zipping around the battlefield. He steered his trike with one hand while he twirled a chain through the air with the other. On the end of the chain was a sickle, and as he closed in with any combatants who weren’t of the clown variety, he lashed out at them, cutting them down like it was a weed whacker.

  The clown cackled as he took down two vampires. One he cut right in half and the other he beheaded. Then his gaze met Bert’s, and his grinned widened. The tricycle changed direction.

  “Oh, no,” Bert muttered, preparing his defenses. He would’ve preferred Dasfarus.

  Sharp sounded off another warning, and Bert spun around to find one of Nero’s dipshits hurling a translucent globe of yellow magic at him. Calling on the power in the thorns, Bert caught the spell and hurled it back at the guy, just as Dasfarus had done to him. It blasted the mage from his feet.

  “Nice,” Sharp said.

  “I've always wanted to do that,” Bert said, chuckling. His laugh was cut short as the thorns sunk deeper into his flesh. So, it’s like that, he thought. The more you use it, the deeper they go. Pain for power seems a fair payment system. It wouldn’t matter much longer anyway.

  He turned back toward the oncoming clown. Chances were, he couldn’t break the clown’s magical defenses, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t break the tricycle. Bert hit it with a bolt of energy, snapping the front tire, and sending the clown tumbling end over end.

  The clown popped back up to his feet, pouting. “You broke my tricycle. You bully.”