The Demon Collector
Page 17
"I have seen what happens when someone who needs to care the most stops caring. And I don't want to lose that strength."
She turned and went through the door, shutting it behind her. The hallway beyond was narrow with a low ceiling. She would have to stay in human form for the moment. It had plain concrete walls for about twenty feet before giving way to natural rock wall. The hallway quickly became a passage that twisted and turned, sloping downward.
She rounded a bend and came face to face with a large metal door. She came on it so fast it caught her by surprise. The wall around this door was man made, but ancient, with primitive yet intricate carvings covering them floor to ceiling. This place was old. Dark Eris inside could smell it. Ancient, yet a little familiar.
The door however, was all modern. Thick steel it looked like. There was no way she was getting through that thing without using her demonic form. The passage had opened up as it approached the door and she was able to shift her shape. This time, however, she felt more pangs of pain as she shifted and a wave of exhaustion rolled over her. It was taking a toll, this switching back and forth. The human body was not meant for such repeated trauma.
She seized the metal door and ripped it from the hinges. Beyond was a large open room, a small cavern really. Tall enough for her to easily stand at her full height. The ceiling was covered in stalactites, except for a large space in the center the floor was a forest of stalagmites, most covered in ancient writing or a type of pictograph. The floor was also covered with symbols, some she recognized as the first language, but the meaning eluded her. The floor writing was recent, done with modern paint.
As with the passage behind her, there was no light, but she could see. The dark holds no secrets from the children of Hell. There, just part way across the large room, stood the Demon Collector. He stood as though he had been waiting patiently since the beginning of time for her to open the door. He held an unlit torch with a shaft that touched the ground.
Reacting on instinct, she roared and charged forward toward her prey. The Collector didn't flinch. He tapped the torch on the ground and the top bloomed into flame. Then he dragged the end of the shaft through the rock in a straight line, connecting a circle.
Too late she realized the trap. She came to a sudden stop. At her feet appeared a circle covered in symbols, and she was at the center. She felt trapped, like there was some sort of invisible cage around her, pressing in, pushing her down. She was suddenly claustrophobic, she wanted to scream in panic. She spread her wings to try and fly, but she couldn't; they sprang out from her back, useless appendages.
The Demon Collector, dressed in his anachronistic priest regiments, glasses slightly askew on his nose, spoke some words. Quick, guttural sounds in a long-forgotten language. And then she was hit over the head by a giant sledgehammer. It slammed through her body, forcing it to change and shift back to its mortal form. Dark Eris fell away deep down inside, far away from the light of consciousness.
Only Eris was left, on her knees sobbing quietly. The pain was immense, to have her psyche physically dominated. Dark Eris was an invader in her mind and soul, but to have her ripped away like that. It left a hollow ache inside. Dark Eris was still there, somewhere, but not close anymore.
"Interesting. He said you would come,” the Demon Collector spoke. "The little man with slicked back hair said you would come through those doors and here you are."
He knelt down so he was on the same level as Eris. He didn't break the circle, but he was close enough she could smell his breath. It smelled like he was rotting inside.
"Like a present, just for me. I thought him mortal, but maybe there is something more to that little man. He knows so much."
She could hear noises from behind the stalagmites, shuffling, sucking noises. Without Dark Eris she could not see far in the dark. In the shadows beyond the little pool of light of the torch she saw movement. Human shapes, but not entirely; she saw blood and swollen flesh. The shadows held monsters.
The Collector reached out a hand and gently touched Eris' cheek. It was cold and slick with sweat. He could break the circle now, there was nothing to fear from this simple girl.
"I want to see your insides. The searching is half the fun." He ran his hand down her jaw and brushed her lip. Her stomach turned, his touch revolting. She wanted to pull away, but all her energy was gone. She couldn't move. "It will be my pleasure to collect you."
23
Eris!
Christopher acted without thinking. He leapt toward the top of the pyramid. Power raged though him and billowed out, darker than the shadows around him, darker than the deepest night. The Weapon arced into a large blade, infused with all the power of damnation radiating along its length.
He felt the satisfaction of seeing the giant man and the Collector flinch back as he flew through the air. The girl however, didn't move, didn't flinch; the little girl that could have been easily crushed by the power he was bringing towards her did not seem to care.
She stared at the glow in her hand and then she poked at it.
Christopher felt something wrench sideways in his gut. But it wasn't in his gut, it was deeper, so much deeper. And it hurt.
He screamed and his flight was caught up short. The power wrapping around him suddenly faltered. He fell to the steps of the pyramid. He smashed into the stone adding more bruises and cuts to his already beaten body. The Weapon fell from his grasp and clattered down the side of the pyramid. More cracks were added to his ribs, and he could feel his left shoulder separate as soon as he made contact with the stone.
But none of that was as painful or crippling as the pain inside. He couldn't even say where it came from, just a deep ache. He could feel something growing underneath it, something twisted and cruel. He looked up at the girl.
She smiled down at him with a smile half mad, half smug. Whatever was happening to him was coming from her.
"I did it. I did it," she spoke almost too quietly to hear.
"You've done something my dear. The question is, what?" The large man said.
"I can control him. He is mine," she whispered.
She was the key. Christopher was doubled over in pain, but he thought he could fight it. He spotted the Weapon a few feet away, propped up against one of the larger stones. He needed that. Without the Weapon he was useless.
With a grunt he tried to straighten out and crawl gingerly to where it lay.
"Control him," The large man said louder.
Christopher felt a fresh jab at the spot inside she was so expertly torturing. He cried out again and curled back into the fetal position. He looked back at her, she still had the vicious grin across her face. He hated that grin.
With his own grimace, he was moving again toward the Weapon.
"I said stop him, girl!" The large man yelled this time. Clearly, he was losing patience.
"I am trying. Look! I can hurt him."
"Hurting is not good enough. Even I could do that. He is useless to me if I can't control him."
"I just need more time. I’m close, I understand so much more now. Look, look how much it affects him this close." the girl said.
Christopher could see her squeeze the glowing vial in her hand. The he felt it a horrible sensation of depression closing in on him. It was like the air around him had suddenly become thick with tangible melancholy. It pressed in on him from every side and flowed in with his breath. He fell once again to his knees.
He crawled a little closer to the Weapon, each step was like lifting a thousand pounds. But for every foot he moved forward, it became a little easier. He was resisting and winning, slowly. Maybe too slowly.
She squeezed again, at least it felt like she had. The pain and now sadness increased. She seemed to be able to attack him with emotional pain. It was more devastating than physical. A part of him didn't want to fight, a part of him just wanted to give in to what she did. But he fought on.
He fell to the stone again, but now he was close to the Weapon. If he
could just grasp it, he would have something, something to work with. He reached for it. It was close, so close.
Then he saw a splash of red next to it, then another. Rain drops of red fell around it, splashed along its blade. Then, just as his fingers brushed the hilt, a shiny red hand grasped it. Liquid crimson, like polish, coated that hand. The hand of a blood demon.
The Weapon instantly transformed again, back into the unobtrusive, plain pocket knife. And the demon picked it up. It would not be the Weapon for him, but while the creature had it, it wouldn't work for Christopher either.
"Well, that's that," said the Demon Collector.
"I suppose so," said the large man. “Somewhat anti-climactic. I was hoping for something... well I don't know, he is just a mortal. Kill him."
"No!" the girl screamed. "I need him, I need to practice. I swear I will get better. I promise."
Christopher heard a loud slap. The large man had hit the girl. She lay sprawled on the stone.
"Hush girl, you know not to speak to me that way. You had your chance and I will admit, it was not bad for a first try. But you are a witch. You have so much potential; we will find you more to experiment with. But this subject, this subject is too dangerous. I was hoping that you would learn the control quickly and we could turn him to serve, but you have far to go and he is too unpredictable to keep around."
"But this is the soul I have, I know it so well."
It was the missing part of his soul she held in her hands, Christopher realized. It was obvious now. That was the weapon they used against him, his own soul. The way he had changed, it was the girl, just as Eris had said...
Eris!
She was still hanging there, but she had awakened at some point. She looked down at him, tears streaming down her face. She mouthed words: I'm so sorry.
Christopher stood, the weight on his soul could not hold him down and he started climbing the stairs. The girl’s eyes widened in surprise.
"You see, he is weak of course, easily dispatched at this point, but not fully under your control," the large man said.
Christopher ignored what they were saying to each other. He didn't even know who these people were. He had to get to Eris.
"The Alliance has more use for you Grace, but this one must end," the large man said. "We have what we need from this place. We found what we needed for the gate and it is time to go. This place is a dead place now, a killing ground for one last time before being shut in the dark forever. It is time for us to leave.
The mention of the Alliance caught Christopher's attention. They were the group behind all this. Even though he was about twenty feet below them, the large man noticed Christopher's hesitation.
"Yes boy, great Hunter," the large man said. He was at the edge of the stone platform looking down. Christopher hated that he was on his knees crawling. "I don't know who tipped you off, but this is all of our making, these Days of Chaos. Poetic don't you think? As we speak, chaos ravages Mexico City, we have bent modern technology to our will. We control the digital lives of the mortals and we can take it away at a moment’s notice."
He moved down the steps a little way to get a better look at Christopher. His bulk was so huge, it looked at any moment like he would topple down the side, but he moved with the grace of a man many times smaller.
Keep him talking Christopher thought. Just like in the Bond movies. The bad guys always liked to talk. He had no idea what it would accomplish, but it always seemed to work out for James.
"Hacking can be stopped, back doors plugged, passwords reset. You'll do damage, but no lasting impact," Christopher said. It came out as a series of gasps as he fought against the crushing of his soul.
"But that is only half the picture. The mortals are the real weapon.” The large man gestured back at the Demon Collector. “My friend's army walks among them, killing, causing their own violent chaos. As the mortals respond with fear and anger, the city will burn."
He took a few more steps down. Christopher crawled closer, saving his strength. If only he could get his hands on the big guy. He was sure he was the leader here. If he could just lay a hand on him. He may not have the Weapon, but he still had the power, and if he could fight whatever it is that the girl was doing he might be able to catch him off guard.
"But why Mexico City? Why here?
"That's the best part. This is only the beginning, this is just the first city. It was sort of a trial run," a smile spread across the large face. "We needed something here in this pyramid, and it turned out to be a great place to set up temporary shop, kill two birds with one stone kind of a thing. And it worked beautifully. We were even able to trap the great Hunter of Lost Souls."
A step closer.
"Frankly I'm disappointed. I have no clue how you defeated Rath, let alone that monstrosity that Anabelle created..."
As if on cue a dark blur shot out of the darkness and slammed into the large man. It was Hellcat, jaws snapping, claws poised to shred. But the large man was quick, quicker than he should be for his size. His arm sliced through the air and smashed into Hellcat before she could make contact with either tooth or claw. It was like she was hit by a tree trunk, and she fell down the side of the pyramid, tumbling limply down the stone blocks.
Christopher didn't see if Hellcat was alive or conscious, now was his chance while the man was still recovering from Hellcat's attack. He surged upward through the dark physical and mental depression and sprang at the large man. His weapon was gone, but he still had the hell power inside and he could at least do some damage. He had no other option.
He pulled power from the shadows and tried to focus the energy into his fists. He felt the witch squeezing his soul again, but he fought through it.
Again, the man moved incredibly quickly, and he caught Christopher by the neck, abruptly stopping his flight. The hand was a steel clamp around his throat, stronger than anything he had felt before. His air was instantly cut off. In a moment of panic, he clawed at the man's sausage fingers, trying to pull them away. But it was like pulling at rock. Then he looked into the man's eyes.
His soul was suddenly laid out for Christopher. His aura was the darkest black. Darker and more twisted than even Rath's had been. This man's power was immense and so was his evil, it stretched back thousands of years. He had killed thousand and would gladly kill a thousand more, a million. Whatever it took to rule. He was the most twisted, most vile dark soul Christopher had ever seen.
And he had just plucked Christopher out of the air like he was nothing more than an insect.
"You're just a kid, a pitiful little kid," the man said. His breath smelled like the way Christopher imagined a mortuary would smell, harsh chemical scents covering a perpetual rot. The large man slammed him down on the ground like he was a scrap of cloth. The stone steps beneath him cracked from the concussion, and pain exploded across his back. His head slammed against the rock, bouncing. For a moment the world went black, then came back with blurry images and smudged colors.
The large man was moving away from him. "And here I thought you a threat."
Christopher couldn't move, his whole body felt broken. And it didn't matter. Without the Weapon, hell even with it, he doubted he would have been able to defeat this powerful dark soul. He had swatted both Hellcat and himself like they were nothing more than an irritation.
"Enough of this Golyat," said the Demon Collector said. "I want to collect my prize."
As the world found some semblance of focus, Christopher could see the large man looking back at the Demon Collector with something approaching disgust. But Christopher doubted the Collector even noticed. He stared at Eris with a hunger that turned Christopher's stomach.
It looked like the big man—Golyat—was going to say something when his cellphone rang. Christopher wasn't too surprised. They had run power down here to do whatever it was they were doing. It made sense they'd run communication lines. Golyat paused and fished it out of his pocket.
"Yes," Golyat answered.
"What the hell do you mean systems are coming back online? That's impossible. Is Mr. Stone there?"
Golyat stepped back onto the top of the pyramid. "That son of a bitch. I knew he was a weak link. Socialist bastard. I'm on my way." He slipped the phone back into his pocket. To the Collector he said, "There are complications. Release the rest of your army on the city. We have to speed up the timeline. Kill the Hunter and bring me the Book and Weapon."
He glanced at Eris hanging limply, pretending to be unconscious. He waved vaguely in her direction. "Do what you want with the girl, do...whatever it is that you do. Just dispose of her. Then abandon this place. Our work here is done."
He turned to the witch, she had never stopped glaring at Christopher. "Come Grace. The experiment is over. We will find you a less dangerous subject for your practice."
Her face twisted in rage and she snarled at Christopher before she stamped her foot like a spoiled child. "You messed it all up, I hope you suffer." Then she squeezed.
Horror whipped around him and crushed in. The breath left him and he fell back down to the ground as the strength left his arms. Golyat grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of Christopher's view over the edge of the pyramid. There must have been some passage or stairs through the pyramid, some back-up escape route.
But Christopher didn't have time to think it through. As the pain and pressure lessened around him, he suspected it was because the witch was moving away from him, weakening the link.
Christopher finally was able to stand all the way up. He was still weak, dizzy and bruised, broken in many places, but he stood. The Collector looked down at him. Flesh and blood demons surrounded him, the rest just below Christopher on the pyramid. There were a lot of them, but not as many as before. But then again Golyat had said that most of his army was out in the city causing chaos.