by Jake Stone
This is why I do what I do, why I sold myself to the Sainthood—to gain the chance to save her soul from hell and bring her back to earth, where we can once again be free.
The pod shudders as we’re hit with another wind, and I’m suddenly ripped from my thoughts, forced to face this seemingly endless descent. The sudden turbulence activates our retractable helmets, and I’m instantly sunk into a world of streaming data and target reticules.
Come on, relaxing serum.
When we finally crash on the planet, my entire body is assaulted by the immediate impact, not to mention an uncomfortable tremble that warns me of demons. This is my curse now. An internal defense mechanism that I earned in the Dark Horizon, one that warns me whenever something evil is close at hand. Right now, it’s rumbling off the charts.
Using the battle meditation taught to me by the monks, I’m able to steady my hands. It’s then, as the safety harnesses lift from our bodies, and we rise to our feet, that the pod door flies open and we’re hit with the sight of an entire army of demons waiting for us outside.
Oh shit…
Chapter Two
The monsters come at us in a wild blood lust.
They squeal in delight as they surround our pod, anxious to tear at the meat beneath our armor. But we will not give in. We will not succumb to this wretched filth.
Demon armies, much like our own, are comprised of different units. The foot soldiers, like these sorry bastards, are known as hellions—ravenous beasts with charred skin and red eyes. They’re horrific to look at and their stench is repulsive. They carry twisted blades and dark axes, rusty knives and flame-tipped pitchforks. All of them under the protection of corroded armor. All of them thirsty for battle.
Some say they are the rotting souls of men and women doomed to suffer eternity in anger and sickness. Others say they are the muck of a diseased plane. I don’t give a shit one way or the other. To me, they’re all gonna die.
I draw my sword and roar out the Battle Cry of Saints, “By the light of heaven I drive you back!” and charge into the fray.
My blade cuts through the ranks of monsters that threaten to drown us, and in one quick swing, I scythe my way through a wall of the bastards.
They growl in pain as their bodies are sliced in half, and I see their guts—putrid and rotting—spilling from their wounds, darkening the snow around them. But it only allows the next wave of demons to appear. They charge over the bodies of their fallen, just as determined, just as crazy to reach us.
“Fight!” Atia roars out over the com. “Send these wretched souls back to hell!”
“For the corfew!” Petronelous calls out.
“For the Republic!” we reply.
Amidst the chaos, we’re but tiny boats caught in a wild storm at sea, and soon, we’re drifted apart. I watch, helpless, as Atia, Chun Hei and Zorel are swept away, disappearing behind a wall of frost and falling snow. Even the clank of their blades dies away, swallowed by the howling winds that shriek around us.
I try to contact them over the com. But there’s no reply. Only a static charge that stings my ears.
Damnit.
“Focus!” Petronelous says, slicing through the neck of a hellion. “They’ll be fine. Keep fighting.”
She’s right, I know. Atia is a fighter without equal, Zorel an elemental whose electrical power could evaporate a demon with one touch and Chun Hei a natural born killer. They’ll be fine. Me, on the other hand….
I stumble as one of the demons, a rhino of a being, barrels me from behind, and I’m stung from the impact, nearly falling into the snow. Fucking asshole! I whirl on the monster, swinging my blade up through its belly, cracking its rusted armor, and splitting its throat, where a rush of blood gushes out. I turn away before it dies.
“We’re wasting time,” Petronelous says, her voice barking from her helmet’s speakers.
“Agreed.”
Every second we linger here fighting these monsters, the entire fleet is forced to defend itself from the Leviathans in space. We need to move—now!
According to the coordinates of my helmet, the generators are just up ahead—a mere quarter of a mile away. In any other instance, my genetically enhanced body, in combination with my power armor’s stabilizers, I’d be able to reach the location in less than a minute. But with the wave of demons crashing in all around us, I can barely hold my position.
Time for a new plan.
Slapping my blade to the magnetic holster on my back, I draw my rectifier, an advanced assault rifle equipped with explosive rounds, and begin firing at the enemy. The diseased monsters erupt with fire, and smoke as plasma bolts the size of footballs tear into their bodies, and I’m able to cut a narrow path through their ranks, allowing us to advance closer to our goal.
But still, it’s not enough.
The wave of demons assaulting us is endless, and soon, I’m overcome by the disheartening fear that we’ve finally met our end. How do we get through this? How do we carve a path?
One of the monsters, a disgusting little thing the size of a tiny girl, hops onto my chest and sinks its claws beneath my armor, trying to reach my body. But it’s no use. The armor is too tightly packed, and instantly the demon’s fingers are clipped by a spark of electricity.
The demon growls in frustration, its curses bathed in the acidic saliva that drips onto the plate of my armor and singes along its golden surface.
“You, mother fucker!” I grab the little monster by the neck, tearing it off me, and toss it to the side, where its body is quickly devoured by a host of starving demons.
They rip their brother apart, clawing at its flesh, snapping at its arms and legs, repentant in nothing. There’s no hesitation in them, no moment of realization, no moment of lucidity that causes them to stop and think. Instead, they laugh. They laugh and laugh, joyous in the taste of their own flesh. And that’s when I realize: they’re starving.
“Use them,” I bark through my speakers.
“What?” Petronelous asks.
“The demons,” I explain. “They haven’t eaten for months. Not since the invasion, not since the quarantine.”
It takes Petronelous a moment to comprehend my suggestion, but when she does, I sense the smile in her voice. “Very well,” she says. “Let’s give them a feast!”
I shoot one of the diseased monsters in the arm, halting it for a second, then kick him in the stomach, sending him yards away to land in the belly of the army. It’s crude but effective. And in seconds, its body is completely devoured.
Petronelous, a master swordsman, is more elegant in her approach. She cuts throats, slices arms, severs legs, then tosses the bleeding bodies back into the charging horde of demons, where their bodies are quickly devoured under a hill of monsters.
The reaction is immediate. Pockets of ravenous monsters implode amongst the ranks as starving demons—beasts who haven’t eaten in months—begin to descend on their brethren.
Amidst this confusion, we’re able to push our way closer toward our goal.
“Up ahead!” Petronelous announces, aiming her sword at the massive generators sitting behind a mini-barricade. Within seconds, we’re making ground. But eventually, the enemy realizes our plan, and soon they’re upon us again.
They come at us with fire, with teeth, with claws, surrounding us in a circle of death that slowly begins to tighten like a noose.
“There’s too many of them!” Petronelous screams out, fighting to hold her position.
One of the hellions, a thin monster with a crooked nose, leaps onto her shoulders and wraps its claws around her helmet, trying to yank it off with all of its might. Its arms and shoulders snap like strings as its muscles begin to come apart under the strain, and I see its eyes bulging from the stress.
“To hell with you!” Petronelous yells, thrusting one of her blades into its ass. The hellion squeals in pain, its red eyes glaring down at the blade protruding from its belly. With one tug, Petronelous rips the hellion in two, and
it falls to the ground.
The gall of its attack sets the redhead on fire, activating her genetically enhanced strength, and suddenly she’s a warrior hellbent on destruction.
“Ahhh!”
The speed and strength with which she attacks the enemy are astonishing, and I suddenly fear for my own safety as she begins to butcher anything that moves.
“Petro!” I call out, impaling one of the demons with my sword. “You must be careful. Pace yourself.”
“I have no pace,” she replies, slicing through a wall of demons, whose heads fly into the air.
Even with Petronelous’s added strength, we’re nothing compared to the waves of demons assaulting us. And it’s not long till we’re unable to even move. Already I’m loading my last explosive round, when from far off, through the blinding snowstorm, I see a blast of blue light.
“Zorel?” I ask in disbelief.
“Hey, Sexy!” she replies.
Her voice fills my soul with relief, and I realize that the com is working again.
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“We would’ve gotten here sooner if you hadn’t strayed from us,” Atia scolds.
“Good to hear from you, too,” I say.
Zorel delivers another blast of blue light against the enemy, erupting a vast section of their army. Demons fly into the air, showering their brethren with shredded bodies. The sight of it renews my spirit, and I begin to hack even harder at the ravenous beasts.
“I’ll come to you,” I say.
“Hurry,” Atia replies. “The sooner you get here, the faster we can get this over with.”
I’m already slicing my way toward her when I hear Petronelous’s voice over the com.
“Xander, look!”
I follow her gaze toward the horizon where I see a slender figure wearing a purple and black robe standing on a hill. A blood kaster, I realize in fear, a demon wizard from the old age with the power to open up portals between our worlds. I’ve only met one of these wizards before, a frightening being with wings and spider eyes who nearly killed us on Dardekum. It took Rachel from me then. It will not take us now.
The extra-dimensional gateway flashes as it begins to open, hinting at its destructive power. I hear thunder roaring from some hidden realm, and see a line of shadows arraying on the other side, warning of the greater threat lurking within. If the portal is opened, the blood kaster will be able summon more demons, adding to its already seemingly inexhaustible army. We have to close it.
“Atia,” I say through the com. “There’s a blood kaster down here. And it’s opening up a portal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She hisses her distress. “It doesn’t matter. Keep with the mission.”
“Doesn’t matter?” I ask.
“Our mission is to blow the generators,” she replies. “After that, we must await the arrival of the main army.”
“But by then the blood kaster will have an army to match our own,” I reply. “We can save thousands if we act now.”
“Do not disobey the order of the council,” Atia warns, her voice stiff with resolve.
She’s still consumed by the sins of her past, I know, that fateful moment when she disobeyed the Saints to save a little girl and was punished for it. Back then, her sentence was only exile. Mine will be far worse.
Still, I can’t let this kaster continue, even if the war council, who’s sure to be listening over the com, learns of my disobedience. I need to kill him. I need to kill him now!
“Take out the generators,” I say over the com. “I’ll take care of the blood kaster.”
“Xander, don’t you—”
I deactivate the com, severing my connection with Atia and the rest of the women. There’s no use in arguing. Not now.
“Go with Atia,” I tell Petronelous over the speakers of my helmet.
But the redhead doesn’t reply. She’s possessed by her rage, driven to kill everything in her path. She cuts a wide swath for us, slicing and ripping, stabbing and impaling, punishing anything that growls or hisses with her two swords that seem just as possessed as she.
But I use it to our advantage. Following from a safe distance, I lead her with manipulative commands, pointing out foes, claiming someone has insulted her, accusing random demons of personal slights. It works. And soon, our path leads us through the army to the blood kaster himself.
“Hey!” I scream over the violence, trying to distract him as I fight to hold my position against the ranks of demons.
The wizard snarls as he sees us, and I see a jaw of diseased teeth showing through a lipless mouth. He reaches for one of his hellions and slices its throat, spilling its blood into the snow by his feet. The hellion gargles in futility as it tries for breath. But it dies anyway, its body growing limp in the wizard's long fingers.
Shutting his eyes, the blood kaster begins to recite some ancient spell that echoes around us in an ear-splitting cacophony, bending the elements to its whim, and I see the blood at his feet begin to bubble.
From this patch of snow, a twisted weed begins to rise, building higher and higher, sprouting arms and legs with a faceless head that hangs sadly against its chest.
The sight of it is so strange, that even the entire demon army comes to a halt, watching in astonished silence as something greater than them all sprouts before them. Even Petronelous, once wild in her lust for death, suddenly stops, chest panting as she glares up at the strange being.
“By the corfew,” she whispers.
My gauntleted fist curls around the handle of my blade as I stare on, transfixed by the thin figure that’s still growing.
When it’s finally done, I see a slim figure with no face and no hands standing before me like a rotting corpse. To anyone else, it would appear harmless, a forgotten cadaver eroding under the elements. But I know what it is. And I know what it can do. It’s a champion of hell, a demon of fear.
Oh crap…
I grimace as I feel a shocking terror burst in my mind. The pain is so excruciating that I’m forced to my knees, my blade slipping from my hands, my head hanging over in despair. Desperate, I clutch my chest and wince at the hellish sensation burning through me, unable to repel it.
“Look upon me,” a voice whispers from the surrounding forest. It comes from the wind, from the snow, from every possible direction, piercing through the dense plate of my armor, past the holy blessings of the monks and into my soul like a needle of thorns. “And know what true fear really is.”
Chapter Three
Whatever strength I had, whatever sense of righteousness that had compelled me to push forth through this hellish crowd of demons and secure the beachhead for the Republic army suddenly dies in seconds.
The assault suddenly comes to a halt as the blood kaster raises his arms to the charging minions. The armored creatures scowl with vexed eyes, banging their rusty weapons against their armor, assailing us with dark curses that are accompanied with acidic bile and spit.
But none dare break the kaster’s edict. He’s clearly the most powerful being here and could destroy any of them with a single word.
“Fight it!” Petronelous pleads through gritted teeth, drawing upon the well of her strength to face it. But I can hear the trembling of her lips, the doubt in her voice. She’s on the edge of breaking. “We… must… not… give… in.”
I do my best to heed her words, but it’s hard. The trembling that I’ve fought for so long rumbles out of me like a shock wave, and I’m forced to draw upon my battle meditations just to keep from going insane. But they’re no use. They crumble like tiny houses against the destruction of a wrecking ball, and I’m left nearly crying from the fear.
The blood kaster laughs as he relishes the sight of our struggle. Our suffering, to him, is a dessert, and he savors the dish slowly, taking his time as he strolls around his nightmarish creation, caressing its bare chest with a long crooked finger.
The faceless be
ing remains motionless, its only action a subtle head flinch as Petronelous punches the ground in frustration.
“Did you think it would be that easy?” the blood kaster says, its voice like the hiss of a snake.
Exploiting our paralysis, it saunters calmly to Petronelous, relaxed in his victory, and, with the wave of a hand, magically forces her helmet to retract into her collar.
I hear the unfiltered gasps of her breath as it meets the air.
“The army of Zendal has many weapons, many tools far greater than your…” The blood kaster arches a brow as he tilts Petronelous’s head back, a dark grin edging across its disgusting mouth as it admires her stoic beauty. “Physicality.”
“Don’t you touch her,” I warn, able to break momentarily free of the fear holding me in place. My threat is amusing to the blood kaster, and it immediately calls my bluff, using one of its long rotting fingers to probe the soft layer of Petronelous’s red lips and small wet mouth.
“Or what?” the demon asks, its fingers already reaching the back of her throat. She gags at the feel of it, her eyes beginning to tear, and I feel my rage building.
“Or I’ll slice you in two,” I say.
The kaster frowns. It wasn’t expecting such a response. Vexed, he waves a hand at me, retracting my own helmet, and I feel the trembling of my body increased by the frigid winds slapping me across the face.
Grinning, the kaster turns its attention back to its nightmarish creation and, with a nod, orders it to begin its work.
I watch, frightened, as the faceless demon steps toward me, its long-fingered hand wrapping around the front of my head. Its touch is colder than the wind, and I instantly feel the heat of my body dissolving into the creature’s grasp.
“Do you feel that, Battle Saint?” the kaster asks mockingly. “That is the feeling of defeat, of utter annihilation. I will drag your soul through the depths of despair before I grant you the kiss of death. Oh, how I will cherish your final moments.”
I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, fighting against the demon’s powers. But it's strong, and I can already feel my tears streaming down my cheeks. My vulnerability shames me, and I muster the strength to look away, hiding my face from Petronelous.
