by Jake Stone
I turn around to find the young woman glaring up at me with a sneer.
“It’s because of you that this is happening,” she continues. “You should’ve never come. You’re a curse on this earth.”
I don’t know what’s going on.
Everything in me wants to go crazy. I feel the heat of my blood, the tightness of my skin. All I want to do is hurt someone, to make them feel the pain that I’ve been enduring for the past year. The feeling is horrible. But still, I want more. I want to boil within this wretched sensation, to rise amidst its steam. What is going on? Why’s this happening?
I try to figure out the answer as the surrounding women—friends whom I would give my life for—prepare to kill each other. But my mind’s clouded. A thick mist has swathed over my mind, and I can’t remember where or who I am. Finally, after a few seconds of breathing, I remember.
The witch!
Clasping Tora by the shoulders, I give her a shake. My touch provokes her anger, and she snarls like a dog in my face, saliva dripping from her tiny mouth.
“Fight it!” I tell her. “It’s the witch.”
Tora’s snarl begins to subside as my words make their way through the tainted fog of her mind, and I see the cloudiness of her eyes begin to clear.
“Xander?”
“Stay here,” I tell her, pulling her to the side, where she'll be safe. The other women are battle saints, if she gets too close, they could kill her.
Before the fighting begins, I race in between the encroaching women and extend out my arms. “Stop this!” I demand.
“Ah, what a surprise,” Atia says in disgust. “The Light Bringer ordering us around. Tell me, Xander, am I next?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Don’t act coy with me,” she says. “You know exactly what I mean. Tell me, is it me you’ll try to manipulate into bed?”
I shake my head, disgusted by the lewdness of her words. Is this what she thinks of me? Is this what everyone thinks of me?
“Look,” I say, fighting through my shame. “This isn’t us. This isn’t who we are. It’s the witch who’s doing this to us.”
“What witch?” Petronelous asks. “The only witch I see is that whore over there!”
Zorel’s eyes flare with insult, and the ball of energy in her hand ignites in size. So much so that even Chun Hei steps away from her.
“You see,” I say. “The witch is in our minds. She’s making us forget. She’s setting us against each other.”
“Stop with your lies!” Atia says. “You’ve done nothing but undermine my position since you got here. Trying to convince people that you’re good, that you’re the Light Bringer, the one to rid the night and bring back the day. Fools! Everyone.”
The women draw closer around me, their hateful gazes shifting to one another, each of them armed and mad beyond belief, ready to kill anything in sight.
And I’m in the middle.
Chapter Twenty
“Damnit, Atia!” I yell, holding out my hand at the encroaching warrior. “You have to shake this off. All of you.”
“We have to do nothing,” Petronelous says with a scowl.
“Agreed,” Zorel replies, the electricity in her hands sparking with light.
They’re not going to stop, I realize. They’re just going to keep going until we’re all dead. Frantic, I search my mind for a solution, something that’ll bring us together. But the only thing that I can think of is the sainthood, our duty to the corfew that has been bound in blood.
With a focused voice, I start to recant the words of our prayer. “Oh brothers and sisters of the order of our saints, stand with me in the darkness against the enemies of man, and protect me as I shall protect you, amidst fire and flame and all that is evil, so that I may live to fight another day.”
The women stagger back, blinking as their minds are slowly returned to them. Petronelous drops her blades and falls to her knees, rubbing her temple as she tries to refocus. Zorel looks at the ball of energy in her hands and frowns, quickly diminishing its power until it’s just a sad flicker of light. Chun Hei sulks away into the corner to sit. Even Atia is disheartened. She glances at the spear in her hands, collapsing it instantly and bowing her head in reflection. Like battered sailors after a treacherous voyage, the women try to regain themselves.
For a moment, I consider trying to console them. But I decide against it. They need to be alone with their pain, as do we all.
“You did well,” Tora whispers to me as she stands at my side.
“I hope it was enough,” I tell her, my heart filled with worry.
“You must put your faith in the corfew,” she replies. “Only then can you move past the darkness.”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug.
“Should we not continue?” Tora asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “Let’s give my friends a little time to pull themselves together.”
“Good idea,” she replies. “I’ll check ahead meanwhile.”
“Don’t stray too far,” I warn her.
“Of course not.” She reaches up on her tiptoes, and I feel the soft touch of her lips against my cheek. Glancing down at her, I see the guarded hesitation of a lover who wants to say more but doesn’t. She quickly sets off, and I see her disappear into the darkness.
After a while, the women begin to pull themselves together, forming a scattered circle where each of us waits for the other to speak.
“There’s not much time left,” I say, choosing to break the silence.
“Agreed,” Atia says. She activates the holographic timer on her vambrace, and I see the digital clock ticking down.
“We should go,” Petronelous says. She looks for her sword and sees it lying next to Zorel’s feet.
The elemental, unsure of what to do, hesitates for a moment, before finally picking it up and handing it to her sister. Petronelous takes it with a nod. “Thank you,” she says.
“It’s fine,” Zorel replies just as awkwardly.
The fighting may be over, but the wounds are still fresh. They’ll need time to heal, to form a scar, one that will surely be torn open at a later date. But that’s friendship.
“Atia,” I whisper as we break free from the other women. “I hope you really don’t think that—”
“We should keep the scepter close at hand,” she says, checking her utility belt. “It’s our best chance at warding the witch’s evil away. Can you do that?”
I stare at her for a while, stung by her unwillingness to talk. She must resent me more than I’d thought. “Sure,” I say. “I can do that.”
“Good.” She marches past me, leaving me to stand by myself.
It’s then, as I hear the prattle of thin sandals clapping against the rocky floor that I realize Tora’s back. She rushes into the passage, panting, a look of fear in her eyes.
“What happened?” I ask, reaching for the rectifier on my back and readying to blast whatever God-forsaken monster is chasing her.
“We’ve reached it,” she manages. “The temple of the Damned.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I stand before a crumbling bridge stretching over a chasm of swirling lava. The molten rock beams its hellish glow upon the cavern, illuminating the giant temple waiting for us on the other side. A twisted version of a catholic church, each facet of the building is warped in some way, desecrating the imperiousness of the holy church we’ve sworn to protect.
“What madness is this?” Petronelous demands, her hands reaching for the blades on her back.
Atia joins her in her view. “An offense to the church, sister. One we will bring down with the light of heaven.”
I glance down at my hands, noticing the slight tremble building inside of me. It’s growing at an alarming rate and I know in that instant that whatever’s inside that temple, it is large and it is many. I clench my fists to fight the nervousness.
“What is this place?” Zorel asks.
“A desecration,” To
ra replies, pulling away from us as she’s drawn to the mouth of the bridge. “The Temple of the damned, the stronghold where the Witch of Korath ruled our people for centuries. It’s been years since I’ve seen this place, not since Galail and I would sneak into these caverns.”
“You know this place well?” Petronelous asks.
Tora nods.
“Enough to sneak us inside?” Zorel adds.
“The temple has decayed over the centuries. Broken windows. Crumbled walls. It’s quite easy actually. But there’s one specific entrance under the side wall that is best.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
“No,” Atia replies.
“What?” I ask.
“Every time she leads us into something, we’re either ambushed or deluded. We won’t fall for the same trick again.”
“I’m not lying,” Tora responds. “I know this place, better than most.”
“And yet you’ve managed to nearly get us killed on two separate occasions. Not to mention keeping an ancient deadly secret from us, when we could’ve used it from the start. No. If we’re going to continue on the mission, we will need to rely on the tactics taught to us at the monastery.”
Atia activates her helmet, dunking herself under the graphic interface of her visor. She’s scanning the temple, I know, building a blue print of the building so that she can determine where we will enter. It’s a good idea. But there’s nothing like first-hand experience. Still, she’s our leader, and we have no choice but to follow her rules.
“There,” she finally says, holding out her vambrace and activating the holographic projector which quickly displays the image of the temple. She points to a recessed corner along the back, that, according to her blueprints, leads into a small chamber underneath.
“Is that true?” I ask, turning to Tora.
Her brows shoot up in surprise, seeming amazed at how accurate our scanning system is. “Yes. But it’s not a good idea.”
“And why’s that?” Petronelous asks.
“The chamber that your computer is referring to is the basement, a large chamber packed with ancient artifacts and statues. It’s a cluster of useless things. There’s little room to maneuver, especially with your sizes and bulky armor. Not to mention, it’s adjacent to a large meeting room, where there’s sure to be hellion guards. Perhaps if we were to enter my way, we could—”
“Enough,” Atia announces. “We waste time arguing when the decision has already been made. You may lead us across the bridge, Tora. But when we reach the temple, we’ll enter through the rear corner, just as the computer suggests.”
Tora gives a reluctant sigh as we share a glance. We’re making a mistake, I know. But there’s little time to argue, especially after escaping our little fight in the tunnel behind us. It’s best not to ruffle any feathers. And so, taking a deep breath, we set off over the bridge, making our way toward the temple that waits for us in the distance.
The temple is high, at least 250 feet, and its rising towers are marked by large arched windows that follow us with every step. The walls are old and thick, but time has taken its toll on the behemoth, chipping away at the stone, and leaving in its place lines of fungus that stretch across the temple’s face like scars.
Strangest about the temple, though, are the human statues that sit at the edges of its roof. The stone structures stare out at the caverned ceiling with pained faces, their bodies stripped of clothing, their hands reaching out in desperation, as if the hopelessness of their appearance is meant to attract evil instead of warding it away.
We race across the bridge, our hands on our weapons, our bodies hunched over, as we do our best to remain unnoticed by the hellion guards who wander off around the temple. As bulky as our amor is, the metal plates are surprisingly quiet, silenced by the lubricated joints that are precision made, and the rubber beneath our boots mutes our sound.
When we reach the end of the bridge, we pass through the stoney archway that’s lit by a pair of torches and hurry around the side of the temple, careful when we see the pair of hellion guards squatting against the wall.
They turn in our direction when they hear us, their claws tightening around the shafts of their rusty spears. But they have no time to react. Chun Hei tosses a pair of daggers at the demons, catching them in their throats. The ugly bastards squirm as they drop to their knees and die.
“Hurry,” Atia whispers.
We rush to the back of the temple, where the ground beneath one of the corners has eroded so greatly, that we can actually see the darkness of the basement inside. It’s large enough for Tora to pass through, but not for us. Petronelous shoves me aside as she reaches for one of the attached bricks and winces as she tears it off with her gauntleted hands.
“There,” she says, standing back to admire her handiwork. “That should do it.”
“Not bad,” I say.
She winks.
“Inside now,” Atia orders.
One by one, we sneak under the wall, dropping to a squat as we hit the floor. Just as Tora had explained, we’re inside of a storage room, a rectangular chamber that leads to a single door, where the light of a fire burns underneath. Activating our helmets, we switch to infrared, using the green interface to lead our way.
Tora was right. This is a basement used to house statues and ancient artifacts. Everywhere I look, I’m met with the snarling faces of stone monsters, their claws reaching out to grab me, their eyes marked by hatred. I step back as I turn into a giant cyclops armed with a mace, a long slitted tongue hanging out of his mouth as if about to taste me. I aim my rectifier at its face, making sure that it’s just a statue.
“Relax,” Tora whispers. “These are mere the likenesses of monsters now gone.”
“You mean they actually existed?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Tora admits. “But I assume that if a creature can be imagined, there must be one like it somewhere in the galaxy.”
I take a nervous swallow. “Good point.”
Our advancement is halted by a cluster of statues that are lined up in ranks. They block our path to the door like a small army. Setting our rifles aside, we begin to move the stone figures out of the way, only to give up when we realize there’s no room to place them.
“I told you,” Tora says. “It’s too cluttered.”
“I killed my first mutant when I was twelve,” Atia says. “Became a Purifier at fourteen. Made captain two years later, and have been in seven battles. I’m not going to let a little house cleaning get in the way of finishing a mission.”
“I hope not,” Tora says, “especially when we’re so close.”
I hold back a grin as Atia whirls on the young woman, her gauntlets tightening around the arms of a human statue. For a moment, I worry that the stone is about to break. But when Atia looks away, letting out a grimace as she crams the statue into a corner, I’m thankful that it doesn’t.
“Perhaps I can lift some of these at the same time,” Petronelous proposes as she takes in the ranks of the statues still left. “Give us enough time to pass through.”
“You don’t think it’s a bit risky?” I ask.
Petronelous shrugs. “They’re not too heavy. It’s the length of my arms that I’m worried about.”
“I can help her if she wants,” Zorel offers.
Petronelous casts her a stare, then nods in acceptance. “I think I can manage. But thank you.”
Zorel replies with a nod.
We stand back as Petronelous squats before a group of statues, her arms long enough to reach around four of them. With a grunt, she hefts them off the floor, lifting them high enough for us to crawl under. Tora’s the first to go, followed Zorel, Chun Hei, Atia, then me.
“Okay, Petro,” I say. “Now it’s your turn.”
The redhead’s careful as she turns around, backing into the path that she’s just created. With a slow movement, she lowers the statues to the floor, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as she straightens and steps back
.
“That was a close one,” she admits, turning around to face us, when all of a sudden one of the heads of the statues, an old decrepit thing visibly older than the rest of the pieces, suddenly wobbles off its shoulders and slams against the floor, shattering into an explosion of pieces.
“Oh shit,” I whisper.
“Hold your position,” Atia orders.
We wait in the dark, hearts racing, staring at the flickering light beneath the door, and my stomach turns as I see the shadows of feet on the other side. They heard us.
We duck amidst the other statues, drawing our rifles and listening for the sound of a door opening. When it comes, it’s followed by the harsh utterance of grunts filling the air from the adjacent room. There’s a lot of them, I realize with a wince, just waiting on the other side to come in and slaughter us. After a few anxiety-filled seconds, the voices finally die down and the door closes.
“Are they gone?” Zorel whispers through the com.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“Wait a while,” Atia replies. “Let’s make sure.”
I hold my position, fingers curling against the barrel of my rifle. If the hellions come in, it’ll be a blood bath—for them. But it’ll also alert the entire temple, which will then make things that much worse. It’s better to remain quiet.
Tora, who can’t hear our chatter, rises from her place, scurrying forward to take a look. She halts at a corner, glancing in both directions, then stands as if confident that there’s no hellions.
I stare at the young woman, breath catching in my throat as I see a tall hellion with a scar across his face rising behind her. His red eyes narrow as he raises his rusty blade above her head, readying to slash her neck from behind.
“Tora!”
I fire at the hellion’s face, tearing it to shreds. Brains fly through the air and his body falls back, knocking over some of the statues, which quickly crash against the floor. The clamor travels up the stairs, into the kitchen, alerting the rest of the hellions.
The door flies open, and they stream into the room, drawing their weapons with heated grins, excited to find that their next meal has arrived. The clumsy bastards barrel through the ranks of statues, crashing them without a second thought. We hold our positions as they attack.
