World Killer: A Sci-Fi Action Adventure Novel

by Barry J. Hutchison

  The door closed and the ship rocketed straight upward. Daryl heard, but had no time to enjoy the shouts of surprise from those within. Instead, he thrust his arms forward, hitting the three remaining minions with a concussive blast that caught them off-guard and sent them stumbling back across the desert.

  Roaring, Ash opened fire, hammering the closest of the aliens with a series of powerful beams that seared its skin and blistered its flesh.

  Daryl thrust a hand out and caught the screaming guard in a telekinetic grip. With a swipe, he slammed him sideways into the minion beside him, sending them both sprawling onto the rocky terrain.

  “Hot damn, we’re doing it!” Ash crowed, blasting the third of Hath’s guards with a double-barrel energy beam from both hands. “We’re actually—”

  The ground shook as a fourth guard alighted heavily on the ground behind him. A fist hit his ribs with the force of a sledgehammer, breaking bones and knocking every last gasp of air out of him.

  Daryl turned just as another of the guards dropped from Yufo. He barely had time to dodge a fireball the alien spat from his cavernous throat, and his clumsy roll brought him directly into the path of a giant foot.

  The sole of a boot connected with his face, canceling out all his forward momentum. Daryl sprawled back onto the ground, recovered quickly, and vaulted to his feet in time to avoid two searing beams of white heat projected from the eyes of one of the guards. The beams carved a zig-zag trench in the dirt as Daryl dodged and dived out of their path.

  He’d hoped that Yufo could keep the others contained for a while, but they’d escaped much more quickly than expected. Daryl got a sense, just briefly, of the sixth guard standing close on his right, then a hand was around his throat, hoisting him off the ground.

  “Well, now—” the guard began, his bat-like features twisting into a sneer. For a moment, Daryl thought he was speaking English, but then realized he had fully assimilated Hath’s native language.

  Whatever the language, Daryl didn’t wait to hear the rest. Jamming his feet against the monster’s chest, he unleashed a concentrated blast of telekinetic energy at the hand holding him, and simultaneously kicked out with both legs.

  The guard hissed in pain. Daryl flew backward, flipped in the air, then landed in a fighting stance in the center of the group.

  Damn. He was better than he thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance he could do this.

  “Stop,” warned one of the guards. “Or I kill this one.”

  Daryl spun. The guard with the blistered skin held Ash aloft in one hand, the boy dangling like a ragdoll from his outstretched grip.

  “It will be slow and painful. His screams will haunt you for the scant remaining moments of your life,” the alien said, matter-of-factly. “Or, you can surrender, and your deaths shall be merciful.”

  Daryl flexed his fingers. Ash’s face was purple, his breath coming in thin, painful sips. Their eyes met, and Daryl saw Ash, not as a global music phenomenon, nor an irritating pain in his ass. He saw a scared kid, out of his depth, with no idea of what to do.

  A kid like him.

  “Listen to him, Daryl. Listen to what he’s saying. You know what we have to do,” Ash wheezed. “P-please.”

  He nodded. It was a nod that spoke volumes.

  Daryl’s fingers creaked as he stretched and flexed them. At his thought, the bag on his front tightened its grip across his chest.

  While the guard was focused on Daryl, Ash swung both arms back, unleashing a power blast directly into the face of the alien holding him. At that range, with all Ash’s power behind it, the beams punched a vaguely figure eight-shaped hole through the alien’s skull.

  Unsurprisingly, the arm holding him went limp. Ash dropped clumsily to the ground, pain jarring through his body, robbing him of the rest of his strength.

  Daryl turned suddenly, throwing up both arms and launching two of the guards several feet into the air. He twisted, taking aim at another, but a fist hammered into his face with the force of a small wrecking ball, and Daryl found himself sitting on the ground, the world spinning in circles around him, his head filled with a high-pitched squeal that drowned out all other sound.

  “Wh—What?" he blurted, his brain rattled by the force of the impact. He blinked through the tears until he saw one of Hath’s guards towering above him.

  His eyes were glowing with the same white energy that had carved the trench across the sand a few moments ago. This time, his gaze was locked firmly on Daryl, and Daryl was in no position to dodge.

  “Please, no, wait,” Daryl mumbled. He stole a glance at Ash, but he was down, one of the guards pressing a foot against his back. He wasn’t screaming, but that may have been more to do with the lack of air in his lungs than any noble stoicism.

  “We warned you,” the alien standing over Daryl spat. “Now, we will make it slow. I will take your hands first. Then your feet. Then—”

  The ground swallowed him. One moment, he was there. The next, he was gone, consumed by a crack that had opened beneath his feet. It closed again a moment later with a crunch and a sickening pop.

  “What just happened?” asked the alien standing on Ash’s back, then he was bowled off his feet by a basketball-sized rock that struck him on the back of the head.

  The other guards all turned on the spot, their bat-like faces all scrunched up in confusion. The ground rippled like water beneath them, sending them stumbling in all directions, spitting angry shouts at the world in general.

  A mound of rocks and pebbles rose up out of the desert floor. For a moment, Daryl could’ve sworn they took on the form of a figure, but then they were flying in all directions, rattling like gunfire against the guards.

  “Riley?” Daryl whispered.

  Ash drew himself to his feet. One hand clutched his side, as if it was the only thing holding him together. Blood seeped from his nose and down his chin, but there was a determination in his eyes that Daryl had never seen before.

  “Go. Step two,” Ash said. “We’ve got this.”

  “You sure?” Daryl asked.

  A giant stone fist sprouted from the sand and smashed down on one of Hath’s guards, squashing him like a bug.

  “Pretty sure,” Ash said. He coughed, and grimaced at the pain it brought. “Go.”

  Daryl nodded. Then, with a final glance around at the battle, and a quick check of the bag on his front, he launched into a run, propelling himself across the sand and back in the direction of the buildings that made up the control center.

  A comm-link sprouted from the meat suit’s wrist. “Yufo, where’s Hath?” he asked. “And if you say ‘information classified,’ I’ll break you down for scrap.”

  “Scans cannot currently pick up Hath’s whereabouts,” Yufo replied.

  “Damn it,” Daryl hissed. “So, we have no idea where he is?”

  “On the contrary,” Yufo said. “There is only one building equipped with scan-blocking technology. Hath is in the command chamber. I expect he is preparing for a weapon launch.”

  “Show me the way,” Daryl commanded.

  The meat suit sprouted a helmet. A visor dropped down and curved to the shape of his head. One of the twisting towers ahead was outlined in green.

  “Got it,” Daryl said, then he lowered his head, gritted his teeth, and ran like his life, and the lives of everyone on Earth, depended on it.

  Thirty-Two

  The World Killer stood by his weapons systems, admiring them and recalling fondly all those times he had used them before. All those planets. All those species. All those glory days, long-gone, but not forgotten.

  Never forgotten.

  Once, long ago, he had made Skalgorth great. He had made it a legend. A myth. A horror-story that parents whispered to their children, warning them of the consequences of not eating their vegetables, or of not tidying their rooms, or of not shutting the hell up every once in a while and just doing what they were told.

  “I am the Boogeyman,” he said aloud, an
d the thought of it made him smile behind his mask.

  With a gesture, he brought up the protective shielding around the weapons systems’ core—a hexagon of transparent forcefields that would trap the radiation inside once he fired up the thermal reactors.

  That done, he began to type on a holographic keyboard that had gone unused for far too long. It had been decades since his fingers had last done this dance, and yet he didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate, didn’t miss a step.

  This was right. This was his place. After so long in exile, it felt good to be home.

  Hath’s eyes blazed as the thermal reactors activated. A crackling beam of red energy illuminated in the center of the shielding, stretching from floor to cathedral-like ceiling. He watched it, transfixed by its terrible beauty. It moved like liquid fire, always changing, never staying still. It had lain dormant for years, but it burst into life without hesitation, as if it had been poised, waiting for its moment to shine again.

  “Your moment has come, old friend,” Hath said in his own language. “Burn for me. Burn for the World Killer. Burn hot and pure for all of Skalgorth.”

  As if buoyed by his words, the column of liquid fire crackled and grew, until it filled all available space inside the shielding. Hath waved a hand, dismissing the transparent walls, and spent a few moments basking in the heat of the core, before dropping another set of shields a few feet further out.

  “Room to grow,” he said. “After all this time, you should not be restrained.”

  His fingers played across another floating keyboard. A holographic image of the Earth swam into view in front of him. At his command, several targeting icons illuminated across both hemispheres, and he allowed himself a little nod of satisfaction as he dismissed the terminal with a wave.

  “And to think. A moment earlier, and you might have stopped me,” he said, turning his back on the fiery core. “So close, Daryl Elliot. And yet, so very far.”

  Daryl stood frozen in the doorway, like a burglar caught in the act. He’d been hoping to sneak up on Hath undetected.

  So much for that plan.

  “Stop it,” Daryl said. “Don’t do it.”

  “It is too late for that,” said Hath, his eyes sparkling behind his mask. “The process is underway. The core will reach full power in minutes. I couldn’t stop it, even if I wanted to.”

  He made a sound that was not unlike a laugh.

  “And why would I want to?”

  Hath paced slowly closer, swinging his legs in lazy semicircles as he closed the gap between him and Daryl.

  “Your world is so mundane. So infuriatingly tedious. That I was forced to spend so much time there…” He shook his head. “It hurts me. It angers me. All those wasted years, watching all you pathetic babbling bovine stumbling through life with no goal. No greater purpose. No point.”

  He shuddered in distaste. “You turned my stomach. Sickened me to my core. I’d have come to despise you all, were it not for the fact that I despised you from the moment I set eyes upon your worthless, sniveling species.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, we’re not your biggest fan, either,” said Daryl. He thrust forward with his hand, sending a telekinetic shockwave racing across the room. Hath batted it away as if it were an insect.

  “I’m not sure what I hated more, the people, or their infantile culture. Television. Music. Movies,” Hath said, and Daryl could hear his features scrunching in disgust beneath his mask. “The distractions of imbeciles and infants.”

  “I thought you said you liked Innerspace?” said Daryl, stalling for time.

  “I said a lot of things to make you trust me, Daryl Elliot. And, like fools, you all did. In truth, I loathed Innerspace,” Hath spat. He stopped walking and pointed to one of the targets on the hologram of the Earth. “In fact, you see that impact point? Third from the left?”

  Daryl could see it clearly. It was right above a countdown which was rapidly shedding digits.

  He nodded. “What about it?”

  “That’s Meg Ryan’s house.”

  Daryl had no particular affinity for the actress, Meg Ryan, but something about the delight with which Hath said it made his hands come up and another psychic blast come flying from his fingertips.

  Hath gave another wave, bouncing it back in Daryl’s direction. He cartwheeled clear, narrowly avoiding the impact.

  “Look at you. A jumping toy. The last of my three proteges,” Hath said. “I presume Ash Stone is dead?”

  Daryl shook his head. “No. And neither is Riley.”

  Hath hesitated at that. “Oh? No matter. I will kill them both. After I have killed you, Daryl Elliot.”

  He made a beckoning motion. At first, Daryl thought he was beckoning him, but then his feet lost their grip and he went tumbling through the air toward the World Killer, arms flailing in panicky circles.

  He pulled himself together in time to swing a punch. Hath’s arm curved up under him, his forearm deflecting the blow, his fist connecting with Daryl’s head as he tumbled the last few feet toward him.

  Pain exploded in Daryl’s ear. He spun to the floor, but had the presence of mind to telekinetically propel himself clear as Hath slammed a foot down on the spot Daryl had just been occupying.

  Flipping to his feet, Daryl threw a series of jabs at the towering figure, but Hath deflected each one. An open-hand strike hit Daryl in the chest, and he felt the contents of his bag crunch against his sternum.

  He stumbled back, wheezing, his eyes blurring as he checked the countdown. Two minutes. Maybe less.

  Damn.

  Fumbling with the bag, he threw himself at the World Killer again, throwing all his strength into a kinetic shockwave that he followed up with a crunching side-kick to the stomach.

  For a moment, it almost looked like Hath felt the blow, but then he caught Daryl’s leg, swung him up and over his head, then slammed him down onto the floor.

  Daryl lay there for a moment, groaning through bloodied lips, his hands pinned beneath his front.

  “Pathetic,” hissed Hath. “Even after all the abilities I gave you. Even after all the improvements I made, you are nothing, Daryl Elliot.”

  A hand caught Daryl by the back of the meat suit and hoisted him into the air. Hath turned him so their eyes met through the lenses of the World Killer’s mask.

  “You are nothing.”

  “Oh yeah?” Daryl whispered. He held up a canister. “I won’t be the only one.”

  It took a split second for Hath to register what was about to happen. Roaring, he hurled Daryl away from him, gesturing wildly with his free hand.

  The shielding around the core raised, then dropped down between Hath and Daryl, separating them.

  “Clever boy,” Hath intoned. “Perhaps I underestimated you. A little.”

  Daryl stood, the unopened canister still clutched in one hand.

  “What was it she called them?” Hath asked.

  Daryl stared blankly at him for a moment, like he was a million miles away.

  “Don’t you dare ignore me,” Hath spat.

  “Dotdocs,” said Daryl, snapping out of his trance.

  “Dotdocs. Yes. That was it,” Hath said. “You remembered what I said about them. You thought you could use them to rewrite my genetic code. Make me…” He spat out the next word. “…normal.”

  He nodded approvingly.

  “Sneaky. It would’ve worked, too, had my reactions not been fast enough,” he said. He made a vague gesture toward the container. “Open it.”

  Daryl’s eyes went to the container. “What? No.”

  “Open it, Daryl Elliot,” Hath said again. “You are beaten. You are broken. Open it, rob yourself of your abilities, and I might leave a few of your species unharmed. Perhaps they can rebuild. Someday.”

  Daryl stared at the hologram of his homeworld, then down at the canister in his hand.

  “Time is running out, Daryl Elliot,” Hath warned him. “Open it. Do as I say, and some may yet live.”

  A tear cu
t a track down Daryl’s cheek, then he sucked in a deep breath and opened the top of the canister.

  Hath let out a sickening snigger as Daryl dropped to his knees, his chest heaving, a hand going to his throat as if he could no longer breathe.

  “I’ve often wondered what it would be like,” Hath said, watching him closely. “Do you feel it? Can you actually feel your genetic code being unscrambled and put back to what it was?”

  Daryl said nothing. He just knelt there, slumped and defeated, his face turned toward the floor.

  The heat scorched his skin as Hath raised the shielding between them. The thermal core of the weapons systems crackled and hummed, its power building. A minute left. Maybe less.

  Hath loomed over him, eyes blazing behind the lenses of his mask.

  “You die as you lived, Daryl Elliot. Alone and powerless.”

  “Who said he’s alone?” grunted Ash, stumbling into the room.

  Hath thrust a hand toward the newcomer.

  Nothing happened.

  He looked at his hand, then thrust it out in Ash’s direction again.

  Nothing.

  Daryl looked up. “And who said I was powerless?”

  He brought a fist up, then splayed his fingers wide. An open metal canister, identical to the one he held in the other hand, flew through the air. He caught it, then raised it for Hath to see.

  “Second canister,” he said. He gave the first one a shake. “This was the empty.”

  Hath shook his head. “What? No. No!”

  “All those years to absorb our culture, and you never watched Superman 2?” said Daryl.

  He exploded to his feet, driving a telekinetically enhanced uppercut into the point of Hath’s chin. The World Killer was lifted several feet into the air, then a gesture from Daryl stopped him there, mid-flight.

  “Want me to carve him up?” Ash asked, limping over, hands raised.

  Daryl shook his head. “We need him alive.”

  Ash sagged. “Thank god,” he coughed, his arms flopping loosely to his sides. “I’ve got nothing.”

  Daryl dropped Hath to the floor. “How do we stop it? How do we stop the weapons firing?”

  “I already told you, you can’t,” Hath gloated. “There is nothing you can do. It’s over, Daryl Elliot, it’s over.”