The Abyss Stares Back - 16
Ophelia rushed down the stairs and past the living room. Her eyes frantically searched for her blade and grimoire so she could join Sloan in the fight. There was no chance in Pentaghast that she was leaving her to fight her battle for her.
This whole tragedy had come about because of Marlene’s branch of the family being alienated from the rest. She couldn’t help but think if she had extended her hand to her cousins that this might not have happened.
Her equipment was nowhere to be found on the landing or the living room so she instinctively rushed into the kitchen after seeing its door slightly ajar with a sliver of light shining through. In a quick stride she pushed open the doors only to be met with a stomach-churning stench and a most ghastly sight. For there, lying on the floor and strewn across the central isle, were her family members. Uncle Edilon, aunt Sarah and her cousin Cecile. All rotting, all pulled apart for components and all seemingly left where they had been killed. The state of decay was so severe that she was surprised that the stench was entirely localized here.
The sight made her gag and recoil in horror. “Gods…no…” she muttered as unbidden tears threatened to cloud her eyes.
But there, on the far table she found her equipment. The bright and gleaming blade her brother Timothy had given her, and the leather bound grimoire the academy had given her. Only the pages had all been torn out and burnt.
The sounds of heavy impact emanated from above and Ophelia realized she was running out of time. She must hurry.
“You seem shaken.” The figure hissed with malice and glee.
Sloan stumbled back, fighting the physical realization that her sword arm had just been violently torn off at the elbow in a split second. Any moment now her body would go into shock but she couldn’t afford that now. She couldn’t afford the frailties of her flesh.
“How long until you run out of strength, blackguard?” the figure grinned.
Her eyes dropped to the severed arm lying on the floor next to the figure, her blade still in its grasp. Strange, she still felt like she could clenched fist on her severed arm as she looked upon.
Offering herself no time for contemplation, Sloan rushed forward. The figure laughed and dashed to meet her. As they were about to meet, Sloan dropped and slid under her in an attempt to get to the blade. But the figure spun in an instant and grabbed a hold of her hair. It spoke something in the abyssal tongue of the demons and suddenly Sloan was in the air, being pulled by her hair to be smashed into the wall. The air was knocked out of her as she tumbled to the ground. She could feel her consciousness waining, but she had to push through.
Pushing herself back up she tried to make another attempt for the blade, but the figure was already upon her, smiling down at her with its crooked teeth. “Going somewhere?” it asked as it brought a fist down onto her back, flattening her to the ground with exceptional force. “I think we’re gonna have a bit more fun before I tear more off your wings.” The figure than kicked her in the stomach so hard that she was thrown up into the air again. This time she reacted by placing her remaining hand against the wall and then pushed herself off with an open palm, towards the figure. In a swift motion she closed her fist and threw it at the figure’s face with all the force she could muster. The strike had enough impact to put the figure on its back foot for a moment, creating an opening for Sloan to attempt a graceful landing. It was not, but she quickly got up to her knees, slamming her open fist into the bloody stump, and smearing her blood all over it.
The figure howled with laughter as it lurched forward at her but Sloan managed to throw out her hand, interposing it between them, before uttering a word of power in the tongue of the celestials. Suddenly her blood ignited in a glorious holy light as she pushed her open palm at the figure’s chest. It was as if she had hit it with the force of a moving carriage as the figure was thrown back and into the opposite wall of the hallway, the wallpapered bricks caving in under the weight of it.
“I love a good gambit,” said the figure as it regard the state of Sloan’s remaining hand. The blood had all evaporated, leaving behind it charred skin and partially melted muscle. The figure cocked its head and grinned its unnaturalyl wide smile, “Was it worth? Did your gamble pay off?”
Sloan cast her eyes on the figure’s chest, which was scorched, but was left not nearly as wounded as she had hoped. The blackguard sighed as fatigue and desperation began to set in.
“Oh I know,” the figure said as it licked its teeth. “It will all be over soon though.”
It rushed forward, giving Sloan barely enough time to bring up her remaining hand in defense. The figure brushed it aside before punching her head into the wall behind her. And in a swift motion after that, gripped her collar to pull her towards it for another strike straight into her face, breaking both her nose and front teeth. The figure then threw Sloan up into the ceiling and as she fell down with pieces of crumbled plaster and wood she was kicked in the chest back into the wall she had just impacted.
Collapsing to the floor she felt blood fill her throat as a rib had punctured through one of her lungs. Her eyelids grew heavy as her consciousness began to sink, and yet her eyes remained fixed on her blade and severed arm.
The figure chuckled before suddenly looking up as a sensation washed over it. “No,” it muttered to itself. “No!! That whore!!”
Sloan, instinctively, began crawling forward with what little strength she had left while the figure was distracted. But it didn’t take long for the demonic entity to notice.
“Ah-ah-ah,” said the figure as it savagely stepped on Sloan’s ankle, fracturing bone and tearing muscle beneath its feet. Sloan cried out in pain and the figure giggled. “Naughty, naughty,” it hissed as it gripped Sloan’s collar again and forced her to look at it. “We’re gonna have to punish you for that.”
Sloan smiled through blood and broken teeth, making the ruin of her face even more grotesque. “Enough foreplay. Let’s…get this…over with.”
The figure smiled with sadistic joy. “But we’ve only just begun.”
Ophelia emerged from the kitchen with sword in hand, gagging from the lingering decay of her family. She quickly made her way back to the staircase when her eyes caught on something. The membranous portal that had formed over the living room wall had growing shadows materializing on the other side. The orange light of the hellish divine prison of Pentaghast bathed the Vandermeer estate in colors of fire and death. And in the center of the membrane she saw it.
A small bone charm.
Given the size of the infestation it had most likely been the first one that her possessed cousin had created. And the portal had been growing here for several weeks, now about to split open as a full fledge opening. Saving Sloan was important, but this took precedence.
Ophelia ran over and carefully pulled the charm out of the membrane, fearing that in doing so she might accidentally tear the portal open. But after what felt like an eternity, she successfully pried it free and now it rested in her hand.
So strange, how such a simple thing could end modern civilization. Knowledge in the wrong hands was truly a terrifying thing, she thought.
She closed her hand around it and uttered a word of power, shattering the charm with a surge of arcane power. She felt a sudden dissipation of the oppressive aura that had enveloped the entire estate, one she hadn’t even noticed until it now suddenly wasn’t there any more. And with its departure, so did the orange light and hellish shadows on the other side of the membrane. And thus the infestation ceased to pulsate and began to lose its color.
Ophelia heard a loud shout coming from upstairs and knew she was running out of time to aid Sloan.
Dropping the charm shards and wiping the blood left behind in the palm of her hand on her dress, Ophelia rushed up the stairs to find the figure standing over Sloan’s broken body. It held her by the collar and hissed at her “But we’ve only just begun.”
The arcanist quickly threw an arcane blast, expertly aimed at the figure’s head. The strike forced the creature back, dropping Sloan to the floor, and drawing its ire to Ophelia.
“We’re not done yet.” She said with fire and defiance in her voice.
The figure grinned and growled as it got ready to pounce.
Inspector Eldon and the ‘legitimate’ businessman, Hitch, climbed up through the hatch at the top of the workman shed at the Addleworth Limited depot. Within the shed they heard the front door fracture from repeated attacks by the possessed thralls that prowled the depot.
“Alright, where do we go from here?” asked Eldon as his eyes scanned their immediate surroundings.
“There.” Said Hitch, pointing to a half buried container. “That’s where the explosives used to be. That’s where the charm would be.”
“You better be right about this.” Said Eldon as he dropped down behind the shed.
“Catch me.”
Eldon looked up in surprise. “What?”
“Catch me.” Hitch whispered back.
“You’re not a child, just drop down.”
“I have a bad leg. You have to catch me.”
“No!” Eldon exclaimed as loud as he dared.
Inside Hitch heard the front door break open and he knew he was out of time. “Oh bugger it all.”
Hitch dropped down and landed badly, his left leg folding underneath his weight. Instinctively he gave out a yelp in pain, with Eldon’s open hand finding him only a moment later to muffle the cry. But with it, they heard the various growls and manic laughters of the depot yard grow silent as well.
“We better get a move on.” Said Eldon as he pulled the big man up to his feet.
Eldon, the half giant, was certainly taller than Hitch, but the criminal was far bigger. And after a decade and a half of sitting behind a desk, Eldon was not as strong as he used to be.
“Come on!” Eldon commanded in a whisper as he pushed Hitch toward the container.
The pair made haste as quietly as they could but the stealth of it did not come easily as Hitch groaned and seethed with each step of his wounded leg. Eldon turned to motion Hitch to be quiet, only to find a figure standing on top of the shed, looking directly at them.
“Well, there goes that.” He said as he raised his firearm and pulled the trigger.
A splash of red erupted from the figure’s shoulder, sending it tumbling down, and with it the growls of the depot returned louder than before.
“Go, go, go!”
“I’m going!” exclaimed Hitch as he stumbled towards the container.
Dark figures skittered towards them, their hungry eyes gleaming in the dark and their blood soaked mouths snarling maliciously.
“Open it!” Eldon commanded.
Hitch fell onto the container doors, pushed himself off and then quickly gripped the handle. The hinges were stiff and rusted, but he was a big man. Eldon fired off more rounds, hitting the approaching figures in the chest and abdomens. One he hit in the head and watched it collapse to the ground, twitching. Hitch roared as he pushed the handle and unlocked the container. He then quickly pushed his finger into the opening between the two doors and pulled with all his might.
A foul oder rushed to meet him, filling his nostrils with the scent of decay, making his dinner consider an early exit up his esophagus. But he gritted his teeth and pushed it down as the door was pulled open. And there, within, he found a familiar sight. A carrion growth on the wall, pulsating with a fiery light, half hidden behind a pile of crates and heavy industrial equipment.
Eldon fired his last bullet and stared in dismay as three more thralls approached him. “Crush it!” he commanded as he pulled out his baton and stepped forward to meet their attackers. If he could give Hitch enough time to break the charm maybe these thralls would no longer be possessed. Or maybe they’d remain and would kill him. Regardless, they’d save the city. And that mattered most.
Hitched watched the inspector deflect a jagged saw blade and return the favor with an impressive blow to the face with his baton. And no sooner had he struck before he turned to the next thrall with a follow-up swing, which sadly missed. It dawned on the hoodlum that they might die here tonight and he felt that urge to turn heel and run. But he didn’t. Maybe because he knew they’d catch him due to his limp. Or maybe he had finally found some measure of valor in his heart. And so he pushed through the opening and into the container. Climbing up over the crates.
Suddenly he felt something grab his ankle and pull him down. The disturbed visage of a thrall met his gaze, snarling at him and plunging a knife into his shoulder. Hitch screamed and instinctively placed his revolver against the creature’s chest and fired. Hitch dropped his gun as the creature released him and stumbled back, laughing. But before it could resume its attack a large hand reached into the container and pulled it out. Hitch watched Inspector Eldon, now bloodied and panting, grab the thrall by the head and threw it out with all his might back out of the container, successfully placing himself between them and Hitch. “Go!” he commanded and Hitch didn’t hesitate.
He climbed and stumbled as some of the crates began to shift. Something slid, he tumbled and fell and a surge of pain shot through his body. Screaming he looked down to find the crate hand landed on his other leg, his good leg. Something was definitely broken now. But he managed to wrench his leg free and began crawling towards the charm.
Eldon pushed one of the thralls off of him and felt a knife get buried into his back. The flare of pain and adrenaline propelled him forward, letting him spin around with the knife still in his back and bash his baton into his attacker. He had hit criminals with it before but this was something different. These creatures did not defend themselves, nor did they cower away. They leaned into the punishment and it made him sick. But he beat it again and again and again until its head was mush and it fell down. Another thrall had snuck up on him, removed the knife from his back and plunged it into his shoulder. Eldon screamed and swung his baton into its face, sending it back a couple of steps, but not enough to kill it.
Two of them remained, leering at him with their awful smiles. He could feel his warm blood spreading down his back and chest, and he could feel his strength leave him. “What are…you waiting for?” he taunted them, barely able to grip his baton. The thralls didn’t even look at one another for acknowledgement. They just rushed.
Hitch pulled his body across the container floor, crawling until he reached the far wall. He could see the charm but it was too far to reach from down here. He attempted to step on his good leg, but immediately felt a blinding pain almost knock him out. “Fuck it.” He said as he switched his stance and stepped on his lame leg still bearing the stitched wound dealt by Sloan earlier that night. Putting all his weight on it he could feel stitches stretch and snap and fresh blood begin to seep down his leg. A wave of memories of prior pains washed over him, with him cowering and giving up each time. But not this time. He. Had. To. Stand.
A gunshot rang out and the head of one of the thralls exploded into a spray of bone, brain and blood. The other, surprised, halted and screeched before another bullet caught it between the eyes. It’s head, mercifully, did not explode.
Relief found Eldon as he collapsed to one knee, the pain now slowly leaving him. A figure approached him from the darkness. “Are you all right?” Eldon looked up, clinging desperately to consciousness, his sight tunneling, until he found a familiar face as Inspector Tiege put a hand over the deep cut on his shoulder to stop the bleeding.
“I…I don’t know…”
“Stay with me, Eldon. Stay with me!”
Tiege beheld his colleague bleeding out before him. He didn’t understand what was happening but he knew, from the creature that had attacked them before, that something strange was going on.
He looked up and into the container where he saw Hitch slowly get up in front of what looked like an infection on the walls themselves and reach into it. The man groaned and struggled but eventually pulled something out of the wall. He watched as Hitch slowly turned around with a mixed expression of worry, fear and vindication in his eyes. And then he smiled.
“Long live Kirkholm,” he said before he smashed his open palm onto one of the crates.
For the briefest of moments Tiege thought he saw a piece of bone in his hands and as the hoodlum smashed it the inspector observed as the infection convulsed and then went eerily still.
“We did it!” Hitch exclaimed. “We fucking did it, Eldon!”
Inspector Eldon, on the verge of unconsciousness, chuckled. “Good…job.”
Tiege observed this and felt a profound feeling wash over him, realizing he had just witnessed something incredible.
“Do either of you mind explaining what on earth just happened?”
A deathly stillness dominated the upstairs hallway of the Vandermeer estate, as Ophelia faced off against the figure, with Sloan lying on the floor at death’s doorstep.
The arcanist muttered a word of power and imbued her blade with magical energy, making it emit that familiar bluish light.
The figure grinned, “Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“I don’t imagine much frightens you.” Said Ophelia, not entirely sure what she was buy time for.
“Not much has, in these past seven and a half millennia,” the figure growled as it stepped forward. “You haven’t done anything here today. I am eternal and I can always redo what you undid.”
“I guess we’ll just have to send you back to that hell you call a home, then.”
Suddenly Sloan, who had every so deftly gotten up, jumped onto the figure’s back and wrapped her scorched arm around its throat. Seizing the opportunity, Ophelia rushed as the figure gave a sickening laugh.
In one swift motion the figure grabbed Sloan and pulled her off, throwing her into the nearby wall. Ophelia swung her blade, aiming at the figure’s head but at the last minute it ducked beneath the strike. Before she could react the figure dashed forward, avoiding the blade it threw an open palm into Ophelia’s chest, knocking the air out of her and sending her sliding back a few meters.
Sloan, despite her injuries, managed to land on her feet and immediately threw herself at the figure who lazily dodge the attack. “Please,” it chuckled, “I’m being attacked by children.” After entertaining Sloan’s barrage of attacks for a bit it darted past a punch and gripped Sloan by the throat and lifted her up. “I believe I promised you we’d stop the foreplay and get to the good stuff,” it hissed as it crushed Sloan’s windpipe.
A word of power was uttered and an arcane blast was fired at the figure but it dropped Sloan and easily sidestepped the attack. Ophelia had anticipated this and just before she fired she had thrown Sloan’s blade towards her, which the blackguard grabbed as she tumbled down. Her face a ruin, one arm torn off and the other scorched, Sloan was running on fumes. And now she couldn’t breathe. The writing was on the wall, she just hoped to end the fight before she ran out of strength.
Ophelia rushed forward and swung her blade at the figure. As before, it effortlessly dodge each attack with a grin on its face, but this time Sloan came up behind it and slashed her blade across the figure’s back. It barked out a sickening laugh just as Ophelia managed to plunge her blade into its chest. By her estimation she had surely punctured a lung, but if this thing was indeed a greater demon there was no telling if that even did anything.
The figure kicked the leg out from under Sloan and then gripped Ophelia’s hand, still holding the blade, pulling it out but refusing to let it go. With this new found leverage it yanked the blade to the side and threw a kick that connected with Ophelia’s head, sending her into the wall. Sloan used the opportunity and slashed at the figure’s tendon’s and as it fell to its knees she plunged the blade down into its clavicle, hoping to puncture its heart. But to her horror she realized the figure had caught the blade, letting it drive through its palm instead. It grinned up at her before pulling her forward and over it, slamming her into the floor. The impact knocked the remaining air out of Sloan’s lungs.
She tried to breathe in but her crushed windpipe made that nigh an impossibility. The figure clenched its fist and brought it down to crush the blackguard’s ribcage. But in a flash the arm was severed off by the blue glowing sword of the arcanist.
Wasting no time, Ophelia reeled the blade back in order to plunge it into the figure’s head. But just as she was about to strike the figure turned to her and suddenly Ophelia could see her cousin, Marlene.
“Philly? What’s going on?”
The sight of it stunned her. It was a trick, it had to be, and yet looking into her eyes she couldn’t see a trace of the demon in there. All she saw was her kind cousin who loved tales of the strange and the weird.
“Marl?” Ophelia found herself muttering before the visage disappeared and a terrible impact hit her square in the chest, breaking a few ribs and throwing her back into the cabinet holding the display case. She felt the wood crack and break under the weight of her and as she collapsed to the floor, darkness surrounding her, she saw the figure grinning down at her.
“Oh, no,” said the figure as it caught Ophelia by the face before she hit the floor. “We’re not done yet.”
It then pushed its bloody fingers into her left eye and ripped it out. The sudden surge of pain was enough to bring her back as tears of blood poured down her cheek.
“We’re done when I say we’re done.”
Sloan pushed herself up. There was no strength left. Her world was nothing but pain and fatigue. She couldn’t breathe right. She couldn’t even see straight. But somehow she pushed herself up. Once on her knees she ran the blade across her abdomen, bloodying it before she stabbed it as hard as she could into the figure’s back, watching it sink at least halfway in. Ophelia watched as the tip of the blackguard’s blade suddenly appeared out of her cousin’s chest.
Mustering all the strength she had left, Sloan forced herself to drag in as much air as she could through her broken windpipe and once her lungs were full, as the figure was rearing its head to strike at her, she spoke it.
The word barely registered and pushing the air back out of her windpipe was more pain than she could endure. And what came out was a gargled blood soaked word that none could understand. But at least one god understood. And suddenly the blood she had coated the blade with erupted into holy fire.
The figure stared at its smoldering body, the holy light spreading across it. It slammed Ophelia’s head into the cabinet and turn to the blackguard. Putting its one remaining hand around her head and began tightening. Sloan felt her skull begin to fracture.
“I am the Queen of Lies! The Mistress of Deception! I am torment eternal! And I will make you suffer until the end of…”
A crunch, and Ophelia’s blue glowing blade had impaled the figure’s head from the back and out the eye. The left eye.
The blackguard spat out blood as the figure dropped her to the floor. She watched from the floor as the figure reached with its remaining arm attempting to reach for the arcanist’s blade.
“You! Are! Nothing!” Ophelia commanded as she pulled Sloan’s blade out of the figure’s back and then swung it back into its neck.
And with such a simple motion the figure’s head flew clean off, her arcanist blade still impaled through it. Sloan watched the figure’s body collapse to the floor, smoldering into a radiant ruin. Over it she saw the arcanist standing in bloody defiance, gripping her sword.
“Get out of my family’s home!” Ophelia commanded and Sloan smiled for the last time as darkness slowly enveloped her.
