Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) Page 11

  It was Percy who warned me first. His tone, between all of the panting, was one of genuine concern. Maybe he thought I was stupid and felt bad about having me march off to what he figured was certain death. Maybe, like Joe, he bought into all of that team spirit talk and, even though he disliked me, didn't want me to die. Whatever the case, he grabbed my arm and gave a firm shake of his head. “No way, don't do it. You don't stand a chance.” The blade he held was every bit as bright and clean as it had been at the battle's start, but its wielder was looking rough. “We need to run. We got in over our heads, but if we get back to the cars we can call the Chief and maybe--”

  I shrugged him off. “Don't interfere. Instead, why don't you make yourself useful and cut down any undead who wander into the fray, huh?”

  Agamemnon rested on his scythe, his pale face looking like a mask. The necromancer smirked. “I didn't expect to find you here, demon. And it would appear you've led your friends into the heart of my trap as well. A fine catch, this. It's unfortunate that you insist on meddling when you were fortunate enough to escape once already. I think there's a word for that. Stupidity?” He laughed. As he reared back, I noticed that his face was unwounded. Even though I'd doused it in acid spit just a while ago, any wounds I'd left behind had healed fully.

  That didn't bode well. That acid spit of mine had been more than enough to kill lesser men. Did the scythe give Agamemnon the ability to heal his wounds, too?

  I didn't give myself time to think it over. Thinking too much would've given me cold feet. Instead, I rushed in and sent a haymaker his way.

  The horde of zombies scarcely moved as our fight began. Joe and the others stood on the sidelines, too, their gazes shifting between the battle and the countless undead who might, at any moment, spring back into action.

  Agamemnon dodged with altogether too much ease. A guy his size shouldn't have been so fast as this; it was like he'd made the laws of physics his bitch. The base of his scythe didn't so much as leave the ground as I lashed out at him. A mere side-step at the right moment was enough to evade me completely. Enraged, I followed up with a solid kick, but caught nothing but the handle of the scythe.

  It was the necromancer's turn now. Giving the weapon a hypnotic twirl between his two hands, he broke into a series of quick jabs, the curved hook on the end narrowly missing my flesh. The first just about grazed my throat. The next danced dangerously close to the spot where he'd wounded me previously. I was so focused on dodging the sharp end that I didn't notice it when he twisted the handle in his grip and knocked my feet out from under me. I kissed the ground with a groan.

  And had I not begun to roll just then I'd have caught a face-full of scythe.

  To anyone watching I must've seemed awfully outclassed. I'd spent the bulk of the encounter dodging and rolling away from him, not half the hero I'd pretended to be going into this. That was probably why Kanta decided to jump into the fight.

  “I told you not to interfere!” I said, gaining my feet.

  She wasn't listening. She raised her trident and parried Agamemnon's scythe with no little trouble, baring her teeth. The three-pronged weapon in her grasp creaked slightly beneath the weight of the scythe, as though it were being bent out of shape, but Kanta held her ground and readied her next strike as Agamemnon pulled away.

  It was pretty clear that I was going to need a weapon with some reach if I was going to compete with the necromancer. I glanced around in search of one I might borrow. While Kanta had the enemy distracted, I turned around and smacked the badass bone sword out of Percy's hands.

  “Hey!” he warned, scrambling for it, “What do you think you're doing? T-that's not a good idea!”

  When I picked it up off of the ground and tried to hold it like I'd seen characters in Lord of the Rings do, I understood why.

  “Holy shit!” I felt like I'd just grabbed a hot curling iron. The skin on my palms sizzled away at once and boiling blood began to dribble from the fresh wounds. I dropped the sword and cursed, waving my hands around in the air to try and stop the burning. Not that it worked. My hands looked like they'd been left on a hot grill all day. “What the hell is wrong with your sword?” I asked.

  “You can't wield it! That blade was forged in the light, blessed. A demon can't use it!” he barked, grabbing up the weapon by the hilt and then frowning as he took to picking off the little bits of my charred flesh that still clung to it.

  At that moment, all eyes were on my smarting, incompetent ass, and the necromancer made full use of the distraction I'd provided.

  The bottom of his scythe ended up in Kanta's ribs. He brought it up in a fluid arc, and the moment it connected I heard the popping of bone. Her face went white and the breath vacated her lungs. Unable to hold onto the trident or to support her weight, she crashed to the ground. Perhaps we should've been thankful that he hadn't used the sharp end of the thing, however the end result of the blow was the same. She was out of the fight.

  Balling my parboiled fists, I winced through the pain and made a running jump for the necromancer. He was already working on a counterattack, though. He raised the scythe up high and brought it down like a hammer. It turned out he wasn't aiming for me; he let the glimmering blade strike the ground. It sank into the soil, producing a shock-wave like a small earthquake and sending everyone, allies and zombies alike, onto their asses. Trees all around us began to fracture and large cracks formed in the ground.

  I heard the sound of the earth splitting; a deafening noise as of rock being sheared apart. The spot where Agamemnon's weapon had struck the ground gave way to a deep crevasse, and the surrounding land began to tumble into it. A few zombies fell into the yawning chasm, and Joe, too, very nearly lost his footing and went in headfirst. The necromancer had effectively split the battlefield in two, separating Kanta and I from the others. The two of us were surrounded by zombies and overshadowed by the titan form of Agamemnon.

  I think it was at that moment, specifically, that I realized what it was we were up against here. This guy could raise the dead and seriously wound a nigh unkillable creature like myself, but that was just the start of it. His strength was not the kind that could be described in mere words. Looking up at him as dust and smoke circulated through the air in a choking haze, I saw him for what he was.

  A god.

  Agamemnon raised the scythe and his minions took that as an invitation to seize Kanta and I. The two of us couldn't put up a fight against the dozens of hands that now locked onto us, and we were lifted away from the site in a zombified mosh pit. I struggled as I watched Joe, Percy and the commandos getting similarly swarmed. They couldn't fight them off fast enough; the undead came from underneath them, sailed through the air on the shoulders of their fellows and closed in from every angle. Within seconds they'd be completely covered in zombies, paralyzed and helpless.

  I tried crying out to them, to break free, but it was no use. We were being carried off by the swarm, deeper into the woods, with Agamemnon at the head of the procession.

  Despite all the noise of the shambling horde and the pain that still seized her, Kanta found it in herself to scowl at me and spit in my face. “You... This is your fault. You did this. You ruined everything!”

  I knew she was right.

  EIGHTEEN

  Either the zombies were getting tired or they were just plain lazy. After carrying us for nearly a mile, the undead took to dragging us through the woods. Agamemnon motioned to a dark building up ahead. It was rather small, two stories, and looked like it'd been shuttered for ages. Probably an old station used by park rangers. The windows were all busted out and it teemed with still more zombies. A faint glow came from the inside.

  Kanta and I were dragged to the threshold of this building and shoved forcefully inside by our captors. Agamemnon stopped just inside and handed off a pair of thick, steel manacles which the zombies locked around our wrists without even having to be told. All the while he never let go of the scythe; he kept it i
n one hand at all times, seemed unwilling to let it out of his sight. Holding onto that thing all the time, I wondered how the guy managed to take a shit.

  I recognized the manacles I was wearing. Thick metal, etched with complicated magical seals. These were the same kinds of chains that the Veiled Order used. Back when I'd first received the demon's heart, they'd leashed me down with these to my hospital bed. Whenever the new moon came around and Gadreel came out to play in full force, I had to be put into isolation, and manacles like these were also utilized. I tensed my muscles, gave them a little yank as the zombies used them to drag me and Kanta forward, but knew better than to think I could break them. These things were incredibly tough.

  The inside of the building was pretty dim, and there wasn't much to look at. A few clusters of ambling undead, some long-abandoned furniture and little else. Agamemnon threw open a door and began leading us down a set of stairs. The steps sagged as the mass of zombies ushered us down. A draft passed through, temporarily knocking the smell of rotting flesh from my nostrils. It smelled of dampness. This is a basement of some kind.

  Sure enough, the floors were wet, dirty concrete and the walls were made of ruddy bricks. The ceiling was a collection of dusty wooden beams and featured two solitary light bulbs, which provided the only light we had to see by.

  Agamemnon motioned to his followers and both Kanta and I were led to the far side of the room. Two deep-set silver anchors were fixed into the bricks in the wall, and the zombies obediently linked the ends of our manacles to them. We were leashed to the wall now, side-by-side, and the necromancer paused before us to admire his catch.

  “Shouldn't you have blindfolded us first? It's poor form to just lead your enemies on a guided tour to your secret hideout, no?” I clicked my tongue, giving the chains on my wrists a jingle. “I didn't take you for an amateur.”

  Agamemnon gave a little wave of his hand. “It matters not. The two of you won't live long enough to spread this information. I promise you that.”

  Nothing in his expression told me he was kidding. I wasn't sure just how the end would come, but that he planned on killing us had been plain before he'd so much as opened his mouth.

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Kanta, panting. Now and then she'd place a hand on her side, the busted ribs swimming around in her abdomen causing a steady ache. “Why do you practice such disgusting magic, necromancer?”

  This drew Agamemnon's ire, and he stooped down till his nose was very nearly pressed to Kanta's. “Watch your mouth. The art of death magic is profound. That your masters have sought to silence its prophets is only proof of their foolishness.” He drew in a deep breath, shifting the scythe from one hand to the other. “You ask me why I wish to start a war, but never ask yourself why you fight for the real aggressors. Those dogs that sign your paychecks are the true villains in all of this. The denizens of the Beyond have been sequestered for too long to the periphery of human affairs. No longer. I intend to topple the world of men, to invite the world of darkness into this sphere of entity you so cherish. Mankind, lowly mankind, was never intended to be so shielded from the works of the Beyond. The Veiled Order and their ilk have long fought to separate the two worlds, but when I'm through the gap will be closed and we will have returned to the natural state of things. Once, in the primordial ages, mankind co-existed with denizens of the Beyond. But now we have the likes of you regularly denigrating the world of death. Men were never intended to thrive in this way, to be master of their dominion. Men have grown too prideful. Thankfully, I have taken up this war and intend to lead the rightful masters of this world back from the darkness. I will shape this world into something new, and will lord over it with an iron fist for eternity.”

  I didn't know what all of that meant, exactly, but it came across as more than a little sententious. “Fascinating,” I said. “Funny how you talk shit about humans so readily... you mean to tell me that you aren't human yourself?”

  The necromancer's eyes cut into me with such intensity that my heart began to thrash in protest. “I was a man, once. Now? I am the frontrunner in a holy crusade.” Stepping away from the two of us, Agamemnon scanned the dank room. “I will return very shortly with whatever remains of your friends,” he said, sporting a devilish grin. “If my servants haven't already dismembered them then I shall lead them here to this very room and slit their throats before your eyes. How would you like to watch me raise them, to bring their souls under my sway?”

  I loosed a callous laugh, but in all honesty I was scared out of my mind. Just picturing my buddy Joe getting hauled in here and turned into one of those things... It was the stuff of nightmares for me. I wasn't going to let him know it, though. I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Agamemnon was a creature who thrived on the suffering of others. He acted like he'd transcended his humanity, become something superior, but in fact he was the lowest of the low. He was genocidal dog shit with a flashy weapon. “You act like you're the master of death, but at the end of the day you're just a poser with a powerful weapon. If not for that scythe you'd be nothing. Face it.”

  Agamemnon's expression shifted into more thoughtful territory, as though he were actually considering my words and giving them weight. “Are you so ready to be delivered into the hellfire?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “I thought that I might kill you and bring you back as a thrall, but being a Demon-Heart, I suppose you'll end up in Hell when you die, won't you?” He nodded. “Your eternity of suffering begins at my say-so. You'd do well to remember that.”

  I gulped and nearly lost my footing. “W-what's that?”

  Agamemnon continued, pacing slowly towards the stairs. I could hear his minions marching around loudly in the upper stories. There were some posted up at the basement entrance, standing sentry like rotting statues. “I'd heard rumor that the Veiled Order had created a Demon-Heart. Funny that they would do something so grotesque. They were probably desperate to stay relevant. At any rate, I think I'll keep you alive a while longer. I reckon you're worth something to your masters. They'll come for you, and when they do, I'll strike them dead. You'll live just long enough to see everyone you care about raised from the dead-- to see them take on a glorious new life under my control.”

  “Shut up!” I barked. “That's enough. Undo these shackles and we'll see how tough you are.”

  Agamemnon said nothing. I was simply an annoyance to him, a fly buzzing around. He walked back towards us, extending the blade of the scythe towards Kanta. “You, young lady... I rather doubt your worth to the organization.” He touched her cheek with the cold tip of the scythe. Had he done it any harder he'd have drawn blood. Kanta's legs quivered and her eyes went blank. I knew exactly what she was feeling; it was that cold, fatigued feeling that had washed over me every time I'd made contact with the scythe. “Perhaps the Demon-Heart would like me to demonstrate my skill... perhaps I should take your life and show him the extent of my power, yes? It might even provoke some reverence in him.”

  I lost it. I could take his shit, but watching him threaten someone else pushed me over the edge. I needed out of these chains, and fast. I did the first thing that came to mind; I pulled the chain on my right arm taut and spit on it. The acid would probably take a while to eat through the metal, but--

  Agamemnon laughed. The acid wasn't working. My steaming spit dropped off of the chains, leaving them untarnished, and hit the floor below, where it fizzled and burnt away a bit of the concrete. “Didn't you think I'd learn my lesson after the first time you used that trick? Those manacles won't be broken by your feeble tricks, demon. Why don't you sit tight and think about the eternity of damnation still ahead of you? I'll be back soon, and I promise to bring some familiar faces.” With that, he started up the stairs. Kanta and I were left in the cellar alone, with a pair of zombies standing guard at the top of the stairwell.

  As the necromancer's footfalls faded, I cursed under my breath, struggling against the chains. “Do you know any way we can bust out of
these?” I asked, turning to Kanta.

  She'd recovered from the spot of fatigue and was looking at me with sheer, unfiltered anger now. She didn't reply, couldn't bring herself to talk to me. There could be no doubt that she hated Agamemnon, but as I stood there next to her in the basement of this old building, I got the distinct impression that she hated me more.

  “L-look,” I began. “I'm sorry about this. All of it. I fucked up, and I can totally own that, all right? I've been... irresponsible lately. I get it. And if you hate me, then I don't blame you. But we need to get the hell out of here! Do you know any way that we can bust out of these?”

  Her hateful gaze was unwavering. At that moment she was probably imagining me getting singed by hellfire for all eternity.

  Which brought to mind another thing: Had Agamemnon been serious? Was I really doomed to Hell upon death because I was a Demon-Heart? Of everything that'd been discussed in the past few minutes, that was not the least concerning tidbit. No one at the Veiled Order had mentioned that part of the bargain... “Say,” I said, my eyes softening. “You're an exorcist and all of that, so I imagine you know a good deal about demons. Is it true? Is Agamemnon right about me going to Hell when I die because I'm a Demon-Heart? I just never really expected that, and when they transplanted this heart in me, well...”

  Kanta's face was contorted into a sick grin. “Oh, hell yeah. That's one-hundred percent true. And it's the only silver lining in all of this. If the whole world has to go to shit, then at the very least you'll be getting manhandled in Hell till the end of time for what you've done.”

  For those of you playing at home, here's a recap: I fucked things up in the field, possibly got Joe, Percy and a number of Veiled Order commandos murdered by zombies, and then got Kanta and myself captured by the necromancer, so that we could be used as bait.

  But that apparently wasn't bad enough. Oh, no, things just had to keep getting shittier. The necromancer had let drop a little gem that I'd have really liked to know before signing on the dotted line.