Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Smoke and the screams of the dying filled the air. Adora didn’t know where to turn. Her guardsmen were all either slain, or scattered. Alistair and Angriz were off leading other segments of her army, trying to push back this surge of demons.

She stumbled to a halt as the ground shook beneath her feet. It mounded up like a blister and then exploded.

First, four large, sharp looking horns rose from the dirt. Next, an iridescent azure exoskeleton appeared. Then, the creature’s eight emerald eyes and slavering jaws which opened and closed ninety degrees from normal ascended.

‘Great, a Tigellio. Just what I didn’t need.’ She threw a hurried glance around. None were aware of the demon, caught up in their own issues. ‘Damn, I wish Carter were here,’ she thought for the tenth time that morning.

The fiend shook the dirt from its carapace and peered around. Spotting prey, it lurched after it, moving faster than she expected. ‘Oh no you don’t.’ She swung her mace as hard as she could.

The weapon thundered into the demon’s shell, sending cracks through the chitin. The Tigellio stopped and turned. As it did, a yellowish light rose from the fissures in its back and as it faded, she saw the thing had healed.

It turned ponderously and swiped at her with an immense claw. She ducked, and leaped up, striking the beast’s mandible, cracking it.

The demon bellowed and smote her in the side.

She sailed through the air and hit an oak hard enough to dislodge leaves. She felt a pop deep in her chest as her breath left her in a white hot rush.

There came a sickening crunch as she hit the ground awkwardly and her leg broke. Her vision shrunk down to a deep black pinpoint. She wanted to scream from the agony, but was unable to draw a breath.

She heard a high-pitched whistling and then a sullen boom. An instant later, she was drenched by a wave of a foul smelling gleet. Her stomach rebelled but a hot fingertip grazed her forehead. A heartbeat later, her stomach settled and her pain was gone.

Her now clear gaze beheld the being before her. His head was haloed by the sun. He stood nine feet tall, and five across his shoulders. Two enormous white wings spread out from each shoulder, and then swept back to rest against his body. Bulging muscles rippled under his golden skin. He was bald, yet the most beautiful, perfect being she’d ever seen.

“Azrael,” she breathed.

The angel gave her a brief nod and snapped his wings wide. A searing white light radiated from him and expanded outward.

She blinked her watering eyes, and the light vanished along with the angel. She peered at the remnants of the Tigellio and got to her feet. Adora looked around and spotted her mace several feet away.

As she ran to it, a L’Arc dropped in front of her, folding her wings back over her shoulder. The scent of decayed vanilla hit Adora, making her lip curl in disgust. Or maybe it was the nudity of the temptress demon.

“Pretty little queen, all alone, and with no weapon. How sad.” The demon’s voice was poisoned honey.

The queen smiled. “Poor little demon. Unaware of what I am.”

The beautiful demon’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

“You’ll see.”

Adora punched at the demon.

The L’Arc smirked as the queen’s fist his her jaw.

Adora cried out and shook her hand.

“Foolish human. You can do noth—”

The WarPriest’s vermillion fist collided with the demon’s skull, sending holy fire through her and knocking her on her ass.

The demon jumped to her feet, holding her smoking jaw.

“A warpriest is never without a weapon.” Adora brought both fists up to head level.

The L’Arc screamed and swung her claws.

Adora ducked and swayed away from the attack. She rotated her torso around, staying away from the wild assault.

The demon swiped at the queen with her left hand.

Adora rocked her body under and around the strike which flew over her head. She completed her rotation with a punch to the side of the demon’s head.

The L’Arc stumbled back, dropping to her butt before scrambling backward and returning to her feet.

She screamed again, and charged, throwing wild, arcing claw swipes.

Adora ducked or swayed away from each before catching the demon with a left hooking punch that flared vermillion just before impact.

The L’Arc stumbled backward, black ichor leaking from her nose and mouth.

The WarPriest lunched forward.

The demon threw a swipe upward, hoping to catch her opponent coming in.

Adora ducked to the left and launched and overhand right that exploded against the demon’s forehead.

The L’Arc collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Adora bent and picked up her mace. “You fought well, demon.” A mental command suffused the weapon with celestial magic. “However, you are a demon, and an invader.” She swung the mace in a short arc. The flanged head tore through the demon’s skull.

She took a deep breath and jogged to where she’d last seen her army. The midday sun seemed incongruous with the torn up and muddy ground from the battle. Honeysuckle and jasmine twinned with blood, smoke and viscera to create a schizophrenic symphony of scents.

As she ran, the ground shook and an odd shrieking filled the air. She stopped and stared at the huge demon now striding across the battlefield. It was about nine feet tall and was wide as a house. It was humanoid in shape and walked on its knuckles. The oversized hands were tipped with emerald claws. It had a head like an elephant with long, curved tusks, small rheumy yellow eyes, and a long coiling truck tipped with a thick spike. As it marched, the truck would lash out and alternately wrap around and throw one of her soldiers, or pull one into its mouth.

“Bloody hell. That’s an apocalypse mammoth.” The words sounded like they were squeezed out of her lungs. She pulled the blood-filled phial from under her armor. ‘We’re going to need Carter for this.’

###

The screams echoed off the stone walls and faded away. A large fire pit sent dancing shadows through the room. Another scream sounded as the dark-haired dwarf in blood begrimed clothes pushed a finger into a wound in a human’s chest who screamed in agony. The dwarf withdrew his finger, wiped it on a rust brown rag and picked up a quill pen. Dipping it into an inkwell, he made a few notations and blotted the parchment as his subject sobbed.

He gestured and a pair of orcs turned large cranks, rotating the table with the prisoner until it was flat. Ignoring the man’s begging, he took up a thin bladed knife, and then sliced a line from the man’s left shoulder, across his chest to his right. Then, he did the same at the human’s waist, from hip to hip, ignoring the wails of pain. A line was cut down the center of his torso, connecting the other two. The prisoner shrieked even louder than he had before. Blood gushed from the new wound. The dwarf placed the blade next to other sharp instruments and picked up a wooden bowl. Gathering some of the contents in his bloody hand, he sprinkled it over the human while chanting.

The orcs watched the black powder begin to glow and change color as it liquefied. Wherever the magic liquid touched, the blood withdrew into the man. The two looked at each other, and then back to the dwarf. He pulled the wound wide, eliciting a scream that sounded like it tore the human’s throat. A sharp foul odor flooded the room as the tortured man voided his bowels. To the amazement of the orcs, no further blood flowed from the injuries. They stepped closer to better see, drawing the dwarf’s attention.

“You appear puzzled, my friends.” His voice was smooth, powerful.

They nodded.

“Allow me to hypothesize. You desire to know why the human’s lifeblood no longer flows.”

Another nod from both.

“The conjuration is named ‘Prohibere Sanguinem.’ It maintains life while I conduct my experimentations.”

The orc to the left spoke. “Why you experiment, Master?”

“I seek knowledge of better interrogation techniques.”

The one on the right tilted his head. “What information you seek?”

Drago stared at him, stone faced. “You’re joking.”

“From new tortures.”

The dark-skinned dwarf giggled. “Why, for when I get my hands on Keeper Dearbhaile, of course. I will learn the secrets of the Vaush-Tauric, and I will find where and who the Walker of Worlds is. And then I will become a god.”

The left most orc spoke up again. “What Vaush-Toric?”

“A Vaush-Tauric is a sage among dragons. These learned beings are the most powerful of their race, just below the avatars of their gods.”

A door at the far end of the room opened. Moving with a swiftness that belied their bulk, the orcs slipped between their master and the opened door. One orc drew a hammer from his hip and muttered a command word. Seconds later, the small tool expanded into a huge War-hammer with a wicked looking spike at the opposite end of the blunt one. A bluish glow surrounded the head. The other unhooked a coiled chain and stretched it out with a rattle, spinning the large spiked ball at the end. The two prepared themselves to fight to their deaths to protect their lord from the intruder. None were allowed to disturb him in his laboratory.

When the human dressed in deer skin, with shoulder length, curly brown hair entered, the orcs dropped to a knee and placed their left hands over their right chest, covering their hearts and offering their fealty as their weapons clattered on the floor.

Sera flicked her gaze over them and walked past, ignoring the orcs’ salutes. She didn’t care for the ugly creatures, always cringing in the face of a superior foe, and then plotting behind its back. Like the demons, but mortal.

Drago continued his experiments, unconcerned with who might have entered. The orcen warriors would have given him enough time to prepare for any enemy. Though she hadn’t seen him in battle, she knew enough about his training regimen to believe he’d be a formidable enemy.

“You know that won’t actually work, right?”

He turned to face her. “What do you mean ‘it won’t work’? Why wouldn’t it?”

“Those being tortured will tell you whatever they think you want to hear to get the pain to stop, regardless as to its veracity.”

“That cannot be.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Want to bet?” Without waiting for the Dwarf’s answer, she crossed to the bound human. “Is the man torturing you a dragon?”

He stared up at her, his pupils dilated. “N-no.”

She held her hand open above the prisoner. “Baseline question. Now, we test.”

Sera picked up a thin needle from the cart next to the table. Tenderly lifting his right hand, she carefully and slowly inserted it under the nail of his index finger. The man’s shriek was blood curling. She then yanked the needle out, eliciting fresh screams. Gently cupping his cheek, she hushed him, soothing his terror. After he quieted once more she looked deeply into his eyes as she pulled Drago forward.

“Now, what is he? Tell me true, and the pain will cease.”

The human whimpered.

“It’s okay. You will not be punished.”

The man panted. “A dragon, milady.”

“Thank you.” She then punched her knuckles into his throat, crushing his windpipe. “You see?”

“Alright, so torture is useless for extracting real information, but why did you kill him?”

“I gave my word.”

“Now I have to get another.”

“Unfortunately, my lord Drago.” She shrugged. “Or.”

He raised his right eyebrow. “Or?”

“Or, you could refocus on winning hearts and minds.”

“Do you think that will aid me in achieving my goal of becoming a god?”

“I do not know how apotheosis works, but I do know that having the people on your side would help you achieve Lucas’ task.”

Drago sneered.

“I don’t like him either, Lord Drago, but do we seriously need another powerful enemy at this point?”

“You make good points, Sera. I am glad Belial summoned you to this world.”