Now it quivered in fear.
Chapter 75
Asylum
Europhette sat on her knees. It was cool in the hallway outside of what Visor said was Maciate’s cell in the asylum. It was labeled as Thyestes in old vampiric. She massaged Armaan’s neck, releasing vitalizing agents into his skin. She verified his chemical balance and neural activity. His body was prepared for the impending adrenal surge.
Leigh and Xuan worked on the door with acid, claws and tools, ensuring it would open easily when the time came.
A half dozen troops were in formation behind Xuan.
She leaned against Armaan for warmth. “Just so you know, this is important to me. I’m going to focus on destroying Thyestes, not protecting you.”
Armaan said, “I will do the same.”
“Pfft. No, you won’t.”
“I know.”
“How is Josephine?”
“I haven’t seen her since the Naiad Rangers captured us. She sent word that she returned to her family farm. She didn’t send an invitation for me to join her.”
“Hmmm. Are you going to go anyway?”
“I hadn’t decided yet. Are you going to erase my memory?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Are you shivering?”
“It’s cold.”
“I’m not.”
Visor spoke in her head. Destroy him.
Europhette kissed Armaan’s cheek. “Put your helmet on. You’ll need protection soon.” She hopped up. “Let’s go!”
Leigh lifted the cross bar.
Xuan signaled his men to follow and led the way in.
Europhette and Armaan followed the troops. Leigh stayed put. The dragon would be hampered in tight quarters, and wouldn’t be needed to put down a prisoner.
Beyond the door was a portcullis—overkill for a prison cell. But it wasn’t a typical cell. Where there was normally a back wall, there was a downward sloping tunnel.
Her party opened the portcullis and hurried along the sloping passage. They only had minutes to do this. It got cooler as they descended. This looked oddly familiar, even though it was part of the asylum Uncle Lee had never let her see. The slope opened into a larger cavern.
It struck all at once.
This was Fatale.
The people were different and the walls weren’t icy, but this was definitely the cave. And as in Fatale, the snowman, the cyborg Thyestes, awaited them on a frozen throne, armed and armored. Now, why would a prisoner be armored?
It rose to meet them. “Well, you’re the wrong sister.”
Sister? Other than Sorana, her siblings died long ago. “Well, you’re the right loser.” She made an “L” on her forehead with her thumb and pointer finger.
Xuan shouted commands. Guards moved to engage Thyestes, or whoever was in the armor of Thyestes.
Wait, if this were Fatale, then that meant ….
Armaan shouted new orders to the remaining guards.
Two soldiers took up a defensive position in front of Europhette.
Franck, the only of her guard that was vardal, aimed a crossbow at a new target.
A woman with a snake tail and six arms slithered toward them. She’d obviously been created by a man. Her tight, leather armor gave lift and rise to her six amply-sized breasts. She wielded an assortment of weapons. Her armor was light, with limited pieces of plate over the leather.
Snowman was able to alter genetic codes? Then he probably was some sort of relative.
Thyestes said, “Meet your sister-in-law, Gabrielle.”
Now, in Fatale, Sorana had initially been kept out of the Thyestes melee. When Gabrielle appeared, Visor set Sorana on her, and Sorana had beheaded her within seconds. Should Europhette attack? No, that’s not how predictions worked.
Franck fired his crossbow.
From Gabrielle’s reaction, the bolt might have cut one of her arms.
The footman attacked Gabrielle.
Gabrielle snagged the edge of his shield with some sort of hooked blade. Using that to hold his shield down, she smacked the top of his head with a mace. That stunned the footman long enough for Gabrielle to stick a rapier into his torso.
Armaan and Franck moved in on Gabrielle.
Visor said Maciate was supposed to be out of this drone by now. Thyestes, the human, should be long dead by now. Maciate had to jump between drones to survive. Since Liesen had the Catalyst for the past few centuries, any drone would be dead by now, too. Snowman had to be ageless. And that only happened with children of Maciate. Snowman was a spawn. And that meant—
Gabrielle’s back was exposed. Europhette moved in and wringed her sister-in-law’s neck, slipping her hands under her armor and clothing. When Europhette’s palms felt flesh, she injected her prongs and turned on the current.
Gabrielle lost motor control and fell.
Franck stuck a dagger in Gabrielle’s ribs.
Armaan lined up Fifi for the coup de grace.
Europhette waved him off. “No! Pin her.” Europhette punched her snake sister across the jaw. She pulled two of Gabrielle’s arms behind her back and handcuffed her.
Armaan looked at her in shock.
“What, I have to play the part.” Europhette used a leather strap to bind Gabrielle’s other hands. “Just go help Xuan.” You know, playing vampire queen was getting old.
Anyway, it was time to kill her brother. For her insane sister.
What a family.
Europhette said, “Hey, your woman is down!”
“I’ll get another.”
Europhette’s vampire guards collapsed.
Snowman had turned off their conjoins.
Two could play that game. Europhette concentrated and was able to largely counter his signal.
The vampires could move now, but Snowman took advantage of their disorientation. He quickly killed one. Three of Europhette’s guard were on the ground.
Snowman linked with her.
Europhette felt so cold. She actually shivered. Just like all those years that bastard had terrified her.
Actually, I’m not the bastard. And you’re just my half-sister.
You’re not a child of Sasindara. You’re a Spawn of Mercy.
Armaan got Snowman’s attention and turned him to one side. Armaan was almost immediately disarmed and backpedaling for his life. He tripped and fell.
Franck smacked Snowman with an armguard, but in the following exchange, took a deep slash to the leg and punch to the face.
Europhette flanked Snowman and slammed her mace into his shoulder.
Snowman skipped sideways to rebalance then turned on Europhette.
Europhette was able to parry and doge a flurry of attacks. He was stronger and more skilled, and at least as agile. However, he had to rush to avoid being flanked by multiple opponents. She waited for him to over step, and when he did, she was able to smack a spike of her mace into his rear.
Armaan recovered his weapon and flanked Snowman. He swung hard, attempting to sever Snowman’s arm.
Snowman sidestepped the attack and elbowed Armaan under the jaw.
Armaan fell.
Europhette took advantage of the distraction, smashing Snowman’s knee with her mace, displacing the bones and causing him to fall to his other knee.
Snowman thrust his sword, sliding around Europhette’s mace parry and catching her in the pelvis.
She stepped back. It was a deep wound—very deep. She would bleed out before she could hope to defeat Snowman. She fell backward, hitting her elbow and head solidly on the ground.
Snowman stood, despite the obvious knee fracture. You suck at this.
Europhette tried what she was good at. She attacked Snowman’s conjoin. She was able to interfere with perceptions enough to disorient him slightly, but not enough to stop him. Europhette looked up at the Spawn of Mercy looming over her. Yeah, well,
my mom can beat up your mom.
“Hugh?”
Leigh glided in, roaring and crashing into Snowman. She clamped her claws on his shoulder plates and slammed him face first into the cold, stone floor. She sat on his back, pinning him. She bit his arm and twisted until it snapped and he dropped his sword. Then she bit his neck and pulled, twisting and gnawing until Snowman’s head popped off. She spit out the head and batted it across the floor. She walked to the head and spewed acid onto it.
“I guess size does matter.” Armaan recovered and moved to Europhette. He inspected her wound. “Shall I go for help? That’s bad.”
Europhette said, “No, it will be fine now. Just apply pressure until it clots. Watch your hands, though.” She was about to pass out. “I need water. Keep me warm.” With her last effort, she contacted Visor.
It’s done.
Chapter 76
Possession
Something incredibly malevolent violated Rapture’s mind. The Mortal Banshee, in Sorana’s body, wiped blood from its lip. Still on its knees, it looked up at Don. “Why, oracle? You cannot possibly survive this.” It shook its head and squeezed its eyes shut, as if to clear a haze.
Burke growled.
Don held out his arms. “Yet, here I stand.”
The Banshee grew stronger with time. Rapture could feel the psychic violation crushing her will … constricting her heart … suffocating her body.
The Banshee surveyed the animals and troops positioned around it, then looked past them to the Tower of Mercy. “Stand aside. This is not your concern.”
“I can’t do that. This must end here and now.”
“This is a waste of time and life.”
“These are drone hunters, armed with Mercy’s weaponry and trained to fight you.”
“Oh, please. They’re trained to fight cyborgs.”
“And that is why I have been recalled.” The Serene Knight Gwendolyn pulled off a hooded cloak and stepped between Rapture and the Banshee. In her full plate armor, she dwarfed the still-kneeling Banshee.
The Banshee spoke to Don. “You are smart enough to understand that the child was a novice in this vessel. And even so, she manifested as the supreme apex predator in your ecosystem. I designed this weapon. What do you think is about to happen here?”
Gwendolyn drew Blitzkrieg. It sparked with electricity. “Pathetic wretch or deity incarnate, this is your end.”
Don said, “The Moon Knight has spoken.”
The Banshee gave an annoyed sigh. A drop of blood fell from its lower lip. Time seemed to slow as it descended. Every sensation—every sight and sound was warped and intensified. It was as if the Banshee were manipulating time and space.
Rapture lost all motor control. She fell, paralyzed, as did the wardens, save Gwendolyn.
Don kneeled in front of Rapture, turning sideways so that he shielded her from the Banshee.
The Banshee’s jaw opened and it emitted a terrible wail. The sirens’ ears had natural protection from the sound, but the others did not. Don and the animals covered their ears and cowered.
Only Gwendolyn withstood the Mortal Banshee’s initial assault.
The Banshee’s form contorted into an impossible shape. Sections of its figure became shadowed—others blurred and distorted as if Rapture were viewing it through a glass of water. It attacked the disoriented gorillas, bursting their heads into a spray of blood and brain particles.
As the wail dissipated, the animals regained some balance. The cats leapt, flying past the Banshee’s figure and landing motionless with wicked, mortal lacerations on their bodies. The dogs charged, only to be cut down in a yipping whirlwind of guts and fur.
Rapture was now able to move in spurts as the Mortal Banshee’s paralysis became intermittent.
Some hunters were also making sporadic movements. One recovered enough to fire a crossbow at the Banshee. He missed badly.
The Banshee danced among the still-staggering hunters, a devil’s dervish, slicing off body parts and painting a fountain of blood. Wardens cried out as the Mortal Banshee cut them to pieces. Mid-spin, it hurled a throwing star at Rapture.
Don shielded Rapture with his body. The blade sheared off part of his left hand.
Though Rapture could not feel the wounds of the animals and hunters, she sensed Don’s pain acutely. Rapture touched him and channeled healing.
Gwendolyn took a position in front of Don. “Flee with Rapture. I will hold the Banshee here.” She held Blitzkrieg in the high guard position.
The Banshee threw a hand axe into Gwendolyn’s chest. It stuck in her breast plate.
Gwendolyn pulled it out and retook her stance, albeit weakened.
The Mortal Banshee finished the wardens. It paused a moment to breathe and reflect. It was content in the midst of its psychotic rage, drunk on blood, at peace with slaughter.
The Banshee strode up to Gwendolyn, brandishing a rapier and some cruel-looking hand claws. It indignantly sidestepped Gwendolyn’s attack, dropping the rapier to claim a shared grip on Blitzkrieg. The Mortal Banshee punched its clawed fist into Gwendolyn’s chest. It twisted the claw, digging. It ripped out an oozing organ.
The Serene Knight Gwendolyn collapsed, leaving Blitzkrieg in possession of the Banshee.
The Mortal Banshee, the deity incarnate, the culmination of nightmares, stood over the Gwendolyn’s body. It let Gwendolyn’s dripping heart fall out of its hand and squish on the knight’s body. Blitzkrieg crackled, arcing electricity from blade to the Knight’s armor. Light reflected on blood spatterings that decorated the Banshee’s figure. The Banshee gazed longingly at the Tower of Mercy, then with irritation, turned to Don and Rapture.
Burke was scared, but somehow, despite the horror, Don was only sad. And it wasn’t really sadness. It was more like pity—some guilt, but mostly pity. It was incomprehensible, but Rapture drew strength from his confidence. She trusted him.
Three steps from them, the Mortal Banshee fell to the ground, its muscles in spasm.
The animals and wardens faded away, along with the grotesque remains. The natural turf was replaced by a smooth, stone floor. They were in the tower’s map room.
Rapture experienced a moment of reality discontinuity, so disorienting that she might have fallen had she been standing. Now able to move normally again, Rapture stood.
The Mortal Banshee strained to speak through clenched teeth. “To what end? This is meaningless. The best you can hope for is to destroy this body and survive the day.”
A solemn Mercy appeared out of thin air. “Be still, my wayward child. You are almost home.”
The Banshee concentrated for a moment, then became distraught. “How? You stupid, soulless machine!”
Don said, “Mercy, what do you see?”
Mercy spoke with a voice that sounded like many starting out of phase and then converging. “I see my child and the nightmare. I see Innocence and the Mortal Banshee. I see the Sparkling Angel and the demon that enslaved my husband … that incinerated children … that hunted us.”
“Then burn it.” Don’s voice echoed.
The Banshee tensed and convulsed. “No … please! I want to live.” It gasped and strained, speaking in a tone more typical of Sorana. “Natalia … helfst mir! Es gibt mord. You know Mercy to be false. She is compelling Don!” It screamed in agony.
Mercy said, “Soon that vessel will be cold. Release and come home, my child.”
The Banshee growled in defiance.
Mercy continued her passionless speech. “To survive, you only need my boundless warmth.”
Rapture met the Mortal Banshee’s gaze. She felt the violation of her mind. Night closed in as she was pulled into Hell.
Chapter 77
Wounds so Deep
Rapture stood in an arena. Demons and lost souls filled the stands. She spun around, surveying the crowd. Her body was fit and agile
. She moved without a limp. She was armed with a spiked, metallic morning star. It looked heavy, but it was well-balanced and Rapture’s body was strong. A gray cloud shrouded her. As she moved, it left a temporary trail of shadow stuff.
Two other combatants were in the arena—a man in full plate armor and a horned creature. The man’s armor markings denoted him a paladin of Bahamut. He emanated a soft, blue aura. She knew him, somehow, to be of the name Mettleheart, though in Rapture’s own heart, he occupied the role of Don.
The other creature was a large bipedal with four horns, two sprouting from his forehead and curving to point up, and two others emerging from the base of his skull and curving to point forward. It was the height of an ogre, but had brownish-red skin and was more muscular. It wore a leather vest and a metallic, bejeweled belt with intricate etchings. She knew this to be Belial, the Lord of the Fourth layer of Hell.
The gong sounded, and the battle began. The crowd cheered.
Mettleheart charged to attack Belial.
Rapture, so agile and strong, ran to join the attack. Together, she and Mettleheart cut down the Lord of the Fourth.
Mettleheart turned on Rapture. “Be gone, abomination!” He held out his palm and emitted a bright, blue light. It was painful to Rapture and stunned her momentarily. She was barely able to fend off Mettleheart’s ensuing attack. His onslaught was energetic and methodical. He was skilled and focused.
But Rapture, in what she knew to be Sorana’s body, was simply too fast for him. She dodged and parried Mettleheart for a time, then found herself trapped against a wall. “Why, Beloved?” Out of options, she produced a dagger and thrust it under his helm, deep into his neck. She ripped it forward, severing his artery and wind pipe.
The paladin collapsed.
The crowd went wild with cheers.
She fell to her knees next to Mettleheart. Overcome with anguish, she shoved the dagger into her own temple.
Rapture floated in the border astral state between the dimensions of dreams and consciousness.
A voice spoke to her. She recognized it as Lara. “The Banshee attacks your psyche. You must choose.”
Rapture thought, and her thoughts became a voice. “I can’t feel you … I can’t smell you … do we even exist?”
Lara said, “Dearest Natalia, trust that it is real—that he is real.”
“My Konigin, I don’t know what to do.”