Foreboding Skies (The Skybreaker Saga Book 1) (16 page)

              An echoing cacophony of noise announced that my opponent both survived the collapse and still had enough strength to free himself from the rubble. From the opposite hill I took my aim. I wrapped the stone in my essence to speed its flight. The amount of power I laid on would take the missile to speeds that would kill nearly any living creature. Unfortunately, I seemed to be facing one of the exceptions. He was focused on kicking his way through the wreckage to notice the stone on a collision course with his skull until the last moment. He actually managed to dodge slightly. Instead of pulverizing his right eye my shot left a sizable dent in the bastard’s helmet.

              My second shot caught him right as he was opening his mouth, smashing his teeth down his throat. Maybe this would be easy. I couldn’t help but let the thought sprout up. My bludgeoning from a distance was a roaring success. I dared to think that I could have this situation wrapped up quickly. Then he did something. It looked like he was trying to yell…only no sound came out. Was he choking on his own teeth and blood? My subconscious screamed at me to get away from him. And I listened.

                 I turned and ran. Two hills away and still running I allowed myself a quick look back, and nearly slammed in a tree. What the hell. Extending in all directions from the collapsed hall was a putrid black wave leaving the land barren in its wake. That would kill me. Kill anything. It had to stop eventually. I kept running. My second glance informed me that the parasite was now running after me, bringing the black tide with him. He was steadily closing the distance between us. There was now only one measly valley to separate us. I still had five shots left. Might as well try it. I turned and snapped off a quick shot. My aim was off and he was easily able to dodge, right into the next one.

              It mangled his jaw severally. None of the previous wounds were present. His healing ability was outrageous. I slammed the next one into his throat. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard his grunt of pain. Three left. I was banking on the assumption that his lethal aura and rapid healing took a lot of energy and that he would run out of strength before I did. I needed to last long enough.

I took my time lining up my next shot. He was still staggering forward clutching at his throat. His bulging eyes made easy targets. Both projectiles found their marks. I carved them to penetrate and penetrate they did. The stones lodged themselves several inches through his eye sockets. Had it not been for the crushed throat I imagine he would have been howling with agony.

              I had one shot left. Dammit. He still wasn’t going down. I needed to be closer to ensure a kill shot. If his head were completely destroyed he would have to die. Right? My attacks disrupted his focus. His aura dissipated. Deep breath. I sprinted toward him. Down my slope and up his. I angled off to the side and came up even with him about ten yards away. Time to spike it like I scored the game winning touchdown at the super bowl. I wound up and stepped forward, putting as much force as I could muster into it. My shot hit his upper jaw and kept going through the rest of his skull. The top half went flying off as blood flew into air and the bastard finally went down. Now what?

              I crept toward his corpse. What I hoped was his corpse. If he was really dead then all of this should be over. Vlad would pull me out. Except Vlad said subdue instead of kill. He also said it would not be possible to kill this thing in a conventional way. What was an unconventional way to kill something? Only ten feet separated the two of us. He wasn’t breathing or moving at all. “Beam me up Scotty. I’m all done here.” I edged a bit closer. I had to be done. There were no signs of life. I removed his brain in a most violent fashion. I crushed his throat to paste. It was an ugly win but a win nonetheless. He was suppressed.

              He rolled on to his chest, pushed himself up, and threw himself at me in one smooth motion. He was a B-list horror movie monster that refused to die no matter how severe their injuries. My shock rooted me in place until he was upon me. Fingers like needles tried to gouge my eyes out. An eye for an eye you could say. Instincts kicked in. My essence coalesced around my left arm as I swept the jabs aside. His momentum carried him past me. He only managed to steal a small amount of my essence during the brief contact. My strategy yielded some fruit, he was being overwhelmed. Before he could turn and face me again I slammed a sledgehammer of air into his back. He tumbled roughly to the valley floor.

              I could do this. Maybe if I ripped out his heart he would be fully subdued. He shot upright. In the span of one standard blink his head fixed itself. It simply materialized back into place. I sprinted forward to build up my momentum. I couldn’t afford to be bogged down by this hindrance any longer. In a matter of hours a righteous man was going to die because of me. That blood was not going to be on my hands. I knew I couldn’t carry that much weight. Perhaps I was simply being selfish. Perhaps I was only trying to spare myself. Did it matter as long as I saved Joseph Hemmingway?

              Time to get wicked. I manifested my claws and wrapped them as tightly as I could in additional essence. He threw a backhand that I slid underneath. I planted my feet and swung for all I was worth. I needed to get through. An inch away from contact I felt my power being melted away. I could only pour more power into my attack. There was no going back know. No going back. Deep inside me, in my dank filing cabinet of emotions I opened my anger file. It was where I put all of my rage. I never let things go. I stewed and lamented. My anger file was the accumulation of all the rage I felt at every injustice, every tragedy that I couldn’t stop. The searing impotent rage that comes from helplessness, that’s the kind that burns the most. This time I wasn’t helpless, this time I could avert the looming tragedy. I could save a lot of lives by stopping Goodwin. And what was I doing? Fighting inside my own head against a parasite. Pathetic. If I couldn’t dominate in my own damned mind how the hell was I going to save anyone?

              Then I was past him. I cut him deeply. But my right hand was useless now. There was more bone than flesh looking back at me. At least I had one hand left. Despite my injury he fared far worse for the exchange. I pivoted to face him in time to see his upper body hit the ground. How did he still have an abundance of blood left in him? Eyes flooded with malice locked onto me and bloodied lips attempted a snarl. He wasn’t finished. Neither was I.

              My kick shattered his skull. My stomp broke his neck. I didn’t stop stomping until his neck was paste. Certainly a contender for messiest decapitation. I grabbed his torso by the shoulder with my bone hand and started cutting with the other. Cutting wasn’t the right word, it implied a level of precision. I was savagely shredding flesh and bone. Something tackled me from behind and teeth bit into my right should blade. With my left hand I clawed at my attacker. From a severed head he grew back enough of a body to attack me again. His deadly aura was tearing away at my skin. More of my strength had to be sacrificed for defense. If I didn’t have a larger than average amount of essence I would have been dead a thousand times over. My rage continued to build.

              It was an endless battle. I was Hercules slashing at Hydra heads but I didn’t care. It felt remarkably satisfying to rip him apart again and again. My strength could fail against his endurance but my rage never would. I just had too damn much to be angry about. The bastard reconstructed himself while I was tearing apart his previous body. He came at me once more. There was still a spark of madness in his eyes. In that moment I fully understood that I needed to break him completely. I had to snuff out the light in his eyes.

              It was a surreal scene. Every limb that I cut from joined the field of discarded flesh. “You cannot defeat me! I am eternal!” Savagery was my response. Nothing short of pure brutality.  I watched my body move on its own accord. My claws cut his chest to ribbons. I had no idea why this creature continued to conform to human anatomy, but I’m glad that he did. Within his chest cavity I found a cold black lump where his heart should have been. During my training I spent a lot of time in Africa learning Shamanism from some the greatest masters of the craft. They told me of a more savage time when Shamans were known to devour the hearts of their rivals to gain their power, with the side-effect of mental instability. It had long since been banned and any mention of the dark practice was taboo. A human heart was one of the forbidden fruits that I never before felt tempted by. But the cold lump in my hand was irresistible. I wondered what would happen if I took a bite. Only one bite.

              The taste that assaulted my tongue can never be adequately put into words. It was frigid and bitter, like biting into a block of ice. Then came a cascade of vile warm sewage. The memory itself still invokes nausea. The small chunk finally slid down my throat as my foe shrieked in agony. That shriek drove me to take a second, larger bite. My body shuddered in revulsion. I dug into my enemy’s heart with a renewed vigor. It didn’t matter what happened to me, only my most base emotions were driving me forward. I cloaked myself with blinding rage and pushed relentlessly forward.

              “Stop! Stop! I command you to stop! You cannot defy me!” .The heart was almost gone. The bastard’s screaming was fading away. The world was distorted. Everything was too heavy.  The ground rushed up to congratulate me. At least it was quiet. Then came a terrible cacophony, of shrill noise driving into my skull. My head was being torn apart. My body convulsed. Needles of pain emanated from my stomach. They tore through everything in their way until they breached my skin. The urge to scream louder than I ever had before was tremendous. But if I opened my mouth for even an instant the insidious foulness within me would escape.

              At some point it stopped. I was in hell and then I wasn’t. I knew that I was still alive. Or I was dead, that would explain why the pain stopped. But I felt like shit.  I wouldn’t feel like shit if I were dead.

Gradually I became aware of dull throbbing from my wrists and ankles. I belatedly realized that I was shackled down. Exhaustion crushed down any panic I may have normally felt. Besides, I had no intention of moving anywhere. My eyes were content to stay closed for the time being. Not moving sounded like a good plan. My bodily state was a combination of a severe hangover mixed with the flu. The more I thought about it the more never moving again made sense.

              People were talking nearby. I could hardly make anything out over the high pitched ringing in my ears. It was …Polish? It was a language that I knew. But pulling meaning from the voices proved too difficult. The tones were heated. Vladimir was chewing someone out in a rapid tone. And they were returning the favor. The owner of the unknown voice was a far less fluent speaker of the language. He dropped the effort completely. “I can’t speak polish for shite! You got a pair of real balls on ya mate! Think you can make these decisions all by yourself yeah?” An English accent. “I’ve known the bastard since before even your creator was spawned.” Damn. I was profoundly curious as to who would actually talk to Vladimir Rurik in such a manner. I desperately wanted to raise my head and crack an eye but my body didn’t share my motivation.

              “Thank you for expressing your honest opinion. But you were not here.” Each word was a bullet. “I know that there will be consequences for this. I am fully prepared to pay whatever price I have to. What do your cards say about the consequences of my reckless actions?” It was rare to hear the unflappable Vladimir sound petty. I decided that the effort required to open an eyelid would be worth a peek at the ballsy guest. Though both of them seemed utterly absorbed in their argument the moment I opened my eyes the conversation stopped. It was damned dark and everything was blurry. I could barely make out two stationary blurs.

“I’ll be off then mate. We are counting on you to see this through. And as far as my cards go… It’s pretty damned inconclusive.” An anti-climactic exit for the mystery blur. I enjoyed the classic English accent even if I had no idea what he was talking about. With any luck whatever it was would play out without bothering me. I didn’t feel that lucky. The blur that I pegged as Vladimir slumped down. If I didn’t know better I would say that Vladimir had been intimidated by the English bloke. Good thing I knew better. I knew everyone higher than Vladimir on the food chain. It was not an extensive list. But I was too exhausted to care either way and let myself nod off.

I was disturbed by Vlad flicking me in the nose. ‘Wake up. We can’t spend all night sleeping now?” I could have pointed out that the night was when most did their sleeping but settled for an aggravated groan.

“Was there someone else here?” I held the distinct impression someone had been arguing with him.

“Kovo has come and gone as needed. I believe congratulations are in order. You have overcome a major hurtle.” That didn’t feel right but with my recent mental lapses I wasn’t going to press the issue

“Is this what triumph feels like then?”

“Failure would have been far worse my friend. Now, we need to get you into fighting shape for tonight.” Tonight?

“How long was I out for?”

“About twelve hours.” 

“Does that qualify as a coma?”

“From a technical standpoint. I believe the minimum time of unresponsiveness required is six hours. But you were far from unresponsive.” The shackles fell away at his touch. “Holding you down proved to be vexing.” He had changed out of the robes and opted for a set of modern military fatigues. All in red and black. From a pouch on his leg he pulled a clear plastic bottle filled with a semi-liquid substance.

The room was slowly lightening. Despite that I could still barely see and my vision wasn’t getting any better. My eyesight was still fucked up. My everything was fucked up. “Drink this. It will help you recover your energy.”

“What’s the catch?” Miracle fixes typically entailed massive penalties later down the line.

“To be perfectly honest I don’t know enough to determine the side-effects.”

“Oh. What we’re about to is completely untested. I feel better already you ass.”

“Trust me. I’m a doctor.”

“Bullshit. Do you have a license?”

“You mean my license to kill. I renewed that last week.”

“I will attack you. I don’t care how near death I am.” 

“For you to do that, you will need this.” He dropped the bottle into my lap.

I raised the bottle to eye level for a closer inspection. The bottle felt warm in my hand. “Is it at least grape flavored?” The liquid inside was a rich amber color. It actually looked appealing. “Who did you get this from anyway?”

“Your drug dealer. The druid.” He didn’t like Izzy, or any druid for that matter. He found their slow pace utterly infuriating. It didn’t help that many a druid used their craft to grow various plants of excellent quality.

“Izzy is back already? I thought he would be communing with Mother Earth in Australia for another two weeks.” Druids returned to the land where they first learned their craft every hundred years to recommit themselves to Gaia. It was a damned serious tradition.

“Apparently the good mother told all her underlings to be especially vigilant. It must be rather serious for Gaia to tell her followers to stop smoking weed and decimating the supply of Cheetos and do something.” I understood his frustration. Druids took after their mistress in that they moved at a deliberate pace that some would say was an agonizingly slow pace. Nothing ever seemed important enough for a druid to show haste. This was a big deal. “Is his journey the reason why you stocked up?”

“What?” I asked.

“I didn’t bring it up earlier because there were more important things to discuss. But, Kovo and her team recovered exactly one point five kilograms of medical grade marijuana from your apartment.” Vald deadpanned with a raised eyebrow. I am ashamed to admit that I had forgotten about my stash.

“I need it for medical purposes.” I stammered.

“What medical purposes? You are a near immortal supernatural creature.” Vlad’s tone was rife with skepticism.

“Well…I get bummed when I’m out of weed. Does that count?”

“No. In fact, recreational drugs shouldn’t have any impact on you.”

“Izzy uses his druid mojo to grow some really powerful strains. That’s a good use of his power right?”

“No. Now drink.” I was beginning to sense a pattern. He had been forcing a lot of unknown liquids on me. And as with many so called choices of late I really had no other option. Our familiar banter acted as a welcome distraction from my body’s wreaked state. But I could only ignore my body for so long. I managed to work myself up to a sitting position and began sucking down my beverage. It tasted surprisingly bland at first. Then the aftertaste hit me. It took all of my self-control to finish the foul brew.