Castle Walls
Far beyond these castle walls
Where the distant harbour meets the sky
There the battle raged like hell
And every dove had lost its will to fly
– Styx
The building formerly known as Needham Asylum stood quiet in the early morning light, a stark contrast to the frenzy of activity it had been in the days preceding. As the nerve center for the civil war against Abbadon, it had been humming with squads of fighters receiving orders, spies hurrying back and forth with news, troves of weapons and sorcery supplies being delivered. Now, it resembled a ghost town, its dim corridors largely deserted. All hands had been sent away to their designated posts for the final confrontation. All except one.
Devishi Chaudhuri was going out of her mind. She roamed the empty halls of the asylum, gnawing anxiously at her fingernails as she waited for news. She'd endured two days of this torture, ever since Crowley had left for the Humboldt. If Devi'd had her way, she'd be there too, but Crowley had insisted she remain here until the last possible moment.
"Pawns move first," he'd advised her. "We'll clear the ground for you, make sure you've got a straight shot at the queen bee."
Devi had argued that she should at least be in Cleveland ahead of time, but Crowley had ruled that out, too,"Our plan hinges on surprise, so I don't want so much as a whisper of your presence about the place until we're ready to strike." Andrews would attempt to teleport her there when the time came, and failing that, Lucas had a car ready and a Gulfstream waiting at the New Bedford Regional Airport.
She had anticipated a delay of only a few hours, maybe half a day, but the wait had stretched out interminably, her anxiety deepening with every passing minute. Something had to have gone wrong, she just knew it. Had Abbadon not showed? That was probably the most optimistic explanation, which meant Devi didn't believe it for a moment.
Yet Crowley had called in twice, letting them know that the plan was still in motion, it was just taking a little longer than expected, but everything was absolutely fine.
Devi shook her head, If this drags out much longer, that blood I gave them won't be any good. With great reluctance and after much arguing, cajoling, and attempted bribery on Crowley's part, she had allowed each of his prized fighters a minute vial of the precious catalyst; they had set out with the king as his personal guard, bearing angel blades treated with a fresh batch of her most potent formula.
She fingered the fighting knives belted around her waist, which were likewise prepared. She hadn't taken them off since Crowley left except to sleep, keeping them within arms reach at all times. She'd hardly been able to rest, or eat, or focus on anything except waiting. She couldn't even go for a run to ease her nerves, because she had to be immediately on hand, ready to move out at any moment.
So here she was, wandering the empty hallways alone, gradually reducing her fingernails to nubs, her sense of dread building with every passing hour of inactivity. She'd had no real destination in mind for her roving, but out of habit, perhaps, she found herself back in the library. It was empty too, oddly; Fletcher and Fierro were supposed to be here, standing by in case the need for last minute spellcraft arose. Devi looked down the aisles of bookshelves, but didn't see anybody.
She was still wondering about it when the side door was flung open, a young brunette rushing in and slamming the door behind her. She turned around and pressed her back to it, eyes wide and fearful, and Devi recognized Crowley's analyst, the one she'd spoken to in the kitchen that one time. Seeing Devi, she gasped out, "Thank Hell you're here! They're coming! Where are the witches?"
"I don't know," Devi answered. "They're not here. Who's coming?"
"Damn casters! Can't count on them worth anything!" the demon spat. There was a heavy thud on the door behind her, and she let out a little scream of dismay.
"Who's coming?" Devi repeated more insistently, coming to help her hold the door closed. "What's going on?"
"Kelson!" Priscilla panted, "He let in a bunch of Abbadon's people, opened the blasted gates and guided them right past all the spellwork! They're combing the asylum for anybody who's left, killing everyone who won't join them." She tried digging her heels in, but her dress shoes slid on the tile floor.
"Here, watch out," Devi instructed, pulling a table over and pushing it end-on against the door. "Come around to this side." Priscilla joined her at the far end. "That gives us some distance – do you have a weapon?" Devi asked her.
"I'm an analyst!" Priscilla shrieked. "Of course I don't have a weapon!"
Devi growled to herself, leaning her hip against the table as she drew both knives, nicking the back of her forearms and setting the blades against the shallow wounds. "Here," she handed one to the demon beside her.
"But I can't..." she began.
"You'd better!" Devi snapped as another thud resounded on the door, jarring the table against her side. She could hear shouts coming closer from the direction of the main door. Kicking the table up so it leaned against the door, she grabbed Priscilla's hand and pulled her into the rows of bookshelves, weaving between the stacks as she headed for the windows.
There was a clash and a clatter behind them as the side door burst open, knocking the table aside. At the same moment, the main door to the library slammed open, followed by the sound of numerous heavy feet tromping in.
"I swear I saw the little bitch duck in here!" one voice growled.
Priscilla let out a whimper, and Devi glared at her to be quiet. The analyst put a hand over her mouth to stifle any further noise.
"Of course she came in here, idiot!" another voice answered, "Somebody had to be holding the door closed."
"Huh, look at this," a new speaker, closer to windows, called out. "Hex bags and black candles – do you think they were expecting someone?" The speaker chuckled.
"Where the hell are those pissant witches? We've been sneaking around, expecting them to pop up around every damn corner, and I'm sick of it!" a fourth voice complained.
"You want to run smack into some black magic booby trap, you be my guest," a fifth snapped. "Until we find them, and that bitch of hunter, we play it safe."
"She's not so tough," a sixed chimed in.
Priscilla tugged Devi's sleeve as the two of them slunk down an aisle, flitting to the next row of shelves. "That's Kelson," she whispered in her ear.
Devi frowned. He sounded different than when she'd last heard him, but she supposed he might have changed bodies since then, given how she'd damaged the last one. His voice was much deeper now, suggesting his new host was an upgrade in size, if nothing else.
"You're one to talk, Ray Charles," the speaker by the window laughed.
"I'll make her pay," Kelson gritted out. "Before I gut the bitch, I'll dig her eyeballs out with a grapefruit spoon!"
"Do you have one on you, or do you need to run to the kitchen and get one?" the fourth voice taunted.
Meanwhile, Devi and Priscilla crept closer to the other side door on the far side of the room, using the shelves as cover. The last twenty feet to the door was out in the open, but it looked like the demons stalking them hadn't made it to this end of the library yet. They were mere steps from the exit when the door opened, a single, large figure standing there.
Devi gasped in shock, "Lucas?"
He seemed just as surprised to see them. He stared at them for a moment, his expression inscrutable, before decision flickered in his eyes. "They're here," his deep voice rumbled.
"Damn it!" Devi growled, seizing Priscilla's hand and pulling her back into the stacks. She slammed her knife back in the sheath, and grabbed the shelf above her. "Climb!" she shouted to the analyst as she began hauling herself up. She got to the top first, turning to give Priscilla a hand up. Devi had almost pulled her onto the top of the case when the pursuing demons surged down the row. One of them grabbed Priscilla's ankle and tugged.
"Help me!" she cried as her hand was yanked out of Devi's grasp. More of Kelson's crew were waiting to catch her. The timid demon never even got the chance to use the knife Devi had given her.
Devi turned away from the scene with a grimace, focusing on the demons that were attempting to swarm up the bookcase to get to her. She put paid to two of them before they could finish climbing up, but the third cunningly scaled the shelf across from her and jumped across the gap. Granted, she stabbed him in the stomach as soon as he landed on her side, but he set an example for others to follow. Devi dodged under the arm of one, shoving him off the case as she started running, leaping from one shelf to another as she headed back towards the door.
Reaching the last shelf, she saw half a dozen waiting on the floor beneath. "Come on, jump!" they jeered, "We'll catch you, we promise." Several of them had angel blades in hand, one or two still stained with blood.
She backed up, crouching on the corner shelf and glancing towards the window. She could hardly fight the whole crowd of them, not with just one knife, and she certainly wasn't going to give up the advantage of higher footing if she could help it. Better to let them come to her and pick them off one at a time. Returning to the main section of the stacks, she jumped from case to case, trailing several of the more agile demons along behind her atop the shelves like a kite on a string, as the heavier fighters on the ground tried to keep up. If she wasn't facing almost certain death, she might have appreciated how absurd the whole thing must have looked from a distance.
She had just turned the corner, wending her way back along the outer edge of the stacks near the windows, when the case she was on shuddered underneath her. She glanced down to see Lucas take several steps back from the shelf, getting a running start to throw his considerable weight against it again. The shelf wobbled, then began to topple towards the window. Devi crouched low, grabbing the underside of the topmost shelf as the bookcase fell crashing through the panes, crumbling the surrounding stonework. Slivers of glass peppered her arms, but she held on.
The shelf grated to a halt, wedged precariously in the window frame, its upper half hanging out of the second-story window. A glance behind her told Devi it was a long drop to the courtyard below. She began clambering up the face of the bookshelf, back towards the window; if she could make it to the side of the building, she could climb down the ornate facade and get to the ground safely. The shelf shifted, and she glanced up to see half a dozen demons shoving against its base, trying to push it the rest of the way out the window. Others stood behind them, throwing chunks of broken brick and concrete at her. Devi sped up. As the case tilted under her, sliding out into empty space, she leapt from the end, arms stretching towards the building. She was completely unprepared when a slab of concrete the size of a coffee table came hurtling at her, far faster than any physical force could have propelled it. It struck her in midair, throwing her backwards and sending her crashing down against the brick pavement below.
Her whole world became pain. She could barely muster the strength to push away the broken fragment pressing on her chest, making it almost impossible to breath. That sparse movement was enough to tell her that something, no, several things were broken. Her senses swimming, she could only watch as a dozen demons dropped from the broken window, taking the twenty foot fall in stride. The one in front, a broad-shouldered man with dirty blond hair, swaggered towards her.
"Lets see if there's enough left to play with," he grinned to his fellows, and Devi recognized Kelson's new voice. He strolled easily to the pile of rubble, and lifted the barely-conscious seer by her neck. Gripping her throat, he pressed her against the nearby wall. Despite his new body, she could see his eyes were white and cloudy.
"I can't tell you how sick it made me, watching Crowley fawn over you," he snarled, "his little science project. Almost as bad as finding out about his 'habit.'" He shook his head, "You know, I actually used to look up to him – clawed his way up from being Joe Crossroads Demon to the Throne of Hell. It was like the Pit's version of the American Dream." He bared his teeth and shoved her harder against the bricks. "But now, he's nothing but a washed-up, bloodsucking addict, and it was stupid, little humans like you that put him there." He smiled, a disturbing sight. "Well, now that the Queen's come into her own, she'll see to it that all you mewling bags of meat are where you belong," he leaned in to speak in her ear, "beneath us."
Devi gave a feeble growl, dropped her head to the side, and bit as hard as she could into the side of the demon's neck.
He jerked in surprise, then laughed. "That the best you got?" he chuckled, "Go on, kitty cat, take a proper bite."
The next noise he heard gave him pause: the growl seemed to come from the seer, but it was too deep, too loud, too big to have been made by a mere human. The demon felt a prickle on his neck, and the sensation sharpened painfully. He angled his eyes down at the girl's face, and a single eye the color of flame glared back.
"What-" the demon began, and found his words cut off by an inexorable tightening around his throat. The pain in his neck was acute now, as if someone had rammed a set of ice-picks into it. He pushed the seer back against the wall and tried to pull away, but the ice-picks in his neck seemed to have been joined by a series of meat-hooks set in his shoulders.
There was no mistaking where the next growl came from.
Crowley looked down from the veranda, taking in the view of the courtyard below. He stood quite still, one hand resting on the stone banister, the other in his pocket. He had been surprised, and frankly, a little disappointed at the lack of reception when he'd arrived, fresh from his triumph over Abbadon. Instead of a crowd of adoring minions eager to prove their loyalty in any sick, petty way he could desire, the King of Hell had found the asylum largely empty, apart from several ravaged meatsuits. He had followed the sound of destruction outside, and now stood watching with one brow raised.
"I'll be a son of a whore..." he murmured.
There was a tiger in his courtyard, burning orange and black, half as big again as such an animal had any right to be. Further, it seemed to have some arcane abilities; it was making hash of a mob of demons, savaging through their meatsuits and burning out the demonic essence inside. At one point, a trail of smoke crawled out of a mauled body, trying to escape; the tiger somehow caught the ragged wisp underfoot and shredded it like a scrap of tattered silk.
Crowley narrowed his eyes. He'd seen something like this before, in that old theater more than a year ago. "Chaudhuri, Chaudhuri, what have you gotten into now?" he wondered aloud as the tiger finished off the last of the demons.
It looked around the courtyard hastily, lashing itself with its tail. Finding no more adversaries, it turned and darted out of the enclosed yard, running down the driveway like a streak of flame. It was making for the gate.
"I think we've had enough of that, don't you?" Crowley looked down at the Hellhound at his side. It looked back at him expectantly. Crowley smiled grimly, "Sic 'em."
The Hound took the concrete balustrade at a stride, leaping down to the courtyard below and giving chase to the big cat. Gravel sprayed from under unseen paws as it hit the drive, rounding the corner of the building. Crowley smiled to himself as he heard its deep-throated baying, calling for the other Hellhounds searching the estate to join it in pursuit of its prey. He turned back inside, taking his time walking down to the main door in order to survey the damage.
In the main foyer, he found the mangled corpse of his butler sprawled on the floor of the entryway; it looked like whoever had killed him had made a valiant effort to determine the maximum number of stab wounds that could be inflicted on a single body. Crowley sighed, crouching by the bloody form of his retainer, "Oh, Andrews. I did warn you, my lad."
He recalled the conversation he'd had with his manservant after the Indiana excursion, following his chat with the seer. "Our little pet is coming along nicely, don't you think?" Crowley had asked him. "Nothing like a near-death experience for lowering the inhibitions." Granted, her response to his version of the Apocolypse was likely more attributable to her innate, wonderfully naive sense of fairness than any finer feelings towards him, but he could work with that.
"As you say, sire," Andrews replied evenly. "I trust she is recovering speedily?"
Crowley gave him a sidelong glance. "Not becoming attached, are we, Andrews?" he asked, the faintest undercurrent of danger in his tone. He had expected better.
It was often a problem with new demons: they'd come tearing out the Pit, swearing fire and murder, and then go all dewy-eyed over a child, or a dog, or a little, old lady that reminded them of their mother. There was nothing for it but to haul the softhearted sods back to Hell for reconditioning, finally releasing them to carry out the task of hunting down and ruthlessly slaughtering whatever had piqued their sympathy in the first place. Still, Crowley had thought a demon as mature as Andrews would be immune to developing fondness for a human, especially one known for killing his kind.
"Forgive me, sire," Andrews answered calmly. "I was under the impression that she was to be made comfortable and well cared for in hopes of rendering her tractable."
"Yes," Crowley said slowly, irritated at Andrew's reminder. As if it hadn't been Crowley's plan in the first place...
"And was I correct in understanding that you intended for me to make myself available to her as something of a confidant, if she was so inclined?" Andrews went on.
"Yes, yes," Crowley waved an impatient hand. "So long as we keep in mind the greater purpose here."
"You may rest assured of that, sire," Andrews had said with a slight bow and a very faint smile.
Back in the foyer, Crowley rose, shaking his head. It seemed Andrews had not kept his distance as well as one might hope. Still, his killing expressed a kind of brutality that surprised Crowley; even at her most vicious, the seer had never gone for that level of gratuity. He frowned, examining the body more closely. Although some of the stab wounds were slitted, as you would expect from a bladed weapon, better than half were almost rounded, as though they had been made with some sort of stake or spike. Crowley pursed his lips, puzzled. None of the seer's previous work killing demons indicated she used an implement like that.
He was drawn out of his musings by the distant howl of a Hellhound. He had tarried long enough. Stepping out the door, he walked up the main drive, hands deep in his coat pockets, thinking hard. What had happened in his absence? What could have possibly set the seer off on a rampage like that? Had she just cracked, or had she planned this from the beginning, playing him for a fool the whole time?
He picked up his pace. Whatever had happened, he wanted answers, and the first step to that was getting hold of that tiger from the courtyard, if that's even what the creature was. Another howl, this time of pain, sounded ahead, and he increased his speed again.
Rounding a bend, he saw a mound of bloodied grey flesh sitting in the middle of the drive. Approaching, he saw it twitch and quiver, then go still, and realized he was looking at the body of a Hellhound. Its sides were gouged with deep slash marks, and there were terrible bite wounds around its neck and shoulders, but it was the belly wound that had finished it. Whatever had killed it had raked its underside, tearing the flesh to ribbons and spilling its entrails. Like a cat on its back, kicking with its hind legs as it gnaws at your hand, Crowley reasoned. He continued up the drive in a cold fury.
Within sight of the gates, he caught up with another Hound. It was limping along, dragging its hind legs, its spine clearly broken from the twist in its back above the deadened limbs. It turned to look at him beseechingly, and he saw its jaw was shattered, hanging loose on one side. Crowley swallowed, resting a gentle hand on the beast's head. The Hound whimpered, leaning into his touch. "It's alright," he soothed. "Papa's here." A brief pulse of power, granting a quick, nearly painless death was all he could do for it.
The gates themselves had been torn from their hinges and thrown aside. Before them lay the still form of a third Hound, its throat ripped out. Sprawled out not far from it was the tiger, its bright coat stained and spattered both with its own blood and the black blood of the Hounds. Crowley's angel blade dropped into his hand as he neared the creature, but then he paused as orange and black pelt shifted, rippled, shrinking in size and fading in color, like blood washed away in the rain, until the small body of a human woman remained. She lifted her head, and despite the dreadful wounds all over her body, began crawling the last few feet to the gate. She got just far enough to reach one hand beyond the threshold, her fingers scrabbling in the loose gravel on the other side. A hoarse, rasping breath caught in her chest as she fought for air, at last rattling out of her throat. Her head dropped, the light fading from her brown eyes, wide with pain.
Crowley stood over the lifeless body of the seer, running a hand over his face. What a damned bloody waste.
NOT the end! But now we are in the homestretch. All my love and thanks to my beta, RobotRollCall, for getting me here! Also, apologies for the late upload, y'all - I've been sick.
