HUMERUS
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 7 of 8
EVEN THE DEAD MAY DIE
There was a small and very quiet voice somewhere inside Barry's head that was desperately trying to convince him that he was actually asleep, and all of this was just a dream - a strange, incredibly realistic dream, but with every cautious step Barry took towards Tenblade, towards the sword, the voice became dimmer and dimmer. Every living thing in the hall had fixed its gaze upon Barry as he slowly edged forward; as he moved, he stared up at the great demon's face, watching for any sudden trickery, but Tenblade merely stood still and waited.
At last Barry drew near to him, and carefully reaching up to the sword, sunk to its very hilt in the flesh of the demon's stomach, he grasped hold. It was disgusting - slick with congealed blood and gore that even now seeped onto it from Tenblade's innards. He tugged it hesitantly and felt it trapped tight, but as he pulled, there came a wet and ghastly sound of unravelling flesh, and the blade, along with a gush of thick, stinking fluid, slid out of Tenblade's body. A great murmuring rose up from the creatures gathered about, and they pressed closer, watching ever more intently.
Barry stepped back and held up the sword; there wasn't much left of it. The hilt and cross-guard had been partially corroded, and had rusted to a sickly orange colour. The blade was more or less non-existent; it extended for perhaps six inches, and was pressed and bent and burned so that it looked less like a blade and more like a thick twig - the rest of it had been eaten away.
"Oh, lovely." Said Barry.
But even as he stood there, wondering how he was going to defeat one of the deadliest creatures on the earth with what amounted to little more than a handle, the sword began to shake in his grip. Barry watched as the filth caking the hilt began to melt and slough off onto the ground, and amidst a thin, high-pitched whine, the metal began to smoothen out and brighten, till it was a blinding gold. Tiny pin-pricks of light emerged from the darkness around, and with an eerie metallic ring, they began to congregate upon the withered blade, flattening and stretching and hardening, until at last the ringing stopped, and the blade was reformed - a glowing silver, that was bathed in an aura of shimmering light. It was a beautiful, gleaming long-sword, and just holding it seemed to push back the shadows around, and bring hope into Barry's thoughts. The blade hummed gently as Barry turned it, gazing over it, wondering at how overwhelmingly familiar it felt in weight and grip; Tenblade's young balked at the sight of it, and shrank away, hissing and murmuring.
"SO. THE TIME HAS COME."
The time had come. It had all come back to him - how he'd found the sword, how it had changed him, how he'd led whole companies of men into battle, and into death. Barry could scarcely believe how completely cowardice had consumed his life, and his un-life - the very idea of fear now seemed utterly alien.
"It has." He whispered, as he held the flat of the blade to his brow, feeling the strength pouring into him.
***
They were close to the end now, but this last stretch would prove the hardest of all. The flesh golem could feel the evil that lay in wait, and time was fast running out. A legion of whispering shadows rippled through the misty murk ahead of them - Tenblade's children, out to gather souls for their dark father, and beyond them stood the great arch leading to the hall of Tenblade himself. Only one of the skeletons was unaccounted for, and it was as clear as day where he was. It had all come down to this.
With the Man in Black behind, and Morag and Kevin at its sides, the flesh golem charged.
***
Barry drew himself up and held the sword out in front with hands that were steady and calm. The crowd of beasts stirred, some of them turning and gazing back towards the great arched entranceway to the hall. They seemed suddenly uneasy and distracted, but Barry stepped forward, wholly focused, until Tenblade's shadow fell across him.
The demon said nothing, but only stared downwards, a look of knowing, and cold, ruthless malice smouldering in his eyes. One by one, each of his six arms reached down to his waist and drew out a scimitar, holding it high to the side. He seemed like some deadly, vengeful god, his dark blades fanned out and swaying slowly, seductively.
Something shook the ground, the sudden and thunderous sound of it catching up an instant later. Barry turned around; far behind, at the very entrance to the hall, there was a huge throng of moving figures. Dozens of creatures just beyond the arch had been sent reeling back into the hall - with terrific momentum, something was clouting its way through them, framed by fiery explosions and shrouded in white, seeping fog. A memory flickered in the back of Barry's mind; he recognised the figure, he knew it was one of his friends. But Barry no longer had any friends, and he no longer had any fear - he had only the sword, and his only want was Tenblade's lifeless body at his feet. He turned back around, to see a great whirling shape rushing towards him.
***
The flesh golem cannoned forward, not daring to slow, or look back. The great chamber had become thick with fiends, scuttling in through cracks in the walls and ceiling, pouncing from every direction, shrieking and spitting in a vicious frenzy. Things with huge, beating wings flapped down from their nesting places in the darkness above, swooping to attack with raking claws. The golem stormed on, hammering and ripping at anything in its path; it felt surges of raw magic across its back as its companions behind unleashed torrents of fire and freezing air, beating the hellspawn back, clearing a path as best as they could. The golem sensed the powers of life and death as the Man in Black called them forth, hurling his full might against the demonic horde. The four of them pressed forward, but even now, Tenblade's young closed in behind them, cutting off retreat; there were legions of them, whole swarms pouring in from every corner of the crypt. Too many for them to fight, or to escape. There was only one chance - the snake's head had to be severed. Carried by a gust of frigid wind, the golem hurtled onwards.
***
Metal flashed and gleamed, whining as great scimitar blades sliced through the air, then singing and sparking as they struck fellow metal. Barry reeled backwards, almost losing hold of his sword; again Tenblade came, his arms looping and arcing, before he swung with three blades together, sending Barry staggering backwards once more. Tenblade smiled, ever so slightly; Barry knew the demon was testing him, probing him. His own thoughts swirled; foreign knowledge and instincts fused with his own, and smothered them. For a moment, the two faced each other, their gazes meeting in the gloom. In one instant, with swords held high, they flew against each other. Sparks rained onto the ground as their blades met; faster than sight, even faster than thought, Barry's sword lashed and parried, glancing from one scimitar to the next. His mind surged with memories of their last duel - now, without the restrictions of skin and muscle, he was even stronger, even faster, coiling and weaving like a ribbon in a gale, delivering blow after blow, driving the great demon back step by step. Tenblade gave a great bellow of frustration, thrashing his scimitars wildly, but none found their mark. Barry darted in, and with a mighty upstroke, severed one of the flailing arms cleanly from Tenblade's body. Rolling forward, Barry rose and spun around to face him as he stumbled back, grasping at the bloody stump.
"That's five on, five off, mate," said Barry, with a touch of arrogance in his voice, "We keep going like this, and I'll have to start calling you 'Twolegs'."
Tenblade roared, his utter hatred of Barry rippling across his muscles and sinews. He charged in again, but he was off balance; his blows seemed loose and slow, and they hit nothing but empty air. In a matter of seconds, four deadly sword strokes deprived him of all but one right arm, its hand clinging desperately to the great demon's last scimitar. Barry danced around his reach, his sword still glowing brightly as it swayed and snaked in his grip.
"End of the line, Tenblade," said Barry, "this is your finish. You should have known you couldn't win this."
"FOOLISH.FOOLISH HEAP OF BONES." Grunted Tenblade, his once terrible voice now broken and hoarse, "I HAVE.ALREADY WON."
A tidal wave of something awful, something sickening and crippling washed through Barry's mind - it was fear. The pristine, whining song of his blade contorted suddenly into a menacing groan; its pure white glow muddied into brown, then a dank, bloody red, and the surface of the blade itself began to flake and blister.
"What.what's." stuttered Barry.
"DID YOU THINK.IT COULD HAVE STAYED INSIDE OF ME FOR SO LONG, WITHOUT GIVING ME SOME OF ITS SECRETS?"
With a dull clang, the sword fell from Barry's slackening grip onto the floor. Crawling horror swept over him, invading him; he floundered backwards, clutching his arms to his breast, hunching low like a frightened animal.
"IT TOO.HAS A SOUL, AND IT IS TIED TO MY CRYSTAL, LIKE SO MANY OTHERS. ITS POWER WILL EBB IF I WISH IT, AND SO I DO - IT.WILL GIVE YOU NOTHING MORE."
"You - you ch-cheat?" whimpered Barry.
"THIS FIGHT IS OVER - YOU.ARE OVER."
"But - but I th-thought you wanted.a f-fair fight? You wanted - wanted to beat-"
"MY PRIDE IS NOT SO GREAT.THAT I WOULD LOSE MY LIFE TO PRESERVE IT." Growled Tenblade. "A GREAT VICTORY IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TO DEFEAT YOU WITH THE BLADE.I WILL SETTLE.FOR YOU ALONE."
Barry couldn't move. His fear was a tangible thing, pressing him down to the flagstones; so much fear, crushing him, as though the past minute of reckless bravery was being counterbalanced. Tenblade lurched towards him; with but one remaining arm, he was a shadow of his former, terrible self, but to Barry, he was a monstrous leviathan - awesome, unbeatable. He stood overhead, his blood dripping down onto Barry's trembling bones, and drew his blade high. There had to be some way out, some way of resisting him, but Barry was too terrified to know, or even care what it might be.
With a mighty swing, Tenblade brought his scimitar down, and hacked off one of Barry's arms.
"WOULD THAT YOU HAD EIGHT MORE, THAT OUR SCORE MIGHT BE SETTLED. IT MATTERS NOT - I WILL MAKE AS MANY PIECES OF YOU AS I WISH!"
Another swing, splitting the stone beneath as it cleaved one of Barry's legs off below the knee. Barry squirmed and cried, his pain only adding to his spiralling terror. From some far off place, he heard a cacophony of inhuman sounds; Tenblade's young streamed up the steps from below, and they had brought trophies for their patriarch. The limp and beaten bodies of Morag and Kevin were flung onto the great rug of flesh in front of Tenblade's throne. Their bones were shattered and split; there was some fleeting glimmer of un-life about them, but it was fading fast.
The mob of creatures heaved, parting to either side, as something dragged itself forwards and up the final step. It was the flesh golem. Scraping along on its belly, leaving a thick trail of blood in its wake, it laboured towards the stooping figure of Tenblade. The golem's body had been torn to shreds; great chunks of it had been gouged out, and its broken bones stuck out at awkward angles, but it persevered, relentless, and determined. Tenblade's young spat and clawed at it as it inched forward, torturing away the last of its strength. At last, Tenblade stepped forward, and with a great downwards thrust, skewered the golem, pinning it to the floor.
Somewhere - somewhere down below, the Man in Black fought on, his last reserves of magick being worn down as a raging sea of fiends battered against him. He wouldn't last much longer. Time, however, had just run out for the skeletons and the golem. All had taken fatal wounds, and for them, the low light, which first seemed to fade and suffocate, finally went out. The crystal was calling.
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 7 of 8
EVEN THE DEAD MAY DIE
There was a small and very quiet voice somewhere inside Barry's head that was desperately trying to convince him that he was actually asleep, and all of this was just a dream - a strange, incredibly realistic dream, but with every cautious step Barry took towards Tenblade, towards the sword, the voice became dimmer and dimmer. Every living thing in the hall had fixed its gaze upon Barry as he slowly edged forward; as he moved, he stared up at the great demon's face, watching for any sudden trickery, but Tenblade merely stood still and waited.
At last Barry drew near to him, and carefully reaching up to the sword, sunk to its very hilt in the flesh of the demon's stomach, he grasped hold. It was disgusting - slick with congealed blood and gore that even now seeped onto it from Tenblade's innards. He tugged it hesitantly and felt it trapped tight, but as he pulled, there came a wet and ghastly sound of unravelling flesh, and the blade, along with a gush of thick, stinking fluid, slid out of Tenblade's body. A great murmuring rose up from the creatures gathered about, and they pressed closer, watching ever more intently.
Barry stepped back and held up the sword; there wasn't much left of it. The hilt and cross-guard had been partially corroded, and had rusted to a sickly orange colour. The blade was more or less non-existent; it extended for perhaps six inches, and was pressed and bent and burned so that it looked less like a blade and more like a thick twig - the rest of it had been eaten away.
"Oh, lovely." Said Barry.
But even as he stood there, wondering how he was going to defeat one of the deadliest creatures on the earth with what amounted to little more than a handle, the sword began to shake in his grip. Barry watched as the filth caking the hilt began to melt and slough off onto the ground, and amidst a thin, high-pitched whine, the metal began to smoothen out and brighten, till it was a blinding gold. Tiny pin-pricks of light emerged from the darkness around, and with an eerie metallic ring, they began to congregate upon the withered blade, flattening and stretching and hardening, until at last the ringing stopped, and the blade was reformed - a glowing silver, that was bathed in an aura of shimmering light. It was a beautiful, gleaming long-sword, and just holding it seemed to push back the shadows around, and bring hope into Barry's thoughts. The blade hummed gently as Barry turned it, gazing over it, wondering at how overwhelmingly familiar it felt in weight and grip; Tenblade's young balked at the sight of it, and shrank away, hissing and murmuring.
"SO. THE TIME HAS COME."
The time had come. It had all come back to him - how he'd found the sword, how it had changed him, how he'd led whole companies of men into battle, and into death. Barry could scarcely believe how completely cowardice had consumed his life, and his un-life - the very idea of fear now seemed utterly alien.
"It has." He whispered, as he held the flat of the blade to his brow, feeling the strength pouring into him.
***
They were close to the end now, but this last stretch would prove the hardest of all. The flesh golem could feel the evil that lay in wait, and time was fast running out. A legion of whispering shadows rippled through the misty murk ahead of them - Tenblade's children, out to gather souls for their dark father, and beyond them stood the great arch leading to the hall of Tenblade himself. Only one of the skeletons was unaccounted for, and it was as clear as day where he was. It had all come down to this.
With the Man in Black behind, and Morag and Kevin at its sides, the flesh golem charged.
***
Barry drew himself up and held the sword out in front with hands that were steady and calm. The crowd of beasts stirred, some of them turning and gazing back towards the great arched entranceway to the hall. They seemed suddenly uneasy and distracted, but Barry stepped forward, wholly focused, until Tenblade's shadow fell across him.
The demon said nothing, but only stared downwards, a look of knowing, and cold, ruthless malice smouldering in his eyes. One by one, each of his six arms reached down to his waist and drew out a scimitar, holding it high to the side. He seemed like some deadly, vengeful god, his dark blades fanned out and swaying slowly, seductively.
Something shook the ground, the sudden and thunderous sound of it catching up an instant later. Barry turned around; far behind, at the very entrance to the hall, there was a huge throng of moving figures. Dozens of creatures just beyond the arch had been sent reeling back into the hall - with terrific momentum, something was clouting its way through them, framed by fiery explosions and shrouded in white, seeping fog. A memory flickered in the back of Barry's mind; he recognised the figure, he knew it was one of his friends. But Barry no longer had any friends, and he no longer had any fear - he had only the sword, and his only want was Tenblade's lifeless body at his feet. He turned back around, to see a great whirling shape rushing towards him.
***
The flesh golem cannoned forward, not daring to slow, or look back. The great chamber had become thick with fiends, scuttling in through cracks in the walls and ceiling, pouncing from every direction, shrieking and spitting in a vicious frenzy. Things with huge, beating wings flapped down from their nesting places in the darkness above, swooping to attack with raking claws. The golem stormed on, hammering and ripping at anything in its path; it felt surges of raw magic across its back as its companions behind unleashed torrents of fire and freezing air, beating the hellspawn back, clearing a path as best as they could. The golem sensed the powers of life and death as the Man in Black called them forth, hurling his full might against the demonic horde. The four of them pressed forward, but even now, Tenblade's young closed in behind them, cutting off retreat; there were legions of them, whole swarms pouring in from every corner of the crypt. Too many for them to fight, or to escape. There was only one chance - the snake's head had to be severed. Carried by a gust of frigid wind, the golem hurtled onwards.
***
Metal flashed and gleamed, whining as great scimitar blades sliced through the air, then singing and sparking as they struck fellow metal. Barry reeled backwards, almost losing hold of his sword; again Tenblade came, his arms looping and arcing, before he swung with three blades together, sending Barry staggering backwards once more. Tenblade smiled, ever so slightly; Barry knew the demon was testing him, probing him. His own thoughts swirled; foreign knowledge and instincts fused with his own, and smothered them. For a moment, the two faced each other, their gazes meeting in the gloom. In one instant, with swords held high, they flew against each other. Sparks rained onto the ground as their blades met; faster than sight, even faster than thought, Barry's sword lashed and parried, glancing from one scimitar to the next. His mind surged with memories of their last duel - now, without the restrictions of skin and muscle, he was even stronger, even faster, coiling and weaving like a ribbon in a gale, delivering blow after blow, driving the great demon back step by step. Tenblade gave a great bellow of frustration, thrashing his scimitars wildly, but none found their mark. Barry darted in, and with a mighty upstroke, severed one of the flailing arms cleanly from Tenblade's body. Rolling forward, Barry rose and spun around to face him as he stumbled back, grasping at the bloody stump.
"That's five on, five off, mate," said Barry, with a touch of arrogance in his voice, "We keep going like this, and I'll have to start calling you 'Twolegs'."
Tenblade roared, his utter hatred of Barry rippling across his muscles and sinews. He charged in again, but he was off balance; his blows seemed loose and slow, and they hit nothing but empty air. In a matter of seconds, four deadly sword strokes deprived him of all but one right arm, its hand clinging desperately to the great demon's last scimitar. Barry danced around his reach, his sword still glowing brightly as it swayed and snaked in his grip.
"End of the line, Tenblade," said Barry, "this is your finish. You should have known you couldn't win this."
"FOOLISH.FOOLISH HEAP OF BONES." Grunted Tenblade, his once terrible voice now broken and hoarse, "I HAVE.ALREADY WON."
A tidal wave of something awful, something sickening and crippling washed through Barry's mind - it was fear. The pristine, whining song of his blade contorted suddenly into a menacing groan; its pure white glow muddied into brown, then a dank, bloody red, and the surface of the blade itself began to flake and blister.
"What.what's." stuttered Barry.
"DID YOU THINK.IT COULD HAVE STAYED INSIDE OF ME FOR SO LONG, WITHOUT GIVING ME SOME OF ITS SECRETS?"
With a dull clang, the sword fell from Barry's slackening grip onto the floor. Crawling horror swept over him, invading him; he floundered backwards, clutching his arms to his breast, hunching low like a frightened animal.
"IT TOO.HAS A SOUL, AND IT IS TIED TO MY CRYSTAL, LIKE SO MANY OTHERS. ITS POWER WILL EBB IF I WISH IT, AND SO I DO - IT.WILL GIVE YOU NOTHING MORE."
"You - you ch-cheat?" whimpered Barry.
"THIS FIGHT IS OVER - YOU.ARE OVER."
"But - but I th-thought you wanted.a f-fair fight? You wanted - wanted to beat-"
"MY PRIDE IS NOT SO GREAT.THAT I WOULD LOSE MY LIFE TO PRESERVE IT." Growled Tenblade. "A GREAT VICTORY IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TO DEFEAT YOU WITH THE BLADE.I WILL SETTLE.FOR YOU ALONE."
Barry couldn't move. His fear was a tangible thing, pressing him down to the flagstones; so much fear, crushing him, as though the past minute of reckless bravery was being counterbalanced. Tenblade lurched towards him; with but one remaining arm, he was a shadow of his former, terrible self, but to Barry, he was a monstrous leviathan - awesome, unbeatable. He stood overhead, his blood dripping down onto Barry's trembling bones, and drew his blade high. There had to be some way out, some way of resisting him, but Barry was too terrified to know, or even care what it might be.
With a mighty swing, Tenblade brought his scimitar down, and hacked off one of Barry's arms.
"WOULD THAT YOU HAD EIGHT MORE, THAT OUR SCORE MIGHT BE SETTLED. IT MATTERS NOT - I WILL MAKE AS MANY PIECES OF YOU AS I WISH!"
Another swing, splitting the stone beneath as it cleaved one of Barry's legs off below the knee. Barry squirmed and cried, his pain only adding to his spiralling terror. From some far off place, he heard a cacophony of inhuman sounds; Tenblade's young streamed up the steps from below, and they had brought trophies for their patriarch. The limp and beaten bodies of Morag and Kevin were flung onto the great rug of flesh in front of Tenblade's throne. Their bones were shattered and split; there was some fleeting glimmer of un-life about them, but it was fading fast.
The mob of creatures heaved, parting to either side, as something dragged itself forwards and up the final step. It was the flesh golem. Scraping along on its belly, leaving a thick trail of blood in its wake, it laboured towards the stooping figure of Tenblade. The golem's body had been torn to shreds; great chunks of it had been gouged out, and its broken bones stuck out at awkward angles, but it persevered, relentless, and determined. Tenblade's young spat and clawed at it as it inched forward, torturing away the last of its strength. At last, Tenblade stepped forward, and with a great downwards thrust, skewered the golem, pinning it to the floor.
Somewhere - somewhere down below, the Man in Black fought on, his last reserves of magick being worn down as a raging sea of fiends battered against him. He wouldn't last much longer. Time, however, had just run out for the skeletons and the golem. All had taken fatal wounds, and for them, the low light, which first seemed to fade and suffocate, finally went out. The crystal was calling.