Walking On Broken Glass, Part Five:
Knight Takes Bishop
The monsters charge towards us, claws and teeth outstretched and coated with thick, stinking mucus. Hulking, muscular beasts with leathery bat-like wings sprouting from their shoulders lead a charge of slithering, crawling beasts that have no eyes or mouths, but have leering, bloodthirsty expressions nonetheless. Oozing creatures that are more liquid than flesh leave stinking trails of pus and slime in their wake as they flow fluidly over the rocky ground, eager to get to where Warren, Logan and I are standing. I can hear their insane moans getting louder and louder every second, and I can feel their thoughts (such as they are) battering against my skull like a hammer. Beside me, I can sense Wolverine's eagerness to throw himself at the horde of misshapen creatures, to hack away at them with his claws until he is swamped. It's almost as visceral as what I'm sensing from the beasts in front of me, and I can feel Logan's control inching slowly beyond his grip. Nodding towards him, I say Stay calm, Logan. Trust my judgement.
In response, Logan simply growls and trains his eyes on the approaching beasts, trying to pick out the largest, most dangerous targets, and then sheathes and extends his claws twice within the space of thirty seconds. "Don't know how much longer I can just sit here, Betsy," he says, his voice clearly showing signs of strain.
"Times like this, I wish I still had my metal wings," Warren says by way of agreement. "You sure you know what you're doing, Betsy?"
"Absolutely," I say solemnly, keeping my eyes trained on the thralls of Lady Mortis as they thunder towards us on cloven hooves, thick, muscular feet and undulating, snakelike bellies. "Brace yourselves… this is going to get messy."
The monsters' approach begins to shake the ground. I can feel the heavy vibrations shivering their way up my legs and into my spine, causing me to tighten my grip on my katana blades reflexively. Forcing my tensing muscles to relax as much as I can, I watch the beasts charging towards us, and then turn to look at the passageway behind us. "Back up to the tunnel entrance," I say. "It'll give us a fighting chance if they're bottle-necked like that."
"Good idea, Betts," Logan says, loping back into the protection of the tunnel's oval mouth, his claws losing the gleam that the cavern's sickly red light had been casting on them. He hunkers down on his haunches, like a wolf sniffing a carcass, and smiles bestially. "This is gonna be fun," he continues, licking his lips in anticipation (his thoughts don't quite match his demeanour, but I think he's just trying to maintain a confident air for my sake). Reluctantly, Warren joins him, squaring his shoulders and keeping an eye trained on the distant Lady Mortis as she watches us, just as I am. The woman is watching us intently – obviously she doesn't want us dead, or we'd probably be dead already. No, I'm guessing that she wants us taken alive, which gives us a slight edge – not a big one, but an edge nonetheless.
The creatures are close now. I can see the ropes of drool strung from their fanged jaws, and the glittering malice in their eyes sings to me through discordant pulses of repugnant thought-energy. When they are close enough for the smell of their unwashed, disease-ridden bodies to assault my nostrils, I close my eyes and say Now.
At my single telepathic command, Bishop, Cyclops and Cannonball rain energy blasts down on the creatures, establishing a solid barrier between them and Wolverine, Warren and myself. Behind the curtain of energy I can hear them howling in frustration and anger, and I can feel them screaming in pain as they hurl themselves bodily at it to try to break through, the smell of sizzling, rotten flesh wafting through the air like a thick mist. When the energy dissipates, its after-effects are startlingly obvious – injured creatures lie here and there, stinking steam rising off their broken bodies. Some of them are dead, missing arms, legs or heads, their corpses leaking hissing blood onto the ground. It scares me a little that I didn't react even though I felt each and every one of them die, their psychic death howls dissolving inside my mind like butter on a griddle.
Then again, the Dawn's agonising screams are drowning out virtually everything else at this moment. It begs me to cut loose, to throw myself into the thick of the creatures, to spill as much blood as I can. And right now, I can't say I feel inclined to deny it what it wants.
Almost within the space of a single heartbeat, the remaining creatures begin to hurl themselves at us once again, crawling and scrabbling over the bodies of their fallen comrades without a second thought. I meet one of the leading beasts head-on, using a sideways parrying motion of the blade clutched in my right hand to fend off a sweeping strike from one of its clawed paws, and then slicing with the other to hack through a thick, corded tendon in its left leg. Hamstrung, it stumbles to the ground and lies squealing and thrashing in fear as its lifeblood pumps onto the ground, black and viscous. It's no immediate threat to me, so I ignore it and concentrate on the next monster attacking me – a gelid mass of tentacles and poisonous spines that doesn't seem to have any definite nerve centre for me to attack psychically. It roars at me in a liquid, phlegm-choked voice, gurgling hate-filled messages as it sends two of its larger tentacles towards me. They wrap around my body, cinching tight around my waist and abdomen and squeezing hard. Seeing that I can't get free by myself, I try a desperate telepathic message to my closest comrade.
Logan – help me –
Snarling, Logan looks around from the body of the many-limbed mutant he has just killed, his rough, hairy face smeared with a long splash of green blood, and instinctively lashes out with one set of claws, slicing through one of the monster's tentacles with almost contemptuous ease. The affected limb flops to the floor and writhes for a moment or two before becoming still. Screaming in agony wordlessly, the creature quickly withdraws its other tentacle, leaving a long smear of slime around my waist, and then lashes out with it, knocking me flying to the ground. I hit the ragged stone floor hard, and I can feel my costume tearing and my skin being shredded, the surface of my shoulder, my side and my right thigh suddenly alive with pain, a large cut opening like a flower on my temple. And then… and then the pain subsides, to be replaced by a cold that I've only felt once before. The vision in my right eye disappears for a moment or so, the darkness beginning to flow over my eyeball as easily as it has the rest of the right side of my face. Then, after a moment or two, it returns – the same, but different. I can see things as I did before, but on top of that I can see the darkness in their souls as well. I remember the same sensations almost overwhelming me when I became Kuragari's Shadow Queen, but now they feel like an old friend. They frightened me before – before they took control of my mind, that is – but I know them for what they are now, and I'm not afraid.
I'm not afraid.
Through our rapport, I can feel Warren's abject horror as he catches sight of my savagely bisected face out of the corner of his eye, as he sees the ragged mixture of flesh and living shadow that my body has become. As he slams a demon into the side of the cavern's mouth with a single sweeping movement of his right wing, its snow-white feathers streaked with black ichor, he sends to me an urgent telepathic message. Betsy, he begins, urgency hanging heavy in his psionic tone, your face –
– is the least of your worries, Warren, I tell him sternly. I'm in control. Don't worry.
Warren's thoughts clearly show that he's not convinced, which doesn't surprise me, but he reluctantly chooses to focus on something other than me for the moment, and so do I: I can see Brian and Meggan beginning to approach our position, hitting the horde of creatures from the rear and striking as hard and as fast as they can, catching the monsters completely by surprise. Flesh tears and blood splatters as Meggan's homemade claws hit whatever is stupid enough to stand its ground and fight her, and Brian's strength and power as Captain Britain makes short work of anything that stands in his way.
I see you made it, then, I send to Brian, with a touch of grim gallows humour. About time.
You noticed, did you, butterfly? Brian's response comes to me with a haggard undertone, his usually bright thoughts feeling soured and drawn. Just as he finishes speaking to me, he spins agilely on the point of one foot and with a scything kick catches a hunched-over beast-man in the temple, just below the thing's evilly-sharp, elaborately curved horns, crushing bone like paper and making the thing drop like a stone, its muscular bulk crashing heavily to the ground. In an instant, the body is being squabbled over by a scrabbling knot of pustule-covered green imps, who punch and kick at each other in order to be the first to gnaw on their prize. Brian steps quickly over the thing's fallen club (a thick, brutal thigh bone with rusty iron spikes nailed through it, which looks like it's been freshly torn from the leg of something even bigger and nastier than its former wielder) and hammers his fist into the throat of a scaly, bipedal lizard-like creature, pulping cartilage and ripping flesh without a second thought. I can sense his disgust at what he's having to do, but I can also sense the realist in him thinking that this is the only way he'll survive.
Scott, can you give me some more firepower? I send to Cyclops. We're getting swamped down here.
I wish I could, Scott's telepathic voice comes back at me, but we've got our own problems right now. We're holding those things off for the moment, but I don't know how much longer we'll be able to do that. There is a slight pause, and Scott's thoughts paint a searing picture of a hairy, gibbering beast dropping to the ground after its kneecaps have been completely shattered by quick, surgical optic blasts. Whatever you're going to do, Betsy, do it fast.
Easier said than done, Scott, but I'll try, I tell him, and break the connection. "Bad news," I shout, trying to make myself heard over the din of battle.
"Is there any other kind?" Warren says sourly, thundering the techno-organic cast on his right hand into the face of a hissing snake-man and shattering its eye socket, spraying watery green blood over his knuckles. Swinging my blades in two tight, slicing arcs, I decapitate the creature as it staggers back, its smashed face fountaining vital fluids, and then I speak again.
"Scott, Bishop and Sam are all tied up. We're on our own."
"Suits me fine, bub," Wolverine snarls, his voice little more than a throaty roar as he stabs both sets of claws into the meaty chest of a winged bat-creature almost a full two heads taller than him. It roars in irritation, as if he has merely pricked it with a blunt needle, and swats him against the tunnel's wall, smashing him through several feet of rock without any trouble whatsoever. Meggan and Brian rush to defend him as he lies on the rocky floor of the cavern, dazed and unable to move, Brian's super-strength knocking the huge beast down and Meggan's jury-rigged claws dicing several of the scavenging imps as they caper and dance towards her. She screams in frustration and rage as wet slices of flesh slide off her talons and splatter messily onto the floor, her anger at being boxed in like this broadcasting itself to everybody around her – especially me.
"I can't stay here," she growls. "This is crazy."
You won't get any argument from me there, I send to her, as I evade the lengthy, crocodilian jaws of a lizard-like creature similar to the one I just beheaded, its snapping razor-teeth trying to eviscerate me with one bite. As I sway gracefully out of its way, I grab the fluted, scaly spikes on its muzzle and bring a knee up hard into the bottom of its jaw, breaking bones and splintering teeth with equal ease. Then, as if on cue, fragments of enamel spill from its ruined gums, pattering on the floor of the cavern like hailstones. The creature howls in pain, raising a clawed hand to its shattered teeth to fumble at the bloody stumps which are now all that's left of its impressive set of fangs. Not hesitating for an instant, I hit it with a backhanded blow from my right fist, slamming the pommel of my katana blade into its temple and crushing the bone there like wet paper. Brained, the creature hits the ground with a meaty thud and then lies still, never to move again.
I can feel the Dawn writhing in almost orgasmic joy inside my head, delighting in each and every blow I land. And with each punch that finds its mark, every kick that hits precisely where I wanted it to hit, I can feel my resistance to it lessening. Every time I shed blood to defend myself, my desire to throw myself completely into the Dawn's cold embrace grows, and I can feel the liquid shadows that now form over half my body gurgling with joy as they sense my last few slivers of resolve slipping away inch by inch. And not only that, but every time my shadow-fist hits flesh, it leaves slithering tendrils of Dawn energy crawling over the impact point, as if I am inadvertently infecting others with its poisonous touch.
The smell of sorcery – a sickly-sweet, invasive scent that I have become used to since I was linked to the Dawn – hits my nostrils suddenly, and I look over to where I can sense it coming from. In the distance, I can see Lady Mortis raising her hands above her head, her fingers crackling with bright pulses of arcane energy. Even from where I'm standing, I can see the smile of anticipation that is crossing her lips right at this moment, and I can sense her hunger for the power that she craves, even through the confused jumble of hate, rage and insanity that the demonic mob is generating. The energy flows down the length of her arms and I can see her eyes beginning to glow, like two searchlights at midnight.
It's nearly time to begin, she says, in a voice that crouches at the back of my mind like a hyena. Echoes of her psychic laughter rattle around inside my brain as she does so, and I can sense her satisfaction at having me and my friends so boxed-in. Don't be afraid.
Funny, I tell her caustically. I was just about to tell you the same thing. I break the telepathic contact as abruptly as it had begun, not wanting to give the woman any satisfaction at all, but then something happens to throw my fragile composure completely into chaos.
In the distance, I see Mortis unsheathing both her long sword and a slender dagger. Both the blades glow with potent eldritch energies, which I can feel thrumming upwards from the base of my spine. Their mystical power resonates in my teeth and brain like discordant music. Oh, I don't doubt it – but whoever said I was talking to you? Lady Mortis' cruel satisfaction is richly evident in her psionic tone as she worms her way back inside my head with little difficulty, like a maggot into rotting meat. I'd be willing to bet that your children will be far more in need of courage than you, after all… especially that little boy of yours.
That causes me to snap. A psi-bolt, the like of which I've never created before, explodes out of my skull and carves a path of destruction before it, striking down everything in its path. Alien minds are torn apart at their very foundations by the combination of my pure rage and the dark power of the Dawn, ripped to shreds and cast screaming into oblivion. Skulls crack under the force of my assault, malformed limbs flopping to the ground weakly as their strings are cut without so much as a second thought. Gurgling, guttural cries for mercy go unanswered, my mind snuffing out everything it touches with murderous efficiency, even as I feel two warm streams of blood flowing from my nose and dripping on the ground. My brain feels like it is almost bubbling from my ears, but my telepathic assault doesn't let up – that is, until it finds its way right to Lady Mortis' twisted consciousness and stops dead as it is halted by the dark magic protecting her, as if it is a bullet shot point-blank at a concrete wall. By then, however, I have started to charge towards her, my body fuelled by little more than adrenaline and fury. Behind me, I can sense my team-mates following me, stepping over twitching, ruined alien corpses as they try desperately to keep up with me, but I don't take any notice of them, and soon leave them behind. As the creatures that weren't killed by my telepathic assault close ranks before me, their claws raised and their teeth bared, I simply hew them down without even thinking about it. In only a few moments, my blades are slippery with blood and my hair is thick with gore, but I don't even notice it.
All that I can see is Lady Mortis with her sword raised, ready to make a sacrifice of my children, my son and daughter – the people for whom I have sacrificed so much, with so little expectation of rewards – and the sight fills me with bottomless rage. A scream builds in my throat, raw and searing, and then I release it as I hurl myself towards my quarry, tightening my grip on my swords reflexively as I do so.
Turning away from my children, Lady Mortis steels herself to meet my charge, squaring her shoulders and raising her own weapons in readiness. A slow smile spreads itself across her face as she does so, her fanged teeth glittering like a snake's before it strikes.
Come on, then, little girl, she goads me, her psychic tone becoming more and more arrogant and cocky with every word spoken. Time to earn your stripes. She swings her long blade in a whirring arc, the blade shining as it reflects the chamber's crimson light, and waits for me to come within speaking distance. I don't give her the chance to do that, however, and simply launch myself at her with all the strength I have left, howling with all the pent-up pain I have held in check all this time. Mortis raises her long sword to fend me off, and there is a shower of sparks as the eldritch blade meets my own weapons, metal screeching against metal. She uses the flat of her other weapon to smash me in the face, filling my altered vision with stars and sending me sprawling to the ground momentarily. Looking up at her from my prone position, I can feel my face twisting into an ugly snarl, as blackened, Dawn-altered hair spills down over my eyes. Then I speak, my voice guttural and rasping.
"Touch my children again," I hiss, "and I'll kill you."