Time passed, and Gohma systematically destroyed nearly every single city in the world. He went from city to town to village with the same uncaring arrogance. He didn't care about the size of the town as long as there were people in it. He had hidden Marlene somewhere after leaving Rashelo, and no one had an inkling of where.
Hopkins followed Gohma's path of destruction, hoping in vain that each location would bring him face to face with his enemy. The ghosts ran rampant across the world, now, forcing Hopkins to take up the sword and learn its use. He slew ghosts in the towns, rescued people, and helped with other things as best he could. He never saw another town damaged as badly as Rashelo had been, but the loss of life was still so tremendous.
People more or less ignored him, at first. But as time went on, they noticed him more and more. They started calling him a Hero, a savior. His reputation for helping the people preceded him, and they started watching for him and welcoming him. He wasn't the Great Hero, of course, but he was welcomed with more enthusiasm than if he had been. To be celebrated was a heady new experience, but Hopkins never forgot his goal: to destroy Gohma.
He was in a small town called Arlington on the opposite side of the mountains from Madril. It had been hit extremely hard, but fortunately, no one was killed here. They had had sense enough to post a lookout, so they could get away when the Evil King showed up. He had reduced the town to ashes in his anger at finding everyone gone, but at least they were safe. Hopkins was using the opportunity to take a break. Months of being one step behind the Evil King had taken its toll on him; he was beginning to think he'd never catch Gohma.
"He'll be on his way to Madril, next," said an old man. Hopkins turned slightly as the man approached.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "It's the only one left."
The man patted his shoulder. "You'll get him. I guarantee it."
Hopkins smiled. "Yeah, right. I'm not even the real Hero."
"How do you know? I haven't seen anyone else around to claim the job."
As if on cue, someone shouted, "Listen, everyone! Gather around!"
The man who called them was young, about nineteen or so. He had spiky black hair, and stunning blue eyes. He was a very handsome young man, and the young girls swooned accordingly. He carried a sword that was almost as big as he was.
"I think I see him, now," Hopkins said wryly. He chuckled. "How does he use that thing?"
"Who knows?" his companion answered.
The young man was still shouting. "I am the Great Hero Maximus! I will defeat Evil King Gohma and bring an end to his reign of terror!"
Hopkins scoffed. "Yeah, sure you will. When Mommy finishes nursing you."
A few people who were close enough to hear this comment started laughing. Maximus noticed, and said, "What? You don't believe me?" He sounded very insulted.
Hopkins wasn't sure what happened. He felt something come over him, and he didn't know what. All he knew was that he did not like this arrogant man at all. "I'll believe it when pigs grow wings and fly to the moon," he responded.
More laughter greeted this comment; apparently, many of the townsfolk were of the same opinion. Maximus scowled at Hopkins. "I am the Great Hero. I was chosen by the King himself."
"I haven't seen you doing much Hero-ing, lately," Hopkins returned angrily. "Where were you yesterday when Gohma was blowing this place to bits? Or last week, when he tried to level the Highlands? Maybe you were doing other, more important things. Like cleaning that monstrosity of yours, so it'd be nice and shiny when you meet Gohma."
The crowd nodded and murmured approval at Hopkins's gall.
"Yeah, where were you when he was in Montgomery?" someone shouted.
"He killed my family in Rashelo!" yelled a distraught woman near Hopkins. "Where were you then?"
Maximus looked around him in something of a panic. He had been angry at the start, but now, in the face of such accusations, he was becoming increasingly nervous. "I-I was…" he stammered. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The Great Hero had always been revered and accepted immediately. Never had the people turned on him.
Hopkins advanced on him. "Where were you when he destroyed Tenel? Lakewood? Triste? You arrogant cuss. You think you can just show up out of the blue and we're supposed to worship the ground you walk on? Go kill Gohma. Then, we'll talk."
Maximus had nothing left to say. He just turned and left as quickly as dignity would allow.
"You did right, lad," said Hopkins's companion as the townspeople dispersed.
"Did I?" Hopkins asked quietly.
"You did. He had no right to just show up and expect us to love him. He hasn't done a thing for us."
An old woman passed by and patted Hopkins on the shoulder. "You're the real Hero, lad," she murmured as she walked by.
Hopkins looked around him. Everyone was looking at him with approval; a few nodded as his gaze passed over them. He nodded once, decisively, and smiled around him. "Thank you. You've given me back my conviction."
"Go get him, Hero," shouted someone's daughter. Hopkins grinned and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, which he gave to her.
"You'll wait for me, right?" he asked mischievously.
The little girl grinned impishly and kissed him on the cheek. He feigned a swoon, bowed to her, and left.
Pollack nodded to himself. Everything was perfect. Alan Hopkins' unClassified status was beginning to affect the people he encountered. They had, for the first time in history, rejected the Great Hero out of hand. "You're losing, Beiloune," he muttered. "Soon, we'll be free of your games."
Gohma stood near invisibly in the shadows of the mechanics lab in Madril. Very few people were about at this time of night, but that was all right with the Evil King of Darkness.
They'll be awake soon enough, he thought. He smiled maliciously. Yes, they'll be awake just in time to be my dinner. He licked his lips in anticipation. He hadn't fed in quite a while because Marlene had escaped and tried to drive a stake through his heart. It hadn't worked, of course; a vampire could only be killed by staking him, cutting off his head, burning his body, and scattering the ashes. Even then, it was chancy. But she had injured him and forced him to hide for a while until he healed.
He snarled in frustration at his predicament. He was weak, too weak to do much damage today. Despite all his grand plans, he knew he wouldn't be able to do much more than kill a few people. He'd have to wait to destroy the city, which meant that he'd have to find shelter nearby. He couldn't just keep running back and forth between his hideaway and Madril; it was a gross waste of time and energy.
His scanned the faces of the few people who were about at this time of night: mostly night watchmen, but there were a few bar patrons wandering around. None of them looked particularly appetizing, but Gohma wasn't in much of a position to be picky. If he went much longer without fresh blood, he'd be too weak to acquire it. He had just decided on his prey when a new face entered the scene.
Now, this one looks much better, he thought. The human was little more than a boy, but he wasn't drunk or taking anything to keep him awake. He was obviously dead tired, which would make him easy prey.
The Great Hero Maximus was tired, in fact. He'd been walking for hours; his horse had been stolen several days earlier, and none of the people he'd passed had been interested in giving him a ride. He was not having a good life; people were supposed to love the Great Hero, not ignore him. He really felt cheated. He'd gotten the short end of the stick on this deal. He'd-
"Pardon me, sir," said a voice.
Maximus' thoughts came to a screeching halt as he searched out the source of the voice. He found himself staring at a very anemic looking individual. Something about him was nagging at the back of Maximus' mind.
"I can't help but see that you're a little tired," the man said. "Perhaps you'd like to come with me, and we'll see if we can't remedy that."
Maximus grinned. Finally, someone had recognized him as the Hero he was, and was paying him the proper respects. He nodded emphatically and followed the man into a small alley. He never came back out.
The bodies of Maximus and three other victims were found the next morning devoid of blood, and impaled on tall spikes that had been shoved with inhuman strength into the stone streets of the town square. The city was otherwise intact, but the citizens knew beyond any shadow of a doubt what had done this deed. They went about their daily business in terror, jumping at every sound and shadow, sure that at any moment, Gohma would leap out to kill them. The atmosphere was one of incomprehensible tension when Hopkins arrived. The bodies had already been removed, but the stakes were shoved in too deeply for any mortal man. The dig to remove them would commence later.
A few people noticed Hopkins's arrival, but most were too scared to notice much of anything until someone started shouting, "It's the Hero! Hero Hopkins has come!"
Hopkins promptly found himself the center of a very large crowd. The people were all talking at once and reaching out to touch him. They pulled him toward the Town Hall, where they finally moved a little ways away from him to allow the Mayor to approach.
"Are you really Hero Hopkins?" the Mayor asked. He sounded as though he didn't dare hope.
Hopkins nodded. "I am Alan Hopkins," he replied, still not quite wanting to call himself a Hero.
The Mayor heaved a sigh of relief and some of the hope came back into his eyes. He explained about the events of the previous night and begged Hopkins to save them before their city followed the path of all the others.
"You have my word, everyone," he said. "I will stop the Evil King."
A cheer went up, and Hopkins found himself hoisted onto the shoulders of two people and carried around town so everyone could see him. He smiled and waved, but he still couldn't help being bewildered at all the attention. He wondered if they were right to give it him.
Night. No one was up, this time, but that didn't matter to Gohma. He wasn't here to feed, although he would. No, he had regained his strength the night before when he had consumed that Hero. He chuckled evilly. No Hero to save them this time, he thought. I already killed him. What a moron he was, too. The Master is slipping.
He walked openly on the deserted streets, reveling in his power. He had unmade the entire world, and soon, he would remake it in his image. He would open the gates to the Diablerie and let free all the demons. He would enslave the human race, and force them to breed like cattle for him and his kind. His eyes glowed with malicious delight.
"Got a quarter?" asked a very old voice.
Gohma looked toward the source to see an old man huddled in blankets sitting in the entrance to the alleyway where Gohma had killed Maximus. So there is one crazy loon, after all, he thought. He smiled and said, "I may. Come here."
The old man wheezed what might have been a laugh and stood. "Nice man," he said. "No one gives little ole me a quarter these days." He waddled over to Gohma and stood hunched over with his head down.
Gohma reached out and the man's head up to his face. He narrowed his eyes. "You're not-" he started to say, but his words ended in a gasp of pain. He staggered backwards and looked down to see a wooden stake sticking out of his chest.
Hopkins threw off his disguise and said, "That's for the people you killed last night."
He drew his sword and swung, aiming for Gohma's neck; but the Evil King was too fast. He ducked beneath the swing, repressing a gasp of pain from the stake, and rolled to the side. He jumped to his feet and pulled the stake from his heart. Blood oozed from the wound, but not very quickly.
"You have to be faster than that, human," he sneered. He rushed forward and forced Hopkins against a wall. "I already killed the Hero; you don't stand a chance." He licked his lips and bit into Hopkins's neck. Hopkins struggled, but to no avail.
Pollack stood some ways away, completely ignored by the two combatants. He sighed and shook his head. "Of course not," he muttered. "The Evil King is far too strong. Let's even this up a bit, shall we?" He pulled a small book from his pocket and wrote one sentence.
"Sorry, boy," he said as he turned away.
Hopkins slumped to ground. He was still alive, but barely. Gohma licked his lips and said, "You didn't really think you could defeat me, did you? I am the Great Evil King; my power is stronger than you could ever comprehend. But I am not without some mercy. I will let you live on, as a revenant."
He closed his eyes began to chant the words to the spell that would turn Hopkins into a mindless vampiric zombie. Hopkins tried to shake his head, to do something, but he was too weak. He thought about the people he had failed, and imagined their faces when they realized that he was nothing more than a charlatan.
Suddenly, he felt power fill him and restore his strength. He thought, at first, that it was part of Gohma's spell, but he knew instantly that that couldn't be. The power was warm; it filled him with light and life. He grasped his sword and, moving quickly, shoved it into Gohma's chest. "This is for Arlington," he gasped.
Gohma bit off his spell and nearly his tongue when he felt the steel enter his body. He looked down with amazement as Hopkins pulled back his sword and lunged to his feet. "Impossible!" Gohma croaked.
Hopkins didn't bother to answer; privately, he thought the same thing. Instead, he swung his sword, aiming again for the Evil King's neck. And again, Gohma dodged; this time, however, Hopkins was faster. Gohma avoided something like death, but he lost his right ear. He roared with pain and anger and pulled energy to his hands. They glowed with the power he gathered, as did his eyes.
Hopkins didn't wait around to see the blast that would cause. He jumped out of the way as Gohma threw the energy bolts at him. He swung his sword as he dodged and managed to score another hit on the Evil King, this time leaving a long, bleeding gash on his arm, from his hand to his shoulder.
Gohma shook his head. "You can't defeat me," he roared, despite all evidence to the contrary.
"Evil has never won, and I don't intend to let it start now," Hopkins responded. He charged Gohma and they became locked in a fierce struggle for the upper hand. Gohma shouted insults and curses, but Hopkins took it all in stride and hardly said a word. Both of them were injured, but Hopkins wasn't fighting against two holes in his chest; Gohma began to wear down very quickly.
Hopkins knocked Gohma into a wall; Gohma slid down it. He had lost too much blood during the fight, and now he was too weak to stand, although it didn't keep him from trying. Hopkins walked up to him, his sword at the ready. He shook his head. "You pitiful creature," he said with real regret. "You fought well, Evil King."
"Save your pity for yourself, human," Gohma spat, defiant to the end.
Hopkins sighed and said, "This is for Rashelo." He swung; Gohma's head rolled into the alley. "And this is for Marlene." He used his newfound power to create a magical fire that engulfed Gohma's body and head. It was over at last.