Bladed Wings (18 page)

              “And they’re wrong,” huffed Devi, her arms over her prepubescent chest.

              Ignoring her, “Something happened to her, something to cause enough darkness, hatred, and pain for a demon to form. Though it never managed to overtake her soul. Instead, she seems to dominate it. We still don’t know what kind of will could do that.” Hecate turned her eyes to Devi and said, “She could be very useful or very dangerous.”

              “Nothing happened!” Devi said. “You’re always wrong.”

              “Of course,” Hecate agreed without sounding at all convinced.

              “But you’re different too now, right?” Devi asked Timothy.

              “I guess so.”

              “That’s good, because they’re mean. You shouldn’t trust them. They’ll betray you, just like everyone else will too if you give them the chance. You know that, right?” Chatting so fast tempo, she sounded chipper against the meaning of what she said. “
That’s
why I don’t have a band.”

              “No one would accept you,” Morgon said.
              “That just means I get more gold.”

              “Gold?” Timothy asked.

              “Uh huh! First from Despada to work with her band on this attack, then from Cordinox to jump sides again. Isn’t it great? See, you should always be your own boss!” She was bragging, but Timothy wondered if she would change sides again. Hoping that Cordinox knew what he was doing, Timothy decided he shouldn’t turn his back to the little girl with her horned wolf named Spike.

              “Here they come,” Devi giggled. She sounded like Isis, only a couple years younger and loaded up on way more sugar. Jumping up and down, knees bent with every hop, she could’ve been a cheerleader’s little sister.

              “Don’t overexert yourself with these things,” Hecate instructed.

At first Timothy couldn’t even see what she meant; then they got closer, a hundred feet away, and he didn’t need to relax or play tricks with his eyes to spot the lumbering shadows. Getting closer, they looked like people, melted people made of dripping oil. Dark and almost translucent, they could have been shadows, but they moved like zombies, shambling ahead as if exhausted. At first Timothy just saw two or three, then with every second he saw a few more until there were fifteen, maybe twenty, and they kept coming, streaming for the gates. They didn’t seem really bad until Timothy spotted their claws, three prongs that wouldn’t have any trouble skewering flesh.

“Drudges,” Devi said. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.” Timothy wasn’t used to fear or the thought he wouldn’t see Jenny, his friends, or family again. His stomach clenched, but he had to shove those feelings aside. He wasn’t a guy to panic. He wouldn’t panic now. Sure, fear could be there and he could want to throw up, but he wouldn’t. Instead he concentrated on his tendrils. They rose to the air, writhing like they might enjoy this.

“Despada’s been eating. She’s stronger,” Morgon said. “She couldn’t do that before.”

“Think she beat another band before us?”

“It’s possible,” Hecate allowed. “If she did, she’ll be far stronger than we calculated.”

“Good times,” Devi giggled. “We’ll win! Go team!”

They chatted like there weren’t creatures lumbering toward them. Those drudges were short and thick, blurred. All of that could be muscle. That same sickening drop pulled at his stomach. Without his noticing, the tendrils began to twitch more quickly.

Timothy thought they were going to wait until those oily things got within reach, but Morgon charged forward, growing with every step. His muscles expanded, hardening like something out of a comic book. Ten steps later and he stood extraordinarily tall. A quick roar, and he swung out with fists that struck like blocks of concrete.

A lot of the drudges swarmed around him, their claws slashing out, scraping thin red lines in Morgon’s arms as his fists, elbows, and forearms beat into them. Every smash and Timothy heard a nauseating squelching sound, like crushed watermelons. He spun, ducked, and twisted through the fray.

“Think we should help?” Devi strolled ahead as she shooed her demonic wolf into the fray. The wolf loped forward, leaping eight feet from his target. With that charge, he lowered his head, stabbing into one drudge’s chest; sliding to the ground, Spike ripped a long wound, unzipping the creature until it splattered to the ground. The drudge deflated like a broken balloon. A second later, he leapt forward, pouncing onto another one of the creatures.

“Are you coming?” Timothy asked Hecate, taking a few steps forward.

“Only if absolutely necessary.”

Fighting down irritation at the thought that she might just watch, Timothy picked a good target. One of the shadowed drudges had stumbled past Spike and Morgon. Unwounded, it moved alone and that made it a good choice for someone who had never done this. Hoping he shouldn’t be more afraid, that he wasn’t about to be the rookie who proved rookies didn’t know what they were doing, Timothy held his hands out. The tendrils answered his unspoken direction, shooting across the narrowing gap that separated them.

The tendrils ripped into the creature, fast jabs that dug tiny holes into the creature. It was like stabbing a melon, and it didn’t do much good. He kept at it until the creature seemed to notice. Then it got fast, two slashes. The first hit because Timothy didn’t expect it, didn’t anticipate those claws of black bone. The drudge dug into his tendril, not enough to break it, but plenty to fray it. The second missed. Timothy got the tendril out in time.

Both tentacles pulled back, Timothy concentrated, willing them to heal. He felt strength leak from his body and reinforce his demonic hooks. With the drudge close, Timothy slashed it once, but that didn’t do much.

The creature hobbled forward, eating through the gap of space that protected Timothy from those claws. This was just one and he couldn’t stop it, and behind it loomed more of them, drudges who moved forward even as Morgon and Devi’s Spike splattered more of the creatures at the other side of the fight.

“Be more aggressive,” Hecate suggested, still sitting there, still unmoving and serene.

“How?”

“Cipher was an assassin of some renown. He was an expert with the garrote.” Timothy blinked. The word sounded familiar, from a video game or something, and then he remembered what it was. But he didn’t know if his tendrils could do that to this drudge. Possible, Timothy decided, but only if he had the concentration and control.

As the drudge treaded within five feet, Timothy stepped back, slow steps, until he hit the cold metal of the warehouse. So he had a choice; he could try to wrestle the drudge to the ground, or he could take Hecate’s suggestion. Swallowing doubt, Timothy tried to plan the right way to do this. He threw out his tendrils, and the drudge swung for them, but it looked like a half-hearted attempt. He didn’t know how intelligent that creature could be, but it seemed focused on Timothy. It didn’t want to swing after tendrils. It wanted to cut open the guy they were connected to.

And that made it a little easier. Timothy concentrated, ignoring the creature that would stab him in a few seconds. And unlike the oily monster, Timothy figured he’d die with one good stab. He might have been able to heal bruises, maybe a broken bone, but if someone cut open his chest, he didn’t think he would live through it. But then it didn’t matter because his tendrils curved around like scimitars, looping above the drudges head. Timothy dropped the tendrils, they fell half a foot, then he pulled. Timothy felt the tug. Locked in that ring, the drudge tried to move, but slowed against the force of Timothy’s tendrils.

“Sharpen them,” Hecate ordered.

“How?”

“Will it,” she ordered. Probably the least useful set of instructions ever.

Timothy pulled harder. Breath locked in his chest, he felt pressure rush down his shoulders, through his wrists, and across his fingers. A thrust of force, and he yanked the drudge back several feet.

A second later it came again. Timothy didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to make his tendrils sharper, but then the creature closed the distance between them, its arm pulled back, cocked and ready to thrust its claws into Timothy. But he didn’t know what to do, didn’t even know how it happened when the tendrils flattened, cords to razors, and Timothy heaved again, a tight pull of all the strength in his arms.

The tendrils sliced through the drudge’s neck like a knife through Jell-O. The creature tumbled forward, its head dispersed into wet dust. For several moments, the dead drudge oozed something black. Timothy didn’t want to think about the goo. Instead he panted and looked back at the battle.

Three more creatures lurched toward him.

“You can take them,” Hecate said.

“But you can’t help?”

“I’m waiting for something more interesting to come along.”

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. Timothy braced himself for another fight. A glance at the rest of the combat and Timothy saw Morgon as he smashed his way through the creatures. They semi-circled around him, and he crushed through their ranks, scoring one-hit kills with each punch.

Further down, Devi hopped away from the combat, cheering on her demonic wolf as he tore through the drudges. The demonic lupine jumped at a drudge, skewered it, and dashed away before the others could get at him. The wolf wasn’t even hurt yet.

Three drudges on him, Timothy coiled his tendrils around one creature’s neck. A thought of desperation, the memory of almost getting skewered, and his tendrils sharpened again. It felt like muscle memory, something he could do if he didn’t over think it.

The first drudge fell.

              Timothy realized that had been a mistake. He had attacked the middle drudge, the one closet to him, which let the other two pounce at his tendrils. They wrapped their boned claws over the slips of darkened energy. Timothy pulled back and tried to hack his way free from their grips. Even sharpened, the tendrils weren’t enough. They couldn’t slice through that bone the way he might’ve hoped. He yanked once and stumbled forward, his own momentum dragging him forward.

They wouldn’t let go.

              “Be more creative,” Hecate said, offering another piece of uselessly calm advice.

              Timothy couldn’t focus on the long haired woman with her soft words. He just needed to live through this when he dispersed his tendrils. They vanished, dissipating like fog on the air. The drudges shambled for him, no more disappointed at losing their grasp than they’d be excited to kill him. Timothy tried to remember to ask what these things were. But then it didn’t matter because he concentrated, he snapped two more tendrils free.

              They launched from the base of his palms and stabbed through the drudges’ heads. Headshots didn’t do anything. They weren’t vampires or any other sci-fi monster that could be downed with a drill to the brain. Shadowed, oily, dark, and stumbling, these things might not have even had brains. Faceless, they marched forward.

              His tendrils slid back for another stab, so Timothy tried something else. Overlapping the tendrils together into one appendage, they became flattened and bladed. It shot forward, a sword’s blade running across the air. Straight for the neck, a flat sword five inches wide. It dug through the creature’s neck, sliding across bone or goo or whatever made these things walk. The head severed. The body collapsed and dissolved. Pulling his blade back, Timothy chopped again. They fell and dissipated like smoke.

              They were gone and Timothy didn’t see anyone else coming to kill him. But he saw enough to make the ditch in his stomach erupt into a canyon. The drudges were gone; that was good. But everywhere Timothy looked, Cordinox’s band faced other demons. That was bad. Very bad.

              Morgon punched out with one of his meaty fists, but instead of crushing a drudge, his opponent hopped back, dancing away from death. She had short red hair, a small frame, and Morgon should’ve been able to crush her. But he couldn’t catch her; her speed kept her safe, and Morgon had to avoid her weapon. Locked between her fingers, she swung a thin rod. Made of some kind of dark wood, it grew or shrank with any moment. At one second the huge demon tried to grab it, stretching a hand for her. But that was the diversion. As she ducked, Morgon tried to grab her weapon, and he would’ve succeeded, except it contracted, pulled back to her fingers. Then he was off balance, and she sidestepped out of his reach and stabbed out with her rod. It shouldn’t have been long enough, but then it grew and closed the gap. Morgon roared, probably with more rage than pain, as a shock of light and energy sizzled through his body. He tried to backhand her, but she dodged to the side. Unlike Devi, she didn’t laugh. Instead she had the focus of someone enthralled by meditation.

              Thirty feet away, Devi cheered for her wolf as it circled with someone else. This guy didn’t look strong. His muscles didn’t bulge like an action hero’s, but he kept his eyes on Devi’s wolf. They stared at each other like predators, neither willing to yield. Then he jumped, and Timothy thought he might’ve been insane because he didn’t have any weapons. They formed midair, silver bleeding from his hands, solidifying into his hands and he stabbed out as Spike jumped too. They met in the air, the wolf raking the demon, the demon slashing the wolf.

              “So I guess it’s you and me,” someone said. At first Timothy didn’t spot his enemy. Then he saw a shimmering. “You’re the new one, aren’t you?”