Division Zero: Thrall (68 page)

“Sounds like a full-on war in there, are you sure?”

Kirsten whirled the lash into the air. “Yes, I’m sure. Your people really don’t want to see this.”

She slapped it across the face, bringing forth another deafening cry. The hit knocked the abyssal to the side; however, as it rolled, its tail caught her in the boots and pulled her feet out from under her. Kirsten went down flat on her back, unable to breathe. The demon sprang forward, driving its fist into the plastisteel just as she rolled up on one side. She bounced into the air from the impact, landing on her chest a few feet away.

It punched again, but she scrambled out of the way and got to her feet, ducking another wide-sweeping claw rake and jumping the low-swinging tail. She whipped the lash to the ready, but was unprepared for the sudden reversal of its attack. A back-of-the-knuckles slap, from a hand as tall as her torso, sent her flying onto a cart used to load missiles the size of caskets onto combat aircraft. Kirsten landed draped through two C-shaped rings. One hit her in the back, breaking a rib, and the other caught her legs; she dangled with her ass suspended above the body of the automated ordinance mover.

The ungainly pose left her helpless long enough for the demon to close the distance in a quick stride. Once again, the pale burns the lash caused had vanished. The distorted face of Konstantin laughed at her. Stuck in an awkward position, she could do little more than glare as it reached for her.

It stopped, claws only inches from her cheek. The demon gazed wide-eyed into space.

Dorian hung on its back, all his weight on the bound Nano knife. The weapon sliced through abyssal’s bone and muscle with little effort; however, the wound closed as fast as it opened. He traced a ten-inch deep cut through the creature’s body until his boots hit the ground.

“Damn, it’s restoring itself,” he said.

“It’s…” Kirsten rasped, and coughed. “Like Charazu. You think Konstantin will help translate the circle this time?” She tried to smile, blood leaked through her teeth.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Dorian backed away as the demon turned on him. “I’m not sure if this knife hurt him enough to worry about, or if I just look tasty…”

Kirsten groaned. The pain of a broken rib flared as she strained to get the uncomfortable ring out of her armpits. The attempt to move hurt so much she let herself sag there, cradled in two unforgiving metal half-loops. A cough covered her mouth and neck with blood. No help lurked in the darkness of shattered lights overhead.

Where are they? Come on, this isn’t fair. This thing is too powerful for me. I need help.
She wriggled again, aborting the motion with a whimper.
The Seraph poked through because
Charazu did. This thing feels even stronger. Where are they?
Kirsten wobbled, arms trapped by the strut as if it held her in some kind of full nelson. Only fatigue and pain kept her there, but at the moment, it was enough.

I don’t know this thing’s true name. I can’t read stick figures. It’s gonna kill me, eat Dorian, and destroy the Moon.
She started to cry, but crying hurt too much as well.
Nothing. No ‘guardian angel’ this time, no silver light.

Something warm and spongy poked her on the cheek. Time seemed to slow; the sounds of war faded to a meaningless, indistinct auditory blur.

Kirsten let gravity pull her head to the side. Evan, at least Astral-Evan, floated there. The silver cord ran from between his eyes into the floor. She stared at the glowing amber figure of a nude boy hovering at her side. His transparent energy-body shimmered with urgency.

“E-Evan? Is t-that really you, or am I slipping away?”

He grabbed her hand. “Mom, you’re scaring me. Stop it.”

“How did you get to the Moon?”

“I flew. Why are you napping?”

“How did you find the moon?”

“I wanted to go to you.”

Sound, pain, and the sense of how cold the air was all rushed into her mind at once. Time restarted. Kirsten flailed. “Evan, what are you doing here? There is a big demon, get out of here. It can hurt you.”

“I’m not leaving till you get up.”

“It’s gonna…”
No Seraphim, I must be able to do something.

Kirsten reached up and grabbed the top of the C strut, lifting her weight off her back while screaming. Without the band snagged on her arms, she slipped forward until her butt found metal.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
Eyes closed, she lay as flat as possible and fumbled at her belt for a stimpak. Demonic roars and objects crashing about gave her an amusing mental play-by-play of a solid demon chasing her intangible partner. Heavy support equipment went skidding out of the way as it swatted obstacles he simply ran through.

Tingly warmth touched her left cheek as Evan kissed her. “Come home soon.”

Her fingers found the case release and slipped in around the beautiful red cylinders. She reached across her chest and stabbed herself under the right arm―a little too close to the break. Wailing, she clawed at the vehicle under her while the coldness of stim fluid spread through her side. It engulfed the pain; the synthetic adrenaline made her eyes wiggle in their sockets as nanobots swarmed to the site of trauma and knit her ribs. A faint crunch paralyzed her for a few seconds as a million tiny machines dragged rib bone back into place.

Dorian ran past, within five or six feet. “Incoming. Might want to consider moving.”

“Fuck.” She swung her left arm over, using the momentum to spill herself to the ground.

Astral-Evan spun, silently mouthing ‘oh shit’ as he got a good look at the creature. Sensing the soul of an innocent, it stopped in its tracks and drooled at him. Before it could move, he grabbed the silver thread and blurred out of sight.

Enraged at missing such a treat, the demon swatted the missile cart into the air as though it weighed nothing. It sailed through Dorian’s back, dragging him forward by virtue of the knife in his hand being solid. Momentum carried him into the floor when it landed, into a tumbling roll. Only four fingers hooked over the weapon’s grip remained in the room. The demon stomped over to it, but jumped back as Dorian sprang out of the ground. He slashed and stabbed, shortening two of the demon’s claws before it caught him with a downward left-handed rake.

His ghostly body smeared out to five or six times his usual height, turned into a puddle of ethereal vapor for a second, and came together with him face-down about ten yards from where he started.

Kirsten stood, favoring her right side, and forced the lash into existence as she stared at the demon. “I don’t think we can beat this thing without knowing its name.”

“Thanks for the reassuring words,” said Dorian, staggering upright.

“I think you’re right. Konnie won’t translate it for us.” She advanced.

The shifting energy of the lash attracted the creature’s attention. It towered over her, making little effort to hide its lack of concern for her weapon.

Kirsten drew her arm back, coiling the tendril. “I know who you are.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Kirsten tapped into her fear and rage. Every ounce of anger she felt at falling victim to Konstantin’s charms flowed into a blinding thread of blue-white light.

“Back to the abyss, Avarazel!”

The spoken name struck the abyssal with the force of a blow. It landed on one knee even before the two-handed lash opened it in a crossing slash from shoulder to hip. Kirsten spun, slashing the whip across its chest in a second swing.

“Begone from this world, Avarazel!” she screamed.

Anger at herself for almost giving up drove enough force through the lash to split the creature in half. Roaring disintegrated to gurgling. A detonation of hot, black ichor knocked her over. She slid and spun in the torrent, coming to a halt in a steaming pool of awfulness that soaked through her uniform.

It might have smelled of rotten eggs, were the stench not so overpowering her nose gave up trying to interpret it. She lay motionless, staring at the ten-foot-tall charred skeleton surrounded by hovering chunks of flesh that had blown away from it. Magmatic orange crept along the bones as the great demon flaked away into ash particles.

Dorian, acting like a ghost, floated over the tar pool to her side. She shifted to look at him, not even nauseated by the sensation of her hair sticking to the floor.

“How the hell did you figure out the damn thing’s name?”

“Heh.” Between the stickiness, her fatigue, and the lack of urgency, she could not sit up. She did manage to get a fingertip to her earbud. “Nina, you can come in now.” She let her head sag to face Dorian.

“How…” He blinked.

She closed her eyes. “Apparently, true demons have surface thoughts.”

van sat at the table, swinging his feet while shoveling cereal into his mouth. He did not care about neatness. Covered only by last night’s underwear, which would soon be in the wall-machine, he wore about as much OmniSoy milk as he drank. Kirsten smirked at him. He squinted in a ‘so what’ grin. Early morning orange sunlight shimmered through his spherical mop of shaggy, light brown hair. The soap-scented humidity of a recent shower clung to Kirsten; a little dampness lingered in her hair, out of reach of the tube’s dry cycle.

“Try to eat like a civilized human at least.”

He bubbled milk at her through his lips, breaking up into giggles only two seconds into the gesture. Kirsten laughed. The boy still vibrated with joy at her safe return from the Moon two days prior. He did not sleep at all the first night, likely due to a thirteen-hour nap caused by the tranquilizer Nila gave him while Kirsten was gone. She kept smiling, despite the serpent of guilt tangling her guts at the thought of what he went through. The timing of him needing to be knocked out coincided with his astral visit.

Cereal finished, he wiped his chest off and trudged to the bathroom. Briefs hit the rug on his way into the tube. After reaching up to poke the control screen, he closed his eyes and gripped the head-level railing. Warm jets of water sprayed him down, followed by the soapy mix, and then more water. Evan cheered as a rush of warm air came close to lifting him off his feet. When the turbines settled down and the safety lock disengaged from the door, he jumped from the tube to the small throw rug in an effort to avoid stepping on cold tiles.

Scooting the rug underfoot, he shimmied across the room, pausing to grab his dirty briefs, and climbed up on the sink to reach the white box. Dirty went in a hatch at the top, and clean, wrapped in plastic, came out the bottom. He pulled them on, wadded up the wrapper, and pushed open the bathroom door.

He stopped, dead in his tracks, gawking at Kirsten.

She smiled at him as he emerged; having donned a loose-fitting black dress uniform while he showered. The E-90 sat in its holster, affixed to a dark faux-leather belt rather than the usual silver. Her skirt ended just above the knee, plain and black just like the top. Gold rank insignia glimmered on both shoulders, matched by a pin on a folding cap. Rather than boots, she had shiny black kitten heels.

“You’re pretty,” he blurted.

Kirsten laughed. “Why, thank you.” She lifted a box from the bed, handing it to him. Before he could get too excited, she winked. “Don’t go through the roof, it’s just clothes. Get dressed.”