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“Hey!”
“Hey!” My brother and I both argued, before punching each of the Pocong brothers at the same time and doing more this time than just forcing them back, as both hit the ground at the same time.
As for Asher, his hands both became engulfed in flames with the click of his fingers, before he hammered those flaming fists into an oncoming Drude. This Demonic race of beings were known as malevolent nocturnal Demons and could be responsible for creating nightmares. They also had the ability to trap others in their dreams, using it as a very effective weapon. However, thankfully for us, like this, they were nothing more than brute strength thrown our way, as they had lost the ability to control a dream state. Or they would have been able to use that same power to control their summoning jailor and well. If this were the case, then I doubt they would have been wasting their time fighting us.
The Drude, with its typical Demonic appearance having cracked, rock-like skin, now barely shown in the ghost-green figures they had become. Like all the once-living beings that now stood a bare shimmering-green shell of their former selves. A small army that surrounded us, just waiting for Niniane to stop toying with us by sending them in one by one, making the spectacle last before trying to show us as weak before the killing blow. She wanted us worn out and barely standing before we were killed off one by one.
She wanted us on our knees before her, so she could bask in her own glory as the crowd fed her vile ego while she showcased her victory to an arena full of Hell’s most influential. She wanted the champion of the Summoner Games to suffer with the death of his kin.
She wanted all to watch the fall of Hell’s notorious, HellBeast King.
Well, she wasn’t going to get it easily, for by the time this battle was over, the only fables told of our deaths would have us going down as legends. For the strength of our will to live, despite unbeatable odds, would be the only tale told of this day.
The tale of valor and courage.
But most of all…
The story of a brother’s sacrifice.
3
A FABLED VOICE
“Oh goodie, look what new pet the bitch got for us to play with,” Marcus said, dripping with sarcasm.
“How the fuck did she bag herself a Devourer?” Orth said as the big bastard of a Demon barged his way through the other glowing green souls, so as he could be the next to charge. He had thick, overly long arms and looked slightly different to any Devourer I had seen before. In fact, he looked more like some crazed scientist’s failed project and Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein’s monster came to mind.
It looked to be ten feet tall, with its arms as thick as its thighs. Its hands had been replaced by giant spiked maces that were held into place with crude iron pins driven deep into its toughened, thick skin. It made me wonder what color it was before its soul had fallen prey to this bitch of a soul collector.
Well, whatever it was, it had been crudely modified regardless. and long before Niniane had gotten her hands on him. Because Devourers didn’t typically have strips of metal plates hammered over their eyes, nor did they have razor wire wrapped in between rows of their teeth for that extra mean bite. I would have wondered how the thing found us at all, but then I noticed the way it tried to lift its head higher in the air as if trying to scent our position. I say try, because one of its huge horns had been sawn off and chained to the one on the other side, making it too weighty for it to hold its head up straight.
Oh yeah, this poor bastard had been fucked with alright, making him a Gods be damned abomination, even for Hell.
“Leave him to me,” Asher said, rolling his massive shoulders before he suddenly punched two of his flaming fists to the ground. The muscles on his arched bare back tensed before a popping sound could be heard, as if a giant was cracking his knuckles. Then with an almighty roar, boned blades emerged from the sides of his forearms, that looked to be serrated and most helpful of all… deadly.
Although just how deadly against something that technically didn’t have an actual body to bloody, was anyone’s guess. As hitting these guys was like making an impact against vapor. Your hand went through, and it was enough to cause damage, but it wasn’t enough for that shit not to just form back to itself.
Although something happened when Marcus fought with his powers, as he managed to throw out a hit with his staff, knocking the Draugr Demon he was fighting to one side, before stabbing it in where the heart would be. It then burst into a cloud of green fire before it was sucked back into form and its flaming soul snaked back into where the book floated before Niniane. The bitch was sitting high up in her perch like some malevolent bird, her outfit only adding to the apt statement, seeing as it was a dress made of long, oily, green feathers.
As for the Demon Marcus had been able to dispatch, the Draugr, were a race of Demon usually reserved as guards in the lower levels of Hell, and were known to most of Hell as once famously guarding the mighty beast, Abaddon. That was before his mortal counterpart was found in Adam.
But these seven-foot-tall Demons weren’t so easy to fight against, despite Marcus’s precise attack. And from the looks of things, there were quite a few left of them in the ranks, waiting for their turn to attack. Their hairless heads, floppy ears, over pronounced cheekbones and horned chins were seen easily over the height of most of the others.
“Well, that’s a good sign, these fuckers can be killed after all,” Marcus said grinning, before we all looked to Niniane who was laughing in her evil, shrill way, just as the very same soul rose from the book and returned good as new once more. Or as good as a controlled Summoned soul could be.
“You were saying, Pencil Dick?” Orth commented before lashing out at two more ghostly figures that got close enough.
“Yes well, I don’t see you being as effective as I am,” Marcus commented dryly after hitting them both in the heart, once more sending them back to the book. Then my brother punched his fist through a flaming Ukobatch’s chest, ripped out his ghostly heart, and squeezed it until it evaporated into green smoke between his fingers. This meant that like Marcus’s previous victims, the dwarfed sized Demon also burst into vapor the moment its heart was destroyed, before floating back toward the book.
“You were saying?” Orth said with a shit-eating grin. Marcus scoffed at this before turning back to fight the next wave sent our way. And so, it continued, now with us having something to aim our attacks on, as taking out their hearts may not have killed them, but it took them out long enough that it at least thinned the onslaught of her army. But like the Draugr, there were more than just one Ukobatch in the crowd. It was unsurprising really, not when the Ukobatch were easy to come by, given they were known as a workforce in Hell. They were usually put to work in hot environments, due to their flame-resistant skin.
Speaking of which, the modified Devourer Asher was still fighting, was not, and he howled when Asher finally got close enough to, like my brother, punch his flaming fist through his chest and ripped out his much larger heart.
But the victory was short lived, as wave after wave of Demons from all walks of Hellish life continued to come at us. There were Dzoavits, ogre-like Demons known in Shoshonean mythology whose stories included atrocities like kidnapping children and eating them. If legend was correct, the terrorizing Dzoavits had been lured into the Devil’s hole and trapped there. Which sounded correct considering the Devil’s hole was a known to hold a now dormant portal into Hell. Hence the name of the geologic formation located in Death Valley National Park.
There were also Demons known as Leshys, that had the ability to change their size and looked like walking trees thanks to their rough, bark-like skin. It crunched as my own fist hammered through the chest of the one that had chosen to attack me, this despite its ghostly shell.
But the Leshy was soon replaced by the next Demonic soul taken, this time a Vetala, who were often known in our worlds as being Posession Officers for newly risen or fallen Supernatural life. Those chosen were often charged with being responsible for the ethical and physical safeguarding of new vessels. That whoever the Angel or Demon was assigned to inhabit such, it was their job to ensure that the vessels were taken over humanely.
