Kultus (17 page)

Well
, thought Blaklok,
you can’t say I didn’t fucking warn you
.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Golden robes fluttered in panic as Valac’s acolytes began to flee in terror. Blaklok’s eyes were on the Key of Lunos, now lying at the centre of the summoning circle, but the huge demon still stood astride it. It reached out another hand, grasping a fleeing figure by the hem of his robe and lifting him high, examining the struggling man like a child might observe a dangling worm. As the victim began to peal out a high pitched scream, Valac lowered him towards its jaws, taking a deep bite of the man’s torso, crunching through ribs and flesh and into organs, allowing the rich red juices to run in rivulets down its chin.

The man didn’t scream for long.

Blaklok looked around for Trajian Arkwright, determined that he should not escape the hellish justice of his master, but he was lost in the confusion as bodies ran every which way in terror.

Trajian would have to keep, for now Blaklok had to retrieve the Key and stop a ravenous demon from slaughtering scores of innocents. Obviously these acolytes were an exception – Valac could have as many of these injudicious bastards as he could stuff in his huge maw.

The demon finished rending the flesh from its now flaccid victim and dropped the body to the ground, as though discarding a stripped spare rib. It glared around at the confusion, its former acolytes now fleeing in terror, and it roared. The sound filled the chapel and made Blaklok cringe. He felt the fear wash over him and struggled to fight against it. This was not real terror, not the primal kind you got from being scared for your life. This was a horror only the demonic could imbue – a fear for your very soul that even death could not liberate you from.

And as the noise of the hellbeast’s roar subsided, Thaddeus saw that its eyes were solidly fixed on him. Two burning embers lodged deep within a face of solidified magma.

Blaklok fought against the terror but it was no good, the eyes had him transfixed. His knees were trembling and his bowels were about to loosen. He knew his very soul was in jeopardy.

With a deafening crash one of the ornate windows burst inwards, showering the chapel and the few remaining acolytes with multicoloured glass. Valac turned in time to see hideous red robed figures bound into the sanctity of the wide room. As they did so, more scarlet cultists came storming through the door, pushing past those in gold, as eager to enter the room as Valac’s followers were to exit.

Blaklok recognised the feral, bounding forms of the Cult of Legion, and even noted the wild-eyed features of Castor Cage, but he soon realised they were not here for him.

‘Seize the Key!’ cried the cultist to their fore. To all intents this one was human, not bearing the vile demonic taint of some of the other red-robed monsters, but his face was hidden behind a large mask, shaped like a bronze sunburst. ‘We must have the Key!’

Valac roared once more, this time at the defilers encroaching on his sanctum, but these intruders did not seem to be afraid. Three snarling beasts leapt at the demon, rending him with their talons, and Valac gave a wail of pain. As it was distracted, more red-robed figures scurried forward, reaching desperately for the Key of Lunos where it lay discarded on the ground.

Blaklok was suddenly enraged, his fear of President Valac dissipating as he saw the creature now combating several smaller demons. As he took a pace forward, Valac grasped one of the creatures that had clamped jaws around its broad shoulder and flung it aside – right at Thaddeus.

It was like being hit with a block of stone, and he fell back, cracking his head against the marble floor. The beast of Legion quickly scrambled to its feet and leapt back into the fray, but Blaklok was stunned, and not for the first time in recent days. He stood in time to see one of the red-robed men grasping the Key, thrusting it towards the masked leader. ‘I have it,’ he cried gleefully, just as Valac swept its wickedly clawed hand around to decapitate him. The body fell forward, spilling the Key to the ground, and Blaklok did his best to lurch towards it. But before he could reach it, the masked figure had stretched out a long arm and clutched his prize.

‘We have it,’ he said, his voice distorted behind his mask. ‘Let us leave this foul place!’

With that, he and his robed followers made for the door, leaving three of their beastly fellows, including Castor Cage, still engaged in a vicious battle with the demonic President.

As much as Blaklok wanted to stay and watch these monsters tearing into each other, he had to get the Key back. His legs trembled as he moved towards the exit, narrowly avoiding the flailing, snarling beasts that were fighting for their lives in the centre of the chapel.

Once he made it through the archway, Blaklok staggered through a twisting corridor that led to a wide landing.

By the time he got there he was too late, a huge winch was grinding and squeaking as the tower’s lift descended towards the ground. To the side was a staircase that twisted hundreds of feet down, and Blaklok could see several golden robed figures falling over themselves in their eagerness to clatter down the stairs.

He needed a quicker way.

Pulling off his shirt he tore it in two and wrapped it around his bloody hands. Then, gulping a deep breath of air he leapt for the pulley cable that was quickly descending. The pain in his palms was instantaneous as he gripped the cable and felt the friction burn his flesh. The stub of his missing finger seemed to scream out in protest as he tightened his grip, desperately trying to alleviate his fall.

Blaklok slipped for several feet, feeling the rush of air sweep past as he fell, until finally he managed to slow himself.

His palms were on fire but still Thaddeus clung to the cable for dear life. The lift car was almost fifty feet below him, and to fall now would make an awful mess of its roof.

Above he could hear the roar of angry demons, and he looked up, in time to see a huge bestial face glaring down at him.

Valac!

The demon reached out, its bulk filling the lift shaft as it began to descend. Blaklok duly shimmied down the cable as fast as he could, away from the approaching monster, but with its superior size and strength it was easily gaining.

Seeing that the cable was aiding Blaklok’s escape, Valac reached out for it, trying to stop its descent, but the thick steel simply ran through the beast’s grip. It roared in frustration, clambering faster, and Blaklok had to fight to resist the temptation to let go, and drop away from the ravenous demon.

He was almost at the elevator, shimmying down the cable for dear life, when the cabin suddenly hit the ground with a grinding of breaks. Thaddeus dropped, landing on the roof and wrenching open the access panel as Valac let go of either side of the shaft and dropped after him.

Blaklok fell into the lift, seeing the red robes of the Cult of Legion running for the tower’s exit. Desperately he scrabbled out to safety as Valac landed on the lift with a smash of metal and wood, crushing its roof and sending metal panels flying.

As the demon fought to free itself from the lift shaft, Blaklok rose unsteadily and made after the Cult of Legion and the Key.

They were sprinting, their red robes billowing behind them, but Blaklok was faster. As they made their way out onto the street, Thaddeus was on them, crunching his fist into the side of one red hood to his right, smashing his booted foot into the knee of one to his left. The men went down screaming, and the rest turned. Their leader, eyes glaring from within the bronze mask, simply stared, grasping the Key of Lunos to his chest.

‘That belongs to me,’ said Blaklok, mustering as much menace as he could. ‘Do yourself a favour and–’

With an unearthly roar, President Valac burst onto the street. Passers by began to scream in terror as the demon appeared, its hungry eyes regarding them with evil intent.

Blaklok was torn – the Key was right in front of him, he could almost taste it. It would be nothing to reach out and take it from the masked man, but Valac was loose, and the innocents on the street had the look of an all night buffet about them.

As the red-robed cultists backed away, Thaddeus turned to face the beast. The fear was still in him, the soul rending terror that threatened to spill out into his underclothes, but he couldn’t allow this creature its liberty. It did not belong here on this plane.

This was Thaddeus Blaklok’s domain, and while he was here there was no room for fucking demons.

Valac began to stride towards the crowded street and Blaklok ran forward, yelling at the top of his lungs. The demon turned, recognition sparking in its eyes. Blaklok could see its body was rent and torn by claw and tooth marks – the beasts of Legion had made a valiant attempt at bringing the demon down. He could only hope he would do half as well.

With a hideous grin, the demon took a step towards him, flexing its razor talons that were now covered in gore. Blaklok desperately scanned the area for a weapon, anything would do, but there was nothing to hand. People were scattering all around, and every instinct inside him told him to do the same but he knew he could not.

With a beastly grunt, President Valac swung a huge claw. Blaklok ducked, feeling the air part inches from his head, and he rolled to the side. He was on the demon’s flank, with time to spare, and he leapt up, stepping off the monster’s bent thigh and stretching up for the head. Before Valac could stop him, Blaklok had grasped one of its horns and wrenched it back with all his might.

The demon roared in pain as the horn crunched and twisted within its head. Blaklok knew that had the demon been manifest for more than a couple of hours it would have felt no pain, but newly summoned it was vulnerable.

It reached up, grasping with its talons, but Blaklok had already leapt clear, hitting the ground hard and rolling to his feet. Valac snarled, staring with hatred at the annoyance in front of it, the audacious mortal that had dared to do it harm. With a sound like the sucking vent of an airship, the demon drew in a deep gulp of air.

Blaklok knew what was coming, could sense it almost preternaturally. He also felt the long intricate tattoos that stretched down from his shoulder blades reacting instinctively. His flesh began to burn as the sigils that had been needled into his skin reacted to the hellfire that was brewing in Valac’s gullet.

As the demon spewed forth a gout of flame, Blaklok closed his eyes. His mouth opened on reflex, spurred by the reaction of the ritual that had been enacted on his body so many years before, the tattoo itself taking control, using his mortal flesh as a conduit of occult power.

The burning liquid, hotter than any earthly furnace, shot towards Blaklok in a cone of fire, straight into his waiting mouth. Tears streaked down his eyes and he could see the blinding light of the fire beyond his closed lids, but there was no pain. His flesh did not blacken, his nostrils did not clam up, and when it was done, all that remained was a thin line of steam exuding from his lips.

He opened his eyes. Valac looked drained – calling up the hellfire had obviously taken a toll on its fledgling form, but it was still more than a physical match for Blaklok. It reached for him again with those grasping claws and, this time, Blaklok’s reaction was slower. Even imbued with the power of the divine, the consumption of so much hell-spawned fire had its side effects. The claw came ever closer, and Thaddeus stumbled back, desperate to avoid the demon’s grip, but he would never be quick enough.

This was it!

The blaring report of a dozen carbines peeled out from somewhere behind, as Blaklok slipped and fell on his backside. Valac roared to the heavens as its body erupted in a dozen places, black ichor spurting from its arms and chest.

As he began to stagger to his feet, Blaklok saw the Judicature approaching, heavy carbines unleashing a deluge of shot against the demon. He had never been so pleased to see the masked fantassins of the Judicature in all his life.

Valac turned, bounding off as fast as it could, as the gunmen kept firing, corralling the demon away from the crowds that stood transfixed.

Blaklok knew he had to make his own exit before he was captured and questioned, but the hellfire he had consumed still bubbled and roiled within him, making him groggy and sluggish.

He stumbled away from the Judicature, slipping on the cobbles, and glanced back, hoping against hope that he had not been noticed in the excitement. Then he saw her, her tipstaff by her side – well, the one she hadn’t shot anyway. How did she keep doing this, where did she keep cropping up from?

Thaddeus began to move with greater urgency, but he knew Indagator Amelia had seen him. He stumbled away down the street but she would be on him in no time.

With a squeal of breaks, and pumping of steam, a huge metal wagon screeched to a halt beside him. It stank of rotting cabbage and sewage, and it took several moments for Blaklok to realise it was one of the lumbering refuse carriers that intermittently trundled down the streets of the Manufactory, cleaning up in those districts that could afford such things as garbage collection.

Desperately he grasped for the door to the cab, if he could get inside hopefully he could coerce the driver into getting him out of here, but the door was already opening. Strong hands reached out, grabbing the manacles that still bound his hands, dragging him inside and dumping him on the floor of the cabin.

Once he was within, the engine of the carrier sputtered and growled into life, causing the whole cab to lurch as it sped off down the street.

His wrists were screaming for release, but Blaklok was far too grateful for his rescue to be annoyed about the pain. He glanced around the cabin. It was large; big enough to seat half a dozen refuse workers, and all the seats were taken. Big, burly men, dressed in suits with polished shoes.

These were the best dressed refuse workers Thaddeus had ever seen, their allotted district must have been prosperous indeed.

‘So, we meet again,’ said a familiar voice.

Thaddeus looked up to see the enormous horsey teeth beaming down at him.