The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (31 page)

The Peregrine raised his arm as high as he could and drove the knife’s blade into the creature’s claw. The first blow didn’t seem to elicit much of a reaction, but the second one certainly did. The pterodactyl squawked in pain and nipped at Max’s shoulder, ripping his heavy jacket but missing the flesh. The Peregrine then jabbed upwards, successfully catching the monster’s underside and ripping open a jagged gash. Blood dripped onto the Peregrine’s face and chest, but he was far more concerned by the fact that the pterodactyl released its grip on him, letting him hurtle towards the city below.

The Peregrine flipped his body, noting that his current angle of descent would leave him impaled on a rooftop spire. Max swore under his breath, trying to think fast. He shrugged off his heavy coat and held it over his head like a parachute, hoping it would slow his fall somewhat. The difference was imperceptible at first but gradually Max believed he could sense a change in his rate of falling. He then prepared himself for impact, having successfully altered his fall enough to avoid the spire. He slammed down hard on the rooftop, his ankles and knees sparking with pain.

Max forced himself up immediately, checking to see if anything was broken. To his surprise, he seemed relatively unharmed, though his legs cried out for rest.

It was in this moment that the Peregrine realized that the chanting had ceased and all was quiet. He looked about, just as an invisible wave of force grabbed hold of him and threw him from the rooftop. He landed on his side on a cobblestone road, crying out in pain.

Max blinked, trying to get his bearings again. He was surrounded by citizens of the city, and a huge statue of some monstrous entity rose high above him. But worst of all was the fact that Doctor Satan was standing before him, his eyes glowing with an orange light.

When Satan spoke, his voice was different than before. He sounded like a man speaking underwater, but his slurred words chilled Max to the core:
“Eng natta atu! Atrius sliggum chthulhu! Acka natta atu eng!”

CHAPTER VIII

The Devil’s Mouthpiece

The Peregrine slowly rose to his feet, glancing around at the faces of the people surrounding him. They were all smiling in beatific fashion, obviously pleased beyond words that their god had returned in the form of Doctor Satan.

“The first of the infidels is before us,” a white-haired man yelled from the crowd. “The first to fall beneath the boots of our god!”

A roar went up from the assembled throng and the Peregrine tried to ignore them, keeping his full focus on Satan. “Are you still in there?” he asked, addressing his old foe. “Or is that beastie inside you too much to handle?”

Satan’s body seemed to shiver for a moment and the villain cocked his head to the side before speaking. When he spoke, it sounded like he was straining a great deal. “Well, well… you found me. I honestly wasn’t sure if it would be your or Keane who did it first. As you can… see… things haven’t gone as I planned. They implanted… a… thing in me.”

The Peregrine knew that everyone around him was listening intently to this exchange, each of them waiting with bated breath for their lord to strike down the Peregrine. “If you can fight it,” he replied, trying to keep his voice low, “then I’ll try and help you get out of here.”

Satan shook his head quickly, as if scaring away gnats. “Why? So you can try and kill me on the outside? No… if I fight… it’s only so I can control its power.” Satan suddenly opened his mouth, spewing flame that engulfed the Peregrine and set his clothing on fire.

Max tumbled to the ground, rolling back and forth. Satan was now gibbering in his nonsense language again, speaking in tongues. The Peregrine managed to douse most of the flames, but before he could respond, Satan kicked him hard in the stomach. The blow was amazingly strong, and Max immediately began coughing up blood, a sure sign that something inside of him had been badly damaged.

The Peregrine still held the Knife of Elohim in one hand and he struck back, slicing deep into Satan’s leg. The attack resulted in a scream of pure agony from the villain, and the light in his eyes momentarily dimmed. The Peregrine threw himself upwards, charging his enemy and driving him back into the rapidly parting crowd. The two men tumbled into the temple, which was lit by a brightly burning brazier. On the walls were carvings of men and women in servitude to monstrous creatures, in some cases even coupling with the horrors.

Satan shoved the Peregrine away, the fire in his eyes beginning to flare again. In a voice that sounded like an eerie mixture of his normal tone and the newer, more inhuman one, Satan said “There’s no reason for us to continue this fight, Max Davies. There is much we could offer one another.”

Max brandished the bloodied dagger in front of him. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”

“In the coming new world order, I will have need of men and women who can stare into the abyss without losing their will. You have confronted much in your time on this Earth. Like Doctor Satan, you are a magnet for the bizarre, and yet you are able to maintain your equilibrium. If you serve me, I will make sure that your woman and your spawn are kept safe.”

The Peregrine scoffed at the very notion. “The best way I can keep my wife and children safe is to make sure that things like you aren’t allowed to continue existing.” Max hurled the Knife of Elohim, and even though Satan tried to dodge, he was far too late. The mystic weapon landed straight in the villain’s throat, causing a fountain of blood to begin bubbling out from the wound. Satan staggered back, the flesh around the blade beginning to sizzle as the weapon did its work.

The Peregrine moved towards Doctor Satan, who had begun to thrash about on the ground, his life beginning to ebb. The fiery light in his eyes was dimming and the Peregrine could almost see the alien entity fleeing its dying host, escaping back into the ether.

“I could save your life right now,” the Peregrine said, catching a flicker of surprise and relief in Satan’s eyes. “But I’m not going to.” Max reached out, grabbed the knife, and began sawing it back and forth until Satan’s head tumbled free of the rest of his body.

The Peregrine then wiped off his blade and drew his pistols. The people outside were not going to be pleased about this turn of events, and he expected to have a difficult time getting out of here alive.

He moved to the doorway and peered out, seeing Vincent striding through the crowd, which had begun to drift away in obvious disappointment.

Frankenstein’s creation glanced about at the townspeople in disgust before spotting the Peregrine. “We need to go,” he said. “Unless you’ve left Satan alive for me to finish off…”

“No, I’m afraid not. He’s inside—decapitated.”

Vincent peered past the Peregrine and spotted the corpse. He nodded. “I wish I could have done it.”

“Sorry. Why aren’t these people trying to tear me limb from limb?”

“I think they’re too depressed to work up the anger they’d need,” Vincent explained. “The few people who spoke to me on the way here just seemed resigned to the fact that they were wrong again—the true avatar hasn’t come here yet. So they have to keep waiting.”

Max shook his head, surprised but pleased. He felt awful, and the pain in his stomach had only increased. He retched, spitting up another mouthful of blood.

Vincent helped steady Max. “There might be some here who will blame you for what happened. Just because of them are walking away doesn’t mean we’re safe. Let me carry you.”

“No… I’m fine, really.” The Peregrine leaned against Vincent, despite his protestations, and the two men hurried as fast as they could from the hidden city. Most of the men and women around them turned their heads, preferring not to even look at them, and Max got the feeling that they all felt he’d committed some horrible crime against them, but it was one that was met with sadness rather than anger.

“I want you to come back to Atlanta with me,” Max said. “Let me try and help you. And if you want to work, I could always use another strong hand around the property.”

Vincent looked down at him, and from within the hood, Max could sense his new friend smiling. “I would have… a job?”

“I’d pay you, certainly. And you could stay in one of the servants’ quarters until you decided to move out on your own, if that’s what you wanted.”

Vincent nodded. “I would like that. A job. A home. A life… as a man. Very much so.”

Together, man and creature left the hidden city.

* * *

Trevor Kirkman rolled off the young brunette who shared his bed. She was barely out of her teens, but she already liked to drink hard liquor, and this had forged a bond between them, one that led to her frequently sharing his bed.

Kirkman lit up a cigarette and felt the urge to pee. He rose from the bed, leaving her to drift off quickly into sleep. After relieving himself in the bathroom, he stared in the mirror at his face, scratching at his beard while running the tap water. He felt… strange… and then he jerked upright as Doctor Satan’s face appeared in the mirror.

“Trevor Kirkman,” the villain said. “I have need of you.”

Kirkman started to scream but he could not—the mental essence of Doctor Satan was in his head, stamping down all traces of Trevor, banishing him to the void.

It was a trick that Satan had mastered in years past, but one that was very, very dangerous to pursue. A single mistake and he’d be sucked away into the hellish afterlife that would normally await someone of his evil nature, which was why he hadn’t used this method to escape from prison. But the death of his body in Vorium had made it a necessity.

Satan strode from the bathroom and spotted the nude girl in Kirkman’s bed. He slid under the covers beside her, reaching around her to cup her firm young breasts.

“Trevor,” she murmured, smiling in the dark. “You beast…”

Satan smiled evilly and leaned in closer. “You have no idea,” he murmured.

THE END

THE DIABOLICAL MR. DEE

Introducing The Peregrine’s Claws

By Barry Reese

Prologue

March 14, 1942

I’m ready for the march to begin anew. The blisters on my feet are still seeping and are painful to the touch but I have new hope and am willing to ignore the suffering for the sake of the expedition. Our boat is stocked with supplies: guns, ammunition, clothing, and food. We are far from comfortable with the meager amounts of rations we have left, but there are plenty of fish in the river and I believe we can successfully hunt for game when on land.

My two companions could not be more different from one another and neither would have been my choice for this expedition, but I have no choice but to hope that we can come together and succeed in this.

One of them is named Theodor Frisch. He is a German national who claims to know the jungle like the back of his hand. I get the impression that he is on the run from multiple sources and I can’t help but wonder why. With the war raging for his homeland, I would think that capable men like Frisch would be in high demand… whatever crimes he had committed must have been so severe that not even the Nazis would want him. It doesn’t fill me with confidence to know that my life is partially in his hands.

My other companion is a woman named Makeeda. Her name is of Ethopian origin and means “the beautiful,” according to one of our now-deceased guides. The name could not be more appropriate. Her skin is the color of milk chocolate and her slim body is the very definition of sex appeal. She wears only the briefest of clothing and it strains my sense of honor to not openly stare at her.

Theodor has no such qualms.

I know that many of my colleagues would consider the notion of traveling with a woman into the jungle to be a disaster in the waiting. The fairer sex are not considered capable of enduring the rigors of hard travel the way we men are, but in Makeeda’s case, this is her homeland and she is perfectly at peace in this environs. Before coming here, I had thought of Ethiopia as a dry place, like a desert, but the country actually has an astonishing array of ecological zones. The deserts lie to the east, while in the north is Lake Tana, which is the source of the Blue Nile. We are in the south, where the tropical forests and jungles are the norm… and where, if my sources are to be believed, lies our ultimate destination.

Makeeda is a levelheaded person and over the past few weeks, she and I have grown much closer. I share my concerns and dreams with her and she listens with obvious attention. She does not speak often and her English is limited but I cannot help but feel that we have bonded in some fashion. She seems to draw comfort from my presence and I am feeling increasingly protective of her.

Unfortunately, Frisch has begun to make overtures of romance to her. Since my son grew lame with a leg injury two weeks ago and was forced to turn back with the last of our guides, it has just been the three of us on this trek… and the tension is almost palpable in the air. Were it not for the fact that neither Makeeda nor I are capable of reading the map and navigating the sometimes choppy waters, we would have abandoned Frisch long ago.

We set off on this latest leg of our journey after a small breakfast on the banks of the river. Makeeda knows the local legends and has tried to give us directions to supplement the crudely drawn maps that Frisch possesses. She says that we are within two days of reaching our goal. I am giddy at the prospect but also fearful of what may happen before then. Frisch is barely speaking to me now and the glint in his eye when he watches Makeeda bathing in the stream disturbs me. I fear he may try to kill me and take her for himself.

I must set aside my writing instruments for now, as the boat is beginning to rock so badly that my ink is going askew. May the Lord above help guide us in this last leg of our journey.

Ahead of us lies the lost city of Tegdaghost… and the possibility of immortality.

CHAPTER I

Breaking Fingers

August 1944—Atlanta, Georgia

The city of Atlanta was home to a terrible war. The followers of the infamous Warlike Manchu were a group of trained killers known as the Ten Fingers. Since the Manchu’s recent resurrection, they had resumed their attempts at claiming the city’s underworld for their lord and master.