The Record of the Saints Caliber (59 page)

Celacia looked up at the demon, her eyes narrowing.

“Who are you?” demanded the demon.

“Celacia.” she chirped. “Who are you?”

The demon mouthed the name a few times and then its heat-throbbing eyes went wide. “It…it cannot be…”

Celacia looked down at herself. “Well, apparently it
can
be.”

The demon looked at her and snarled, waves of heat around it intensified, blurring its image.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“I am the demon Yig.”

“Yig, huh?” said Celacia. Her eyes turned up in thought and she tapped her chin. “Never heard of you. You must be after my time. You know a demon named Bulifer?”

The veins of fire in the creature’s charred body glowed now with bright yellows as its heat intensified and washed over Celacia, blowing her obsidian hair. Its lips turned up and its fire-veined teeth shown brightly. It raised its hand toward Celacia.

“Haven’t you already been down this road? I don’t think fire’s going to kill me.” said Celacia, staying its hand. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to take off my head.”

The demon glowered at her and extended its left hand out to its side. The earth moaned and cracked and from a fiery fissure rose a terrifying sword into its grasp. The long, broad, blade was gray, almost ethereal in appearance. It looked like glass filled with thick clouds of undulating fog or steam. But it was neither. The very blade was made of ghostly specters; formless, tortured, wispy apparitions whose dark, hollow eyes and mouths were twisted in agony as they swam within the framework of the blade. The sword’s handle and hilt was a sickly ivory color, bumpy and oddly textured. After a moment Celacia realized that it was made of teeth. Her brow furled in disgust at the notion. “That’s gross.” she said. She looked at the demon. “But a nice touch, I suppose.”

“I shall take your head to my master and claim Nuriel’s soul as well.” said the demon.

“Sounds fair. If you win.” said Celacia. She raised Deathwind and fell into an offensive stance.

The demon laughed. “So certain of yourself.” It shook its head. “You are of a bygone age, Celacia. Of an age when Aeoria walked this earth and me and my ilk were fettered to my master’s domain. But me? I am of
this
age, and it is a godless, hopeless age. Every day more of my kind are Unbound from Hell. Every day our power grows.”

The demon paused and let its hateful eyes burn into Celacia for a moment. “You spoke of Bulifer. I know his name, and he still lives.” It held its sword before Celacia, gripping it tightly in its left hand. The spirits within the confines of the blade howled and the very air before the sword seemed to shudder at the terrible sounds. “When you fought him his blade was weaker than mine is now. He was not fully Unbound when you fought him. In fact, his Golothic still has not born fruit, but its time is near at hand, for it has come to the one for whom it was intended. When his Golothic pays its due, he shall rise more powerful than any who have come before or after me, for Bulifer’s Golothic bears a promise and a price a millennia in the making.

“I may be younger than Bulifer, but I am fully Unbound. My Golothic paid its price long ago. The man who bought it from me—a carpenter—wanted a better life for his family, and traded his very hands for my Golothic. His skill became something legendary and his furniture still lives within many castles and manors. Great wealth came to him, and his family lived in luxury until arthritis took it all away. He died poor and penniless, a drunkard in the gutters, after he sold his wife and daughter out as whores.”

The demon made a perverse moan. “My blade has had a long age to feast upon sins. It is more full and powerful than any of my ilk you may have fought in your own age. Relent now and I shall give you the satisfaction of a clean death.”

“Sorry Yig,” said Celacia. “I’m not leaving without Nuriel. She’s mine.” The snow all around Celacia instantly began to melt, the water drying up, leaving parched, cracked earth beneath her.

“Have it your way.” said Yig. “My master will enjoy exploring the depths of your soul.”

For such a large creature, Yig was extremely fast. He dashed in, his unholy sword coming down in a swift arc. Celacia raised her blade to meet his and the two cracked together with a terrible sound. Ghostly hands began clawing from the demon’s sword, reaching out and grabbing Celacia’s sword hand and forearm. Their very touch sent chills into Celacia and she could swear she felt their wispy little fingers touching her very bones. Her mind flashed with terrible thoughts and memories—rapes and murders—but none of them were her own. They were disjointed pictures, all from the perspective of the ones who had committed them…the ones whose souls were reaching out to her.

Celacia tore her arm away and spun right and Yig came in for another swing, laughing at her. “Not even you, Celacia, can escape my master’s domain.”

Celacia parried aside his sword and spun in, delivering a backhand to Yig’s thigh. The charred and fiery-veined flesh exploded in dust and spilled out molten earth from the wound. Yig stumbled back for a moment, looking on in horror at the oozing magma from his leg.

“Nor can you escape mine.” said Celacia. She looked up at the towering creature and winked.

Yig raised his blackened lips into a fiery snarl as his wound healed, covered by more cracked, blackened flesh. He laughed. “In Hell we have plenty of flesh to call from.”

The two darted in at each other. Their swords clashed in swift, powerful strokes from every angle. Celacia moved in quick, fluid motions, knowing that she could not linger in any single spot or tarry when pulling her own blade away from his. To do so would give the damned souls of his sword time to reach out to her, to flood her mind with the very images that haunted them for eternity. Though not lethal, they were far from pleasant and would slow her down and confuse her. Celacia knew too that her sword’s power had no sway over Yig’s own. The demon’s sword was a blade comprised of the souls sentenced to Hell. Already dead and damned, there was little her powers of death had on them. If anything, had she the ability to kill their very souls, she would likely be doing them a great favor. And Yig himself, though not entirely immune to her aura of death, had plenty more flesh to call upon. She made a few exploratory flares of her aura, each time causing his charred flesh to slough off, revealing the fiery magma beneath, only to crust over again with more blackened flesh. Celacia briefly thought about sending her aura forth in a single, powerful blast, but should the attack fail it would leave her weakened and tired. Celacia knew this was a foe she’d have to kill the old-fashioned way. Unless, of course, he killed her the old-fashioned way first.

Celacia spun in at Yig, the very atmosphere shying away from her, lending her speed. Yig threw aside her strike and swatted at her with his large, clawed hand, and it made purchase right across her shoulder. She hadn’t expected it, and she made a distressed chirp as she was knocked off her feet and fell backward. She used the momentum to tumble herself back to her feet and she got her sword up just in time to meet Yig’s. The two swords clashed right before Celacia’s eyes, but she could not get away. Yig pressed in on her, his own size and strength so overbearing that all she could do was press her own sword against his, trying to keep the blade as far from her neck as she could.

Yig laughed as the ghostly hands came forth from his blade, wrapping long, wispy fingers around her hands and forearms. Celacia closed her eyes and cringed as pictures of vile crimes flooded her mind. She tried to move, but Yig’s strength was too much and it was all she could do to hold back his sword. She screamed against his horrible laughter as images of blood and murder, rape and crimes even more vile than that tore at her mind.

Yig pressed down on his sword with both hands and Celacia felt her arms give a few inches. Now the apparitions howled wildly as even more hands reached out for her face. Some grabbed at her hair, others scratched for her nose.

“It’s over, Celacia.” said the demon with great pleasure. Celacia fell to a knee against his overwhelming strength. “I told you that mine was of a godless and hopeless age. My ilk have grown fat on this world’s depravity. Welcome to Hell, darling. Your stay will be a long one.”

Celacia let out a scream and let loose her grip on Deathwind. The sword fell through her hands as she grabbed Yig’s hands as he held his blade. Immediately his fingers began to crumble. She screamed out, flaring her deathly aura, and it washed over the land with terrifying effect. Yig made an unworldly sound of pain and stumbled backward as his very hands crumbled before his eyes and his sword fell to the ground. Celacia snarled and leaped toward him. Yig stumbled backward as Celacia landed on his chest. She punched her hand into him, her aura killing off his charred flesh and allowing her fist to sink deep into his body. She did the same with her other fist, and then began climbing up toward his neck.

Yig howled out into the night and scraped at her with his molten stumps. Celacia wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed, flaring her aura as powerfully as she could. She felt his skull crumbling between her clutching arms. She was killing his body off more quickly than he could regenerate it. He howled and scraped at her, but his fire could not touch her, the very heat of it dying off before it could so much as singe her hair. More chunks of charred and molten flesh fell from between her arms until there was no head left. The body flailed around, but still she clung to it, driving herself into his chest. The demon fell back and Celacia stayed upon him. Slowly, everything began to crumble to dust, and within a minute Celacia found herself laying upon dead, parched earth. The only thing left of Yig were the ashes blowing away in the wind.

Celacia stood up and looked around. She saw Yig’s terrible sword as it was sucked down into the earth, howling out until its voice was drowned beneath the dirt. Her own sword lay nearby and she picked it up. The black blade faded away and she tucked the bladeless handle back into her boot. Then she looked up and saw Nuriel laying in the snow some few dozen yards away. She screwed her lips up into a scowl and walked over to the fallen Saint, leaving tracks of dead earth and melted snow in her wake.

Nuriel was herself again, encompassed in a very faint golden glow of Caliber energy. No trace of withered or dead flesh was upon her, though she was deathly pale. Crusty, white, foamy saliva shown at the edges of her mouth and her eyes were upturned and half open. The Saint was close to death, Ev still running rampant through her veins. Celacia blew out a long breath as she stared down at her.

Celacia knelt by Nuriel, doing her utmost to restrain her aura, but it was excruciatingly difficult. She had loosed a lot of her power upon Yig and she was exhausted. And, despite her efforts, Celacia could see Nuriel’s golden hair tarnishing at the ends and her black Star-Armor hazing over as if death breathed upon it. She nudged Nuriel’s head gently. Where her fingers touched Nuriel’s flesh, it turned sickly yellow and gray, though it quickly went back to normal. Celacia knew that if Nuriel were not a Saint protected by Caliber energy, the dead flesh would remain. She nudged Nuriel’s head again. And again. “Time to wake up, Nuriel.”

Nuriel stirred on the ground. She let out a low moan and more foamy saliva developed at the edges of her mouth. Celacia placed her fingers upon Nuriel’s neck, quickly trying to feel for a pulse before her skin began to rot away. She let her go and grimaced. Nuriel’s pulse was unnervingly fast, but her breathing was slow and shallow. Celacia frowned and looked upon Nuriel. She noticed a small fleck of blood upon her wrist and looked more closely. That was where she had injected her drugs.

Celacia stood up and bit her lip. She looked down at Nuriel. Whatever the young little Saint had done, it was too much. She was dying. Celacia knew death better than anybody. She could feel disease when its roots were but nascent threads; could feel illness before a person even began to sneeze. She could feel death when it was still twenty-years from taking hold of a man. Yes, she knew death and how it felt, and from Nuriel it was screaming. Celacia didn’t know if Nuriel had taken too much, or if perhaps the demon’s sway made it more potent within her system. Either way, it was more than her body could handle. Celacia chewed her lip as she looked down at the dying Saint and shook her head. “He used to fix all these things for me.” said Celacia to herself, her tone hopeless. “I don’t know if I can do this on my own.”

Celacia looked up at the dark, starless sky and let out a long breath. “Alright Aeoria, I know you’re sleeping somewhere, but you have to throw me a bone here.” she said quietly. She closed her eyes and stood in silent meditation for a very long moment. Then she sat down beside Nuriel and cradled her in her arms. Celacia strained to suppress her aura until the very effort was physically painful. She breathed slowly and deeply, trying to focus all her attention into Nuriel’s body. She stroked Nuriel’s golden hair and it tarnished within her hand.

“I’ve never tried to do this before,” she whispered to the unconscious Saint. Celacia grabbed the Saint’s hand and rubbed at her wrist where the puncture wound was, the skin growing sickly yellow. She closed her eyes again and sat silently, trying to feel the very death within Nuriel.

It was there. It flowed like black rivers in all her veins and arteries. Celacia continued to breathe slow and deep, straining to suppress her aura as she felt around the Saint’s body for death. It was in her organs, her heart and liver. Her blood was drowned out by it. Celacia bit her lip, cringing. She breathed deeply, and with her eyes closed, she let go a little on her aura and focused on sending it through her blood.