And It Arose from the Deepest Black (John Black Book 2) (12 page)

20

Flipping end over end through the air, the tangy mist of sea-salt air filling my nose, I thought of my father.

Is this what it was like? Those last horrible moments?

I felt like something inside, a light, my fire, popped off and was gone.

It must have taken no more than a second, but for me it seemed like minutes, maybe hours. My mind’s eye saw my dad. Not the friendly face of the father who taught me to ride a bike, helped with homework, grilled burgers. Not even the dead face I remembered from his wake the day before we buried him. Instead, I saw a face of
horror
. A face that knew what fate had in store.

I saw the face of my father moments before his death, the way he must have looked, grimacing in fear, flipping end over end, gripping the steering wheel as his car did its last, terminal acrobatics.

No.

Then…

Yes. I deserve it.

This must be how I died. Why else would I have this vision? In ultra-slow motion, a part of my brain knew that my flying body would soon hit something hard and painful. Something that would end my life.

And I deserved it.

I killed my own father. That was called patricide. I was guilty. A sin I would carry to my rapidly approaching grave.

And it wasn’t just him. I carried the weight of other deaths, too. Walter Ivory. Petrus. Sol. Despite what they were, what they tried to do, they were human, they had lives. Maybe even loved ones. I knew Petrus had Margrethe, until I robbed them of each other. Was Margrethe still out there, mind altered by me to forget all about what I had done? Or had my mental push worn off? Did she live every moment wrapped in grief and anger?

Phillip Black.
Phi
l
.
Dad.

Sol. Jose do Branco.

Walter Ivory.

Petrus.

Margrethe.

The lives I had snuffed out. Human lives. With my powers. My blessing, my curse.

If any part of my superpowers was controlled by a simple and pure desire to live, I extinguished that desire. The fire went out. I welcomed the impact, still flipping through the air.

In real time, barely an instant had passed. And then, I hit.

The feeling was worse than any I could remember, worse than when Sol had dashed me into the desert canyon wall. Gorgol Omicron had hit me with an unbelievable force, sent me reeling at an unbelievable speed.

The sharp, volcanic rocks of the shoreline tore my body. I knew my physical powers, to sluice and shift, to form and bend and reform. What if I were ripped to pieces? I didn’t think there was any way to recover from that. After all, I had blown Sol to bits, and he was gone.

Through eyes that were blurred with blood or maybe tears, yet somehow still held a form, I looked at the sky, the brightness of the blue, the white clouds blending into a glow that I could barely tolerate.

Forever passed, and slowly my eyelids began to fall.

“John,” she said.

Mom?

I couldn’t speak. With waning effort, I reached out with my mind.
Mom?

“John, use your powers. Will yourself back together, back to life.”

No, Mom. It’s too late. And… I deserve thi
s
.

“You can do it. You have to do it. Quickly.”

No, I can’t. I don’t want to.

Her voice came closer. “You
have
to do it, John.
Now
.”

Hands slid my mask upward, just enough. Then, she leaned close and kissed me.

Somewhere in my mind, a spark reignited. The kiss. It was not what I expected. Not the tender, loving kiss of my mother, the kiss I had known my whole life.

This was not my mother.

Which was good, because the kiss, her lips on mine, lasted for some time.

And something was
happening
. A warmth flowed from the kiss, into my brain, down into my body. Like an infusion of life, the kiss changed me. It ran through me, heightening my senses. The pain increased, but so did the burn of my powers healing me. My vision cleared.

The little fire inside popped back on. Tiny, but there.

“Pip?” I said, blinking.

She leaned backward, breaking the connection, her mask falling back down to cover her mouth. “Good. Come on — help me help you. Will yourself back together. I
know
you can.” Still, her voice sounded far from confident. It sounded more like pleading.

The look in her eyes was one of deep concern. I could only assume based on that look that I was in very bad shape. I couldn’t feel much of my body. I could see, barely hear, but touch? There seemed to be almost nothing. Was this shock, from all the pain? Still, the warmth burned through me. What had Pip done to me?

The little fire got bigger, just a bit.

Was it possible to combine powers? Or transfer them? There had been many surprises, learning my abilities. Pip had those abilities, too. Maybe…

“How…?” I started.

“Come on, John. Quickly. You’re getting there, but we need you. Bobby’s in trouble. He’s all alone out there. Against both of them. Hurry!”

In trouble. Against both
.

The Gorgols. In my state, they had seemed a million miles away. And at some point while I was out, Sigma had appeared. Sneaky little bastard. Well, she wasn’t little, but you know what I mean.

I had given in to death, but death had eluded me, because of Pip. And then… if I let my friend die, and I lived, another death would be mine to carry.

My little fire suddenly puffed larger, not the tepid flickering of a single flame but the raging blaze of anger.

I shuffled one foot, pulling it under me, though I felt nothing. Not my shoe, not the ground. I simply willed it to happen.

Pip’s eyes went wide. If I could have seen through the red mask she wore, I bet her mouth was agape. “My God…,” she said.

I pulled the other foot, then pushed with both, forcing myself to stand. But somehow my point of view flipped upside down. I could feel my body, bent impossibly. Then it compressed. I guess those little thorns in my cells were doing their magic tricks. My body sluiced back to a standing form, and the world righted itself.

Pip stood before me, still in shock. “That was incredible.”

I flexed my fingers, making and releasing fists. Then I shook my arms, made circles with my neck, reaching up to orient my mask so I could see. And finally, like all the gears had clicked into place, I was me again. “Where’s Bobby?”

Shaking her head slightly, Pip turned, rushing off with sword in hand. “Follow me.”

Sword
.

I scanned the rocks around me, but my sword was nowhere to be found. “Pip! My sword!”

She paused, turning back. “Over there!” She pointed at the ground to my right, past a pile of cement rubble that once might have been part of a patio or sidewalk. Then, not sparing another moment, she ran again.

I had no choice but to follow, snatching up the weapon that I suddenly felt I must have. Why did I feel naked without it? I had trained for such a short time with the thing, why did I care?

Because it was
something
. Something that might stand between me and the monsters.

But I knew the only thing that could really help me — besides Pip, besides Bobby — was me.

And I was angry.

21

Running, dodging rubble, we could see the distant forms of Omicron and Sigma, their focus clearly on something.

From where we were, the two monsters seemed to be dancing, circling each other, almost like the gunslingers in the Westerns my dad showed me now and then when I was younger. As if someone was shooting at their feet and yelling
Dance!

So much of this was like revisiting Saturday-morning movies. War movies, Westerns, monster movies.

My life was surreal. This, of course, was not the first or last time I thought such a thing.

I stopped running for a moment, watching. Sucking in air, Pip paused, too. “They’re too big to attack something so small at the same time,” I said. “It’s like they’re getting in each other’s way.” Then it dawned on me, and I grinned. “He’s
playing
them!” I laughed out loud, looking to Pip.

But she didn’t smile. If anything, she looked more determined than before. “He is
for now
. But he can’t do it forever. Dodging those things even once is tiring. Bobby’s gotta be exhausted.”
Oh shit.
She was right. “If we don’t get there now, any tiny mistake could be Bobby’s last.” She bolted, and I followed.

Coming over the next small rise, we could see more clearly, although we didn’t stop to gawk. Bobby — his yellow mask a bright spot in the blighted landscape — was sluicing and jumping between the feet of the Gorgols, running dangerously close to one to avoid the other, back and forth. It truly seemed like he had worked out something to keep them at bay, yet it had to be wearing him down.

As soon as I thought that, Bobby stumbled. Sigma, standing upright on her thin legs, had swiped at him with one spiked claw, and Bobby had lost his footing at the exact wrong time. The monster’s hand swept into him, sending him crashing backward, directly into one of Omicron’s legs. The second creature wasted no time, punching downward. Bobby sluiced just in time to miss the brunt of the blow, but still took a sidelong glance. Again, he was sent flying, a yellow streak in the air. The Gorgols must have smelled blood. Sigma tucked into her lithe, snakelike form, slithering to one side to intercept Bobby, and caught him in her mouth, notched between two razor-sharp teeth. I knew Bobby was down to his last option.

Come on, Bobby, do something — we’re almost there!
And as if I willed it, Bobby’s nearly lifeless form lurched, and he grabbed at the teeth on each side of his body. Sigma shook her head, but rather than letting himself be flung away, Bobby held on.

My fear and concern for Bobby made the anger inside me burn even brighter.

Pip and I ran, closing the distance. A cold fear spread down my spine as I thought about my first, extremely brief encounter Omicron just moments before. If I was taken out as quickly a second time, it seemed certain my friends would die. But I wanted the fight this time. I wanted to dive in head first.
Just don’t be stupid, John, okay?
Running and slashing and simply hoping seemed futile. We were tiny, the Gorgols massive. Anger alone wasn’t going to cut it.

We needed some kind of plan.

“Red!” I shouted, still running. I actually remembered to use her code name. An idea had come to me — limited, but better than nothing. “We need to separate them — together, they’re too much.”

Pip nodded. “I’ll hit Sigma, you get to Omicron!”

Great. Omicron. That worked well the first time.
Nonetheless, I nodded, angling myself toward the bulkier creature ahead. “Okay!” Pip peeled off toward Sigma. Fear and uncertainty filled me, but the burn inside tempered them both. I wanted this fight.
Omicron. Time for a payback.

Ahead, Sigma, with Bobby still in her teeth, slammed her head toward the ground. Apparently he had found a way to hurt her, and she wanted him gone. When Sigma’s head once again came up, Bobby was no longer in her mouth.

Nor were two of her teeth.

Way to go, Bobby!
I thought, watching the action as I neared Omicron. The big, brown, stone-scale beast was distracted, watching his sister deal with Bobby. So I had an opening. A chance to attack Omicron where I wasn’t just careening headlong into him. My only chance to deal a blow without the possibility of being hit first… of possibly being knocked out first, again.

I ran, my sword held high. And the world slowed.

As if time had been trapped in honey, everything passed by in muted, strangely dense air. I had a moment to think.
What do I expect to accomplish? Omicron is nearly 200 feet tall, and I’m not even six feet tall. At best, I give him a nasty cut on his toe.
There had to be some better idea.

My anger wasn’t listening anymore. It was a desire to destroy this creature. The fact that the Gorgols were heading for my sister, for Holly, was just an idea, an abstract one. The fact that the monsters could kill Bobby or Pip at any moment was concrete and immediate. I needed to kill the beast, and I needed to do it
no
w
.

Higher. I need to get higher. Soft tissue. Internal organs. Maximum damage.

But how? The landscape had been smashed nearly flat wherever the Gorgols had tread. Except for some rocky outcroppings here and there, the valley provided no opportunities to meet Omicron at eye level. The edge of the valley was maybe a half-mile behind the creature, where the hills climbed upward. If I wanted to strike a real blow on Omicron, I had to reach the rocks.

But first things first.

I needed the Gorgol’s attention. I needed to hit him, hard. And not in the toenail. But there was nothing to climb, no way nearby to get higher, unless…

Unless I can fly
.

I laughed as I ran forward.
Fly?

But Sol had done it, in a sort of hover. Bobby had done it, behind the shops that night. Could I? I failed the last time I’d tried. I remembered words my dad had said to me, so many times when trying to get me to do something I didn’t want to do that had to be done.
No time like the presen
t
.

So I tried again.

Finding the largest nearby rock as a launchpad, I leapt into the air, sword raised.

And beyond all belief — or maybe specifically because I wasn’t
disbelieving
— I flew. Up and up in an impossible arc, one that should have already had me back on Earth, feet still running through the rubble. Instead, I floated upward toward the right side of the creature. My eyes were glued to the area below Omicron’s right arm, the hopefully delicate side of his torso, the joint. I flipped my sword around to point down, both hands on the hilt ready to drive it deep into the gut of the beast.

I flew with a spiteful gleam in my eye, determined to kill.

I’ve heard the term bloodlust before, but I’m pretty sure this was the first time I ever felt it. I would bury my weapon in the side of the beast and he would die. The smile on my face must have looked twisted and frightening. I flew, a grimacing angel on wings of death. Or maybe just a dopey teenager in a silly mask with an outdated weapon. But, come on, I was going for the kill. Allow me to think I was a tiny bit cool, okay?

That is, until my arc began to decline.

No, come on! Higher!
I demanded my body to fly upward again, and instantly dropped a dozen feet or more. Guess who wasn’t smiling anymore?
Gah! Stop it, John, just go!
Thinking about it was bad. Thinking about it made me doubt myself. Thinking about it made me go down, not up.

I tried to clear my mind. Somewhere to my right I heard Pip cry out — not in pain, but a battle cry. I had to hope they were handling Sigma, that Bobby was okay.

My arc continued to fall, past the mid point of Omicron, down. Toward his right leg, directly at his knee.

That’s fine
, I thought with a renewed viciousness.
Taking out that joint might be enough
. I held the sword above my head with both hands, willing it stronger, willing it to dive deep into the knee of the creature. It grew and its point became more defined, looking more deadly.
It might be enough.

Then I hit, and my sword bit into the stony flesh of Gorgol Omicron, just at the base of his knee. The creature’s body sliced open and a dark viscous liquid poured out around me. I continued to fall, sword still in hand, cutting downward like a swashbuckler riding a stage curtain to the safety of the deck below. Only I didn’t cut cloth, I cut skin. Hard, knobby, stone-like skin, but still skin. The bloodlust increased seeing, well,
bloo
d
.

Omicron tensed. Then he shrieked, head facing down toward the pain, toward me. The sound seemed to shatter my eardrums.

Still my sword cut as I slid downward, opening a long vertical gash starting from my impact point near the knee. Omicron stumbled in pain, starting to topple.

It’s working!
My maniac’s smile returned.

Then something hit me like a massive hammer to the back of the head. A hammer that my body once again could not avoid — despite all those silly hammer tricks Bobby and I had once dished out on one another. I was ripped away from Omicron by a downward swipe that sent me through the air, this time toward Omicron’s short and scaly tail, over it, and beyond to the ground below.

But, thankfully, there were no rocks. No wall to be dashed against, just the relative flatness of the rubble. I hit the ground and rolled unceremoniously to a stop.

I was intact, but without a weapon — my sword must have remained jabbed into Omicron’s leg. My body was in a heap, but compared to the first hit I had taken, I was okay. I pulled myself together and stood, looking toward the back of the monster.

It started to turn.

And there, in its right leg, I saw the gash I had made, my sword still poking out of the bottom of the bleeding cut. It must have been 25 feet or more, straight up and down, with the sword hilt at the bottom like the dot on an exclamation point. It seeped with the nearly black blood of the Gorgol.

Soon, a very angry Omicron would be facing me.

I stared, eager to see the damage I had done. Proud of myself. The anger inside feeding off it, loving it.

But Omicron was gigantic. Without a weapon, I had a serious problem. I either needed a way out or a new plan.

Over my shoulder, I spied the rocky edge of the valley, the only place I would find any place to hide. If I wanted to get away. If that was even possible.

And if it wasn’t? If this was a fight to the death, no exceptions, no way out? It was also the only place where I could climb upward, meet Omicron face to face.

Face to face with nothing in my hand. Doofus and the beast.

It was a prospect that I both feared and welcomed.