MudMan (The Golem Chronicles Book 1) (42 page)

The shaman padded forward, eyes lowered to the ground, hands raised high in reverence. “Great Lord of Death, Father to our kind,” he hissed in broken English, “your humble servant welcomes you to the world of men.”

The creature, Cain, spun, head canted inquisitively to one side, eyes tracking the shaman’s every movement. “One of the devout,” he said, the words crawling beneath Ryder’s flesh. He reached out a massive hand and ran a finger over the shaman’s cheek. “My true blood. Serve your father now.”

“Anything, my Lord. Anything.”

“I hunger,” the beast bellowed, temporarily silencing the battle and drawing every eye. Then he moved in a blur, sweeping forward, jaws unhinging and stretched wide as he descended on the shaman. The gnarled priest’s eyes widened in shock, and he stood rooted to the ground, too stunned to move. The thing’s jaws slid over the Kobock’s head and shoulders without a hitch, crunching down in a spray of gore. Cain reared back, lifting the shaman high into the air, then shook his massive head back and forth like an alligator tearing off a chunk of meat from some sucker wildebeest.

The shaman’s waist and legs fell away, gray coils of gut spilling out all over the floor.

Ryder vomited out more blood—because of the pain, obviously, but also because she’d never seen anything more revolting. And she’d seen Levi set himself on fire before jumping into the stomach of a plant monster.

“Sorry, baby girl—” Chuck began.

“Don’t call me that,” she protested, voice weak and feeble.

“—this shit’s about to get real in here,” he continued without a pause. “Gonna have to set you down for a minute.”

He lowered her to the floor, gently laying her on the cold concrete. He appeared in a blink beside her, now down on one knee while he rooted around in a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a gunmetal-gray box the size of a small safe, gingerly removed a heavy lid covered in more strange sigils, then reached in and pulled out a large egg, its shell a patchwork of pale-green with swirls of yellows running over the surface. Ryder had no trouble placing it: it was the last remaining egg from the Sprawl temple.

THIRTY-TWO:

The Warden

“What the hell are you doing?” Ryder gasped through pained wheezes.

“Saving our asses, hopefully,” Chuck replied. “Levi cut a deal with that crazy-ass computer lady after Hogg snatched your ass. If she can beat that badass motherfucker right there, she gets to keep the body. Gets her freedom. Now you just hang on tight, this is about to get wild as all hell.”

He stood up, egg hefted in one palm, his Desert Eagle clasped in the other.

“You the ugliest lookin’ sumbitch I done ever seen,” Chuck yelled at the creature, who was currently swallowing the remains of the Kobock Priest. “Seriously, I thought my boy Levi was one ugly turd, but next to you, he’s ready to strut the catwalk. You sure they baked you long enough, ’cause you lookin’ a little underdone, hombre.”

Cain regarded Chuck with squinted eyes, ropes of blood and drool dangling from his lips. “How cute, a smart mouthed halfie hoping to save the day. I’m going to rip your spine out, rape your corpse, then wear your ribcage as a decorative bracelet …” He paused, tongue drooping out and pulling in a loose chunk of blue meat. “Or you can walk away and put that”—he motioned toward the egg—“back in its box. Do so and I’ll forget you were ever here.”

“Boy. Don’t you know how to sell it,” Chuck replied. “But I ain’t fixin’ to do that. Instead of listenin’ to you run your mouth at me, I’m gonna watch my girl, Siphonei, wipe the floor with your nasty ass. And, as a bonus, I’m gonna get paid a shit-ton of gold and get some outta-this-world street cred for killin’ you. So you can take your offer and fuck yourself sideways with it, partner.”

Chuck winked and fastballed the egg at the growling monstrosity like David hurling his puny stone at a hulking Goliath. One of Cain’s massive hands snaked out lightning quick, snatching the egg out of the air, the shell intact. “You were saying?” the creature asked, its mouth splitting wide to reveal its fangs.

“I think you heard me just fine,” Chuck replied, unworried—or at least playing the part. He hefted his hand cannon. “But since I can’t actually see any ears on that busted up head of yours, I’ll say it again. Go fuck yourself sideways.”

Chuck pulled the trigger and blasted the otherworldly egg with a single, well-placed shot. The shell exploded in a spray of smoke and grit. In the same instant a soccer ball-sized hole bloomed in reality, spilling a withering mass of green tentacles into the air. Tentacles—covered in thorns, barbs of bone, and wicked black flowers—that slithered like smoke, wrapping around Cain’s arms and legs, entwining around his torso and throat as the rest of the Flower-monster emerged.

In the span of a few heartbeats, Siphonei had pulled herself free and the hole in reality snapped closed with a faint
pop
.

“You insufferable bitch,” Cain spat. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve fantasized about ripping you apart? I will be only too happy to demonstrate the futility of your existence.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, too,” Siphonei said, the flowers running along her body vibrating with sound. “It will be an even greater pleasure to eviscerate you, send you back to your own personal hell, then steal your body.”

“Bitch,” Cain howled as he thrashed, his fingers—spindly and claw-tipped—ripping at the vines wrapped around him, huge jaws flashing out, shredding crab-clawed arms. Siphonei gave as good as she got, though, her crustacean pincers shearing off his fingers and scooping out huge divots in his crimson hide.

“Holy shit, this is the most badass thing I ever seen,” Chuck whispered into Ryder’s ear as he stowed his pistol, shoved his hands beneath her armpits, and hauled her upright, supporting her weight. “I mean
damn.
Ain’t no one ever gonna believe this.” He let out a pent-up breath, then turned back to her. “Okay, cool as this is, my job was to get you. I’ve got you, so I say we split while those bad motherfuckers kill each other dead. You feel that?”

He tried to pull her back, but Ryder fought him with a groan. “Doesn’t work that way,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m tied to that thing. The professor, he explained it. That asshole’s feeding off me and my sister, eating up our life force until we’re both dead.” With a shaky hand, she pointed to a stream of her blood worming its away across the concrete and into Cain’s body. “If that thing lives, I die. We need to get the professor—maybe he can help us. And he deserves to live, even if I die. Please, Chuck, save him.” She paused, eyes landing on her sister, likewise bleeding out on the floor, though not dead yet. “And my sister. Get Jamie.”

“You must be loopy from the blood loss. That bitch stabbed you in the stomach. With a knife. I watched her do it with my own two eyes. Knife. Stomach. Her. You. Shit was thug as hell. I say we leave that crazy hoebag to die—that’s what she was gonna do to you. So in my book that’s how we do her.”

“Listen to me,” Ryder said, her voice little more than a wheeze. “I’m dying, but I refuse to go out with that on my conscience. She’s my family, and family doesn’t leave family behind.” She paused, doubling over, hands groping at the gaping hole in her center.
Oh God, it hurt. Like having your insides dug out with an ice-cream scoop.
“I’ve watched everyone I’ve ever loved die,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “I’m not going to do that again. Besides, what’s a little attempted murder between sisters?” She issued a shaky laugh, accompanied by more blood vomit.

He looked her over, eyes lingering on the blood running down her legs and pooling at her feet. “Shit, girl. Another five minutes and it won’t be
attempted
murder. It just be murder.”

“Please, Chuck. Just do it. I’ll owe you one.”

“Dammit,” he said, scooting away from the battle raging on all fronts and lowering her against one of the stone pillars. “Yeah, you’re gonna owe me one, alright—and don’t go dyin’ before I can collect.” He stood, pistol leveled. “If something happens to me … make sure Levi gives that gold to my mama. Also my car. Pimp-ass ’89 Mercury Grand Marquis. I wanna be buried in that ride—make it happen. And make sure Levi foots the bill. That asshole.” With that Chuck vanished, disappearing in a blink, no flash or gimmicks, just gone.

Worst final words ever
, Ryder thought.

With nothing else to do except bleed to death on the floor, Ryder glanced around, surveying the warehouse. The Kobock battle seemed to be turning—this time in favor of the guys Levi had brought with him. The blue-skinned shits were falling by the score, bludgeoned to death in some cases, strangled by midgets in others, or torn limb from limb by the hulking, wart-covered green dudes who had been first into the fight. Looking at the warehouse was like looking at a slaughterhouse floor after a long day of work.

Only scant resistance remained: a few pockets of Kobocks—stragglers too stupid to die—and six or seven of the white, hairy, boar-faced things, who were holding their ground. The Kobos would be finished in minutes, but those boar-faced guys were fighting like pit bulls in a dog ring. They were going to die, and knew it, but were perfectly content to kick the Reaper in the groin for as long as they could get away with it. None of that really mattered, though. Sure, things were going better on that front than Ryder could’ve ever hoped for, but it wouldn’t matter a lick unless Siphonei killed Cain.

Unless that happened, Ryder would be the first one to go.

And, unfortunately,
that
fight didn’t seem to be going nearly so well.

Siphonei wasn’t rolling over and taking it, but the towering homunculus was one mean-ass son of a bitch. Watching that thing was a lot like watching a bigger, badder version of Levi. The creature reminded her a helluva lot of Levi, actually. The two didn’t share much by way of physical resemblance, but it was in the way the thing moved and fought. The homunculus was more sinuous and graceful than Levi, but he moved with the same confidence and purpose, each blow brutal, economical, and precise.

Even more surprising, he
shifted
, just like Levi. One minute he would lash out with clawed hands and the next one his fist would be a wrecking ball smashing into Siphonei’s leafy body. Uncanny. It was like Levi was the first generation and this freak was the new and improved version.

Siphonei wasn’t ready to give up the ghost, though.

Her tendrils covered damn-near every inch of Cain’s body; the black flowers chewed at his skin, while hooked barbs cut deep and miniature tendrils jabbed inside him, wriggling beneath and into his muscle. They wrestled and fought, careening around the room, slamming into stone pillars—the room quivering from each impact—then going to ground: her on top, trying to pin him in place, then him flipping her with a kick of double-jointed legs. Back and forth, each losing a little more of themselves with every attack.

Cain was too strong, though. Ryder had been in more than her fair share of fights, and she could pick a winner when she saw one. Every second Cain carved away more of Siphonei’s foliage, slicing off huge swathes of green—sometimes legs and vines, other times arms or even flower-faced heads—leaving her weaker and weaker with every passing second. The shed pieces of plant crawled back toward the temple guardian, keeping her in the fight, but not quickly enough. That mean son of a bitch was as fast and effective as an industrial-grade Weed Whacker.

And Cain was getting
stronger
.

Sure, the temple guardian was taking a substantial toll, but the more Ryder bled out, the more she felt herself merge with Cain. He was feeding off her life force—they were connected, souls intertwined, and Ryder knew the only reason Siphonei was doing this well was because the ritual wasn’t complete. Cain was vulnerable until she and her sister bit the big one, but once that happened, the crimson-skinned demon would be next to unstoppable.

A flash of movement near the professor pulled her eyes away from the knock-down drag-out of the century: Chuck had momentarily phased back into view. He was on one knee, gun tucked into the back of his waistband while he worked furiously to loosen the chains holding Professor Wilkie captive. Cain caught Ryder’s gaze—even while beating the holy shit out of Siphonei—and turned his head a fraction of an inch, his thousand eyes narrowing in on the lanky leprechaun as he worked.
Oh shit.

With a wince, she pushed herself away from the column, trying to gain her feet. She dropped back onto her ass. No luck. “Heads up, Chuck!” She screamed, since she could do shit else, not with the pain in her stomach. “He sees you.” Those final words took every ounce of air in her lungs. She fell back, head rapping against the stone pillar—white starbursts flared in her vision. She pressed her eyes shut and breathed slow and steady through her nose—it hurt less that way—then pressed both hands to her belly, trying to staunch the blood flow.

The report of Chuck’s pistol filled the air, but she was too tired to give a shit.

Holy shit was she worn out—felt like she’d been up for a week straight, strung out on coke before running a triathlon. It didn’t help that her veins seemed to be filling with icy water instead of warm blood. Numbness stole in from her fingers and toes, working its way inward toward her heart, fogging her mind and her senses.
This was the end.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as she thought it’d be. The gut wound was ten different kinds of agony, but now she just felt
faded
and
empty
. Like she was being unmade. Unformed.

Kinda pleasant, actually.

Glass shattered somewhere, a whole pane of the stuff, followed by a familiar bellow of guttural rage. Levi. She cracked her eyes open in time to see the Mudman plummet through the air, a snarl on his face, both fists shaped like medieval battle-axes.

THIRTY-THREE: