The Awakening

time.

Thank you, God.

Pain meant less than nothing to her when faced with saving a child. She would not let him down. She would not let herself down.

Bigger and stronger with purpose, Gaby slid her knife free of the sheath. Razor-edged steel on weathered leather emerged with a lethal hiss, bolstering her, empowering her. Steps metered and sure, she approached the scene, placing herself center stage, gaining sudden attention.

With a shock of displeasure, evil's face knotted and gnarled. The clumps of live flesh, covered in a glossy sheen, jiggled and flushed with ripening fury. The weight of the grotesque appendages kept the semihuman form off-kilter, listing to the side, adding to the loathsome image.

It released its grip on the trembling boy.

The child looked at Gaby, and even through the haze, she saw the awful anguish that would haunt him for all of his years.

He'd met the bogeyman, and he would never forget.

Gaby inhaled a painful, shuddering breath—and accepted the truth: She was on time, and yet, sadly… she wasn't.

'Go.' She didn't hear her own voice; she never could, not when duty dominated her every sense. Most normal humans would have wanted to console the child, to reassure him.

That wasn't her job.

She didn't know shit about consolation.

But destruction… oh yeah. That she knew.

All her senses stayed tuned to the wicked face of corruption. As if the apparition felt confusion at her interference, or maybe over its own inclinations, bright violet and dark indigo churned together. The monster hesitated before taking a step toward her.

Oh yeah, Gaby thought, come to me.

And the colors mutated.

Bursts of blood red erupted, broken only by black holes boring through the crimson. This demon suffered excruciating pain and physical imbalance.

Gaby didn't soften an inch.

Because of her present insight, Gaby knew that the soul of this enmity had devoured many children. To her mind, it deserved to suffer. Without her intervention, it might have gone on to ruin other innocents. But now, finally, it had erred.

It came within Gaby's reach.

God wanted it gone, and she'd damn well see to it—gladly.

The boy back-stepped on weak, clumsy legs, faltering, shuddering, removing himself from her peripheral vision. Gaby allowed herself to be drawn into the evil, to understand it and experience it.

The better to destroy it.

'Go,' she screamed one last time, and the boy turned in a stumbling rush, sobbing hard, fleeing as fast as he could. The vulgar, monstrous head turned to watch as its prey got away.

'No,' Gaby taunted with certainty, 'you won't ever touch him.' Though fever burned through her, evaporating the sweat on her skin, her fingers were icy-tight on the bone handle of the lethal blade. 'You're mine, you malformed bastard. All mine.'

Quite often, demons were too stupid to be afraid. This trigger proved no different. Wailing its fury at her interference, deceived by her slim stature and the blank stare of her hollow eyes, the aged apparition crashed toward her.

Like great globs of brain tissue exposed to the elements, the excess flesh swung around the face. Pale eyes watery with age or tears displayed a bone-deep hatred. Parted on a fierce cry, wrinkled lips exposed toothless gums.

One bony limb lifted, creating an arc of blistering red and smoldering gray, intent on striking her.

Perfect.

In a straight, well-aimed strike, Gaby slashed with her knife, using the momentum of the attack to aid her. The finely honed edge penetrated the chest wall with ease. Gaby stuck her knife long and deep through loose, buttery flesh, until it deflected off a brittle rib.

The demon staggered, bent—and Gaby severed the windpipe, turning the shriek of pain and surprise into a repugnant gurgle.

She could have stopped there.

She should have stopped; it would have been less messy.

But when in the zone, Gaby lacked control. And when it came to the abuse of children, she considered mere death a feeble cop-out. For as long as the creature gasped for air, for as long as it could feel the slashing of her wrath. Gaby would administer her own fitting punishment.

Teeth bared in the grisly semblance of a smile, she hacked again, sinking deep into a blackened heart that accepted her blade like a stick through a marshmallow, soft and squishy.

Easy.

Satisfying.

Determined to give as much as she could, Gaby twisted the blade and wrenched it back out, doing as much damage on her exit as she'd done on the thrust.

Uncaring of the writhing, incoherent pleas and the chubby, dwarfed hands that batted at her in futile defense, Gaby gouged into wet, twisted guts, into those awful, bulbous growths on the head.

The body stilled, all movement ceasing, and still she used both hands, her breath coming in grunts as she sawed through organs and muscle.

Even in the afterlife, this malevolence would never again menace a child. When the coppery taste of blood polluted her mouth, Gaby finally stopped. She smelled the tang of the blood, felt the sting of it in her eyes.

The blood and gore was… everywhere. Bits and pieces of flesh, skin and bone, splattered and spilled on the ground, on the remains of the body… and on her.

Gasping, Gaby took a hasty, appalled step backward. She gagged, spat, and swiped an arm across her eyes and mouth.

Silenced by the violence of her own acts, she waited for the ease that followed a kill. Nothing moved but her rapidly pumping heartbeat and the bellowing of her chest as she sucked in stale, hot air. Anxious for the return of sanity, she closed her eyes.

But the relief didn't come.

Alarm clung to her; pain prodded and pulled.

What the hell was happening ?

Abruptly, she whiffed it in the air, the rancid scent of immorality. Accepting the prickling of fresh alarm, Gaby tried to prepare her depleted body.

Somewhere near to her, a presence lurked. The colors flowing in and around the area shifted with ominous overtones, all shades faded and greasy in deceptive connation, moving with the speed of a turbulent river, too fast for her to decipher. She sensed another's gleeful satisfaction and dawning perception, a perception that perhaps matched her own.

Blinding pain ripped a groan from her soul that she couldn't silence.

The knife, now slick with blood, almost slipped from her numbed fingers. She clung to it, bracing her feet apart to stay upright, to stay alert.

Whatever stalked her, she had to defend herself.

No one else would.

Thankfully, no sooner did Gaby have the thought than the alarm began receding, sliding away until only her thrumming grief remained.

She searched the area, searched her own senses, but could detect nothing. Slowly, through a lessening of misery that told her all was now well. Gaby came back to herself.

Whatever had plagued her, whatever had watched her, was now gone.

Nausea rolled over her. Her vision cleared and the brilliance faded, dissolving into the air until only the drab,