fiery wings and dropped low. Everto Trucido was a malevolent blur in her wake, hacking through the ankles of the wolves that were too slow, or too dumb, to get out of her way. They hit the floor howling, thrashing about as they clutched at their oozing stumps. They were pretty lucky that was all she cut off.
Katon, smooth as ever, stepped in to reenact the Matrix movies. Minute shifts in positioning helped him avoid the legion of flashing claws that whipped toward him. He lashed out lightning fast to counter. The air around him exploded in a crimson rain. The rich scent of blood filled the room within seconds.
Not to be outdone, I turned my attention toward the sea of werewolves behind us. Given the width of the chapel, its wide open spaces, I was at a tactical disadvantage as well as a numerical one.
So, in essence, it was pretty much the same as every other fight I’d ever been in. Good times.
Still exhausted, and pretty sure I didn’t have the energy to just napalm their ranks like Rahim would, I had to be subtle. Too bad I don’t do subtle well.
Fortunately, magic is all about imagination and I have that in oodles. So, before any of the werewolves got close enough to rip me a new one, I pictured thousands of tiny little spheres, like mystical ball bearings, and focused my energy into creating them. In an instant, they came to life, hovering in a coalesced, glowing bunch before me looking like a bundle of ugly grapes. The pack slowed when they saw them, the line spreading out, wary. They didn’t know what the spheres were, but they had to know they weren’t good; for them.
I just smiled and waved. “Boom!”
I’ll leave out the part where I nearly shit myself worrying if my trick would work. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
At my command, the spheres exploded outward like an anti-personnel mine. Tiny projectiles of pure energy ripped into the ranks, penetrating through until they ran out of steam. Red dots appeared on the werewolves as though they’d contracted chicken pox. Those closest dropped instantly. Those behind them stumbled as the tiny red holes began to bleed, then gush. Crimson waterfalls sprung up in abundance, bathing them all in their own, thick red blood.
The wounded critters howled and screamed and stumbled about on the slippery floors, the puddles beneath them growing fast. Those who avoided the blast, or were wounded less gravely, struggled past their injured and dead companions and renewed their charge as best they could. Feeling generous, I rewarded them with bullets.
More tired from my magic act than I would have expected, I moved back and picked my shots to give me time to recover some. My ammunition just as effective on lycanthropes as it is on angels or demons, I put a bullet into the head of every wolf that got within clawing distance. They dropped fast. Unfortunately, the clip emptied even faster.
As I ejected the first and reached for another, there was a loud crash to the left, and just behind me. Instinct took over and I leapt to the side…right into the statue of the Virgin Mary that had been swung at me like a baseball bat.
Stupid instinct.
The marble statue crashed into my face and chest and I heard all sorts of things crack and pop-most of them probably belonged to me. The world went white and I felt a second, dull thud, followed by a third as my head went from a full gallop to a lazy trot. Something warm and wet spilled down my face and into my throat, choking me.
Gagging, my already opened eyes reengaged somewhat, I realized I was on the other side of the room from where I was just a moment ago. Grawwl trundled toward me, surrounded by a bunch of bloody and pissed off looking werewolves. Nothing left of his makeshift bat but the legs, he tossed the remnants of Mary aside. There was a merciless grin on his snout.
Suddenly remembering the Wonder Twins, I looked for Katon and saw him just past Grawwl, being borne down by a dozen lycanthropes. A whirlwind of teeth and sharpened claws tore at him as he was hauled to the ground. He was making them pay for it but he wasn’t winning. Every blow was answered in stereo, and then some.
Nearby lay Scarlett, her blond hair dyed red from spattered claret. She lay on her back with a pile of critters pinning her down. Her one free arm lashed out vicious, but it wasn’t more than a few seconds before the werewolves got a hold of it, her resistance drowned in a furry wave of violence.
My heart pounding to the rhythm of an early 80’s Slayer song, I hopped to my feet to go to her. At least that’s what I told my body to do.
What really happened was I twitched and fell over onto my side in what amounted to slow motion. The broken shards of the statue embedded in my face were ground in deeper as my cheek smacked the ground. It was a little unpleasant.
While my face stung and my skull throbbed like I’d been out all night with the boys, and it was a little hard to breathe, I really didn’t hurt too much. All that being pretty minor considering the shit I’ve been through, I couldn’t figure out why I was having such a hard time getting up. Nothing made sense.
I raised myself up with the one arm that would still somewhat listen and took a second to survey the damage. Interestingly, I was looking down over my left shoulder and could see my ass sprawled out kind of Playboy-esque behind me. A bit disconcerted, I turned my head and bolts of lightning shot through my eyes, obscuring the world in a sudden flurry of snow. My head filled with static, the white noise between radio stations. When it finally cleared, I was laying on the ground, my hand twitching under me like Pee Wee Herman’s in a dark theater.
Without moving my head, I pieced together the images that were flooding into the murky swimming pools of my eyes. Though I recognized what I saw, it still didn’t make any sense. Flat on my stomach, I was able to look past my shoulder blades and watch over my heels as Grawwl came stomping towards me. It was really quite disconcerting.
That’s when it clicked. My neck was broken.
I like to think I’m a pretty tough guy. Busted into more pieces over the years than most modern mathematicians can count, I’d seen just about every injury imaginable. No matter how many broken bones, punctured lungs, or exploded rectums I’ve experienced-you don’t want to know-there’s nothing that says helpless quite like a broken neck or spine.
You can fight through the rest, drag a shattered leg behind you, shove a roll of toilet paper up your ass, but there’s not shit you can do when the drive shaft is broken. You just flop about like a landed fish until things knit back into place.
As a demon, I was fortunate; it’d happen after a while as it hadn’t been a magical weapon that hit me, all dogma aside. Though from the snarky look on Grawwl’s face, I wasn’t gonna have that kind of time.
“Aaaaaah, the poor little mutt fell down. Ooh, that looks painful.” A snide laughed grumbled from him.
He hovered over me, his eyes glistening with the kind of excitement you only saw at Christmas and in the prison shower. I tried to tell him where to go, but my inner GPS must have been on the fritz; I only blew a spit bubble.
Grawwl chuckled as the bubble popped and cold spit splattered across my face.
“You look like you’re having a real hard time. Here, let me help.”
His massive paws reached for me and I screamed, but I don’t think anyone but the voices in my head heard me. Though in their defense, they’re usually more helpful getting me into trouble than out.
Undeterred, he sniggered as he latched onto my skull, his claws clacking together as they settled into position. Then one good twist later, WWII was reenacted in the span of an instant within the confines of my head. In that instant, my consciousness disappeared like the concept of French pride.
Poof.
Chapter Twelve
Through the blackness, which pressed down on me more uncomfortably than a Tyler Perry marathon, I became aware of a steady, whooshing breeze that blew against my tingling face. It carried with it a fetid stench, which brought to mind chicken gizzards dipped in unwashed ass.
