Slumrat Rising

Chapter 77: A Hole in the Heart

Chapter 77: A Hole in the Heart

“Would you be interested in trying? Fighting a much more powerful being than yourself? There are few opportunities to train against such an opponent in any degree of safety. But we could summon a level four demon for you to test yourself against.” Merkovah offered. “I would be able to restrain and banish them if necessary.”

Truth thought about it for a moment. That… was an awesome offer, actually. It would be smart to understand what higher-level combat was like.

“Yes, thank you, Teacher, that would be wonderful.” He smiled.

Merkovah looked over at the cousins. “Use this curse tablet for the summoning. There is a particular demon I want and a particular way I want him to appear.”

The beardy exorcist dug into his bag, searching for a moment to find the hand-sized lead sheet. With alarming casualness, he tossed it towards Etenesh, who snagged it with equally casual ease. She gave the tablet a quick skim. Her face went through a few changes as she did. Disbelief transformed into outrage, confusion, and finally, snickers of malicious satisfaction after she had doubled back a few times.

“Did this demon do something to offend you, Teacher?” She asked.

“Other than the fact of its existence? No. Its nature is more than enough reason.”

The operation this time was apparently much more complex. Jember used a slim wand to trace a complex web of energy, tying it to the formation in the floor. Etenesh used a silver blade to carve jagged runes into the air as he worked. The symbols seemed to burn with an alien light, something too pure and inhuman for this brief and filthy mud-ball world.

The working suddenly snapped together. The golden lines formed a spiked wreath in the air as the terrible runes wreathed the curse tablet. The formation on the floor flashed steely gray, then transformed into basalt-black. The hard black spread through the test chamber, climbing up the walls and the roof. The black shaded into lead gray.

The space within the golden wreath didn’t tear but rotted away. Within its confines, the world necrotizing and decayed, bursting pustules of reality spilling foul-smelling pus into the chamber. Through the winding wound, Truth could see a swirling madness.

Every flicker of light or color seemed to carry a meaning of specific pain. The green of watching maggots feast and breed in your weeping wounds was a subtly different shade than the green of losing your wife to cancer. A different shade than watching your child crawl, sickly, never to be healthy, paralyzed by a disease that could have been prevented or cured with just a little money. More money than you could raise.

Each part of this madness place was an inescapable regret. Was a lingering, ongoing pain. It was horror. It was despair. It was Hell or a small corner of it.

The lead curse tablet melted and reformed into a barbed hook. Swiftly and silently, it dipped into Hell and hooked a glob of that mad-sorrow-stuff, dragging it through the portal. The shock white light runes branded it, bound it into a recognizable form.

Three meters tall, roughly shaped like a man with the sickle blades of a mantis where their arms should be and no head on his shoulders. A bloody tear opened across its gut, showing a mouth with rows of circular teeth. It looked like it was trying to speak but was bound to silence. Its whole body was eloquent in its stead. Frustration, outrage, malice.

“It has a name, but you don’t need to know it. All you need to know is that in many places, it is simply called “Child Eater.” Many demons like it, of course, but this one enjoys leaving little bits of the children for the parents to find, along with messages promising the child is still alive. If only the parents kill, rape, or defile, another, the child will be returned. A lie, of course.”

Merkovah’s voice was filled with a tired loathing.

“Often, the specified victim must be another child. It’s almost impossible to permanently kill, but by summoning it through this ritual and killing it repeatedly, it grows weaker and less able to come to this world. More likely to fall victim to the predation of Hell.” Merkovah looked over at Truth. “Hero or not, killing it is a job that must be done. Its physique is quite powerful, though its magic is limited to about Level Four. With demons, it’s not exact.” He turned to look at Truth.

“Go.”

Truth rushed in, sword tip aimed at the beast’s wishbone. A barbed scythe whipped at him, almost faster than he could see. He brought the blade up to parry. The weight of the blow almost knocked him off his feet, sliding him backward across the gray floor.

The demon didn’t let the moment pass. It charged in, infernal script branding itself on its skin. Truth called for blessed fire, white-hot in a film coating the blade. He met the charge with a thrust. The angelic blade skipped off the chitin armor of the scythe arms. The infernal words glowed where the blade passed.

The demon had armored itself against the Heavenly Host. A foot, human-shaped with an owl’s talons coming out of its toes, snapped out towards Truth’s nuts. He slipped back, and the demon changed the kick into a rake, shredding Truth’s thigh.

The pain was instant, agonizing. The damage nearly dropped him. The demon pounced on the opening. Acid fetters lashed towards Truth as the sickle arm descended. The needle-toothed maw was dripping, excited for its meal.

Truth tried to slap away the acid fetters, but they snaked around the blade, burning his skin as they caught him. Determined to find a path to life through death, Truth drove straight toward the ancient horror. Sword leading the way. He put his all into an explosive lunge. It didn't make it.

“Let’s stop there. Mr. Wells, kindly look behind you.” Merkovah rubbed his thumb ring, wreathing both demon and student in a gentle glow. Truth looked behind him. The sickle tips were almost touching his back. Even if his lunge succeeded, he would have died. A categorical failure.

His body was in agony. The acid from the fetters burned, seeming to worm its way into his bones. His thigh was a mess, long strips of flesh pulled up and away from his strong thigh. He collapsed.

“Impressive that your strength and speed were about on par. Your reaction time was frankly uncanny. I’m amazed you don’t have broken bones. That curse-poison on the claws, however, is not something nice to play with. Once it got to work, your ability to fight back effectively went in the garbage. Jember, please use-“ There was a word that Truth didn’t know. Then there was a horrible screaming- like tendons were being pulled from a legion of sinners. As though burning wires were running through where those tendons had been. As though the sinners learned that this was their eternity. Merkovah’s loathing of the demon was entirely sincere, and he was quite willing to demonstrate that fact.

A warm radiance grew up around Truth. The acid vanished, simply evaporated by the light. His thigh stopped bleeding, then slowly knit back together. Torn flesh settled back in its place. Fibers reconnected. Nerves ran smoothly once again. Even the smooth softness of his skin was restored, unblemished. Then, faintly, like thin needles drilling out of his bones, through his flesh, and into the air, he felt something leave his body. The curse? But just how fast did it act on him? And how powerful was it? He somehow missed the sickle arms. How do you forget giant sickle arms?!

“Shame. I wanted to see how much more I could squeeze from this thing. Ah well. Next time I suppose.” Merkovah muttered. There was a dreadful crunch and a sort of wet, wringing noise. Like twisting water from a cloth. A sudden roar and wash of heat. Then silence. The light from the portal vanished. The room returned to its previous color. Truth thought he might chance moving in a minute.

Etenesh and Jember leaned over him, looking worried.

“Are you alright, Tommy?” Jember asked. “It tore you up.”

“Saints defend you, Tommy. I thought we might lose you for a moment. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Etenesh hovered over him, hands shivering. “Can… can I touch you? Just to make sure you are ok?”

Truth smiled. “The spell worked well. I’m physically fine. But please go ahead and see for yourself.” His eyes met hers, sharing his thanks for her care.

She pressed her hand on his knee, and feather-light fingers traced over his thigh. “Your skin is so soft.” She muttered. “Hardly seems fair.”

“Been that way ever since I broke through. No idea why.” He had some guesses, mind you, but when he thought “Gh?l,” he never associated the word “skincare.” So it was still an open question.

“How do you move so fast?” Jember asked. “It was like watching a couple of blurs.”

“Mediations of Valentinian. I’m stronger, faster, and have better reflexes.”

“Body cultivation is that good?”

“Well, that's all I did for a few years.”

Etenesh was very gently running her hands over Truth. Caring, concerned. Her hands were cool but left him feeling warm. Cared for. Other than Sophia, she was the only woman in his life who had touched him that way.

It hurt when she took her hand away.

“Well, the spell fixed you up. I will admit that the curse was a new one for me. Both the one it hit you with, Tommy, and the one used on it. Teacher, what exactly was that?”

“If you think about it, demons are concentrated blobs of energy that steal from the material universe to give that energy solid form. The curse tablet is something I made especially for that demon. It crushes and refines the physical form without letting the demon escape back to Hell, letting me siphon off a great deal of its energy. Weakening it, for a time.” Merkovah’s voice was steady.

“One day, I hope to use it as a basis to kill grand demons permanently. In theory, if I weaken it enough, the Sword of Moshe should be able to kill it.”

“One day.” Truth agreed.

“Amen.” The cousins agreed too.

Etenesh looked down at Truth. “You need new clothes.”

“I do.” He agreed.

“Jember, do you know where they have good clothes in town?” She asked.

“Good? No. Cheap? Yes.” Jember grinned, then offered Truth his hand. “Come on, let’s get you looking sharp. Maybe get you a haircut too.”

Truth took his hand and stood. His hair was quite long. At least, quite long for him. He always used to wear it short. He rubbed his chin. A bit long to still qualify as stubble. Hmm. Was stubble good? Stubble was good. Maybe he could have someone just trim and shape it?

“Sounds like a great plan.”

“Come see me after lunch for your Incisive tutorial. And Mr. Wells?” Merkovah smiled slightly. “You can keep the sword with you. An acid bolter is a bandit’s weapon. Angelic blades are carried by those of both courage and quality.”

____________________________________________

Jember led him off campus to a little shop. Clothes were piled in, well, piles. Tidy stacks were shoved next to tidy stacks until every flat surface was covered a meter deep in fabric. Then more were hung from the walls, jutting out horizontally and shrinking the volume of the room dramatically.

“Here, let’s see what we can get for you. Sir! Sir! My friend here needs new clothes. Something sharp.” He grinned at Truth. “Although I think most things will look good on him.”

Truth grinned and shrugged awkwardly as a shopkeeper swarmed out from the piles. A fellow member of the white hat brotherhood. Truth let himself be shown a blizzard of things. He snagged a snug Robin’s Egg Blue shirt. (“Ah, a bit out of fashion, but it suits you, Sir!”) The trouser situation was both more urgent and more mysterious.

“What’s a good choice for trousers?” Truth asked.

“Trousers are unchanging and eternal. Avoid “fun” patterns,” Was the advice of the shopkeep. Jember recommended a form-fitting pair.

“You have the legs for it. And the ass.” Truth flushed. Jember’s grin was mischievous. “Show it off. Flaunt it! Besides, the sword jutting forward will definitely inspire thoughts in others.”

Truth furiously tried to deny it, tripping over his tongue, trying to get the words out in the right order.

“The look on your face! Come on, it’s not like this is the first time you caught a man’s eye.” Jember grinned and eyed Truth like a particularly tasty flan.

The shopkeeper butted in. “Young man, that is most inappropriate! Trying to lead a Desrin off his Muq like that! Shame on you!” He turned towards Truth. “Brother, you have no need of bad friends. If the flies trouble you, just flick them away!”