“We are,” Shadows Fade said, opening her eyes. She wiped her tears on her shoulder, unashamed of her emotions but needing clear vision.
Dust waited for Shadows Fade to put Godly Claw down. Then they ran to a solid iron door set into a corridor opposite the one they’d entered through. The drone and moans of an orgy filtered through the door jam, as did the bitter scent of cast-off magic. This close, she could tell the ritual was a powerful conversion spell, far stronger than she had expected it to be; with what she had tasted before, she had assumed the ritual was happening out in the open, not hidden away. What exactly were they doing to this Penelope Chalmers?
“One narrow entrance into a room full of cultists,” Dust said.
“It won’t be an easy fight.”
“No,” he admitted. “We take Penelope alive if we can, though; I can draw the corruption out of her but only if she survives.”
She didn’t know he could do that. Resistance was glorious, a constant surprise. And she was arrogant and premature to have judged Dust’s worth. “I’ll take her alive,” she agreed. “You go for the Soulless.”
He didn’t need to work out who she referred to. “If you’ll do the honours?” Dust asked, nodding toward the door.
“Open it?”
“Please.”
Shadows Fade stepped up and gripped the door tightly. It was, of course, locked. She would need her full strength to pry it open. She looked to Dust to let him know she was ready and he drew his gun, the magical one with spells powered by his own Soul Waters, and held it in both hands. Then he grinned.
“See you on the other side.”
Shadows Fade smiled back then pulled at the door. Her muscles flexed then took power from her tattoos, generating more and more strength, warming as the magic flowed through them. The symbols on her biceps and shoulders were small pockets of fire by the time the lock gave way and the door came open with the horrible sound of wrenching metal. Its sudden surrender made her stumble back and crash against the other side of the corridor.
Dust charged down the stairs and into the ceremony. Shadows Fade didn’t follow; her arms had to recover before any fighting. Godly Claw waited beside her, impatient to sink her teeth into evil flesh but understanding the delay.
The roar of Dust’s magical gun echoed up the stairs. It was not as loud as the warrior might have expected; the ritual chamber must be quite large. Screams punctuated his attacks and the flow of magic was stunted as the revellers died or halted their fornication.
When her arms felt normal again, only a few seconds after Dust had started the fight, Shadows Fade ran down to join him, drawing her knives as she went. Godly Claw kept pace behind her, eager, ready.
The steep stairs beyond the iron door ended in a wide, tall chamber designed for the most powerful and depraved rituals That Which Sins could request; ancient channelling spells and fortifying runes were worked into the ceiling and floor and multiple altars were placed at magically-significant points of the semi-sphere, though most were hidden by near-darkness. At the centre of the room was the main altar and hundreds of candles which hung in an ornate frame and dimly lit the place.
Centuries of That Which Sins’ taint made the air bitter, as did the scent of sexual activity. This was a temple not just to the Old God but to her people’s historic mistakes.
There had been more than two dozen cultists taking part in the ritual before Dust had attacked, stick-thin men, women and children with dark spirits supporting or engaging with them. Most were naked but some still wore their robes. A few were so lost in themselves and their activities that they hadn’t noticed Dust’s interruption; those who had but didn’t die in the opening assault had retreated to the central altar.
The Soulless was by the entrance, crouched over and gripping its face. The stone behind its head was singed and a chunk of the flesh from its shoulder was missing. She smelled a protection spell over it; it was likely recovering from being caught unaware by The Wanting Man. Dust knew it joining the fight suddenly was a risk as he cast the occasional glance back at it.
The present danger came from the cultists huddled around an obese witch who had cast protective magic over them. Dust traded shots with them across the chamber; he firing his weapon and they throwing spells. Dust’s bullets often overcame the witch’s defences and pierced through the cultist’s ranks and he easily batted away their counter-attacks with the magic gun between shots. Shadows Fade was impressed at how useful the artefact could be.
Behind the obese witch, a young girl masturbated on the altar. From her placement at the centre of the room, it to be Penelope Chalmers. It was there Shadows Fade would head. She told Godly Claw this and raced to save her.
Some cultists saw her and Godly Claw approaching and turned to this new threat; the dark spirits amongst them were pushed to the front and urged to fight, two of them great lumps of flesh with chains around their necks and the third a pale pink form with multiple genitals. Shadows Fade supposed that they had names, classifications, but had resisted learning them as giving them names gave them power.
Whatever they call themselves, the dark spirits charged the warrior. The two powerful forms flanked and tried to grab Shadows Fade; each received a knife to the skull in return.
Godly Claw jumped and tore into the nearest one’s throat, taking a great lump of black flesh with her as she leapt away. Already their ranks dwindled. The other still had enough control over itself to punch at Shadows Fade, a blow she ignored.
But she shouldn’t have ignored it. That little girl, the biting, abused child, had ruined her defences; her impact-reducing tattoo had been compromised by tiny teeth marks. She would feel the full force of the blow.
The great fist winded her, bruised her ribs. She doubled over and fell to her knees, unable to breathe. Godly Claw saw this and used Shadows Fade to leap onto the dark spirit’s broad chest. Her claws extended into talons when she landed, piercing the creature. Then, with all her strength, the Spirit Wolf arched her back and tore the talons down the spirit, killing it.
Godly Claw’s intervention was welcome but didn’t save Shadows Fade any pain or embarrassment. Though it wasn’t his fault, she blamed the Wanting Man for her failures in these fights; Shadows Fade wanted to prove not just to him but to Resistance that she was worthy, doing the right thing and she was trying too hard.
No, it was more than that; she wanted what she thought she could get from them too much. Right from their first meeting, she had hoped they might combine to rally her band, even her people, into taking back their lands. And that meant she didn’t exercise her usual caution, had been delighted at capturing the Mexican alive, and had paid the price both times.
She stood and forced air into her lungs with quivering chest muscles. She would not make the same mistake again; serving Resistance, not trying to get him to serve her, was the only thing she should care about.
Godly Claw had fended off each spell the cultist fired at Shadows Fade whilst she was down and the strain showed in her slow movements and whimpering. The pink genital monster saw the wolf was momentarily weak and tried to take advantage, bore down on her. Shadows Fade sprinted forward and gutted the dark spirit with two swift slices before it got the chance. Its pink guts fell to the floor. With a roar, she sank her knives into its malformed head and ended it.
Looking back, she saw the Soulless was still recovering. If Penelope Chalmers weren’t their priority, she would have charged him, finished him if she could. But she had her role in this fight and would not disappoint as Eleanor Naismith had.
“Stop being so pathetic and kill her,” the witch shrieked.
At her order they split their attentions, half focussing on Shadows Fade instead of Dust. A hail of dark magic came at her. She dodged many of the attacks, knowing the strange arcs and curves of magic intimately, and those she couldn’t avoid fizzled harmlessly against her tattoos for now.
Dust and Sand – Chapter 28 by Sean P. Wallace
