The Hammer of War, Chapter 33

(Trigger Warning for this chapter. It gets dark.)

My eyes widened.

This was bait.

It had to be.

Otherwise, what’s the point of having bodyguards if they were far weaker than the one they were meant to be protecting? There wasn’t any. Because they weren’t bodyguards–or guards for that matter. Too weak. Too inexperienced. None of them knew how to fight; though, I did not doubt that they were certainly each stronger than a man. The lack of finesse–not even the most basic form of fighting–made them rather easy to deal with. No, they were meant to slow me down. They were meant to distract me.

I pulled the trigger of the [Las Pistol] and vaporized the caster devil’s head with a single flash of crimson light. That’s one less problem to deal with.

A presence appeared behind me. “You’re a lot stronger now than when we first fought. My oh my–you’ve grown so much in such a short amount of time. I saw it in your eyes when you killed them; you’ve learned to deal with and embrace death. Fascinating.”

I knew that voice. I turned. She stood there, not completely healed from the injuries she’d sustained from our previous encounter. Burn marks marred her otherwise inhumanly beautiful form. That said, most of the damage appeared cosmetic. If I had to guess, she must’ve used some kind of super healing magic bullshit while I was out of commission. She stood four meters away, close to the doorway. I raised the [Las Pistol] and aimed it right at her face. I knew her shield was powerful enough to withstand it and that I’d have to make use of the [Tau Rail Rifle] to punch through, but switching to another weapon when I already had one in my grasp was a rookie mistake; besides, it didn’t seem like she had any shields raised at all. I was going to take my chances.

I did not unleash the full potency of [Blank] just yet, however.

Honestly? I kind of wanted to gloat and mock her when I finally did. I wanted to watch hope leave her eyes, to be replaced by dread and despair. “Good evening, Helena. Nice of you to finally show your face. I was beginning to think I’d only have to deal with your little bodyguards.”

“Oh, they weren’t bodyguards,” She chuckled and took a single step forward. “I have no need for guards. They were indentured servants of House Stolas–nothing more.”

“Ah, that’s why they died so quickly,” I stepped forward too. I did not miss the slight and sudden shift in her look as she entered the field of my [Blank Aura] at its lowest possible setting. Being a creature that–I figured–relied a lot on magic, it must’ve been suffocating for her. And it must’ve been far worse for the vampires, who–if myth and legend were to be believed–were reanimated corpses that relied entirely on magic to even live.

She studied me with a twisted gleam in her eyes. Her lips pulled back in a grin that showed too many teeth.

“What an abominable power you possess, Amir Azad,” she said, voice low and tight. “I thought only that servant of yours bore such a foul stain on his soul. Seems you match him just fine.”

She lifted her right hand. A black sword flared into being, flames dripping from the blade like living oil. She stepped forward, the air around her tinged with the stench of sulfur and burnt metal.

“Then allow me,” she said, “to rid the world of you, Anathema.”

Darkness poured from the walls and floor, tendrils of obsidian coil weaving about my ankles. More rose from overhead, slithering like serpents. I felt them tighten on my arms, hips, chest. They dragged at my limbs with a force that belied their insubstantial nature. My pistol clattered from my grip, skidding across the floor. I tried to wrest an arm free, but the chains—solid, frigid, biting—refused to yield.

Helena came close, steps soft on the carpet. She leveled the tip of her burning sword beneath my chin. I felt its heat and a faint prick against my throat. A trickle of warmth slid down my skin. She looked as though she wished to savor the moment.

“Have you run out of words, boy?” she whispered, her breath grazing my ear. “You didn’t expect your vampire ‘allies’ might betray you? So naive. But I see potential in you. Once you’re dead, I’ll resurrect you into my peerage. You’ll wear a mind shackle, a slave collar, whatever it takes to keep you tame.”

She leaned closer, grin widening, as if waiting for me to beg.

“I have a better idea,” I said, voice cold.

Her eyes danced with perverse delight. She lowered the blade a fraction and leaned in, turning an ear toward me.

“Oh, do tell,” she purred.

“I kill you,” I said. “Then I’ll kill Sebastian and every other vampire who crosses my path. Then I’ll kill every devil. All of you.”

She laughed, head snapping back in pure amusement. The sound echoed in the cramped suite, almost feral.

“I think,” she said, “I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

“No thanks.”

I allowed the full weight of my [Blank] aura to flood the room. Colors bled out of the walls, the light overhead flickering to a weak glow. The black chains that bound my arms and legs shuddered once, cracks racing along their length. Dust rained onto my shoulders. Then they collapsed in a sudden burst of cinders.

Helena staggered. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, droplets spattering against the scorched carpet. More streamed from her ears, painting her jaw in dark rivulets. She tried to steady the sword, flames still dancing on that obsidian steel, but the blade shrank and flickered, the fire guttering out. It left only a black dagger perched on a hilt far too large. She gasped, one hand flying to her side, chest heaving as if the air itself had turned against her.

A raw scream tore from her throat. She stared at me with mingled fury and disbelief. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, perhaps grasping at spells or curses that failed to form in the devouring haze of my aura. I stepped free of the last shards of broken chain, letting her see my face and the calm behind my eyes. Color drained from the suite, as if painted over in gray and black and white. Helena pressed a hand to her face, blood smearing across her cheek, her blazing sword reduced to a chunk of half-dead metal, which she dropped to the floor as her fingers seized up.

She tried to speak again, but only a trembling hiss escaped, followed by a stream of blood. Her knees buckled. I watched her slump, falling to a single knee. Her wide eyes stared at the floor, where her blood had formed a small crimson pool. My eyes remained on her, unwavering.

I did not offer a single word of comfort or condemnation. I stepped toward her. “How does it feel to be so hopelessly overwhelmed by something far greater and more horrifying than you ever thought was real? It’s not a good feeling, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Unlike you, I don’t plan on dragging this out. I definitely have no interest in playing with your corpse.”

Helena raised her left hand. Her palm split open with a wet, tearing sound, and from it crawled something dark and misshapen, feathers slick with oil. A bird, or what passed for one, that fluttered weakly in her cupped hand. The thing shuddered once. Then it fell apart into blackened dust and ash, undone before it had even truly formed.

More blood seeped from her mouth, dripping off her chin in thick ropes. Dark streams ran from her nose, her ears. Her eyes wept darkness, rivulets streaking her face like tar. She lifted her right hand toward me. Not an attack this time. An empty palm facing outward, shaking and desperate. The universal sign to stop, to plead, to beg.

But I did not stop.

I stepped closer, my shadow falling over her broken form. I clenched my fist tight. My knuckles cracked like brittle branches, tendons tightening in anticipation. Then I swung hard and clean. My fist slammed into her temple, bone grinding on bone. Her head snapped sideways. Blood spattered in an arc, thick and hot on my skin. Helena folded down onto the floorboards, shoulders thumping hard against the cracked wood.

I stood over her. Waited a heartbeat. Watched her cough up blood, black like ink against the colorless ground beneath. Her eyes rolled. Mouth hung open, lips trembling, choking on air and blood. I raised my fist again.

Then I struck her once more.

Her head bounced against the floor, teeth clacking together, cracking. Blood pooled around her face, mingling with fragments of teeth and bone chips. She gagged, hands feebly rising to protect her head. But no magic came to save her. The room shook gently as my [Blank] aura ate away at walls and beams and furniture, crumbling into dust. Helena writhed beneath my shadow, gasping weak and broken breaths.

I hit her again.

My knuckles split open. Bones snapped with a dull pop. Pain jolted up my arm, raw and sharp and pure. Then flesh knitted together again, threads of sinew pulling taut beneath skin. I felt my body heal in moments, the agony coming in waves. It didn't matter. It was nothing compared to what she'd done.

I punched her again. And again. Each blow more vicious, more brutal than the last. The wet crack of flesh giving way echoed through the dissolving room. Blood splashed my face. My arms. Her eyes were wide and staring, filmed with agony and disbelief and fear.

I punched her again.

I punched until time blurred into a meaningless gray haze. Until my fist became a numb hammer, mindlessly smashing bone and cartilage and muscle. My arm moved without conscious thought, a piston driven by wrath alone. Helena’s form became unrecognizable, a shapeless ruin of blood and broken flesh. Still, I struck her.

My bones splintered over and over, skin tearing open and sealing shut. Blood—hers and mine—painted my clothes and hair and face, thick and sticky and warm. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The world shrank down to the rhythm of violence, the endless drumming of meat against meat. Somewhere distant, the room around me continued crumbling, wallpaper flaking like dead skin, wood beams buckling under the weight of entropy.

I didn’t care.

I punched her until my fist crashed through her skull and slammed into the floor beneath. My knuckles cracked the floorboards, splinters driven deep into muscle. Blood seeped from her ruined head, pooling in the crater I’d made. Silence fell heavy and thick around me.

I pulled my hand free from the wreckage, breathing hard. I stared down at the mangled remains of Helena Stolas. My arm shook from exertion and rage and adrenaline. The shattered room felt hollow, drained of color and warmth and purpose.

I stood slowly, blood dripping from my knuckles. Her broken body lay still, unmoving, no longer beautiful or monstrous or even recognizable. I wiped my face on a ruined sleeve, smearing blood across my jaw and mouth. The taste of iron lingered on my tongue, bitter and vile.

I stepped back, breathing shallow and ragged. The room groaned, wooden beams snapping above, raining plaster and debris around me. My aura stripped away all warmth, all life, all magic—leaving behind only emptiness and ruin.

Yet I felt nothing. Only an echoing hollowness, the numbness that followed righteous fury. Helena had taken from me, harmed my family, twisted my life into this grim shape. She had stolen something precious and left ruin in her wake.

Now ruin was all she had become.

The ceiling cracked and buckled overhead, a spiderweb of fractures racing through plaster. Dust rained down softly, settling over blood and shattered bone. I turned my back to her corpse and walked slowly toward the doorway, stepping through collapsing walls and crumbling shadows.