Chapter 15

 

Suddenly the Pentagram configuration broke apart and everyone spiralled away, to float and fall towards the ground. Most managed to land properly, although Madam Nocturna needed to drain a full litre of strawberry milk almost immediately, and Professor Abbacus was almost out of power. He stumbled drunkenly to his knees, but managed to replace the electrothaumaturgic generator in his chest before his energy could desert him completely. As new energy flooded through him, he straightened to look up at where the breach had been.

Just in time to see an enormous, very familiar Demon Lord hop over on its enormous fat toad legs and plonk itself down with a resounding thump.

“You have got to be kidding!” Professor Abbacus shouted, and he stomped over to Vladrakov in a temper. “We have just gotten rid of one evil – do we need to link up to get rid of you too?”

Alice, who just wanted to sit down and have a rest, realised what he was doing. “Sir, wait!” she gasped, staggering over to him.

Vladrakov lifted a huge hand and wagged a fat finger at Professor Abbacus. “Before you do something we all might regret, you really should hear the little girl out.”

Professor Abbacus answered by powering up the lightning-bolt thrower in his arm. Electrothaumaturgic energy began to crackle up and down. Alice yelped and quickly grabbed hold of his other arm. “Sir! He’s going to take Abraxas’ place! He’s going to hold the Wall of Fire closed!”

Professor Abbacus wasn’t listening. He was refuelled and ready for another fight. All he could remember were the many, many times this abominable creature had tried to kill him.

“Icarus!” Alice shrieked, shaking him with all the energy she could muster.

Abbacus suddenly turned, glaring at her in a temper. “What Dribble?” he shouted.

“You kill him and the breach will reopen!”

“What? You can’t be serious!”

“Like I just said, he’s going to take Abraxas’ place at the edge of the Immaterium! It will now be his will keeping Necronis from breaking out again.”

Professor Abbacus kept his left hand upraised, pointing at Vladrakov. Energy continued to sizzle around his wire-wrapped forearm. Alice held her breath, her heart racing.

Then, finally, her words managed to penetrate his fury. She was right of course. What the hell was he thinking? Slowly he lowered his arm and shut the bolt-thrower down. He couldn’t take out such a monster with it anyway. He needed at the very minimum a Seventh Circle Banishment spell or an Immaterial Scourge.

Vladrakov snickered. “Very good, Icarus. So you can see sense after all. Now congratulate your student on a job well done.”

Abbacus continued to glare at Alice. “What did you do?”

Alice refused to be intimidated and drew herself up with a deep breath. “Vladrakov and all his demon minions were sitting back and watching the fight. Ansharedan the Nightbringer was pretty tough – I thought he was going to defeat us, so I asked Vladrakov to help us.”

Professor Abbacus’ anger faded into confusion. His glare turned into a wide-eyed stare. “Wait a minute - Ansharedan … the Nightbringer? The son of Necronis … was here?” he spluttered.

“Yes sir. Necronis sent him out as a last resort. It was Professor Longenfang and Vladrakov who defeated him.”

“Vladrakov … helped?”

“Yes. He has no love for Necronis. But he had some … conditions before he would step in.”

“Conditions? What kind of conditions?” Abbacus was suddenly furious again.

“I had to promise that we – none of us – would attack him here on the Immaterium.”

Abbacus scowled. “And what if he pokes his nose out? What then?”

Alice lifted her hands. “Then he’s fair game, of course.”

Abbacus relaxed a little, but he still didn’t look happy.

Alice gulped. “But that’s not all. We also owe him a palace.”

“A what?”

“If he’s going to be the new King of the Immaterium then he needs a palace.”

Abbacus swore. “Where the hell are we going to get him a bloody palace?”

“I told him you could make him one, sir. Just like you made that little house we used when we travelled through here last time.”

Professor Abbacus was so furious he looked about to explode. And the new Demon King Vladrakov didn’t help matters much by sniggering in the background. He was already surrounded by his various demons and imps, all of whom were trying to make him comfortable. Since they didn’t actually have any resources, they had to use their own bodies. They had already formed an arch over his head.

“You want me to make that thing a palace?” Professor Abbacus shouted, pointing a shaking finger. “That giant toad tore me apart! It’s because of this that I ended up like this!” He slapped his human hand against his steel chest with a loud clang.

“He did help us, sir. The breach is closed. Necronis and Ansharedan are gone.”

Professor Abbacus turned from Alice and marched up to Vladrakov. He glared up at him, and looked about to unleash a tirade of abuse. He actually lifted his mechanical hand and clenched it into a fist.

Vladrakov’s sniggers turned into outright guffaws. “How does it feel, Icarus? Knowing that we’re now allies on the same side?”

“We shall never be on the same side, you vile, hippopotamic abomination! Rest assured if you ever try to emerge again I will be there to stop you!”

“No doubt,” smirked Vladrakov.

Abbacus glared at him for a few more seconds, visibly trembling. “Alright, very well, I shall make you your Goddamn palace.” He turned and stomped back to Alice, still clenching and un-clenching his hands into fists. Alice had never seen him so lost for words before. He lifted a finger and wagged it in his face for a full ten seconds.

Alice waited for his tirade, but it still didn’t come.

“You … you shouldn’t do deals with demons,” he said at last. “They have no concept of fair play and always try to take advantage of you.” Then he turned and stomped off to see what the others were up to.

 

Even in his enraged state, Professor Longenfang realised that his foe was now a shredded mess who was no longer struggling or even moving beneath him. Normally this would have snapped him out of frenzy, but as he started to calm down and his brain clambered on top of his anger, he realised that Vixen was gone and his rancour erupted all over again. He swung around, his eyes still blazing red, looking for something else to attack.

Unfortunately, in his berserk state, he couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe. All he knew was attack; all he wanted to do was fight and kill. He spotted some shadowy figures in the red haze and with a snarl he bounded towards them.

They were Dr Ashe, Dr Primus, Mal, Kim and Andre, all five of whom had been breathing a little easier now the rift was closed, and not paying any attention to the were scuffle that had been taking place to one side.

Dr Ashe, with his sensitive rat ears, heard the infuriated growl first, and spun around to see the massive werebeardog bearing down on them. He swore and lifted his hands, managing to get off a fairly impressive Fireball that exploded in Longenfang’s face.

But the manic creature didn’t even notice its singed flesh and continued to come, eyes blazing, foam spraying from its lips.

Dr Primus, Mal and Kim started to work up spells, but none of them had tried to calm down a berserk were before. Dr Ashe couldn’t believe that after all they had been through they were going to end up as a werebeardog snack. Longenfang reared up over the little group, preparing to rake them with his massive claws.

“Enough!” thundered a voice. “You will calm down right now!”

Dr Ashe turned to see the shaman Star Fang standing there, one arm outstretched, pointing at Longenfang. Behind him were Madam Nocturna, Lord Eldritch, Rhys Kelly and Father Lost. “Sorry about that, people! I honestly thought he’d come out of it when he defeated that other creature.”

“What did you do?” gasped Madam Nocturna. “Steal Beast?”

“Nothing so drastic. Just pumped some extra power into Calm Beast. He looked like he wanted to stay frenzied forever.” Star Fang directed his attention back to Professor Longenfang, who’d sat down on the Immaterial ground with a thud, and was slowly, grudgingly turning back into his full human form. “Someone check on the creature he was pounding into the dirt – see if anything can be done for it.”

“But it was a demon, wasn’t it?” asked Rhys.

“No – a demon would have dissipated. He was attacking some sort of were.”

“It was a werelion,” answered Dr Ashe.

Rhys remembered the Necronite werelion from the fight at the Old Cider factory. “I’ll do it,” he said softly. He squared his shoulders and walked over to the bloody, humped shape on the ground.

It did indeed belong to the werelion, Marcel Sauvage. And now Professor Longenfang was no longer trying to beat the stuffing out of him, he was regenerating. Very, very rapidly. Rhys had never seen anything heal that fast, not even an Eridon in a metabolic coma. They usually took a few hours to completely regenerate from whatever had injured them.

But this monster was already starting to moan and stir, the various cuts and gashes across its face closing as Rhys watched.

However the dark mark on the beast’s forehead wasn’t disappearing. Even though the Dark God had retreated back behind the Wall of Fire, his malevolent influence still remained. When Marcel Sauvage woke, which Rhys realised would be very, very shortly, he would still be a Necronite, and probably want to kill them all.

Rhys remembered how he had driven Necronis from that boy Chunky. Could he do the same thing to Sauvage? Only one way to find out. He gulped and stretched out his hands, placing them on either side of Marcel’s head. Now’s your chance, he thought. You can drive the Unmaker’s taint from this creature too!

He focussed on the were’s mind. Below lay a shield nothing like Chunky’s crude wall. A smooth, flawless barrier of gold, the same gold as the were’s fur, concealed his thoughts. Rhys skimmed over it, looking for some way in.

Beneath his hands the monster gave a low, rumbling growl. Rhys would have to be quicker than this! But he couldn’t see a break anywhere in sight. The creature had one of the smoothest, most intact shields he had ever seen!

Oh well, brute force and ignorance it is, Rhys thought. He imagined himself as a giant fist, smashing through that pristine shield with all his might. He struck and for one horrible instant he thought he wouldn’t be able to break through, that this supposedly human creature was tougher than he was.

But then he managed to bulldoze his way through, and the golden shield shattered around him like thick plate glass. His momentum carried him right into Sauvage’s mind and suddenly the inky darkness of a mind fully devoted to the Unmaker surrounded him. Almost immediately a dreadful cold filled him. He couldn’t see what he was doing or where he was going. For a few seconds he floundered, all sense of direction lost.

Then he experienced the very real sensation of a giant clawed paw snapping closed around his throat, preparing to crush his neck.

Stupid, he thought at himself in a fury. You did this only this morning!

The paw started to squeeze.

It didn’t matter which way he was facing. He was inside Sauvage’s mind and nothing was stopping him from attacking.

He hit the dark, exposed mind with a telepathic blow, similar to the one he’d used to break through the shield.

Marcel Sauvage gave a piteous groan and slumped back onto the ground, unconscious. Whew, thought Rhys. That was a close one! That’ll teach me to fiddle-fluff around!

Like before, when he had healed Chunky, he imagined himself as a being of pure, holy light, driving the darkness of Necronis away. He felt the were’s body tense and the most piteous growl of agony issued from Sauvage’s throat. The werelion began to writhe in his grip and he had to tighten his hold to keep him from slipping away. Oh no you don’t, he thought savagely. You’re going to lie here and take your medicine, bitter as it might be!

Rhys flooded Sauvage with his power, imagining it surrounding his brain and filling all its crevices. Then, at the microscopic level he imagined himself surging through every neuron and leaping across every synapse. He started to tremble and sweat, but he wasn’t stopping until every part of Sauvage was cleansed of the filthy taint of Necronis. Marcel twisted and howled, but Rhys hung on. He could feel the dark tendrils of Necronis surrounding him, fighting him every step of the way. But now the Dark God was once more locked away behind the Wall of Fire, Sauvage couldn’t draw on his power to aid him.

Out, darkness! Rhys thought. Out!

By now Sauvage was fully healed, and in his half-human, half-were form, at maximum strength. Rhys realised he could no longer hold on with his physical strength, and had to use his psychokinetic. He wished his enhancer was still working, but he had worn it flat while powering that Pentagram.

Marcel Sauvage was well and truly possessed, and had been so for a lot longer than the boy had. Rhys clenched his teeth together. Suddenly, the writhing darkness he was seeing in his mind’s eye began to take on a definite form. Rhys watched in horror as an image of Necronis the Unmaker appeared in front of him.

You can’t have him, he’s mine! the scarred Anti-God hissed at him. He has been mine for over fifty years, and an impudent little creature like you will not tear him from me so easily!

Marcel continued to squirm and struggle, incredibly almost strong enough to overcome Rhys’ psychokinesis. He will return to the light! Rhys shouted with conviction.

You’re going to die, Rhys Kelly.

Rhys echoed some words he’d heard earlier. We’re all going to die.

I know when you die. It will happen in front of me.

I figured as much. Rhys ground his teeth, continuing to flood Marcel with his power. You won’t erode my will, Unmaker. I’m here to do a job, and when I return to my own time and place, I will forget.

And you’re happy to be God’s errand boy?

It’s a job. I could be cleaning toilets for a living.

Jumping whenever God snaps his fingers isn’t much better.

It could be worse. I could be working for you.

Necronis gave a hiss of frustration. Very well, Rhys Kelly. You win this round. But we will meet again, do not doubt that. And my son also wants a few words with you. He vanished in a curl of black smoke and suddenly Rhys felt like he was running through empty corridors. He realised that Sauvage had once again fallen unconscious.

He had done it! He had finally driven the evil of Necronis from him! But he couldn’t afford to be complacent now. He had to make sure. He tensed again, flooding both Marcel’s mind and body with his power one more time, just in case any last remnants of Necronis’ influence remained, lurking in a dark corner or hidden niche.

Then, finally, with a very loud gasp, he retreated and sat back on his haunches. He opened his eyes. Before him Marcel Sauvage lay still. He had been in half-human, half-were form, but as Rhys watched, he slowly returned to full human form. He was dressed in what had once been a very expensive suit, but was now a filthy, shredded mess that hung in rags from him. He didn’t stay out for long. He gave a groan and rubbed his forehead, slowly sitting up.

Rhys held his breath.

Marcel Sauvage lowered his hand from his brow. The Mark of Singularity was gone.

Rhys released his breath in relief. Tears burned his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He had done it! He had healed another converted Necronite, someone even more corrupted than that youth, Chunky.

I might get the hang of this yet, Kamrys, he thought.

Sauvage blinked at him, looking as though he was trying to figure out where he was. Rhys found himself holding his breath again. Then, without warning, the werelion lunged at him as though attacking. Rhys raised his hands to ward him off, and felt Sauvage’s arms closing around him to grab him in a bear-hug. He was about to unleash all the psionic energies within him in an explosive push to throw him away when he released Sauvage wasn’t trying to hurt him.

He was holding onto him as though his life depended on it. And he was sobbing like a small child. Oh no, Rhys thought, suddenly at a complete and utter loss. What on Earth did he do now? He had no idea how to comfort someone who had once been completely and utterly beholden to Necronis the Unmaker.

He had no idea how to comfort anyone, really. It had been so long…

But he had to try. Somewhat tentatively, he slipped his arms around the big were’s broad shoulders and patted him. Somehow the words “there there,” escaped his lips. “It’ll be alright.”

But that just made Marcel Sauvage sob all the harder, and he started to shake in Rhys’ arms.

 

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