Rise Of The Soulless Page 9

  He let go of the boy’s arm and straight into the camera. “Come Hunter or Hero, or whatever you call yourself. If you care, you will come.”

  With that Apophis sprang back into the fray. His long knives whipped by like silver fish in a dark ocean.

  It was over in a few more seconds. Some of the humans had escaped, but most lay scattered about and in some cases piled on top of each other. The air smelled of rusty iron and released bowels. The warm spicy scent of the market was replaced by the musky smells of copper and death.

  Some of the stalls were in shambles, torn down in desperate attempts to escape the whirling blades. The music had stopped but there were some sounds left. The dripping that sounded like water but was blood spilling from the slit throat of a man hanging half off a table. The shuddering breath and whimper of the boy who still held the camera at arm’s length despite his shaking body. The sobs of the boy’s mother as she hid under the shield of her husband. His arms wrapped tightly around her.

  The father looked from his son to Apophis and back again. There was deep fear there, but also something else. Apophis knew that if he tried to kill the boy, the father would try and stop him. The man couldn’t of course, but Apophis had a grudging respect for that.

  There were at least thirty dead, maybe a few more who had crawled or ran away before they could bleed out. There were no injuries, not for Apophis and his brethren, just kills.

  Apophis caught up the boy’s arm again and looked directly into the camera.

  “These deaths are on mine and my brother’s head. Come find us in Cairo or the next slaughter will be on yours. Come find us.”

  10

  Christopher woke to the sound of his cellphone going off. It occurred to him that one of the greatest decisions of his life was to set a slow blues jam as his generic ringtone. It sure beat waking up to the shrill bleat of his alarm.

  His arm flailed out from the covers and he moaned through the stretch of his aching muscles. He had spent the last few hours training for days in the books of the Library. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt or feel like it was more bruise than muscle. Even his fast healing was having a hard time keeping up from repairing the pain. He liked to rest in private after such intense training sessions; it was weird to walk around in front of people like he was an old man with no apparent injuries.

  A little more carefully he pulled the phone to his ear.

  ‘Yes,” he answered.

  “I think we have a problem,” Juan said, his voice, normally dripping with sarcasm, sounded serious and almost strained. “You need to get to the lair as soon as possible.”

  “What is it? Another dark soul causing trouble?”

  “I don’t know, you just need to get here. I already called and left a message with Hamlin.”

  The seriousness in Juan’s voice brought Christopher to full alertness as he shrugged off the last of the sleep fog. Whatever it was, if it was making Juan way too serious, it had to be bad.

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  He ended the call and with a groan way too old for his age, pushed back the covers and rolled out of bed.

  “Get up Hellcat,” he said. “Time to go to work.”

  Hellcat looked up from where she lay taking up most of the oversized king bed. At first he had banished her back to the shadows at the end of the day, but every morning he would find her curled up in the center of the bed. He, meanwhile, had been shoved to the edge; the first morning he had actually fallen off.

  After that, he tried locking her out of his bedroom. Apparently locked doors are only a minor inconvenience for a creature born of shadows. He had awoken to find her in his bed once again.

  That had set off a small contest of wills that Christopher ultimately lost when he awoke one morning feeling like he was being crushed and found Hellcat sprawled across his chest. It seemed that, although he was the Lord of Damnation and Hunter of Lost Souls, his authority over Hellcat was limited to letting her do what she wanted. He guessed a cat was a cat regardless of whether it was from Hell or not. He had given in and had a custom bed made that provided both ample room for Hellcat and a little sliver of space for him. He still woke up to find her sprawled on him more often than not.

  He threw some clothes on and grabbed a breakfast bar before gathering the shadows to form his uniform. In twenty minutes he was springing from rooftop to rooftop.

  He dismissed his coat and hood before getting to the park that housed the entrance to the lair so he could blend in with the crowds of people. It was summertime and the parks were full, which made it a little difficult to sneak into his secret hideout beneath the zoo.

  But soon he was through the entrance unseen and in the main room. Juan was there, looking like he hadn’t slept in a while, stacks of junk food wrappers piled around him.

  “What’s going on?” Christopher asked as he plopped down in a chair next to Juan and put his feet up on the computer desk.

  Juan looked sick; his normally dark skin had a definite pale sheen to it. But Christopher didn’t think it was the flu. “You have to see this video, it’s a message meant for you.”

  “Jesus, Juan. You looked like you saw the most disturbing video in the world. Can it be any worse than what we saw in Mexico?”

  “Just watch,” Juan said.

  Juan clicked on a video and the amateurly recorded video played out in front of him. From the beginning, he could tell it wasn’t the U.S.

  “Where is this? Some middle eastern country?”

  “Cairo, just watch,” Juan said.

  Christopher watched with growing dread and anguish as the video progressed. He watched the man, face swathed in a scarf to hide his features, call him out. And then he looked on as the man demonstrated the consequences of inaction.

  He watched the three brothers tear into the crowd, blades flashing at impossible speeds. These men were not human. No mortal could move that fast, no mortal could jump across the killing field like that. At least a dozen people had their throats cut or vital organs pierced before the first screams began.

  The three men… or whatever monsters they might be, were efficient assassins. Precise in all their strikes. Every cut was a killing one—some near instant, others to induce pain and suffering just before death. No one was spared from their whirling blades. The humans stood no chance. They couldn’t even leave the market fast enough.

  It made Christopher think of a slaughterhouse, except these cows weren’t lined up, they were just a mass of fresh meat targets.

  It was over in seconds. Christopher guessed only a handful had escaped, most of the crowd slain before they even realized what was happening.

  The video ended with the man saying, “Come find us.”

  Juan drew a shaky breath and Christopher sat back. He had seen a lot of horrible things since becoming the Hunter of Lost Souls. He had seen death and violence on an epic scale; he had seen psychopaths and monsters, but for some reason this mass murder disturbed him the most.

  Maybe it was the dispassion in the assassins. He couldn’t see their faces, but it seemed to Christopher that they went about their killing like it was just a job, one they were very good at, but all the same, just work.

  Or a means to an end, that end being to lure him there.

  “But why?” he asked.

  “Why? Obviously, they are batshit crazy killers that’s why,” said Juan.

  “No, I mean why call me out? What are they trying to do?”

  “Well, obviously they are dark souls that think they can take you. You saw the way they moved, there’s no way they’re human.”

  “No not human, I agree. But a dark soul’s M.O. is to hide from me as much as possible or try and ambush me, take me by surprise. They are never this blatant. I mean, everybody is going to be looking for them—the police, the Egyptian army. It seems like an unnecessary risk. There’s got to be another reason.”

  “Are you going?” asked Juan.

  Christopher looked at him with
a frown. “I have to go. We can’t let something like that happen again.”

  “But what if it’s a trap?”

  “Of course, it’s a trap.”

  They both spun around from the computer desk. Hamlin was standing in the doorway.

  “You scared the crap out of me,” Christopher said.

  “Finally, the tables are turned,” said Hamlin.

  “You look like shit,” Christopher said. And he was right. Hamlin had bandages on parts of his swollen face and when he walked into the room, it was with a pronounced limp and a wince at each step.

  Christopher and Juan jumped up from their chairs and rushed forward to help him to the couch.

  “What happened?” asked Christopher.

  “A little girl is what happened,” Hamlin said. “Did you get my voicemail?”

  “No, I woke to a call from Juan and rushed right here.”

  “Get me a drink kid, need to medicate. Hell, I’d still be in the hospital if I hadn’t gotten the message from Juan here.”

  Christopher poured him a whiskey on the rocks and Hamlin downed most of it in one gulp.

  He looked from Christopher to Juan, “It’s got to be Grace, and she’s become much more powerful.” Then he grimaced. “Who am I kidding? She’s like a child prodigy of evil.”

  He told them the whole story.

  “So, she took some dude, a graffiti artist, and turned him into some sort of servant monster?” asked Juan.

  “Yeah. Somehow she was able to fuck him up enough that he would wait for one of us to arrive.”

  “Like mind control?” Christopher asked thinking of the Anabelle, one of the first dark souls they had encountered, and how she had controlled the werehellhound.

  “Not exactly. I mean, it wasn’t like he wasn’t in control of his actions, more like he was changed fundamentally. Like he truly believed that he had to kill me, like it was just part of who he was. It was his whole purpose in life.”

  “It was a trap?” asked Juan.

  Hamlin nodded and took another big gulp. “Yeah, I think she thought Mr. Hunter here might investigate once the unusual cause of death was discovered.”

  “I’m sorry Hamlin, I didn’t know,” Christopher said.

  “What are you talking about kid? I’m a fucking cop. I know what I’m getting myself into. You didn’t do anything. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you get me another drink.”

  “It looks like rather than one problem to deal with, we have two,” said Christopher. He went over to the bar to retrieve the whole bottle. “Obviously I need to go to Cairo as soon as possible.”

  “But we know it’s a trap,” Juan said. “The video is all over the internet; that was no personal message, they want everybody to see it. Almost like they were daring you to ignore it.”

  “Yeah, I get it, but what choice do I have? I can’t let them kill a buncha people. That was a slaughter.”

  “What about the police or the Egyptian military? What are they going to do?” Hamlin suggested.

  “Yeah great, get the cops involved. What the fuck are they going to do? Just servants of a corrupt world order,” Juan said and then seemed to notice Hamlin’s glare. “Present company excluded.”

  “You had to go and hire an anarchist for tech support, didn’t ya kid?” Hamlin growled.

  “Better than a Republican,” Juan replied.

  “You guys both know that there is no police force in the world capable of understanding, let alone stopping beings like this. No, I have to go before more innocents die,” said Christopher.

  “Isn’t that like negotiating with terrorists? I mean if they can call you out that easily what’s to stop some other asshole from using a bunch of people for target practice just to get your attention?”

  “I don’t think that’s much of a secret. I think dark souls know how to push this button. Besides, I don’t have a choice. I can’t ignore this.”

  “What about our Grace problem?” asked Hamlin.

  Christopher shook his head. “I get that she’s a problem, but at the moment her kill rate is much lower than the Brothers Grimm over in Cairo. I’ve got to make her a lower priority. Besides, we don’t have a lead on where to find her or what she and Golyat are going to do next.”

  Hamlin nodded. “If you head to Egypt, I can try to get a lead on what they’re up to.” He sighed, “I’m not sure how, but I’ll think of something.”

  “Maybe, but you need your rest too. You got beat up pretty bad, and it might be dangerous without me along.”

  “Kid,” Hamlin growled, “as I’ve said before I might be old, but I’ve taken care of myself so far. I can manage a few more years at least.”

  “So, what do I do?” Juan asked.

  “The usual. Hold down the fort and be available when called,” Christopher said.

  “Here? Don’t you want me there in Egypt?”

  “I think you’d better stay here. Hamlin might need you and I doubt I’ll need your help finding these guys in Egypt. I have a feeling they will find me. Besides, you’re only a phone call away. What’s wrong Hamlin? You look bothered.”

  Hamlin’s frown had moved to a scowl by the time Christopher finished. Hamlin shook his head.

  “I’m just worried. I get that we have to split up, but it just feels wrong. The Erises in the hospital, you heading to the middle east, me staying in New York. Up until now we’ve stuck together and we’ve won. It just doesn’t feel right to split up.”

  “What would you have us do? I’m not sure what choice we have.”

  Hamlin nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I said I get it. But I don’t have to like it. It just feels like we are at our weakest when we’re alone. I’m worried we are playing into their hands. But yeah kid, I don’t have an alternative.”

  “We’ll just have to be careful. Hamlin, check in regularly with Juan so we know you’re safe. And yeah, I know you’re a tough guy, but please try to be careful. Find out what you can, but don’t do anything crazy.”

  Hamlin nodded and waved his hand dismissively. But he couldn’t hide the worried look on his face from Christopher.

  11

  With Cairo spread out in front of him like a life-size Google map, Christopher surveyed the unfamiliar landscape. He was not sure what he expected, but it was not the huge expanse of city that was before him. The towering skyscrapers and buildings looked like they might have been first built during the time of the Pharaohs. It bustled with life as potent as New York, and just as complex a network of neighborhoods and boroughs.

  He had no idea where to start. Hunting the ones who had created that video for him would be next to impossible in such a large metropolitan area. Perhaps he should have thought this through a little better when he had been back in the Bronx lair.

  But something in his gut told him he didn’t have much time. He had gone straight to the cube room, with its mystic doorway to other lairs throughout the world, to get here as fast as he could. There was a lair in Egypt and the cube room brought him here just as it had to the others. This lair, however, turned out to be the oldest so far.

  It had been moderately maintained, at least up until the death of his predecessor. In function, it was very much like the other lairs—several rooms, kitchen, computer room, storage, several sleeping areas, and bathrooms. Despite the modern conveniences, it was obviously an ancient site.

  The walls were hand carved with ancient symbols that looked nothing like the hieroglyphics he had seen on TV. He wasn’t sure what they meant; they might hold some sort of magic, but they might just as easily be the equivalent of modern-day wallpaper.

  The most startling aspect of the Egyptian lair was its location: beneath the famous Egyptian Museum. Like the other lairs, multiple hidden entrances led through an underground maze of access tunnels. His predecessor was good at hiding in plain sight, but he was also good at covering his bases. Christopher suspected if he went through all the paperwork of the complex network of businesses the Beast had left him, he
would find that he somehow owned or at least controlled part of the museum and the land it sat on. Even government-owned lands hadn’t stopped him from ensuring the physical and legal safety of his lairs.

  Christopher pulled out his phone and opened Google maps. The only thing he had to go on was the video. The attack had happened in a market, and in some of the images he had seen older buildings. Perhaps some sort of old town.

  He then looked at local news. The attack had only happened yesterday, so the media was still covering it. It was generically labeled a terrorist attack, although no credible militant group had come forward yet.

  Reading through the news reports he found some street names; they were, indeed, in the older part of the city. This area was full of Mosques, old stone buildings and a small tourist-friendly market. That had to be it.

  He leaped from the building, power billowing about him in dark clouds of shadow. Tendrils of shadow reached out as he flew towards the next building, slightly lower. The tendrils took hold of the buildings around him and guided his path. He loved the feeling of flying through the city. It made him feel he was using a combination of the Incredible Hulk’s jumping and Spiderman’s webs to navigate through cityscapes. It was as close as he could get to flying; Superman was still out of his reach.

  He jumped from building to building, using his power tendrils to help guide. The city was quite beautiful. The architecture, when he moved out of downtown was different than anything Christopher had seen. Muslim designs of domed roofs and large gardens blended with modern steel and concrete. In other places Greco-Roman inspired columns held up massive stone structures. Although still impressive, the buildings were smaller the closer he got to the old town area; the skyscrapers were left behind in downtown.

  Although late, the smell of dinner filled the air, spoiled only by the occasional wafting of the scent of evil. He mostly ignored these quick, disgusting scents once he determined they weren’t a dark soul.

  He could feel the Weapon pulling at him, almost demanding that it be fed these souls, any souls, whether dark or not. And Christopher understood why. It had been a long time since they had taken a soul while hunting. Even Christopher was growing to miss it.