Published at 8th of March 2024 7:44 am

Chapter Thirty Two

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“We separate here,” I said in a low voice, half crouched behind one of the plant blisters. Alice and I were about a quarter mile from the ziggurat, and even at this distance I could feel the bad juju rolling off it, like the stink of an overfull diaper on the dining table.

Alice nodded, pulled one of the sticks from her bundle in preparation and gave me one last, complicated look. “Be safe,” she said.

“Back at ya,” I said, holding out my fist. She rapped her knuckles against mine and disappeared into the night.

Okay, all alone with my thoughts now. Just don’t think how you’re going to storm and fucking murder a bunch of warlocks and pirate. Easy. One foot in front of the other, Colm.

I began walking towards the northern side of the ziggurat. Alice had scouted it out earlier in the evening and said she’d be able to get to the other side in time for our pincer attack. I had several of my prepared spells hanging from makeshift lanyards around my neck, gently scraping my chest with every step I took.

After I had taken about two hundred paces I took one stick from my bundle, found a bush and jammed it into the dirt next to it. I had designed the wards to activate when they sensed a lack of movement, so they’d activate in waves as they were planted. The more spread out they were, the more the cascade would build until it hit a tipping point and shatter. The resulting psychic backlash should render anyone not protected stunned, if not completely knocked out. It was for the latter reason the girls and I had decided to send most of what can be generously called our “forces” to the town, in case people weren’t able to move under their own power and needed to be moved by hand.

We were reasonably certain Alice and I could take out the warlocks. I’d fought all of them except Terrance, and now that I wasn’t pulling my punches (both metaphorically and physically now that I was under the full effects of my enhancements), we were pretty sure I could win a fight, especially with Alice shooting lightning to back me up.

That said, the plan was to bushwhack them and fucking kill them when they couldn’t defend themselves. The hero is supposed to give the villains a fair fight and all that, so he can remain the hero, but fuck that. These guys are murderers, slavers and they aren’t playing fair. The best I’m going to offer them is a moment of surprise and then whatever greets us after this life.

The closer I got to the ziggurat the more activity I had to avoid. There was a loose guard posted around the sacrificial site, formed of several rings. I had to use two of my prepared spells to allow me to sneak past, attention spells that lasted a few minutes each. Under a shroud of magical disinterest I slipped between the lines of guards, leaving my warded sticks in out-of-the-way places as I approached.

As I approached the ziggurat I felt my steps slow and then stop as I took in the scene before me.

The steps up to the main platform of the ziggurat were covered in layers of blood, both old and new. The place smelled awful, full of rot and death. I used to think a tuna sandwich I’d left on my dash in the august sun for two weeks was the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, but this was the new champion. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my dinner down.

I got a grip on myself and studied the stairs. The new blood made me worried. I thought they were waiting until after midnight? Were we wrong? Was I late? I scanned the area and spotted what I hadn’t noticed before, so absorbed in keeping out of sight of the guards: sacrifices.

About three dozen people, all on their knees with their hands behind their back. I recognized a few of them as people from the cruise, but otherwise noted they were by and large all fifty and older. Just then a man appeared at the top of the steps of the ziggurat, tossing the contents of a bucket down the stairs. The contents turned out to be blood, splashing a bit and creating a small cascading water (blood?) fall down the steps.

I shook my head and started circling to the side, to where Alice said there was a blind spot I could climb. I needed to hurry.

My tentacles were in what I’d been calling their “phased” configuration, as they were part in this reality and part who the fuck knows where. This is how they were when I first summoned them, and in some experiments on the island had shown that they can be more or less as solid as I want, but would always degrade whatever they touched that wasn’t me.

They also allowed me to climb things like Doc Ock in Spider-man 2.

I waited for a pirate to pass out of sight, stabbed my last stick into the dirt, waiting a bit more so he’d turn a corner, and then began my impression of Alfred Molina circa two thousand and four.

It was weird, having all my weight supported on my shoulders with my arms being free. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it sure as shit wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t like being picked up by your armpits, either. Frankly, there wasn’t a lot to compare it to as the tentacles, while attached to me, weren’t attached to any supporting musculature or bones. It should feel like the skin the tentacles were attached to was being pried off, but the connection went deeper. Deeper, somehow, without interfering with the blood vessels, veins, muscles and tendons.

The ziggurat was big enough to be seen from a mile or two away, but I now knew that was mostly because the vegetation on this island was so squat, rather than the impressive height of the building. I’d say it was just shy of three stories tall, and with my handy-dandy hentai limbs I cleared the distance in under a minute. I paused right below the lip of the “roof” and slowly raised myself to peek.

Eight pirates, each positioned near the edge of the platform that was the roof. The entire space was about the size of basketball court, longer than it was wide. The floor was made out of what looked like a baked earth. At the center was what I identified as the sacrificial table. It was a solid stone block, maybe granite? That was stained brown by years and years of blood. The roof was lit by four torches that were placed at each corner of the table, so that the sacrificer would have light to work by. Only one of the warlocks was here, Knife Boy. I cursed mentally. Where the fuck were the others?

Near the stairs were several buckets, a few tipped over already but their contents clearly were blood judging from the dark stains within. They must have brought it from somewhere else, as I could see no corpses and spotted none during my trip here. Part of the sacrifice ritual must demand the sacrifices tread on a path of blood, or some other horrific nonsense.

I settled in to wait, pleased to discover that my otherworldly appendages didn’t suffer the indignities of lactic acid build up and were perfectly content to hold my weight for as long as I wanted. I was worried about being spotted until I realized I was completely in shadow and the guards didn’t have my perfect night vision. Their vision was also spoiled every time they glanced behind them to the torches. I wonder if I can use that—

My thoughts ground to a halt as I noticed the warlock stir. Knife Boy glanced up at the moon, then his watch. He tossed his head back and forth, as if weighing his options. He turned to the pirates nearest the stairs. “Alright,” he said. I was reminded of his Australian accent. “We got a lot to do so we might as well get started early. Bring up the first batch.”

Fuck!

The wards were still up! I could feel the subtle vibrations in the magic in the area that meant they were under stress but the cascade hadn’t built high enough. I—

I don’t—

Should I wait? The more time that went by meant the closer the wards got to going nova, but that also meant I might have to fight around the sacrifices. My hands started to shake on the lip of the roof. What do I do?! Fuck! I—I don’t know! I don’t—

…

...Fuck it.

I found myself raising onto the roof, silently suspended on my tentacles. The guards nearest me had turned when the Australian began to talk, and didn’t hear my approach. The guards across the way saw me, as they had also turned when the warlock spoke, but before they could yell a warning I was dropping my claws in a slash at the base of the nearest pirates skull.

There was a sound like a watermelon being stomped. I could feel the Limbs of the Other Side sucking on the blood of the suddenly dead pirate but didn’t pay it any mind as I raised my other hand, lifting one of my prepared spells.

“Þrøngva,” I said. The card stock exploded, a rush of force flying away from me. As it did I sent two of my tentacles at the other guard nearest me, who was rounding on me with his rifle. One tentacle slammed into his throat, the other into his sternum with enough force to lift him off his feet. His rifle clattered to the ground as a black, blood-like substance escaped his mouth instead of a scream.

Meanwhile, the force from my prepared spell shot across the roof of the ziggurat. It picked up the four of the guards on my left along with two of the torches and sent them flying into the night. I had hoped to catch the Australian with it but he had the presence of mind to dive behind the sacrificial table, which barely moved when the spell hit it.

The remaining two guards trained their rifles on me just as I reeled back with the guard suspended on my tentacles and hurled him at the other two. Now, I don’t know what I’d do if someone threw a co-worker at me, but what these guys did was dive out of the way. I used the distraction to pull the pistol from the first guard I killed and calmly emptied the mag at the guard who had dove away from me, while I rushed the one that was closer. A knife flew at my face as I dashed across the ziggurat and I was shocked when I slapped it out of the way by reflex.

I didn’t let Knife Boy distract me, and arrived just as the guard got to his knees and desperately pointed his rifle at me. My foot came up like I was punting a football and… and I’ll never forget that crunching noise for as long as I live. His head disappeared in a fountain of gore and I could feel the LotOS on my leg slurp greedily at the viscera.

I spun, checking the last guard with a quick glance, finding him still on the ground in a growing puddle of blood. I sidestepped and was glad for it when two knives flew where I had just been. I raised my arms into position one and began to approach the Australian warlock.

The warlock was all smiles, his eyebrows and hair just starting to grow back after I had burned them off. “Well look at you!” He said, a big kukri type machete appearing in his hand. “Terry and Sayer were thinkin’ you had somehow bugged out after you disappeared, but I knew better. I knew you were full of shit that day on the radio. You’re a fuckin’ hero type, aren’t ya?”

He was still a good dozen feet away. He was within reach of my tentacles but I didn’t want to find out what his magic-cutting knives could do to my new limbs. If I reacted like I did when the big Russian had injured one, I’d come to with a knife in my chest.

“Whelp,” the Aussie said when I didn’t reply. “Terry ain’t here to tell me to hold back and I’m still pretty pissed about losing my hair.”

And he began to change.

It was subtle at first, but from one second to another his skin went from a healthy tan to having a metallic sheen. The kukri fell from his hand as his fingers elongated and contorted, becoming knives themselves. The angles of his body, what I’d call lean and sharp before, were actually becoming sharp before my eyes.

You know, in cartoons—anime in particular—where the villain begins to transform and the heroes just stand around and let him? Doesn’t that bug the shit out of you? Me too.

I hopped back, sending my tentacles back at the two corpses behind me. It was tricky controlling two limbs in two different directions but I made it work as they wrapped around the fallen rifles and reeled them in to my outstretched hands. The handles slapped into my palms and I awkwardly checked their safeties before bracing them both against my shoulders, using the tentacles to steady their barrels. I sighted as best as I could and fired a quick burst from both guns right into the Australian’s chest. He raised an arm to defend himself but I had stopped firing by that point.

Sparks and blood had flown in equal measure, which made me think these rifles were loaded with FMJ as I didn’t think lead would spark. Unless the sparks were coming from Knife Boy’s skin? Either way, the recoil from the burst had proven laughably easy to control so I squeezed both triggers and let the warlock have it.

By now he was human in shape only. Blades of all kinds sprang from him all over, mostly around major joints like the shoulders, elbows, hips and knees. His transformation was still going, too. As I resumed firing, he staggered awkwardly to the side as the bullets slammed into his side, now showing less blood and more sparks. He managed to dive behind the altar, the last of my bullets slamming into the stone and creating a little dust cloud.

The guns locked empty. I needed to finish this quickly, as the guards at the base of the ziggurat were probably on their way—

The night lit up with lightning. One flash, two, three. Screams. Gunfire. More lightning. It was coming from the direction Alice had said she was—

Oh, right! I had backup! I was so used to working alone I had forgotten Alice was getting into position as soon as I had had my mini panic attack back there. She must have realized something had gone wrong and was dividing the attention of the pirates. Or maybe she thought I fucked up and was just laying waste. Whichever, it gave me time to focus on the warlock.

I debated getting spare magazines from the dead guards but decided that’d take too much time to go to each corpse and rifle through their pockets, especially since I had a strong suspicion bullets weren’t going to be effective for much longer. I let the rifles drop and charged the altar—

Suddenly the altar shifted, and then was launched at me. I barely had a second to react, digging my tentacles into the floor to arrest my movement and to slam me back and down. Even with the aid of the otherworldly limbs the hunk of granite only clipped my chest and face, the momentum transferring my back and the back of my head into the floor.

My vision swam and I felt wetness on my face, along with burning that I knew to be scraped and raw skin. My chest felt like I had just caught a cannon ball. I heard a giant crash as the stone table crashed into the earth below and behind me. I groaned through the pain and lifted my hand to my head to examine the damage—

When my Limbs of the Other Side drank blood from other people, it felt weird. I have no words to describe what it felt like when it drank the blood from the cut on my eyebrow. It was so alien and—and vile that I snatched my hand away with enough force that it smacked into the ground.

The one good thing about that awful experience was that it cleared up my disorientation enough that I noticed the monster of sharp metal straightening up from where he had tossed what must have easily been three thousand pounds of rock.

“Ah, good,” said the metal warlock. His voice was still distinctly Australian, but it sounded metallic. It clicked and grinded oddly, like his voice was being bounced down a machine shaft and picked up other sounds along the way. “I was afraid that was gonna kill you.”

The holes I had put into his chest were still there, but they weren’t bleeding like they should. Thick, shining liquid… I guess the word that describes it best is “glopped” out of the holes periodically, as if the metal warlock had an incredibly slow heartbeat. Which he might. Who could guess what the crazy fucks physiology was now?

I took a deep breath to make sure my ribs weren’t broken and was relieved when they weren’t. Using my tentacles I pushed myself to my feet and dusted off my hands.

“You’re going to wish it did,” I said.

The metal monster grinned, exposing teeth that were each a tiny blade. He threw his hands wide in the classic “come at me bro” pose.

“Come and get ‘em.”

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