Chapter 40

Bryndísar Family Farm, Iceland

Wednesday, October 26th, 2050

“Good,” spat Mulciber. Literally; a thick gob of saliva hit my cheek. “You do remember me.”

“But what happened to you? You’re…” I very nearly called him a freak. Probably best not to antagonize him in my sorry state. “You’re taller.”

“Yatener called me Number Seventeen,” he said. “The first of the next stage of golems. Gave me wings. Gave me magical brands. You ever been branded, Malthus? Hurts almost as bad as this!”

I nearly passed out as Mulciber put all his weight on my abused ribs. It was almost worse when he relented. Did he pierce a lung? Enemy take me, I hope not.

“Th-then I don’t think I shall,” I wheezed. “Y-you’ve made your point. I don’t suppose an apology will do?”

He cocked his shadowy head at me. “Forgiveness? From a devil? I didn’t hit your head, did I?”

We shared a laugh, though mine was more wet coughing. He’s rather sure of himself. Good. I need to keep him talking; it’ll give Mariko a chance to slip away. She will if she has a brain in her head. Who knows, I might be able to find an opening and—

He shifted up, and a cloven foot came down on my left hand. I didn’t scream; he wouldn’t get the satisfaction.

I cradled my shattered fingers to my chest, my vision swimming with tears. Mulciber didn’t bother pinning me down; I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yer pretty quiet. Don’t die on me; not yet.”

“F-fine, do what you will to me,” I managed. “Just leave Mariko and the others out of this, like you promised.”

He tilted his shadow head, his milky eyes narrowing in thought. “You know those humans’ names? You must be close.”

My eyes widened. Oh Hell. “Of course not, but it hardly seems sporting when I won your game.”

“Sporting?” he snorted. “Like Hell.”

“Then be that way.” Fortunately, I knew a spell I could still cast with one hand. “Spectral Web!”

I poured on the magic, wreathing his distorted head in the glowing blue fibers. Mulciber let out an inhuman, booming screech, like a barn owl the size of a bear. I levered myself up, regretting every twitch of my muscles. I could see Mariko trying to do… something in the distance. The light of the moon and the distant Fireball wasn’t enough to make out the details. Did I see glowing runes? What does she think she’s going to do without attack magic? That foolish girl! “Mariko, run!”

She didn’t respond; I cursed the darkness. I could only really see her by reflected light of her white uniform.

Which meant that Mulciber had no problem taking aim. The branded runes in his arms lit up again, launching a Fireball right at her.

“Mariko!” No sense playing cool now; there was no way Mulciber would leave her alone.

Mariko had never been the most athletic person; she usually spent combat training on the sidelines as a dedicated medic, and she had immediately settled into housework at both of our homes in Iceland. However, she proved the amazing power of adrenaline, diving to the ground just under Mulciber’s spell. Something in her hands flashed, and a bolt of red energy punched a basketball-sized hole in Mulciber’s right wing.

There was that screech again. What does he have to complain about? Bloody Lance cauterizes the wound.

Mulciber’s wings flapped, sending him skyward; it took a few tries to steady himself, but I was impressed he managed it with his pierced wing. A veritable shower of residuum from his wings lit the area, showing the cane in Mariko’s hands.

She looked nearly as shocked as Mulciber, but she kept the fabricata trained on him. “Get away from him!” She was so shocked that she had switched to her native Japanese, but apparently I knew enough to understand her.

Then again, it might have just been obvious; the devil got the point, too. “I’ll b-be back,” he managed. “I won’t waste Our Father Below’s gift.” With another flap of his wings, he vanished into the night sky.

Mariko ought to have stayed vigilant; there was nothing stopping him from swooping back down.

I was glad she rushed over instead. The Dark Lord knew I needed some tender loving care right then. She shifted me up, resting my head in her lap. I didn’t even mind the jolt to my ribs; the softness and comfort was a welcome relief from the cold and agony.

“Are you still with me?” she managed, choking back tears.

“Y-yes,” I managed. “That was a good shot; I was surprised you went for the cane.”

“I…” She gulped, clearly overwhelmed by it all. “I thought he could deflect it, like all of your spells. I was trying to distract him, not maim him.”

“Well, I’m glad you were wrong,” I said.

“Were you speaking with him? What did you say?”

I coughed into my hand, and it came away bloody. It would have been a good trick if it had been on purpose, but I was in a bad way. I caressed her arm with my good hand. “We can talk later, after you’ve patched me up.”

“Soren, your…” She gulped. “I need your hand. To see the damage.”

I reluctantly let her at my bruised limb. She was as careful as she could be, but every touch sent a bolt of pain through me. “Lens of Hippocrates,” she intoned. The air before her distorted, and I looked away. I wasn’t in time to avoid seeing a floating, golden x-ray of my hand that looked rather like an unfinished puzzle.

“How bad is it?” I wheezed.

“I… I cannot fix this,” she said, swallowing again. She kept it together for my sake. “The bones are too small, and there are too many fr-fragments. This will need normal medicine to put you back together first. Then we can try to do it, but you might never…” A single tear hit my forehead.

“Chin up, my dear. How about patching up this rib? You’ve done that for me before.”

She nodded, drying her eyes. “How can you be so calm about this? You could end up like… like me.”

“There’s worse things. Now, let’s fix that rib; I can walk without my hand, but not with my ribs and lungs fighting each other. Mul… He could be back any second.”

She cocked her head. “Mol? Is that his name? What did you talk about?”

“I… I know enough High Demonic to pronounce the spells and ask where the bathroom is,” I said. “I can also ask for someone’s name.”

Mariko frowned, obviously not believing me. I was saved when I coughed up a splatter of blood again. She went to work with her healing magic, and I wished I could have explained how I could be so calm about my hand. The injury was painful and distressing, but I had a trump card to play, if only I could move my fingers into the position for All Heal. However, that was likely weeks of recovery away. I’m not about to risk miscasting healing magic. Good way to grow another finger, or worse.

She finished her healing, even throwing a Subdermal Heal on the hand to do something about the bruising. “I can’t go further than that; the bones are—”

“Let’s leave it to my imagination, please.” I stood, reflexively brushing myself off with my hands which was… an experience.

“Ara, such language,” she said, her tone more surprised than reproachful.

“I think I’m entitled,” I wheezed. “Is he still jamming our technology?”

She went for her pocket, pulling out an utterly dead phone. “It seems so.”

“Then we need to get back to the house,” I managed, straightening up. “Warn the others.”

She nodded reluctantly, unable to tear her gaze away from my wounded hand.

“My eyes are up here,” I said.

“How can you tell jokes at a time like this?”

I shrugged. “Who needs gallows humor when things are going well? Look, everything will be okay in the end. I already have a plan.”

**************

I didn’t have a plan. I’d hoped that inspiration would strike while we explained our battle with Mulciber to the others. However, the blow-by-blow account of how he had shrugged off most of my magic before outdoing me hand to hoof had sapped my confidence.

At least nothing untoward had happened to the others while Mulciber had trounced me. We were huddled in the living room, where the light from the fireplace and an old kerosene lamp sent shadows dancing on the wall.

“And you told me to toss this thing out,” said Bryndísar, a smirking with satisfaction.

“Fine, not the first thing I was wrong about,” muttered Heida. Most of us were seated in a circle of chairs, but she stood away from the group, clearly trying to avoid Kowalski.

“It’s okay, Heida,” he said, giving her a grin she couldn’t see. “It did seem like something Buddy might do.”

“So gracious,” said Lilja just loud enough for me to hear. I could just see her smirking as she finished bandaging my hand. “This is the best I can do, Skjor. Good thing you’re better at holding still than a sheep.”

“A strange compliment, but I’ll take it.” I tucked my wounded wing into a sling, pinning it to my chest. I finally got to feel that marshmallow cloud sensation the nurse had mentioned before; Bryndísar had some painkillers left over from his recovery, which was the only reason Lilja had been able to touch my hand without knocking me out.

“So this thing—” started Bryndísar.

“Kasasagi called it Mol before,” said Mariko.

“Why?” Bryndísar gave me a suspicious look.

“It made that sound while it was shouting at me,” I replied. “It seems as good as any other.”

The farmer nodded. “This Mol is intelligent, able to fly, talk, has built-in fabricata, and it can cast spells of its own,” he finished. “No offense, but I think we’re outmatched.”

I patted my left shoulder. “I can’t disagree with you,” I said. This is all my fault. They’ve all been doomed by Malthus’ petty whims. The decent thing to do would be to slip away and distract Mulciber while the others escaped.

However, I was too fearful to do the decent thing. I wracked my brain, mulling every detail I could remember. Thankfully, Mulciber’s new form was firmly burned into my memory, so I had a lot to work with.

“Let’s go over what we do know.” How do I describe him as a golem without using the word ‘golem’? Is it even safe to call him a devil in front of them? “This Mol thing is a bit like Buddy. He doesn’t seem to be able to change his form, but he has the same shadowy nature. He’s also got magic built into him, too.”

Kowalski jerked a thumb at the one shadow on the wall that didn’t dance in time with the flickering lanternlight. “Do you think there’s another devil around here? It could be that guy’s affinity, just like Buddy. Maybe we can catch him by surprise?”

I wish it was so easy. Time to let more details slip. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I would have seen him with Mimic. I think he might be some sort of horribly mutilated devil.”

“That’s… worrisome,” said Bryndísar. “We catch devils sometimes, and they talk about what’s going on in magical Research and Development, but half of what they say under torture is bullshit anyway. If they can make one, they could make an army.”

“This shouldn’t be possible,” said Heida. “You’re right, Pabbi; if they can make these things, why have we only seen this now? Flying demons would change the whole war. They could fly across the oceans, and our anti-air defenses aren’t designed to hit human sized targets.” Her eyes went wide. “We’d never be safe again.”

“It might be experimental,” I said. “From…” Dash it all, we might die tonight anyway. “From what I could make out, I think he escaped from somewhere down south. He might have come to Iceland because nobody from the Horde could look for him here.”

“That’s the most comforting thing you’ve said all night,” said Bryndísar. “Hopefully Mol being up here slows down the Horde’s research.”

“How is it not in Wizard’s Desolation?” asked Kowalski. “You said it was casting spells from tattoos, flying around, and it’s jamming us all at the same time. It’s like a living fabricata!” Kowalski pointed at Buddy again. “I get tired sometimes when Buddy’s been playing too hard. Just being Mol sounds exhausting.”

“Devils do have higher magical reserves than most humans,” offered Mariko.

“He’s also fond of eating whole sheep in one go,” I said. “You can down a lot of calories very quickly if you don’t need your mutton cooked first.”

“We can speculate all we like, but we have two priorities,” said Bryndísar. “First, we need to either capture or kill this thing. Second, we need to get Skjor to a hospital.”

“I don’t see us catching Mol alive,” I said. If only because I’m not leaving anybody who knows I’m Malthus on this side of Hell.

I thought Mariko might object, but she stayed quiet, eyes fixed to my wounded hand.

I continued. “Even if we caught him, I don’t think we could hold him.”

“Somebody could go see how far the jamming goes,” said Heida. “That might be the best plan anyway. We could all walk out onto the main road until we get some cell signal and call for backup.”

Bryndísar rapped at his false leg. “I’m not exactly equipped for a long walk, honey.”

“You have not seen how fast that Mol is,” said Mariko. “If he came for us, we would be completely exposed.”

Heida crossed her arms under her chest and pouted. “Fine, I guess I’m wrong about everything tonight.”

“Maybe Mol will fly away on its own?” offered Kowalski, hopefully. “Mariko tagged it pretty good with that fabricata weapon.”

“That’s a tad optimistic.” I couldn’t very well admit Mulciber’s vendetta towards me. Some whim of the Enemy or Our Father Below brought us together. He won’t run away, and I can’t, either.

I closed my eyes, letting the world around me drift away, leaving the wizards present as magical outlines to my Mimic. Could we lure Mulciber to the farmhouse? The old man might be able to cast some spells, at least. Bryndísar’s leg was invisible to me, and the energy running through his ruined left arm was even more scattered than Mariko’s right. No, he might get one spell off, but then he’d be a sitting duck. Besides, Lilja would be helpless. We have to draw him away somehow.

Kowalski was still a double image, looking as strong as ever. The other wizards also looked to be in good shape, save Mariko’s arm. Thankfully, that hadn’t stopped her from saving me before.

I dove deeper into Mimic Sight, peering into the distance. There’s the bastard. I couldn’t have seen him with my normal vision, but there was a faint glow perching atop the barn where we’d set our trap. I couldn’t make out what he was doing exactly, but he was spending magic. That might just be the jamming magic, though he could also be healing himself.

“And I’m in charge of these cadets, and I say we aren’t going!” Heida’s shout roused me from my meditative state. “That thing wrecked Soren, and he’s the best combat wizard here! We need to get somebody out of jamming range and call for help.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Of course she’s trying to avoid a fight. I don’t need Mimic Sight to see through her.

“And what, leave Mol running loose on the farm?” Bryndísar rose to his feet, looming over his daughter. “To destroy everything we’ve ever built?”

“Screw the farm!” snapped Heida, rising to meet the challenge. “Our lives matter more than a bunch of rotting barns and filthy sheep!”

“Heida!” said Lilja.

“I’m not surprised to hear you say that,” said Bryndísar, pointing a meaty finger at the window. “You couldn’t wait to leave. However, I care about this place, and I’m not surrendering our farm to that thing.”

“We aren’t equipped to deal with this!” she countered. “A sword and a spear, one fabricata cane we didn’t even know was a weapon, a group of half-trained cadets, two or three crippled wizards, depending on how you count Yamada—”

“What?” gasped Mariko.

I almost welcomed the spike of anger that ran through my spine. Some combat wizard, trying to talk her way out of anything the least bit hard or dangerous! I didn’t consider myself the bravest soul, but our backs were to the wall. Even a cornered rat will eventually fight.

Wait. She does always freeze up when there’s danger. Then why did she…

“Enough,” I said, getting up in Heida’s face. “I hope you’ll all excuse us a moment.” I grabbed Heida’s hand without waiting, dragging her up the stairs. “We need to have a quick chat about our next steps.”