DARREN SHAN
THE DEMONATA BOOKS 6-10
Demon Apocalypse
Death’s Shadow
Wolf Island
Dark Calling
and
Hell’s Heroes
HarperCollins Children's Books A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith London, W6 8JB
Demon Apocalypse: Text copyright © Darren Shan, 2007 Death’s Shadow: Text copyright © Darren Shan, 2008 Wolf Island: Text copyright © Darren Shan, 2008 Dark Calling: Text copyright © Darren Shan, 2009 Hell’s Heroes: Text copyright © Darren Shan, 2009 Cover illustrations © Dominic Harman
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Darren Shan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Source ISBNs: 9780007435401, 9780007435609, 9780007435395, 9780007435388, 9780007435371
Ebook edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780008126001
Version: 2014-12-09
Contents
Demon Apocalypse
Death’s Shadow
Wolf Island
Dark Calling
Hell’s Heroes
For:
Bas — back with a vengeance!
OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:
evil Elizabeth Eulberg — mistress of Duke’s!
sinister Cynthia Eagan — steer clear of the spoon!
Prophet of doom:
Stella Paskins
Horsemen of the Apocalypse:
the Christopher Little seers
Contents
PART ONE: BERANABUS
The Snatch
Flight
Power of the Beast
The Veteran
The Monolith
The Stuff that Heroes are Made of
A Face from the Past
The Warning
PART TWO: BEC-E
The Messenger
Valkyries
Spartans
A Second Chance
Timely Intervention
The High…
…And the Low
Empty Vessel
One Small Step for Man
THE SNATCH
→ A demon shaped like a giant scorpion digs its stinger into a woman’s eyes. As they pop, it spits eggs into the bloody sockets, then watches with its almost human face as the eggs hatch and wriggling maggots feast on her flesh.
Another demonic beast – it looks like a cute rabbit, though it has an ugly bulge on its back – vomits over a man and his two children. The acidic liquid sizzles and dissolves them down to the bone.
A third footman of the Demonata runs after an air hostess. He has the body of a young boy, but his head is larger than an adult’s, he has a wig of living lice instead of hair and fire burns in the holes where his eyes should be. He also has two extra mouths in the palms of his hands. The teeth of both are eagerly snapping open and shut as he chases the screaming air hostess.
All the people on the plane are screaming – except those who’ve already been killed – and it’s music to the ears of the demon master, Lord Loss. He hovers in the aisle, mouth twisted into a sad smile, red eyes distant. A few of his eight arms twitch in rhythm with the screams, like a conductor’s at an orchestra. Then his eyes snap back into focus and he turns his gaze on me.
“You should not have humiliated me, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss says, still furious about the time I beat him at chess. “You should have fought fairly, faithful to the spirit of the contest, and won or lost on merit alone. You ruined chess for me. For many centuries it was my only other source of joy. Now I have just the agony and torture of humans to keep me amused.”
He slowly drifts down the aisle towards me, the strands of flesh that pass for his legs floating a few centimetres above the floor. The tiny snakes in the hole where his heart should be are writhing, hissing hatefully, spitting venom in my direction. Blood is flowing from the many cracks in his pale red skin. The holes above his upper lip – he has no nose – quiver wildly as he gleefully inhales the stench of terror from the doomed passengers. His dark red eyes are dilated with morbid pleasure. All eight arms are extended. Some of his mangled hands brush the heads and cheeks of humans as he passes, as if he is obscenely blessing them. The white-haired, pink-eyed albino traitor, Juni Swan, is behind him, smiling serenely.
A woman clasping a baby falls to her knees in front of Lord Loss, sobbing painfully. “Please!” she cries. “Not my child. Have mercy on my baby. Don’t kill him. I beg you!”
“Suffer unto me the little children,” Lord Loss murmurs blasphemously, taking the baby with three of his hands. He strokes the boy’s face and the baby laughs. Lord Loss passes him to Juni. “For you, my darling swan.”
“You are generous to a fault, my lord,” she smiles, then kisses the infant.
“No!” I scream. But it’s too late. A moment later she