“I never thought I’d be doing this,” Shark bellows over the noise of the whirring blades. He’s smiling. “How often does the chance come along to end a war? You see it all the time in films, but in real life wars are decided over a variety of fronts and battles. It’s possible to play an important role in victory, but only a limited part. To actually be charged with the task of going in and saving the world…” He whoops with joy.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Kernel remarks sarcastically.
“Damn straight I am,” he hollers. “Might as well — we’re going to die regardless.”
I turn my attention away from the battle-hungry Shark. He’s probably got the right attitude for a fight like this, but I find his gung ho approach tasteless and disturbing. This isn’t a game. We’re not competing for a trophy. If we lose, we take humanity down with us. I don’t see how you can be anything but stone cold miserable when lumbered with a responsibility like that.
Looking down as we whizz along, closing in on Carcery Vale. We’re deep into Demonata territory now. This used to be my home. Not any more. It’s theirs now. Abandoned cars. Burning buildings. Pools of blood smear the roads and fields. Slaughtered animals and humans everywhere, some cut up into bits and strewn about the place, others arranged in obscene patterns by the demons, either for their own amusement or to scare anyone who ventures into their realm.
I spot a few of the monsters messing with bodies on the ground. I don’t look closely enough to determine whether their victims are alive or dead. I turn my gaze away and pray for their sakes that they’re corpses.
Others are lounging in trees or in patches of shade, sheltering from the sun. Although stronger demons can move about during the day, they don’t like sunlight and aren’t as powerful as they are at night. The land would be teeming with lots more of the beasts if we were a few hours later in the day.
The outskirts of Carcery Vale. More of a visible demonic presence. Most of the buildings are ripped to pieces. Bodies scattered everywhere. We fly over my old school — dozens of children and teachers are impaled on spikes, grey and red, covered in feasting flies, slowly rotting.
For the first time I think about my friends. Until now I’ve been fixed on Dervish and Bill-E. But all the others will have fallen to the Demonata too. Frank, Mary, Leon, Shannon… Reni. I rip my gaze away from the bodies in case I spot the face of someone I know. Tears come, but I fight them back. I can’t think about my friends, not even my uncle and brother. The best – only – way I can avenge them is by focusing on the demons and the battle. No room for pity, doubt or fear. Mustn’t imagine them suffering, the pain they must have gone through, whether any escaped. The demons. The cave. Dying. These should be my only concerns.
The air above the Vale is thick with planes and helicopters. Shark ordered the regular troops in ahead of us. They’ve been blanket-bombing the area for the past twenty minutes, most of their force aimed at the demons around the entrance to the cave, disrupting them, blowing up the bodies of the lesser demons. The effects are temporary – the demons will piece themselves back together once the shelling stops – but any minor advantage is a bonus.
Zoning in on the cave. I don’t recognise the area any more. There used to be a forest here at the back of our house, stretching all the way to Carcery Vale and for many kilometres in other directions. Now it’s been firebombed into oblivion. The land is ash and tree stumps. Bare, scarred, dead. It resembles the face of an asteroid. Doesn’t belong to this world. Something from outer space or a bad dream.
We fly over the rubbly ruins of a large building. We’re several seconds past it before I realise — that wreck used to be my home! The wonderful three storey mansion has been reduced to a skeletal shell. I’m almost glad Dervish isn’t here to see it. He loved that house. The sight of it in this sorry state would bring tears to his eyes.
The pilot’s in constant contact with the other aircraft, snapping orders and directions, carefully manoeuvring his way through the fleet. If he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. I wish the fighting could be left to the professionals like him. But I guess ordinary people always get sucked into battles. It’s the nature of warfare.
“Like a scene out of hell, isn’t it?” Shark notes with relish, stroking the long, gleaming barrel of a machine gun hanging from his neck.
“Let us hope it is hell for the demons when we finish,” Sharmila says.
The helicopter stops advancing. Hovers in the air, the pilot waiting for the other two copters to join us. I stare at the ground. Hard to spot the cave entrance. Bombs are going off all around, throwing up dirt, stones, bits of flesh and bones. I see stronger demons moving about freely, protected from the explosions by magic. They form a large circle, several demons deep. Pinpointing the centre of that circle, I finally locate the mouth of the cave. Just a small hole in the ground. Doesn’t look like anything special. Not the sort of place where you expect the future of the planet to be decided.
The second helicopter moves up alongside us, then the third. The Disciples are on their feet or knees by the open sides of the copters, clinging to straps, ready to jump as soon as they’re within safe distance of the ground. The elderly woman with the cane is sitting, legs dangling over the side, stroking the blades sticking out of her mace.
Our pilot looks back at Shark for confirmation. The ex-soldier pauses and casts an unusually sad eye around, swallowing hard, looking doubtful for the first time. For a moment I think he’s lost his thirst for battle. Bernabus thinks it too and opens his mouth to yell an order at the pilot. Then Shark raises his head, grins grimly and nods savagely. The pilot speaks rapidly into his mouthpiece, issuing urgent orders. The sky clears of planes. Helicopters packed with ground troops cluster around us. I can see the faces of some of the soliders — underlying terror, overlaid by determination, much like the faces of those closer to me.
The rain of bombs lessens, then stops. Dust swirls below, momentarily masking the hordes of demons. Shark roars commandingly at the pilot.
We drop.
SPARTANS
→ The demons attack before we touch the ground, screaming hatefully, hurling themselves at us viciously. More pour out of the cave entrance, all manner of foul monsters, multilimbed, fangs the size of scythes, claws galore, spitting venom, breathing fire — the works!
The soldiers bear the brunt of the assault. They spill out of the helicopters and absorb the rush of demons, firing off round after round of bullets which they know will only delay the beasts, buying precious seconds for those of us in the three central helicopters, laying down their lives to help us.
As the bloodshed begins, Beranabus claps me hard on the back. Almost before I know what’s happening, I’m out of the helicopter and running, Beranabus slightly ahead of me, Kernel to my right, Shark and Sharmila flanking us. The other ten Disciples fan out. Everyone’s focused on protecting Beranabus, Kernel and me. Even Shark, who’d love to mindlessly lay into the demons, sticks close by, acting only when we come under direct threat.
For several seconds we glide through the ranks of Demonata as if they weren’t there. A few challenge us, but the Disciples brush them off without slowing, sending them tumbling out of our way, interested only in clearing a path to the cave. The demons are hell-bent on butchering the soldiers – easy targets for the magical monsters – delighted to have so many new victims drop in on them at once.
Then a familiar demon master rises into the air above the cave entrance. My hands clench into fists, nails breaking the flesh of my palms, and the hope that had been forming within me quickly dwindles away.
It’s Lord Loss.
“Demonata!” my old enemy cries, the word piercing my skull and those of everyone and everything around me. “Beware the Disciples! Block their path or we’ll be returned to our own universe!”
In