Evil Triumphant Page 8

  When Pygmalion intervened and stole Ryuhito away, Fiddleback merely shifted his plan slightly. He enlisted Coyote to help him build the new dimensional transportation device to gain entry into Pygmalion’s little reserve. Once created, the device could then be used to send Fiddleback to Earth. His trip would be delayed slightly, but the opportunity to destroy his old apprentice was worth it.

  With Crowley and Coyote both being wary, the alternate use he planned for the device would be discovered. A poll of the minds within him turned up a 92% probability that neither human would figure out Fiddleback’s true motivation before the device’s use. The Dark Lord did not take heart in that figure, however, for he knew how often Jaeger had already beaten substantial odds.

  He had to assume that Coyote/Jaeger would turn on him, and that meant his pet would have to be destroyed.

  The Dark Lord reached out into the void as a million plans flashed through his minds. Cadre after cadre of minds sorted them, casting aside the absurd and inelegant. He keyed the plans to what flaw in Jaeger they preyed upon and eliminated those that covered anything except Coyote’s self-confidence.

  Fiddleback has engineered Coyote/Jaeger/Caine’s upbringing, so he naturally assumed he would be successful and victorious in any undertaking. He knew he was good, very good, and he instantly knew he would not lose. This assumption of superiority came with a knowledge that he could find the solution to a situation, given a moment to think or plan. The only thing that cut into his ability in this area was a surprise.

  The Dark Lord felt something brush the flesh on tri-fingered hands. In his left palm he held the eviscerated corpse of Arrigo El-Leichter. Its belly had been torn open, and its entrails spilled out to dangle like pink-brown drool-ribbons. The abdominal wound went clean through the body, and even El-Leichter’s spine had been severed.

  In the other hand Fiddleback held the body of the man who had so viciously assaulted El-Leichter. A small man to begin with, Colonel Nagashita looked yet smaller because of the way his ribcage had been collapsed in on itself. Still, even in death, the warrior retained his grip on the katana that had killed El-Leichter.

  The Dark Lord pressed his foremost two hands together. Green energy pulsed along his arms and in to cocoon his flesh around the corpses. His fingers drew back, then pushed gently down with the motion of a baker kneading dough. Fiddleback paused for a second, then refocused his efforts while incorporating some of what Vetha had learned of human psychology.

  He opened his hands again and left his new creation just floating in the void. Possessed of the mass of both men, the new creature stood no taller than Colonel Nagashita, yet had twice his width and limb girth. The black togs he had been wearing had shredded themselves in the transformation, allowing bulky muscles to peek out through the rents.

  The increased muscle mass did not account for the vast majority of the change. In admiration for Colonel Nagashita’s singlemindedness, Fiddleback allowed him to retain most of his identity. Arrigo El-Leichter, in contrast, had been punished for his failure. His limbs had been melded together into a heavily muscled whiplike structure joined to Nagashita’s body where pelvis fused into spine. El-Leichter’s mouthless face appeared at the blunt end of the fleshy scorpion’s tail, and his horror flashed neon from his blue eyes. El-Leichter’s blond hair formed a mane that ringed the tail at its base and tapered back along its curved length.

  Where El-Leichter’s nose should have been, the katana blade jutted out from the face. The blade’s gentle curve completed the arc described by the tail. The creature let the tail relax, then contracted all the muscles, driving the katana forward in a silvery blur. The blue eyes above it focused just beyond the end and controlled enough of the tail’s musculature to make final adjustments so an attack would hit on target.

  Fiddleback studied what he had wrought, and, by the revulsion of the minds within him, he knew it was good.

  The Dark Lord again let pleasure pass through himself. He had created Jaeger to rid him of Pygmalion. He had created this thing, this sasorihito, to rid him of Jaeger. After it had done its job, he knew, any resistance he faced would be insignificant, and final victory would be his alone.

  Chapter 10

  Supported by the power of his mind, Ryuhito hovered above the circular arena. Clothed only in the radiance of the sun, he acknowledge the deep bow of the creature in the center of the circle with the merest incline of his head. Ryuhito felt the creature’s pleasure at having been noticed, but sensed in it the dread that came with the memory of how it was rewarded for its previous victory.

  The Japanese emperor’s grandson surveyed the arena. The outermost circle had 32 bodies lying there, in pieces or whole, with the black sand sucking down the fluids leaking from their broken bodies. Ten meters closer to the center, 16 more bodies lay twisted and twitching because of their recent deaths. Eight, four and two bodies decorated the innermost rings, until the victor stood above his lone opponent’s carcass.

  Ryuhito looked at the champion again. It stood roughly two meters tall and came from the augmented humanoid class of creatures he had created. While it had an internal skeleton, he had also given it a segmented exoskeleton or chitinous armor that did not hinder movement. Over the forearm, for example, the bracer consisted of a heavy contoured band around the wrist and at the elbow, then had six solid rods running the length of the forearm to connect them.

  His earlier experiment with solid armor had left his warrior too slow. The hornlike material proved resilient enough to stop the attacks of most other creatures. More importantly, though, it worked wonderfully to provide spikes at elbow, knee, shoulder and knuckles that added to the warrior’s destructive capability. While the necessary gaps at the joints did created a weakness, the speed and agility of the creature, as the combat test has shown, made it very deadly.

  As he studied his warrior and analyzed the results of its testing, he mentally compared it to the warrior Pygmalion had created and left behind in Japan. Mickey had been more cosmetically perfect and pleasing to look at, while Ryuhito’s creature really was the stuff of nightmares. Ryuhito acknowledged a need to frighten enemies, which is why he had equipped his warrior with horns and ivory fangs and glowing red eyes. He realized that Pygmalion labored to create perfection in both utilitarian and artistic aspects of his work. Ryuhito, on the other hand, merely wished to create subjects that would do what he wanted, when he wanted, without question and all for his glory.

  Focusing his mind, Ryuhito created a blade that took on the appearance of being forged sunlight. With a last nod to his creation, he drove the blade into its chest, then let the shaft spring open like an umbrella. The laserlike ribs sliced the creature into 64 pieces and scattered them to the starting positions at the outer edges of the circle.

  Ryuhito tried to let his anticipation of joyous creation erase the agony of the creature he had destroyed. Though basking in the glow of the power Pygmalion shared with him, the emperor’s grandson could not help but feel the pain and sense of betrayal that radiated out from his creation. Every piece of it throbbed with that hurt, and Ryuhito winced as its razor-edge caressed his conscience.

  He tried to shunt it away as fast as possible and, this time, found it easier than last. As he encapsulated it and encysted it within himself, he felt the warmth and power radiating out from it. His creation’s pain gave him power, the power he needed to make more warriors, to reap more pain, to create more power, and so on in an endless day-night cycle. Creation was the light, and pain was the necessary darkness.

  “Worry not about their pain, Highness.” Pygmalion’s mental message salved the lingering irritation from the creation’s pain. “you are of Ameratsu born. You are a god. It is your right, your duty, to make and unmake.”

  Ryuhito turned slowly in the air to face Pygmalion. He saw the small man walking across the dark sand, casually stepping over portions of dismembered bodies. Pygmalion, he thought, could have been an eggshell-fragile china doll, yet he knew great power dwelt in
that seemingly innocent and benign body. The large, dark eyes and delicate hands seemed to suggest a helplessness that prompted sympathy for him. The bald head seemed slightly overlarge for the short, slender body, almost creating an illusion of youth for the Dark Lord.

  “I have no difficulty with the making and unmaking, sensei.” Ryuhito spoke carefully and infused the proper respect for Pygmalion into the word sensei. Ryuhito had steadfastly resolved to never refer to Pygmalion as master, and settled upon teacher as a more appropriate word. As Pygmalion had rebelled against his master, so, someday, Ryuhito would become Pygmalion’s rival, and in his choice of appellation for the diminutive Dark Lord, he let the seeds of his rebellion germinate.

  Pygmalion nodded. “You let function influence form.”

  “I am, as yet, at a crude testing stage, sensei. I have compared the shapes and forms that appear to function best, and I now will work variations on that theme.”

  Ryuhito waved an idle hand toward one segment of his champion, and a solar flare shot up from it like fire from a magician’s fingertips. When the dazzling light-jet imploded, the champion stood reconstructed and whole on the spot. “I start with this as my base.”

  Another gesture, and as the light died, a larger, longer-limbed version of the champion stood across the circle from the original. Ryuhito gestured again, this time with both hands, creating a smaller, less-armored version of the champion, then a taller, more willowy one with multi-segmented, whiplike arms. Like a conductor drawing music from an orchestra, Ryuhito summoned creature after creature from his imagination and populated the outer circle with 64 combatants.

  Pygmalion smiled slightly and pointed toward one of the creatures that had a hunched-over posture and a flat skull. “That one, with the diversified nervous system, will prove formidable. All your warriors are formidable, but they are not all that an army should be.”

  Ryuhito frowned. “They will be invincible. No army can stand against them.”

  “Why stand against them when you can ignore them and slip around them. You focus on power when you should well know that knowledge is the true power. How will they fare against an enemy they never locate?”

  “Sumimasen, sensei.” Ryuhito caught Pygmalion’s point immediately. With the blink of an eye he created a clone of the smaller, faster warrior he had shaped, then began to change it. He enlarged its eyes and gave the creature the chameleon’s ability to blend in with its background. He made the ears larger and reshaped the throat and voice box so it could use passive and active sonar for echolocation. He filled its cells with a chloroplast-mitochondria hybrid that would allow the creature to use solar energy directly to power itself. On the flesh of its eyelids he organized heat-sensing pits so when it closed its eyes it could “see” in the infrared spectrum.

  Pygmalion clapped his hands. “You are quick and decisive. This is a wonderful trait in one whose aspect is that of builder. Your scout here will do nicely. Shall we test it?

  Ryuhito nodded and created four more of the scouts, drinking in the pain of one to birth the next. With a quick mental command he scattered them on complex and overlapping circuits through the nearest dimensions. He sensed a question from Pygmalion and smiled. “Their paths overlap, sensei, so I may evaluate how good they are at hiding from one another. Once I am able to see that, I can learn how to hide them better.”

  “Splendid!”

  Ryuhito felt himself brighten beneath Pygmalion’s praise, then he immediately tried to fight that sensation. His own heart ached for a second in an echo of the pain his creations felt, and he could feel Pygmalion greedily suck in his anguish. He did not come to monitor me, he came to feed off me. He fought to control his anger and discomfort at that discovery, but he saw Pygmalion smile and could feel his mentor grow stronger.

  “I ask little from you in return for what I give you, Highness.” An annoying note of ridicule oozed from the thought Pygmalion stuffed into Ryuhito’s brain. “Understand that I know and grow stronger from your desire to rebel. I am not my master, however, and I will not commit his errors. I left him, and now his new apprentice has defied him. I have learned from Fiddleback’s mistakes. I share power with you in return for what you give me, and your hatred of dependence upon me only strengthens me.”

  The little man waved a hand over the arena. “What you do here pleases me. The accomplishments of the apprentice enhance the image of the master, don’t you think?”

  Ryuhito hesitated, and Pygmalion’s open left hand snapped down into a fist. The prince convulsed as every muscle in his body contracted at once. “That’s what you think, is it not?”

  Ryuhito struggled against the pain enough to nod his head. “Hai!”

  Pygmalion smiled. “Just yes?”

  “Yes...master.”

  Pygmalion’s hand opened, and Ryuhito’s body no longer betrayed him. “Master... That pleases me. I think you should always want me to be pleased.”

  Ryuhito hung his head. “Yes, master.”

  Chapter 11

  Will Raven’s active imagination had supplied him with all sorts of wonderful and strange daydream adventures concerning his involvement with Sunburst and Lorica. Yet, despite the plethora of adventures he conjured up, cinching on a gunbelt and seating an Ingram Mac -11 submachine gun in the holster while high up in the Lorica Corporate Citadel at 1 in the morning had not been one of them. Doing the same in the presence of a man his grandfather called The Ghost Who Lives and a hulking, four-armed creature had not been even remotely suggested by any of them. Actually going off on the mission Damon Crowley was outlining never even would have entered his nightmares.

  Will shifted his shoulders to seat the Kevlar vest he wore beneath his black jumpsuit correctly. “It would seem to me that moving Mr. Loring from Barrow Neurological Institute is not necessarily the best thing for him.”

  “Under normal circumstances I might concur, Will.” Crowley tugged at the wrist of his left glove. “As it is, leaving him there will not result in his recovery. He is vital to what we are doing, so we need to get him healthy as quickly as possible.”

  Yellowed light glinting from his tusks, the Yidam nodded in agreement. “The destination that Mi-ma-yin intends for Coyote is in the same dimensional sphere as the dimension in which Nero Loring has found indications of Ryuhito. Moving there together will make our transit easier.”

  Will nodded, not really understanding. He had been told about the other unseen worlds by his grandfather and had even had perceptions of them when using peyote during ceremonies, but he had always dismissed those as hallucinations. The gap between believing his visions the product of drug-induced imagination and believing they actually existed as other worlds upon which he spied was not, in theory, that far. In reality, which Will pegged as physically being able to visit those other realms, he had a hard time accepting their existence and his ability to travel to them.

  Crowley popped a clip into the Mac-10 he wore on his right hip and snapped the bolt open. “Okay, I’m set to go.”

  The Yidam, in a black jumpsuit that had been stitched together from two other, much smaller suits, let a pistol-gripped shotgun dangle from a strap over his right shoulder. “As am I.” He adjusted the crossed bandoliers of shotgun shells with his lower arms, then nodded to Will. “Are you prepared?”

  “I hope so.” Will tried to keep doubt out of his voice, but he failed. The other two men smiled indulgently, and Will did not feel he had erred in letting them know how he felt. “What do I need to do?”

  Crowley laid a gloved hand on Will’s right shoulder. “Relax first. The vision test that Hal gave you on the day you signed on, the one with the pink and purple circles, proved you are empathic enough to be able to actually perceive things in other dimensions.”

  “Wouldn’t the visions I’ve seen in ceremonies indicate that ability as well?”

  “Not always. There is a difference, which is akin to the difference between being totally blind, legally blind and lacking the need to use glasses. D
rugs might make the legally blind sharp-eyed, but we have no use for anyone that can’t function straight.” Crowley eased the boxy machine-pistol in its holster. “Clear, sharp perceptions are vital where we are going, and the ability to think quickly may make the difference between life and death. That may sound melodramatic, but it is true and well worth bearing in mind.”

  Will nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”

  “What we are going to do, the Yidam and I , is to rip a hole between this office and the hospital. We will do that by tapping into a sidecar dimension that is remarkable for one thing: Distances there are roughly one one-hundredth of what they are here. A step there will be a hundred steps here.”

  The Yidam smiled. “Will, I believe your people have a legend about moccasins that allow the wearing to pass great distances in the wink of an eye.”

  “Hiawatha — not my tribe, but I remember it.”

  Crowley smiled and jerked his head at the Yidam. “You know these Buddhist demigods — we all look the same to them.”

  “Well, you all do have only two arms.”

  All three of them laughed at the joke, and Will felt some of his tension bleeding away. “Moving through that dimension will let us reach the hospital quickly, correct?”

  “Exactly,” Crowley assured him. “Once there, we will do what we need to make sure Coyote is stable, then we will bring him to the dimension in which he will be left to heal. This will not be that easy, but you can make the passage much easier if you do a couple of simple things.”