Lazarus 6 - THIRTEEN: The Flesh Forge

I pushed open the door and stepped out of an ol’ timey buggy, pulled by a skeletal horse, and stared up at the domineering headquarters of the Cult of Akroid, Hubside. It was a strangely lopsided building of lime-green stone, sporting thick power cables, towering antennas, and high-tech steel-shuttered windows and doors. Above it all, suspended on the top of a spindly metal tower, was the inverted triangle, marred by a red dot. But here, that dot looked suspiciously like an eye, and the black curved extending up were clearly horns.

The carriage behind me let out a groaning squeak as Levi piled out, dressed, as always, as a Sunday church goer in some rural North Dakota town. Chris Fuller followed in short order, though unlike Levi he was decked out and looked ready for a brawl with an army of supernatural horrors. Black, tactical cargo pants, a black flak jacket with a drop pouch at the side and a trio of grenade pouches—all full—adorning the MOLLE webbing. He was also packing heat. A service Glock, a K-Bar, and a sleek M4.

The driver of the carriage, a gaunt, dead-eyed man with wispy white hair and a faded top hat, clicked his tongue and flicked the reigns. The unearthly horse let out a soft wicker and rejoined the ebb and flow of onrushing hub traffic.

“This place definitely isn’t what I was expecting,” the young detective said, while we waited patiently for the second cab—or what passed for cabs in the Hub, anyway—arrived with the rest of our party. “I’m still new to all this stuff. Even after everything Winona’s shown me.” He paused and spun in a slow circle taking in this section of the city. Like most of the Hub, the streets were packed with odd vehicles of one kind and another, the building were grim and garish.

In other ways, however, Gylfiholt Heights was different than other places in the Hub. Instead of plain concrete tenements and red brick hole in the walls, most of these places here were built from gray stone or dirty white marble, decorated with swirls, spires, golden minarets, and intricate Nordic-style knot art, which harkened back to the old days of the Elven kind. Sure, there were still powerlines running from everywhere to everywhere, and neon signs were festooned on damned-near every surface—advertising every sin, vice, and virtue—but it was all distinctly Elvish.

“It’s a lot different than Missoula, I can tell you that much.” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice, though clearly he was trying. “I thought after fighting across a river of blood and hungry ghosts that nothing would surprise me, but this place always manages.”

“A river of blood and hungry ghosts?” Levi asked, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve seen that before.”

“Just outside of Mictlan, past Earrach-Tir. Now that was a wild ride. Freyr the Green Man was definitely not what I was expecting.” He shuddered and grimaced. Couldn’t say I blamed him. I’d only met the Spring Monarch once and it still stuck with me. Twenty feet tall with the body of a monstrous elk, spikes of yellowed bone protruding through muddy fur. A withered, emaciated human body dangling from the elk’s neck, like some grotesque hanged man. Guy was awful and terrifying to tangle with. The fact that Chris still had his sanity was pretty damned impressive, actually.

“How in the hell did you get mixed up in all of this anyway?” I said, fishing a pack of Reds from my pocket. I pulled free a cigarette and lit up with a flicker of conjured flame, the nicotine easing my nerves. “You seem like a good kid. Smart. Getting mixed up with this bullshit is dumb as hell. So what gives?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t seek it out, exactly. Just bad luck—or good luck, I guess, depending on your perspective. We had a couple of real nasty murders and I got stuck working the case. Ended up being something from your end of the pool. This demon woman. Winona called her Anukite Sharp-Elbows, the Double-Faced Woman. She was a piece of work and had these little cannibal dwarf things called—”

“Teihiihan,” Levi finished. “Mean, murderous things.”

“You got that right,” he said with a nod. “If it wasn’t for Winona, I never would’ve survived it. This was after the Guild fell and you left,” he said, glancing at me. “Or whatever it was that happened to you. She never really did say.”

“Not so much left as was possessed by the Horseman of War, got sent to Hell, and embarked on a six-month murder spree of Demonic royalty.”

“Yeah, I can see why she left that part out,” he said, easy and offhanded. He was pretty unflappable, which you didn’t see a lot—not even in seasoned Venántium operators.

“Well, you should know, Winona’s been busting her tail to help hold things together. Her and the People all have. The Chief was reluctant to intervene at first, but Winona has a way about her.”

“Yeah,” I said with a grin, “you ain’t wrong there.” I ashed my smoke.

The growl of a car arriving cut off our conversation as an old school black limo pulled up to the curb and spilled out the remainder of our teammates for this trip into the belly of the techno-beast. The door swung open and Winona, in the guise of a human stepped out. She was wearing jeans and flannel—not totally surprising since Kevlar wouldn’t do much to help her.

Sullivan came next. Though he still carried his custom silver cane, he was decked out like Detective Fuller: military cargo pants, combat boots, and tactical vest strewn with pouches. I knew he had a small pistol riding at his ankle, but that was his only Rube weapon. The rest of his gear was magical in nature. A pair of circular vials containing an occlude liquid—one red the other green. A small ceramic figurine of a hound. And, most important of all, a withered hand with candlewicks protruding from each finger. It shouldn’t have surprised me even in the least that the Arch-Mage had a legendary Hand of Glory in her private collection.

The door shut and the limo pulled away leaving the five of us to our fate.

I felt a slight stab of guilt that Ferraro wasn’t with me—having her along always made me feel better. But she’d taken a beating during our tussle with Firroth and she needed a little down time before Morrigan’s shindig. Plus, it was nice knowing she was holding down the fort with Greg, who was manning the compound’s formidable security system. Necessary, since we were taking so many of the heavy hitters for this mission. There was still the Scion to think about, and as it stood, Darlene, the Arch-Mage, and Sir Gal were the only metaphysical muscle remaining behind.

That made me nervous as all hell, but the truth was, we needed every ounce of firepower we could get if it came down to a fight against the mad king of the Dark Elves.

“No point wasting anymore time.” I flicked away my cigarette butt before doing a quick brass check on my own M-4. Unlike James, I’d come packing more than just magic—though I did have a few little surprise trinkets packed away in case things got real dicey. I lifted a fist to knock at the enormous steel doors, covered and wards and brass rivets, but before I could, they swung open on silent hinges.

I licked my lips. Sweat was already beading on my forehead from the nerves. Shit, but I hated when the bad guys knew we were coming and were ready. That made everything about a thousand times worse.

“Well, this should be fun,” Sullivan said, drawing his sword cane.

We headed in, our boots clattering on the white linoleum flooring underfoot. Part of me had expected this place to look like a mash-up between Bladerunner and an Apple store, with a dash of the Manson Family thrown in for good measure. All sleek, edgy, and futuristic with blinking lights and artful streaks of cyberpunk neon. Instead everything was rather cold and antiseptic, more like a hospital than anything else. Buzzing halogen lighting overhead, white walls, accented with chrome. Waiting rooms with posh couches and chromed out tables.

Surprisingly, there were quite a few people milling about in the rooms or halls and they all seemed utterly normal.

Toonormal.

Most appeared human, which was crazy, since actual, non-magical humans were a rarity in the Hub. Many sported white orderly uniforms, while a few others wore flowing cream robes, cinched at the waist with lengths of silver rope. Definitely cult vibes in spades with those folks. The halfies that were present looked to be visitors, all talking quietly and politely with the robe-wearing acolytes. The funny thing, though, is that no one tried to stop us.

They smiled as we passed, staring at us with glossy, vacant eyes. A few nodded or waved, one even issued a neutral “Hello.” No one made a move to stop us, which set off a wave of warning bells and sent up a barrage of red flags. Wayland the Smith, who ran this place, knew who we were and he was obviously in cahoots with the Morrigan. And if that weren’t enough, we looked like paramilitary mercenaries about to bring down a world of destruction and pain.

No one cared. Not one bit.

“I do not like this place,” Winona whispered softly. She was barefoot. She said shoes broke her connection to the earth, but I noticed she nearly visibly winced every time she put a foot down. “There is nothing natural in this place. The air reeks with perversion. A twisting of the order of things.” She clenched her stomach. “It is a rancid place.”

“Which gives us all the more reason to get in and get the hell out quick,” I replied, picking up the pace.

We hoofed it down the hallway, giving the orderly types and visitors some space until the hallway opened up into a circular room, with some sort of round help desk at the center. The whole thing looked like a roundabout, with hallways branching off from the left, right, and rear of the circle. Sitting at the desk was a petite blonde girl with a short pixie cut, big round baby blues, and dimples to die for. She was maybe 5’2” and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and was about as intimidating as a barbie doll.

“Welcome, visitors,” she said, standing from her desk and beaming at us. “I’m Flesh Acolyte Kristi Roman—how can I help you today? Are you here to see a service representative? Find out about an upgrade or maybe read some of our literature on the singularity?” The whole spiel was delivered in machine gun rapid succession, and all as cheery as a friggin’ Carebear. Reminded me of a trip to the DMV, actually.

“Not to be rude, Kristi,” I said, “but does it look like we’re here to speak with a service representative or get a consult?” I arched an eyebrow at her and motion toward the combat rifle draped across my chest on a three-point sling. “We’re looking to talk with you head honcho. I think you guys call him the Grand Techno-Wizard or something like that.”

“The Grand Techno-Architect,” she correctly cheerily. “Unfortunately, that just isn’t going to be possible at this time.” She clutched her hands together and looked genuinely crestfallen. “Visitors aren’t allowed to proceed beyond this service station. The rest of this building is for Initiates, Acolytes, onsite staff, and those undergoing transformative procedures. And it just isn’t possible to schedule a meeting with the Grand Techno-Architect. So sorry.” There was an oddly high-pitched whine as she said sorry. A mechanical sound like a broken whistle.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want to see us,” I replied. “I feel like he’s probably expecting us at this point.”

“Yes, seems like a reasonable assumption, old boy,” Sullivan agreed.

Kristi canted her head to the side, one eye twitching.

“We know who you are and the Architect has not approved for your entry.” Her voice was less cheery now. Deeper. More guttural. “But if you’d like to speak with a service representative or a set up an appointment for a consultation, I can help you with that. Otherwise, have a nice day.”

“This is a waste of time,” Levi said, breaking left and heading around the curved desk dominating the room.

“I would advise against that,” Kristi said. She was still smiling, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“Or what?” Levi asked sourly.

“Or I’ll be force to stop you and I’ve been authorized to use lethal force if necessary.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Yancy Lazarus,” Winona whispered in my ear. The sound startled m, because she’d been a good five feet away only seconds before. When they wanted to be, the Chiye-tanka could move like the wind. “I sense she is more than she seems.”

“Maybe so,” I whispered back, “but we aren’t exactly spoiled for options. We have approximately one lead”—I thrust a finger into the air for emphasis—“and he’s in the building somewhere.”

“Sorry, Kristi,” I said with a sigh, “but looks like you’re just going to have to stop us.” Without warning, I broke right at a sprint, opposite of Levi, heading for the hallway marked Stairs.

It all happened so fast.

One second the receptionist was standing there, head tilted, smiling.

The next there was a whirl of gears, an electric crackle, and the wet sloosh of ripping flesh.

Her face split, flawless pale skin creasing as her jaw unhinged and opened, revealing a gapping maw filled with an army of jagged teeth. Her body contorted, torso elongating, while her arms and legs lengthening into spidery appendages. Her chest cracked open—her orderly uniform ripping at the seams—and snaking mechanical limbs exploded out from her back, each one sharpened to a razor’s point. One hand shifted, her fingers flowing together, flesh melting and hardening, turning into a screaming buzz saw. With a screech, Molly leapt onto the counter, landing on hound like feet, reinforced with pistons and hydraulic tubing.

Strangely, this also mimicked my experience with the DMV.

The buzz saw flashed toward my head, but just inches away from Kristi the friendly nightmare from carving me open like a Thanksgiving turkey, something slammed into my side, hurling me away. My feet left the ground and I slammed into the wall, head bouncing off of tile and chrome. The world spun and tilted drunkenly around me, but I was alive. Miraculously, amazing alive. All thanks to Winona. The Sasquatch woman had one hand upraised, gripping Kristi’s buzz saw wrist. The techno-horror was trying her damnedest to bring the roaring blade down on the Sasquatch, but Winona was far too strong.

She held the arm back with ease and launched a jab into Kristi’s unprotected chest.

Chris didn’t hesitate, but raised his M4, pressed his cheek to the buttstock and sent rounds flying. Instead of targeting center mass or going for the head, he blasted through Kristi’s extended arm, putting round after well place round into the limb.

He was less than ten feet away, but it was still a helluva good display of marksmanship considering the circumstances.

With a roar, Winona drove her fist home again and again and again. Between Chris’s shooting and the pressure exerted by Winona’s inhuman strength, the weaponized limb tore away with a sickening squelch that would surely play as the soundtrack for my worst dreams for the next month or two.

Winona stumbled away, her fleshy prize gripped in one hand.

I stuck one hand out, palm up, and conjured javelin of wrist thick molten flame, zig-zagging the beam across her exposed body. I gagged as the scent of charbroiled meat sizzled in the air, but pressed on, not letting up for a second. The skin and muscle of one leg sloughed away and I caught a glimpse, not of bone, but of reinforced metal and rivets—like some kind of futuristic Terminator. But, you know, a perky office-version named Kristi.

Levi leapt onto the desk, undergoing his own transformation in the process, then promptly sacked the receptionist-turned-death machine like a linebacker taking down the QB. I caught off the lance of flame as the pair of them tumbled from the desk and into the hallway in a tangle of limbs. Chrome tentacles slithered around Levi’s arms and throat, trying to strangle the life out of him. Thanks to their positioning, it was nearly impossible to take another shot at ol’ Kristi without hitting Levi in the process. The good news was, however, it didn’t look like Levi needed much help.

He’d managed to flip Kristi over and was now straddling the freakish receptionist, bludgeoning the absolute shit out of her with wrecking ball fists, covered in bits of obsidian glass.

“Everyone, get to the doorway. Now!” he bellowed over the thuds of his hands. “I’ve got this.”

Sullivan didn’t need to be asked twice. He promptly grabbed Chris by the cuff and hustled him around the central desk and toward the doorway standing guard over the stairs. Winona rushed toward me, offering me a hand up, then helped me limp over to the exit…

Which, of course, was locked.

Under normal circumstances I would’ve tried to pick it, but this wasn’t your typical run of the mill deadbolt—this was one of those fancy electronic key card readers and the door itself was crafted from half a foot of steel. Thing looked like a blast door, designed to survive a nuclear explosion.

“We need a card key,” I hollered at Levi, who currently had one oversized mitt wrapped firmly around Kristi’s throat. I’d seen him pulverize stone with his bare hands, yet Kristi’s neck was holding up surprisingly well to the punishment. Winona had been right, she was definitely more than she seemed.

“Little busy,” he grunted bringing his other hand crashing down into the side of Kristi’s head. I winced as her skull buckled inward. She wasn’t dead, though. Not even close.

“Look out!” Winona and I yelled at the same time as one of Kristi’s spear-tipped mechanical limbs raised up like a striking cobra and punched into Levi’s side, releasing a splash of golden ichor.

Gruesome.

“Big mistake there,” Levi hissed.

Levi released her neck long enough to shove his hand inside the gapping wound. After a moment of rooting around like a pig in mud, he pulled out a handful of sludgy golem blood, offered Kristia feral grin, and slathered the nearby ground with the gore. Seconds later the floor rumbled and sleek spears of obsidian erupted from the tile, piercing the receptionist in a dozen different places—though catching Levi in a few as well. Aside from being stupid-strong and having the ability to shapeshift, Levi also had a bizarre magic of his own. So long as he was willing to bleed, he could transmute just about anything—like turning tile into deadly earth spears, for example.

Levi grimaced but pushed through the pain. He pulled himself free from the spikes, reached over and plucked a keycard from the ruined bloused clinging to Kristi’s chest.

“Don’t know how long that’ll last,” he wheezed, clutching one hand to his mangled side. He was a mess, and not just his ribs either. He was missing one finger on his left hand and based on the golden smudge around Kristi’s cavernous mouth, it wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. “Best to be gone when she does get loose.”

Sullivan nodded and swiped the key card across the scanner paid.

It let out a beep followed by a click.

With one last look back at the flailing receptionist, we pulled the door shut behind us and headed down a set of concrete stairs. Time to find Wayland the Smith and get some actual answers…