The Gift of Volkeye (45 page)

Vlajdimir turned to face his wife’s assailant. He was going to kill her. As he crept up from behind, he listened to the incessant wailing, despising her more by the second for it. It was she who brought this upon herself!

Vlajdimir grabbed her up by her armpits and slung her around. Before she even realized what was happening, he’d already thrown a blow into her stomach. She bent over, gasping for air. He dealt another to her side and then backhanded her, throwing her some several feet in the distance. Though she was knocked a good ways backwards, the woman did a decent job of staying on her feet. However, this wasn’t to last long, for she soon slipped in a puddle of blood and went toppling over the same desk that she sent Zephranie across. She landed face down and found blood dripping from her nose as she picked herself up. The poor woman hadn’t even had a chance to breathe before Vlajdimir was upon her once more, choking her from behind.

Gasping for air, the woman reached back and viciously clawed at the air and finally tore a long, deep gouge in his cheek. Vlajdimir then grabbed the back of her head and rammed it into the desktop. This slowed her down a bit, though not by much. She was incredibly tough, like an old thick piece of leather that could get scratched and abused to unrecognizable conditions but couldn’t be destroyed. Angered by this, he began to pummel her back and rib section, and when this didn’t yield her unconscious or dead, Vlajdimir turned her around to face him, aiming for the spot where he first did the most damage.

Upon meeting her eyes, he saw a terror in the woman that he hadn’t noticed moments ago. Tears fell, as she wrapped her arms around her middle. That was when Vlajd noticed the maternity clothing and the ever so slight rounding at the belly. A smile of such wickedness came upon his face that most would’ve thought him possessed by a demon and fainted at the sight of it. He then began to commit his abominable act without conscience.

Being that he was at least twice the woman’s strength, her arms couldn’t shield her womb against the flurry of powerful blows delivered. Finally, she doubled over, coughing, needing to regain some of her wind. Fortunately, Vlajdimir had tired as well, and as he paused, wiping the sweat from his brow, she had a split second to think. When he resumed his attacks, she caught the first punch and pinned his arm to her side. Then she lunged for his face, dragging four nails across in a diagonal fashion, carving trenches in his skin. He grunted, ignoring the stinging sensation as blood seeped from each wound, and gave her the hardest right hand yet to the center of her face. She stumbled over to the glass doors of the balcony and crashed through, now leaning haphazardly across the railing.

“Dammit, you pregnant whore, die already!”

Vlajd’s nostrils flared, as he grabbed both feet and hoisted her over the stone railing. He didn’t even stay to watch her drop, being completely satisfied with the crashing sound of thick glass breaking, as the woman touched down. He now looked to Zephranie, who’d just begun stirring.

6

She’d landed on the hood of her hovercar. Praying aloud for strength to make it home, she winced in pain as she agitated the tiny pieces of glass lodged in her back. Sliding from the hood of the vehicle, she got inside as gently as possible. Disregarding her aching body, she reached upward and pulled a small firearm from a secret compartment, knowing that she hadn’t the strength to go another round with Vlajdimir. If he came outdoors to try to finish the job, she’d have no mercy on him. However, she didn’t linger to test his courage. Instead, she enabled autopilot and then clicked
“Home.”

As the engine started, slightly shaking the body of the vehicle, the remainder of the already broken windshield came crashing in. The woman paid no attention, as she presently had other things on her mind. Caressing her womb, she wept like never before, terrified for her baby.

7

Vlajdimir and a concussion-hindered Zephranie made their way out to the balcony. She was dazed as could be, and as she sat massaging her head, he turned his attention to the taillights of the hover that raced into the distance.

Her spouse is no more, and I’m certain she won’t survive her wounds! To hell with the chase…she’s already as dead as her husband!

He turned to look inside at his demolished space and sighed with disgust. Vlajdimir, being so superficial, was more concerned with the ruined decor of his study than he was with the bodies on the floor.

Oh well, I can now make the improvements that I’ve always wanted…but let us hope that I never need to again!
he thought in vain.

In two decades time, in fact, he’d have much more to worry about than a ruined study, on an occasion where three young women (two of them with godlike talents) would invade his home. One of them would walk about, punching through walls, ravaging the foundations until most of the home was nothing but rubble. The eldest of the girls would take buckets of tar from the stable in back, emptying the contents around the complex. And the youngest, with one laser stroke, would light the tar, setting everything ablaze. As Vlajdimir and Zephranie barely escaped with their lives, the young women would stay and watch until the Ghurzblood Mansion burned to ashes.

8

Six years had passed since the incident with Vlajdimir, and the woman had thought of little else since, playing the day over and over again in her mind and recalling nothing as vividly as her arrival at home in Mashyuvah. She came as a new widow, beaten within an inch of her life. Upon stepping indoors, she’d felt sick and rushed to the bathroom. She removed her clothes to inspect her undergarments and found that blood had come out of her. The woman had collapsed to the floor…
knowing.

Since then she’d gone quite mad, wandering the city streets day and night in an incessant spell of despair. She lost all of her friends, due to the fact that she became distant or violent with those who tried to help. The sweetness of her face (though it hadn’t vanished) was hidden behind a mask of anger, which was never revealed unless she pulled back her long thick dreadlocks she’d grown in the last six years. Her hatred of all things, all people, and life in general was a constant hardship, until Mother Nature saw fit to remove her grief.

On this particular day, it was colder than it had been in a long time. The woman had unknowingly wandered downtown. From years of walking with her head down, she was never likely to look up unless she bumped into something. In this particular instance, something collided with her, and it was this
something
that caused her to utter the first word to leave her mouth since she lost everyone she cared for.

“Shit!” she swore, looking up at a frozen red flag, which had smacked her firmly in the face. Some idiot had tied it to the handle of a garbage dumpster. Massaging the scratches on her cheek that the icy surface had given her, the woman was taken aback at what she’d mistaken for a red flag. It wasn’t a flag at all; it was a white dress, frozen stiff with blood!

What in the name of…???…Oh, my God!
The woman gasped, looking inside the dumpster.

Taking the child in her arms seemed to invoke some sort of spell, which freed her from all six years of despair, lifting those unbearable weights from her shoulders as to start anew. Time passed, and all the while she stood gazing at the child in her arms, overwhelmed. She was practically oblivious to her environment, which was being blanketed in a thick sheet of snow. Finally, looking to the forest, speaking to the cold wet air, the woman expressed her gratitude aloud.

“Thank you.”

“I
want them skinned alive and then soaked in alcohol! Afterwards, cook the bitches then feed them to the most loathsome beasts at your disposal! I want bloodshed!” Vlajdimir snarled, seething with rage. He’d been ranting everyday since he and Zephranie arrived.

Two weeks ago, when they first awoke to hear all the commotion coming from the center of town, they robed themselves and tiptoed outdoors, as to inspect the matter. With a pair of binoculars, Vlajdimir noticed three young women approaching through the thick fog. They walked with earnestness, as if they had an unfinished mission that they aimed to complete.

Upon further scrutiny, Vlajd noticed that they were caked in blood and dirt—the aftermath of battle! One was carrying a small laser pistol, and another brandished an enormous hammer (Vlajdimir was clueless as to how the girl was able to lift it, nor did he have time to think about it, as the youngest grasped all of his attention). The little black girl’s arm appeared to be merged with some sort of rifle! It was the most disturbing thing he’d ever seen, and it was clear that these girls were involved with evils that he wanted no part of. Vlajdimir’s notion was made all the clearer as he and Zephranie ducked out of sight, avoiding the devilish women. In secret, they watched them wreak havoc upon their home.

Vlajd and Zephranie fled on foot, as they didn’t dare risk going back to the mansion to get their hover from behind the stable. As they made their way back to the center of town, witnessing the carnage, they realized how lucky they were to have escaped. Now having thought on it for two weeks, they (especially Vlajdimir) were livid over the incident.

“Soon enough, my friend, you will have your vengeance. Am I right, Murlach?” Phyllamon grinned through his crooked teeth, looking to his talented counterpart.

“That’s right,” Murlach said, holding up his hand to reveal his new fingers, quickly tapping the tips together. “They are still a bit sore but nowhere near in as much pain as they were.” He paused, waiting to see Vlajd and Zephranie’s reaction.

They had no idea what Murlach was talking about, as he hadn’t discussed the matter with them. The entire time they’d been there, he’d been locked in the lab with his experiments. Murlach continued.

“It means that I’m healing. If it’s possible for me to heal then that means we can use Zynathian’s methods to weld or fuse all sorts of interesting
things to my creatures! My methods are, of course, immensely crude compared to those of Zynathian, but they do work.”

Vlajdimir just looked at him like he was crazy. “Are we meant to understand any of that? Speak plainly, man!” he yelled in frustration. Murlach rolled his eyes.

“Never mind. Just know that we will soon have an army powerful enough to make God, Herself, kneel at your feet, Vlajdimir!”

Just then, Felix entered with a bowl of soup for his mother. She still wasn’t speaking much, as it pained her to do so. However, the cut on her throat was looking much better, though still closed with stitches. Helena looked up with gratitude at Felix, as he kissed her on the forehead. This was an act not quite so painful for him lately, because the castle physicians had taken it upon themselves to make her condition out to be much more serious than it was, urging her to bathe herself thoroughly everyday in order for her cut not to get infected. They insisted that it was the most lethal wound they’d ever seen, and if she allowed one day’s worth of dirt to settle inside, she would die a death too horrible to imagine. So, Helena took up the loathsome practice of bathing (an act she intended to cease as soon as her wound fully healed!).

She dipped her spoon in the soup, and as soon as she opened her mouth a slightly green cloud of gas floated out. Helena, of course, had not assumed any tooth brushing habits, complaining that it hurt her neck to do so. The doctors didn’t push the issue, deciding it was better to have her bathing, because they could combat her breath with their masks. That was preferable to having Helena parading about the castle, leaving her far more deadly body fumes behind to attack an innocent person. Helena’s breath-gas, however, wasn’t as trivial an issue to Vlajdimir and Zephranie. Not having obtained immunity to it, as Phyllamon, Felix, and Murlach had, their stomachs churned with nausea as the gas spread about the room.

Felix got up to leave the chamber. When he opened the door, the deafening roar of agitated beasts echoed all around them. Vlajdimir and Zephranie shuddered at the horrendous cacophony of grief.

“What is that confounded noise? It’s driving me mad! That’s all we’ve heard since we arrived that night…on our bare feet…freezing to death…after having nearly walked ourselves into our graves!” Vlajdimir whined, seeking sympathy.

“Yes, you’ve told me this
hundreds
of times already,” Phyllamon said irritably, looking to Helena, who rolled her eyes.

“And, to answer your question, the noise you hear is Murlach’s work, progressing within the deep of the castle. It’s his finest accomplishment yet! The man is brilliant, he is,” Phyllamon said, walking over and ruffling Murlach’s matted hair.

“Yes, but he didn’t make himself clear on what it was that he’s doing,” Zephranie said, eyes blinking from Helena’s lingering breath, trying not to faint.

“Come with me, and I shall explain,” Murlach said.

With that, all but Helena exited the room and followed Murlach through the cold stairwells and corridors. Upon reaching the first level, the heavy oak doors burst open, and a beast laden with a backpack of spying materials (binoculars and a telescope) approached them.

“Master, I have the latest,” he said.

“Proceed,” Phyllamon ordered.

“It’s the same as last week and the week before, Sire. This town, Mheep, is completely deserted, just like Dohrm and Rhylix.”

“You’re certain…not one living soul?”

“We searched every nook and cranny, discovering nothing but vermin and other creatures of the night, Master.”

Frustrated, Phyllamon sighed. “Thank you.” He rolled his eyes and started towards the dungeons once more.

“What was that about?” Zephranie asked.

“That was one of my scouts, and the morning after your arrival,
‘in your precious bare feet, freezing to death,’
…” Phyllamon said, mocking Vlajdimir with a cynical pout, “…I sent him with a team to look into Rhylix. Next, I had them inspect Dohrm…and now Mheep. Apparently, Zynathian has taken all the citizens of each town as refugees.”

“You’re certain?” Vlajd asked, astounded. He almost couldn’t believe it when Phyllamon told him that they’d traveled a hundred thousand miles in the sky and found a flying castle, inhabited by this
Zynathian person, whom Vlajdimir had been convinced was fictitious.

“Absolutely,” Phyllamon answered. “I’ve been telling you this for years. Zynathian is an old enemy. That night we took the castle, it was our first time being face-to-face in twenty years.” Phyllamon paused, in recollection, staring up at the ceiling. “He promised he’d always be watching me, henceforth, and I guess he has—the bastard continues to plunder my mines!”

In a fit of anger, Phyllamon took a framed painting from the wall and smashed it on the stone floor. After a deep sigh, he continued down the corridor. The others followed.

“Zynathian takes more of my money and empties the towns...destroying all hope to continue mining presently. Damn it all to hell! What I can’t figure out is how in the blazes does he know what I’m thinking anyway? …Unless being able to read minds is another aspect of his talent?”

Phyllamon shook his head with annoyance, opening a door to reveal a murky stairwell, leading to Murlach’s laboratory. There was an oil lamp on a ledge nearby, and Murlach had already lit it and begun descending the steps. They followed.

Vlajdimir and Zephranie flinched as more cries sounded upwards from the chamber. With the stairwell being dim, combined with the amount of noise in the atmosphere, none of them heard the eavesdropper scuffling about on their left. They were being followed.

Jix watched their every move, never missing a beat, even as his head bobbed to snatch up a mouse in his jaws. He swallowed it whole and quietly ran along the ledge, beating them downstairs.

“Zynathian didn’t rescue them all, however,” said Phyllamon, “We were able to claim the tail end of them as hostages.”

“How did you even know of Zynathian’s plan?” Vlajdimir asked, bracing himself on the wall as he touched down upon a slippery step.

“I didn’t have a clue until I got a frantic message from a sentry at one of my mines, telling me that it had been burglarized. Quick as possible, I gathered my minions to sweep the city of Mashyuvah and all of the southern towns. They had orders to capture and question anyone that they found and to kill those who resisted. My first group and I arrived in Mashyuvah, the downtown area, only to find the city in total chaos. People everywhere, just roused from their sleep, ran about, hopping in their hovers and racing into the sky. The people in Mashyuvah are wealthier than those in the surrounding towns, so most of them had transportation and fled as soon as they got word.”

“What word…from whom?” Zephranie asked.

“Zynathian’s word. Even with all the torture we’ve subjected our hostages to, we haven’t been able to discern the full message. However, it appears that those who got left behind only did so because they hadn’t received the coordinates of a rendezvous point he’d established for them. They were frantic, having no idea where to go and didn’t know whether or not to follow someone.”

“Ah, I can see that happening. Two weeks ago, when the ruckus from the center of town woke us, for a while I was too sleepy to know whether I was awake or dreaming. The only thing that startled me into lucidness was when I saw the women coming for the mansion. Dream or not, I was at least smart enough to know that I wanted no quarrel with them,” Vlajdimir claimed.

“It was much the same with these people. They may have been too drowsy to even think straight, but when they saw the Karnovs, they started fighting instantly. They killed a good number of my crew too. However, in the end, we prevailed. The last I counted, we had two hundred fifteen hostages at our disposal.”

Though Zephranie was tickled by his account, she wondered about its point. “And what do you hope to accomplish by this?”

“Well, it’s occurred to me that the easiest way to hurt Zynathian is to harm innocent people. He may be a god when compared to other humans, but unlike a god he can’t see all or be everywhere at once. If I need to use torture to even the scale and humble him, then so be it. Putting a gun to a child’s head, to me, is as trivial as spitting on the sidewalk…but if Zynathian were to witness something like that, he’d instantly be sent to his grave. That’s how precious life is to him.”

“Oh, I see. And when he learns the state of these people, he’ll be…”

“Crushed,” Phyllamon finished for her. “Can you imagine what that would be like for a humanist?”

“Two hundred plus dead bodies on your conscience…yes, I can see how that would be an effective weapon against him,” she said, grinning. “Phyllamon, it’s brilliant!”

“What of the rest of Mashyuvah? Did you only secure the downtown area?” Vlajdimir asked.

“Yes, that was all we could do. Of course, by the time we got around to searching the other sectors of the city, they were deserted.”

Phyllamon stopped right behind Murlach, at the bottom of the stairs. They’d arrived.

Far down the hall from them, hundreds of limbs protruded from within the caged cells, viciously waving about. Amongst all the growls and grunts, Murlach could hear the repetitive cracks of large bones contracting back and forth—the stomach growl of his most troublesome beast. He’d have to tend to the matter soon, for the tentacle creature’s hunger was no small matter.

“I’ll tend to your hunger immediately following this demonstration...I’ll be but a short while.” He turned to enter his lab but paused and looked down the adjacent corridor once more. “Do NOT start eating each other...am I clear?!”

Murlach now addressed the guests. “Here we are.”

He pulled the latch, and the door swung inward. What waited inside, neither Zephranie nor Vlajd had the stomach for. The stench of flesh and blood beat them over the head. They cowered behind, leaning on the wall, while Vlajdimir let go of his lunch, soiling his expensive slippers in vomit. Zephranie was a close second behind him, as her face was about the same shade of green as Helena’s breath. Murlach and Phyllamon, however, walked in as if this was the most pleasant of atmospheres!

As Vlajdimir and Zephranie stood wheezing, Jix sailed through the door, taking a seat upon a dust covered ledge, high in the upper right corner of the room. He continued recording.

Phyllamon looked back at Vlajdimir and Zephranie, sighing at their weak stomachs. “Oh come now, it’s just a bit of blood and body parts scattered about the place! And if I’m not much mistaken, Zephranie, it wasn’t so long ago that you caused twice the carnage just beyond these walls.”

“Yes, but outside there’s AIR! You have no ventilation in here, and you expect us to be comfortable breathing in the stench of death!” she retorted, dry hacking over the steps.

“Oh, you’re pathetic, the both of you! Fine…put these on, so you can breathe easier.” Phyllamon went and grabbed two of Murlach’s facemasks and handed them over. Once they had them on properly, they followed him.