high explosives, and a tungsten carbide penetrator. He recognized the color code on the clip.
Holt snapped the magazine into the rifle. "Short of a 20mm shell, it's the most powerful cartridge we have." He then selected and loaded an L106 pistol. "If it can't do the job, Dame Differel is done for." He slipped the pistol into the front of his belt and an extra magazine into a pocket.
"But in an enclosed space, the explosion could kill you both."
He picked up the rifle and cradled it against his shoulder. "The portico is open enough, especially if I shoot away from us."
"Still, at that close proximity..."
"If I can distract the Fomorian, get it away from her, that should reduce the risk considerably. But I could use some help."
Aelfraed favored him with a small smile. "It would be my pleasure to volunteer."
Holt nodded and returned a grateful smile of his own. "I was hoping you would say that."
Differel grew more anxious as the minutes drew out. It seemed forever since Holt and Aelfraed left, and she grew tired of waiting for something to happen while jumping whenever she heard shooting or a strange noise. The guards with her were getting nervous as well, though she couldn't be sure it wasn't from Vlad in their midst. He, on the other hand, showed no trace of anxiety at all. In fact, he hadn't moved. He just stood like an obsidian statue a few feet off to one side. Frankly, despite his demonstration two nights before, she had more confidence in a half-dozen-plus assault rifles firing hundreds of rounds a minute, but she really hadn't had a chance to see him in action yet.
The gunfire suddenly quit and didn't resume. She hoped that meant the Fomorian had been neutralized, but feared the worst. She wouldn't be very happy if it had and no one bothered to tell her.
I'll have their guts for garters if that's the case.
{Patience, My Master. The Fomorian is very much alive.}
You can sense it?
{I can, but only in a general way. It is close, but I cannot pinpoint it.}
Is it...coming closer?
{Indeed. Do you wish me to intercept it?}
No! Actually, she figured that would be better tactics, but she was too scared to let him out of her sight.
{Your fear is natural. You need to only learn to control it and use it as a source of strength. Letting the Fomorian come to us is risky, but more sound. We need not hunt for it, only wait for it to appear, to our advantage.}
But it's so nerve-wracking!
{Indeed. But it becomes easier with practice. And it will soon be over.} He raised both arms at the elbow.
"It is here."
The guards glanced at him. "Corporal, direct your men to face the terrace."
Without a word they assembled into an arc, aiming out through the pillars.
"Where is it?" She picked up the Beretta and cocked it, but she couldn't see anything.
Vlad swiveled his head from left to right, then snapped his chin up. "Above us."
Shrieking, the Fomorian swung down on its spider limbs. The guards sighted on it and opened fire. It dropped and twisted around in mid-air, landing upright, as sparks flew from where the bullets struck its carapace. It charged into the arc of guards, who converged on it.
"No!" Differel said. "Keep your distance!"
She wasn't even sure they heard her, but before they could comply the Fomorian lashed out with arms and legs, flinging them aside like rag dolls. Those who survived the initial assault tried to back off, but it pounced first on one, then another, beating them down, impaling them with its legs, or throwing them across the portico, until they had all been subdued.
As soon as an opening appeared in the line of guards, Vlad opened fire, shooting as fast as he could pull the triggers. When all the guards had been eliminated, he sprinted away from Differel, trying to draw the Fomorian off. It worked; it charged at him, screaming like a banshee.
Differel pivoted the wheelchair, locked the wheels, and picked up the Beretta. She set it to semi-automatic, flicked off the safety, and gripped it in both hands, holding it at arm's length, and sighted along the barrel. By that time Vlad had exhausted the machine pistols and had pulled out his Smith & Wessons. He managed to get off two shots with each before the Fomorian was on top of him. It grabbed him by the neck and one arm, lifted him off his feet, and ripped the arm out of its socket. All the while he kept shooting with the other gun at point-blank range.
She started firing, trying to hold the gun steady. She had to re-aim after each shot, which slowed her rate of fire, but as close and large as the Fomorian was that was simple enough. She fired three times, the bullets ricocheting off the being's back, before it tossed Vlad away and turned on her. Terrified, she flipped the gun to full automatic and pulled the trigger. The Fomorian leapt and landed directly in front of her. It whacked the chair with a leg, tipping it backwards. Differel spilled out, losing her grip on the pistol, and it spun away across the floor. The Fomorian picked up the chair and flung out onto the terrace, then reached for her.
Vlad exploded out of a cloud of shadow above the Fomorian and dropped on top of its torso, wrapping his legs around its waist and his arms around its chest, gripping its prominent armoured breasts as he bit the side of its neck, trying to rip through to an artery underneath. It reared up and scrambled backwards as it tried to grapple him. Differel looked around and spotted the pistol a fathom away. She rolled onto her stomach and dragged herself over the flagstones towards it. It seemed to take forever to the crawl the short distance as she strained her arm and shoulder muscles to pull harder and faster. Finally she reached the weapon and grabbed it. Flipping over onto her back, she aimed for the Fomorian. She watched as it gripped Vlad's legs and ripped them off then did the same to his arms. It took him by the coat, pulled him off its back, took hold of his torso, and tore him in half. The parts of him dissolved into shadow and dissipated.
Differel fired; the bullets bounced off the Fomorian's bosom and belly in showers of sparks like fireworks. The pistol emptied in seconds; the Fomorian leapt and landed above her. She threw the pistol at it; the Fomorian raised its arms out of reflex to shield its face and batted the gun off to one side.
She called out mentally in sheer panic: I wish I had that sword!
She felt the same tingling as before, felt the weight of the hilt in her hand. She gripped the handle and started to bring it up, but the Fomorian stabbed at her with a leg. The point drove through her lower arm between the radius and ulna bones. She shrieked at the sharp, intense pain, and her hand spasmed, dropping the sword.
She lay on the floor, panting, her eyes squeezed shut as she anticipated the killing blow, but it didn't come. Looking up, she saw the Fomorian's face staring at her with a wicked gloating leer.
"So this is the scion of the great Abraham Van Helsing. Such a pathetic waste of flesh. I cannot imagine what Miranda saw in you. Take away your vaunted Order, the mightiest Vampire extant, your gun, and your sword, and you become nothing more than a helpless child. You really thought you could challenge the power of the Fomorach race? You foolish, deluded girl! To us, you are nothing but a wretched maggot burrowing through garbage and consuming feces to sustain your worthless life! This is how we deal with disgusting vermin like you!"
It rose up on its two rearmost legs, raising the other five. Differel cried in sheer terror and held out her free arm as if to ward off the blow.
"Die now, and wail in vain!" the Fomorian howled.
A dagger whirled in from the right and struck it in the side of the neck. It lost its balance and stumbled back, jerking its leg lose from Differel's arm. She rolled on her side and clamped her hand over the wound as the Fomorian steadied itself and pulled the blade loose. Differel looked towards the glass doors and saw Aelfraed slowly edging his way towards her. He held a dagger by the tip in his right hand, ready to throw it, while his left hand was balled into a fist and gripped four others by their handles between the knuckles of his thumb and fingers.
"Kindly step away from my mistress, you
unpleasant harridan."
The Fomorian turned to face him, hissing like an enraged cat, but it did back off.
"Loyal to the end, eh Manservant?"
"If you knew Mankind better, you would understand I wouldn't have it any other way."
By that time he had reached her, and stood beside her. "Aelfraed! No! You can't stop her! Get away! Save yourself!"
"With all due respect, Miss, please remain quiet."
"If you choose to die with her, then so be it. She can watch as I tear you to pieces!"
"With all due respect, Madam, you talk too much."
The Fomorian roared and charged at him. He threw the dagger, grabbed another and threw it, and reached for a third. The first two bounced off the armoured chest, but the third ricocheted off the brow ridge over one eye. The Fomorian flinched, wheeled around backwards, and scuttled to one side. He threw the last two; the fourth glanced off a cheekbone, but number five embedded in her throat. With both hits it ducked and retreated some more, and Differel realized he wasn't trying to kill it or even drive it off, but herd it away from them both.
As the Fomorian pulled the last dagger loose, he turned and threw himself on top of her, to shield her from something imminent. "Cover your face, Differel!"
She could see over the top of him, and as the Fomorian turned to face them once more, Holt emerged through the open double doors. He took a wide stance and lifted a large sniper rifle to his shoulder as he leaned forward. The Fomorian barely had time to register his presence when he fired. The shot pushed him back as the muzzle break spat fire, and in almost the same instant an explosive fireball engulfed the Fomorian. Differel threw her arms over her face, but after a few moments spread them apart to see what was happening. The Fomorian looked dazed but seemed to be recovering quickly, but Holt didn't give it time to react. He fired again, and Differel slammed her arms together just before the next explosion. She listened as he fired again and again in rapid succession; she counted a total of ten shots before he seemed to stop. Removing her arms she saw the Fomorian had been driven back against the pillars. It staggered, and though she couldn't see clearly, it seemed to be hurt, with internal damage if not outside. It collapsed again a pillar and slid down until it lay on the floor, its legs curving up into the air.
Holt laid the rifle down, pulled out a pistol, and ran up to the supine being. He maneuvered around the legs towards the head, planted a foot on some part of the body, gripped the pistol in both hands, and emptied the magazine, all fifteen rounds in thirty seconds. For the first eight shots the legs jerked with each hit, but after that they remained still. Holt then stepped away as he expelled the clip, slipped in a fresh magazine, cocked the pistol, and stood alert, training the gun on the now dead (or so she hoped) monster.
Aelfraed looked up, and raised himself off her body to kneel beside her. He took her injured arm in both hands and clamped off the wound. "I have you, Madam, you're safe now. Giles, call for help!" She noted the subtle tone of panic in his voice.
Without lowering the gun, Holt took a portable radio from his belt. "Trauma teams to the north portico immediately."
"Hold on, Differel, help is on the way."
As the adrenaline drained away she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. "Oh bloody hell," she murmured, "not again."
"Madam, please," she heard, and the words seemed to drift off into the distance as blackness enshrouded her mind.
She awoke and found herself in the recovery ward of the infirmary. "Oh, bugger, not this bloody place again."
Holt appeared by her bedside. "Mrs. Widget would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard that."
She giggled. "She has this notion of turning me into a lady."
"Not altogether a bad notion."
"Hmph. Maybe, but not very