Monster Hunter Vendetta

  I picked G-Nome up as I stood, grabbed one kicking leg with my other hand, and slammed him up into the brick ceiling. He disappeared in a cloud of brick dust. The audience made a noise that sounded like "ooohhh." I brought him back down, let go of his neck, and swung him around by his leg. Half a dozen gnomes were knocked spinning out of the circle. At the apogee of the arc, I let go of G-Nome's ankle and he flew down with the hallway. The gnomes surged back toward me, and it was a swirl of violence. I remember gnomes hanging onto each of my feet as I dragged them across the brick floor, gnomes crumpling under my fists with every swing, and gnomes twirling through the air in every direction. But then somebody shattered a beer bottle on the back of my head, and it got kind of blurry.

  "I said no weapons!" Earl bellowed. "That's it!" I stumbled back and fell on my butt, a literal pile of moaning gnomes scattered around me. The audience was booing and throwing trash at me, but luckily no more bottles.

  Mad as hell, I stumbled to my feet, disoriented and ready to go beat the entire audience to death. I could feel hot blood spilling down the back of my neck. More miscellaneous objects flew at me. "Hey! Watch it, you little assholes!" I grabbed a passing gnome by the neck and lifted him overhead.

  "Enough!" Sven shouted and the missiles quit flying and only one, last, empty soda can bounced off my boot. My chest was heaving from exertion, my brain ached from the shattered bottle, every inch of my body pulsed with bruised tissue and firing nerves, and I felt an unbearable urge to vomit. But mostly, I was really angry. I was ready to go another round. I cocked my fist back. The gnome I was holding squealed in fear.

  "Owen, drop the gnome," Earl ordered.

  I slowly lowered my fist and let go of the little man. He scrambled back into the audience. Sven shouted over the noise of the booing crowd. "All right, Harbinger. You win. Deal's a deal."

  G-Nome reappeared, missing his hat, blood and dust staining his white beard. He walked back into the circle and spit on the floor. The audience got really quiet. He glared at me dangerously as he flexed his muscles and I got ready for him to charge. "You done yet?" I gasped.

  The dangerous little creature eyed me for a moment. "You know what? You're all right for being so tall." Finally he grinned, showing off his bloodstained teeth. "Best damn rumble I've had in years." He turned to Harbinger. "We still on?"

  Harbinger held up the roll of bills. "If you're gnome enough?"

  "Hell yeah," G-Nome answered as he caught the money.

  The gnomes all cheered.

  Julie asked what had happened when she saw me come out of the gnome house, battered and bruised. Unfortunately, Earl and I hadn't thought to come up with a cover story, and lying to Julie, especially after sustaining a minor brain injury, seemed like a really bad idea. So I told her it was a secret and that I would explain later. I don't think she liked that one bit, but was enough of a professional to understand that Earl and I had our reasons. On the bright side, I didn't really want to tell her about how I had gotten beaten up by a gang of garden decorations.

  Mosh had been on the phone again, trying to explain how the tour bus had exploded to somebody else. Apparently, rampaging monsters was a bit beyond his PR firm's regular duties. I crawled into the back of the van and Gretchen began sewing up the back of my head to match the repair she had made on the front earlier. Ahh . . . ​symmetry. Earl signaled for us to roll out and our convoy started back to Cazador.

  Julie and Mosh were in the same vehicle, and as I lay there, incoherent, a bone needle and thread being run through the fleshy part at the base of my skull, my fiancée tried to explain to my brother how he was currently a lot safer hanging out with us for a while. Obviously, safe was a relative word. After a few minutes their conversation was just background buzz.

  It probably wasn't a good idea to take a nap after receiving a serious blow to the head, but I was exhausted, sore, and was asleep by the time we got on the freeway.

  Chapter 9

  Brilliant sunshine scalded my closed eyelids. I must have slept for hours.

  Nope.

  I was dreaming. My surroundings were a city park, but not one that I recognized. The trees were thick, brilliant green, and the grass was manicured to perfection. The air was clean and fresh. It was a huge city. Tall buildings rose above the leaves on all sides, but the skyline was unfamiliar. Children ran, laughing, playing, while a nearby street vendor peddled food that smelled really good. Everyone looked happy and the walkways were clean of grime and garbage.

  Must be Canada.

  I wandered down a stone path, not sure where I was going. In my dream state I noted that I was still dressed exactly the same as I had been when I was awake, complete with armor and weapons. None of the attractive locals seemed to notice. Everyone greeted me with a polite smile, guns and all, so that definitely ruled out Canada.

  "Hello," the Englishman said. He was seated on a wooden bench at the edge of a pond, looking as rough as the first time I had met him, lean frame hunched forward in a bulky gray hoodie, head and cheeks bristling with brown-gray stubble. He was a relatively average-looking man, the kind of guy where you would never guess that he had a demonic leach monster living inside of him. His cold eyes had that same deadly focus as when he had tried to kidnap me, only now he was holding a loaf of bread and tearing off pieces to chuck into the pond. A rioting crowd of ducks clustered there, fighting for crumbs. "Have a seat, mate. We need to talk."

  "Uh, no," I responded as I automatically pulled my .45 from the holster. I raised it in one hand and cranked off four quick shots into the side of his head. The gun recoiled and noise blasted my eardrums but nothing struck him.

  "Don't be like that. This is neutral ground," he said, sounding unperturbed, still not looking at me, all his attention on the ducks. I stupidly lowered the STI as a bunch of kids ran past carrying balloons that had been twisted into various animal shapes. Not even the ducks had seemed to notice the sudden gunfire. He pulled off a big chunk of bread, crumpled it into a hard ball, and pitched it far out into the pond. The ducks swam after it, quacking angrily. "You're safe here. You've parlayed before."

  I had spoken with Lord Machado in my dreams once, and that hadn't turned out particularly well. "I'll stay over here, thanks."

  "Suit yourself, but we do have business to discuss, you and I. Circumstances have changed since we last met."

  "Met? You tried to eat my brain and murdered a bunch of innocent people."

  "My apologies. I'm working for the Dread Overlord itself. One can't hesitate when fulfilling the orders of something so epic and terrible that even saying its true name can cause insanity in mere mortals."

  "Well, you can take those orders and shove them up your Dread Overlord's ass, or whatever orifice crustaceans have."

  He ignored me. "But that was before that meddling vampire exposed you to a shard of the sacred artifact. Events have been set into motion and I'm afraid it may be too late for us all." The Englishman finally turned to face me. His eyes pierced through me with an unnerving cold. "I need your help."

  I actually laughed out loud. His expression did not change. "Wait . . . ​you're serious? Hell no."

  "You think I'm evil, that I'm some sort of monster, don't you?"

  "They teach deductive logic at Necromancer College?"

  He shook his head. "I'm no monster. I'm just like you."

  That ticked me off. "You're nothing like me. I don't go around murdering innocents."

  "Yet," he muttered, his voice hoarse, "you murder every day to earn your living. Innocence is such an arbitrary thing to a Hunter. Where you see creatures of evil, I see wonders of the unnatural world, yet you destroy them out of fear and greed."

  "And I'm damn good at it. Get to the point."

  "Remember your search for Machado's Place of Power? You learned that they only existed at -certain junctures, certain specific places and times, and that they were oh so rare. Well, it isn't just places, mate. It's people as well. People like you and me. Destiny falls like a
mantle on very few of us, and we're given the power to shape the world, whether we like it or not."

  Or as Mordechai would have said, I had drawn the short straw. I knew this part pretty well. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the Chosen One. Whatever."

  "Yes, a Chosen, but not the One, rather one of many. We are the artists, and this reality is our canvas," he began to pontificate, reminding me why he was the leader of a religious nut cult. "We're brothers, pawns in a cosmic struggle, where only—" I lifted my gun, centered the front sight on his forehead and pulled the trigger. BOOM. Still no effect, but it was strangely satisfying. That seemed to annoy the Englishman. "Oh, piss off then. I'll tell you why I'm here."

  "About damn time."

  "I'm not as simple as you might think. Yes, I do work for them but only because I was able to see the future. The greatest Old One will return, no matter what mankind does. It's inevitable."

  "Inevitable?" I was unable to accept that. "We've beat him before. I stopped him last time. He'll try again in another five hundred years and somebody else will stop him then."

  "You think that's the only way? Do you honestly believe it's so easy? No. There are other plans, other ways back. And it's only a matter of time before he returns. I was exactly like you once. I learned about the Old Ones, and I thought that I could stand against them. I studied their ways, their power, originally with the noblest of intentions, only to discover it was futile. I could not stop them, so I joined them."

  "So you wanted to kiss up to the winning side? Noble," I spat. "Selling out humanity so you don't end up as dinner? I got the same offer from Machado, and my answer stays the same as last time. Go to hell."

  "Machado was a fool." He went back to the bread and ducks. "You can think that if you like, but I'm not ‘selling out' humanity. No, I'm the savior of humanity. If I can conquer this world and present it to them, then we will be spared from their full fury. Those are the conditions of my employment." It was totally insane, but I could tell that he actually bought what he was shoveling. He was a true believer. "If I fail, then eventually they will win, only they won't be as merciful as I would be."

  "You're nuts."

  He chuckled. It was a rough sound. "Perhaps. But there's a war coming, a war that man cannot win. The only question remaining is how brutal will be our defeat. Your way, your struggle, it only ends in death, the eradication of all life on this world. My way, many will perish, so that many more will live. It will be a time of rebirth, renewal, where man will take his place as righteous servants of the great Old Ones." I started to raise my gun again. "Okay, okay. You're so bloody impatient. I'm making you an offer . . ."

  "I won't join you."

  "Join me?" he said incredulously. "Why would I do that? I'm asking you to surrender." Right about then I found myself really wishing that this wasn't the dream world, and this wasn't a dream gun, filled with dream bullets, because I'd blow his brains all over the duck pond. "Hear me out. The Dread Overlord has never been personally offended by a human before. He called you by name!" He said that like I should be proud. "His fury is infinite. By sacrificing yourself, you will salve his anger. The longer it takes for me to bring you to him, the more the entire world will pay for your insolence."

  "That's one hell of an offer."

  "I'm a humanitarian. Think of your friends, your loved ones . . . ​You've personally spit in the eye of the deadliest being in the universe. He will get you. It's only a matter of time. But it's my job to make sure that your meddling doesn't endanger us all. I'm trying to protect the innocent. Your irresponsibility threatens my plan to save the world."

  He was telling the truth, but there was something more. I thought of what Susan said. "There's something else . . . ​Something in it for you."

  "I have made a deal, yes. The great gods of the beyond do not give power easily. It must be earned. You will be traded for something that I, and my father before me, have yearned for. You are the key to achieving my life's work, the merciful domination of this world. "

  "You're as deluded as Machado was. I've seen what those things want, and mercy isn't part of the equation," I said.

  "The Old Ones don't want to destroy this world. They're ambivalent masters. They only destroy that which they can't have." He tossed more bread on the water. The ducks quacked and fought for the crumbs. "There are many factions of Elder Things. They don't care about us. They only want to control as many worlds, as many souls, as they can, and deprive the others of their ownership."

  "Nice touch." I pointed at the duck pond. "So, are these like some sort of symbolic illusion of great warring interstellar beings and we're the bread?"

  He looked at me like I was dense. "No. They're just ducks."

  "Yeah, I'm not real good at this whole metaphysical dream thing. How about we hook up someplace out in meat-space so that I can shoot you with real bullets?"

  "Owen, I'm begging you. Help me present this place to them. It's the only way to save us all. Fighting only makes them mad." He gestured around the city. For the first time I noticed some sort of massive, alien tree amidst the skyline, as tall as the skyscrapers around it. The branches were segmented, twisted, unnatural and black. There were no leaves, rather strange membranes, shimmering like locust wings, stretched between the insectoid branches. It was wrong. It did not belong on this world.

  "What is that?"

  He was rather proud. "The key to man's unity. The key to our survival. Under its boughs, there is only peace."

  The beautiful city had been built around the tree, for the tree. I shuddered.

  "This is my world. My world will be a utopia. No more war. No more starvation, strife, or disease. I will banish death. But if we continue to struggle, their patience will wear thin, and their methods will turn from subterfuge to brute force . . ." As he said that, the sky darkened. The nearby leaves and grass turned brown, wilted, and died. The giant buildings twisted and collapsed in gushing clouds of dust, but the great tree remained unharmed, standing alone on the burning horizon. The sky turned blood red with smoke and fire. The sounds of laughter in the distance mutated into screams of pain and the wails of torture. "And this will be the result . . ." The clean water of the pond turned to black pollution. The feathers burned off the ducks in a stench of acid and bile. Oily purple tentacles the size of spaghetti noodles encircled the frantic birds and sucked them down in a spew of harsh bubbles. "My way is the only way. Help me stop this."

  Glancing around the terrible landscape, I knew he wasn't exaggerating. I had seen this before, different variations of this vision many times. The Old Ones were coming. This was the future . . . ​

  No. This was a future. I strengthened my resolve and gave my final answer. "I've already picked my side."

  "Your side?" he replied derisively. "Oh, I'm quite familiar with them. Your side is made up of ghosts and fools. You ally yourself with the Hunters, yet Harbinger's a liar and a murderer. You think the government can protect you from my religion of truth, yet Myers is a traitor and a coward. The vampires Shackleford offer you an out, but my own sins pale before Susan's ambitions and Ray's pride. Your side is an alliance of flawed convenience, and it will shatter at its first test."

  He spoke like he knew them . . . ​"Who are you, really?"

  "I'm your friend. I'm the only one who'll tell you the truth." His voice raised in volume and intensity. "I am the Lord of Shadows, High Priest of the Sanctified Church of the Temporary Mortal Condition. I am the first Horseman of the Apocalypse, the herald of the burning sunset of one age and the dark dawn of a new."

  My grip tightened on my pistol. A hot wind blew through the destroyed park. I had had enough of this nonsense. "No. You're just another pain-in-the-ass psycho screwing around with magic shit that shouldn't be screwed with. Listen real careful, you quisling fuck, I'm coming for you and your little church, and I'm going to end you."

  "I was afraid of that, but I had to offer. I'm not by nature a violent man," the Englishman responded, but the steel in his voice indicate
d that was a lie.

  "Well, I am," I responded.

  We were plunged into shadow as a huge shape blotted out the reddened sun. I glanced up, my brain unable to comprehend the massiveness of the creature swimming through the air above us, trailing streamers of flesh, thorns, and a thousand eyes for what had to have been a quarter mile. Part blimp, part squid, all gut-wrenching terror. I knew that there were hundreds more just over the horizon.

  "You've made your choice," the Englishman said, but when I turned my attention back to the park bench, the thin man was gone, and now it was a hulking shadow shape there, a formless mass with the consistency of oil-fired smoke. It tossed the rest of the loaf of bread into the bubbling tar, which disappeared with a hiss. The shape moved, flowing up from the bench, towering above me as it prepared to leave. "When we meet again, expect no mercy."

  "Likewise."

  ◈ ◈ ◈

  By the time we rolled into the compound, the sky had reached that kind of muted, quiet gray that came just before dawn. Most of the occupants of our vehicle were asleep at this point. An exhausted Lee was still driving. Julie was out, somehow actually using the butt stock of her M14 to prop up her head, and snoring loudly, which she did quite a bit, though I would never let her know. Mosh had finally passed out, having called his PR firm, manager, agent, and band mates before the borrowed cell phone battery had croaked.

  My muscles groaned in protest and my ankle burned painfully as I stepped onto the gravel outside the office building. I was still hurting from Mexico, let alone wrecking the tour bus and getting my ass kicked by gnomes. I had removed my stinky gas-soaked boots, and the little rocks jabbed painfully into my too-soft soles and still-bandaged heel. I didn't really think about the pain, which was nothing a handful of aspirin couldn't dull, but rather I was preoccupied about my meeting with the shadow man.