Chimera - Part 3 (Asylum Chapter 22)

[Content Warning: strong language, violence, gore]

At the northern stretch of the valley, above the merfolk-populated lake, Deakes had witnessed the rebirth of a phoenix. It had been a fascinating and beautiful sight, inspiring in him the wonder of the cryptid world. The same feeling was not instilled upon seeing Harris’s body reconstitute before them.

‘How many cryptid genes has he spliced to himself?’ Deakes said, not expecting an answer.

Hunter growled in frustration and brought a fist down on Harris. He may have been made of stone, but the troll was fast – Harris did not have time to dodge. Or maybe he didn’t even try.

Harris exploded into a cloud of glittering particles. As before, the cloud concentrated into a golden egg which hovered in the air before Harris reappeared in a crimson-tinged flash.

‘He’s indestructible,’ Fletch breathed. Deakes was not sure if the tone was filled with dread or awe.

Hunter grabbed Harris by the waist and lifted him from the ground. The rough surface of the troll’s palm cut through Harris’s hardened skin. Blood trickled from under Hunter’s fist.

He lifted his arm above his head and brought it slamming down to the floor. Harris collapsed into a tangled mess of bloodied bone and innards but was unmarred when he regenerated.

As Hunter continued to grapple with Harris, Deakes turned to the rest. He pointed at the fallen Eddie – who was valiantly trying to stand despite his injuries – and directed Andrea and Pippa to help him to the Land Rover. After shepherding the others into the car, he jumped behind the wheel and started the engine. Once Eddie had been loaded onboard, and Andrea and Pippa squeezed themselves in, Deakes manoeuvred the car around the crater and numerous potholes and began the drive out of the valley.

In the rearview mirror, Hunter brought Harris to his mouth and bit the man in two. The sparkling dust expanded, contracted and the golden ball materialised in Hunter’s maw.

Deakes’s stomach dropped.

The rebirth was marked by its familiar crimson explosion, an explosion which took Hunter’s head clean off. Harris and the troll fell to the floor in unison. Only Harris got up.

Deakes took the Rover around the fallen helicopter and gunned the accelerator. The engine roared as they shot up the slope and escaped into the moors beyond. The land was rough, uneven, but Deakes did not relent.

Amidst the clamouring of his bouncing passengers, Cruise raised her voice.

‘There must be a way to stop him. I saw him bleed.’

‘Not that it did Hunter any good,’ Fletch said. ‘Harris sheds all his injuries when he is reborn.’

‘There’s always a way,’ Cruise muttered.

‘Was this his plan all along?’ Deakes asked.

Andrea shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Harris was always passionate about getting as many different cryptids here as possible. I thought it was just magnanimity.’

‘He once told me,’ Fletch said, ‘that he wondered how powerful a creature would be if it had multiple cryptid powers. He made it sound like a thought experiment but he was obviously talking about himself.’

‘Then what is his endgame?’ said Deakes. ‘To take over the world?’

‘You can ask him yourself,’ Pippa said. ‘I think he’s following us.’

Deakes looked in the rearview mirror. Another Land Rover was on their tail.

‘If he is wanting to take over the world,’ he said, ‘he probably wants us out of the way first.’

He pressed his foot on the accelerator, coaxing more speed from the overweighted car. The vehicle bounced harder. Rocks crunched against the underside of the car. Dust, who had ceased her singing when they’d left the valley, swore and held tight onto Eddie.

‘What’s the plan, Jordan?’ asked Andrea.

‘To get away.’

‘And then?’

‘Let’s get away first. We can worry about “then” later.’

‘He’s getting closer,’ said Pippa.

The vehicles were identical but Deakes’s was carrying more people. There was no way he would be able to escape Harris. The best he could hope was to keep abreast with him once the man had caught up.

He kept his eyes ahead, searching for the strip which marked the paved road through the Moors. The road seemed further away than usual but he knew that was a trick of the mind. Instead of the road to civilisation, he spotted something that made little sense to him. There was a dot on the horizon. It grew larger as it drew closer.

It was a large vehicle heading for the Asylum. With the exception of the two involved in this chase, all of ARCs vehicles were back in the valley. It was not from the Asylum's fleet.

Deakes recognised the silhouette. An Alvis Saracen, a six-wheeled military transport.

He asked Andrea, ‘Did you arrange backup?’

‘I only had the one unit,’ she answered.

The truck was heading directly for them. Deakes’s stomach rolled. Did Harris have reinforcements none of them were aware of?

*

Benson slowed the Saracen as he approached the lead Land Rover. He spotted Deakes behind the wheel and jumped out to wave him to a stop.

‘Came as fast as I could,’ Benson said when Deakes got out of the Rover, followed by Fletch, Dust and a woman Benson had not met. ‘I managed to rustle up this and some firepower but nobody could join me at such short notice. I told you to give me a fortnight.’

‘Where did you get the Saracen?’ Deakes asked.

‘You know Kipper is a collector? He’s been restoring it for years.’

‘And he doesn’t mind bringing it on a mission?’

Benson laughed. ‘I reminded him he still owes me from Zadar.’

‘It won’t do any good,’ Fletch said.

Benson glared at him. They had met at Meadthorpe farm last year. Benson hadn’t liked him then and wasn’t enamoured now.

‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said, ‘the dedication in my friend’s restoration, Fletch.’

‘He might be right,’ said the unknown woman.

‘I agree with Andrea,’ Deakes said. ‘Harris is proving problematic.’

‘In what way?’ asked Benson.

Nobody had time to answer. A second Land Rover screeched to a halt nearby. The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. Dust began to sing, a pleasing melody which seemed incongruous under the circumstances.

‘I guess this is Harris,’ Benson said. Deakes nodded.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Harris said. ‘But I cannot allow you to leave.’

On the back seat of the Land Rover, Eddie groaned and wrestled to get free. Pippa held him down.

‘You can’t keep us here,’ Andrea said.

‘I can’t allow you to tell the world what I’ve become.’

‘A monster,’ cried Cruise, jumping from the car.

A door behind Benson opened and Theo climbed out of the Saracen. ‘Cruise. Thank God you’re alive so I can kill you myself.’ He ran to her and embraced her with one arm, the other hand holding on to his parcel.

‘Not a monster,’ Harris said. ‘A god.’

Eddie’s voice rose in anger. Harris ignored him.

‘I have the ability to help mankind at every quarter. I can put an end to war and I can stop catastrophe at the source. I am the hope for the future of this world.’

‘But at what cost?’ asked Deakes.

‘A high and personal one,’ Harris said. ‘I have given my life to become better. You have seen how the world treats cryptids. I will be caged and experimented upon if they know I exist.’

‘And that’s why you don’t want us to leave?’ asked Andrea.

Harris nodded. ‘My safety depends upon it.’

‘Then we’re to be your prisoners?’

‘Guests.’

‘How are you going to help the world,’ asked Cruise, ‘if you don’t want them to know about you?’

Harris was silent. His eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.

Benson had heard enough. He’d heard the doctrines of many dictators and they all had one thing in common. Megalomania. He suspected that each truly believed theirs was the right way, but ultimately they only ever served themselves.

He withdrew his pistol from a holster and approached Harris. ‘This ends now,’ he said.

‘Quinn, don’t,’ Deakes said.

Harris smiled as Benson grew closer but his eyes were far from warm. For the first time in many years, Benson felt the heaviness of fear settle in his stomach.

He gritted his teeth and continued towards Harris. His feet moved like lead. His legs were so heavy. He was tempted to put a bullet in Harris’s head there and then but was unable to move his finger to the trigger.

The heavy feeling in his belly spread upwards. His heartbeat slowed.

He stopped walking, unable to will his legs to move. His arms were as heavy as stone. Breath caught in his chest and panic filled his mind as he realised he could not breathe. No matter how much he focused, he was unable to get his lungs to expand.

His gaze remained fixed on Harris’s as his vision receded. Colour faded. Darkness encroached on all sides until there was nothing but Harris’s glowing eyes.

*

Deakes refused to believe what he had witnessed. People don’t turn into statues. And yet before him stood a stone effigy of one of his dearest friends.

Harris was all powerful. He had the fire breath of a dragon, the reincarnation skill of a phoenix and the petrifying stare of a gorgon. He was unstoppable.

Dust was able to temper his ability to spout flames, but could she also counter the other powers? Even if she were able, Deakes doubted she could combat all three at the same time. He saw no way of defeating Harris. Their only course for survival was to submit to his command.

He looked at those around him. Fletch would buckle in a heartbeat. Andrea would eventually see that surrendering was their one chance of staying alive. He suspected even Pippa would see the same rationality. The kobaloi were unpredictable. He could only hope they would also see sense, albeit begrudgingly.

But Dust and Eddie would resist. If Deakes kowtowed to Harris, their deaths were as good as dealt. He would not have that on his conscience. He took a couple of steps forward, making sure to keep his gaze from Harris’s deadly eyes.

‘There must be a compromise we can reach.’

‘There is not.’ Was the sadness in Harris’s voice genuine or manufactured? ‘Come back with me, or die here.’

Andrea came to Deakes’s side. ‘At least let the cryptids go,’ she said. ‘They have their own reasons not to tell anyone about you or this place.’

Harris was quiet as he considered her words. Deakes knew it was hopeless. Should Eddie leave now, it would not be forever. As long as Martan’s killer drew breath, he would find a way to his vengeance.

Before Harris could make up his mind, a shrill voice cut through the air.

‘No, it’s for the clan.’

Deakes spun around to see Theo arguing with Cruise. She was trying to wrench the cloth-wrapped package from his hands. More kobaloi had left the Saracen and had gathered around their bickering leaders.

‘What’s happening here is bigger than our clan,’ she whispered through gritted teeth. She swung her arm and hit Theo in the temple with her bangle. He staggered, blinked and let go of the prize. Cruise dashed forward, unwrapping the parcel as she ran. When she reached Deakes, she held out the ancestral kobaloi sword.

‘The dragonslayer,’ she said.

A spark of hope lit in Deakes’s heart. A magic weapon to best a mythical beast. But Harris was no myth and Deakes not a swordsman. Attacking Harris with Ascalon could only end in Deakes’s defeat.

Harris roared. ‘Even the little ones want me dead.’ He strode forward, arms stretching for Cruise.

Deakes reacted automatically. He grabbed the sword from Cruise and positioned himself between her and Harris. Ascalon was easier to wield then he had imagined. It was heavy and sturdy but well balanced and he knew that, given enough practise, he could make it dangerous.

He stepped into Harris’s advance, raising the blade to deflect his opponent’s attack. The blade smoothly sliced the flesh, opening thin wounds which trickled blood. Harris hissed with pain and jumped backwards.

In the underground medical bay, the soldier’s bullets had struck Harris skin at 1,200 feet per second and bounced off without causing damage. When Hunter had fought Harris, the troll had used a percussive offence. His fists had smashed into Harris, obliterating him into dust.

Emboldened with the realisation that force was not the way to defeat Harris, Deakes pressed the advantage and swung at Harris’s midsection. Harris backed away, but not quickly enough. Deakes was successful in landing a cruel slash across his belly.

The giddiness of seeing a potential victory was tempered by the ache that was beginning to claim Deakes’s arms. Of the multiple methods of hand-to-hand combat he had learned, none involved using a sword. Brandishing such a large weapon was demanding on different sets of muscles. He had to end this soon, otherwise he risked being claimed by exhaustion.

He leapt forward, sword high and aimed for Harris’s heart.

Harris did what Deakes had not anticipated. He came at Deakes, turning sideways to avoid Ascalon’s point, and grabbed the blade with both hands. Blood sprang from his palms as he tugged at the weapon. A deft kick to the side of Deakes’s knee gave him the advantage.

As Deakes fell to the ground, they both released Ascalon. The sword landed on the ground several feet from them. Too far for Deakes to reach.

Harris dropped onto him, knees pinning Deakes’s shoulders, and grabbed his head. ‘Look at me,’ he snarled as he turned Deakes’s face to his own. His fingers dug into Deakes’s scalp, sending lightning bolts of pain through Deakes. ‘Look at me.’

Deakes tried to look anywhere else. At the sky, Harris’s chest, his forehead. In his peripheral vision, the glow of Harris’s eyes was seductive, inviting. He barely registered the movement beyond his attacker’s shoulder.

Andrea issued a heavy grunt as she brought Ascalon crashing down onto Harris’s back. Harris roared. His grasp on Deakes weakened. In one movement, he rose to his feet, spun on Andrea and clenched her by the throat. With his other hand, he wrenched the sword from her hands and flung it aside. Ascalon struck the statue of Benson and shattered. The dragonslayer was no more.

Panting hard, holding Andrea by the neck, Harris surveyed all those around him. Deakes at his feet, Fletch and Dust, and Theo and Cruise and the other kobaloi.

‘No more mercy.’

Andrea clawed at Harris’s hand, her face a deep crimson.

Deakes tried to scramble to his feet, his swimming head making every movement clumsy.

Fletch looked on, mouth agape and face drained of blood.

Cruise lifted her arms over her head and struck her bangles together. Clang-clang.

‘You can’t distract me this time.’

Spittle foamed on Andrea’s lips.

Two kobaloi inched forward.

Clang-clang.

‘I’m going to kill you all.’

Andrea’s arms fell to her side.

Clang-clang.

As one, the kobaloi clan ran to the fallen Ascalon. They each picked up a shard and lunged for Harris.

Harris threw Andrea to the ground and turned on the kobaloi. He punched one in the face, knocking her flat, while two others slashed his thigh and back. Harris snarled, reached for one of them and missed. Others moved in to attack his undefended side.

The dance continued, Harris spinning and whirling amidst a half dozen small figures. He managed to snare a few and his sheer size put them out for the count. Each time he removed a kobaloi from the fray, he suffered three or four wounds. In minutes, he was drenched in blood and his coordination was off.

The kobaloi kept at him, aware their number was decreasing but not slowing their assault. When one of them succumbed to Harris’s blows, the rest increased the ferocity of their attack.

Harris tumbled to the ground. His breath came in ragged wheezes. Blood oozed from a hundred gashes.

The kobaloi fell back, their hands slick with their own blood from where the pieces of Ascalon had bit them.

Deakes, his head now clear, found his feet and stood over Harris. Blood frothed at the fallen man’s lips when he tried to speak.

‘I… wanted…’

His head dropped to the side and he spoke no more.

*

With his knowledge of military vehicles, Deakes located the onboard pick and shovel. He dug a shallow pit beside Harris and rolled him in. The rest of the group were surprisingly solemn while he worked.

Andrea struggled to breathe but she was conscious, for which Deakes was grateful. The kobaloi’s wounds were mainly superficial. A few had broken noses or missing teeth, and they sported them as badges of honour.

Now that Harris had been removed from the picture, Deakes convinced them to return to the Asylum. It was the closest place Andrea and Eddie could rest and be given the chance to recuperate.

Before leaving, Deakes approached the statue of Benson. His face had cracked and chipped where Ascalon had struck him. Rather than giving him a monstrous deformed look, it removed the expression of fear that had been set there. He now surveyed the empty Moors with the dogged grit which had been his strongest trait. Deakes resolved to come back one day and place a plaque at his friend’s feet.

Back in the valley, the main building was engulfed in flame. Thankfully, it was situated far enough from the cryptid village not to risk spreading to their homes. A dozen non-humans of various species were at the edge of the village, gaping in wonder at the inferno. One lone human was sprawled before them, vainly beseeching them in Mandarin.

‘What do we do with him?’ Fletch asked.

‘I know an underground place which needs a new occupant,’ Pippa answered. ‘It was a refuge for Martan but it will serve just as well as a prison.’

Over the next few days, Andrea’s voice slowly returned. The bruise wrapped her neck fully, giving the impression she was wearing a dark purple scarf. Though Eddie’s injuries had been dire, his return to health was rapid and he was soon up and about. His temperament remained stormy, something Deakes thought would have passed now that Martan’s death had been avenged.

The two men sat with Dust and Andrea, discussing the future of the Asylum.

‘It makes sense,’ Andrea croaked, wincing with each word, ‘that I take over here. With the three of you at my side, we can do far more good than Harris ever did.’

‘No.’ Eddie’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.

‘I didn’t think you’d want the mantle, but if-’

‘No.’

‘If not you or me…’ Andrea’s voice trailed off as she turned to Deakes.

‘No,’ Eddie repeated. ‘What happened here is proof that cryptids and humans cannot work together in harmony. Every species of cryptid has their own custom. They cannot and should not be forced into a regime designed by humans.’

‘Then we let them self-govern?’ Deakes said.

Eddie nodded and smiled. It was the first time Deakes had seen him display a positive emotion. It felt like seeing the sun after a rainy weekend.

‘There are more Asylums out there,’ Andrea reminded him.

‘I know. Dust and I have been talking…’

‘With everything that’s been happening recently,’ Dust said, ‘I’ve been neglecting the band. It’s time Eddie and I took Dead Again on a world tour.’

* * *

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