Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Almost unnoticed, the prisoners were edging backwards, away from the bars and Sam, unsure exactly what liberty their erstwhile rescuer was offering. Sam paid them no heed as he strained against the chain. He had other things to worry about. Behind him, he could tell that the fire caused by the exploding gas cylinder was spreading. That in itself was gratifying but now, he sensed a more determined mind, clearer than the others, less dominated by fear. Someone was taking command of the situation and without a doubt about to send some more guards to check on the prisoners. Sam had no more than a couple of minutes before he was discovered. At most.

The chain creaked ominously but would not give. Sam leant on the Katana, using his considerable power and weight. Desperation lent him even more strength. Sweat poured from his brow as he became oblivious to everything else but the chain. Doubts surged through his mind. He hadn’t counted on the chain being this thick. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to break it. What then? He could hardly leave these poor souls to the terrible fate that awaited them. He felt his fears leak out, breaking the tight control of his mind, but for once he didn’t care. All he cared about was freeing these people.

The chain creaked again and then without warning, broke apart. Links flew in every direction and Sam cried out in fierce pleasure. He yanked open the door with his free hand, heedless of the burning sensation as his hand made contact with the cold iron. Inside, the prisoners stood motionless. Every one of them had got to their feet. At first, Sam thought they were staring at him in dumbfounded shock but then he saw that the angle of their gazes was over his shoulder, behind him. It was only then that he realized his mistake. He’d been too busy concentrating on removing the chain, oblivious to the danger.

Slowly he turned. Standing several feet away, safely out of sword reach, were about ten men, all armed with either rifles or shotguns. Currently, all ten weapons were leveled at Sam.

Sam calculated the odds. He already had one sword out. In the time it would take him to cross the distance between them, he would have his other one ready. He calculated that he might be able to take out five or six of them before their overwhelming numbers made the end result inevitable. They would get him with their iron shells and even he wouldn’t be able to survive.

Sam smiled grimly and prepared to do just that. He’d go down fighting and take as many of these bastards with him. As if sensing his resolve, the ten men in front of him tightened the fingers around the triggers of their guns. Sam sensed the movement and edged his hand ever so slightly towards his Wakizashi.

And then everything changed.

The wall directly over his left shoulder exploded in flames and rubble. Like everyone else in the room, Sam flinched. When he looked up, he found himself staring at something they wouldn’t have expected. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

The eight foot dog, its impenetrable coat ablaze, its eyes molten fire — towered just a few feet from Sam.

‘It’s a Hellhound!’ hissed one of the prisoners, horrified. Some of the others started to mewl in terror.

As if on cue, the great demon threw back its massive head and howled — a sound so dreadful that it chilled the blood and even sent an involuntary shiver of terror racing down Sam’s back. It shut its jaws with an audible click, the terrible sound thankfully fading. The Hellhound lowered its head once again and cast around as if looking for something. Or someone.

Finally, it found who it was looking for.

The black eyes of Sam and the red eyes of Yeth locked for a moment. For a moment, just a moment, Sam could’ve sworn that his Hellhound winked at him.

One of the men facing Sam stood slightly in front of the others; very tall, probably at least as tall as Sam but lean, almost emaciated. He had thick grey hair and a matching beard. Through it, Sam could see a crooked smile forming as the implications of the demons arrival sank in. Sam assumed he was the leader.

“Lay down your weapons and we won’t give you to the beast,” said the leader in an authoritative voice that carried easily through the large space. It was the voice of a man accustomed to others doing as they were told. “Clearly, you are outmatched.” He gestured towards his followers and then to the flaming Hellhound.

Sam cleared his throat. “I’d say you were outmatched. I suggest you lay down your weapons and I’ll kill you quickly. If you don’t…” Sam sighed theatrically, “… then things will go very badly for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Who are you to warn us?” sneered the man.

Sam met the man’s eye. “Yeah, you’re pretty tough when you have your guns and your demons to support you. Tough enough to capture starving teenagers and use them for your own ends. You will pay for what you’ve done here.”

The leader’s eyes were bugging out, in complete disbelief that someone in Sam’s position would have the audacity to speak to him in this manner. With an effort, he composed himself and turned to the Hellhound.

“Destroy him, mighty demon. Take him to Hell where he shall suffer for eternity for his crimes against our Master.” The man’s expression was that of someone in the midst of religious fervor, and the last few words came out in an excited falsetto.

Yeth had not moved since his explosive entrance. He did so now, turning in Sam’s direction and taking a leisurely stride towards him. The captives hurriedly shrank back within their cage to avoid the intense heat and spits of fire that leapt from its coat. Sam turned to meet its advance. When the Hellhound was so close Sam could’ve reached out and stroked its fiery nose, it stopped. Again, they locked gazes for a moment, Sam having to stretch his neck upwards. It was a frozen tableau for the barest of moments. Neither Sam nor the great beast moved. The demon worshippers were collectively holding their breath, their pent up excitement about to explode. Those in the cage huddled in terror.

The Hellhound turned towards those that followed and worshipped its kind. Then Yeth opened his mouth. A torrent of fire, hotter than a furnace, surged out, enough to instantly ignite and kill the three demon worshippers closest to it — including the leader. The others screamed in terror and pain; fire poured down upon them as the great head left and right. Some on the fringes managed to partly avoid the deathly fire, trying to run even as they battled their flaming clothes. By that point, it was too late. Sam was already amongst them, his swords darting in and out as he dispatched the remainder with ruthless efficiency.

When it was over, the pitted and smoking concrete floor was covered with burning copses. Sam strode out of the flames, idly patting out his own burning clothes. He walked up to where the Hellhound waited and a rare genuine smile crossed his lips. “Thank you,” he said.

Yeth merely dipped his mighty head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I don’t know how you knew I was in trouble, but I think you just saved me.”

It marked a new chapter in their relationship. He patted the side of the great demon, ignoring the flames. He was still surprised at how much Yeth had grown in the time they had known each other. He had been there at Yeth’s ‘birth’ after all — back when the Hellhound was still — for lack of a better word — a puppy. It had been three years since then, and in those three years, Yeth had never, never, arrived unannounced or uncalled for. “How did you know I was in trouble?”