Tim Marquitz - Resurrection

Before I could hit it again, an arc of laser-fine light was swung at my head. I spotted it in my peripheral vision and just managed to step clear as a scythe of pure energy carved a sizzling gash inches from where I’d just been. Shards of steaming glass sprayed up from the crystallized ground, pelting me with a thousand bee stings. Squeezing my eyes shut to avoid losing one, I spun out of the jagged rain and opened them only to have to dodge another scythe blow.

Again and again, the revenant swung its glowing death at me, and time and time again, I barely managed to step clear. It didn’t take a bookie to realize the odds were turning against me. I was on the defensive and there was only one of them trying to take my head off. Once the rest finished the zombies and headed my way, I was dead.

Turns out, I didn’t have to wait that long.

Risking a desperate shot, I paused for just an instant. The scythe didn’t. It slashed downward, slicing cleanly through the barrel of my gun, missing my trigger finger by a pubic hair. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for relief.

Having cut through the bullet in the chamber, it exploded. Unlike in the movies, there wasn’t any dramatic slowing of the scene, giving me time to react. There was only a searing agony in my hand and the instant realization it was only gonna get worse. And it did. Fast.

Like dominos, the rest of the shells in the clip exploded. The pain in my hand disappeared as tiny fragments of demon-slaying bullets and gun remnants spread the agony. Under the needles of a million-armed acupuncturist, sharp points of pain pierced me everywhere. Though it was hard to ascertain just how badly I’d been wounded, my entirety a whitewash of hurt, I knew it had to be bad.

Sometime during the conflagration, I’d fallen. I only realized it because I suddenly had a mouthful of dirt. Dizzy, unable to focus, I tried to roll over, to clear the sand from my eyes and mouth. White bolts of pain pierced me everywhere, zigzagging across my nerves. It brought tears to my eyes and forced the breath from my lungs in a pitiful gasp.

Though it hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before, I managed to flop over onto my side, panting like a dog from the effort. The world was a blur of stinging light, crashing against my vision in chaotic waves, tiny spots of bouncing darkness intermingled. My thoughts still clouded, unsure of what I was seeing, I blinked my eyes to chase away the tears and clinging dirt. It took a few moments, but my vision at last cleared.

And I instantly regretted it.

The dark spots I’d seen between the white, had been Katon. Mauled by the revenants, he was being tossed back and forth between them, each tearing away a chunk of flesh before passing him on to the next. His shredded skin hung in red, wet strips, swinging in time with his every movement. One of his eyes trailed from its socket, a gory pendulum. His left arm lay limp at his side, the bone protruding from his shoulder like a sharp spear. Half of his scalp was peeled back, the white of his skull peeking through the leaking redness.

Yet through it all, he still fought. With his sword clutched in his right hand, he struck out at every opportunity, but his blade failed to hit home. Even though he had to know the revenants were toying with him, Katon would battle to his last breath. I couldn’t let him do it alone.

I tried to get to my feet, pressing my hands beneath me to support my weight. Turned out, that wasn’t such a good idea. Ice pick pains brutalized my senses, pillaging my nerves as I crumpled into a heap of suffering. Barely able to see, let alone form a coherent thought, I looked to my hand.

Or to what was left of it.

The backfire had blown off my first three fingers. Nubs of charred blood and flesh were all that was left. My pinky remained, though it was clearly broken, pointing out at an odd angle. Only my thumb appeared relatively normal, open to the bone along the bottom, but still there, as was most of my palm.

Sickness welled up inside of me and I felt weak, my thoughts swirling as if down a drain. A pang of guilt for failing Katon fluttered against my conscience. I only had a second to think about it before the shadows poured over me, drowning me in a cold, black emptiness.

The dark faded and all I could see was blurry white. It took a few moments of blinking my eyes to bring them into focus. A moment later I could see, and the agony returned like stars exploding against my nerves. A split-second after that, I was begging for the cold numbness to return.

“You live. Excellent.” Daartan hovered over me, his eerie smile cracking his face. In his ghostly hand was Katon’s sword.

“If you’ve hurt-”

He chuckled, setting the tip of the sword against my throat. “Oh, we’ve hurt the vampire. Hurt him near to death, no doubt.” He leaned in close, cold wisps of breath stinging my face. “He’s a spiteful beast, and as willful as any I’ve ever seen. I’ve no interest in freeing his soul only to have him seek revenge upon me, as one of my own kind. That would be unwise of me, so fear not, he lives.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” I muttered through clenched teeth, my voice weak.

We both knew the threat was empty.

“Of that, I am assured.” He stepped away, waving Katon’s sword in the air with a victorious flourish. “You still claim no allegiance to Reven?”

I tried to spit at him, but I didn’t have the strength. The glob of saliva ran warm down my chin, mixing with the blood that leaked from my myriad wounds.

“No matter.” He pointed to the twitching pile of red and black that lay in the dirt. “If you wish to see your friend again, find the necromancer.”

My stomach lurched as I tried to sit up, tsunami waves of nausea and pain keeping me down. I lay on my side choking, trying not to vomit while the revenants lifted Katon’s broken body between them and drifted off toward the darkness. Daartan stared after them for a moment, then turned back to me, a crooked smile on his illuminated face. He reached down and set an ornate, silver amulet with an obsidian stone in its center, on my chest.

“Once you have Reven’s location, break the stone. I will come to you.”

“That supposed to be comforting?”

He smirked. “You remain alive only because you still have some use. Do not force me to reevaluate that presumption.” He spun the sword once more before holding it out before me, just out of reach. “Your companion knows not the value of this blade or he would not carry it about so lightly.” He ran his spectral hand along the blade, tiny droplets of light spilling from his fingers as it bit into his ghostly flesh. “Once you’ve delivered the necromancer to me, I will show you its true glory.” With a sputtering laugh, he flew off to join the rest of the knights.

As the darkness returned, the revenants’ light gone, I was alone with my agony. The zombies that had stood by peacefully had been slaughtered by Daartan and his knights. They lay about in shattered pieces, not much different than how I felt.

After giving myself a while to rest and prepare for the utter misery that lay ahead, I slipped the amulet around my neck and tried to stand. It took eight attempts, each a trial in suffering, before I managed to stay upright. Sad thing about it all, standing was the easy part.

The pitch of night stretched out before me, with only the tiny flickers of city lights way off in the distance to guide me off the ranch. Rather than worry about it-there was plenty of time ahead for that-I just walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I knew if I fell I might never get back up.

Cold due to blood loss from the oozing wounds that covered my body, compounded by the desert night and the chill of my predicament, I kept warm by thinking of how Daartan would pay for what he’d done.