Alex Lee Martinez - In the Company of Ogres

Ned wondered if a mistake had been made. He didn’t feel all-powerful. Nor did he feel as if he was fading away after all. He felt… well, he felt like Ned. But it didn’t seem likely that the Red Woman, the sacred stones, and the demons could all have been wrong.

The chant reached its crescendo. The lights of the pendulum gathered into a swirling cube over his head that settled on his body, and for a second Ned thought he might throw up.

Rucka pounced. The demon forced Ned to the floor and pressed tiny, sharp claws to Ned’s face.

Ned belched.

The light faded.

Rucka’s smile vanished. He pulled back his empty hand and squinted at Ned. “What’s this? Where is it?” He hopped to stand on Ned’s chest and glare at his sorcerers. “Where is the power?”

The sorcerers lowered their pendulums but dared not speak. With a grunt, Rucka blasted a fireball out of his nostril that slowly and painfully incinerated one of his minions. The sorcerer writhed in twisted agony, screaming and begging for mercy.

Rucka seized another by the robes. “Please, speak up.”

The sorcerer’s voice sounded muffled and distant, logical given his lack of a mouth. “Forgive us, oh dreaded lord, but we do not know. It should’ve worked.”

Rucka disintegrated this sorcerer in an instant, discarding the gift of agony usually granted to those who failed him. He had more pressing concerns than such infernal civilities.

The remaining sorcerers cowered as Rucka stalked toward Ned. “I felt it. For the briefest of moments, I sensed… something. Something inconceivable, even to my intellect. Yet it remains hidden.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced twice around Ned. “I see now that I must settle this affair personally.” He turned to his sorcerers. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, oh merciful dark lord,” said one.

“Think nothing of it.” Rucka waved a hand. The floor opened up beneath them, and they tumbled down into the depths, into the literal bowels of the Iron Fortress itself.

Rucka’s many eyes glowed with blue flames. He made no move toward Ned, just stared at him. The demon picked up a pendulum and channeled his dark powers through it. The stone burned a murderous red, bathing Ned in a crimson spotlight as Rucka’s magic clawed at the illusion of flesh, striving to tear it away, to strip away the chimera of mortal bone and blood. Ned blurred around the edges for just a moment. His lack of reaction surprised the emperor, but he kept this to himself. A cruel grin remained across his face as he pushed more of his awesome power against the ancient spell that was Never Dead Ned.

There were few external signs of the invisible magics. Shafts of unholy fire poured from Rucka’s eyes. A single drop of sweat formed on Ned’s forehead, and he felt kind of itchy. But he didn’t scratch. He didn’t want to give Rucka the satisfaction.

Scowling, Rucka hissed a rancid, orange mist that wrapped around Ned. His itchiness grew, and that stinging indigestion stirred again, much like the sensation triggered by the sorcerers but a little stronger. Ned stifled a gag. He scratched his nose and wiped the tears from his eye. But that was the worst of it.

Rucka grumbled. He’d expected Ned to melt away. The magic at work was more complex than he’d first imagined. Unmaking such spells demanded subtlety and patience, but he’d never been very good at these. Instead he poured more of his dark magic through the sacred stone and into Ned’s false mortal shell.

Ned’s indigestion roared, though by the time it crawled out of his belly and up his throat to push its way out his closed mouth, it was barely a dull snarl. Some alien presence rose in his guts and lashed out at the bothersome nuisance of the First and Greatest Emperor of Hell.

Rucka exploded.

For such a little demon, there was a terrible mess left behind. Slimy goop covered the walls. Ned was splattered with the malodorous stuff. He would’ve thrown up, but he didn’t have the energy. Rucka’s many eyes littered the floor. Each and every one glared at Ned. It was a good indication that the demon wasn’t dead, though he was clearly very annoyed. Ned couldn’t blame him. Rucka’s might was beyond understanding, yet the Mad Void had swatted him away as casually as if the terrible demonic emperor were some easily swatted away thing. Ned didn’t have the energy for metaphors right now either.

The Void settled back into its slumber. Although it hadn’t really awoken. If it had, the universe would probably be ash by now. Except the stuff that was already ash. That would probably become some lesser class of ash. Dust, thought Ned. Or soot. He wasn’t sure which, and it seemed largely irrelevant. What was relevant was that the Mad Void was a very deep sleeper and had little interest in waking up. That was good.

However, it had also crushed Rucka with the barest flex of its metaphysical might. Which meant if it ever did wake up, even against its will, there would be no force capable of putting it back to bed. Rucka didn’t understand that, and he’d keep poking the Mad Void with a stick. The results could only be disastrous to the entire universe, including Rucka. The goop that was the emperor was slowly but certainly drawing himself back together. And that had to be bad since Ned doubted the exploded emperor had learned his lesson.

The throne room doors flew open, and in rushed a squad of demon soldiers. Ned could identify them as soldiers by their gleaming black armor and wicked scimitars. He could identify them as demons, though their armor covered them almost completely, because it was a safe bet that almost every resident of the Iron Fortress was a demon. Even him, when he thought about it.

“Forgive us, great and merciless lord,” said the lead soldier, “but the fortress is under—”

The slimy remains of his master interrupted his report. He slipped on a bit of intestine and fell flat on his back with a resonating clang. Two others followed his example, sliding across the floor. The remaining three learned from their example and didn’t cross the threshold.

The soldiers, those not trying to rise to their feet, took in the scene. Ned couldn’t see their faces behind their closed helmets, but he assumed their expressions were of awe. It appeared as if he’d destroyed their fearsome leader. He didn’t see any reason to correct the assumption.

“I guess I’ll be leaving now,” he said, “if that’s okay with you.”

Rucka’s minions were so used to bowing before omnipotent masters that they lowered their scimitars without hesitation and stepped aside to let Ned pass. He didn’t know how long it would take Rucka to reform, but the more distance between the emperor and Ned, the better. The trickiest part would be crossing the throne room without ending up sprawled helplessly across the floor. Before he could begin the delicate journey, a shadow fell across the window.

Ned turned just in time to see the painted glass shattered by a shrieking roc. The bird planted its feet in the slime and skimmed forward, driven by its momentum. Ned barely managed to dive to one side as it coasted by him and crashed against a wall. The moment’s stop was enough to allow it to dig its claws in the floor to gain some stability, though it was a stiff breeze away from toppling over. A dozen goblins dropped from the roc’s feathers and charged the demon soldiers. In other circumstances, the experienced demon warriors would’ve slaughtered their foes, but there were few opponents as wily and unpredictable as a squad of greased goblins.

The sounds of a battle raging outside reached Ned’s ears as he gingerly pushed himself to his knees. He spat out some goop. Not surprisingly, Rucka tasted horrible.

“I told you he was in this tower,” said Miriam.