Peter Clines - Ex-Communication

About time , said Zzzap, clenching his hands into fists. I’ve been going easy on him so you’d have something to do .

“John Carter Freedom,” said the demon with a grin. “What a pleasant surprise. Such a deliciously bright soul. So proud despite the many, many lives lost in your name. What hope does such a failure of a man have against me?”

Freedom set his jaw. “You’d be surprised.”

Lady Liberty roared. A triple blast of white flame exploded against the monster’s chest and knocked it back. Cairax Murrain shrieked and the truck crashed to the ground. The huge officer leaped clear and fired another burst, catching the demon in the side.

Cairax fled, a flailing, squealing mass of long limbs and thrashing tail. Freedom stalked after it. The pistol thundered again and again. The monster stumbled away, arms up to deflect the blasts that tore chunks of flesh from its body. When the weapon ran silent, the captain let the drum drop free and pulled another one from his belt.

What the hell? said Zzzap. Are those napalm rounds or something?

Freedom shook his head while he reloaded. “Blessed ammunition,” he said just before the demon’s claw caught him in the chest. The huge soldier flew back and slammed shoulder-first into a tree trunk.

Cairax straightened up and snarled at the huge officer. “For that, your skin shall be my victory sash,” it growled through gnashing fangs. “And you have my word you will live to see me wear it.”

St. George watched Stealth empty her pistols at Max. The rounds spun off in random directions or dropped to the ground. She attacked with her batons and they sparked off the air around the sorcerer.

Their fight carried them away from the bound hero. St. George took another breath and pulled hard on the cords. They were the immovable object to his irresistible force.

“Hang on,” someone called. “I’m coming.”

He looked over his shoulder. Madelyn pushed through the crowd of exes. Even more of them had been drawn to the sounds of battle. At least three hundred of them crowded Max’s barriers on the north side of the street. None of them reacted to the dead girl shoving them out of the way.

She got to the barrier and stopped. Her brow wrinkled, and for a moment she looked like a bad mime working with a wall. “What’s this?” she called over to St. George. “Some kind of force field?”

He nodded. “It’s keeping the exes out.”

Madelyn frowned and leaned into the barrier. “Good thing I’m not one of them, then,” she said.

“I think you can go over it,” he said. “The others did.”

Her pale fingers stretched wide and she pushed harder. Her hands inched forward. She took a heavy step, the movement of a deep-sea diver, and then another. On her third step she stumbled forward and grabbed the side of a car before she fell over. The sword tucked through her belt clattered against the body panels.

“Once again,” she said, “Corpse Girl for the win.”

She loped over to where St. George was strung up. “You can’t break these?” she asked, looking at the lines. She tapped one holding his leg and rubbed her fingers together.

He shook his head. “Magic. Something to do with blood.”

“Gross.” She grabbed the cord and pulled. It didn’t budge. She swung her legs onto the line, hung on it, and heaved her hips a few times. It didn’t even quiver.

Zzzap flew past the demon and gave Captain Freedom a quick once-over with infrared, X-rays, and the visual spectrum. There were three red lines across his chest where the demon’s claws had shredded his body armor, but the huge officer didn’t have any broken bones, and Zzzap didn’t see any of the hot spots he associated with internal bleeding. The man was built like a Mack truck.

He heard Cairax stomping up behind him. He spun, and put some distance between himself and Freedom. Cairax reached for him and he put a blast of heat and light into the demon’s eyes.

Cairax Murrain didn’t blink. It lashed out with its talons and followed through with a swing from its tail. The stinger tore through the air and missed Zzzap by inches. He let off another bolt of raw power that singed the demon’s horns.

The monster laughed at him. The needle-like teeth sounded like knives being sharpened. “Poor little cripple,” it said, “do you think your pale heat is anything compared to the fires of the Abyss?”

Apparently not , said the gleaming wraith. So I guess there’s no reason to hold back .

He threw both palms forward and the night turned to high noon.

The blast washed over the demon like a tidal wave. The pavement around it turned to liquid tar and boiled away. A manhole cover melted to slag. So did a nearby car.

Freedom threw his arms across his face. So did Madelyn. St. George clenched his eyes shut and felt the heat of a sunburn on his face. Even Stealth and Max paused.

The world turned white as light and heat poured out of Zzzap. The paint on the buildings caught fire, and then the concrete itself. The air roared. A dozen nearby exes charred and collapsed into dust that was whipped away by superheated winds.

When it was over the wraith sagged in the sky for a moment. His brightness faded. Then he seemed to take a deep breath and straighten up in the sky.

What was left of Cairax Murrain swayed back and forth in a crater stretching across four of the street’s six lanes and part of the sidewalk. Steam boiled from a few long-dead sewer pipes that glowed red-hot. The gravel and sand beneath the road had fused into a glassy surface.

The body was a twisted thing of gristle and charred bone. Three of the horns were blackened stumps. One eye had boiled away, the other had taken on the dull hue of an ex. The molten floor of the pit had cooled around its ankles. Zzzap wasn’t sure if the faint hiss was breathing or the sound of sizzling meat.

Then the scraps of muscle bubbled and expanded. Flesh wrapped around the skeletal frame. A new eye swelled up and filled the empty socket.

Son of a bitch , said Zzzap.

Cairax Murrain shook its head as the last patches of purple skin healed across its frame. The floor of the crater shattered as it pulled one leg free and then the other. It looked up at the gleaming wraith and its face split in a grin of tusks and fangs. “A valiant attempt, my poor little cripple,” it hissed, “but this is such a marvelous host Maxwell has found me.”

The demon stalked forward, its long legs carrying him up and out of the pit.

Captain Freedom tossed aside his cracked helmet. He knew he’d never get another one in his size—double extra large was custom headgear and there were no more quartermasters. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and glanced around. The arm of his coat was singed and smoking. Zzzap was fighting Cairax Murrain—the demon had Regenerator’s powers, all right. And then Freedom saw what he wanted by the rear tire of a truck.

He snatched up Lady Liberty. There was no sign of the drum he’d been loading. Depending on where it had landed, the whole thing might’ve cooked off during Zzzap’s light show. He pulled a fresh one from his belt. He only had one more drum left after this one. Half his ammo gone already.

The drum locked into place. Freedom leaped into the air and his boots slammed into the demon’s back right between the shoulder blades. He grabbed one of the long spikes running down Cairax’s back to steady himself and slammed Lady Liberty’s muzzle against the scaly neck.

He pulled the trigger and the demon roared. The twelve-gauge rounds, blessed and anointed by the last known priest left in the world, ripped huge gouges out of the purple flesh. The kickback was enormous. No firearm was meant for continuous point-blank fire. A normal man would’ve lost fingers to the bucking weapon, and possibly shattered his wrist.