Darren Shan - Dark Calling

A noise grows as we push on. It’s a hissing sound, the spitting of a million furious snakes. Death is venting its rage. I’ve heard all sorts of shrieks and cries during my years in the demon universe. Nothing sent a shiver down my spine as much as this.

A spear of shadows strikes Grubbs just above his heart and shoots out the other side. With a roar of pain he falls to his knees but is up again instantly. His fangs lengthen and as another spear arcs towards him, he snatches it between his oversized teeth and grinds it to pieces, then spits them out.

A shadowy scythe splits the flesh of Meera’s lower back. She staggers, finds her feet, then is struck by a thick club. She falls unconscious, but Dervish is there to grab her and haul her forwards. His face is flushed, his limbs are trembling, his heart must be pounding fit to burst, but he carries on. I don’t know if it’s for Meera’s sake or his own, but he doesn’t quit, even though it would be easier for him to lie down and die.

I’ve been hammered all over and I’m bleeding from a variety of cuts, like the others, but Bec’s hardly been touched. She’s the strongest of us in this place of death. Grubbs might be the trigger, but Bec is pulling the strings at the moment, directing the energy of the Kah-Gash, using it to keep the lights going, protect herself from the blows of the Shadow, and help the rest of us as best she can. For such a small girl, she packs one hell of a lot of power.

“Here!” Beranabus calls. He’s come to a halt by a thick bank of souls. “This is a wall. Focus on this spot. Quickly—you’re almost out of time.”

Bec unleashes a ball of energy at the wall. I do the same. Grubbs starts to, then snarls and hurls himself at it instead. He hits the bank of shadows and rips into it, roaring as he scoops dark handfuls out of his way. The surviving werewolves crowd around him and tear at the shadows too.

“Nearly there,” Beranabus roars cheerfully as Dervish and Meera are knocked aside, and I narrowly avoid being speared through the center of my head.

A hole appears in the side of the Shadow. Light shines through, blinding after the gloominess of this unnatural realm. The werewolves howl gleefully and double their efforts. The hole widens and I hit it with another blast of energy. Bec focuses on the area around it. Grubbs rips at the shadows like a madman. More holes and tears appear. Some of the souls drift free and disappear as they hit the air outside. Others follow, streaming after the first few. The holes widen, then the fabric around them crumbles away. The hissing reaches its peak, only now it’s a scream of pain. Souls dart from their prison, sensing escape, surging towards the exit from all parts of Death’s makeshift body.

Beranabus yodels enthusiastically, fighting the flow, holding his position. “Not bad,” he chuckles approvingly.

“Is that it?” I cry, hardly daring to believe it could be this simple. “Have we killed Death?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beranabus snorts. “Death can’t die.”

“But conscious Death… the Shadow… have we destroyed it?” I yell.

“No,” Beranabus says sadly, sounding more like his old self. “You’ve delayed matters, that’s all. It will have to find new souls and create another body. That will take weeks, maybe a month or two. Then it will be back, stronger than ever. Having learned from this setback, it will be more vigilant. You won’t pierce its defenses so easily again.”

“Then how will we beat it?” I shriek. “How will we win?”

“You won’t,” Beranabus whispers. Then he’s gone, whipped free of his prison, cheering wildly, to depart the universe of the living once and for all, bound for whatever lies beyond. Bec yells a frantic farewell but I don’t think he hears. He doesn’t care about life now or those who inhabit it. He’s done.

As I stare at the souls flying past, shocked by Beranabus’s parting prophecy, Death’s brittle shell dissolves and I fall through the layers of shadow onto hard, dry land—and drop into the middle of an army of millions of demons.

Ranks of monsters surround us, stretching far into the distance. This must be the world from which the Demonata are plotting their invasion of Earth, the base from which they send troops when they open windows to our world. We knew an army was massing but we never dared confront it. Beranabus was a reckless fighter but he wasn’t crazy. He knew we couldn’t hope to face this many demons and walk away alive.

The demons have backed off from the disintegrating mammoth of the Shadow. They’re watching it with alarm, chittering and bellowing, not sure what’s going on. It’s their leader. Death drew them together, promising them control of the universe and eternal life. Now it’s falling to pieces like a punctured zeppelin. They don’t know what to do.

“There!” shrieks an all-too-recognizable voice. Pushing myself to my feet, I spy her near the fore of the demons to my left—Nadia Moore, AKA Juni Swan. She’s by the side of her eight-armed master, Lord Loss. Both are staring at us with a mix of hatred and uncertainty.

I look around slowly, showing no signs of panic in case I incite the Demonata. Grubbs and Bec are nearby. Grubbs has also seen Juni and Lord Loss. He’s taking deep breaths, preparing for battle. Bec is fixing her arm and doesn’t seem to be aware of the trouble we’re in. Dervish is using magic to revive Meera, glancing around anxiously as he fans her back to life. The ten surviving werewolves have gathered in a circle behind Grubbs, growling softly as they eyeball the demons. And a little further over, hopping around, unaware that we’ve escaped the stomach of the Shadow, is Kirilli Kovacs.

“Grubbs,” I hiss. “Any ideas?”

“Can you open a window?” he mutters, cracking his knuckles.

“I’ve already started,” I whisper, nudging patches of light into place with deft flicks of my fingers, not wanting to alert our enemies to the fact that I’m at work. “It’ll take a few minutes. Can you cover me?”

“I’ll give it a good shot,” he growls, then bellows at Lord Loss. “Where’s your mighty leader now? Death offered you the universe and immortality. Hah!”

Bec finishes setting her arm and calmly walks over to Grubbs. She stands behind him, back to back. Dervish and a woozy Meera shuffle up beside them. When Kirilli hears Grubbs, he stops dancing and stares around. The werewolves haven’t moved, awaiting Grubbs’s command.

“Very commendable, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss says. His voice silences the mutterings and snarls of the other demons. He drifts to the front of the army, Juni by his side. When he’s in the open, he looks at each of us in turn and smiles. “But Death cannot be destroyed. You have merely inconvenienced it. A valiant victory, but you have only won a battle, not the war. You know that. We all know that.” He addresses the last cry to the army of demons, raising his voice, and they roar back encouragingly.

“This feels like a reunion,” Lord Loss says, smiling sadly, the snakes writhing in the hole where his heart should be, blood oozing from the many cracks in his pale red flesh. “So many familiar faces. Grubitsch, Dervish, Cornelius, even little Bec, back from the dead and as tenacious as ever.”

“Master,” Juni murmurs, nodding sharply at me.

“I am aware of Cornelius’s efforts,” Lord Loss chuckles. “Don’t worry, sweet Swan, he will not have time to open a window. I let him get this far in order to fan the flames of hope in their hearts. Now that those flames are flickering nicely”—his red eyes flash dangerously—“it is time to quench them.” He shouts at the millions of demons, “Attack!”