Chapter Fifty-three
Amunet turned back to face Helena and called out over the growing noise of the approaching monsters. “Welcome to your new timeline, Helena Dawn! Just remember – Cain gave you another choice!” Her amber gaze flashed bright yellow like two raging suns. “You’ve made your bed,” she hissed.
The Night Terrors and other creatures were bathed in the cold blue light of a full moon, and emanated far more hostility than they collectively should have. Some of these animals were not naturally aggressive. Wicked magic was moving through their systems, egging them on.
“Ahriman is controlling them,” said William. His eyes were radiating emerald green light, and his gaze was focused on the beasts emerging from the woods. “He’s a Nomad. He and Amunet both are. Very powerful,” he said, glancing down at her.
Helena touched her forehead, looking from the “Nomads” to the monsters. “If we hurt those creatures,” she said, shaking her head, “we’ll be hurting innocents.”
Helena noticed the other sovereigns were turning in place, watching the monsters closely. Their brains must have been scrambling, trying desperately to figure out how to get out of this mess, if not win this fight. Helena did a quick count. There were thirteen pairs in total, and there was the redhead at the center of the field with the others, but who appeared to be on the good guys’ side. She’d called Amunet “sister.”
So twenty-seven good guys, one of them possibly as strong as the two Nomads. The monsters lining the field were in the hundreds.
They were drastically, horribly, ridiculously outnumbered.
As if to confirm her fears, William said, “I’m not sure accidentally hurting them is our biggest concern right now.”
She looked up just as William turned his attention from the monsters to the man controlling them. His gaze narrowed. “Frankly I’m more concerned with this fight spreading.” With that, he lowered his head and whispered, “Kat. We need a shield.”
The woman in the center of the field who was Amunet’s sister turned to face William. She started to run toward them. Amunet saw her do this and clearly knew something was up. The evil Nomad rushed forward and grabbed her sister’s arm. When she did, the redhead spun, landing a roundhouse punch to Amunet’s jawline with so much force, Helena heard the crack of the impact all the way from where she was standing.
Amunet released her sister, and Kat ran. Ahriman lowered his head behind them, his terrible bright gaze glowing as hot as ever, and watched the redhead leave the field. When she reached William and Helena, William shoved her behind the tree. The two exchanged a private nod, and Kat dove behind the base of the tree and began chanting.
William turned back to face the Nomad couple. “Helena, I trust you know how to take care of yourself,” he told her without looking at her. “But remember things have changed. In battle, try everything you can think of. You never know what might work.”
With that, a bubble-like film of sheer energy shot up and over the vast field owned by Helena’s family, covering the area and its monsters and inhabitants in a kind of dome. At the same time, William Balthazar Solan vanished. He simply blinked out of existence in front of her – and reappeared behind Ahriman in the center of the field. At once, he grabbed Ahriman in a vicious headlock and jerked the Nomad violently backwards, breaking the man’s concentration and disrupting his spell.
All along the tree line, the monsters and animals began to scramble. Some turned tail and fled back into the forest, clearly not of the mind to fight. Others however, the Night Terrors, set their sights on new victims and rushed in to attack. Helena watched as the Kings and Queens of the different realms began reacting in their own ways.
The Warlock King and Queen were casting spells. The Winter King and Queen had pulled swords of ice from some unknown location. The Goblin King was wielding a sword as well, a massive, wicked looking weapon he used to fight off a herd of Peytons. And the Dragon Queen, in head-to-toe black armor, was equally armed with a terrible black blade.
Helena looked on as the Goblin King’s wife Diana spun around an oncoming monster, a relatively young Fearfell, then slammed her hand down onto its rainbow fur from behind. White light spread from beneath her touch, enveloping the beast. It whined at first, arching its neck as it howled. But then the white light swallowed it completely, and when the brilliance faded a second later, it revealed a Fearfell with different attributes.
Its teeth had been smoothed out, its gums no longer absorbing the slicing impact of so much jagged sharpness, and its claws had been given the same treatment, the stone polished and round at each talon’s tip. The Fearfell looked down at itself and slowly raised its hand to its mouth. When it was able to touch its face without cutting into it, it experienced obvious surprise – enough so that it wobbled unsteadily on its legs and finally fell over onto its rump. It sat there on its furry bottom and turned its claws over again and again, marveling at the difference.
Meanwhile, Diana the Goblin Queen moved on to the next monster that attacked her.
Helena blinked, her eyes widening. Well, that’s nifty, she thought. No wonder she’s the Goblin Queen.
Helena turned away from the Goblin sovereigns and that side of the field, wanting to see how the others were handling the oncoming enemies, curiosity now driving her almost as much as anything. But she wasn’t given the luxury of spectating any further. When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with the one monster she had truly hoped she would not meet in that field that night. It was the one she’d confronted when she was a child, the one that killed her father.
The Terror.
That’s what she called it. That’s what it was to her.
Helena was an open-minded person. You had to be when you were a warden. You were hired by monsters to track down monsters. You couldn’t be picky about who you worked for, or you wouldn’t eat. Plus, she’d been around enough supernatural species and humans alike to know that humans were just as bad as monsters, and usually worse. So she retained her judging and kept it for when it was due. With the Terrors, there were no two ways about it. They were evil to the core.
The Terror had two forms. One form appeared human. They could even live as humans as long as they wanted. Some of them passed for neighbors and coworkers for years before they were found out. By the time they were, it was always too late. They’d learned so much about their victims, managed to get so close, the slaughter was all the more deplorable, and all the more impossible to defend against.
In their “monster” forms however, they resembled drakes, which were like dragons but leaner and longer – more like Chinese dragons. In fact, Helena often wondered whether that was what the Chinese had actually witnessed when their artists first began rendering images of what they’d seen. She’d never had a chance to ask her mother, who had been born in Halkou, China, before her mom was taken by the Terror. And since that day, she had to admit she’d stayed away from things that reminded her of her mother. Even looking in the mirror was sometimes enough to make her chest ache.
But it didn’t matter. The Terrors were like drakes all the same but for the fact that they had wings. They also possessed camouflaging capabilities, and were able to change the color of their leather hide like a chameleon. A Terror’s underside was usually light in color during the day, and dark gray to dark blue at night. From below, its prey rarely saw it coming – just as from above, a swimmer rarely caught the approach of a Great White.
The topside of a Terror however, was always shimmering red. It was enormously long, the length of half a neighborhood block, easy. And it had both wings and legs, giving it the ability to walk, run, and fly.
Worst of all, it had the innate power to possess a being. To accomplish this, the Terror had to slice its victim open. Even a small cut would do. Once a direct pathway was created to the victim’s bloodstream, the Terror simply dissolved into red shimmering mist and entered through the new wound. Once there, it could pretty much do anything it wanted. Almost no one had enough willpower to fight the mental commands of a Terror.
When they weren’t hunting just for food and were looking for a body to possess instead, they usually sought out the inhuman. They preferred creatures who were strong, like them. Vampires were a favorite.
Helena should know.
But that wasn’t what made them evil. Even ghosts felt they had no choice but to possess someone once in a while to get their message across. What made the Terror evil was the fact that they did it for fun. They toyed with their prey. They hunted for pleasure rather than solely sustenance. One kill could keep them alive for years. But they killed over and over again, sometimes destroying a life a day in their domain.
They were the vicious, mad serial killers of the Dark World. And the one in front of her was smiling.