Dark War
Tim Waggoner
ONE
The air rippled like disturbed water, and the world folded in on itself, distorting this way and that, as if reality had been thrown into a vast cosmic Mixmaster and some deity had hit the on switch. When time and space finally decided to behave themselves once again, Devona and I found ourselves standing in exactly the same place as when we'd left. Except not.
"This is as close as I can get you," Darius said. "The wardspells on the House prevent me from materializing inside. Otherwise, I'd take you all the way in."
Darius had been holding onto our arms, but now that we'd reached our destination, he released his grip. The three of us – Darius, Devona, and I – stood in an alley across the street from a familiar white three-story building with green shutters and matching shingles. The House of Dark Delights was located on the southeast end of Sybarite Street within the Sprawl, the Dominion of the Demon Queen Varvara. At least, that's who rules the Sprawl in our Nekropolis, but I wasn't sure who was in charge in this one. Maybe no one, if the chaos raging in the street was any indication.
The Sprawl is a nightmarish combination of Vegas and rush-hour Manhattan, where predators of all kinds come to stalk their prey, and where, if the hunters aren't careful, they can all too easily become the hunted. The sidewalks of the Sprawl are choked with people in search of thrills – the darker and more decadent, the better – and the never-ending traffic roars by at speeds so appalling that even the most experienced Autobahn driver back on Earth would give serious thought to selling their car and converting to pedestrianism. And this wasn't just any street in the Sprawl – this was Sybarite Street, where the best (or worst, depending on your point of view) bars, clubs, restaurants, shops, and attractions in the city were located. So a certain amount of madness and mayhem was normal here. But the pandemonium currently raging in the street was shocking, even by Nekropolitan standards.
Bestial creatures of a type I'd never seen before filled the streets. They possessed similar features – pronounced brow ridges, sharp jagged teeth, bloodshot eyes, clawed hands, long shaggy hair – and misshapen bodies whose arms and legs didn't always match: some limbs were short and thickly muscled, while others were overlong and skeletally thin. Along with their twisted physiology, the creatures shared a similarly crazed temperament. They broke windows, tore doors off hinges, even bent street lamps and overturned cars with incredible strength. They gorged on food, swilled booze, injected drugs, had sex – consensual or not – out in the open, with no regard for modesty or shame. They raced cars up and down the street, ramming into other vehicles, mowing down pedestrians, or slamming into buildings. Most of all, they fought each other with savage delight, sometimes using weapons, but more often employing only their claws and fangs. Blood ran freely, spraying the air, splattering onto the ground, and running through the gutters in crimson streams. Dead bodies littered the sidewalks and streets, and more than a few of the creatures took advantage of the carnage to indulge in a bit of cannibalism or necrophilia, often at the same time. And all the while the creatures laughed, shouted, and roared with delight, even when their actions left them wounded, mutilated, or dying – or perhaps especially then. Pleasure or pain, it was all the same to them. The beasts appeared to live only for sensation, the more intense the better.
It only made sense, though, considering what the creatures were: the physical incarnation of everything cruel and selfish within a man or woman's soul, liberated from all restraint and conscience and given free rein to do whatever they pleased, and to whomever they pleased.
They were Hydes.
The Sprawl is never quiet, but the chaotic din here was so loud that we had to shout to hear each other. I was grateful that my eardrums were as dead as the rest of me, or else I might've found the noise level painful instead of merely irritating.
"You told us it was bad here, but I never imagined it would be anything like this!" Devona said. "You should've brought an army instead of just the two of us!"
Darius shrugged. "It's hard enough traveling between dimensions on my own, let alone bringing people with me. Two is about all I can manage."
"Two is good," I said. "I've been getting sick of tagalongs, lately."
Devona looked out upon the mad riot taking place before us, her brow furrowing in concentration. Our goal was simply stated: we needed to enter the House of Dark Delights and put a stop to the madness that had gripped this Nekropolis – but in order to do that, we first had to cross the hellish war zone that was Sybarite Street. Devona was busy trying to figure out a way to make that happen, but she was an expert in security, not battle strategy. We share a telepathic link that enables us to know what the other is feeling most of the time, and I could sense her mounting anxiety. She felt as if she was in way over her head here, and I didn't blame her. I felt the same way. Devona and I had been in dangerous situations before, but nothing quite like this. I wasn't afraid of getting hurt or killed. I'm a zombie. I don't feel pain, and I'm just about as dead as I'm ever going to be. Don't get me wrong: I wasn't eager to step out into the street and be torn apart by those psychotic creatures, but only because it would be a real pain in the ass to put me back together. I was afraid for Devona. Normally she can handle herself in a fight just fine. She's smart as hell, and as a halfvampire, she's supernaturally strong and swift – but she was also several months pregnant.
She turned to look at me. "What do you think?"
"I think this is the last time I accept an invitation to travel to a parallel world."
A few hours earlier, Devona and I had been working at the Midnight Watch, the security business she owns and I sometimes help out with. Dr Moreau, the scientist who runs the House of Pain, was planning a big shindig to celebrate the unveiling of a whole new line of genetic mutations, kind of like the Nekropolis version of a fashion show. Devona had been building the business by leaps and bounds since she'd started it, and Dr M – impressed by the Midnight Watch's growing reputation – had come to her to handle the security for his event. It was a high-profile gig, and Devona was determined that everything would go off without a hitch. We were in her office, going over her security plans for the tenth time – well, she was going over them; I was doing my best to look like I was still paying attention – when Darius appeared out of nowhere. The Sideways Man explained to us that he'd just come from an alternate Nekropolis that was in desperate need of our help.
"Not to sound unsympathetic," I'd told him, "but I have a hard enough time trying to keep this Nekropolis in one piece. Don't they have anyone over there who can take care of the problem, whatever it is?"
"One man was working on it, but he got captured. He did manage to get a message to me, though. It was very simple: Go get Matt."
"How do you know he meant me? Maybe he was referring to a different Matt."
Darius smiled. "I doubt it, considering the man who gave me the message was you."
I could hardly turn down a request for help from myself, could I?
Devona and I stopped worrying about Dr M's mutant extravaganza as Darius filled us in on what was happening in that other Nekropolis. When he finished, we left the Midnight Watch, made a stop to pick up supplies, and then Darius did his thing – I'm not sure how; he's pretty closemouthed about how his abilities work – and we found ourselves transported to this insane version of our city. Well… more insane than usual.
I'd had reservations about Devona coming along, given her current, ah, state of health, but she insisted, told me that she was made of sterner stuff than a fully human woman and added that I should stop being such a typical man. I'd pointed out to her that since I was a self-willed zombie – the only one that's ever existed, from what I've been told – I was hardly a typical anything, but she just said, "Dead or alive, a man's a man," and that was the end of that. But now that we were here and I could see just how bad the situation was in this Nekropolis, I wished I'd tried harder to talk her out of coming. But we were here now, for better or worse, and we had a job to do.