And the Colossus of Rhodes.
He didn’t know how or why it was underwater off the coast of Tunisia, but he knew he was standing on its skull 300 feet in the air. And as it took its first step out of the sea onto the dry land of the Carthage ruins, crushing ancient stone under foot, he knew if Chess Team couldn’t find a way to stop it, or stop Ridley, the Colossus would grind half of North Africa under its heels before enough military might could be on hand to destroy it.
FORTY-SEVEN
King lost count of how many times he had died.
The wraiths kept coming, and their embrace was deadly. Every time King awoke, the battle began anew. He punched, kicked and head-butted until he was overwhelmed again. Then they would suck him dry, leaving his withered corpse on the floor.
And then…he would come back.
The cycle repeated for what felt like a lifetime.
But that was about to change. King was pissed. Instead of punching and kicking, he started eye gouging, and tearing out throats. He bit and growled and roared and slammed the full weight of his body behind every blow, knowing that any self-sustained injury would be healed by the time he struck again. At times, the crushing throng of Forgotten fell back, recoiling at his rage and ferocity. He stopped going for body shots and focused solely on heads.
This time he was alive long enough to see past the writhing, swarming bodies to Alexander.
The man was a whirlwind of rage and action. Wraiths were flying everywhere as Alexander hurled them and batted them away as if they were paper dolls. But still they came. King couldn’t understand how there could be so many of them, unless Alexander had gotten the date wrong.
They’re supposed to be locked up.
Then an idea grew with each strike, as he felt the energy leaving his limbs from every touch of a wraith. Tiny tendrils on the creature’s palms latched onto his skin, like a million tiny leeches. With just a glancing blow, they could suck a patch of flesh dry. When the idea finally resolved in his mind, King felt a burst of energy and began plowing through the wraith bodies around him, making his way for Alexander.
“You said they were locked up!”
Alexander flexed his brawn, sending half a dozen crouched creatures flying off his chest and back.
“Now really isn’t the time for recriminations!” he shouted.
“No! They are supposed to be locked up when she comes! Remember? We have to get them penned up!”
Alexander grimaced. King recognized the expression as pained agreement.
“Follow my lead!” Alexander shouted.
The big man started bulling through the swarm of wraith bodies, batting them away, so their deadly fingers could not drain his life force. He herded them toward a far wall of the cavern. King did his best to keep up.
The bigger man was building up momentum, and King could see he wasn’t really battling the wraiths any more, but was plowing a path through them. King did the same. They moved the battle through a low arch, the Forgotten crawling down on them from the ceiling and the stone of the archway.
On the other side of the arch, King found himself in the lab. Iron-barred cells lined one of the walls. They stood empty. Wall mounted torches lit the space. Crude scientific equipment, well before its time, covered the many stone tables scattered throughout the large room.
Alexander made his way toward one of the cells, swung the door wide and ran inside. A dozen of the wraiths followed him into the cell. King understood and did the same with the next cell. The spaces inside were no bigger than a ten by twenty room. Only so many of the Forgotten could squeeze themselves into the spaces without getting in their own way. King had the advantage in the space. He fought and pushed, slammed and crunched his way around the room following the perimeter until he was at the door again.
Reaching hands grasped at him from all directions as bodies continued to fill the cell, all swirling and rushing in search of his blood. He lunged out of the door, took a wraith by the neck and shoved it into the cell, knocking those by the door back. He slammed the door shut and heard the lock clunk into place.
Before he could feel some satisfaction at locking up a large number of the monsters, King was struck from behind and slammed into the cell’s bars. Arms grabbed at him from inside, and then from outside. Locked in place, his body was quickly sucked dry until the wraiths released him, dropping his dried husk of a corpse to the floor.
It took five more deaths to imprison the rest. King wasn’t sure how many times Alexander had fallen, but he’d seen the big man go down a few times. In the end, there were more bodies on the floor of the lab and the outer cavern than there were in the cells, but the cells were still tightly packed. Once the prison was full, it was easier to kill the stragglers than it was to try to stuff them into the already overcrowded cells. For every one they stuffed in, two would slip out.
When he killed the last wraith by ripping its throat out, King fell over onto its corpse, breathing hard and waiting for his regeneration to bring him back to full vitality.
“I was…right about…one thing,” Alexander said weakly. He must have been worse off than he looked, but King knew he would be back to his hearty self in a few minutes. “They didn’t…recognize my scent.”
“My God. Did you have to go through this every time you wanted them locked up?”
Alexander laughed softly. “No. They obeyed the younger me.”
“You told me once that their embrace was an awful thing,” King said, breathing heavily from his pile of corpses.
“I was telling the truth,” Alexander said, finally sitting up.
“I see that now.” King tried to stand, but his body wasn’t ready.
“You understand now, why I cannot let this happen to her.”
King just nodded and the men fell into silence.
After a few minutes, they had recovered sufficiently to stand. King was pleased to see he was able to stand first.
“We’ll need to get the bodies out of here. Can you drag them to the edge of the arena, while I start work on the duplicate corpse?”
“You want me to feed them to puppy?” King asked.
“It’s the quickest way to dispose of the bodies,” Alexander said. “The Forgotten occasionally have it out with Cerberus, so even if some scraps are left behind, my younger self will think nothing of it other than wishing he’d seen the fight.”
King nodded. “What about her face? Can you recreate it?”
“If I can’t get it right, I’ll finish it when she gets here. We won’t have a lot of time — he’ll arrive not long after.”
King started dragging the Forgotten bodies out of the lab. Some of the equipment had been damaged too. He’d have to ask Alexander about that. It took him several trips, dragging the pathetic withered bodies by the capes or hoods of their dark gauzy cloaks. He felt slight regret. To hear Alexander describe them, the Forgotten were like animals or children — not fully capable of taking care of themselves. Leaving their bodies in the arena for the hellhound was probably a fate they did not deserve. But there would be no time for a memorial service.
By the last load, Alexander had nearly finished with his lifelike corpse. The body was naked, but it was withered in places, and definitely female. The hair was right — just like King had seen in the market earlier in the day. The face was still a blank slab of creamy flesh. Alexander stood over the body repeating a sentence in a language King could only hear as grunts and rumbling murmurs. The corpse’s arm was growing less withered instead of more, and King realized where Alexander had gotten his raw materials for the body.