Deprived of targets, the fire from Diamond’s side tapered off. Toru pulled back behind cover to reload. The Iron Guard’s teeth were visible in the dark as he smiled. “It seems they did not expect that level of response.”
“Too easy.”
“Agreed. Expect trouble.”
He raised his voice. “Anyone hit?” Sullivan counted the shouts back. Nobody was down. If there were more OCI on the wall, they were staying concealed. “Hurry it up, Ian.”
“On the way.”
A pale glow appeared in the forest back the way they’d come from. The soft ground began to rumble with ponderous footsteps as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Ian’s Summoned was coming. “Cover that monster!” Sullivan’s command was echoed a moment later as Diamond repeated the order to his men.
BAR reloaded, Sullivan watched the wall, but no targets appeared. A dark spot that could only be an arm dangled limply over the side, but other than that there was no sign of the OCI. The rhythmic rumble increased as the Summoned neared. It crashed haphazardly through the brush, breaking smaller trees and pushing medium-sized ones over. The Summoned was only a few yards away when it passed by, the color of the full moon, vast, four eyes glowing red. It looked clumsy, with a great big body, oversized arms, and stubby little legs driving it relentlessly forward, but it was gaining speed as it charged the wall.
Someone in the OCI realized what was coming and shouts could be heard on the other side. Shadows appeared as a few guards risked peeks over the wall. The Grimnoir immediately began shooting at anything that moved. A few of the OCI got shots off before they were driven out of sight. Bullets puckered through the Summoned’s doughy flesh, hissing smoke, but it wasn’t nearly enough to slow the mighty beast.
The Summoned lowered its formless head, ducked a shoulder, and hit the wall with a terrible crash. The bricks cracked, split, and the whole wall shuddered. Men cried out as they were flung from the walkway. The Summoned kept on pushing, stubby legs throwing up plumes of dirt, and the wall began to fall apart. The pale glow momentarily disappeared in a cloud of red dust as stones crashed and broke.
The Grimnoir began to cheer.
When the dust cleared, the Summoned was standing before a huge gash in the wall.
They had their entrance. “Follow me.” Sullivan shouted as he vaulted over the log.
“Halt,” the Iron Guard ordered. “Incoming.”
Sullivan froze at the sound of leathery wings. Something passed overhead and blocked the stars, then the wings folded in and a bolt of black fell from the sky, whistling through the air. It hit the ground next to Ian’s Summoned in an explosion of soft earth. Sullivan covered his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and bits of brick.
Something massive shot from the hole toward Ian’s creature. The pale Summoned spun toward the new arrival, only to have four awful lacerations rip through its chest in an explosion of ink. It crashed backwards, tearing down an even wider chunk of wall, and was quickly covered in tumbling bricks.
Lowering the gigantic claw that it had used to effortlessly tear through the Summoned, the new demon slowly turned to face them. It was humanoid, mostly, blacker than the night and nearly as tall as what was left of the crumbling compound wall. A bank of four red eyes watched them from under a heavy brow of bone. Ram’s horns curled around each side of the misshapen skull.
It was the most impressive demon Sullivan had ever seen. Bigger than the one that had killed General Roosevelt in the war, bigger than the Bull King from Mar Pacifica, and that one had soaked up a burst from a. 5 °Caliber like it was nothing. Sure, bullets would kill a greater Summoned eventually, but without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing without taking heavy causalities.
The demon grinned with a mouth full needles. “Heavy Jake Sullivan, I presume…” The horns dipped in recognition.
“Yep.” Sullivan said flatly. This had to be Crow. There was no use talking to this asshole. “And you must be- Open fire! ”
Francis could barely hear the gunfire through the thick walls of his prison cell. He was focusing so hard on the spell that he’d drawn that it was making his eyes hurt, but he still couldn’t access his Power.
There was a clank and a clatter in the hall. They were unlocking his door.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
He could hear them now. “-and Griffin, take the rich guy first. He’s soft. The rest of us grab the German. That bastard’s a handful.”
The heavy door creaked open.
Francis swore at the design and cursed Buckminster Fuller to hell. Why won’t you work? Damn it! The OCI men came quickly into the room, but Francis was too busy to look at them. It was all there, bits and pieces, shapes and lines. Why did the Power have to be so damn complicated?
Rough hands grabbed hold of him. “Come quiet, Stuyvesant, or we’ll have to bust you up.” A key was inserted into one shackle and the lock clicked open. Pain flooded through his cramped arm, but Francis was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. The other wrist was freed and he was hauled to his feet.
From this angle the spell looked a little different. Obviously, he’d been stuck looking at it the same way the entire time, plus, from standing, Francis could see what he’d done wrong. Two of the lines hadn’t met completely!
“Come on-” The goon choked on the words as Francis slammed his elbow back hard. The other men standing in the doorway were taken by surprise. Francis shook free long enough to slug the second one in the mouth before he was tackled and dog-piled to the ground.
Don’t mess it up. Please, don’t mess it up. Despite the weight on top of him, Francis struggled forward, got one hand free, stretched, and tried to complete the intersection. Then somebody had his legs and he was pulled across the floor on his face. Did I get it? He couldn’t see anymore, as he was now completely surrounded by OCI thugs. His hands were yanked behind his back and tied with cord. “Get off me, you rat bastards!”
Somebody punched him in the mouth. Someone else kicked hard in the stomach.
“Watch it, idiot. Can’t have him too beat up.”
“Thought you said he was soft,” gasped one man.
“Get them, Francis!” Heinrich shouted through the wall.
“Shut up, Kraut! Get him out of here. We’ll deal with that damned German.”
The last thing Francis heard was Heinrich shouting, “Come and try me, Scheisskopf!” before he was dragged into the hall with one man clamped onto each elbow. Four other OCI men followed them out into the hall, but they turned and went toward Heinrich’s door. Despite his thrashing, both of the guards were far bigger and stronger than he was and they merely pulled Francis along like an unruly child.
As they started up the stairs, Francis managed to crane his neck enough for one last look. The others were focused on Heinrich’s door, and they didn’t notice the shift in the shadows as some new source of light flickered through the open door of Francis’cell.
Francis experienced a momentary flash of excitement.
But nothing happened.
Then the OCI thugs pulled him up the stairs and his hopes were dashed.
Heinrich was ready as he could be. The unlocked shackles were resting on his freed wrists. Outnumbered and against an enemy prepared for a scrap, he would be at a disadvantage, but they would not be expecting him to have freed himself. The nails that Lance had slipped him were squeezed in one fist, just their points sticking past his knuckles. An advantage, any advantage, could be utilized to great effect, and surprise was one of Heinrich’s favorites.
When he’d struggled against the OCI before, he’d discovered that they were a hardy lot, but it didn’t matter how tough you were with your eye gouged out or your throat crushed in the first few seconds of an engagement. He reasoned that he could take one, maybe two of them quickly, then it would be a struggle to defeat the remainder.