Slumrat Rising

They had assembled once again in the basement of Nag Hamadi. The rough sandstone walls remained as sturdy as ever, the floors smoothed by centuries upon centuries of feet glistened in the talisman light. Even down here, the piney, warm smell of temple incense lingered. A place of reverence, even away from the altar and the clergy.

There’s always someone who can’t read the room. Today, there were four of them.

“Alright, I’ll set out the blanket and the snacks. Jember, Etenesh, same layout as before. I’ve added a few refinements to really up the suffering. Tommy, get loose. Shake it all out, limber up those limbs, and start working through Incisive. You are definitely not who you were when you first squared up against Child Eater, and you are going to really enjoy the changes.” Merkovah opened the thick blanket with a snap of his wrists.

Truth took his advice, stretching out and getting limber. He didn’t really need it, but it was nice to just feel his body. And to pretend he didn’t notice Etenesh looking at him with hungry eyes. He was very happy to admit she was good for his ego. Jember was looking too, but Truth was firmly ignoring that fact. Merkovah was all eyes on the picnic. He had brought a thermos of spiced coffee and some kind of flaky, baked treat. Truth could smell the walnuts and honey from five meters away.

The cousins didn’t take too long to set up the ritual, and the portal was up and running in just a few minutes. The colors of hell remained heartbreaking, which Truth supposed was the point. How did he know that green was the exact shade of gangrene as it set into bone? Or that one was radium burning the jaws of factory girls, next to the green phosphorous flames burning the bones of yet more factory girls, next to the emerald shine in a child’s eye as he died in an illegal mine? He just did. It was the nature of the place.

Someday, he would find out what “radium” was, though he was pretty sure he’d heard of phosphorus. Alchemist stuff.

No, there was no ironic detachment in front of Hell. It was grief. It was despair. It was regret. It was the horrible knowledge that it was all your fault and nothing would ever be ok. And from that mess of despair, wriggling like a nightmare on a hook, was the Child Eater.

The demon hadn’t changed. Three meters tall, roughly shaped like a man with the sickle blades of a mantis where their arms should be and no head on his shoulders. A bloody tear opened across its gut, showing a mouth with rows of circular teeth. And once again, Merkovah had shown his contempt for any words the horror might have. No matter. It managed to scream with outrage in body language.

“Teacher, before you cut it loose, I have a kind of random question for, well, everybody. When you think of a spell blade, what does that bring to mind for you?”

Merkovah smiled. He knew how Incisive worked. “Well, Tommy, to me, they always seemed very disciplined. Self-control and restraint were a core part of their identity, and it showed. Even in the middle of a furious battle, their mind was strictly on the job. They were there to kill demons, fight Hell, and fight humans who would make this world a second Hell. Everything else was someone else’s problem. Disciplined and pragmatic.”

Truth nodded and looked over at Jember. “I only know them from books and scry, mind you. Ah, I’d say… Romantic.”

That got Jember some looks. He waved defensively.

“Not in the sense of sex, but in the sense of pursuing an emotion over common sense. The spell blades in the stories all love what they do, almost to the exclusion of everything else. It’s why they obsessed over their swords, their worship, and their wives or husbands. They were the only things they had outside their vocation. And they loved that. They poured all of themselves into exactly four things. Disciplined, yes, but because they were doing what they absolutely loved.”

Huh. Interesting wrinkle there.

“For me, and I know this is a… loaded word for you, Tommy, but the word is “Hero.” Etenesh took a deep breath. “And even more unfortunately, the kinds of heroes you despise. Like Jember said, they seemed to be romantics. They didn’t do it for applause or for money, or even for their families. They did it because the job needed doing, and nobody else could. Or would. Against all odds, paying any price, all for the sake of people who didn’t know them. And even if they were successful, they would be gone before the sun rose on the third day after victory. So. Sorry. “Selfless Hero” is how I think of spell blades.

Truth nodded at all that. Some of the ideas merged with what he thought of when he thought of spell blades, and some were new. He fixed his zeph on his head and carefully cast Incisive.

I am Tommy Wells. I am a Desrin spell blade from the Aussa Highlands of Siphios. I walk the wastes, the jungles, the streets, wherever the forces of Hell and Hellish people gather. Accompanied only by my blade. Astride my trusty iron horse, I travel the land on errantry. My home is always with me, for I carry its memory in my heart. And one day, one glorious, beautiful day, I will put down my blade, kneel before my wife, and be showered by her blessings. Because the home I carried in my heart was her, and in her heart, she carried no one but me.

The People of Siphios are behind me. A demon is before me. All that’s left is doing the job. And I love my job. It makes my wife proud and delights God. What could be better than this?

With a smile on his face and in his heart, Truth charged at Child Eater. Truth couldn’t tell if the demon recognized him or not, but it still gladly ran straight at him. Truth leveled the Tongue at the demon’s breastbone, deliberately recreating the opening exchange from their first encounter. Child Eater swung the sickle blade of its left arm straight at Truth’s head… and missed.

Truth’s smile widened. No, Tommy’s smile widened. He knew where that blade was headed and slipped aside with a tiny effort. All the power in his body suddenly seemed properly under his command. He parried the sickle arm with his sword. He was strong enough to push it to one side. Partially because he was strong but more so because he fully understood the sword now. Understood when and how to push. How to line up his body for maximum effect. More than pure instinct, it was now instinct married to experience.

And, of course, Incisive was doing its part. Tommy shoved the arm right, moving it across Child Eater’s body while the tip of his blade stayed on target. He could feel the crucial moment- he lunged! The Child Eater retreated. The tip of the holy blade still caught it, tearing across the demon’s chest. Flames, holy and sin-consuming, burst from the thin line.

Child Eater roared and summoned its infernal armor. The red script crawled over its body as it darted around the spelled arena the Cousins had made. It took less than a second for the scythe arms to be reinforced, their edge visibly honed. Acid fetters lashed out, reaching for Tommy. Tommy snorted. Such magic was a nuisance, but it was only a nuisance.

The demon’s skittering around might have fooled another spell blade, but Tommy’s reflexes and awareness far exceeded his level. He fended off the acid fetters with the Tongue, ignoring the few spatters of weak acid that managed to splash on him. In a vague way, he was aware of the curse trying to infiltrate him. It was stopped by skin and flesh alike. Perhaps if the fetter caught him, it might work. As it was, it was too weak to stain this body consecrated to God.

He rushed in, faster now than he had been even a few weeks ago. He could anticipate where Child Eater would shift to. He was fast enough to get there before the demon. When the demon arrived, it found a holy blade hacking down on it. A cruel sickle was raised to block, crawling with infernal scripts. This time, things went a little differently. Tommy knew just where to cut. The blade flickered for just a fraction of a second as the spell coated the blade. The scythe arm was hacked away at the elbow.

Child Eater recoiled. The acid fetters swarmed at him, the spell tracery forming a net of pain and poison between him and the demon. But Tommy had been walking with God since he was a boy. Before he ever came down from the Aussa Highlands, he had hardened his body against pain. Hard as the mountains of home. Hard as God’s demands of the Faithful. He held the Tongue firmly in both hands and ran at the… thing before him.

When he met the poison net, he cut. Cutting through the acid strings. Cutting through the spellwork itself. Cutting through any obstacle between him and his duty. Whiplike strands of acid snapped and crackled against him, trying to weaken him, but they weren’t even distractions. He pressed forward.

Breaking through the fetters, Tommy lined up for a lunge. The Demon got there first, a sickle arm coming straight at Tommy’s face. Tommy shifted, dropping down and right to hack at the creature’s knee. The holy blade sank in behind what would be the kneecap in anything truly humanoid. Crippling. For the demon, it was more of an inconvenience. And pain. Holy fire burst from the cut joint. Mockery of the human form though it may be, that leg wasn’t going to be holding weight.

The demon’s remaining scythe blade arm carved down at Tommy’s back. Child Eater was willing to trade an injury for a life. It still hadn’t understood. Tommy twisted like a snake, dodging the incoming hook. He recovered from the hack at the knee, standing upright, coming even closer to the roaring maw in Child Eater’s stomach.

The monster kicked out, deliberately collapsing back to let its taloned claw rake at Tommy’s balls. It should have worked. The collapse was total, sudden. An impulsive hero would have charged in for the kill and been killed instead. But Tommy was a spell blade through and through.

Such petty tricks. How many times had he seen them? He raised his own leg and stomped on the monster’s thigh as it pulled back, pinning the leg, and the claw, harmlessly away from him. Then, seeing no reason not to, he stabbed straight down into the demon’s groin. Pulled it out. Spun it in both hands and hacked off the legs.

The remaining scythe arm came whipping in. Tommy swayed back, then caught it under one arm. He stabbed the Tongue into the vile beast’s chest, pinning it. Putting his whole weight on the horror’s remaining arm, he drove the scythe into the beast’s mouth and into the floor. He drew the Tongue out of Child Eater with a final twist and watched as the body lost cohesion, trying to run away to hell. The enchantments, designed by Merkovah and arranged by the cousins, made even Hell an impossible hope.

He could feel the exhaustion hammering at him now, coming down like it always did after a hunt. His channels ached, muscles ached, and the ignorable stings and cuts were now demanding his attention. He slowly let Incisive go, and with it, he felt the identity of Tommy Wells fade away. It was uncomfortable. Disorienting, almost to the point of nausea. Truth decided that he would offer one last thanks to the persona, a final grace note to his victory.

Truth flicked away what little gore remained on the blade, then sheathed it. He walked slowly back to the picnic blanket, where Etenesh and Jember sat cheering. Merkovah smiled at him but was focused on torturing Child Eater. No matter. Truth drew the scabbard from the frog hanging from his belt, holding the sacred blade in his hands. He stood in front of Etenesh and kneeled down. Set his blade to the side and reached for her hands. She smiled and offered them. He raised them up and cupped them around his face.

“I’m home.”

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