Rituals, Regrets, and Really Dumb People

Chapter 11: Computer Geeks Need Love Too, Part 3

The screaming commenced as we all ran down the hill to meet my traitor cultists in melee. I want to say it was around two-hundred combatants on my side and around three hundred cultists on theirs. They all clashed across the span of the dock, making a bloody fine mess of things. Crude weapons were bludgeoned against soft sides and heads void of thought all across the stretch of the harbor, with me trying to push through the groups.

"Make a path for Mathias," yelled Corbin, taking lead and pushing the cultists out of my way. "Get him to the ship!"

Mine and Geraldine's warriors did as they were commanded. They pushed and shoved, beat whoever they could out of the way to lead me to the gangplank. I even got involved here and there, throwing fiery blood darts and hitting a few of my traitorous kin on the buttocks to send them scrambling. Of course, I didn't want anyone to die, but a little flesh wound here and there put the traitors in their place.

Corbin, though, was a good investment of my time and energy. Thank He that I stopped and managed to convince him. Reinhardt's spearman was still adept even with his staff, keeping people away from us, swinging in wide swathes against the forces. He didn't even break a sweat against them, scaring a few away with his yelling and hollering, challenging them individually and testing their bravery. Few were brave enough to meet him. They may have lost respect for me, but Corbin still commanded it amongst any and all that worshiped She on this island.

The rest of the combatants were just as interesting to see. While Thimble, John Wesley, and Jo did not jump in directly—which I preferred—the others were more involved. Tom flailed around, attacking with sardonic humor and the crack of his club. Jason and Keith fought too. Hel, Keith surprised me; one might question the wisdom of bringing an alien-baby to a giant fight, but he held his own, able to float above and puke down on the cultists below. Jason

Lilly and Geraldine did their parts as well, Geraldine didn't flake from the fighting, she seemed in tune with it honestly. She commanded her men right there at the front, taking up a warhammer and breaking the groups up with heavy smashes. Lilly was in the fray with her, though the succubus didn't exactly use weapons to fight. She used her guile and charm, manipulation, and, then, her brutish strength.

It was nice to have such a group of outcast-brawlers to help you fight, but it was my time to shine now. Corbin broke the ranks and cleared the path with my cultists up to the gangplank of the corvette- or yacht-sized metal ship, giving me ample room to run up and challenge the two standing at the top of the ramp.

"You," I yelled at Typhous and Ishmael, who were standing there and looking down at me at the base of the plank. "I want the kid and Dimitri."

Ishmael and Typhous stood there silently, taking me in yet not responding. I looked around between the people on board and I began to notice something odd about the scene. I didn't really pay attention to it while everyone was fighting, but now that there was this ominous silence, there was something bizarre about the formation of Typhous and Ishmael's ranks. All of the undead—around thirty or so—were on board, behind them, and not out there fighting. They collectively wore thin veils that barely hid their decay, and their uniforms seemed to match in a wave of silver and black.

Why were my cultists fighting, but not the undead horde they had at their disposal?

"Is that all?" Ishmael finally asked in his calm, foreign tone. "That's all you want?"

"I want you to stop this," I threw back at him. "We're here, and your fodder is already being thrown down. It will be a matter of minutes; you can't beat our combined forces and you can't beat the Radiant and the Darkness. Especially not when they are joined."

Ishmael's eyes narrowed on me. He wasn't in a panic, nor was he bothered by my remarks. In fact, he seemed rather intrigued by them, curious like a child or a kitten. He rolled his bottom lip and looked down on his right hand, rubbing a few of his fingers together.