Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (20 page)

Bram stood, wiping sand from his body. He looked around, and in the distance Claire and Tobias suddenly appeared, standing side by side. Bram started toward them, running across the sand, trying to get them to listen.

“You have to fight him,” he warned.

“But he’ll make the witches come,” Claire cried as she clung to her brother’s leg.

“He’s too strong now,” Tobias said. “He’ll kill us if we fight him.”

“Then you’ll die fighting,” Bram screamed. “You can’t allow him to have this level of power.”

The ground exploded in a geyser of sand, and Crowley manifested again, this time in the horrific form of a gigantic serpent.

“They know who is the master here,” Crowley roared, his serpent’s form rearing back to strike.

Bram knew that it was useless to run, that Crowley would only be upon him in seconds, so he stood his ground defiantly, staring up at the beast, preparing for whatever was to come.

Crowley’s serpentine face smiled cruelly before he opened his mouth, surging forward to swallow Bram whole.

But the giant snake’s face connected with something Bram could not see, the ferocity of the impact sending razor-sharp teeth spewing from the monster’s bloodied mouth.

All Bram could do was stare.

Crowley recoiled, his face smeared with blood. “How did you . . . ?”

“He didn’t,” Tobias’s voice called out.

Crowley looked toward the brother and sister, enraged.

“We did,” they answered, holding hands, unified in their confidence.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” the giant serpent asked, slithering across the sand toward them.

They did not move.

“We know exactly what we’ve done,” Tobias answered. “We’re not going to be afraid of you anymore.”

The serpent shook his head, a growling laughter filling its throat. “It’s not me you should be afraid of,” he said. He glanced toward the sky as three figures clad in robes of tattered black descended upon broomsticks.

“It’s them.”

And from the sand of the desert, figures began to emerge; the animated bodies of those who had died in the attack
upon the Brimstone Network headquarters that Tobias had helped to orchestrate.

Bram ran toward the brother and sister. “Fight him,” he cried as the sand became like cement beneath his feet, and he was trapped.

The witches flew above their heads. Bram could hear their cackling laughter. Claire was shaking uncontrollably, holding tightly to her brother.

The dead were crawling across the sand, reaching toward Tobias with bloodstained hands.

“I can make them all go away,” Crowley said seductively. “I can protect you.”

The witches grabbed at the little girl’s hair as they passed, tugging upon her clothes, and she screamed out in terror.

The dead were holding on to Tobias’s legs, using his rigid limbs to haul themselves up.

“All you need do is give me control again,” the snake said.

Bram tried to call to them, but the sand sucked him down farther, threatening to fill his mouth.

“Let me take away your fear.”

The witches flew around again, a dirty, clawed hand reaching out to grab hold of Claire’s arm.

The little girl’s eyes came suddenly open, staring at the long-fingered hand coming for her. “No,” she said as she stomped her foot upon the sand.

The witches screamed in unison as they disintegrated, their ragged forms becoming like sand blowing in the wind.

Tobias’s eyes were open as well, and the dead no longer clung to his body. They had returned to beneath the shifting desert sands.

“You dare defy me?” Crowley raged, but Bram could hear something in the mage’s voice; something that had not been there before.

Fear.

“We’re done being afraid of you,” Tobias said.

“We’re done being afraid of snakes!” Claire added angrily.

Crowley’s body began to shift and change, and soon he was nothing more than a frail old man kneeling upon the sand.

Straining his arms, Bram extracted himself from the desert’s grip. Exhausted, he looked about. On his hands and knees, he saw that Tobias and his sister now stood above the magician.

Crowley tried unsuccessfully to fight them, magick
sparking and sputtering from his long fingers, but he caused little damage. “I . . . I’ll destroy you both . . . ,” he said weakly.

“No, you won’t,” Claire said, shaking her head.

Bram was walking toward them as they all turned to stare at him.

“What now?” he asked.

“We allow what was begun to finish,” Tobias answered.

“What was begun?” Bram questioned.

“To become one in both mind and body,” Claire said, stepping closer to the muttering Crowley. The sorcerer was still upon his knees, whispering to himself like a crazy person.

“I still don’t understand.” Bram watched as Tobias and Claire laid their hands upon Crowley, and the three of them began to glow, the light seeping from their bodies flowing together to form one all-encompassing mass.

It was as if the sun had dropped down from the sky.

“You will,”
a strange voice answered Bram—a voice that seemed to be comprised of multiple voices.

“You will understand.”

15.
T
HE
N
ETWORK AGENTS WERE STARTING
to tire.

They had retreated as far back as the opening that Trinity had almost completed in the magickal barrier separating Earth from the Specter forces.

Stitch fought the monsters, using anything at his disposal to smash and pound the nearly indestructible beasts, but his skin was torn and bloody from the savagery, and he did not know how much longer he would last.

Emily had lost herself completely to the beast. She didn’t even speak anymore, talking only in the language of violence as she continued to fight, her shiny black fur matted with the blood of their enemies.

Stitch could see the wear most upon Desmond. The boy’s nose was bleeding profusely, dribbling down to stain
the front of his shirt, as he tried to push the limits of his abilities even further. Even so, the walls of psychic force were becoming weaker, allowing the monsters and the soldiers easier access to the agent.

Stitch chanced a quick look at the unconscious form of Bram. He wondered about the boy, and if his plan to unite brother and sister Blaylock against Crowley had succeeded.

The blaring sound of a strange horn filled the air, and Stitch turned his attention to whatever new threat awaited them.

The wave of attacks ceased and he saw the armored forces of the Specter moving aside to allow a figure riding upon a reptilian mount to pass.

Barnabas rode as close as Dez’s mental barrier would allow.

“Not sure how much longer . . . ,” the boy gasped.

“I understand, boy,” Stitch said as he stepped closer to the warlord. “You’ve done just fine.”

Barnabas held a golden horn in his metal-gloved hand, handing it to a blood-spattered lackey as Stitch approached.

“A brief moment of truce before the inevitable,” Barnabas said.

Stitch remained silent, staring at the bearded warrior astride his fearsome ride.

“Cease your fighting and I promise that your deaths will be merciful,” the warlord said.

Stitch laughed, rubbing a scratched and bloodied hand across his chin as he shook his head in amusement.

“You find my statement humorous?” Barnabas asked, eyes glinting malevolently.

“I find your statement ignorant,” the patchwork man replied.

Barnabas’s mount hissed, stomping its cloven feet upon the blood-soaked battlefield.

“We’ll never give in to you,” Stitch said, his two different colored eyes blazing. “And you’ll have to march over our dead bodies before we allow you to pass through that opening.” He pointed at the damaged magickal barrier behind him.

“So be it,” Barnabas said.

And then the turtle began to laugh. It was a strange sound, a bizarre mixture of a bird’s trill and a sound very much like air escaping from a flat tire.

Stitch glanced over at the creature. Boffa’s body was covered in blood, and Stitch wasn’t sure if it was the blood of their enemies or the creature’s own. One of his arms
disappeared inside his shell, reappearing suddenly holding what looked to be some sort of remote control.

“Is there something I should know about?” Stitch asked.

“Big surprise,” the turtle replied, a thick, black-clawed finger moving across the surface of the device causing a red flashing light to appear.

Barnabas’s steed grew nervous, shrieking and starting to jump.

“Back!” Barnabas yelled to his troops. “Pull back!”

“Wanted to bring them close,” the turtle said, a thumb hovering over a small button just below the flashing light. “Before I gave them big surprise.”

Boffa gazed at the Specter troops, now in total disarray. “Surprise,” he said, and brought his thumb down upon the button.

Multiple explosions rocked the encampment.

And everything turned to fire.

B
ram awakened with the smell of smoke and destruction heavy in his lungs. Coughing, he struggled into a sitting position and saw the devastation that lay before him.

The air was filled with thick black smoke, the entire
encampment engulfed in flames. His eyes searched the blighted landscape for a sign of his friends.

“Stitch!” Bram called out, stumbling through the thick, choking smoke.

The ground was littered with the bodies of fallen Specter soldiers, some of them burnt beyond recognition.
What happened here?
he wondered.

He was about to call out again for his friends when he saw shapes moving through the smoke up ahead. Instinctively his body ghosted, becoming transparent and almost invisible as he drifted through the choking black smoke.

His heart skipped a beat as he saw them. All of his friends appeared to be, well, a little rough around the edges, but at least they were alive.

“You’re all right,” he said, suddenly materializing before them.

Boffa reacted immediately, a high-powered pistol appearing in his hand and pointed directly at Bram’s face.

“It’s me,” Bram said, pushing the gun barrel from his face.

“Yes, it is,” the Terrapene responded. “Good thing too, or you be dead.”

Bram went to Stitch who was brushing dust from his tattered waistcoat.

“What happened?” Bram asked him.

“It seems that our shelled companion planted explosives,” the patchwork man answered.

“Oh yeah,” Bram added. “Both he and my sister. They were supposed to be distractions.”

Stitch smirked, stepping forward to give the boy a manly hug.

“They certainly were that,” Stitch said. “Good to see that you’re well.”

“And everybody else?” Bram asked.

“As of now we’re still alive,” Stitch said. “But for how long, that remains to be seen.”

A sudden gust of wind came up, moving away the thick billows of black smoke and revealing the extent of the devastation wrought by Boffa and Lita’s explosive distractions.

And the frightening sight of the hooded Trinity floating in the air over the wasted encampment.

“Tell me that you succeeded,” Stitch asked.

“I’m really not sure,” Bram answered truthfully, remembering Claire and Tobias’s cryptic words before laying their hands upon a defeated Crowley.

Telling him that he would understand.

Bram watched the battered form of Barnabas as he lurched across the battlefield toward them. The surviving members of his military loyally followed behind him.

At this stage of the game, Bram had no idea what to expect.

Barnabas stopped to gaze up into the smoke-filled sky at the strange being that hovered there. “Trinity,” he cried. “Destroy them in my name.”

Bram watched Trinity with curiosity.

“Just let me know if you want a quick getaway,” Bogey said, stepping up and speaking in a hushed tone.

“Thanks, Bogey,” Bram said, still watching Trinity. The robed figure had not responded in any way. “I’m not sure that’ll be necessary.”

And as if to prove him wrong, Trinity dropped down from the sky, gently touching down between the two opposing forces.

“Do it!” Barnabas raged. His troops egged the being on, the surviving monsters tossing back their malformed heads to howl and rage.

Trinity’s hood had fallen away to reveal the visage of the being beneath. Bram was stunned to see that it was
an entirely new face comprised of the physical characteristics of all three.

“What are you waiting for?” Barnabas bellowed. He dragged his blood-encrusted sword behind him as he stomped over the bodies of his soldiers.

“I heard you,” Trinity said, raising a hand. A wave of magickal force flowed through the air, propelling Barnabas and his army backward. “And I care not for your tone.”

The wave of force had driven Barnabas’s soldiers back, but had also transformed the hideous monsters back to their original humanoid forms.

“What are you doing?” the Specter warlord demanded.

“Correcting errors made by my more . . .
malevolent
aspect,” Trinity answered. The being turned toward the Network agents, its eyes dark and deep.

Bram tried to find some semblance of Claire or even Tobias, but there was nothing there to read.

And Bram understood.

The Blaylock brother and sister had talked about allowing what had already started to be finished . . . to allow them to become one mind and body.

What had begun when the three of them had been caught in an explosion of raw, supernatural power had
at last been completed. Claire, Tobias and Crowley no longer existed.

Now there was only a being called Trinity.

Trinity said nothing as it drifted past them, its feet not even touching the ground as it floated through the devastated camp, moving towards the passage that had been partially opened between this foreign world and the earth.

“What’s it doing?” Emily asked, nose twitching wetly as her animal eyes remained riveted to the mysterious being.

“We’ll have to see,” Bram answered, just as curious as his friend.

Trinity drifted upward, like a leaf caught upon a strong updraft of air. The being hung there, its back to them as it studied what it had already begun.