Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Carter found himself in an armory. Racks of weapons lined the walls, along with dummies in armor. A large, black lacquered display case stood in the center of the room. Naturally, this grabbed his attention. Crossing over, he peered through the glass top. On scarlet fabric was a type of war hammer. On one side was a sharp pick and the part of head that would be used to pound spikes was itself spiked. The long shaft was about 3 feet in length and had white leather wrapped around the middle and nearer the end.

‘I want it. It’s exquisite.’ He reached out, and then paused. ‘What a minute. I’ve got to be a lot more careful.’ He then looked the case over. Top, bottom, and all four sides and found no evidence of any traps. He attempted to lift the cold lid which refused to budge. He growled to himself as he pondered his next move.

‘Wait. This is real life, not a videogame.’ Lock picks, or keys weren’t needed. Stepping to the side to avoid flying glass, he raised his sword above the glass and slammed the hilt into the glass which shattered. With a grin, he reached in and lay his hand on the haft of the hammer. A nuclear bomb went off in his head, and he collapsed.

###

“By all the hells my head hurts. What the fuck did I get hit with?” His voice was rough, as if he’d been screaming for hours. He ran his dry tongue over his teeth which were throbbing. ‘All there, at least.’

Though it was dim, the light filtering through the window high above him seared his eyes. Damp stone at the backs of his hands told him why he smelled mildew. Rodents squeaked nearby. ‘Well, at least I’m not alone in here. Wherever here is.’ The increasing presence of burning oil told him of the approach of his captor before the sliding shuffle of their footsteps did. ‘Man, if another demon has caught me, I’m going to be pissed. Why the fuck didn’t I check for traps on the hammer itself?’

It was too late to worry about that. A faint jingle and then the clunk of the lock tumbling proceeded the squeal of hinges as the cell door swung open. The pink-skinned flame-bearded man ducked into the suddenly much smaller room and rose to an impressive and imposing nine feet.

“Holy fuck.” Carter craned his head up at the giant’s face. “How’re you even allowed?”

“So you’re awake, Walker of Worlds. Good. The Master will be pleased.”

Carter winced, expecting the ceiling to begin falling at the boom of the huge man’s voice. “What are you?”

“Have you never seen a giant before, Little One?”

Carter’s eyebrow rose. “Little One?” He mouthed the words, not used to being called such by anyone. “Being perfectly honest,” he said, “I thought you guys weren’t real.”

“As you can see, I am very real.”

“Ya don’t say.”

The giant’s brows beetled. “Are you mocking me?”

“Would you notice if I were?”

Before he could blink, the giant had Carter lifted to his eye level as easily as the Walker would a melon. “What do you think, Little One?”

“You have got to stop leaving me these openings.”

The giant dropped Carter. “Stifle yourself, or I’ll forget that you’re needed in one piece.”

Unable to get his feet beneath him in time, he hit the ground and fell to his right hip and hands. Agony shot through him. Carter snarled at the pain and rough treatment, his vision flashing crimson for a split second. ‘Did I literally see red for a second?’

“That will be enough, Detmold.” This voice was soft, feminine.

Carter glanced over, and not seeing anyone, glanced downward. The squat, wide-bodied female with thick, golden hair was dressed in ermine robes. “Holy shit. Are you a female dwarf?”

She nodded.

“I’ll be damned. I thought you all were a myth, like unicorns.”

Her face showed no expression. “It is interesting you resort to flippancy in your position. Sir Lavitz isn’t supposed to be so reckless.”

Carter shrugged.

Showing surprising strength, she lifted him close by his shirt collar. “The Walker of Worlds, on the other hand, well, he’s not known for his tact. Why is that, Carter Blake?”

He blinked his eyes rapidly. “I’m sorry, who?”

She shoved him, causing the back of his head to thump into the wall. Stars exploded across his vision which then tunneled to dimness. She shook him hard. “No, no. Wake up. Focus!” Her hand slammed into his cheek, shocking him to consciousness.

Carter leaned to the side and heaved. Though the dizziness remained afterwards, the nausea faded. He returned his gaze to her and discovered there were now two. ‘Yay. I have another concussion! If this keeps up, my brain is going to be permanently scrambled.’

“Why would you attempt sarcasm while a prisoner, Carter?”

He took a slow breath, hoping it would clear his mind some. “One, my name is Lavitz. Two, snark is different from sarcasm. Snark is a sharply critical comment. Usually. Sometimes, it is used to denote the obvious. Sarcasm is the use of irony to mock or show contempt.”

“Thank you for the entomology lesson.”

“That was snark. However, the word you wanted was ‘etymology.’ Don’t feel bad. Lots of folks get those two confused.”

She slapped him against the wall again. “Enough with your snark!”

“No, that was flippancy.”

She growled and lifted him off the floor by his shirt collar. “I’m going to kill you if you keep it up. I bet you won’t be laughing then. Lock him up, Detmold.”

As the giant obeyed, the dwarf woman whirled and stormed from the room. Carter watched her leave through watery eyes. “You know, Detmold, it’s no wonder you’re so dim. She’s a freaking idiot.”

The giant’s reply was to press his hand firmly against Carter’s chest, crushing the air from his lungs. The Walker wheezed, trying to pull a breath in, but the weight of the hand kept him from doing so. He struggled against his chains to no avail. After five seconds, the giant released his pressure, allowing Carter air. He collapsed, coughing and gasping. Detmold left without another word.

‘I’ve got to stop needling those physically stronger than me when I’m at their mercy. It’s going to kill me one of these days.’ Carter’s head dropped to his chest. ‘How the fuck am I going to get out of this mess?’

###

The blare of a shrieker spell, sharp and piercing, cut through the air like a knife, followed by the searing white-hot light from a sunburst spell that shattered the darkness. The sudden onslaught yanked him from his brief nap, the afterimage of the light still burning behind his eyelids. His head throbbed with the echoes of the relentless noise. ‘I managed thirty seconds that time. If this continues, I’m going to go mad.’ The tortured symphony of shrieks and flashes of light had been ongoing for what felt like an eternity, each blast leaving him more frayed than the last. This torment was somehow worse than what he endured as Belial’s gladiator. Back then, at least, he’d been allowed the mercy of sleep.

The noise abruptly ceased, leaving a deafening silence in its wake, the intense light fading into a dim glow cast by a pair of flickering torches. The sudden quiet made the ringing in his ears more pronounced, and the world around him swam as his eyes struggled to adjust. After several moments, he forced his head to lift just enough to see the dwarf woman sitting in a chair across from where he dangled, her silhouette dancing in the unsteady torchlight.

“It is good to see you, Carter,” she said, her voice smooth, but with an edge that scraped against his raw nerves.

“Lavitz.” He spat the name, the insistence on his secret identity a constant thorn in her side. It usually pissed her off.

“Your name is Carter Blake, and you’re the Walker of Worlds.” Her words were clipped, each one a command rather than a statement.

“No. No, I’m not.” His voice was hoarse, rasping out the denial as if it cost him every ounce of his strength.

She stood, the leather of her boots creaking as she crossed the chamber, her presence looming larger as she leaned in close, her breath hot against his skin. “As you wish,” she said, her tone soft with danger. “Do you want the spells to stop?”

“Nah. I’m enjoying them. If you listen just right, you can hear music in the patterns.” His words came out dry, laced with sarcasm, but there was a quiver underneath, betraying the exhaustion that weighed him down.

“Still with the jokes, I see.” She shook her head, her expression shadowed in the dim light. “I guess you’re not interested in my proposal.” She straightened, the chain of keys at her waist jingled softly as she turned and headed for the door.

“Wait a second. I never actually responded,” he called after her, his voice cracking slightly.

She paused, her hand on the doorframe, and turned back, her eyes gleaming like polished steel. “You did when you joked about the shrieks making music.”

“Okay, fair point. What is your proposal?” He forced himself to meet her gaze, though the weight of it felt like an anchor dragging him down.

“Answer my questions, and it will stop.”

“I have been. You just don’t like them.”

“Then you know what you have to do, right?” Her voice had a predatory edge, each word enunciated with calculated precision.

“Of course. I have to keep pissing you off.” He managed a weak smile, the effort almost painful.

She crossed to him once more, her steps deliberate and slow. “Why would you want that?” Her voice dipped lower, a dangerous curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

“Because if you continue, you’ll kill me.” He leaned his head back against the rough stone wall, the smile on his lips widening, though his eyes were tired. “And that’ll piss you off even more.”

She nodded, a glimmer of something unreadable in her eyes as she stepped back. “Good points. Looks like we’ll have to switch things up.” She reached out with a silver key that glinted in the low light and unlocked his manacles. The sudden release sent a wave of agony shooting through his arms as they dropped, dead weight at his sides, and he couldn’t stifle the cry that tore from his throat.

“Get some sleep,” she murmured, her voice almost gentle now. “You’re going to need it.”

Arms dangling uselessly at his sides, shoulders throbbing with each beat of his heart, he tried to clutch at his injuries but couldn’t bring his hands to the source of the pain. The agony was too intense, his muscles locking up in protest. The dwarf woman ignored his soft whimpering, her boots clicking sharply on the stone floor as she exited the cell, the heavy door creaking shut with a final, echoing thud as she locked it behind her. He slumped where he sat, his body sagging like a marionette with its strings cut. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, but the relentless throb of blood pounding in his temples and the ironclad grip of the migraine clamping down on his skull made it impossible to relax, let alone sleep.

The smoky tang of fire-roasted meat suddenly cut through the haze of pain, slipping past his defenses. It was rich and savory, the scent wrapping around him like a warm embrace. His jaw tightened involuntarily, a deep ache spreading through it as his mouth flooded with saliva, betraying the gnawing hunger that clawed at his insides. Carter attempted to sit up, but a sharp, twisting pain shot through his stomach, doubling him over and leaving him gasping. ‘Come on, damn you. Get your ass around to the food.’ The thought buzzed in his mind, a desperate command that fueled his next moves.

Slowly, agonizingly, he began to drag himself across the rough stone floor toward the source of the smell. Each inch was a battle, the jagged edges of the stone scraping his fingertips raw, the tender skin splitting open and oozing blood, but he ignored the fiery sting. Sweat dripped from his brow, the salty beads burning his eyes and trailing down his face to mingle with the grime caking his skin. His breaths came in shallow, ragged bursts, each one a struggle as his strength waned.

After what felt like an eternity, his face finally hovered near the plate. The haunch of meat was tantalizing, its surface slightly charred, giving way to glistening juices that seeped from the tender flesh beneath. The rich aroma was stronger now, unmistakably beef, and it sent another wave of hunger crashing through him. His heart pounded in his chest, not from excitement but from sheer exhaustion, each beat a reminder of how close he was to his limit. He hesitated, his vision blurring as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

With a soft sigh, his head sank to the cold, unforgiving stone floor, the rough texture pressing into his skin. The plate of food remained untouched, only inches from his face. Seconds later, sleep claimed him, the weight of days without rest and the toll of his recent exertions finally overwhelming his gnawing hunger.

###

Carter jerked awake, the memory of the tantalizing scent of food still lingering in his mind. His stomach clenched painfully as he realized the meal was gone. With a groan, he lurched to a sitting position, the dim light of the dungeon casting everything in a sickly scarlet hue. “Where the fuck is my dinner?” His voice, hoarse and filled with raw hunger, echoed through the cold, stony chamber. The unexpected ferocity of his own growl startled him, and he fell back against the rough wall, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. ‘Gods damn it. That fucking midget taunted me with it, knowing I was too worn out to sate my hunger. I’m gonna scalp the bitch.’ The thought of vengeance fueled his anger, and he slammed his fist onto the stone floor. The sharp sting from the impact barely registered through the haze of his exhaustion and pain.

A sudden, heavy thud from the lock on the door pulled his attention, making his heart skip a beat. “Christ. Now what?” he muttered, bracing himself for whatever new torment awaited. The door creaked open slowly, the sound grating against his nerves, as if whoever was on the other side was hesitant, or perhaps savoring the moment before they entered.

His breath caught in his throat as the figure stepped into the dim light. All thoughts of food, pain, and anger evaporated in an instant. Before him stood a woman, breathtakingly beautiful, her presence a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. Her robes were the palest azure, shimmering faintly in the dim light, their silver trim catching the scarlet glow and turning it into something almost ethereal. Her fiery dark orange hair cascaded over her right shoulder in a thick braid, each strand catching the light like molten copper. Her eyes, vibrant and green as the summer grass, locked onto his, and for a moment, he felt a warmth he hadn’t known in years. Her lips, full and red like sun-ripened strawberries, parted slightly as she stepped forward, the soft ivory of her skin glowing in the gloom. A small golden necklace rested just above the swell of her bosom, the pendant—a delicate bird—glinting faintly as it caught the light.

“Dearbhaile,” he breathed, the name escaping his lips like a prayer.

She raised a slender finger to her lips, her expression serious. “Ye have tae be quiet, Carter. No one knows I be here.”

“How—When?” His mind raced, struggling to comprehend how she could possibly be standing before him.

“It does nae matter now. I’m here tae rescue ye.” Her voice, though soft, was filled with an urgency that pulled him from his daze.

Dearbhaile moved swiftly, ducking under his arm to help him to his feet. The scrape of his back against the roughhewn wall sent a fresh wave of pain through his already battered body, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fog of shock and disbelief clouding his mind. “I’ve searched everywhere for you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Where were you?”

“Drago’s had me in his citadel. I was his prisoner all this time. But I escaped.” Her words came quickly, as if she was trying to condense years of suffering into a single breath.

“How?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears and suspicions.

“I’ll tell ye later, ye silly l—” Her words were cut off as his mouth crashed into hers, desperation and longing fueling the sudden, intense kiss. His tongue slid across her lower lip, coaxing her to part her lips, and when she did, he delved deeper, savoring her taste, as sweet and intoxicating as he remembered. He felt the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and for a moment, the cold, harsh reality of the dungeon faded away.

Dearbhaile’s movements were hesitant, her tongue timidly following the motions of his. But as he gently sucked on her tongue, swirling his around hers, she began to match his rhythm, her kisses growing bolder, more assured. The world outside their embrace ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment.

But the moment was shattered when she pulled back, her breath coming in short gasps. “Carter… That was… Wow. What came over ye?”

“I’ve not seen you in six years, Rishka. How would you have preferred I greet you?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, a wide smile on his face, the rare expression of joy almost foreign after so long in darkness.

“Something a little more—”

Her words were abruptly cut off as a massive hand clamped down on her shoulder, yanking her out of the cell with brutal force. The suddenness of it was jarring, the transition from intimacy to violence so swift that Carter barely had time to react.

“Dearbhaile!” he shouted, lunging forward to grab her, but a giant foot slammed into his gut, the impact smashing him back into the wall with bone-rattling force. The pain exploded through his body, leaving him gasping for air, but the fear in his heart for Dearbhaile outweighed any physical agony.

“Stay put,” a deep, gravelly voice ordered, the sound of it chilling Carter to his core.

“Detmold,” Carter gasped, the name filled with equal parts fear and fury. Dearbhaile's scream echoed down the corridor as the giant slammed the door and dragged her away. Carter hurled himself at the door, fists pounding against the unforgiving wood in time with the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat. The door stood unyielding, but as his fury built, something primal within him snapped.

His hair, once brown, cascaded past his shoulders in a wave of inky blackness. Metallic scales, shimmering with a poisonous blend of silver and purple-green, erupted from beneath his skin, spreading rapidly across his body. His forearms bristled with scalloped edges, and his hands morphed into gleaming, silvery-blue claws. His face melted away, flesh sloughing off to reveal a skull, eyes burning with electric blue light. Ram-like horns twisted out from his temples as he unleashed a roar that shook the very walls.

The door detonated into a cloud of dust and splinters. The creature slammed into the far wall, only to spring off with terrifying speed, driven by pure instinct toward the sound of Dearbhaile’s cries.

It hurtled down the corridor like a missile, launching itself at the giant in a blur of motion. Detmold, anticipating the attack, ducked and caught the creature by the leg, swinging him through the air with bone-shattering force. Its body crashed into the stone floor, leaving a crater in his wake. The giant lifted it effortlessly, smashing him into the opposite wall, the impact echoing through the hallway.

Detmold repeated the brutal assault, the creature in his grasp limp and unresponsive, a mere object to be crushed. He paused only when the stone beneath the creature’s battered form was reduced to jagged shards. Dust lingered in the air, a silent witness to the devastation.

Satisfied with his victory, Detmold leaned in to inspect the creature, but something changed. A red glow enveloped its body, and then, in an instant, it was gone. The giant blinked, confusion briefly crossing his face as he scanned the room for any sign of his opponent.

He turned back toward the cell where he had left Dearbhaile, peering inside. Nothing. A faint sound—a soft thud—came from behind him, and before he could react, ironclad arms seized his head. The force was unimaginable, the grip unyielding. With a sickening crack, his head twisted sharply, the sound of his neck breaking resonating through the corridor.

Detmold's body slumped to the ground, lifeless. It rode the giant’s corpse to the ground. As the body thumped to the ground in the silence, it stepped away. The creature’s eyes locked on Dearbhaile staring with slack-jawed horror. Her terror wasn’t recognizable, only her familiar features. It entered the room with predatory grace and she backed away quickly.

“What the fuck are you?”

Her sharp voice caused the creature to pause. Its head tilted to the left. The creature recognized the words, but not their meaning. It was it. Didn’t she know this? It always recognized her.

The creature pulled her into his arms for an embrace. The action was instinctive, a habit buried deep within the its fragmented memories. But something was wrong. It stiffened, the comforting scent of warmth and familiarity replaced by something foul—spoiled, rancid vanilla. She smelled like spoiled vanilla.

Its grip tightened, fingers digging into her shoulders until the bones shifted, sliding unnaturally beneath her skin. She screamed in agony, a high-pitched noise which grated on the creature’s ears. Then her body convulsed as her muscles rippled like waves, and her tendons snapped taut as bones broke and reformed.

The being in its grasp appeared to be a stunning, beautiful, statuesque and nude woman with flawless milky skin and raven hair. Large bat wings growing from her shoulders fluttered as she struggled to escape. Her slender black tail curled and uncurled around his neck as she fought. Her red eyes glowed with terror.

A low, guttural snarl rumbled from its chest, revealing rows of serrated teeth meant for tearing flesh. The demon—this false thing—shrieked, desperation in her eyes as she raked her claws against its body. The talons snapped like brittle twigs, her screams only feeding its rage.

It threw her aside, with another feral bellow that shook the walls. She hit the floor, ichor oozing from the gashes its claws had carved into her flesh. Her wings fluttered weakly, dragging her broken body away from the creature’s relentless fury.

She backed away, pushing the floor with her feet as her arms were useless. The creature had crushed her joints in its fearsome grip. “Where’s Cart – urk.”

The creature grabbed her throat, not liking her voice. “Der-va-la.” Its voice was like rocks being crushed.

“I don’t know,” the demon gasped.

It roared and squeezed his hand. The immense pressure in his grip pulverized her neck and forced the ichor back into her head which popped off under the strain.

As her body collapsed, the creature caught her head and brought it close to his nose. The skull-faced being sniffed it, and then cast away the decapitated skull.

It lifted its head, inhaling deeply. The air was empty, devoid of what it sought. Dearbhaile’s scent—gone. Only the acrid stench of blood and death remained. With a final, breathless roar, it disappeared, leaving nothing but an explosion of violet light in its wake.