Demonworld Book 4: Shepherd of Wolves

  Demonworld Book Four

  Shepherd of Wolves

  By Kyle B. Stiff

  For news and info about Kyle B. Stiff’s other writing projects, including Demonworld and Heavy Metal Thunder, visit his web site at www.kylebstiff.wordpress.com and www.heavymetalthunderseries.wordpress.com. To contact Kyle B. Stiff, try primeentertainer@gmail.com and @KyleBStiff on twitter.

  This book is copyrighted and belongs to the author.

  Hard it is in the world

  An orgy of violence

  An age of axes, an age of swords

  Shields will be smashed

  An age of storms, an age of wolves

  Before the world sinks.

  Trembles Yggdrasil

  World-tree, ash yet standing

  Groans that aged tree

  And the host of giants is loosed

  Loud bays Fenris, King of Wolves

  Standing before the prison cave

  His bonds he rends asunder

  And the wolf runs.

  - from the Norse Voluspa

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Cultural Apoptosis

  Chapter 2: The Suicide Contracts

  Chapter 3: Fragments vs. Union

  Chapter 4: Horde of Cretins

  Chapter 5: Careful Planning vs. Anything, Anytime, Anyone

  Chapter 6: Watching vs. Being Watched

  Chapter 7: Loneliness Is Other People

  Chapter 8: Civilization vs. Barbarism

  Chapter 9: The Half Breed

  Chapter 10: The Other

  Chapter 11: Fantasy vs. Terror

  Chapter 12: Bridge over the Abyss

  Chapter 13: Carnival vs. Emptiness

  Chapter 14: The Baptism

  Chapter 15: The Indifference of Angels

  Chapter 16: Population Zero

  Chapter 17: Diplomacy vs. Interrogation

  Chapter 18: Pillar of Salt

  Chapter 19: The Ultimate Weapon of Haven

  Chapter 20: Pontius at the Edge of a Blade

  Chapter 21: Rainbow Bridge vs. Sickness unto Death

  Chapter 22: A New Path

  Chapter 23: Kill Them and Eat Them

  Chapter 24: V E R S U S N O T H I N G

  Chapter 25: Pontius vs. Wodan

  Chapter One

  Cultural Apoptosis

  My lord has set himself against the world, and has always done so. I have seen him help others, I have seen his smile and heard his laugh, and by those things I could swear that he is kind, and good, and just. But by my oath as an Entertainer I must tell the true story of the pestilence of wolves, when my lord estranged himself from the world of men. To tell the story with any honesty, I know that to swear by his goodness would be a false oath.

  - from The Entertainers: Chapter Jarl: 55:1

  * * *

  “I’ve come here to kill you.”

  Wodan stood by a window in his apartment in the wasteland city of Pontius. The moon hung overhead. Only a few minutes ago, he had seen three men stalking him; they were, most likely, killers sent by one of the hungry new gangs that had grown up in the wake of destruction caused by Wodan. Worse than that, he was currently being threatened by Matthias, a strange, seemingly inhuman Engel from distant San Ktari.

  “Came here to kill me?” said Wodan. He turned his face slightly toward Matthias. “You really think you can?” Wodan smiled slightly, then added, “When my death comes, it won’t be from you, boy.”

  Wodan turned back to the window. In the street below, he could see the three hired goons hanging around the entrance to his apartment building. They looked around, then two of them covered their comrade as he knelt and attempted to pick the lock.

  “How’s that?” said Matthias.

  When Wodan turned toward Matthias, his face was calm and serene but his eyes burned with terrible rage. “Because you’re beneath me,” said Wodan.

  Matthias tilted his head back and a sliver of dark hair fell against his face. His features were chiseled and smooth. If he had been standing, he would have towered over Wodan. He carried a handgun larger than any Wodan had ever seen, but his hand did not shake. Wodan noticed that his cat was no longer in Matthias’s lap, but sat on a table nearby. Matthias had moved so quickly that Wodan had never seen or felt the movement.

  “Beneath you,” he said flatly.

  “What was it you called the master you answer to? Big Dad? How absurd. You have such power, but still answer to someone else. Running around the world, serving the fear of someone else and making their fear your own. Kill me, Matthias? How could you? You’re a child. A robot, a toy!”

  “What do you know about-”

  “I know your kind,” said Wodan, stepping forward. “Born with every advantage, but completely unable to take any control of your own life. The weight of your own existence is so heavy on your shoulders that you gladly give the burden to another. I’ve seen your ability to shoot, Matthias, and I know that you have an entire empire that worships you. What have you done with that power, Matthias? How many real monsters have you fought? How many people have you inspired to do something great? How many communities have you empowered by kicking out the bullies and bottom-feeders?”

  Matthias looked away. Wodan continued. “None, then? You were born with great power, with an entire nation to back you up, and all you did was feel sorry for yourself…? All you did was ask for a master, and then most likely resented him?” Wodan stood over Matthias. “Speak, then. I’m curious.”

  “You’re embarrassing yourself with this kind of talk,” said Matthias, finally looking at him with hard gray eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. My hands are so fast that in an eyeblink I could-”

  “Could! Could what? Could fill a life with coulds, but never with any dids. The human race is living in the shadow of a monster, and you’re not doing anything to-”

  Matthias rose suddenly and Wodan was knocked aside easily, shocked by Matthias’s strength. Matthias walked away, but said, “What makes you think I’m even human?”

  “That’s where you need help,” said Wodan. “You haven’t even begun the journey of becoming human. There are farmers digging in the dirt and people working in this shit-heap of a city who have endured more than you, and with far less help. You haven’t even begun yet.” Before Wodan could say more, another coughing fit attacked him. He leaned over and gripped the back of the chair.

  Matthias sighed, then said, “You look like shit, man. Is that cancer of yours killing you? You gonna save me the price of a bullet?”

  “Not done with you yet!” said Wodan. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and saw a long maroon-colored streak. “Sit down!”

  Matthias immediately walked toward the door. “You’re dead, anyway. Your city’s done for, you just don’t know it yet. Die that way, if that’s what you want. Without any dignity whatsoever.” Matthias opened the door and turned down the hall. Wodan heard him say, “He’s in there. Go and kill him, if you want.”

  A coughing fit worse than the last hit Wodan. He doubled over the chair, body shaking with rage. He laughed, then spit a wad of blood onto the chair. It was a wonder to him that his small, weak body was now incapable of feeling fear.

  “Yes, come on in!” he shouted at the open doorway. He retrieved a small revolver from his jacket. His hand shook and he accidentally fired into the chair, which sent him into another laughing fit.

  The departing Engel and the gunshot must have spooked the killers, because no one entered. “Come in, I said!” Wodan shouted. “Come and take a stab at the biggest ghost-maker in Pontius!” Wodan felt blood bubbling up in his throat, drowning him in another coughing fit. He grasped
the chair he was leaning on and threw it into the hallway, then stumbled through the door himself.

  He immediately heard footsteps pounding down the stairs, then heard someone fall and curse violently.

  “What are you?” Wodan shouted, then spat another wad of blood onto the floor. “Men, or cowards?”

  With eyes watering uncontrollably, he leaned against the rail and made his way down the stairs. He saw no one. He stumbled out the front door of the building and felt the cool night air and realized that he was drenched in sweat. His skin was baking inside. He did not bother to look and see if his “assassins” were anywhere near. His anger had burned out and he was tired, weary to his bones. With his small gun still in his hand, he sat on the stoop, leaned his head against the rail, and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Foreign zeppelins hung over Pontius. Floodlights covered them and Lawmen trained their guns overhead. The zeppelins flew the flags of the kingdom of Hargis, yellow sun crossed by arrows on a blue background. DeSark, the aged Director of Precinct Zero, raised a loudspeaker and shouted, “Outlanders, send down a representative! Unarmed, mind you!”

  A rope snaked down from one of the airships and a cloaked figure made his way down its length. The figure dropped down the last few feet. A hundred or more guns held by denim-clad Lawmen were trained on his head. The representative was a young man in a desert-brown cloak, with long red hair tied up in the back. DeSark approached him and the young man bowed slightly.

  “I’m Director DeSark, a representative of the Law in Pontius. Who are you, and why does Hargis come here in force?”

  The youth cleared his throat, then said, “I’m Zachariah Hargis, king of the nation of Hargis, which is no more. We have come here because we have no place left to go. We also come with a warning for Pontius.”

  “A warning?” said DeSark.

  * * *

  Far south of Pontius, near the capital of Hargis, a group of soldiers dragged their feet through the sand. They were surrounded by crouching men with horrible, bestial faces. When one of the soldiers realized that most of the crouching savages were not just wild men from the hills, but were dogmen who glared at them with barely restrained hunger, cold sweat broke out on his painted face.

  Fires raged in the distance. A great city tossed about in its death-throes. Whenever the dogmen in the camp ceased barking and shouting, they could hear the demons singing in the city. The human soldiers were exhausted, shocked, but their guns were sheathed and cold from disuse. Each had a red circle painted on his chest or forehead; the Mark had saved their lives.

  They approached a tent among the mass of crouching dogmen, then their commander bid them to stop. A large dogman, black as coal and without the stoop so common to his people, rose and stood over the commander. He growled and said, “Kneel, leashman.”

  The commander of those men, who had spent his life upholding civilization and putting dogmen to the bullet, bowed slightly to the black dogman and knelt in the sand, and his men did the same. The black dogman disappeared into the tent for a long time. The commander did not look at his men, fearing that he would see disappointment, or something equally stupid, written in their faces. As they sat in silence, he came to resent them, thinking that they should be grateful. He had saved their lives by taking them out of the burning capital of Hargis. He had given them the Mark. He had taken them away from the singing, the terrible singing.

  The tent flaps parted and a short, muscular figure emerged, a shirtless man with wild brown hair, scruffy facial hair, and a ceremonial dagger that hung from a cord tied to the front of his pants. His face was hard, almost feral, and burned by the sun. Moonlight caught in his eyes; they were disconcertingly clear, both piercing and empty.

  “Vito,” said the commander. He started to salute, then caught himself.

  “Do not speak,” said the black dogman, “unless spoken to.”

  Vito signaled to another dogman, who brought a wooden stool nearby so that he could sit and look over the commander and his men. Another dogman lit a pipe, sucked it afire, then placed it in Vito’s mouth for him.

  Vito considered the human commander and his crew for a moment, then said, “I’m sure you’re wondering whether it would have been better to stay in the city. To defend it, and to die with the others. To choose a clean death... over this.” He gestured to the surrounding dogmen, crouching and glaring. The commander glanced about, then pursed his lips. “You may speak,” said Vito.

  “Vito, what is all this?”

  “The beginning of the end.”

  “I... don’t understand.”

  Vito leaned forward, then said, “It’s been my experience... that there is no understanding.”

  “What?”

  “You can cope. You can make-do. You can press ahead and, for a while, you can survive. But there is never any real understanding.” Vito let the words sink in for a while, then said, “What was it like in the city?”

  “Terrible, Vito. Flesh demons, thousands of them… just as the warning said. Panic and running, people dying... the monsters, they... they killed and ate... ate humans. But we had the Mark on us. It felt like we were ghosts, looking in from the outside. Like we weren’t there at all. The monsters completely ignored us, Vito! There’s... I think there are others coming, other soldiers that I talked to, who said they would take the Mark. Vito, what is this Mark?”

  “It’s the symbol for zero, the nothingness. By wearing it, you make a statement that you do not exist. The demons only came to destroy that which exists.”

  “Why did they change, Vito? The demons have left us alone, mostly... as long as we stayed out of their territory.”

  “The truth? I have no idea why they’re doing this. I don’t know why they’re coming together. I don’t know why they’ve decided to lay waste to every human city on the face of the world. Probably there is nothing to understand. It just is. And we humans... are no longer.”

  “Humans,” said the commander, casting his eyes about.

  “If you’re wondering what the difference between man and dogman is, you’ll have to stop wondering. You’ve thrown in your lot with us. We’re the ones that humanity rejected.” Vito leaned back, laid the pipe on his knee, and said, “They always called me Half Breed, you know. Because of my appearance. Because my mother consorted with dogmen, even though it’s a known fact that humans and dogmen can’t have children with one another. Even when I was fighting harder than any human ever fought to beat back the wasteland, when I was “saving” lives and being paid a hero’s tribute... they always called me Half Breed. Let’s just say that I’ve cast in my lot with my better half.”

  At that, many of the dogmen barked loudly, then howled and beat fists against their chests.

  “Vito!” grated the commander. “How can you... serve... these... these…”

  “Serve? These animals that I once fought? You’ve misunderstood the rumors. I’ve brought their tribes together. I’ve stopped their in-fighting. I’ve earned their title of Khan and they have given me a life more honest than any lie offered by the four walls of the cage of civilization. And you, commander, you are now a leashman, a servant, to an army that will do the work of the wasteland until there is nothing left that is dishonest in all the world.”

  “To become a dog?” the commander hissed. “My god, man!”

  “We’re not dogs,” said Vito, rising, and the great black dogman stood behind him. “Not anymore, we aren’t. We’re wolves.”

  Chapter Two

  The Suicide Contracts

  Wodan woke to the sound of a guitar playing very gently. He blinked sleep from his eyes and saw Zach sitting on the end of the couch, dressed in a brown military uniform with red highlights. He focused on the desert prince’s hooked nose and heavy brow, confused, but also at peace.

  Wodan tried to rise, then felt dizzy and laid back against the couch. Zach continued playing, but glanced at Wodan and returned his smile. Zach hummed along with the song. Wodan saw Virgil movi
ng about in the kitchen, wearing an undershirt and a handgun tucked into a holster at his chest. He saw rough brown walls and prints of flowers, and realized that they were in Virgil’s home. He had laid sick for over a week.

  Wodan listened to the simple, lonely song with the sound of bacon frying in the background. When the song ended, Zach said, “That’s the first song ever written in the air. I wrote it in a zeppelin on the way here.”

  “You came all the way from Hargis?” said Wodan.

  “Hargis is no more,” said Zach, strumming the guitar with a jarring note. “It’s been destroyed by demons.”

  For some reason, the news did not shock Wodan.

  That’s why people have been seeing fewer demons, he thought. They’ve been coming together. This is their first blow against us.

  Wodan forced himself into a sitting position, then Zach helped him off the couch. They embraced, greatly glad to see one another again. Virgil entered and set a pan of cooked eggs and bacon before them, and they all sat down to eat.

  “I heard that you and the detective here destroyed the two strongest gangs in Pontius,” said Zach.

  Virgil’s mustache pushed out to either side as he tried to hide a grin. Wodan nodded, but looked away.

  “But I also heard,” said Zach, “a little about… our friends…”

  “Killed by gang fighting,” said Wodan. “Which I dragged them into.”

  “None of that talk, son,” said Virgil.

  Zach sat in silence for a moment, then said, “You never cease to surprise me, Wodan.”

  “You’ve lost your home?” said Wodan, desperate to change the subject.

  “To an army of flesh demons,” said Zach, speaking around mouthfuls of food. “It’s hard to believe it, but they destroyed everything.”

  “Without warning?” said Wodan.

  “Not... exactly. There were rumors. No, more than that… it’s hard to describe, but there was a strange feeling in the air. Some people seemed to lose hope. We’ve always had trouble with rebels, but their attacks stopped for no clear reason. Prophets shouting doom and gloom are a common sight in our part of the world, but they’re mostly ignored. Lately, people started taking them seriously. The end of the world became a common theme in stories and conversations.” After a pause, Zach said, “And the insane. The people in the asylums. They knew. Somehow, they knew the demons were coming.