Page 46 of Ravenous Prophecy
When Williams opened his eyes again, they were beetle black, the compound faceted eyes of an enormous insect. Slick black blades erupted through his skin, his fingers turned into wicked talons, the bones of his forearms corrupted and curved into pincers.
All human flesh fell away, revealing the thing that had just stepped into our world, the thing that had used JA Williams as both its host and its doorway.
There was no mistaking the locust-like origins of theHive within the creature, its spiny, chitinous exoskeleton a glossy black painted over with the dark red of blood. It unfurled to its full height, eight feet of carapace and hatred, its horned head uncomfortably close to brushing against the ceiling.
“So no villainous monologue, then?” I asked.
“Very funny, Gallows,” Julian snarled. “This is bad. Real bad.”
“For you, maybe,” I teased.
The Hive Father’s carapace was as good as armor, better than anything that hack Kane Smith could forge. Julian’s blade would have a tough time cutting through to its soft, vulnerable flesh. But my knuckles? Cannons were made for blasting, baby. Its magic could take down a tank.
I raised my fist, pushing all of my energies into the loop of ancient brass, teeth clenched as I aimed a strike straight for the creature’s segmented thorax. Eldritch power roared as my knuckles struck home—but nothing. The Hive Father’s acrid breath misted against my face. It backhanded me with its spiny talons, smashing me out of the way as easily as a man swats an insect.
The blow sent me sprawling across the floor, my muscles and bones aching from the crashing fall. Bradley and Brigette rushed to my side, helping me to my feet as Julian and Elaine peppered the monstrous creature with blade strikes and magical blasts.
I cried out at the shooting pain in my arm. The skin had been torn open, an angry red gash left by the Hive Father’s talons.
“Griffin,” Brigette said, her voice trembling. “Your blood.”
I looked down, then wished I hadn’t. Trickles of blood from the ugly wound in my arm had fallen to the floor. The droplets were glowing an eerie, ominous crimson. And had my blood really dribbled that way, forming the exact shape of an occult glyph?
“This was all part of his plan,” Bradley said through gritted teeth. “We’re supposed to be the sacrifice.”
With a scribble and a whispered spell, Brigette commanded pages to rip free from her book. I watched as they arranged themselves into the approximation of a bandage, just enough to cover my wound, thick enough to absorb my blood and stop it from drawing more of these hideous runes.
I thanked her as I kicked at the glyph, smearing my blood across the floor, erasing its power. The glow faded. That bought us some time. But how much?
The Hive Father pointed its talons forward and opened its hideous mass of mandibles. Something that sounded like both an animal scream and a chitter erupted from its mouth. The mutated cultists shrieked in answer. Call and response, master and servant. As one, the Hive cultists descended on us.
A shiver ran down my spine. This was the true finale to Williams’s ritual. First he’d spilled all that mundane blood to summon the Hive Father and its many minions. Now the blood of those who worked closely with magic would close the circle and complete the ceremony.
This wasn’t any ordinary ritual circle. This was a portal in the making.
Brigette scribbled frantically in her book, a long, final stroke triggering her spell. Pages tore free of its spine,ripping again and again as a storm of razor-sharp paper smothered the cultists in a cloud of whirling white blades. The cultists thrashed as they bled from their incisions, blinded and muzzled by seemingly sentient sheets of paper.
But the Hive Father remained unharmed, its carapace hardly even nicked by the assault. Its shoulders shook in a familiar, sickening rhythm, its mandibles clacking. It was laughing at us. It was mocking us.
Another chittering command from the Hive Father, and this time the cultists truly went feral, snarling and slavering as they clawed at us, human nails transformed into the same glistening talons as their master’s.
One cultist grappled Julian’s blade, unheeding of how it cut into her palms. Another slammed bodily into Elaine, knocking her off her feet, sending one of her spells blasting upward, dropping chunks of ceiling and dust. The Hive Father laughed again. It knew they were winning.
Brigette hurled the limp cover of her emptied book at the nearest cultist, crying out when he snapped his teeth and charged at her. Bradley braced against me, his head in his hands, his lips quivering. A spell? Was he preparing an incantation?
The Hive were closing in. I clenched my fist, then clenched my teeth against the searing pain of my arm. Frustration clotted my throat. I was supposed to protect him. I was supposed to make sure that we—that all of us—made it through this.
“Bradley,” I muttered. “Run.”
“No,” he growled back. His voice—was it deeper? More guttural?
And then he spoke again.
“Kill your progenitor,” Bradley said, pointing at the Hive Father. “Rend. Tear. Devour.”
The blood lust seemed to fade from the cultists, their frenzy suddenly forgotten. Glimpses of human thought returned to their eyes, but only for a flicker. As one, their heads turned toward the Hive Father, heeding Bradley’s commands.
“Kill. Obey. Destroy. Obey. Feast.”
