The Shade

[PepsiWhirda]

Professor Abraham Van Helsing stood before the exorcised creature, soaking wet, shivering, and knew he faced a power far greater than himself. God almighty, a demon, occupying the body of an innocent child. Would the horrors of the Omniverse never end? Not for the first time, the professor thought of what he would do next—if he didn't die here. Perhaps he was long overdue for some time in the sun. Somewhere far away from The Pale Moors and its creatures of the night.

First, though, there was unfinished business. His thoughts turned briefly to Whirda, struggling for her life above, struggling for a cause so vast as to have wholly consumed her. He prayed, clutching feebly at the cross around his neck, that she would survive this conflict—that she would not be the latest course in the meal that was Omni's foul game. What strength he yet possessed, he owed to her.

Van Helsing bent clumsily to wrap numb fingers around the hilt of his sword. He strode forward, positioning himself in front of the girl in the blood red robes.

The demon, silent until now, the demon began to laugh.

The professor was not amused. "If it is a fight you want, creature," he said. "Come forth and know your end." He brandished his weapon and settled into a defensive stance, his eyes fixed on the monstrosity before him."

The laughter lasted several long moments, filling the air around him. The professor felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the demon pulsed with mirth.

"Look at you," the demon said dismissively. "You may think yourself noble, professor, but there is no nobility in suicide. To defeat you now, well, it would just be..." The demon swept its hand casually aside, and the professor, with no chance to resist, was flung bodily into the cavern wall with a sickening crunch.

Pain replaced numbness—bright white pain, the pain of shattered bones and mangled flesh.

"Too easy," the demon finished, with a dark laugh. "We will meet again, Van Helsing. I do hope you will rise to the challenge."

The professor coughed, blood oozing thick between his lips. Somehow, he shoved himself upward, onto his hands and knees. He crawled, unable to lift his head, unable to speak through a mouthful of metallic blood, toward Nyx's unconscious form. Reached, losing his balance and hitting the ground again, to grasp a handful of red robe. In his darkening vision, he saw the demon approach, heard distantly the swish of its robes.

In his hand, a rustle of movement. A stirring. Nyx's robes slipped free of his feeble grasp as Nyx rose to her feet.

The professor spat, coughed again. "My—my dear girl. My dear girl, you must—must run... you must..." He slumped, all strength having fled him once more.

He was dimly aware of a hand on his cheek—of the demon's laughter, joined now by the girl's. "I'm sorry, professor," Nyx intoned from somewhere far away. "Goodbye."

Silence crowded into the chamber. Pain lanced through Van Helsing's neck as he lifted his head. Both the demon and the girl had vanished. He had failed.