Chapter 95: Nightmare, Part 7

They entered the convent, naturally accompanied by a large number of soldiers. Not all of them, though—an entire army trailed behind. A full damn army out there. So most of them stayed outside, guarding the perimeter. Not that he was sure they even called it that in this world or era. Azón had never cared much for history, to be honest.

The only thing he'd ever been interested in—or rather obsessed with—was making a lot of money as fast as possible. That had been the sole focus of his mind since he was a kid: money, power, status. Only to end up a miserable wreck, just another crazy bastard on the news that normal people would watch and think: Holy crap! That guy must’ve been high as hell on coke.

Sam frowned. But that had nothing to do with him. Absolutely nothing. That was another world, another life, and other concerns. His aspirations were within his grasp. He could almost touch them with his fingertips. He had slaughtered the Wrights, growing stronger. He had killed War, removing her from the picture for a long, long time. But still, there was too much in his way: Hunger, the bastard in her womb, Pestilence, Death, Satan, and, of course, the heavenly hosts as well.

I have promises to keep, he thought, and miles to go before I sleep.

Except he wouldn’t “sleep,” and the promises were only to himself.

Inside, it was very quiet. Sure, there was that damn glitch, but it was still true. Too much silence—an obvious ambush. It couldn’t have been more obvious since Famine had been given more than enough advance warning. He was the only one focused on the possible ambush. The others were more distracted.

“Damn! I’ve never seen anything like this,” muttered another soldier.

With other things. Apparently, Famine had felt inspired because she painted the convent’s interior with the blood and guts of its inhabitants. And of the spies too, probably. There were heaps of entrails grotesquely hanging over a perfectly good chandelier—a little too fancy for some nuns.

In any case, the most unsettling detail wasn’t Famine’s decorative hobby but the fact that not a single corpse could be found. Despite the sea of blood and guts everywhere, there wasn’t a trace of bodies. That, in his opinion, was the creepiest part.

But if she thought she could make him back off with this horrifying display, she was dead wrong. Though it was likely more a ploy for her own amusement than anything else. Well, the opposite of amusing, really. Ha ha.

The queen couldn’t take it anymore. She brought a hand to her mouth, swallowed back bile, and doubled over, showing weakness—tears welling in her eyes. She probably thought she had to hold it together, but at this point, in the middle of this hell, who the hell would care if the queen broke down? Sure, morale mattered; seeing their leader falter wasn’t good for the soldiers. But who would be focused on the little majesty’s reaction now? They were animals in a slaughterhouse. Nothing more. Their only concern was avoiding ending up hanging and disemboweled. Doing whatever it took to avoid that ignoble fate.

Sam had to admit it: that bitch had done a good job. Even his stomach was churning, mostly from trudging through so much gore. He didn’t have a germ phobia or any crap like that, but it was still gross as hell. He liked these boots. Someone had clearly paid a lot for them.

“This is a nightmare.”

Yeah, no kidding, Sam thought. Where the hell is that bitch? If she’d already given birth, the reception would surely have been very different. At the very least, the mother would have come for him—no games, no delays, no wasting his time with this crap.

Sam had had enough. He moved ahead of the group, even ahead of Anabela. There were three directions, three doors. That was it. He chose the center one, kicking it open. Beyond it, just the same damn thing. No sign of Famine. Except for evidence of what she’d been up to in recent weeks.

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Damn weeks, he thought. Weeks. Goddamn it.

Mostly, she’d wasted his time. But at least he still had a chance to right his mistakes. One last shot.

“Samuel, be careful.”

Anabela, all formal all of a sudden. Of course.

Samuel didn’t take any damn care. He went to the next door and kicked it down too. Mainly to avoid wasting his energy with magic before he’d even found the bastard. Nothing. The third, same story.

They’d barely begun searching the convent. He knew that. Many hiding spots, many ways to ambush people. Yet it annoyed him more than ever. He wanted to drop to his knees and scream in frustration.

So close. So close and so goddamn far.

It felt like the world was working against him, which it shouldn’t be, considering he was technically fighting to save it. The ungrateful bastard.

“There’s a basement, right?” Sam suddenly asked.

One of the soldiers answered, “Yes, sir. It’s in the blueprints.”

Sam nodded slowly. “All right. Some of you come with me to check out the damn basement. The rest…” Oh no. What had he been about to say? Splitting up to cover more ground never worked. “No, forget it. We should all stay together, as a team. We can’t give her the chance to screw us over one by one.”

Thank goodness he’d corrected himself just in time. Barely. But done was done.

Sam took a deep breath. The group was really a hassle for everyone. Hell, with the soldiers, there was hardly room to cross the hallway. They approached the basement. Sam forced the hatch open. It was even easier than kicking down those doors.

To keep up his streak of non-stupid decisions, Sam directed a few poor bastards to go down first. Jumping, because it required a jump. Sure, he could heal from pretty bad injuries, but there was no reason to risk himself like a damn fool.

For the same reason, he subtly pushed the queen back when she, for some stupid reason, apparently wanted to be among the first to go down. The poor bastards below lit torches.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything here either,” they reported, wandering in circles like a bunch of idiots.

Damn bitch, where the hell could she be? Once again, if she was still hiding at this point, it must mean she was about to give birth—but only about to. There was still time to stop this madness.

Even if she was so close, there was hope. He had to make it. All this worry, all this effort, just to get here and have her spit in his face? No, that was unacceptable. He wouldn’t allow it.

Sam started biting a nail, frustrated beyond belief, but stopped immediately. That was a classless act; he was better than that now.

Splitting up to cover more ground still seemed like a very bad idea, but maybe he couldn’t afford the luxury of good ideas. Maybe this was all he had.

Damn it, the basement was one of the first places anyone would think to hide, so did that mean Hunger wouldn’t be there? Or that, precisely for that reason, it would be? Damn it.

In the end, Sam jumped down.

“Be careful,” said Christina, following him inside without a second thought.

You’re one to talk, Sam thought. He also considered telling her to stay back just in case, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. He knew she hadn’t come all this way just to stay behind.

What did surprise him was that Violet did stay behind, Sam would have thought the same went for her. But oh well, she’d always been the hardest to predict, the one who surprised him the most.

Whatever the reason, Christina and Sam advanced together through the darkness, at the center of the soldiers’ formation, under the light of the torches. Sam looked around, searching.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

But it had to be somewhere. How was it that it wasn’t even making a sound? He didn’t know what kind of abomination it carried in its belly, but even a mother screamed giving birth to a normal child. That thing should have been howling. Its location should have been more than obvious, just a matter of following the sounds.

So what was going on here? Had Anabela been wrong? But she’d seen it with her own eyes. She’d told him from the start, and she’d confirmed it countless times over the two-day journey, that it was still there. That she’d seen it.

Sam bit down hard on his lower lip. He tasted blood soon enough. If it wanted to ambush them, it should just come out of the damn darkness already. Stop playing games.

Then, as if answering his thoughts:

“I’m here, Sammy.”

A voice like the heartbeat of the darkness itself. A warm, damp darkness that reeked of death.

“I’m here.”

Nightmare, Part 7: END