Hunter bounded across the bleachers with the same childlike energy that he brought to everything he did. Virgil’s fleet feet kept pace directly behind him. The ghouls stared blankly at them. A look of vague confusion crossed their haggard faces.

Hunter felt a pang of guilt as he reached out and shoved two of them hard in the chest. They flailed wildly about as their bodies went careening down the aisles. Hunter’s guilt subsided a bit when he saw them land against a large pile of soft dirt that had accumulated against a railing two levels below. The guttural, unintelligible cries of the falling ghouls drew the caustic gaze of the fiendish slave driver hovering over the room. Malacoda locked eyes with Hunter and snarled. Hunter immediately bolted for the passage. Virgil was nowhere to be seen.

“You... Rohjarrat!” Malocoda exclaimed in a surprised tone. “You should not have come here.” He snarled as he dove downward and toward Hunter.

“Obter elian chronan!” Malacoda shouted at the ghouls.

Their slack-jawed expressions grew focused and menacing. They dropped buckets and dirt and began chasing Hunter. Hunter deftly disappeared into the passage.

Malacoda picked up speed as he dove. He barreled through the passage to find himself surrounded. Inside the alcove, a semi-circle of tall, robed monks holding staffs capped with the caduceus stared at him.

“I have no time for your parlor tricks, magician.” Malacoda muttered loudly.

He threw his head back, puffed out his chest, and shook violently. In a moment, his head snapped forward and his jutting lower jaw came unhinged as it dropped unnaturally low. With a roar, an infernal vortex of flames cascaded out of Malacoda’s monstrous throat and engulfed the doppelgangers of Virgil. Malacoda whipped his head from side to side and sprayed the room with flames. The doppelgangers crumbled into fine dust.

“Acolo tukaj!” Virgil’s voice echoed down the long, dark hall.

The voice caught Malacoda’s attention and he turned to face the hallway. Malacoda coiled his grasshopper-like legs and sprung down the hallway. With his crimson body halfway in, a blinding flash of light erupted from Virgil’s staff. Malacoda was blinded momentarily. As the stars in his eyes faded, Malacoda saw Virgil pull back on his longbow. Malacoda turned as a Damascus-steel tipped arrow came hurdling down the hallway. It landed deep just below Malacoda’s right shoulder.

Malacoda let out a shriek that would have woken the dead.

• • •

Meanwhile, as soon as Malacoda had disappeared into the passageway, Hongo had lead the charge toward the guarded portico. He walked purposefully toward the guards. At first they noticed him, but did not react. As he got closer, however, they grew increasingly alarmed. Within twenty feet, they began to raise their weapons. Hongo quickdrew his pistol and fired four rounds, one in the chest and one in the head for each of them. He stepped nimbly over their slumped bodies and entered the guarded hallway.

“Ewww.” Tiyana muttered as she stepped over one of the slumped shells of former human beings. Before they entered the portico, Tiyana walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down into the pit.

“What do you think they are looking for?” She asked absentmindedly.

Hongo and Vito joined her at the precipice.

“I can see it.” Hongo said excitedly.

“See what?” Tiyana asked.

“It, it is there, at the bottom, toward the right.” Hongo pointed as he spoke.

Tiyana saw a faint glimmer of something metallic. Hongo, meanwhile, had pulled out his binoculars. He was peering intently through them. Tiyana gave him a few moments before interjecting.

“Can you tell what it is?”

“Here, have a look, you would know better than me.” He said as he passed the binoculars.

She looked down into the pit and saw a large halfway-unearthed machine. It glowed in places with the same pallid blue glow that the ghoul’s hoverboards had glowed with. The glow reminded her of the light from the labyrinth back in Egypt and the luminescent water in the Himalayas. She wondered what source of energy powered that glow.

“I don’t believe it.” Tiyana remarked.

“What?” Hongo and Vito replied in unison.

“It’s like a futuristic version of the Grabenbohren drill. I have a bad feeling about this. Underground tunnel boring is what led to this whole mess to begin with.”

“Are you sure?” Hongo asked.

Tiyana sighed, “I don’t know. I don’t like this, not one bit.”

“So, they are planning on drilling an underground passageway?” Hongo speculated.

“Bugger... there’s no way... it’s not possible...” Tiyana trailed off.

Hongo shook his head and Tiyana went on, “Is this the way he plans on getting to France? Back in Africa when we were captive and you were about to bust us out . . . he said that he would take France first because of its self-reliance on nuclear power. Then, he landed at Genoa, in Italy...”

“Tiyana, we spent many weeks preparing to drill through a couple hundred feet of rock back in Egypt. They cannot hope to drill through the Ligurian Alps, the entire mountain range, all the way to France.”

“Hongo, that is not a Grabenbohren drill. That,” she pointed for emphasis, “is an Aldenduenum drill. I’m not going to write anything off at this point.”

Hongo sighed and shook his head, “Come on, let us see about those prisoners. The drill, or whatever it is, will be here when we get back.”

The glowing machine at the bottom of the excavation had piqued even Vito’s attention. By the end of the conversation, however, he had grown antsy. He was ready to find his Paola. He kept his right hand raised and his shotgun pointed diagonally at the floor in front of him. He was ready to raise the tip on a moment’s notice and he had the safety off. He had never used a shotgun before. His nerves were on edge as he followed Hongo into the portico and down a long hall. At the end of the hallway, they found an alcove with double doors and glowing green buttons.

“Is that what it looks like?” Tiyana asked.

“I think so.” Hongo replied. “I guess they are as useful to one civilization as another.”

“Do you think the power’s on?” Tiyana asked.

“Only one way to find out.” Hongo said as he pushed the uppermost green button.

They heard a whooshing sound, then a ding, and then the double doors opened. They entered the elevator.

• • •

Malacoda ripped the arrow violently out of his shoulder. Golden ichor spewed out from the wound like a geyser. Virgil had not waited to survey the damage that he had done. He turned tail and ran like his life depended on it once he had fired the shot. His life did depend on it. Malacoda paused only for a few moments before he put pressure on the wound with his left palm and resumed the chase. Virgil was hot on Hunter’s tail. They ran down one passage after another, zigzagging through the maze of hallways and rooms that supplemented the grand coliseum. Occasionally, they turned a corner and Malacoda lost their trail. When that happened, he would stop and sniff the air. He would close his eyes and take a deep breath. Then he would resume the chase.

Hunter found a staircase and took the steps two at a time. Virgil stayed right by his side. Hunter no longer carried his satchel of blades. He had dropped it just before the entrance to the passageway. The chase went on for a solid fifteen minutes before Hunter realized that he was reaching the upper portion of the mid-level of the stadium. He was winded. He stopped to catch his breath.

“You got any ideas Vee?” He gasped. “We can’t keep this up forever.”

Virgil spoke uncannily without a hint of labored breathing, “No, only that we must keep moving.”

They heard heavy footsteps. Hunter turned and ran. As he turned the corner, he saw bright lights and vast emptiness. They had come out of a new portico onto a balcony overlooking the stadium.

“Great.” Hunter gasped sardonically.

“Here he comes.” Virgil replied.

With their backs to the railing, the duo turned and watched the chitinous exoskeleton of Malacoda’s diabolically crimson body writhe its way into the portico. A fiendish, many-fanged grin broke out across his face. He coiled his powerful legs.

“Get back!” Virgil shouted urgently.

Simultaneously, he shoved Hunter hard. Hunter stumbled toward the left rail, hit it with his waist, and toppled over. With his other hand, Virgil pulled his bow from his back and threw in an arrow. Just before he raised it and drew back on the cord, Malacoda tackled him with unstoppable force. They went flying off of the balcony and into the open air of the vast stadium. Virgil struggled mightily and they tumbled head over heels for a few scores of feet before Malacoda spread his wings and curved their downward trajectory upward. They stayed alight, but Virgil’s staff caught Malacoda hard in the gut and they continued to tumble. Hunter had landed hard on his shoulder, but he struggled to his feet and looked down. He watched as Virgil and Malacoda went tumbling into the pit.

• • •

At the end of the hallway, Hongo could see ghouls patrolling languidly. They showed no particular interest in their current occupation. An empty look was in their eyes. The doorways to the rooms on this floor had been removed and iron bars had been sloppily fused from the floor to the ceiling. From inside the rooms, Hongo could hear the muffled rustlings of people. He heard their voices, but could not make out what they were saying. He could tell that it was human. It was full of life. There were flesh and blood, unconverted people in the rooms. Vito’s heart was pounding rapidly against the cage of his chest. Hongo saw nervous fear and unthinking determination in his rapid breathing and wide eyes. Sweat oozed from Vito’s glands and soaked through his undershirt to his outer shirt. It streamed down his arms. His grip on the butt of his shotgun, however, remained solid and controlled.

There were four ghouls in the hall marching in no particular pattern. They simply moved to keep from remaining still. Hongo waited until they all faced away and deftly skirted across the hall. He raised his pistols and signaled Vito with his eyes. Tiyana watched in silence. She was deathly afraid for Vito. Hongo knew how to handle himself, but she did not know what to think about their portly friend.

Hongo put a gun into his waistband and held up three fingers toward Vito, indicating a countdown of three. Then, he drew the gun from his waistband and began flicking it slowly and methodically, once, twice...

At that moment, the trio heard a yelp. It was a kind of muffled cry as if for help or from surprise. Hongo stopped the countdown. Tiyana sidled up to the window, which still overlooked the colossal coliseum. The window was four floors up from the midlevel where they had entered. She saw a red, writhing jumble with flashes of black, bony wings and white, flowing robes. It was Malacoda and Virgil tumbling into the pit. She glanced up and saw Hunter sprawled out unnaturally in the stony bleachers. She gasped loudly and involuntarily at the sight. She thought that Hunter might be wounded or dead. She saw the balcony and Hunter ten feet below it. She assumed the worst.

At that moment, the ghouls heard the gasp. They looked down the hallway toward Hongo and Vito’s position. Hongo had been leaning his head ever so slightly across the plane of the wall’s corner, watching the patrolling movements of the ghouls. They caught a glimpse of Hongo and made loud guttural sounds to each other. All four ghouls reached for their vambraces and flipped a switch. As they flipped it, the tubes running from their sinister armor down their bionic arm attachments glowed with bright blue, electric light.

“Now!” Hongo screamed as he locked eyes with Vito.

The duo turned the wall’s corners simultaneously and opened fire. The ghouls were mowed down before they had a chance to react. Vito’s poor aim mattered little with his short-barreled scattergun. The bursts of lead pellets found their targets easily. Many of the pellets bounced harmlessly off of the ghoul’s sinister armor. The rest found vulnerable tissue. Hongo quickly approached the downed opponents and put cautionary final shots in them.

“Hongo! It’s Hunter! He’s down!” Tiyana shouted hysterically.

She pushed the elevator button again and again even though it lit up easily the first time.

“Come on, there’s no time. Sorry Vito. Stay here and find your Paola.” Tiyana, always cool under pressure, said to the man.

“Hongo, let’s go. We’ll deal with the prisoners later.” She said.

Vito was hardly paying attention. He was running from one iron-barred door to the next, desperately searching for his lost love.

• • •

Powerful jerks of cranial rage roiled through the demon’s body. He coiled and punched. The blow landed with ferocious vigor. The whirling pugilists gnashed their teeth. Malacoda’s boiling rage spilled out. He easily gave in to passion. He always had. He lived for it above all else. He had a primal, almost feral nature. He did not agree or disagree with Ghaelvord’s ideology. He followed Ghaelvord only for the opportunity to fight. He followed orders doggedly, but was no milquetoast. Ghaelvord always had powerful, interesting enemies. Malacoda lived for the challenge. He enjoyed the rush of a good battle. As he indulged, the soft monk crumbled. Black talons from Malacoda’s unholy fingers ripped flesh from Virgil’s bones. A hue of insipid orange blood mottled Virgil’s otherwise immaculate robes.

Malacoda feasted off of the rage like a satyr. He drank it in and let it take him. He enjoyed the escape. Life could be so real. Virgil meanwhile maintained his detached poise as he fought, even as his body deteriorated. Ichor still streamed from the arrow wound that Malacoda had incurred just as the chase began. Virgil plunged his fingers deep into the wound and twisted. A primal scream of pain along with stray tongues of flame erupted out of Malacoda’s throat. He released his grip on Virgil, and the monk dropped to the pit’s floor. Malacoda hovered in midair for a few seconds, recovering from his injury. As he hovered, a loud bang reverberated across the coliseum’s walls.

“Up here freak! Come get some!” Hunter yelled from his perch.

He had recovered from his fall and climbed back up to the balcony overlooking the pit, the same balcony that Malacoda and Virgil had gone tumbling off of earlier. Hunter had shot Malacoda in the side using a small derringer that he kept in an ankle holster. Because of the short barrel, Hunter was lucky to have hit his target at all from that distance. Because of the small size of the .380 ACP cartridge fired, the bullet hurt the crimson beast, but did little to slow him down. It did, however, distract him and that was what Hunter wanted.

Another primal yell coupled with tongues of flame erupted from Malacoda’s throat.

“Get him!” The yell took on a deep baritone and became a barked order.

Malacoda flapped his wings and gestured to the nearby ghouls. The line of them snaked up and around and out of the pit. When the fight broke out, they had dropped the buckets of dirt that they had been hauling. They stared expressionless at the unfolding scene. When they heard Malacoda’s order, however, they snapped to attention and clambered up and out of the pit. Hunter watched from his perch as the nearly naked ghouls scrambled up the aisles of seats. They climbed up toward Hunter’s balcony with dog-like determination. None of them were armed or wearing armor. They looked pitiful and defenseless without their ray guns and metallic uniforms. Hunter felt sorry for them.

“Not fast enough friend!” Hunter called down as he took a potshot at Malacoda.

Meanwhile, Virgil chanted softly over his staff, “Batseko lithus ab stasis fold; batseko lithus ab stasis fold; batseko lithus ab stasis fold.”

The staff vibrated gently in his hands. The silver of the caduceus turned grey. The points glowed like embers and small flakes of ash wafted off of the rod.

Malacoda began turning back to check on what the monk was doing, but Hunter interrupted him.

“Malacoda!” Hunter screamed. “That is your name right? Why did you run away back in Somalia? I was only getting warmed up. Do you think you can take me now?”

Malacoda grinned, “You are far too far underground for the declopse, skydweller. You are in my world now.”

“We’ll see about that.” Hunter yelled back.

Malacoda began opening his mouth to respond, but before he got more than a syllable out, his eyes widened, and a look of shock broke out on his face. His neck twitched. His wings fluttered. Then, he fell to the floor of the pit. The twin points of the caduceus stuck in his back at the apex of the thoracic curve where his wings met his vertebral column. The shaft of Virgil’s staff stuck straight up in the air. Malacoda lay prostrate with his face in the dirt. He twitched. Hunter watched as his crimson skin went pale and took on shades of grey. Malacoda was petrified.

“Thank you for the distraction!” Virgil called out.

“No problem!” Hunter answered. “You can always count… hey! Hey!”

Virgil watched as two ghouls grappled with Hunter. They had snuck up behind him and taken hold of each of his arms. Hunter jerked his body like a caged animal. The surprise of the attack gave him a burst of adrenaline. A ghoul held his right arm. He reached behind the ghoul’s head and grabbed a fistful of the rags that passed for a shirt. He dropped his right shoulder and hurled the ghoul off of the balcony. Then, he used his free right hand to pick up the derringer from the floor where it had fallen when he was attacked. He shot the ghoul holding his left arm. Then he looked behind him.

“Damn! Virgil, I have a problem up here.” He cried out.

On the inside of the balcony, the door to the hall had been shut, probably by the ghouls that had gotten the drop on him. He ran to the doors and tried to open them. He shook them hard. They would not budge. They had been locked from the inside. He was trapped on the balcony. He could run up the aisles, but as he looked up, he saw ghouls bounding down the stairs towards him. As he looked down, he saw ghouls clambering up. Ghouls were also closing in from the sides. He was trapped.

While Hunter shook the doors, Virgil had heard Malacoda groan. The beast stirred as he painstakingly lifted himself up onto his hands and knees. Virgil took a lapis lazui stone from his robe and began chanting. As he chanted, he walked toward Malacoda. Tiny crystals of ice began forming on Malacoda’s skin. The crystals became more pronounced. Tiny blue icicles dangled from his joints.

Virgil held the stone out in front of himself. It was glowing hotly now. The process had begun. He stopped chanting. Then, he called out to the ghouls to stop gunning for Hunter’s position. They would not stop. Virgil’s voice became frantic.

“Ghouls! Avastol chronan! Djinn! Avastol chronan! Malebranche! Avastol chronan! Avastol! Ifrits! Avastol chronan! Avastol chronan!”