His inhuman physique reared and bucked. As he stumbled down the temple’s nave, giant wings sliced the air and tentacles lashed the air furiously, knocking over pews. The demon’s monstrous limbs did not move under his orders any longer. The puppeteer had become the puppet—but who was in the driver’s seat?
The souls of Horne’s children were battling it out to see which one would control the demon. Horne himself just watched, cold and calculating, as Morgal fought against their attempts at possession.
What game was the Desmond Horne playing here?
Morgal roared in fury and pain as the four souls pulsed around him, becoming a blazing tornado of supernatural light. The demon could’ve easily crushed one soul foolish enough to attempt such an impossible feat, but four seemed to be enough to give him a challenge.
My mind was reeling. Had Desmond Horne sacrificed his children because he believed their souls could successfully take control of the beast? I doubted very much that would work so what did the old man hope to gain?
Morgal dug a clawed reptilian fist into his glowing chest. An instant later, the talons emerged from his body, now clutching a squirming ghost. It was Eric Horne’s spirit form.
The demon popped the spirit’s head like a balloon, fragments of screaming ethereal energy dispersing throughout the unholy temple.
One soul down, three more to go.
I sensed this struggle wouldn’t go on for much longer. Four human spirits weren’t powerful enough to possess a demon for any length of time. Already, Morgal was reasserting control. The outcome of this battle was a foregone conclusion. Desmond Horne had miscalculated, and his gambit would fail within the next few minutes as the souls of his children were defeated.
I eyed the old man. His features were still calm and composed, but a flicker of triumph in his narrowed gaze gave me pause. What was the old devil up to?
As if to provide an answer to my question, Horne began to recite an ancient prayer. An arcane magical circle lit up around the altar. A series of glyphs appeared inside the circle, previously invisible to the naked eye.
The demon tore another one of the attacking souls from his heaving body and shredded it in. Robert Horne’ spirit mouthed a silent scream as the demon’s incredible power tore his soul apart.
Only Celeste and Garbriel remained, their spirits flickering dimly inside the demon’s struggling form. They were growing weaker. As their ranks had thinned, their struggle intensified.
Horne’s voice rose as he chanted, swelling with power. A second magic circle ignited around Morgal, identical to the one Desmond Horne stood in. More arcane symbols grew visible, both inside the circle as well as the walls and ceiling of the underground temple.
That’s when I finally understood what was happening. I’d been wrong about everything. So very, very wrong.
This isn’t a place of worship, I realized. It’s a trap.
Celeste Horne’s soul had been the bait to lure the demon into this temple. And the four souls were meant to both distract Morgal and steer him into the previously invisible magical circle. Horne had never believed his kids could defeat the demon. Their deaths were just another part of his game.
Morgal was coming to the same conclusion. “What is this?” the demon cried as he pulled Celeste’s soul from his mouth and crushed her in his clawed hands. I got one final look with the femme fatale who’d played me from the start. There was no fear in her eyes as her soul perished, only an expression of ecstatic triumph.
Celeste had lied to me on so many levels. She’d never been the disowned bastard child out for revenge. The dark devotion expressed in her final moments spoke volumes. She had been a loyal servant, dedicated to carrying out her father’s plans. I was witnessing the culmination of a long con that had lasted more than two decades.
While these thoughts cycled through my mind, Morgal tried to escape from the magical circle by hurtling himself against its borders with all his might. There was a crackle of mystical energy, and blue-green forks of electricity arced as the invisible force field repelled the beast.
Even a demon couldn’t overcome Desmond Horne’s spell.
“What have you done, human?” Morgal demanded to know.
Desmond Horne offered no answer as his chant built into a raw-throated cry. I made out snippets of Latin and Aramaic but the nature of the spell eluded me.
The two magical circles changed color, the white light turning an electric blue as Desmond Horne’s occult ritual hit its crescendo. Blinding rays of light licked the air. Under normal circumstances I would have shielded my gaze from the furious light, but my paralysis forced me to keep watching.
Supernatural energy washed over the demon’s monstrous features, the eerie light flooding his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, saturating his scaly skin. Morgal slumped to his knees, his monstrous head hunched forward, a Duke of Hell bested by a mere mortal.
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.
The violent bursts of magical energy dispersed in a final blinding flash.
Reality was back to normal.