Though these monsters were creatures of the earth, they were also creatures of delusion. As such, they suffered the same faults and fallibilities of the woman who manifested them. They were as blind to Stehlen as the Geborene Priestess.
Stehlen, cloaked in self-hatred and the knowledge she was worthless—beneath notice—stood behind the woman. The Wahnist was thin, emaciated from months of starvation, held upright only by force of her insane will. She teetered at the Pinnacle, reeking of madness and the stench of a woman too lost in dementia to care for herself.
What this Wahnist believed that allowed her to bring mud and stone to life, Stehlen had no idea. Perhaps she loathed all humanity and thought the earth should rise up to crush the filth infesting its surface. The Kleptic understood such loathing, could even appreciate it. But as with all Geisteskranken, that hatred was misplaced. The Geborene Priestess hated herself more than she hated any other, craved her own death more than she desired the extermination of her species.
Stehlen granted the woman her deepest wish and buried a knife in her neck. The Priestess kicked and shuddered in Stehlen’s arms, her pumping heart emptying her in heaving pulses. Releasing the woman, Stehlen watched as the Wahnist and her delusions collapsed to the earth. Three weakening heartbeats later, no stone monsters remained.
Thinking to once again disappear, Stehlen turned to face the man. She found herself the attention of hundreds of flitting wraiths.
Join us, they called to her. Let your inner demons free.
Beyond them, kneeling in the mud, head bowed in prayer, Stehlen saw the priest.
Shed your guilt, said the demons. You’ve earned this torment.
They mobbed her, tearing at her soul with chimerical claws. Hooked talons raked through her heart, dragging her from her own body. The meat of her slipped away.
Punishment. Retribution. Everything she craved and cowered from was within reach. Claws, real claws, sharp like steel, tore at her insides. She remembered the bodies, split from within as if something dug its way out.
It’s fighting its way free.
Raw agony shredded her innards. Pressure built against her ribs, swelling them outward. She’d burst.
Stehlen saw Bedeckt, still standing over the pretty girl, beset by wraiths seeking to free his own inner demons. They have no idea what they’ll unleash. The dead surrounded him. They hurled themselves upon the floating demons, only to be torn apart as their own inner demons exploded forth.
He’ll die here. Her first and last attempt at a redeeming act and she failed. Utterly. Stehlen laughed as her ribs groaned from the pressure within. She’d split apart, spill her guts and soul at her feet.
Something swept down out of the clouds, a bulbous snake’s head on a sinuous neck followed by a body too large to ever fly. Colossal wings drove it forward. With every powerful beat the downdraught flattened everything below. The snake’s jaw dislocated, gaping wide, and breathed chaos. The dragon cut a path through Bedeckt’s army of corpses, warping and twisting them with its breath, shredding the very fabric of reality with its delusions.
Dragon.
For an insane moment, Stehlen wished Lebendig were here to see this.
Banking, the dragon swept past, snatching a horse from the ground and hurling itself back into the air with a crushing beat of its wings. Even her inner demon, in the process of clawing its way free of its prison, seemed to stop to watch as the dragon hauled the screaming horse ever upward and disappeared into the clouds. The horse’s whinnies of terror faded to nothing.
Stehlen blinked. Though that distraction broke her fixation with her own death, already she felt the claws within renew their scrabbling dig for freedom.
Distraction.
Take your mind off how much you crave punishment. For Bedeckt.
Stehlen sprinted for Bedeckt.
He saw her coming but no recognition lit his eyes. He was lost to his nightmare, drowning in the murderous rage she’d seen him lose himself to so many times. Stehlen ducked under the axe as he tried to split her in two and came up inside his guard. She kicked one of his knees out and he buckled, roaring.
“Shut up, old man.”
Stehlen caught him as he collapsed, taking his weight over her shoulders.
“Gods you’re fat.”
No way she could lift him on her own.
Stehlen kicked the pretty girl curled in the mud beneath Bedeckt. The woman blinked gorgeous green eyes at her and Stehlen wanted to steal them.
“Grab his damned feet,” she shouted at the girl.
The two women half-carried, half-dragged Bedeckt toward the farmhouse.
When the girl saw the abandoned homestead her eyes widened. “No,” she said, slowing.
“Drop him and I’ll kill you,” said Stehlen. “Now move.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
When staring into the gaping maw of the Afterdeath, all men find religion
—Kleriker, Wahnvor Stellung Priest
Kleriker is so full of shite.
—Halber Tod, Cotardist poet