Unnamed Journal Volume 3, Issue 1 - Page 25

Drunk Vampire Hunter dust of the damned. They’re usually a piece of crystal that contains a shard of a demon’s soul. Not necessarily the same demon, because they’re all fundamentally alike, or facets of the same substance and this part of the story is really kind of unnecessary and I should just stop. I promised I wouldn’t explain to much. I should have told you this all at the beginning so I wouldn’t be holding up the climax of the story. That would have given you proper grounding. The duster turns the Gorgolem back to dust. Because demons. I ran to the center of the graveyard where a large pit emerged. The Gorgolem was still trying to get all twenty feet of itself all the way out of it. It was sweeping one of its five arms at the ground in front of it and flailing at the handful of black-clad Church-dork avengers, but because it hadn’t gotten all the way out of the pit, it hadn’t reached full power and hadn’t tripled in size yet. Which means there was still a chance. But the Hospitallers couldn’t do this all night. They’d lost a man already and they were running out of useful tactics. You could only dance so long with something you couldn’t properly hurt. I could hear the exhaustion and the fear of same creeping into their voices. The Gorgolem was going to win, going to pull itself out of hell, and going to rage until it it consumed a good expanse of reality. Except for me, who caused this whole ruckus to begin with. It happens. I knew I was not in any condition to hit the Gorgolem with the duster properly at a run. You can’t exactly miss with these things, but you can’t just fling it willy-nilly, either. You have to throw it so that it covers the maximum distance within it’s mass and I’m doing it again. I had to throw it right. And I was too far down and too exhausted for that. But I had a plan. I had Bowdler, right it front of me. He was hunched down to avoid a swing from the Gorgolem’s fourth arm, and about to pop up and slash at it with his sword (yes, they carry swords, don’t judge). Just what I needed. “Bowdler!” I yelled. He looked up at me, confused. I jumped up on his back. He yelled something incoherent. I used him as a step stool, as a boost to get me into the air. I kicked off of him, hard enough, I found to later, to knock him to the ground. I wasn’t thinking about that at the time, as I was considering what would happen when my broken body stumbled into the hell mouth and slid into … well, you know. Once I was airborne, I concentrated on my throw, like I did when I staked the vamps in the first place. One shot. I saw the Gorgolem’s sick red eye turn on me, I felt it’s awareness of me like a mouse becomes aware of a snake. But I didn’t aim at the eye. I aimed under it, at it’s raging wriggling maw. In the movies, I’d say “Eat this” or some other catchphrase, but it real life you’re too busy smiting the thing to cleverly comment on smiting it. Also, I still kind of wanted to puke after all that running. I hurled it and it went down and I heard a screaming that was like the earlier howl from beyond except now it radiated anguish and defeat and disgust. My mind felt it and absorbed that anguish and defeat and I reeled in the air and felt my spirt shut down in black black darkness. Before I hit the ground I smelled something vaguely of hyacinth, and heard a music I could not describe. That’s it really. I did the thing. The Gorgolem spattered to dust, and the dust went down to the earth, and