Book 1 - The Man With the Golden Torc Read Free Page A

again,
beating it down and driving it back, while all its strongest blows slipped
harmlessly off my armoured form. I grabbed hold of one flailing black arm,
braced myself, and ripped it right off. The demon howled and its body just
started falling apart, unable to maintain itself in the face of such punishment.
The dark form collapsed into thick pools of stinking, rotting ectoplasm, and the
demon fell screaming back into Hell.
    I shook dripping black slime from my armoured fists and took a
moment to get my breath back. One good thing about beating the crap out of
demons from Hell is that you don’t have to feel the slightest bit guilty
afterwards.
    I looked around for Mr. President. He was out of his bed and
cowering in the farthest corner of the room. He saw me look at him and whimpered
feebly. I took out my needle gun and shot him too. The holy water would ensure
that whatever was finally taken out of him would be stillborn and no threat to
anyone. He gasped, his eyes widening as he felt the changes happening within
him. He looked away then and cursed me feebly, but I was used to that.
    "Did you really think you could hide this from us, Mr.
President?" I said. "Next time, forget your pride and come to us first. Or
better yet, stay away from the ladythings."

Chapter 2
Alarms and Excursions and Getting the Hell out of Dodge
    The demon’s manifesting had set off all kind of alarms. Sirens,
flashing lights, the works. I paused just long enough to check that Mr.
President’s wife was okay (unconscious, covered in black ectoplasmic gunk, but
basically okay, poor cow), and then I slammed the door open and charged out into
the corridor. The sirens were deafening, and the lights flared rapidly in time
to the raucous electronic noise. Whatever happened to pleasant-sounding alarms,
with bells? Ambulances are just the same. And fire engines. I think about things
like that. It worries me sometimes. The moment I appeared in the corridor,
concealed gun ports opened up in both walls, and heavy-duty gun barrels slammed
out. I started running.
    All the guns opened up at once, the roar physically painful at
such close quarters, and the muzzle flare was dazzling. The heavy rate of fire
chewed up the opposite walls behind me as I raced down the corridor. My armour
was still in full stealth mode, so the guns couldn’t track me. As far as the
security cameras were concerned, the corridor was empty; but the operators knew
somebody had to be there, because they’d seen the door open. So they just opened
up with everything they had and hoped for the best. The gun barrels swept back
and forth, keeping up a murderous rate of fire, but even the occasional lucky
hit just ricocheted off my armour. I didn’t even feel the impact.
    I rounded the far corner just in time for a heavy steel grille
to slam down from the ceiling, blocking my way. I didn’t slow, hitting the
grille with my shoulder, only to lurch to a sudden halt as the heavy steel
buckled but held. I grabbed the grille with both golden hands and tore it apart
like so much lace, the steel squealing loudly as it sheared apart. I forced my
way through the opening and raced down the next corridor. The armour makes me
supernaturally strong, when I need to be. Wonderful stuff, this living metal.
I’d left the guns and the sirens behind me, but now I could hear running
footsteps and raised angry voices closing in on me from all directions. Time to
hide out in another room and let the hue and cry run past me.
    I ran down the stairs to the next floor, chose a door at random,
forced the lock with one push of an armoured hand, and slipped into the darkened
room, closing the door carefully behind me. The room was pleasantly quiet, and I
stood very still in the gloom, listening as a whole group of people ran past the
door, first from one direction and then the other. There was a lot of confused
shouting, and I smiled behind my golden mask. First rule of