Last Rites (Darkling Mage 6)

“The hell is that?” I muttered.

“This one is named Shtuttasht,” Izanami said, her voice laced with both fear and reverence. “The Overthroat.”

“Overthroat, huh?” I said, trying my hardest to be cocky, and probably failing miserably in the attempt. “That explains all the screaming. But we’ve fought bigger. Yelzebereth was way huger than that. If that spike is just one of the Overthroat’s arms, then – ”

“Arms?” Izanami laughed derisively. “I see now why the other gods find you so amusing, Dustin Graves. No, that is not an arm. That is but a single one of the Over

throat’s talons.”

I looked back at the portal, my mouth fully open. The talon moved as four more of its kind emerged from the temple, followed by the massive paw to which they were attached – itself the size of a car.

“That thing won’t make it,” I said, my voice trembling even more. “It can’t even fit, so there’s no way it’ll come through.”

The talons clenched, digging huge furrows into the earth as the portal issued a bloodcurdling cry. The rift wavered, for a moment – then tripled in size.

Chapter 28

“Fucking hell,” Sterling shouted, turning over his shoulder, desperate to share this terrifying moment with someone, anyone. “Look at the size of that fucking thing. Is that just a foot?”

“That can’t be right,” I said. “Yelzebereth. The White Mother. She was humanoid, almost. Nothing like – like this monster.”

“Oh?” Izanami said. “Haven’t you met enough gods and demons and angels to know better? We are not all alike, mortal. I am somewhat slighted by the thought. For you to compare me to something such as Scylla, or Tiamat? Truly.”

She held a hand to her neck, making a mocking, exaggerated shudder. I frowned.

“Listen,” I growled. “It’s nice that you feel like you belong and you want to hang out with us and everything, but unless you’re going to get involved in this fight – stay out of our way.”

A hand gripped tight over my arm, and Herald’s urgent whispers filled my ear. “Um. Dust. Goddess of the underworld. Goddess of death. Watch. Your. Tone.”

I shrugged his hand off, defiant, tipping my chin in the air. Izanami only smiled and shrugged.

“Very well,” she said. “I will stay in my corner, like a good little goddess.” Again she sauntered off to a headstone. I shook my head, furious, turning back to the portal.

Two enormous sets of claws had made their way out of the gateway, their arrival heralded by an alarming, sudden silence. Gone was the rift’s terrible shrieking, replaced by strings of panicked, staccato orders and tactics thrown around on the battlefield.

Raw magic bounded across the graveyard, spells flung from every direction striking the massive Old One’s claws – but all of them glanced off harmlessly. One of Romira’s signature beach ball-sized fireballs hit home, burst in a roar of flame, and did absolutely no damage. Not even a scorch mark.

“We’re fucked,” I said.

“Probably,” Herald said. “But we can’t just let this abomination come in without a fight.”

“The Heart,” I said, eyes wide. “Can’t someone get in touch with them, call down a strike?”

Herald shook his head. “I don’t think you realize how delicate the beam’s crystal mechanism is, Dust. If the Heart was fully operational, they would want to wait for the opportune moment. They can’t do that just now, knowing so many of their people are here fighting. If it all comes down to it, they’ll call for a mass evacuation, then strike. But with this many of the Lorica around – not happening. Not yet, at least.” He cleared his throat, glancing at me briefly. “Because someone messed with the technology.”

I grimaced. Awesome. So the Scions were trigger-happy enough to attempt to blast my ass whenever they felt like it, but now that a monstrosity the size of a warehouse – it lumbered forward – no, three warehouses was here, they were taking their sweet damn time. And yes, I knew perfectly well that I was responsible for breaking their beam’s crystal focus. That much wasn’t lost on me. Anger was becoming more and more of a problem, I realized, to the point that I could even deny I was partially responsible.

I stared at the portal, frozen from even attempting to fathom just how gigantic the Overthroat was supposed to be. Latham’s Cross flared in a crossfire of brilliant light, so many streaks of magical energy coming from all corners that together they wove a huge matrix of color from across the entire arcane spectrum – but nothing. The enormous shape of the thing called Shtuttasht just lumbered on through.

Then I saw its head.

The thrum of battle was too loud to make anything out, but I was positive that I couldn’t have been the only one to gasp at the sight of the Old One. Strips of white flesh hung from its skull, which wavered from the end of a neck the length of a telephone pole. Its skull was topped with a crown of those same strange, horny formations characteristic of the Eldest, its eyes burning a horrible, unearthly white.

The shape of it was what got to me. Human. This thing had the body of some massive, shambling dog, or a dragon with its hide scissored and ribboned to pieces, dangling off its alabaster skeleton and ribcage. But its head was undoubtedly human, a blatant mockery of the very race the Eldest had choses to destroy and dominate.

Shtuttasht proudly cast its rictus grin across the cemetery as it turned its head this way and that, scanning the field for some unknowable purpose. All along the length of its neck were holes that opened and closed, dilating as they piped out the horrible, discordant song of the Eldest. Ah. The Overthroat.

“Call in the Heart,” I said, my voice trembling.