Eater of Souls: Book Two of The Hand of Perdition: The Hand of Perdition, #2

By Erik Lynd

It was all a big mistake. Christopher Sawyer never wanted to be Hell's bounty hunter, and he was pretty sure Hell didn't want him for the job either. But mistake or not, he is now the master of the Book and Blade and charged with becoming the Hunter of Lost Souls tracking down escaped dark souls and returning them to their prisons in Hell.

 

But a new type of monster has escaped the underworld. A creature that likes the taste of human souls. A creature so powerful that the Hunter might just become its prey.

 

And it is not working alone.

 

With the help of a young woman cloaked in her own mysteries and a cynical police detective, Christopher must find a way to defeat it before it unleashes its own hell on earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erik Lynd
• Release date: Jul 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781943069040

Book preview

1

Pain.

It went on forever. It always had been pain and always would be.

Suffering. It too went on forever.

Then it was dark and cool. The pain was gone.

The thing staggered from the shadows of the alley. Just suddenly there, from nowhere, at least, he did not know where he came from. He just knew that a moment ago he suffered and there was such pain. Now he was here. Not there. Something like doubtful relief passed through him. But where had he been?

He was outside, he knew that much. He was cold, so cold, but still warmer than where he had been. Moisture fell on him, dampening his fur. Fur?

One massive, clawed hand grasped the brick building keeping him upright when every part of his body just wanted to sit down and go to sleep.

No. No sleep. The thing needed to understand. Who was he? Where had he been? Where was he now?

A claw carved into the brick in frustration, sending red masonry dust falling to the concrete of the alley. He straightened up, stretching like it was the first time he had ever stretched. Bones popped and muscles cried with relief as he stretched to his full height of eight feet, before he pulled back into a more comfortable, hunched-over posture.

He could smell the odor of rot and spoilage that came from the metal containers throughout the alley. Foul smelling liquid leaked from them, forming sludge streams that flowed into the center of the alley and mixed with the rain water to form dark puddles of filth. He could hear noise, people, walking, living beyond the alley, just on the other side of the brick wall in front of him. His stomach growled at the thought. Other, harsher noises came to him. Mortals speaking, horns honking, a million other sounds. Despite being overwhelmed, all of this was somehow comforting to the creature.

He looked over himself, a mixture of fur and leathery hide, his arms and chest thick with muscle. His legs and torso thinner but no less powerful. He could feel the strength of his form. The fingers of his hand ended in two inch claws, strong as... as... he was not sure, though he thought he should know.

His mouth was a muzzle, elongated and full of sharp teeth. Thick, viscous saliva dripped from his mouth, mixing with the puddles of rain water at his feet. Above him the old brick buildings stretched to the sky, the walls lined with stairs and ladders.

He smelled something. Something that made him hungry.

He took a few tentative steps down the alley, testing his new legs. Powerful though they were, he was unpracticed with them. He heard a deep rumble, like the approach of an earthquake, and realized he was making it. A growl, deep from within his chest. It was the smell.

It smelled of food, but more importantly of nourishment. He could feel strength and power flowing throughout his body, but the power needed to be fed. It needed fresh meat.

But not just meat, something more. Then he saw it, in the middle of the alley.

A large man. The creature did not know how, but he knew that this thing was called man. The man sat against the wall of the alley and smelled of urine and stale body odor mixed with the harsh scent of alcohol. But that did not bother the creature. He smelled fresh meat and that other, even more demanding scent.

More saliva dripped from its maw. The hunger grew, becoming unreasonable. That scent, he needed it. He needed it now.

The man, old with wrinkled, sagging flesh, opened his eyes at the thing’s approach. They widened in fear as it loomed over him. He sputtered, wha...wha...wha... as though his mouth was moving faster than his pickled brain could formulate thought.

Jesus Christ, what are you? he finally managed to say.

The thing thought he should answer. A growl came out, low and menacing.

I don't know, he said, finding a way to speak through his wolf-like muzzle, But I know what you are. Food.

The old man cried out and raised his arms as though that would somehow fend off the attack. The creature grabbed his arm and lifted the old man, wrenching his arm into the air.

The old man screamed and the creature heard the crunch as the man's shoulder separated from the abrupt violence in the movement. The man dangled, still screaming a rough, confused scream.

Help me! What are you? Please, please why? the man begged.

The thing could smell the warm blood, could almost taste the meaty flesh. Drool oozed out of its mouth. With a roar, he bit into the neck.

Sweet blood exploded into his mouth like nectar. He could feel his teeth sinking into the old man's soft flesh, then he was tearing, ripping the flesh off. Though he couldn’t remember anything about himself before the past few minutes, he knew that he could never have a pleasure greater than this.

Then the creature sensed it.

As the piece of flesh slid down his throat and the man uttered his last gurgle, the thing felt the object of his real desire, of his real hunger. He could smell it leaking out of the man. Suddenly panicking, he knew he couldn't lose whatever it was and took another bite out of the man's shoulder. This time, however, he wasn't looking for the taste of meat, but something else.

As his teeth sunk in he felt it, tasted it. He tasted the man's soul. Now he frenzied, ripping the man to shreds physically to get at the soul that lay in the center. Before the soul could depart, the creature tore into it, gulping down bite after bite and savoring each taste of the man's essence, feeling the power flow into him as he consumed it. Strength like he had never felt imbued him. Soon the body was no more than a wet, red mess of tissue and bone, the Creature had consumed everything. But it was the soul of this man that provided the real nourishment. It was the true food he needed.

And he must have more.

The creature would gorge himself on this new delicacy. But, he was still weak, he needed to gather strength. The creature reached down and picked up the man's blood-splattered coat. It had been long and several sizes too large for the man. The creature threw it across his shoulders and found it was a little small, but it would do for now.

I think I'll call you Ammit, said a light voice from the mouth of the alley.

The creature spun with a snarl, lips pulled back to bare his teeth. He was alarmed someone could sneak up on him so easily. At the mouth of the alley stood a woman, a girl really, she barely came to his waist. He could tear her to shreds in an instant. But she showed no fear, she just looked at him with dispassionate eyes. Somehow this made the creature more concerned than if she had been his match. Her dark black hair hung loosely across her shoulders, and her eyes burned fiercely green with power. She wore a little black dress. Even though the creature knew so little, he knew he looked on great beauty. If he had ever been a man, he would have chased her forever.

Behind her another girl, younger even than the first, knelt on the ground, slumped forward as though exhausted. She seemed even slighter than the woman who spoke. It could have just been her defeated posture, but she seemed to be sinking into herself. She might have been beautiful once, but her brown hair hung in greasy, knotted clumps across her face, a face covered in bruises and cuts. An iron collar encircled her neck, a chain stretching from it to the speaking woman's hand. A pet of some sort?

It is a girl’s name, ancient Egyptian really, but appropriate I think, she said and walked closer to him as though he was harmless, not the deadly creature he knew himself to be.

He sniffed at her and he could smell it. That same human soul smell, but this time putrid and rotten, as though corrupted beyond all recognition. It sat in her ill-fitting body as though it strained to get out. He knew instinctively that she was like him. His soul, if he had one, would have that same corruption, if he were able to smell it. He did not get the same vile scent from the broken girl on the ground. She was an innocent.

You are a big one. Congratulations on your escape, she said. He did not know what she meant, but she seemed to know something about him. Perhaps she had answers to his questions.

Who are you? he asked.

She said nothing until she stood directly in front of him, showing she did not fear him at all. My name is Anabelle. Some time ago I came from the same place you have just escaped.

Where was that? he growled. Where am I now? What am I?

What you are and where you are now, you will come to understand in time. As for where you came from?

She reached up to his face, just within her reach as he hunched over. He flinched back, but then held himself still. She was so beautiful, she meant him no harm. Gently she touched his cheek, a caress and he knew he would be her creature forever.

You will help me make sure that we, all of us, never have to return to that place ever again.

How?

We kill the one that would send us back to Hell.

The creature smiled, showing teeth still covered in the old man's blood. He liked that. He was good at killing.

2

Christopher looked up when he heard a knock on the door. He was in his father's study, although it was his now, he did not believe he would ever be able to think of it any other way. It was his father's style from top to bottom. Dark wood bookshelves lined the walls, complementing the wood paneling. A dark leather couch hunkered near the fireplace. Christopher sat behind a large executive desk in a very comfortable chair.

It occurred to him that it was very much like the study in the Library, which theoretically was created from his subconscious, so perhaps it was his style too. Or maybe it formed from his childhood memories of this room.

A second knock on the door brought him back to the present.

Come in, Christopher said. No need to ask who it was, there was only one other person in the house besides him.

Two weeks ago Eris had showed up on his doorstep. She was possessed by a demon she said, but not in the Linda-Blair-vomiting-pea-green-soup sort of way. This one was much less messy and something neither of them wanted. After agreeing to help and finding out she had no place to go, he offered to let her stay with him.

He wasn't sure why he agreed to let a demon sleep under his roof. Maybe it was because he had found somebody that might understand him and who he was now. And it would be nice to have someone in the house he could turn to that wouldn't think he was crazy. Or maybe it was because she was pretty.

The door opened and Eris walked in. He studied her carefully, watching her movements. She smiled when she came in, gently closing the door behind her. As usual, her bright blue eyes caught his attention first. She had dark hair that hung not quite to her shoulders. She was dressed in jeans and a black Misfits tank top, slightly torn. Full sleeve tattoos adorned both her arms and another tattoo decorated part of her chest and neck. Christopher thought he didn't care for tattoos, but for some reason they looked great on her. Even attractive. She moved calmly, even shyly as she came into the room and sat on the couch facing the desk.

For the moment he thought he might be dealing with Eris. He almost let out a sigh of relief, although that relief could change at any moment. Dark Eris, as he referred to her possessed version, could be a handful at times.

Eris, what's up? He asked. But he knew.

It's been two weeks since we first came to you for help. I need her, it, gone from inside me. And you seem to be spending all your time in here in this study, working on God knows what.

Thank God she hadn't come in a few minutes later. He was just about to play some video games.

I know, I know. But I told both of you that I had no idea what to do. I have gone to the Library and even asked the Librarian for answers. He says he’s looking into it, but it might take a while.

The Library was a sort of pocket dimension that only Christopher, since he had inherited the power of the Hunter, could enter. Theoretically it contained all the knowledge in the universe. In practice, it was hard to access information amid such vastness. Everything you looked for was like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of the Earth. The Librarian told Christopher that it adapted to him in a way that he could understand, he just wished it could be computerized. At least some sort of data base would have been better than an impossibly large Library with books, scrolls and even tablets sitting on shelves as far as the eye could see. The idea of researching anything had him in tears before he even began.

She doesn't even know her true name, she is just as confused about how she got in my body as I am, Eris said. She put her face in her hands. He could tell she was frustrated.

Right. So without that, it’s going to take a while to figure out what to do, Christopher said.

He got up and walked over to the couch and sat next to