Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

forward impossibly quickly and thrust Dominic out of the way. The energy beam shot on to ricochet harmlessly off Glory’s golden chest.
    “Where the hell did they get an energy gun?” howled Dominic.
    Glory stepped forward, gun nozzles protruding from her barrel chest. She opened fire, and massed energy beams tore into the mob. Flesh exploded where the energy beams hit, and men were blown apart into gobbets of bloody meat as the guns fired again and again, not pausing to recharge. Glory pressed forward, blasting a hole right through the mob, but still more men pressed forward from the back, their voices irrational with hate and rage. And Glory couldn’t kill them fast enough to stop them all.
    Dominic shook off Owen’s supporting hands, and lurched forward to support his partner. He spoke again with his perfect voice, but this time he used harsh ugly words and tones that struck directly at the subconscious, hitting deep-set triggers of shame and fear. Some of the prisoners crashed to the steel floor, collapsing into tears or comas. Dominic’s body pumped out pheromones that acted as mood influencers. He was a Defender of Humanity, and these were his only weapons. He stood his ground, even as another energy beam narrowly missed his head.
    Glory and Dominic stood together, each of them fighting in their own way, but the sheer number of rioters overwhelmed them. The prisoners swarmed around Glory, beating on her metal body with their improvised weapons, and Dominic’s perfect face ran with blood. Step by step they were forced to retreat from the doorway and allow more and more of the prisoners into the bay. All of them were laughing the same terrible laugh, eager for blood and slaughter.
    And Owen Deathstalker decided enough was enough. He’d given his two new friends every chance to do it themselves, but all their courage and skill clearly wasn’t enough. So he drew his sword and went forward to meet the prisoners. He was quickly in among them, graceful as a dancer, deadly beyond hope or mercy. He cut a bloody path through the howling mob, and none of them could stand against him. They weren’t used to facing cold steel. Owen felt faster and stronger than he ever had before, even when using his Family’s famous Boost. He cut men down with a brutal savagery that shocked even the hardened prisoners. Bodies fell to every side, shrieking their death agonies, and blood splashed the steel walls and pooled thickly on the floor. Owen cut and slashed and hacked, driving the prisoners back. At the end, the last few turned to run, and Owen went after them and cut them down. He slowly lowered his blade, and looked about him, breathing heavily.
    One man still stood in the doorway. He carried an energy gun, but he put it down on the steel floor, so he could applaud Owen.
    “I didn’t expect you,” he said. “An unexpected pleasure. I am deLangford. Who or what might you be?”
    Owen grinned. “I’m the Deathstalker, and that’s all you need to know. Now stay where you are, and put those hands in the air. Don’t do anything sudden, or I’ll whittle you down into a more pleasant person.” He looked back at Glory and Dominic, who had changed back into their previous selves. They were both looking at him with open horror and shock on their faces. Owen felt a little put out, given that he’d just saved their lives. “What’s the problem?”
    “Dear God,” said Dominic. “I never saw anything like that in my life. You cut them up like meat! It was . . . hideous. Inhuman! You’re a barbarian! Men don’t act like that!”
    “Maybe not in your time,” said Owen. “I was raised to be a warrior, and trained in the hardest school of all. You should be grateful. They would have torn you apart if I hadn’t stopped them.”
    “You didn’t have to kill them all!”
    “Yes, I did,” said Owen.
    “You enjoyed it!” Glory said accusingly. “You smiled and laughed as you butchered those men.”
    Owen considered that. “I take a pride in work well done,” he said finally. “And there’s nothing like living when others want you dead to make a man feel good. I don’t glory in their deaths, but I don’t feel guilty about it either. I notice you were happy enough to shoot them from a distance with those terribly efficient guns of yours. That’s no way to kill. It takes real guts to get in close with a blade, to put your life on the line, and depend on your skill and courage to bring you through. Murder should