8. Aliana #2
“He can transform into a massive beast…but power ratings are not really about what you do, more about how strong you are.”
“Oh. So, this, um, Devourer is stronger than other beasts?” I swear I learned a little bit about this back at the human settlement, but it’s amazing to hear it firsthand.
Our knowledge is very, very limited—mostly hearsay, if I’m being completely honest—and I plan to have a whole arsenal of information I can take back to the humans as soon as I escape.
“That’s an understatement.” She laughs again, this time hard enough to jostle me in my backpack prison. “Were you raised under a rock or something?”
“In Jersey,” I lie. There’s no way in hell I’m telling her anything about my life. Knowing what I do about these monster fuckers, they’ll pick apart and dissect my words until they can find the other humans.
“Ohhh, that explains it. Otherwise, you’d definitely know about the Four Terrors.”
Filia turns right down a new road, and the smooth path we’d been walking on transforms into the postapocalyptic debris field I’m more familiar with.
She dodges around rusted-out cars, downed awnings, random pits in the middle of the street from teeth that like to burrow and burst up through the asphalt.
I can see all of it through the holes in my leather box.
Though the pre-dawn light is dull, I’m used to wandering through shadows.
“Tell me more about them,” I beg, trying to kill two birds with one stone—gather information and fight this damn claustrophobia at the same time.
“Well, there’s the Creeper. He’s hilarious.
And dreamy.” She sighs. “I’d have been jealous if I were bringing you to him.
I mean…the Devourer is hot and all. But the Creeper…
” She gives off this rattling sound that I assume is some kind of monsterish, girly sigh.
It sounds like the garbage disposal I accidentally set off one time when I was raiding an abandoned house for food.
“Okay, so the Creeper is a hottie,” I parrot.
“Oh no, that’s not his power. He doesn’t breathe fire.
He travels through portals,” Filia corrects me gently.
“Typically closet portals since his big horns get stuck in most portals under the bed. Those horns…” Another one of those deranged mewls leaves her.
“Let me tell you the rumors that go around about those horns … Ohh, just thinking about them could make a girl ooze some jelly.”
Ew.
She’s swooning over the monster in the closet. One of the most famous monsters in human history. The monster that terrorized nearly every child before the war that flipped the world on its head and made humans into outcasts instead of emperors.
How the fuck is that particular monster still alive? Shouldn’t he be, like, a few hundred years old?
I find it hard to digest that little nugget of information, so I tuck it away to mull over later.
“There are other Terrors, right? Didn’t you say four?
” I question, feigning oblivion. I’ve heard of the Four Terrors, of course, but I’ve never been able to uncover what their powers are or how to kill them.
Most of the monsters I fight near my home are—dare I say?
—stupid as fuck. They’re never able to answer any of my questions. And the beasts that are cognizant…well…
Usually I’m focusing on surviving, not interrogating.
“Yes. Oh. The Grotesque. But I doubt you’ll ever see him.
He’s such a recluse. And if you do see him, don’t look at him or you’ll die.
Literally.” She gasps dramatically, and I can’t decide if she’s simply trying to ham up the story in order to scare me or if she’s truly this theatrical as a person. My guess is the latter.
“Wow. So he never goes around people.” Hopefully this means I won’t come into contact with him. Anyone with the name “the Grotesque” cannot be someone I’d like to know.
“Oh, no. He was there tonight. Remember the guy in the mask?”
My mind immediately snaps back to the massive figure who bid on me.
I remember the way the smoke curled up from his gray palm after he cut it to bid.
I remember the way his gaze seemed to burn a hole right through my chest even though I couldn’t see his eyes through the mask that covered the majority of his face.
Do I remember? Scoff. How could I forget?
The fact that my knees nearly liquefied when he stared at me must be proof of his power.
I nod to myself, both glad I’m not being carted off to his place and simultaneously wondering if I can get him to come over and look my “buyer” in the eye. A wicked grin momentarily curls up my lips as I picture the beast-like man keeling over, dead.
“Are the Terrors friends?” I keep my tone casual. I hope the answer is a resounding no. I hope they’re enemies. Rivals. Combatants.
But Filia doesn’t answer because the ground starts to tremble beneath her feet as a huge tooth slithers underneath the road.
“Goddammit, Horace! It’s not snack time. You’re supposed to stay in your cage!”
I can tell her screams are directed at the giant sandworm under our feet because her back curls as she bends over to lecture the shifting asphalt.
I end up lying on top of her spine, facing the last of the stars instead of sitting cross-legged on the leather base of the backpack.
Her back is uncomfortably prickly. Not at all comfortable.
The sandworm bellows.
Filia shrieks back, and the prickle on the back of my thigh transforms until it feels like a wooden stake is trying to stab into my skin.
I hold in a shriek—barely. “Um, Filia? Something’s stabbing me.”
She straightens. “Oh, sorry. When he ticks me off, my spikes lengthen.”
I hear a groan from the busted-out buildings surrounding us as the sandworm turns and reverses course.
“Good boy,” Filia croons so loudly that my ears pulse.
“Your…pet?” I ask.
“Pet? Oh no, he’s not human. I just take care of him. Horace is a good guy. He will just run roughshod without some structure. That’s a male for you, though. They’re all that way, aren’t they? Doesn’t matter the species.”
I force a chuckle. “True.”
God, I can’t believe this is my life.
I’m trying to befriend a tongue.
Long game. I hear General Sander’s voice in my head again, prompting me.
I nod to myself.
The monsteress carrying me takes a left. We walk through what looks like black mist but smells like rubbing alcohol. My nose burns for a minute, and I cough out the awful flavor that settles on my tongue.
The mist stretches in a solid line on either side of us, curving beyond my line of sight, almost like a wall made of monstrous magic.
I’m debating asking about the wall or the fourth Terror when Filia suddenly yanks the straps off her back and I fall.
My ass hits the ground with a thump that reverberates painfully all the way up my spine.
“We’re here!” Filia’s tone is annoyingly upbeat.
This monster has no clue that she’s delivering me to my doom.