Chương 2: Apartments Are Not Great Places To Fight Porcupine-Demons

Malachi stared at the porcupine-demon that had just jumped through his third story window. It was muscled all to hell and back. It let out a hiss as it flexed its jaw. Its saliva hit the floor and steamed. The quills on its back looked like glowing iron spikes. In fact, Malachi was pretty sure they looked like glowing iron spikes because they were glowing iron spikes. It smelled like something was burning on the stove. In a word, he was cooked. Maybe literally. The demon tensed, and its back arched.

Malachi's apartment was barely more than a studio. It had a kitchen that doubled as a hallway that led to a tiny bedroom and equally small bathroom. His gaming room was also his living room, and there was not a lot of space to maneuver. He dove behind the couch as the spines erupted. There was a cacophony as they slammed through his apartment, shattering ceramic plates, breaking furniture, and embedding themselves deep in the wall. Malachi had dedicated the last few years of his life to video games.

He wasn't in terrible shape—he did go to the gym twice a week—but soccer practice was a long time ago for him. What he did have was really good reflexes and really good coordination. He'd seen those porcupines attacking that car, so some instinct in him had told him to dive for cover. He was still absolutely screwed though. He needed a weapon. From the growls, it sounded like the demon was stalking toward him. Inspiration struck.

Malachi braced himself against the wall and pushed the couch towards the beast, then scrambled around the corner into the kitchen while the beast was clawing up the couch. He snatched up a hot mitt from the counter, used it to grab another hot pad, then used both of them to yank out one of the spikes that was embedded in the wall. He then scrambled into the bathroom as another volley of iron quills smashed up the apartment, one of them just missing his foot. Malachi yanked open the closet and grabbed the broom.

It was a nice broom. He liked getting himself nice things that lasted. It had an aluminum handle, though the head was cheap plastic. Malachi could feel the heat of the iron spike through the two layers of hot pads. In a fit of improvised crafting that would make even a Fallout protagonist embarrassed, he jammed the spike base-first onto the head of the broom, right in the center. There was the acrid smell of melting plastic. The iron quill sort of wedged itself in the hollow center of the aluminum pole.

Malachi turned on the tap and stuck the point under the cold water, cooling the plastic so that it stopped dripping all over the linoleum. So much for my deposit, he thought, and clutched his improvised spear. Hopefully, the iron had partially fused with the aluminum, and the hardened plastic would secure the rest of it. There was a thud in the hallway, then more snarling and the sound of dishes shattering. It's in the kitchen. He couldn't let it trap him. He had to go on the offensive.

Malachi took a deep breath, grit his teeth, then rounded the corner. He came face to face with the snarling beast. Its lower jaw came in two parts, so when it opened its fanged mouth, the lower part of the jaw widened like a hydralisk. The beast lunged. Malachi leapt backward, sending his improvised spear forward as he did. The tip raked the beast's face. He followed it up by gripping the haft solidly in two hands, hoping that the hoplite units he'd seen in his games were using a good form.

The spear pierced the beast right in the nostril. It squealed and arched its back. Malachi swore and dove for the bathroom again. There was the smell of smoke. The iron spikes had ignited something. The couch, he realized. The fire alarm went off, then there was the whish whish THUNK of more iron quills flying and it went silent. He'd seen one of those YouTube videos where firefighters demonstrated how fast a modern apartment with synthetic furniture and carpeting went up in flames.

There was a fire extinguisher under the kitchen cabinet, but the beast was blocking it. And there was no way he could undo the chain on the door and get out before the demon either bit his ass off or turned him into a Malachi pin cushion. A memory played through his mind of a gruff looking firefighter saying, in five minutes, the fire flashes over and the video cutting to the room exploding into fire everywhere. Malachi gripped his spear then rounded the corner again.

With a roar, he stabbed it into the face of the demon. The beast let out its own much louder roar, then twisted its body, slamming into the wall. The cheap drywall shattered, sending debris everywhere. As it bucked its head, the spear he was holding onto acted like a lever, and Malachi also went flying, slamming into the entry closet as the spear clattered to the floor. He pressed himself to the ground as three more quills came flying, slicing through the door and into the back of the closet.

Malachi fumbled in the dark closet, grabbing a bottle of heavy-duty cleaner. He rose to his feet and leapt at the beast, slammed the bottle down on top of the quills, then stumbled back. The overwhelming smell of chemicals joined the smell of smoke, melted plastic, and rotting eggs. Malachi looked down and saw the beast had raked his chest.

The plastic cleaning jug was now firmly impaled on the quills, so as the beast shook to remove it, it only sent the cleaner splashing around as the caustic liquid bubbled and hissed on its back. Malachi had been hoping it might run out of quills, but stared in horror as more quills began to grow back right before his eyes. He scrambled over to the fallen spear, then picked it up and rammed it into the creature's face again. The beast backpedaled, right into the burning couch.

The fire, which had been smoldering before, burst forth. The beast made a keening sound. Down below on the street, several beasts answered. Malachi saw his opportunity. He rammed the spear right into the porcupine-demon's mouth. It gurgled, flailing, then fell, still. He yanked his spear out and threw it to the side, scrambling over to the kitchen cabinet, eyes watering from the smoke. Fumbling for the fire extinguisher, he glanced over the instructions on the side.

Quickly, he pulled out the pin and sprayed it at the couch where most of the fire was. Aim for the base, he could hear the firefighter from the video saying, though he hadn't said how hard it was to aim when you were shaking from adrenaline. Then the extinguisher was empty, and the fire was growing fast. Looking around his apartment, he realized it was unsalvageable. There was a wet knot in his throat. The iron needles were smoldering everywhere.

The coats in his closet were starting to smoke, and the wood behind the drywall was probably starting to catch too. Everything he owned was here. The IKEA furniture he'd bought and built himself. His computer that he'd dumped too much damn money into. His high school yearbook was in the desk drawer. The soccer ball his teammates had all autographed, the one he'd meant to throw away a dozen times, was in his bedroom closet, deep in one of his storage crates. So was his first soccer trophy from elementary school.

So was the Playstation 2 his older sister had given him. So was that photo of his fourth birthday party, the only one he had where everyone in his family was smiling. All of it was behind the wall of flames that used to be his couch. Malachi swallowed hard. It couldn't be saved. He scrambled over a pile of drywall into his bathroom, coughing. There was a small bag full of random first-aid crap he'd accumulated. He also saw one of the n95 masks he had leftover from the pandemic.

He tore open the packaging and stuffed the mask on his face. If there was a fire in his room from one porcupine-demon, there were probably more fires all throughout the building. It was smoke inhalation, not the flames, that usually did people in. Immediately, he could breathe better, though the overpowering stench of the smoke still came through. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. He went for his shoes, but stopped.

One of the iron quills had gone at a perfect angle through the shoe rack by the door, turning all three pairs into a shoe shish-kabob. Swearing as he stumbled over debris, he picked up his makeshift spear and rushed to his door. The smoke was filling up the top of the apartment, though the broken window had probably saved him from choking on it. He undid the chain, ran out, then slammed the door shut behind him, breathing hard.

The building fire alarm was still ringing, and as he stepped into the hall, the sound intensified. That meant there was a lot more fire somewhere. He headed for the stairs. The hall was empty, which hopefully meant everyone was evacuating. Except, they're going to run right into those demons. Malachi paused by the door to the stairwell. Was it actually going to be safer to head outside than to stay in here? One of the hallway doors opened.

An old lady he'd seen from time to time came out, doddering forward while yanking on the leash of a whining pomeranian. Ms. Jones, I think. She was hunched over, and Malachi was pretty sure she usually used a walker. She was always chatting people up in the elevator.

"Oh! I've seen you around," she yelled over the alarm.

"Oh my. You have a spear. Are you bleeding, young man? What's going on?" Malachi chewed on his lip.

"Uh, I don't know how to say this, but I'm pretty sure we're being attacked by demons from hell. And possibly wizards. Also, the fire alarm is real." As he said that, there was a FWOOOM! and his apartment door rattled. He shut his eyes, briefly. His eyes were watering. From the smoke, he told himself. Now wasn't the time. He could think about it all later.

"Are you good to take the stairs?" he asked. As much as he wanted to run, he couldn't just leave her.

"You're bleeding a lot," Ms. Jones said, waddling closer.

"I think you need an ambulance."

"Right, yeah," Malachi said, leaning his spear up against the wall and peering into the first aid bag. It was a hot mess of random shit. He picked around, locating some iodine and a bandage roll. He smooshed a bunch of antiseptic over the cuts, clenching his teeth at the sting, then lifted up his shirt and started wrapping it around the cuts on his chest. There was a lot more blood than he realized at first. He used the whole thing, then tucked the roll into itself, hoping he'd done it right.

Watching the old lady move, it was clear three flights of concrete stairs weren't going to be easy for her.

"Listen, I'm going to help you down the stairs, okay? Then… we'll figure something out."

"Oh that's so kind of you," she said. Beside her, the pomeranian continued to tremble. From the stairwell, Malachi could hear noises, though they were echoey and distant, and hard to hear over the blaring alarm in the halls. Smoke was filling the hall. From the lower levels, he could see more smoke wafting into the stairwell.

"We have to hurry," he said. He let Ms. Jones grip his arm in one hand and the handrail in the other and they slowly proceeded down. Now that he had a moment, he could feel the wounds on his chest aching. God dammit lady, we need to hurry, he thought. The little dog suddenly stopped and yanked against the leash. Over the alarm, Malachi heard some sort of banging noise in the second floor hallway. The door slammed open. A man fell back, covered in blood, body limp. The old lady screamed.

The pomeranian started barking. Malachi pulled the woman's hand off his forearm, just as one of the imp-things stepped forward, holding a bloody club. Up close, the imp was even more terrifying. The strange misshapen lizard face was a straight import from the uncanny valley. The fangs also looked way sharper up close. Malachi stabbed down at it with his spear, catching it in the shoulder. The imp let out a hissing yip sound as it reeled back. The little dog went absolutely berserk, and Ms. Jones lost the leash.

As the imp recovered, the dog went for its ankle. The imp lashed out with its club, but it was short enough it missed Malachi. The club smashed into the wall, sending cracks through the concrete. The thing seemed way stronger than something its size should be able to manage. Then it bent down to grab the pomeranian, which was firmly attached to its ankle, the dog snarling as it continued to bite down. If the imp was strong enough to crack concrete with a single blow, the dog was about to be pulped.

Malachi didn't think, he just leapt from his spot on the stairs at the bent over lizard-goblin. However strong it was, physics was on his side. He was a lot taller and bigger than it, and he had the high ground. The imp let out a screech as he landed on it, sending it stumbling from his weight. Then Malachi choked up on the spear so he was gripping it by the top of the aluminum shaft and started stabbing at its neck and spine.

He didn't say anything, even though inside his mind he was as freaked out as two cats in a washing machine. He just stabbed and stabbed, over and over and over and over. Green gloopy stuff splattered all over. Blood, he realized. It was thick and viscous, and it was getting all over his t-shirt. The imp screamed, trying to scramble out from him, while the dog let out a terrified whine. Then, the imp stilled. Ms. Jones was standing there, looking absolutely petrified.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," she finally managed, making the sign of the cross over her chest. Malachi's heart was beating out of control. His hands were trembling. Fucking hell, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Deep breaths, he thought. Just like his school counselor had taught him all those years ago. He swallowed, feeling like he might retch.

"We… we gotta go. There's more of these demon-things, a lot more. Keep Fido here under control. I think if we get far enough away…" He trailed off. He'd seen the one portal. What if there's more? Well, they'd have to burn that bridge if they crossed it.

"You good?" he asked Ms. Jones. The old lady looked at the dead imp lying on top of the dead person, then at her dog, then back at the corpses, then at Malachi, then back at the dog, then back to the two corpses again. Her mouth opened and closed several times.

"How did you know my dog's name?" she finally said. Malachi let out a short, humorless laugh. Funny what people cling to when the world goes crazy, he could hear his sister saying.

"Lucky guess." They proceeded down the stairs. Malachi kept his head on a swivel, sure that another imp would come running through the doors and bash his head in. Over the alarms still echoing from the hallways, he could hear commotion outside. As they got to the bottom of the staircase, Malachi peeked through the door into the south lobby of the complex. One of the front windows had been shattered and there were spikes smoldering in the walls, but he couldn't see any creatures.

The lobby pulsed with the flash of the fire alarms.

"I think we're good. We're going to head, uh, south on 5th street. That way we can avoid the evil wizard. Let's go." Malachi carefully stepped around the broken glass since he still wasn't wearing any shoes. He tore off his n95 mask and stuffed it in his pocket. As soon as he got outside, he stepped in something wet. It soaked his sock instantly. Blood, he realized. He looked up and down the street.

The streets were lit by a red glow, though whether it was that portal or just the fires that were roaring in the adjacent buildings, he didn't know. As soon as he was away from the puddle, he tore off his socks and tossed them aside. Better to go barefoot than walk around with blood squishing between his toes. In the distance, Malachi heard sirens. Finally, he thought. It's about damn time. He looked up and down the streets as they moved. The streets were eerily deserted. Where were all the damn people?

There was a crackling noise, and the ground rumbled. A scream echoed.

"Come on," he whispered to Ms. Jones.

"We need to go, as fast as we can." The sirens were coming closer. There was a strange sound, and then Malachi heard a loud screech, followed by chattering in some sort of guttural tongue. He turned and saw a gang of three imps behind them, only a block away. One of them was pointing at them. Malachi's stomach dropped as the imps started running right towards them.