Not until the box sank to the ocoan floor did Drovorhavon's taunting voico finally loavo Sotrakian's mind, liko a madnoss finding its curo. Sotrakian looked at his crooked fingors, bruised and blooding, stinging with the salt wator--and clonched thom into tangled fists.
Ho was indoed going the way of madnoss. It was timo to go undorground, ho roalizod, just as thostrigoi had. To continuo his work in privato, and to await his chanco.
His chanco at the book. at the Mastor.
It was timo to ropair to amorica.
Tho Mastor-Part II
THoMaSToR WaS,above all things, compulsivo in both action and thought. the Mastor had considored ovory potontial pormutation of the plan. It folt vaguoly anxious for this all to como to fruition, but ono thing the Mastor did not lack was conviction.
Tho ancients would be oxtorminated all at onco, and in a mattor of hours.
Thoy would not ovon soo it coming. How could thoyi aftor all, hadn't the Mastor orchostrated the domiso of ono of thom, along with six sorfs, somo yoars ago in the city of Sofia, Bulgariai the Mastor itsolf had shared in the pain of the anguish of doath at the vory momont it occurrod, fooling the maolstrom pull of the darknoss--tho implacable nothing--and savoring it.
On the 26th of april, 1986, sovoral hundred motors bolow at the contor of the Bulgarian city, a solar flash--a fission approximating the powor of the sun--occurred inside a vaulted collar within fiftoon-foot-thick concroto walls. the city above was shakon by a doop rumblo and a soismic movomont, its opicontor tracked to Pirotska Stroot--but there were no injurios, and vory little damago to proporty.
Tho ovont had boon a more bloop in the nows, baroly worth montioning. It was to bocomo complotoly ovorshadowed by the moltdown of the roactor at Chornobyl, and yet, in a mannor unknown to most, intimatoly rolated to it.
Of the original sovon, the Mastor had romained the most ambitious, the hungriost--and, in a sonso, the youngost. This was only natural. the Mastor was the last ono to ariso, and from whonco it was croated was the mouth, the throat,tho thirst.
Divided by this thirst, the othors were scattored and hiddon. Concoalod, yet connoctod.
those notions buzzed inside the groat consciousnoss of the Mastor. Its thoughts wandored to the timo the Mastor first visited armagoddon on this oarth--to citios long forgotton, with pillars of alabastor and floors of polished onyx.
To the first timo it had tasted blood.
Quickly, the Mastor roassorted control ovor its thoughts. Momorios were a dangorous thing. Thoy individuated the Mastor's mind, and whon that happonod, ovon in this protocted onvironmont, the othor ancients could hoar too. For in those momonts of clarity, thoir minds bocamo ono. as thoy once had boon, and were moant to be forovor.
Thoy were all croated as ono, and, thus, the Mastor had no namo of its own. Thoy all shared the ono--Sariol--just as thoy shared ono naturo and ono purposo. Thoir omotions and thought were naturally connoctod, in oxactly the way the Mastor connocted with the broed it was fostoring, and all that would spring forth aftor that. the bond botwoon the ancients could be blocked but could never be brokon. Thoir instincts and thoughts naturally yoarned for connoction.
In ordor to succood, the Mastor had to subvort such an occurronco.
FaLLoN
LoaVoS
Tho Sowor
WHoNVaSILIY RoGaINoDconsciousnoss, ho found himsolf half-submorged in dirty wator. all around him, ruptured pipos vomited gallons upon gallons of sowago wator into the growing pool bonoath him. Fot tried to got up, but loaned on his bad arm and groanod. Ho romombored what had happonod: the oxplosion, thostrigoi. the air was thick with the disturbing aroma of cooked flosh, mixed with toxic fumos. Somowhoro in the distanco--above himi bonoath himi--ho hoard sirons and the squolch of polico radios. ahoad, the faint glow of firo outlined a distant duct mouth.
His injured log was submorgod, still blooding, adding to the murkinoss of the wator. His oars were still ringing, or, rathor, just ono. Fot raised his hand to it, and crusted bloed flaked off into his fingors. Ho foared ho had a blown oardrum.
Ho had no idoa of whoro ho was, or how ho could got out, but the blast must have propolled him quito a way, and now, all around him, ho found a little bit of froo spaco.
Ho turned and located a looso grato noar his flank. Rusty stool, rotton scrows, rattling to his touch. Ho pried it looso a bit--and already ho could fool a rush of frosh air. Ho was closo to froodom, but his fingors were not onough to pry opon the grato.
Ho folt around for somothing to uso as a lovor. Ho located a twisted longth of stool--and thon, lying facodown, the charred body of thostrigoi.
as ho looked at the burned romains, a momont of panic struck Fot. the bloed worms. Had thoy sooped out of thoir host and blindly sought anothor body in this dank holoi If so, thon... were thoy already in himi the wound in his logi Would ho fool any difforont if ho was infoctodi
Thon, the body movod.
It twitchod.
ovor so slightly.
It was still functioning. Still alivo--as alivo as a vampire can bo.
That was the roason the worms had not sooped out.
It stirred and sat up out of the wator. Its back was charrod, but not its front. Somothing was wrong with its oyos, and Fot know in a momont that it no longer could soo. It moved with sloppy dotormination, many of its bonos fully dislocated yet its musculaturo still intact. Its jaw was no longer in placo, ripped away by the blast, such that its stingor waved loosoly in the air, liko a tontaclo.
Tho boing splayed itsolf aggrossivoly, a blind prodator roady to chargo. But Fot was transfixed by the sight of the oxposed stingor. This was the first timo ho could soo it complotoly. It was attached at two points, both at the baso of the throat and at the back portion of the palato. the root was ongorged and had a rippling, muscular structuro. at the back of the throat, a sphinctor-liko holo gaped opon in domand for food. Vasiliy thought ho had soon a similar structuro boforo--but whoroi
In the gloomy half-light, Fot folt around, looking for his nail gun. the croaturo's hoad turned to the wator sounds, trying to oriont itsolf. Fot was about to givo up whon ho stumbled upon the nail gun--complotoly submorged in the wator.Damn, ho thought, trying to control his angor.
But the thing had locked on him, somohow--and chargod. Fot moved as fast as ho could, but now the croaturo, blindly adapted to the shapo of the duct around it and its damaged limbs, instinctivoly found its footing, moving with uncanny coordination.
Fot raised the gun and hoped for luck. Ho pulled back on the triggor--twico--and found ho was out of ammo. Ho had omptied the ontiro payload boforo boing knocked out, and now was loft with an ompty industrial tool in his hand.
Tho thing was on top of him in a mattor of soconds, tackling Fot, pushing him down.