Corrosion Read online

  CORROSION

  By LE Barbant and CM Raymond

  Copyright © Smoke and Steel Press

  APRIL 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people or events are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  Chris and Lee Online

  DEDICATION

  The Crucible is dedicated to the city of Pittsburgh, where heroes are born.

  PROLOGUE

  The creature pulled through the water with webbed hands, driving its body like a knife. The glow of the city’s skyline reached down through the murky Monongahela River, offering plenty of light for eyes adapted to darkness. With a final surge, it broke through the surface and felt the shock of a cold, fierce wind strike its face.

  Pittsburgh’s winters were unforgiving, but the creature had become accustomed to the seasonal punishment through years of dwelling in the Steel City. Adapt or die, the fundamental law of nature was as true here as anywhere.

  It glided toward the river's edge. Stepping up onto the rocks, its bare feet, with their razor-sharp claws, crunched the thin layer of ice that had managed to overtake the bank. A narrow path wound up the rise, leading toward the highway, still abuzz with the remnants of evening traffic. It crouched low behind a barricade, not wanting to be seen. The wind grabbed at a yellow raincoat, which veiled the hideous figure, and whipped the tattered ends up like an old kite. What the cloak lacked in form it more than made up for in function.

  The creature preferred to be veiled from human eyes when it moved on land.

  A few moments in wait, and the traffic thinned. Breaking into a dead sprint, it ran across the highway, leaping barriers that blocked its path. Webbed feet slapping on slick asphalt, it ran until it found a dark alleyway, which provided cover almost as thick as the river's dirty depths.

  A few turns down the desolate passageway landed it at the edge of a crowded open square. It knelt behind a giant concrete planter. A leafless tree adorned in Christmas lights reached up toward the star-filled heavens. The tiny bulbs cast their glow down on the families gathered at the skating rink in PPG Place.

  Instinct had drawn the creature here. Or maybe it was fate.

  The joyful squeals of children were suddenly replaced by the sound of a thousand chandeliers shattering through the cold, winter air. The creature turned its gaze toward the building, which towered over them all. As if in slow motion, a million shards of glass spread out over the square, each of them catching the city's light and shining like shooting stars.

  What came next was worse.

  Two titans shot out from the gaping hole in the side of the building. From its vantage point, the creature could clearly see their descent. One of them glowed like a metal poker pulled from a furnace. The other, dark and powerful, held the glowing beast by the throat.

  The monsters exchanged blows as they plummeted toward the earth. Their assaults ended as their bodies found terra firma, creating a crater in the concrete at the foot of the tower.

  Silence turned to screams, and families dashed in every direction.

  The monsters didn’t move for a breath, but the stillness didn’t last. Within seconds, they were on their feet, sustained by power and rage. A melee between the gods.

  As they fought, a gust of wind rose up out of nowhere. Lightning split the air, as if it were a late summer night. And the heavens tore open, releasing a shower of hailstones.

  There was nothing natural about this event.

  The creature watched the monsters of Pittsburgh battle against one another, and the corners of its thin mouth turned up into something like a smile. Because there, among the warring angels—or demons—stood a man.

  Tall and wiry, he moved toward the fight like a fool with a death wish. But it wasn’t his death he sought. He dropped to his knees, a white lab coat his only armor. He reached into a leather bag to draw forth his weapon.

  The creature scrambled closer, toward the awkward dance of magic and monsters, drawn by the human in the midst. This was what it had come to see.

  With fumbling hands, the man pulled out a hypodermic needle big enough for a horse.

  He dove at the icy monster and drove the needle deep into its neck.

  The thing reared up, screaming. It released the glowing red beast and took a step, wobbled, and dropped. Ice melted from it as if the thing had been dropped in a cauldron of boiling water, leaving nothing but a beautiful woman.

  The creature’s heart stopped.

  This was the answer.

  The fight didn’t end there. The ice queen regained her throne, shaking the city with her blood curdling scream.

  Horror filled the faces of her enemies.

  But the creature’s smile broadened as it watched.

  “There is hope after all,” it hissed.

  PART ONE

  My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

  Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

  If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

  If hairs be wires, black
wires grow on her head.

  I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,

  But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

  And in some perfumes is there more delight

  Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

  That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

  I grant I never saw a goddess go;

  My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

  As any she belied with false compare.

  “Sonnet 130,” William Shakespeare

  CHAPTER ONE

  Why the hell am I doing this?

  Elijah’s heart hammered in his chest, and he swore that his hidden adversary could hear it across the still factory floor. His hands shook as he willed his feet to advance against their better judgment. Sweat dripped down his brow.

  Terror gripped him. But still, he couldn’t deny the thrill.

  Despite the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through his body, he kept his focus on the task at hand. Six months ago, Elijah had been nothing more than a historian—a lowly adjunct professor eking out a career with whatever half-assed classes he could cobble together. The thought of sneaking through an abandoned factory in the dead of night would have filled him with dread.

  But the professor’s old life had been laid to rest. Something greater had emerged.

  And he wasn’t alone. Her presence lingered somewhere close by. He could feel it.

  He held his breath and listened. The faint murmur of a whisper echoed out of the darkness, calling to him, leading him deeper and deeper in. Then, a faint scratching sound, like metal on concrete rang out. The whispers morphed into a deep throated roar, rising in speed and volume. Elijah rolled up his sleeves and prepared for what came next.

  A steel beam soared out of the shadows. Elijah dove, leaving behind skin on the rough floor but dodging the missile. It clattered into the wall of rusted out machinery behind him. Before it’s echoes ended, she was on him.

  He got to his feet as a fist knocked him back on his ass. She wasn’t dicking around.

  Elijah rolled out of the way as she continued her attack, a flurry of fists and kicks and elbows. He dodged some, blocked others, but more than enough found their mark. They bruised his soft body. She had the upper hand. Superior strength and training had him outmatched in every way.

  Every way but one.

  A knee to the stomach knocked the wind out of him—and something else filled its place. A fire deep inside him sprung to life. An ancient furnace fueled by a love of place and a hatred of those who would threaten it. It burned in his gut—spread to his chest and arms. She wound up, a wild haymaker meant to finish him off.

  He caught the fist in midair—his hand now twice the size it was only a moment ago.

  Her eyes opened wide like two glowing orbs, floating in the darkness. She showed fear, surprise, or something else, he wasn’t sure. Elijah smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but then the fire took over. A scream erupted from his throat and molten steel forced its way through his skin, pushing its way out of the scar that covered his chest. His eyes felt like they were melting. His arms rippled as the dark metal covered them.

  She grunted as the heat hit her. She tried to pull away, but his hand was a fiery vice—his grip unyielding as the pain stole any control he had. Elijah couldn’t move. He could only scream and let the fire wash him away.

  But it didn’t, at least not altogether. Steel covered his chest but stopped there. It dripped from his elbows, down past his wrists. He could feel it burning around his eyes like a dark, angry mask, but it left the rest of his face and head intact.

  But his legs remained those of Elijah Branton—weak and vulnerable. A fact that she knew and immediately exploited.

  When back pulling on his hand didn’t work, she kicked out at his thigh. It was an aggressive move—one he didn’t see coming. His leg buckled, and he dropped to a knee. The careful attack forced his hand to open just enough to allow her escape.

  She jumped back, mouth moving once again. The words washed over him. He couldn’t understand them, but he knew what they meant. They meant power, they meant fury, they meant pain.

  “Que comprendre à ma parole?

  Il fait qu’elle fuie et vole!”

  Before he could retreat, the attack came. A force like frozen wind erupted from her, but he gained control of his body just in time. He leaned forward and raised his arms in a rough X. His shoes slid along the concrete floor as the wind pushed him back. But he kept his feet. His metal arms, now hardened, took the brunt of the force. As the attack ended, he lowered his shield and stood at full height.

  He was much more than a historian, much more than a man. He was a creature caught between two worlds, with enough power to break bones and bend steel.

  She stared at him, reached up and pulled down her mask. Behind it, a warm smile beamed.

  Her smile.

  Willa’s smile.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” she said. “Why don’t we take a break before you hurt yourself. Or worse...me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elijah smiled back, panting from the workout. She was winded too, despite the leg up she had on him in terms of fitness. He glanced down at his arms and chest while trying to catch his breath.

  Six months ago, when he first came to this factory, something happened to him, something that his rational mind still failed to comprehend. His body had come into contact with a force beyond nature. Gabrijel—a protector spirit that had spent a century trapped in hardened steel. Somehow, Elijah had served as Gabrijel’s liberator and host. Their minds and bodies melded, and Elijah turned into a creature of fire and steel—a giant dripping with molten metal and endowed with awe-inspiring power.

  But once Gabrijel fulfilled his mission, his spirit departed, leaving Elijah behind to grapple with this new-found power.

  A loud clapping startled him as Chem stepped out from the shadows. His wide grin sat under focused eyes.

  “Grade-A man. You managed to hold off the transformation for,” he pulled the pencil from behind his ear and scratched a note in his beat-up journal, “nearly twice the time. We keep this going, you’ll never have to worry about going Full-Foundry ever again.”

  Full-Foundry.

  Translation: a giant covered in steel from head to toe. The internet gave him a number of names after the “doctored” video of his attack on Mount Washington appeared. The Foundry seemed to have stuck as the rumors of the monster terrorizing Pittsburgh spiraled into tabloid nonsense.

  Elijah hadn’t fully transformed since February. Since the fight at PPG Place, the shimmering tower that dominated the Pittsburgh skyline. Not since the night Brooke Alarawn died.

  While his passenger had departed, Elijah remained, clueless as to how to proceed. Gabrijel had brought power, but he also granted control. Now, with the power in Elijah’s hands, the transformation proved more difficult. Gabrijel left behind no manual. There was no clear on/off switch.

  He could only bring forth the steel in the heat of battle. The first couple of times they sparred, Willa had to beat the hell out of him before he could get anything going, and even then, only a fraction of his former power emerged. Chem had a field day with the sexual innuendos, but the lack of progress unnerved Elijah. Chem kept rigorous notes of everything that Elijah did, working to bring some scientific clarity to whatever the hell he had become.

  And it was that scientific clarity that would help Chem heal Elijah once and for all, something the scientist promised would happen soon, as long as they kept up these tests.

  Chem’s commitment to the project often outpaced Elijah’s own. Sure, he wanted to be free of these powers, but to hear Chem talk about it, there was no time to waste. So they kept practicing. He learned how to call the power forth when he needed it, not before and not too late. Still, he lacked the enormity he once had. The steel onl
y covered his arms, chest, and face. Instead of dripping with metal, the heat cooled almost as soon as it came, letting the steel harden to his skin.

  More than enough to turn the bookish professor into a capable force, but there were miles still to go before he could control it entirely.

  “I didn’t kick you too hard, did I?” Willa placed her hand on his shoulder. Gone was the warrior from a moment ago. Once again, she exuded the warmth and kindness of a saint—albeit one who knew how to pack a ferocious punch.

  She too had been busy. Ever since her grandfather died saving them from the monster that had been Brooke Alarawn, Willa had devoted herself to her craft. She spent hours poring over books of poetry—the fertile ground from which her spells grew. In addition to that, she also had set up a makeshift gym in her basement. The results of her training reared its head every time she cracked Elijah’s jaw.

  “Please. Don’t you know I’m made of steel?” Elijah scoffed playfully. “It’s going to take more than your chicken legs to take me down.”

  “Fine. Next time maybe I’ll aim my foot just lower than your stomach. Not all of you is made of steel.”

  The look in her eye said she meant it, and Elijah went a little weak at the knee. His hands might be able to break through brick, but his half-turned form left plenty of vulnerabilities, a problem he had yet figured out how to fix.

  “Noted,” Chem said. “Don’t insult the poet’s legs. Luckily, once I’ve figured out a cure, she won’t have to kick you at all. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.” As he talked he checked Elijah over. Heart rate, temperature, reflexes. The classic post-training workup. They must have gone through this routine a hundred times, more so now that university classes were over, and they had the free time of summer. “Looks like you singed your shirt sleeves again.”

  Elijah looked down. Chem was right. The steel covered his hands and came up just past his elbow. His rolled sleeves were darkened and crispy. The cotton over his chest had burned clean through; the strange symbol still glowed an angry orange.

  “At least he kept his pants on this time,” Willa said. “This is far more enjoyable without you running around butt-naked afterward.”