The Church of Minos # 10

The following takes place after The Walrus of Death, which you can purchase HERE

Part One

-This is a first draft-

I AIN’T ONE TO give over to cussing. Talking blue just never appealed to me. I’d always considered swearing the product of a lazy mind, one lacking in creativity. But I have to admit that when that second and third ogre showed up, I let loose with a string of curses the likes of which would have made a sailor blush.

Diana, to her credit, never once blinked.

The ogres, for the time being, seemed content to just stand and roar challenges. I took the moment to reload each Peacemaker.

“How many of those door buster rounds you got left?” I asked.

“One,” Diana replied.


“I don’t think Officer Singer fully realized what we might encounter this morning when he stocked the car.”

I finished loading the second gun and pulled both, wincing again at the stabbing pain in my torso.

The two ogres continued to stand a few dozen yards away, roaring and posturing like a pair of testosterone-laden book ends.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“Yeah,” Diana replied, jacking her only remaining door buster round into the shotgun’s chamber. “Tell me about it.”

“No,” I said. “Something seriously messed up is going on here. There is someone, or something, out there with enough influence to coerce both goblins and ogres into working for them, or it, or whatever. Who can do that? Who has that power? And what the Hell do they want with Maggie Keaton? I’m telling ya, I ain’t happy about any of this.”

“Here they come,” she said. And sure enough, the two ogres charged, bellowing war cries as they came right at us.

We opened fire. Me with the Peacemakers, Diana with the shotgun.

Her shot took the ogre to the left in the head. It dropped like a stone and slid for a few feet before coming to a stop.

I emptied both guns into the chest of the other. I fired methodically, like a machine. Right gun, left gun, right. Left, then right, then left, then right. It did nothing more than slow the thing down.

Once out, I holstered both guns and raised my fists.

The ogre, shocked that I would raise fists to it slid to a stop, blinking.

“You fight, little man?” It said, then laughed. “You fight me with fists?”

“I’ll do what I have to do,” I said.

Then it swung at me. One massive fist followed by an arm as big around as an elephant’s leg.

I ducked under the swing, spun, took hold of the thing’s wrist, then using its own momentum and weight, threw it over my shoulder and into the mud. It was back on its feet almost immediately, raging and spitting.

It charged, one fist out like a battering ram.

I stepped casually to the side, stuck out a foot, grabbed it once more by the wrist, and again using its weight and momentum, tripped it back into the mud where it slid to a halt.

It began to rise when suddenly Diana was there next to it. She slammed the stock of the shotgun into the side of the creature’s thick skull.

The ogre shrugged it off and brushed her aside like a stray lock of hair.

It pulled itself to its feet once more. But instead of charging headlong like an animal, it circled me. That wasn’t good. I was really banking on using its unbridled rage to take it down a peg or two. I had no illusions that I could get out of this encounter unscathed, but I hoped that I could at least buy some time for Diana to think of something more productive.

“You good fighter,” the creature said as it circled. “You make surprise for me.”

I didn’t respond. I rotated with the ogre as it circled, determined to keep at least one eye on it.

“You make Grut work for prize,” the ogre said. Apparently its name was Grut. “Working for prize means more to Grut. Makes Grut feel good about work. Grut earn prize.”

“Oh, you’ll earn this prize,” I said. “I’ll make you pay for every inch, you can be sure of that.”

To be continued . . .

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