AS THE HUMAN CALLED SCOTT LANG'S screams echoed deliciously in the dark recesses of his stolen mind, Pitch studied the faces of the three dozen humans that he had just slaughtered. Torturing Lang, taking over his body, had provided him the control he needed to begin the Summoning.
Even now, he sensed the energies of the being or beings who had interfered with the Fend's intended assault upon the Earth. Those energies were strange, powerful, yet vaguely, disturbingly familiar.
He wasn't sure, could not be sure yet. But if what he suspected was true, he would require aid. He would need an army to fight the Fend and defeat his new enemies. The Horn had been stolen, hidden. Even his augmented senses were at a loss to discover its whereabouts.
But the world was in chaos. He had plenty of dread and horror to feed him the might that he craved, for now. He was growing stronger. Every murder, every act of hatred and violence that he committed lent him the darkest power.
As he stretched out his will to the farthest corners of the Earth, he touched the minds of those who stood ready to serve him. Even among the descendants of his enemies he had sensed the seeds of discontent. He had tended those seeds, offered them the grisly soil they needed in which to grow. He would require aid to attain his prize, and there were many beings here who were covetous of the power he wielded.
When he had marshaled his forces, he would seek out the Mekhaud -cith, the Horn. Then this world, and all the rest of The Peerless Empire would fall beneath his blood- tarred heel.
The Horn's power lay at the crux of his plans. Closing his eyes, Pitch cast his mind out into the void, searching across time and space for the location of the Horn.
He could feel its' presence, shining like a lantern in a sea of infinite darkness. But he was unable to locate the powerful talisman. An unknown power cloaked the Horn's whereabouts too completely. He could not penetrate that aura. Nor could he determine who it was who now possessed the weapon.
It seemed to move constantly across the width and breadth of the space-time continuum. Even as he focused his mind upon its presence, it vanished beyond the reach of his senses. With a gnashing of teeth, Pitch broke off the contact.
And for an unpleasant moment he felt fear, dark and sinuous, skitter like ice water up Scott Lang's spine. No one on this world should have the power to hide the Horn from his senses. Not even the Nagrath Say Morn who were his descendants could have concealed it so completely from his power.
Who then? he thought bitterly.
The power required to achieve such a feat could only have been mounted by one of the ancient ones, his forgotten peers among the vanished Ket, or possibly his hated cousins of Emen Caste. But they had vanished.
Maybe the Gaunt have returned to vex me once more, he thought. And the thought brought with it the despised dread he remembered from so long ago. But he could detect no sign of his former Masters anywhere upon this plane.
With a surge of anger, he shrugged away his doubts.
No matter. He would discover the location of the Horn. He would regain the full measure of his might and more. And then nothing would stand in his way.
With a shrug, he sent out the call, summoning to his aid all those who would serve him.
Then he was gone.
******
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THE RED WAKE
Science FictionWhen an alien invasion plunges the Earth into chaos, our greatest cities fall, their inhabitants hunted, enslaved or killed. One desperate group of survivors discovers humanity's only hope: an alien weapon powerful enough to reshape worlds. But an a...
