Monster Hunter Bloodlines - eARC by Larry Correia (read a book .txt) 📕

The message failed to send. It said I had no connection. I hit retry, then shoved it back in my pocket and moved my hand to the pistol under my shirt.

The bar patrons didn’t seem to realize what was going on yet. For some reason they didn’t feel the change in temperature, sound, or pressure, but Gutterres must have been as tuned in as I was, because he got up and moved quickly toward the stage, where Sonya was so caught up in her performance and gleefully fleecing the Catholics out of more money that she seemed oblivious to the impending doom.

The thing walked through the front door.

It was man-sized and man-shaped, dressed in a long, duster-style coat and a really tall, wide-brimmed hat, like something the pilgrims would wear. Beyond that it was hard to tell many details from where I was sitting because the thing was pitch-black and obscured by the ghostly fog that rolled in with it.

The big bouncer was the first normal person who saw the newcomer. He spoke. Of course I couldn’t hear it, but if I had to guess it was something along the lines of Hey, buddy, wrong part of town for the costume. The con’s that direction.

Only then an eerie light ignited around the shadowy being as it slowly raised its gloved hands. Then two massive black hounds sprang into existence beneath its palms. The dogs were sleek, powerfully built, and dark as night except for their unnaturally white fangs.

The gigantic, experienced, ass-kicking bouncer dude took one look at that obviously supernatural display and must have had the good sense to decide this dump didn’t pay him nearly enough to deal with that kind of bullshit, because he hopped off his stool and ran for the back.

Personally, I get paid a lot more than that bouncer, so I’d be sticking around. I pulled my .45, kept it low at my side, and started walking toward the monster. There were too many people in the way for me to blast it yet.

When the thing lifted its head, the eyes were points of blue fire in the shadows beneath its hat. The sound of the bar was still muted like my ears were filled with slush, but I could hear the monster’s instructions to his hell hounds, perfectly clear, as he pointed toward the stage. “Time to hunt.” When he gave that order, both of the shadowy dog things’ eyes began to glow with the same blue as well.

The hounds launched themselves through the crowd, and since each of them had to be well over a hundred and fifty pounds, they plowed right through. Customers yelped in surprise as they got shoved aside or knocked over. A woman fell off her dancing table. They were heading directly for the stage.

Except then, one of the locals made the mistake of kicking one of the demon dogs. I think it was just a surprised reflex, but he placed a steel-toed work boot right into its mastiff snout. The monster dog’s head snapped around, but when it came back, it was snarling, fangs bared. It bit the man’s ankle, pulled his leg out from under him, and then began savaging him, flinging the poor guy back and forth like he was a chew toy.

The dogs had been given clear instructions, but apparently they were easily distracted, because as soon as the other one smelled blood, it went nuts too and bit a nearby waitress.

For a split second, through all those moving bodies, I had a clean shot on the dog that was biting the man’s leg. The victim was being dragged around in a circle, arms flailing, but I punched the gun out, focused on the front sight, and the spinning dog behind it, and tried to time my trigger pull in order to not shoot the poor dude I was trying to save.

The silver hollowpoint went right through the dog’s head.

The whole animal exploded in smoke and blue sparks.

The bar erupted in chaos.

Hunters learn a lot about how to deal with the public. Legally, we’re required to keep this stuff as secret and low key as possible. However, there are times when we have to act in the open, which means doing it as quickly and decisively as possible, because regular people tend to panic, get hurt, and generally make things worse. Only this wasn’t the usual freak out and run and get eaten type crowd. This was the smash you over head with a pool cue and put boot to dog type establishment. And these guys did not take kindly to a hell hound trying to eat the girl who brings out their beers and onion rings. The nearest bikers started beating the hell out of the beast who was mauling the waitress. All the tough guys who had been sitting stood up to see what the ruckus was about. Knives were flipped open. Guns were pulled.

As far as these normies could tell, this wasn’t a monster, it was a lunatic in a big hat who’d interrupted their evening with a fog machine, blue glow sticks, and a pack of fighting dogs.

When the monster saw the whole bar was ready to throw down, it said, “You were not to be my prey tonight, fleshlings. I am here to judge the thief. Step aside.”

“Who the fuck you think you is?” somebody shouted back.

The monster lifted its hand again. The fog swirled beneath its palm, congealed, became solid, and the dog I’d just killed, re-formed, alive and whole by his side. The beast snarled directly at me, obviously annoyed that I’d just killed it.

“If it be battle you seek, then it is battle you shall receive,” the monster said. Then it sprang forward, moving crazy fast, and swatted a biker across the face. He went flying. It grabbed another unlucky bastard by the neck and hurled him ten feet straight up, into, and partially through the ceiling tiles.

Everybody there started at the unnatural monstrosity that had just