God and Ghouls

John whirled back around, trying to see where the voice had come from. “Down here, kid. From the sounds of things, we’ve got a bit of time before that ghoul figures out you’re hiding in here.” There it was again - it seemed to be coming from his desk. Glancing down, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand, just in case this was some kind of stress related hallucination. The figure of the chaplain had moved; it was now leaning to one side, head tilted up to watch him with its weight leaning on its crozius - a heavy icon of faith it usually had raised in its left arm. That icon now was being used as an impromptu prop, the model leaning against it like someone might a cane.

“Got ya attention now, kid? Alright, listen up ‘cos we ain’t got much time,” the miniature spoke, and John took a half pace back. Shaking its tiny plastic head, the chaplain straightened up. “Ya don’t got time to be scared of me right now, kid, not with a pair of ghouls lurking about the place. One of ‘em ya might be able to take, but if they meet up, I’d give better odds on a virgin stayin’ pure around Leshy. And since ya happen to be the only Abyssal I can even vaguely consider to be a worshiper, I’d rather ya didn’t get yourself killed on day one.”

The fact that one of his Warhammer figures was currently lecturing him about survival while monsters growled outside did not help John’s rising feelings of panic. “You said I couldn’t expect a miracle. And worshiper… Gods have worshipers, and you’re just…” he began to almost stammer, eyes glancing at the rest of his models on the off chance they too were suddenly going to come alive and start talking.

On the table, the marine let go of his crozius and ran one tiny hand down his face. “Kid, listen to me, would ya? There. Are. Ghouls. Outside. Flesh eating undead bundles of fun that even my plague-obsessed sibling thinks are disgusting. Our only task right now is keepin’ ya alive. We can have a nice long talk later. And yea, I’m a god. Kinda. Limited power, see? So I’m possessing the nearest icon related to my worship. Really wish ya’d sprung for one of those titans tho; if I’d gotten my hands on that kinda firepower, then maybe we would be talkin’ miracle territory. A three inch high body makes me more of an aperitif for those things out there, even if ya did give me a fancy set of weapons to work with.”

Another growl had John’s eyes snapping back to the door. It sounded like whatever was in the house had realised where he was hiding. The sound of a sudden impact against the timber made John jump. From behind him, the voice of what claimed to be a god (and John suspected might be Malal given he had offered up a prayer to the concept of order) spoke in a far more frantic tone, “Outta time, kid. Hold that stick of yours out to me, quickly.” John did so without thinking, and the tiny model reached out and rapped the end of the staff with its crozius. “Got it. Make sure ya don’t let that end touch you - afraid it’s a bit of a two-edged blessing, but stick it in the ghouls and it’ll do the job.”

John was about to ask why, when the sound of splintering wood caused him to whirl back around once more, staff raised defensively. A pale hand on the end of a sinewy arm - more claw than human appendage - had burst through his bedroom door and was grabbing wildly at the air. As he watched, it pulled back, grasping the edge of the door as it did so and wrenching another chunk free. With rising terror, John realised that the thing on the far side would break through in moments. Terror paralyzed him as he watched the arm return, joined by another this time - and then he finally moved.

With a speed and ferocity borne of fear rather than any real desire to fight, John lunged forward and slammed the tip of his makeshift staff down on one of the thing’s arms. Instead of the weak blow he’d expected, flesh burned red as the monster on the far side of the door roared in pain and withdrew the limb; a faint silver sheen coated the tip of his weapon where he’d struck the beast for a moment before fading. The glitter of it gave him pause - before the thing on the far side of the door launched itself against the wood, causing it to crack.

John jabbed out, his staff punching through the hole and driving the beast back. Through the wrecked door, he could see it clearly now - a tall, lanky blue-gray figure that looked almost but not quite like a man, wearing little more than a loincloth and with viciously sharp teeth. It leered at him, arms waving those clawed hands in his direction - but his staff did seem to be giving it pause for thought.

As he debated the merits of leaving his room to face the beast, its hunger seemed to overpower its caution and it launched forward once more. John stumbled back, butt of his staff striking the floor as he tripped and fell. The ghoul saw an opportunity and leaped through the broken doorway, the remaining wood of the door splintering apart and falling like rain around John’s prone body. Holding his staff as if his life depended on it, John screwed his eyes shut as the thing fell towards him, expecting at any moment to be skewered by one of those razor sharp claws.

Something hot and wet dripped onto his face. Hesitantly, John opened his eyes. Above him, the ghoul was making ineffective grabbing motions towards his staff; the silver tip of which had been driven by the creature’s own weight straight through its throat. Dim recollections of reading a children’s story about people hunting lions that way, using the power of Mother Earth and the lion’s own strength against them flashed through John’s brain before another splash of the creature’s blood hit his face and made him retch.

Struggling, John twisted to the side, managing to topple the ghoul to the floor. Its attempts to free the staff from its neck were growing weaker by the second; grasping the smooth wood John put his weight into keeping it fixed in place, pinning the creature down until finally the twitching faded. A moment later, the ghoul’s hands dropped to the floor - before the thing exploded into a cloud of multi-coloured dust. John blinked, looked down at where blood still stained the carpet, then threw up.

Emptying his stomach of what remained of his lunch took far less time than he thought it should - and he was still dry heaving when he heard a crash from downstairs. Swallowing hard and wincing at the bitter taste in his mouth, John fought to get his body under control. There was still at least one more of those things out there. He staggered to the door, dimly aware of the voice of Malal behind him making cheerful commentary on his first kill, then paused. Had that thing damaged him in the fight? Those claws had been vicious. With a concerned wince, he opened his Status.

Well, that wasn’t too bad, even if he had apparently used half his Mana to open the monster-infested world he was currently stuck in. Sure, he’d been clipped by the beast - the tattered sleeve of his top showed where he’d been hit, although the adrenaline of combat must have masked the pain - but he was still mostly intact. Of course, last time he’d had luck and a defensive position to help him deal with the ghoul, this next one he might not have either of those things to help him. A crash from below made him wince; that sounded like the glass on the back door breaking. He waved the Status window closed, noticing as he did so the extra Experience he’d earned, and moved towards the top of the stairs.

Descending as quietly as he could, grateful for all that Agility, John moved down past smashed banisters and shattered paintings. The ghoul he’d already killed had clearly trashed the place on the way up, and what of his mind wasn’t engaged in a life or **** situation was wondering how on earth he’d explain all the damage to his mother without getting grounded or worse, sent to a medical institution. A groan from the kitchen made him freeze. What were his options here? He could hide, but these things seemed able to sense his presence or smell him somehow. Fighting in the open felt like a quick way to get his head caved in… A surprise attack was the best option, then.

Carefully, John tiptoed back upstairs, moving to the shattered railing on the landing and looking down. If he jumped when it emerged from the kitchen, maybe he could catch it off-guard and get a killing blow before it knew what had happened. Readying his staff like a spear, he peered down and waited. Silence - then a heavy thud as one of the kitchen cabinets flew through the hall and crashed into the living room. John gripped the staff tighter, saw the ghoul emerge - and leapt.