Spirit Breaker by William Massa

hoodies even in death. A feeling of dread slashed through him. He was standing at the center of a mass graveyard.  
    He kneeled before the first dead cultist. A wide-eyed stare greeted him from beneath the hood as Talon turned him over, the dead man’s neck coated red. He had opened his own throat with the crimson-caked sickle that lay on the floor next to his body. Looking more carefully at the corpse’s arms, he noticed familiar tattoos. The same strange circle with triangles Casca had shown him earlier.
    The mark of the necromancer.
    The broken forms of the Lightwalker’s followers lined the plaza as far as he could see. The colossal loss of life, the inherent madness in the act—it all revolted him. But San Francisco had taught him that mass suicide could power occult ritual. So what purpose could this terrible sacrifice serve?  
    A shrill beeping broke him out of his thoughts, and he realized the EMF reader in his right glove was picking up some crazy readings.
    “Talon, what the hell is going on?” Casca’s words were drowned out by sharp bursts of static that quickly built into a bone-chilling, keening shriek.
    Something was out there in the dark.
    Something that regarded him as an intruder.
    “Talon!”
    He didn’t respond, every fiber of his being focused on the shifting mass of shadows before him. His breath clouded before him as blurry shapes separated from the encroaching darkness and appeared in the visualization system of his helmet. There was swirl of rapid, staticky motion as, one after another, spectral silhouettes grew visible. They vibrated toward him, closing in from every direction, too many to count or keep track of.  
    He performed a 360-degree scan of the plaza—ghosts everywhere he looked. Pallid monsters, eyes like pits, now pouncing toward him at predatory speed, moving in staccato bursts. The incoming specters fazed in and out, a rapidly approaching swarm. The air charged, crackling with spectral static.  
    The Reaper wasn’t their only problem any longer. The bastard now commanded an army of the dead!

C HAPTER F IFTEEN

    THE SCREENS INSIDE the Comm Center exploded with spectral activity. Ghosts were homing in on Talon’s position from every direction.  
    “If you guys have any helpful advice, now would be the time to share it.”
    Talon’s voice filled the mobile command center, a trace of fear in his tone. The Delta Operator had stared death in the face on more than one occasion, but engaging a swarm of spirits clearly wasn’t something they’d covered at Fort Bragg.  
    Adira clutched the edge of the console. She’d never experienced anything like this before. Back at the Santa Ana crash site, one apparition had been enough to send shivers of terror up her spine. Talon now faced about twenty of them, all weaponized by the Lightwalker’s psychic power. The necro-armor and weaponry were designed to give Talon a fighting chance against the Reaper. With the help of Dr. Mason’s Spirit Breaker technology, he might be able to hold his own against one entity. No way in hell would he stand a chance against this army of wraiths. The entities were just too fast, too powerful for one man to successfully ward them off and not succumb to their overwhelming numbers.
    “He needs our help,” Casca said. He turned toward her. “Tell your driver to bring us closer to the mall. I’m going in.”  
    “You’ll get yourself killed.”
    “What about Talon? If we don’t help him, he’s done for.”
    Adira nodded and palmed her mic. “Steve, pull up to the main entrance of that JC Penney.”
    The next words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I’m coming with you.”
    Casca eyed her with surprise as the mobile command center burst into motion and shot toward the shopping center. Adira knew it was suicide, but if the billionaire was willing to risk his life, she couldn’t stay behind. There were no spare suits though fortunately they had a few extra rifles and