The Monstrous Citadel

by Mirah Bolender

  “Us? What are we—” Laura sputtered. “You died! You fell in the river and—I saw you in a coffin! You were dead! Oh my god, no wonder Cherry and Mateo were—That was a fucking burial shroud! How are you even down here?”

  Grim pulled back on the rifle’s bolt so the spent shell popped out, and twisted the lever back down. He patted at his coat, found nothing, and frowned. “That’s not important right now.”

  “Of course it’s important! Did you fake being dead this whole time?”

  “No, and that’s not relevant to this situation.”

  They didn’t have any further time to argue. He gripped the gun tight and swung it like a bat. It collided with a Rexian’s nose as she rounded the corner. The victim dropped her blade and fell but more pressed in, streaming around their fallen comrade. Okane shot two more but they barely slowed before Grim swiped at them with the bent rifle. The lights flickered before cutting out here too. All that could be seen clearly was the glow of kin weapons, the flash of eyes reflecting it like a cat’s. Laura groped at the walls, narrowly avoiding the chaos. The dropped blade still gave off a faint glow, easy to pinpoint and easy to grab. It felt awkward in her hand, but this weapon wouldn’t run out the same way her Eggs did. Even if she couldn’t fight with any skill, it could at least force them to keep a distance.

  A scream echoed off the walls and her hair stood on end.

  “Okane?” she yelled.

  The only answer was another cry and a thud, metal clanking hard against the track. Three gunshots went off in succession, the kin light just barely illuminating a Rexian on the ground with Okane under her. The Rexian’s lip curled, her arm lifting in another glowing gauntlet as the gun clattered uselessly, bullets spent.

  “Get off of him!” Laura snarled.

  She planted a foot on the Sweeper’s side and shoved. The Sweeper twisted, bloodied gauntlet flashing, but Laura swiped with the blade this time and forced her off balance. This was enough for Okane to get his legs up and kick her away. He rolled out, scrambled up behind Laura. She could hear him cursing, weirdly high-pitched, and the clatter of dropped equipment.

  “Are you okay?” she demanded, stepping back and forcing him with her; his shoulder bumped into her back, giving away the tremors racking his body.

  “Bloody,” he replied, high-pitched. “Can’t see out one eye but I think it’s just blood. I’ll—I’ll be okay.”

  Laura bared her teeth, put all her strength into deflecting another blade. Really, that was a lucky swing—the Sweeper stumbled with the momentum.

  “Bijou! Do you have any handy?”

  “Dropped ’em.”

  She rapped her amulet. Warmth flared in her boots and she brought a foot down on the nearest Bijou. She caught it just enough to light the Bijou and send it screaming up the tunnel. It hit another on the way, squalling and spouting sparks to light the walls again. Grim hurried out of the way, but the Rexians packed the tunnels too tightly. Another wail started up. Laura turned, looking for more Bijou, and caught sight of Okane’s face again. The right side was mottled, scratched and burned and slick with blood—only one eye remained visible, narrowed against the pain. He dug through his bag, blinking through more blood as he unearthed a wire. He glanced up at Laura before giving a jolt. The wire crackled in his hands and he threw it past her, right into the face of another Rexian. The man cried out. The wire fell. Laura wasted no time in kicking it toward the rest of the fallen items, then grabbed Okane by the sleeve and ran as it began to spark.

  She didn’t know how many Bijou he’d dropped. Light seared through the tunnel in a rattle of liquid flame. Wooden panels snapped and flew; they had to dodge down another passage to keep from being hit by one. Grim flung himself after them and pressed against the wall, eyes wide. Maybe three Bijou was a definite understatement.

  “Did you have to light that so close to us?”

  “I didn’t have much choice,” Laura snapped.

  Something else glinted in the main tunnel, coming from the opposite side from the Rexians.

  “Oh, great, we’ve got company. I swear, if that’s another group of Rexians…” Laura dug through her pockets, but nothing there seemed like a viable solution. “Do you think we can break the elevator? Keep them from getting into the city proper.” This group had many times the number of that tiny invasion force of last year, and the one man had both evaded police and gained a foothold through a corrupt citizen. If a Sweeper could be tempted by Rex, she had no doubt others could be, too. If all the Rexians in this tunnel made it into Amicae, the consequences could be dire. “The miners must have radioed in by now, so that could buy enough time for help to come.”

  “Time where intruders could destroy your very foundations,” said Grim. “It doesn’t matter so much now. That’s the first wave.”

  “The first wave of what?”

  Laura could finally see that the glinting came from more guns. The people running toward them weren’t Rexians, but they wore no uniforms. They looked like—

  “Rangers?” Laura gasped.

  Cherry ran near the front; she gestured angrily for Laura’s group to back into a side passage, and once that was done, she screamed, “Give them hell!”

  The Rangers aimed, and the crack of gunfire echoed all around them.

  Cherry ducked into the side passage to look them over. “What’s your status?”

  “Injured,” said Laura, gesturing at Okane. “You have no idea how happy we are to see you, but—How did you even get down here? I thought Rangers weren’t allowed in the city.”

  “We got in the same way as your uninvited guests,” said Cherry. “There are vents to the mines further out in the agricultural grounds. The Rangers were all hanging out there to see if Amicae would let up on the ban, and radioed in when they saw suspicious activity. Since I’d been in contact with them yesterday, they went straight to me. And when I talked about Rex invaders in front of the coffin, someone finally got interested enough to wake up.” She punched Grim’s shoulder. “You owe me, you asshole.”

  “I owe you for not dying?” he said dryly.

  “Yes,” she spat. She turned back to Laura. “As far as I can tell, the Rexians are pissed because you took the reason for their big crusade. Most of their forces are moving south anyway, but this is a renegade unit sent for recovery.”

  “- - -’d think they’d know they can’t handle Clae in the first place,” Okane grumbled.

  “Information on the crystal’s tendencies probably wasn’t relayed,” said Grim. “Besides, Rexians seem to think they can force anything to bow to them.”

  Laura coughed out a laugh. “They think they can force their way in and out with a massive set of rocks and crystals?”

  “Or it could be a mission of vengeance,” said Grim. “As you can see, they’re sore losers.”

  Sore enough to get their Sweepers killed? The whole experience in Rex showed their Sweepers as disposable assets, but wasting so many of them on the eve of their greatest crusade had to be stupidity. There had to be a good reason for their return here; a significant trade-off.

  Meanwhile, the two forces clashed in the still-sparking tunnel. Maybe some people would realize their plan had gone awry and pull back, or at least change tactics, but the handler kept calling for advance. The Rexians didn’t even flinch, just kept coming. They came without fear, with full knowledge they would be mowed down, but they pressed on with no hesitation. They charged over their comrades’ corpses, kept running even while riddled with bullets, and flung themselves at the defenders. Each wave came fast on the other’s heels, and while the Rangers had firepower, they didn’t have that kind of determination. The first line fell to half-dead Sweepers, knocked down and crushed as the second line rushed to reload their weapons, and by the time they did it was too late. No space remained between their sides now; the tunnel became a mess of bullets and twisting bodies. Soon the chaos moved to this tunnel’s entrance. Cherry pulled a knife of her own and jumped out into the fray. Grim pull
ed Okane farther from the conflict, and Laura stood between them, brandishing her stolen blade for lack of anything else; any Bijou or Eggs would hurt their defenders as easily as the enemy.

  Three Rexian Sweepers dodged into the tunnel. Cherry yanked one back and Laura swung at the second, but the third circled around her. She had a moment of horror, completely convinced that she’d be stabbed in the back, but the Sweeper passed her by entirely. He’d definitely seen her—the lingering eyes proved that—but he had another target. He ran past Okane and Grim to duck into the next tunnel, heading west. That tunnel entrance bore an arrow and a bold black “X.” He was after the Pits.

  Laura swore. Still more people flooded into the tunnel but she couldn’t just let him get away.

  “Take care of Okane!” she shouted at Grim, and took off.

  The clamor echoed but ahead the Sweeper was alone. The din covered her footfalls for a long stretch, but it didn’t last forever. The Sweeper whirled around and shot. The bullet hit the wall near her head and she stumbled. Two more shots landed just off the mark and she dove behind a mining cart. Bullets ricocheted off its metal side with a warped noise.

  “Give up!” Laura shouted, even as she cringed. “You can’t run forever!”

  “Rex does not run,” said the Sweeper.

  “You’re at a disadvantage,” said Laura. Ivo and Zelda had seemed logical. Maybe this Rexian would listen, too. “You’ve already run into the first wave of resistance, and that’s not even Amicae’s real forces. You think they’ll stop here? Soon you’ll be entirely surrounded. They’ll trap you, maybe kill you. The only way out for you is to escape now.”

  The gun remained silent. Had she struck a nerve? Slowly she leaned to peer around the corner. A bullet ricocheted just below her chin. The heat seared her skin and she fell back with a screech.

  “It doesn’t matter if we’re trapped,” said the Sweeper. “All that matters is victory. Amicae will be eradicated.”

  “Not if I get you first,” she snarled, and threw her weight against the cart.

  Despite being made of metal it held no cargo; after a few seconds of straining it moved, and once it got going it coasted fast on momentum. She ran with it in front of her like a battering ram. This served as a shield well enough, hopefully serving as a good bluff in the same way. She gripped the blade in one hand, ready to pounce as soon as the Sweeper came in sight. But nothing appeared. No bullets bounced off the cart. No sound reached her beyond that of the wheels. She stopped short and straightened, letting the cart rattle on without her. The hall was empty. He’d left while she’d been distracted.

  “Of course he did,” she grumbled, tapping her amulet and ordering speed. She had to get there first. No matter what, she had to keep the Pit safe.

  Right. Right. Left. She tore around “X”-marked corners without any heed for the Sweeper ahead and his gun. She could hear an awful noise ahead: straining amulets. He had to be running full out. So long as the noise didn’t stop, he hadn’t found it. She had a chance. Exactly as she thought this, the screeching hit a higher pitch. A dull boom echoed through the mine, making the floor tremble. Lights swung merrily and the boarded walls creaked. Laura rounded the corner. This passage ended in a door, a reinforced piece of metal that had bent under massive strain, lock and hinges warped and useless.

  Her father once told her that miners left pillars in their carved-out rooms, thick and strong to preserve the structure and prevent cave-ins. In the middle of this room stood a pillar, but it wasn’t stone. It stood out stark against the rock, as if a black metal chimney had been painstakingly unearthed from the ground itself. At its base, enormous Gin stones piled up about it like tinder for a fire. Their subtle sparkle had leached into patches of the ground; for five feet around its base the earth had gone eerily pale. A few colorful amulets lay against the Gin, mismatched and charging.

  The Rexian Sweeper staggered for it. He wrenched a ruined gauntlet off, ripping flesh with it before throwing it at the Pit. It glanced off the black metal, leaving an ugly gouge. The Gin glowed brighter, flaring with a rattle and hiss like boiling water. The fallen gauntlet leapt and snapped as its circuitry overloaded.

  Silence descended for a moment; then the Gin’s glow spiked. A surging wave of heat swept out in an ugly haze. Laura futilely threw her hands in front of her face. Her ring smarted and her last Egg burned in her hip holster. The air went dry. The Sweeper cried out and she squinted through her fingers at him. His skin burned, red and peeling as if from horrible sunburn. Why wasn’t she affected?

  The Sweeper ring glowed like Gin itself. Slowly, it dawned on her: the rings linked into the same magic system governing the jewelry box, the armory, all meant to signify their own link into the system and protect the wearer from magical backlash. Where the Gin of their magic production remained on rotation, the Pit’s base stayed forever—a permanent addition to the system, able to send and receive alerts if anything went wrong. This magic must’ve recognized her through the ring and diverted itself.

  The Gin wave dissipated, but before its haze could fade she heard the rasp of a blade.

  “Give me that ring,” said the Sweeper.

  Laura took a step back. “Not a chance.”

  “Then I’ll cut it off - - -r corpse.”

  He lunged. For all the power behind the attack, he was very predictable. Laura backed up fast, so his attack missed entirely. She gritted her teeth and swung, but the Sweeper recovered fast and blocked easily before retaliating. Laura ducked and scrambled for the Pit. If she could get close enough to the Gin, the energy would shield her, keep him from getting close. Then she could attack. He followed. She could hear Gin groaning behind her, feel the tingle of magic in the air, but he paid it no mind. Clang, crash, shriek! He caught her blade and she stumbled. The edge snagged her sleeve and cut through to the skin from biceps to elbow. She hissed in pain. If she didn’t throw him off now she’d never have a chance. She kicked a rock on the floor, and it clanged into the Pit’s side. The magic there rattled and pulsed, readying another wave. A clatter from behind alerted her just in time to whirl about. The Sweeper caught her with one hand this time, squeezing her injured arm. The pain caught her off guard. She gasped; her knees buckled. The Sweeper kept leaning, pressing closer, eyes gleaming.

  With a breathy, garbled sound, the golden wave surged again. Laura felt a jolt of elation, but it died fast. Sure enough, the ring glowed, but the protective current around her had extended. The Rexian got caught halfway into the protective radius; it wasn’t pushing him away now. He bared his teeth and lurched forward. Laura reeled. As she threw him off, regaining her balance, he grabbed at her belt. An Egg scraped past her amulet, flashing red as he threw it. He didn’t have to aim. They were already close enough. She never should’ve backed up in the first place. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  The Egg detonated, throwing both of them back. Metal screeched, accompanied by crackling and short bursts of blinding white light. Laura couldn’t see details amid the too-bright flashes. Tiny amulets tumbled past her, their magic wavering with nonsentient confusion.

  Whatever remained of the Pit wasn’t metal. The chimney had split and warped, but beyond the Gin’s golden haze Laura couldn’t make out any details. Rock and debris clattered down past the tangled shape and piled on the floor with the Gin. For a long while, they both lay stunned. Debris kept shifting, but Laura couldn’t hear it. Her ears rang. Eventually, the Sweeper propped himself up: slowly, on arms, on knees, and finally, shakily, to his feet. He looked at the Pit’s wreckage with a savage expression.

  “So much work,” he spat, “for one weak city.”

  Laura forced herself up off the ground. She wavered, but gritted her teeth and spoke as strongly as she could. “Is that all you wanted to do? Fantastic. Get lost.”

  The Sweeper didn’t bother to look at her. He pulled something from his belt, round and white. He peeled away the outer layer. Chip after chip fell, revealing something glassy and red.

  “Th
e handlers should’ve ordered this in the first place,” he said. “But no, they wanted an ‘easy’ route. They wanted the satisfaction of Amicae handing over its lifeblood freely. The handlers are the ones who teach us not to be greedy. They should learn the lessons themselves.”

  He seemed to be talking to himself. Laura’s eyes stayed fixed on the item in his hands. Rexian red. Not an Egg, not kin, but something terrible. Maybe she hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard of it. What had Zelda said, before?

  “What are you doing?” she said sharply.

  “The clearest and most secure method of attaining Amicae’s power source is by destroying all of its defenders. Plant an infestation inside an unreachable place, a place where no one would suspect. A place with access into the interior.” He looked at her now, sneered. “I don’t know who planted - - -r ‘Falling Infestation,’ but they had a good plan. Ours, on the other hand, is perfect.”

  The last of the white casing fell away, revealing a glass float. Something darker swam inside it, not bloodred or any kin variety. It was black as night, black as an abyss. An infestation, stirring after forced hibernation.

  “Once this enters the Pit, it will be invulnerable,” said the Sweeper. “- - - cannot stop it. It will consume us both for fuel, and it will consume everyone in the mine before rising to the surface. Amicae will die, and Rex will take - - -r magic from its ashes.”

  “Wait a second,” she gasped. “You can’t be serious! You’ll die here, too!”

  “I’m aware,” he replied, and walked for the Pit.

  Laura pushed herself up and stumbled into his path. She had to stop this. He kept walking, unconcerned. She held up her blade and he batted it hard enough to knock it to the ground. Laura stumbled, half momentum and half trying to keep a distance. She bumped into the Pit. She groped at the pillar, trying to find a new weapon. Her boot clinked against a slab of Gin. A chance. She stomped, giving the same order she had on the train back in November.

  “Wake up!”

  The magic didn’t come from below. Her hand against the pillar burned. Light flared at her back, bigger and brighter than the explosion before. The Sweeper paused. Laura barely had time to take in his confusion before she gasped. Searing pain arched up her arm and shoulder. It branched into her chest, hot and prickling, all the way down to her guts. Her lungs seized up. Her eyes stung.