To Fling a Light

by Wong Yoong Le

  “Don’t be so sure,” Crow cut in, “who’s to say that the Outsiders attacking the other parts of the globe won’t leave outright and return through the breach here?”

  Silence reigned for a while.

  “I’m getting a headache,” I complained. “How about we just focus on getting into either the Alliance’s or Conclave’s stronghold and fortify up there?”

  “There’s no point wondering, true,” Miles agreed. “Let’s go then, and remember to keep a lookout for the Far Shore’s collaborators.”

  After dismantling the tent, which we dumped onto Crow, we hopped into the car. There were some ink marks where Crow was sitting last night, but since he occupied that spot again, Mr. Meng didn’t notice the defiling of his car.

  “Come to think of it,” began Hao Wei, who was sitting beside the driver’s seat, “we got exceedingly lucky last night: only self-inflicted injuries, and nothing else.”

  Mr. Meng, who was driving, nodded in agreement. “They sent a large part of their forces elsewhere and didn’t attack us for a second time. There’s something off about this—they may be having some internal squabbles.”

  “Perhaps some of them came from different colonies?” I joked.

  This car could fit the six of us, and right beside me was Aurora, who had somehow taken a liking to me… if you could call using me and my sore arm as a pillow. I poked her cheeks, trying to wake her up.

  “Stop that, Mr. Newton. She didn’t sleep well last night.” Mr. Meng glared at me, and I obliged obediently.

  “At any rate,” he said, satisfied with my compliance, “we’ll probably be seeing a horde of these buggers knocking on the front door come nightfall. Be mentally prepared.”

  He left some words unsaid, but he didn’t really need to. Last night had been an utter fluke; judging by the intensity of the battle between the red and the white lights. A large number of Outsiders had simply left without bothering about us, leaving only a single Outsider and his thralls to initiate contact. It was like we weren’t all that important.

  The car hit a bump, and Mr. Meng turned his eyes to the road again. I looked at the sleeping girl on my lap, trying to resist the urge to poke her cheek. Was this how it felt to have a younger sibling? I didn’t have many memories of a family, so this little bundle of warmth was something new. Keeping a straight face, I poked her cheek a few more times stealthily.

  The Key, huh?

  This silence had gotten me thinking about the words of the overseer. They had led me to a horrifying deduction—although I could very well be mistaken. I had little choice, however, and I decided to voice it out.

  “What did that overseer mean last night?” I asked cautiously. “He mentioned something about the trial ending, and that the world was repeating the years leading up to its destruction.”

  “You weren’t the only one to think that, huh?” Mr. Meng replied. “I see no reason for him to lie, but—”

  Miles interrupted from the back, “in that case, who was with the infiltrator that the Alliance caught then? Why was the information different?”

  “A red herring operation perhaps? Or just disinformation.” I suggested.

  “The setting for the trial?” Crow cut in.

  He was sitting at the last two seats, beside Miles, with a few papers in hand.

  Mr. Meng made a right turn, heading towards town.

  “Interesting,” he replied. “Mind elaborating?”

  “Given what I saw so far, the Outsiders prioritize their survival over the objective. That can only suggest that whatever they’re up to, it isn’t so important that they’d throw their lives away.” Crow paused briefly to let his words sink in, before continuing, “compare that to the words the infiltrator had said. The actions of the Outsiders so far do not reflect the urgency that he tried to convey.”

  “Is this where our shot to victory lies?” Hao Wei asked.

  “Precisely,” Crow said, “if we can convince them that retrieving the Key would result in them being trapped here long enough for the trial to end; which I’m taking to mean the world’s destruction—”

  “They might back off,” Mr. Meng completed his sentence. “Of course, we would need to make adequate preparations: enough to create a credible threat. Holing up somewhere to drag out their assault would be our best hope in this case.”

  “About that,” I had pondered for some time whether to say this, but I decided to say it anyway, “I think I’ll be extremely useful here.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Miles, who was craning his head to look at my expression. “You sound like you’ll actually do something this time.”

  “Well, does anyone remember an event that happened just a few days ago? A massive influx of spiritual energy, coupled with quite a few accidents that happened near Clarke Quay? The one that attracted a whole bunch of supernatural beings?” I kept my eyes glued to a particularly interesting part of the seat in front of me.

  In the mirror, I could see Mr. Meng furrowing his brows. “I think I heard something about it, but it wasn’t exactly anything that I was concerned about.”

  Miles ran his fingers through that beard of his, before wiping it on his clothes. “I do remember that a few days ago there was a spike in communication. Something about a massive disturbance.”

  “Well—” I said, trying for a non-committal reply.

  Hao Wei cut me short, “In other words, you found out what you actually did, and thought it might be useful here?”

  “You got me.” I schooled my expression and tried for the ‘innocent’ look. “It seems like I have quite the aptitude for a particular branch of Dimensional Laws. In particular, the laws related to time.”

  The car jerked to the left, before coming to a screeching halt. Mr. Meng had braked abruptly, and everyone inside the car bounced around, forcing me to secure the still-sleeping Aurora.

  “Of course, I’m not talking about True Time Laws, but it seems that I can thus far control the rate at which time flows:, the Minor Time Laws.” I added on hastily.

  Minor Time Laws were a subset of Dimensional Laws, and they were represented by the fifth dimension, the highest of all physical dimensions. As most beings were represented on three axes, they resided in the third dimension. But those who can use dimensional magics, or manipulate Dimensional Laws, can manifest in any dimension from the first to the fourth: decimal points included.

  As for True Time Laws, they occupied the sixth dimension, or the last dimension, completing and closing a plane of existence. True Time Laws dictated the temporal position a plane of existence was on, effectively allowing anyone who could control them time travel. It was considered a Supreme Law, one that affected all subordinate dimensions; but was also the simplest in theory. After all, True Time Laws only had a forwards and backwards direction to play with.

  It seemed, however, that Mr. Meng had hoped I could go back in time. I could probably guess why, but that feat fell under the purview of True Time Laws. Unfortunately, manipulating time used one’s lifespan as payment, and the smallest currency accepted was in years, if I remembered correctly. I wasn’t exactly the most charitable person around either.

  Whatever that was deciding the balance for practitioners clearly gave no hoots about months and days. Either way, I couldn’t fulfill what Mr. Meng was hoping for. Perhaps in the future, but even then, I’d fear mucking around with time and the loss of my lifespan.

  “So,” Hao Wei asked, “that night we went drinking, you decided to stop time for the fun of it?”

  “Yeah. I had a gut feeling at that time, when the world became a black and white blur. It looked like I teleported, right?” I scratched my head in embarrassment. “I probably paid a year of my lifespan for my wallet too—what a waste.”

  The car shook as it moved off again. Mr. Meng had clearly gotten over his disappointment over my inability.

  Prodding the asleep Aurora, I said, “Anyway, given that I can execute Minor Time Laws without thinking too hard, I should b
e of ample use this time, with some practice runs.”

  “True.” Crow said, as the car sped off, “assuming you really can do it, though.”

  Chapter 20

  The car sped downtown, into some very familiar places I had traveled to not even a week ago. Orchard Towers, the place that I roped me into this whole mess.

  “I thought only the Beacon Office was here,” I said, as the car approached the base of the Towers.

  Mr. Meng twiddled with the steering wheel, making a right turn.

  “There’s some sort of bunker in every Alliance building, but I suppose it won’t hurt to check in on the kids.”

  “It’s 8 a.m., would they come that early?” Hao Wei asked.

  Mr. Meng choked in a peal of what seemed suspiciously like laughter, earning a scowl from Hao Wei.

  “I don’t know what type of jobs you’ve worked before, but most of them require you to start work at around seven-thirty. Come on, you were born here, surely you know.”

  I cut in before Hao Wei could reply. “Just excuse him for this. He was of the impression that his house was the largest in this country before he saw yours, and I can assure you he’s in no way delusional. In that regard, he might be like your daughter.”

  “I thought he seemed rather worldly-wise.” He shook his head, and little beeps sounded as he reversed into the lot.

  “I’m still here, everyone.” Hao Wei complained as he opened the car door and stepped out. “Sticks and stones people, sticks and stones.”

  Everyone else streamed out of the car, and we soon assembled in a loosely-knit formation, before entering the tall, glimmering building. A golden film still surrounded the buildings: exactly the same as I remembered when I came last week. The glass doors parted as Mr. Meng led the way in.

  As I stepped into the lobby, I could feel something intangible attempting to constrain me, before I slipped out of it. I was now far more sensitive to spiritual changes, and I was willing to guess that the events of the few days ago had changed me. As for Hao Wei, he had walked through the threshold without any visible reaction, which just meant that he wasn’t able to stay here.

  Our little group had stopped at the atrium, and Mr. Meng turned to survey us. Miles was visibly making an effort to breathe, while Crow and Aurora were just looking around in interest.

  “I’m just asking for reference,” he said, pointing at me and Hao Wei, “but aren’t the two of you affected?”

  “Affected by what?” Hao Wei tilted his head innocently.

  I smiled in triumph. “He can’t even feel it.”

  Mr. Meng’s return smile carried no humor in it. “I think I’ll make some reports after all these events blow over.”

  “Or you could conveniently forget about it, I guess.” I looked at him, eyes as wide as possible.

  He shook his head, the slightest trace of mirth visible. “No can do, despite how tempting it is to slack off. Enough talking, let’s go to the lift.”

  He walked off, and the five of us followed suit like baby chicks. The place looked just as resplendent as the day that I had arrived here. I shivered as I entered the lift, where Mr. Meng had clicked on the button for the eighteenth floor.

  “Didn’t you feel it?” I asked Hao Wei, “The air is growing heavier. The Alliance did something to this building to hinder hostile incursions.”

  The lift hummed as he breathed in, trying to feel for what I had said.

  “You’re right, it does feel heavier. But that’s about it.”

  “You heard him, Mr. Meng.” I grinned. “That’s about it, he says. Are you guys cutting corners on your defense budget?”

  The lift doors opened as he was about to retort, before he abruptly paused. I understood why a heartbeat later. I could feel something lacking in the spiritual energies around us and beyond that, I could smell a familiar, sickly sweet smell. Mr. Meng bolted into action and dashed in the direction of the Beacon Office.

  The stomach-churning odor grew increasingly stronger as we followed Mr. Meng, with Miles in the lead. On the way, I noticed some minor details, like dribbles of crusted liquid on the floor, unusual scars on the walls. In front of me, Crow’s head was bobbing and jerking as he took down the state of his surroundings.

  Everyone halted in their footsteps as we rounded a corner. A solitary figure, large and imposing, was lying on the floor a few metres away, somewhat curled up. The beige marbled floor was covered with streams of dried, dark-brown blood: its origin a pool of sludge right underneath the body. My stomach churned as I got close enough to see his face.

  It was Won. There were three gaping holes in his torso: right at the lungs and heart, deep enough that you could see the other side through them. The organs that should have been inside were entirely missing, and for a moment, I thought that perhaps the Outsiders rammed the end of a giant steel pipe through him three times. My eyes fell on his knuckles, which were crusted in dried green and brown sludge. Similar coatings of slime were also visible on his left knee.

  He went down hard. The others shuffled away as I subconsciously stepped forward to where Mr. Meng was standing. Won’s eyes were wide open, his teeth bared in what seemed like defiance and anger in his last moments. I studied his expression quietly for a moment, before stepping back and leaving Mr. Meng, who was still in a stupor.

  Abruptly, Mr. Meng knelt beside the fallen body, placing his palm right below Won’s navel. His back trembled slightly, and he said, “Won died fighting. His body is entirely devoid of Qi, but it seemed like he couldn’t detonate his own dantian, probably due to the presence of his fellow workers.”

  His face grim, Mr. Meng carried on speaking. “The air is also largely devoid of ambient Qi, suggesting that he did everything he could. As most Outsiders disintegrate upon death, I can’t tell exactly how many fell with him; but I knew him well enough to confidently claim that he stopped enough of them to save everyone else.”

  There was a moment of silence, as everyone mourned his passing. Not even a week had passed, but someone I knew had simply died. It was fortunate that his body wasn’t entirely mutilated, but I had a nagging suspicion that the Outsiders wanted him gone from the get-go.

  “He must have played some important role in a previous cycle,” I muttered. “Maybe he managed to join up with you, Mr. Meng, in protecting Aurora.”

  He had died with his eyes open, and Mr. Meng didn’t miss that. With a gentle sweep of his hand, Won’s eyelids closed with a solemn finality. Mr. Meng’s hand clenched into a fist briefly, before relaxing. He got up and entered the wide-open Beacon Office, with a jerk from his head urging us to follow.

  The lights were still on, competing with the sunlight streaming in from the shattered windows. Furniture was strewn around—the desktop computers broken and smashed. There were a couple of corpses lying near the windows: their bodies mangled.

  A retching sound broke the silence, rousing Mr. Meng from his reverie again.

  “There’s nothing much I can do,” Mr. Meng said, turning away to stare at the broken window. “Communications have fallen silent, so retrieval will have to wait.”

  His expression darkened briefly, before that usual stoic face appeared again. He left the room, ushering everyone out, before closing the door on the scene. His face was somber, and we walked in silence back into the lift, giving a wide berth to Won’s body as we passed him.

  “It’s likely that the bunker here has been tampered with too.” Mr. Meng said. “We’ll have to go to another stronghold. It’s not too far, but it’s still worth checking if it was attacked.”

  As the lift hummed, it felt as though a veil had fallen on me, muffling my emotions and senses. I had felt such a phenomenon before, which came after one survived a calamity, or after seeing someone die in front of their eyes. It was an unconscious desire, a wish that something didn’t happen.

  I snapped out of it quickly, and clarity returned to the world. As for the rest, Hao Wei moved somewhat mechanically, while Aurora was entirely out of it. Cr
ow, as expected from a self-proclaimed assassin, was unperturbed while Mr. Meng and Miles were somewhat more solemn than usual. We walked back to the car in silence, the slamming of the car doors louder than usual.

  Amidst the sounds of the engine starting up, Mr. Meng said, “We’ll head for the general HQ next, just a few blocks down the street.”

  His words were brusque, and the figure of him stepping on the pedal seemed more violent than usual.

  The car moved off smoothly, driving off with a left turn, and the buildings flashed swiftly. It wasn’t long before we were pulling into another car park, reversing into a vacant space. Another building towered over us, a film of light shining faintly, but the warm, protective light held no assurance for the safety of its inhabitants within now.

  “This place was entirely owned by the Alliance. Everyone inside is a cultivator of potent strength.” Mr. Meng frowned.

  I caught a tinge of uncertainty in his voice, and I examined the surrounding buildings. With a jolt, I realized that the windows of the other buildings were missing or cracked.

  The golden film flickered, and my heart sank. “Mr. Meng,” I said, “the protective formation seems to be damaged.”

  He breathed out heavily, and his steps sped up before stopping in front of the building. The glass doors, which were automatic, failed to open for him. But they didn’t need to. Carnage could be seen everywhere. The TVs that graced the first floor were cracked, and the bodies of the fallen littered the interior—too many to count at a glance. From outside, the building seemed fine, but thick, extensive cracks were visible on every single wall.

  Mr. Meng exerted strength, and the doors shattered into tiny fragments. He strode in, with the wooden sword he had used last night in hand. He walked over to the broken receptionist table and vaulted over it before bending down to feel for something.

  “Looks like the Alliance was prepared to make a stand here, which explains the number of casualties.” Mr. Meng stood back up, jumping back over the counter again.

  “How many of the Outsiders came this time?” Crow’s eyes darted around, taking in the grotesque scene of dried blood and scattered bodies.