Families huddled in groups as they ventured to the market for food, finding false safety in numbers.
Most who braved the conditions to attend their jobs traveled together. On the backs of most steam cars, some clutched various guns in their hands, while others drove the vehicle. Avoiding the workforce was not an option for anyone. The blue bloods and societal elites of Panagea, who owned the various factories, did not reward workers who shied away from their jobs.
The conditions for most were abysmal. Their choices were as limited as they were unappealing: face the dangers of those who wandered around with infected minds, waiting to plunge their daggers into the hearts of anyone who the lesser gods instructed them to kill ... or lock themselves in their homes and starve, where the risk of the madness waited to manipulate them too.
The town center sprawled open, the most spacious place in all of Bartholomew’s city. A pattern of stone circled outward from a central fountain; a monument meant to bring a sense of tranquility to a municipal that suffered much. The water that trickled from the shrine’s spouts collected in a large basin, only to be pumped up and recycled: a never-ending flow of serenity.
The Southern Time Father thought the space created when countless businesses and residences had fallen to the ground would be better utilized as an open area. A place that did not invite claustrophobia and competition among people. He just wanted one beautiful place. One area where citizens could go to escape the oppressive nature of the buildings that survived.
While the monument was indeed beautiful, it failed to deliver anything resembling tranquility. Especially as of late.
The crew had taken turns watching the affairs of the townsfolk from Bartholomew’s tower since they arrived a week prior. Each day that lived and died with no new activity bred more anxiety. Not knowing was the worst part.
Bermuda stole a glimpse of Umbriel in her peripheral vision. The Earth Mother wore a subtle look of desolation, though she hid it well behind a cloak of indifference. The quartermaster frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Can I ask you something?”
Umbriel blinked. The two women had lived in silence for so long, she almost startled at the sound of anything other than the wind howling in her ear. She gazed up at Bermuda. “Of course.”
The quartermaster stiffened as she held tight to the iron post. “If you already summoned one of the lesser gods ... and you know that you cannot talk sense into them ...” Bermuda’s stomach swirled as she paused. She did not know why the Earth Mother birthed such nervousness in her. Perhaps, she did not wish to see her get hurt. “Why did you come? I know you won’t raise a weapon to any of the townsfolk, whether they’re being manipulated by the gods or not ...”
The wind whistled through the open spaces of the fence that surrounded them. Umbriel knew Bermuda only asked out of concern. This knowledge painted a soft smile on her lips. “Because I brought them back here. I knew that they would come hand in hand with nature because the fruits of nature take time ... and most people suffer from undeniable impatience.” Umbriel gazed back out at the town, a love living inside her eyes. “I thought I could bring Earth Mothers back. I thought it would be a good thing for Panagea. It used to be. But this time ...” She shook her head. “I thought the lesser gods’ love for mankind would outweigh their feelings of betrayal. I was wrong.”
“Well ...” Bermuda shrugged, following Umbriel’s focus back out to the people below. “You don’t need to beat yourself up over it. Bad things happen. That’s the way of the world.”
“It is,” Umbriel agreed. “But it is critical that we see our failures through to the end. We must witness the consequences of them, that they might brand themselves into our minds. It is the only way we can ever hope to remember never to repeat them.”
“That’s what this is, then?” Bermuda raised her free hand over her eyes, shielding her vision from an unexpected ray of sunlight that penetrated the ashen clouds. “You’re here to punish yourself?”
“No.” Umbriel stared ahead, unmoving. “I am here to teach myself.”
The Earth Mother’s actions seemed masochistic to Bermuda, but she was not one to judge. The quartermaster, too, punished herself for a long, long time. Forgiveness came slow to the woman, but with Umbriel’s help, she managed to seize a tangible amount of clemency. It felt much better than writhing in self-pity. When the short-lived light of the sun finished stabbing her eyes, Bermuda lowered her hand.
Umbriel’s shoulders forced themselves back. The grip she had on her wrist tightened. Her pulse hastened, but her voice remained composed. “They’re here.”
Bermuda squinted her eyes, her brows knitting together as she searched for a sign of Umbriel’s announcement. She did not have to look long.
A burst of fire rose upward in the far distance. It sprang twenty feet into the sky before it fanned out, circling the town. Within a minute, the ring of flames spread across the entire city, until it met back at its source, burning unnaturally, with no evidence of an accelerant.
Like the ocean, the ginger inferno ate the horizon, spawning suffocating amounts of black smoke that destroyed any glimmer of the natural sky. Shrieks of the townsfolk rose up with it, swirling in the abyss of toxic smog. Bermuda gasped, her hold on the post increasing as she frantically searched for physical signs of manifesting gods.
“They’re sealing us in,” Umbriel informed her, her heart beating faster as she tried to maintain her poise. “Nobody escapes.”
A low rumble of thunder sounded on all sides. It almost felt as though it shook the ground. Without warning, a flash of lightning cut the sky in two. The screams grew louder, more panicked. People scattered throughout the streets, digging their heels into the cobblestone as gods appeared before them out of thin air.
Mothers reached for their children. Husbands reached for their wives. Some fell immediately to the influence of the gods, who fed heartily on the newfound fear. Another growl of thunder rattled through Umbriel’s bones as more and more gods appeared below.
“Shit.” Bermuda leaned forward, straining her eyes to see through the rising smoke. “I thought there were only eight of them—seven with Madros slain.”
“They secured the God of Fire,” Umbriel breathed, turning a full circle to take in the entire sight of the blaze that fenced them in. The Earth Mother felt the poison of an adrenaline dump flow through her, something she thought she mastered the ability to control. “And the God of Thunder ...”
The news was unwelcome. The elemental gods were a different breed from most. Able to manipulate the environment without running the technical risk of altering mankind’s free will, the people were at the mercy of their destruction. “Bermuda ...” Umbriel turned to her, unable to hide the dread in her eyes. “They amassed an army.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Brack, Bermuda, Granite, you’re at the forefront! Possessed mortals are on you. I’ll handle the gods.”
Kazuaki’s orders sliced through the entrance hall into Bartholomew’s home, their potency commanding the room’s entirety. The captain’s eye blasted to Penn, who knelt beside the beast, his arms around the tugging animal’s neck. The dog whimpered, its nails clicking on the tile as it tried to reach Granite. “Penn. Gods help you if you do not keep that dog in check. I need Granite at full concentration.”
Penn nodded, reeling the beast back against him and pulling the wriggling animal into his chest. The captain’s words were harsh, but he understood the sentiment behind them. They only had three crew members as it was, along with Rennington and the footmen of Southern who remained lucid enough to do combat. If anything happened to the beast ... if Granite could not do battle ... the odds were not in their favor. His value as a fighter was unmatched. “Yes, Captain.”
“Good man.” Kazuaki turned to his crew. “Fall out.”
They exited Bartholomew’s home, donned with whatever useful components they managed to take from his armory. Kazuaki stared ahead, watching as pandemonium lit in the eyes of every
citizen who continued to clutch their good mental standing. The picture before him was painted by chaos and nothing more.
From a short distance, he saw Rennington standing at the head of a large group of Southern footmen. Kazuaki could not tell what he said to the men, but judging by the fierceness that spilled from his face and the way he valiantly raised his falchion to the sky, the captain surmised it was motivational. The footmen howled and dispersed into the crowd, organized and undeterred.
“Gods-speed, comrades.” Kazuaki’s black hair whipped around his shoulders as he turned to his small band of societal rejects. “See you at the end.”
Brack raised twin battle axes to the sky, howling as he charged after the footmen into the bedlam. Granite’s approach was steadier, more intimidating, as he hauled a mercilessly outsized, spiked mace over his shoulder.
“Well,” Bermuda breathed, her hands at her hips, ready to reach for her weapons. She glanced at the captain, her adrenaline pumping. “Once more into the fray.”
Kazuaki’s heart pounded from the cage that was his ribs. He stole a final glimpse of her. The picture of faultlessness. As a surge of chemicals filled his veins, he scooped her up in his arms and placed her back against the exterior wall of Bartholomew’s home. His hands slid under her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his waist once more. The kiss they shared was short, but what it lacked in timing it made up for in unrestrained passion.
He knew he couldn’t taste her forever. Kazuaki pulled away, barely, his forehead against hers as he spoke against her lips. “Don’t die.”
The quartermaster slid her arms around his neck, arching her back as she savored one final sensation of his mouth on hers. Her fingernails curled into the back of his scalp as she smirked, confident. “Nothing’s killed me yet.”
It took everything he had in him to release her. In one moment he had all of her, and in the next he had none. The two lovers parted ways, jolting full force into the disorder that awaited them.
Brack drove his axe into the stomach of a man wielding a sharpened piece of rubble. He did not linger to see if he perished. There were too many. As more lesser gods and goddesses drizzled into the streets, countless more humans fell to their demands. If he wanted to ensure the safety of Southern’s unpossessed mortals, he had no time to waste.
Shrieking citizens of all ages and backgrounds sought refuge where they could find it. Hiding spots were limited. There were too many who required them. Granite stomped over to a cowering family, their arms around one another as a stampede of depraved mortals approached them, salivating. With a forceful grunt and a single sweep of his mace, he gutted an entire line.
Their bodies fell back like weightless pins. The holes in their flesh leaked their insides. But for each one he destroyed, several more appeared in their place. The power that the gods had amassed in their short sovereignty of fright throughout Panagea, had earned them enough raw supremacy to command the minds of many.
Kazuaki cut his way through the crowd, shoving both manipulated and terrified men and women aside. There was no time to disassociate. Not if he wanted to spare their lives. His eye captured a lesser god he did not recognize, standing before a collection of screeching souls. Chanted nonsense spilled from his throat. He tried to turn those before him. His attempt was unsuccessful.
Before the lesser god commanded a single, scared spirit, the twin blades of Kazuaki’s katars ran him through. He uttered a grating sound that matched the death of Madros. The group before him screamed and disbanded.
A trickle of blood seeped from his open jaw. Kazuaki twisted the blades. The lesser god’s hands wrapped around each pointed piece of steel and he scowled. Though the captain was to his back, he knew exactly who he was. “Kazuaki Hidataka ...” he muttered, choking on rising, viscous fluid in his throat. “You’re here ...”
Before he died, Madros had warned the others of Mimir’s betrayal. Of the captain’s possession over the enchanted weapons. But of all the places in all of Panagea ... they did not think they’d find him here. “Where—is Mimir?” the deity gurgled, trying and failing to face the immortal.
Kazuaki frowned. “That hardly seems like anything you should concern yourself with.” In one swift effort, he pulled the metal from the monster’s body and helped him to the ground with a sturdy kick from his boot.
The captain knew he was dead. He saw the edges of the lesser god’s body turn to smoke. A low wind carried the fragments away on the breeze, heated by the intensity of the burning fires. One down. Gods only knew how many more to go.
Umbriel lowered her body out a window from Bartholomew’s home. Her bare feet graced the stone ground as she moved through the madness, ethereal and fixated. Bodies fell all around her. Though her heart bled for the deceased, she tried not to pay them much mind. She needed all of her wits.
“Mother!” she called to the glowing apricot sky, the clouds that absorbed the color of the flames. “Appear before me, that I might plead once more for you to stop!”
Her voice was lost in the rising discord, but she knew the lesser goddess heard her. She always did. Whether she appeared or not was more unpredictable. A shapely profile formed before her, silhouetted by the inferno in the background. Umbriel lifted an arm to shield her eyes, squinting through the blinding light. “Please, mother. End this madness. Remember how much you loved humans!”
The shapely hips belonging to the body that appeared before her moved. One long, perfect leg stretched out before the other. Umbriel withdrew, taking a step back when she realized it was not Naphine who stood before her.
Havidite grinned. “I did love them. With all my heart.” She inclined her chin, looking down at Umbriel with poison in her eyes. “I wanted them to thrive. You, Earth Mother ... you and your half-blooded kind took that love away from me.”
Umbriel pulled back on the wild racing of her pulse, holding her ground. “Love is a boundless thing, Havidite. There was always enough for us both.”
The goddess held out her arm. Out of the ether, a wooden bow appeared in her hand. A matching quiver dusted onto her perfect, carved shoulders. “It was never enough.” Her face looked beautiful even as she withdrew an arrow from behind her, fluid in her movements as she lined it up. “Not after you.”
Umbriel’s eyes widened as she drew the arrow back. There was no convincing her. Havidite had marinated in her hatred far too long. The Earth Mother dodged the first assault, disappearing into a mob of raging men and women, both belonging to the gods and not. She thought she could lose her. If she kept a good pace, she could outrun Havidite’s rage.
One of Kazuaki’s katars decapitated a goddess. Her head severed from the spine and collapsed onto the blood-painted stone. Satisfied upon seeing the fingers of her body turn to ash, he turned. Before him, a familiar face stared, unsympathetic.
“We meet again, Mr. Hidataka.”
Kazuaki cracked his neck and positioned his katars before him. Olnos looked much healthier than the last time the captain laid eyes on him. No longer a withered, fragile being, the God of Metal stood before him in grandeur, looking the part of the warrior Kazuaki surmised he had been in his prime. Surrounded by steel both defensively and offensively, the lesser god represented the picture of a classic, ancient combatant.
The immortal scowled. Though slippery blood threatened to loosen his grip on the katars, he maintained a firm hold. “Do not beg,” he muttered, his eye on Olnos. “I still won’t speak your name.”
He didn’t need him to. Enough already had. Olnos raised his hands, summoning his vast gathering of turned humans toward him. “Then you will scream it.” With one gesture, he sent a small portion of his army to Kazuaki and the rest to the crew.
Kazuaki tried to bring his katar across and into the ribs of a turned mortal, but the steel bounced off the flesh, leaving no trace of damage. Reverberations from the force of the metal hitting human skin traveled up the blade and into his arms, forcing Kazuaki to curse. Of course. The weapon forged by the gods could not harm
men.
With swiftness, the captain sheathed one of the katars into the custom-built scabbard on his back. He removed one of his most trusted pistols and fired as much as it allowed. It was not enough.
A rusted piece of pipe plunged into his stomach. Kazuaki grunted, tossing his empty gun. He ripped the pipe from his aggressor’s hands and his guts at the same time, before he struck the man over his skull.
The blow brought the mortal to his knees. Kazuaki rammed the hollow tube into the eye socket of a maddened woman who tried to impale him with an iron fence post. For as many as Olnos sent his way, he knew he sent more to his crew.
The horde the God of Metal unleashed on him served a purpose: to hinder his movements. Olnos knew they could not bring death to the captain. He only wanted them to slow him down. The real threat was in the mass he unleashed on his comrades. Kazuaki brought another body down with a cutlass he tore from his hip. He stepped on the rising collection of corpses, trying to see above the lawlessness. Trying to find the crew. Trying to be sure they clung to life.
The first thing Nicholai saw as he thundered down the stone streets on Rhirvin’s cycle was the smoke. Like a colossal, leaden wall that cauterized into the clouds themselves, it was impossible to see through. It stretched as far as his eyes could see from his vantage point on the ground, consuming everything it touched in its blanket of suffocation.
Numerous buildings crumbled before him. Seeing through the shattered remnants of the town outside Bartholomew’s bordered on impossible. It wasn’t until he guided the cycle around a corner that he saw the soaring flames that birthed the wall of smoke.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit—” Nicholai’s eyes widened as he tried to brake, having come upon the fire too unexpectedly to react. But the cycle was too fast. It divided through the ring of fire with little reduction in speed, blowing out the other side of the blazing barricade.
The Time Father coughed, his lungs shriveling in his chest as a trail of smoke followed him. Then he saw the actual wall. The one made of bricks, not flames. “Come on, come on!” he choked, all his pressure applied on braking the metal bullet on which he rode. He tried to turn.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 88