by Gene Stiles
Set stood in the armory of the First Ship, his fists planted on his hips. All but two of the Trinity’s guards lay in bloody pools at his booted feet. Those men were his own and had thrown open the doors of the sanctum after slaughtering their stunned companions. The battle outside was brief and his warriors now controlled the valley entrances. No one expected an attack on this holy place as long as the Trinity sat on the thrones of Nil, especially when it came from traitors within their own ranks.
A ferocious sneer spread across his strong, vicious features as he gazed at the incredible, full-body suit of Cydonian armor in the locked case before him. It called to him, the ornate ebony metal echoing the darkness of his own soul. Set ran his fingertips over the crystalline panel keeping him from his prize as they would over the flesh of a sensuous lover. His pupiless onyx eyes glinted like faceted jewels in the flickering colored lights of the control panels covering the armory walls. Once he found the right switch, this gift would be his and he would, at last, be a match for those who once banished him to the dungeons.
Even locked in its display, the alien armor radiated raw, animalistic power. It appeared to be a solid, seamless metal man, its raven-black surface lined with thin strips of gold that highlighted each artistically sculpted muscle and tendon. Wider bands of jagged gold lightning surrounded the carved abdomen from beneath the bulging pectorals, down the sides of the ribcage and came to a point just below the narrow waist. Guards of gold-edged black metal covered the forearms from wrist to elbow, strange runes and symbols embossed over every square inch that matched the thick bands encircling the huge biceps. The effect was stunning and powerful.
Even more awe-inspiring was the beautifully monstrous helmet that sat above the sinewy neck. The face of the nightmare creature was similar to a Dire Wolf but with an overlong, snarling snout lined with sharp, wicked-looking teeth. The vicious canines dripped past the evilly grinning muzzle like the fangs of a viper about to strike. High, pointy ears rose from the sides of the muscled skull and the eyes beneath the furrowed brow were golden, almond-shaped slits that seemed to peer into Set’s soul.
“You were made just for me,” Set whispered reverently. “Together, we shall destroy the Trinity and unite all of Nil under one rule. Mine.”
And just like that, the moment of his greatest triumph was wrenched from his grasp as if the Creator, Himself, had bellowed, “No!”
The ground beneath Set’s feet shook so hard he fell to his knees, his hand still upon the crystal case. The lights on the panels blazed and went out, leaving him in complete and utter darkness. Set could hear his men yelling in terrified panic, but he could see nothing. A huge thump echoed around him like something of massive weight had fallen nearby.
The intense rumbles continued for what seemed an eternity, preventing him from regaining his feet. The chamber roared like an enraged beast, the noise so deafening and painful, Set could feel blood dripping from his tortured eardrums. He cupped his hands over them, but the agony of sound seeped between his fingertips. He curled in the fetal position on the polished metal floor, grateful his men could not see the fear and anguish stamped on his face. The bone-piercing vibrations cramped every muscle in his body at once and Set could not help but howl like a wounded animal.
When the dim blue lights flickered on they hurt his eyes like staring at a rising sun. His head pounded and his entire body was bathed in a salty sheen of sweat. Set pulled himself up enough to rest his quivering back against the case. His blurry, black eyes flitted around the chamber and his mouth gaped open in terror. A mammoth wall of metal blocked the only entrance. Set was trapped.
Osiris sat slumped despondently on the hard stone of the lightly cushioned throne, his head sagging against his chest. The rich tapestries hung limply on the chamber walls, their colors diminished by the fog of grief that swirled in the suddenly thick air. Even the yellow sunlight seeping through the crystal-paned windows seemed muted and dulled by sorrow. The muffled sounds of weeping and mumbled despair rippled through the few others gathered within the Great Hall tinged by a slow-burning anger. Like the rest, Osiris felt crushed by the enormity of the devastating, heartbreaking report he was receiving and what it meant for all of Nil. The words of the messenger were so cracked with emotion they were like sharpened knives that sliced into the deepest depths of his soul.
Ra was dead.
Isis wept openly on the throne to his right, her face buried in her trembling hands. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, but Osiris was unable to comfort his little sister at the moment. His own anguish threatened to overwhelm him. Ra was not just his Lord, but his friend and mentor. Coming on the heels of losing Raet, the pain washed over him like the swell of a monstrous tidal wave and dragged him under.
“How?” Astraeus asked glumly, his misery making his deep baritone voice rumble like a coming thunderstorm. He sat like a solid block of obsidian, his back stiff and his huge hands fisted on the armrests of his throne. His dark brown eyes were almost black and misted by moisture, but reddish sparks crackled within them.
“That is the strange part,” the messenger replied, his voice choked and rough. “We do not know.”
“How could you not know?” Osiris said, desperately trying to keep from taking his angst out on the young man. “Was he not killed in battle?”
“No, sir,” the man said, raising his eyes to Osiris. He could see the turmoil written there and heard the distress in the messenger’s voice. “Yes, the fighting was vicious and intense and Lord Ra was at the forefront. However, his armor protected him and, as far as we can determine, he was uninjured. We found him lying on his bed curled in a ball on twisted bedding. It was soaked with sweat, but there was no blood or wounds on his body.”
The man’s skin went pale as the terrible memory seeped into his troubled mind and he shook his head solemnly. “His face, though,” he almost whispered. “It looked as if he died in horrible agony as if he was demon possessed.”
Osiris saw how fearfully disturbed the man was, but he had to press further. “Was there any previous warnings that something was wrong with him?”
“Now that you mention it,” was the thoughtful response, “a few of us noted that our Lord seemed to be losing weight and was more distracted than usual of late. We believed it was simple fatigue, nothing more.”
“Poison,” Osiris said, fury rising in his chest. He spent enough time with the wild Izon to know of their medicines and how they sometimes dipped their spears in black potions. “Ra was murdered.”
Before he could say more, a high-pitched shriek filled the city streets. The sky above Nil turned a deep ocean blue as beams of light erupted from the pyramids. They bent and shimmered with waves of energy, creating a dark dome that spread out for fifty miles around the pyramids. Static electricity crackled along the metal buildings causing them to sparkle like diamonds. A current of power surged through the air raising the hairs of everyone cowering beneath the immense bubble.
The screams of terror and wonder were lost in the hellish roar that slammed the sky high above them. The dome turned dark cobalt blue, the charge in the air becoming so strong thousands fell to the ground writhing in agony. The streets heaved and shivered like a beast shaking off water. Windows and stone cracked and dust swirled throughout the city as if pushed by gale-force winds, but other than that the buildings remained intact.
“What in the Creator’s name?” Astraeus bellow, releasing his stone-crushing grip on the arms of his chair.
“We were just attacked,” Osiris shouted, jumping to his feet and rushing for the doors. “Only one thing would trigger the dome systems. A nuclear explosion. Cronus dropped his weapon on us.”
Chapter XXIII
Hellfire swept across the Nillians lands outside the dome and the earth screamed in torment. Beautiful, well-tended farmlands exploded in flames as multiple nuclear blasts pounded the dome. The demonic detonations created hurricane winds filled with dirt, dust and blistering heatwaves. They joined with the strong
easterly breezes that commonly rolled across the vast flat plains around Nil spawning a blazing inferno that laid waste to wildflower-covered meadows and high grass veldts alike. Without natural barriers to impede the spread, the nightmarish conflagration turned the lush, green landscape into black, ugly deserts of scorched earth for hundreds of miles.
The sensor array of the defense system registered the nuclear components of Cronus’ weapons the moment they fell from his warbirds. It reacted instantly, throwing up the shield over the city. With each strike, the dome strengthened, absorbing the energy and darkening the skies to prevent the citizens of Nil from being blinded by the sun-like explosions. Within seconds, the lights in every home and building flashed on automatically, keeping the already panicked population from being plunged into complete utter darkness.
However, there were unforeseen consequences to the ancient alien technology. While most of the energy was converted into a solid bubble that penetrated almost a mile beneath the surface, the remaining residual radiation was intensified and blasted away from the shield in a deadly wave that poisoned the land for another fifty miles. The shield itself blocked the sunlight with an impervious barrier that was impenetrable to even the Trinity’s fabled armor. Nothing and no one could enter or leave the city as long as the dome was up. They were trapped and it was impossible to tell for how long.
Angry, turbulent clouds laced with crimson and yellow embers blanketed the skies outside. The choking air glistened with irradiated particles that mixed with black rains that tainted the flesh from any creature caught in the downpours that followed. Within a week, no man, beast nor plant lived within a hundred miles of Nil.
In the sacred valley far from the city, Set cursed the Creator. Unknown to anyone, the First Ship retained defenses of its own. It sensed the nuclear wave bearing down upon it and systems long dormant burst into life. Blast doors dropped sealing off the interior and a shield similar to the one over Nil covered the ship. It was not as large or powerful, but it was enough to protect the vessel and those within. It also locked Set and his warriors in their own private prison.
The message was as blunt and short as it was terrifying. It flickered on every screen across the continent simultaneously much to the chagrin of the furious Lord Father. It took his greatest moment of triumph and slapped it back into his face with its simple words.
Cronus meant to unite the People with his broadcast of the destruction of Nil. The fuzzy images showed what looked like a blue-black crater where the proud city once stood. Horrific wildfires swept outward in every direction leaving nothing but scorched earth in their wake. Even the turbulent River Nil appeared to have been stopped in its tracks. It spilled out over its banks and flooded the countryside. The debris-filled, muddy brown water quenched the blazes it touched, sending up thick plumes of smoke and steam.
“Ra is dead. The Nillian invaders have been destroyed,” Cronus boastfully told the People. He stood on the steps of the Central Pyramid, giant monitors displaying the devastation to the shuffling throngs gathered solemnly before him. The limited applause was muted and weak and the rumble of cheers seemed forced and dispirited. “Atlantis prevails!”
Cronus smiled and spread his arms wide as if to embrace the crowd. His lionesque mane of fire-red curls sparkled in the bright yellow sunshine. The golden crown of Atlantis, emblazoned with the pyramid-before-the-tree crest, caught the rays and glimmered like a corona around his ruggedly handsome features. The diamond chips in his long, ebony robe were like a star field in the night-black sky. He seemed the personification of what it meant to be the all-powerful Lord Father, massive in stature, terrible in his vengeance, but loving, and kind.
“The People are one,” Cronus said, his emerald eyes filled with sparks of red fire. “As they have always been and always shall be. Strong under the rule of the Twelve!”
“No,” came the reply as a new image appeared on the monitors. Cronus stopped still, his mouth gaping open as he turned to stare at the screen. His knuckles whitened at his sides and his face turned darker than the cloak he wore.
Zeus stood on a raised dais, his brothers and sisters arrayed beside him. The sky above was filled with turbulent, churning thunderclouds, flashes of yellow-blue crackling through them. His sharp-planed face wavered as the Atlantean technicians fought in vain to disrupt his signal. When it solidified again, he looked directly at Cronus, his golden eyes filled with unbridled fury.
“Your atrocities are over,” Zeus said, his baritone voice as cold as a frozen lake. “You are a vicious, barbaric, rabid animal that must be put down before your disease spreads any further. You are done.”
Cronus bellowed like the creature Zeus was describing, but the Olympian ignored him, lifting his gaze to encompass everyone with their eyes glued to the monitors throughout the empire.
“To all of the People,” he said, his voice like razor-edged steel. “We wish you no harm, but we are coming. We will not stop. We will not hold back. Anyone in our way will be considered our enemy and will be dealt with harshly and permanently. Atlantis will fall. Cronus will fall. Choose your course wisely.”
Zeus pulled his sword from the scabbard, lifted it high and aimed it toward the violent storm brewing above him. The clouds answered, twisted streaks of silver-blue lightning converging on the tip of his sword. A collective gasp rippled around the world at the stupefying sight.
“We are coming,” Zeus shouted, thrusting the blade heavenward. The sky roared in return, the sound so deafening the people fell to their trembling knees, their hands cupped over their ringing ears. An eye-searing blaze of light erupted from the sword and screams of panic rippled across the world. When sight was restored, the screens were black, cold and silent.
“They are not even trying to hide their advance,” Iapetus said, troubled by the Sentinel scans laid out on the huge oaken table of the war room. His midnight black eyes were narrowed beneath his broad, furrowed brow, his full lips drawn in a tight, straight line across his clenched jaw. “I do not like it.”
The satellite images showed a massive armada bearing down on the Atlantean continent. Nillian ships joined with the Olympians, their captains red-eyed and rabid for revenge against Cronus. Over two thousand ships of every size and description churned through the choppy, green ocean like a fast-moving island. Blade ships led the charge in an arced aero-tip formation with steel-clad, sailess warships protecting the flanks. Behind them huddled hundreds of troop carriers and converted cargo ships bristling with gun ports. Smaller supply vessels hung in their white-water wakes struggling to keep up. Warbirds swarmed in the azure skies above them like hungry raptors awaiting prey. If he allowed them to join with the Olympian ships still in Daedalia, their fleet would be unstoppable.
“Foolish! A single airburst would sink them all,” Crius said with a sneer, his unruly black curls bouncing around his contemptuous young face as he shook his head. He looked up at Cronus, amazed at the disquiet written upon his chiseled features. “We could destroy them in one fell swoop as you did with the Trinity. Why do we wait?”
“Because, little brother,” Cronus replied coolly, his hand absently massaging his fire-red beard, “Poseidon is far from stupid. Neither is Zeus. They would anticipate such an attack so they must have countermeasures in place. Iapetus is right. Something is wrong here.”
What Cronus did not add was the fact he did not have any nuclear bombs left. With Sirenum gone, there would be no more for years. Only Iapetus was privy to that closely held secret. The rest of the world must think he had an endless supply ready to use at a moment’s notice. But Crius was right. Cronus must stop them before they reached Atlantean shores.
“Do we know where they are going?” Cronus asked, studying the waters around Atlantis.
“They are too far out to sea to be able to determine their course,” Iapetus replied stiffly. He stared at the holographs of the continent, his calculating, tactical mind searching for the best possible targets. “However, only Lycus and Daedalia have
bays large enough for that many ships to invade. Lycus is firmly ours and our forces are gaining on Daedalia. With Ra dead, the city is shattering, the streets divided and battling itself. We could take control before the Olympians arrive if we commit the majority of our troops to the siege.”
“Would that not weaken our city defenses?” Crius ran his fingertips over the image of the southwestern coastline. “With our army gathered in Daedalia, they could land in a number of these cities here and come in our flanks.”
“Atlantis is in the center of the continent,” Cronus answered, his voice low and uneasy. “It would take much more than simply landing on our shores to harm us. The forests to the west are too thick to move a large force through. The mountains at our back prevent an attack from the east. Pettit is to the north with our largest, most heavily armed military base.”
Cronus felt a cold shiver ripple up his spine as he swept his gaze around the controlled frenzy of activity filling the massive war room. What his children were doing made no sense. They announced their intent to strike at the heart Atlantis, giving him ample time to prepare. Their armada was sailing straight toward them, bunched together and in plain sight. As large as it was, his own fleet was an even match. He had more warbirds than Zeus had. He would win any aerial battle. The city was protected against MP weapons and Cronus had the only nuclear weapons on the planet. Without Nillian technology to back them, the Olympians had no chance against the might of Atlantis. So what did they hope to accomplish with an all-out assault?
It seemed foolhardy and pointless. That is what bothered Cronus and sent the demons snarling in the pit of his soul. He was missing something. Something vital. Something that could cost him everything. His jade eyes glimmered like frozen green crystals as he looked out the windows at the sun-drenched, golden city he loved. Cronus knew he must figure it out soon or the prophesy which haunted his nightmares would soon come to pass.