“She is losing control of her powers and her new…” the female Architect looked up and down slowly, condescendingly, “…feelings. Are you really so naive as to think we would not see through your schemes?”
The Devourer bowed. “I only wanted to avoid bloodshed, Creator.” It was the truth. She wished to avoid an all-out battle, even without the doubts about her purpose. And with all the questions lingering in her head, she was dead sure she would rather avoid a confrontation. “These lesser species have no quarrel with you, nor do they possess any threat to your superior existence.”
“But because of your actions, they will know they are but puppets. It is a cause of concern for our future.” The male Architect was still playing the good one. She knew better. They were all on the same page; she and her minions were dispensable.
“Were you not the one to send the Ambassador to give the Lohil the means to power? The Arinar.”
The female stood up from her nest in a fury, jumping to the platform where the Devourer stood. “Who are you to judge your creators’ wisdom?” Each word was a spike of pain, and the Devourer howled in silence, her voice cutting off. She felt the tiny minions composing her current form dissolving.
“Enough,” the male one interfered, and the pain stopped as quickly as it came. So did the feeling of being eradicated.
“You are right,” the female said, nodding as if her rage had never happened, and the Devourer realized the “feelings” were theatrics. To understand her plan? To undermine what the Lohil was doing? She had no answers. “The Baeal forced our hand in their tactics to leave their plane and destroy the stones. The First Born is a cunning man and far more dangerous than his father, the Emperor.”
“The Empire is no more. Plane Walkers are dissolved.”
“Never underestimate the Marakhunassan, child.” The male one used an educated tone like a caring father, but his eyes were as dead as his female companion’s. “One man’s fury and intelligence are enough to unmake history. Prince Sim’Ra is a formidable opponent.”
So, they were not afraid of her or the Lohil—the deposed prince and Baeal still held the highest place of fear in their hearts. Why should they be frightened of her when she couldn’t even use her powers before them? They were tools, she and the Lohil, and tools stood still in their sheds until someone needed them.
“You will not interfere with our master plan again, child. You will perform your duty here when the Lohil arrives. We will let you use your strength to devour his essence. But for your field activity, I believe we will use other means.”
“Other means?” she felt a sudden void in her heart. No matter how disconnected from her minions, they were still her children, and the bond was unbreakable. Her head tilted, eyes bulging as hers met the creators’. “Vengeance.”
A blurry sphere of light appeared out of nowhere. First, it swirled slowly, almost unnoticeable to mortal eyes, but then it was a cyclone. A face appeared inside the sphere. It was sitting on a chair, and the room was familiar. The human ship, the Devourer realized. Vengeance was on board the human vessel, and for an instant, she was afraid of the fates of humans, friends of Lohil… but relaxed as she saw them all alive, though prisoners, through the communication sphere as her child and her creators talked. No more bloodshed.
“…You will not kill these humans. They may yet prove useful against the Lohil.”
“How?”
“Sentimental creatures have a weakness in their thoughts and caring for others. It is a vulnerability that may be beneficial in the upcoming battle.”
“What of her?” Vengeance nodded at the Devourer. “She is weak. She ordered us not to touch humans.”
“She will perform her duties, and then you will be our new vessel of dominance.”
Vengeance’s red eyes glowed, and a smile more like a snarl twisted her face. When the Devourer created Vengeance, she had never considered the consequences of having a creature fueled with nothing but hatred. She had misunderstood her place. She had thought herself—and the bond of her minions—eternal. She was wrong. Like everything else in the Creators’—Architects—agenda, she too had an expiration date.
“I will do as you ask,” Vengeance smiled.
“Child—” the Devourer started, but the communication was cut. She was no longer a part of her.
The female Architect smiled, and in all her invincible form, the Devourer felt the chill in her bones.
DIE BY MY HANDS
Sarah stopped walking, panting. When she had started panting, she had no idea. She could only think of drinking water and envied Ga’an’s endurance. When she had found him inside the fog more than a year ago, the warrior was injured and battered but still managed to walk for kilometers and even defend himself against the wild ones’ attack. Now, in a similar situation, Sarah felt exhausted.
They had walked for three hours without a break, and it showed on everyone’s faces. Everyone but Ray and Sim’Ra. She could understand Sim’Ra’s resilience as an alien. A very tall alien with long legs. Sarah found herself wondering what to call Ray. Human? Alien? A freak. She bit her lips. She hated the thought.
“Look at him,” Brother Cavil surprised her with his voice. He was hissing behind the breathing mask, looking completely free of the scars of his heart condition, but they both knew better. Sarah was sure that underneath the make-believe, he was tired. Very tired. The man had been shot, cheated death, survived a space battle and a critter invasion. He had lost his father and his homeworld. This cardiac arrest was the second cheat, made possible with Ray’s touch. It would be miraculous to have a third time.
“He’s determined, that much I can tell.”
“Determination is not the word I would use, child.” Brother Cavil wiped his sweat with his robe’s arms. “He is fixated. Obsessed.”
Sarah shrugged. “Maybe. I know something’s wrong, but I can’t put the finger on it.”
“He is trying to fix everything. That power he has is untapped, and I am not too sure if he is handling it well.”
“His heart’s pure, old man.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my dear Sarah.” Brother Cavil made a gesture at the sky as if to talk to his Light, but his face soured—it was impossible to make out the sky through the fog surrounding them. “This place is nothing but a cursed rock.”
“Come on,” Sarah pushed him forward. “We’ll lose them if we don’t keep up.” She let Brother Cavil take the lead, falling behind. Sarah didn’t feel at ease, and keeping everyone in her sight seemed like a good idea. None of them had much experience inside the fog except for the ranger, Jan-Chris, but Sarah at least had some basic knowledge of the rules inside the mist. After all, she was the one who had saved Ga’an from this mad hole.
She focused on Sim’Ra as much as she could in the dense fog. He was third in line, following Ray and Jan-Chris. Sim’Ra’s cape covered his face, but Sarah bet he was grinning and scheming. She wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the Baeal prince carrying a deadly weapon—his newly acquired spear—, but they needed everyone armed and ready. Jan-Chris knew the roads, paths, cliffs, and valleys, and so far, they didn’t bump into any trouble, but as the old saying went, better be safe than sorry. I wonder what will make us miserable next.
“Hey, you!”
Sarah didn’t realize Elaine had dropped back to walk with her. “Girl?”
Elaine smiled behind her transparent oxygen mask. “Why do you think he’s immune?”
“Who?”
“The ranger, Jan-Chris,” Elaine nodded at the front of the row. “He’s not wearing a mask like the rest of us.”
“I don’t know.”
“Weren’t you here before?”
“I was for a month or so. Not enough time to learn genetics.” She pulled down her goggles to cover her eyes from the sudden dusty wind. “They’ve told me people are living on the other side of the fog in a small village. It seems people born in those places are immune to the effects.”<
br />
Elaine put on her goggles, dusting the sand from her face. “I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?” Sarah shook her head. “Sexy, maybe, but cute wouldn’t be the word I’d pick.”
“You know…”
“Hush,” Sarah hissed. “Get down!”
Jan-Chris signaled the group to hunker down. Samir had his assault rifle at the ready, aiming to their right. Sim’Ra stood with his Algh’ham Marak spear as if ready to jump on his prey like a mountain lion. The ranger had his sawed-off shotgun at the ready. It looked rusty and old from where Sarah stood, but she was sure the thing was still as deadly as any modern weapon. The fog was dense enough to blur the vision after a few meters, but Ray was glowing red, and it was a good sign to be ready as any.
“Sarah,” Eras came by them, dragging a protesting Brother Cavil. “I have no idea what we are up against, but if this fog hosts savage people as you have told me, the old priest has no chance defending himself.”
The boy was right, and Sarah cursed herself for not thinking of it. She nodded, pulling the old man close from his arm. “You stay put and close.”
“I can protect myself.”
“With a pan?” Sarah could have laughed if the situation wasn’t so bleak.
“Shall I remind you of the exploits of this pan, young lady?”
Before Sarah could say anything, Samir’s shout announced the appearance of wild ones, and her words turned into another curse. At least thirty of them were within Sarah’s sight and more howls reverberated from every direction.
“We’re surrounded,” Samir barked, started firing. “Stay close to one another!”
Sarah saw Jan-Chris blow off the head of a savage woman in midair, then throw a big knife at another attacking from behind. Ray took the bulk of the work, sending one after another flying back into the fog with his power. Sarah bit her lower lip in bitterness. If it weren’t for them, Ray would easily take them all out with a single blow of Serhmana’s power. They were simply in his way.
“Careful!” Elaine warned Sarah just in time to lean to her left as a hand—no, a claw—passed by her. She turned to her right with flash reflexes and fired a controlled burst of her own assault rifle without a blink. The projectiles met her assailant’s back as the deformed man’s feet touched the ground, dropping him on his face as a pool of blood formed beneath his body. His old, ragged clothing soaked and reddened.
Sim’Ra did well with his spear, and Sarah found herself admiring the Baeal prince. Until now, he was but a mysterious figure pulling strings behind the scenes, but seeing him in action made Sarah realize the alien was nothing short of a killing machine. Sim’Ra spun the spear in his hands like a toy with insane speed, and his jabs were each precision strikes. Every time he thrust the Aram, it pierced an enemy’s heart or throat. No injuries to arms and legs whatsoever. The dark prince was a surgeon.
Eras and Elaine kept the attackers at bay with their pistols. The boy, in all his gentleness, had been trained in weapons and was a good shot. Elaine wasn’t, but she did enough damage to keep the crazed people at bay.
“No,” Sarah’s eyes grew wide as a female savage appeared right on top of her, the assailant’s stringy hair sticking to her face. She produced an inhuman sound, her deformed teeth appearing like those of a wolf. The eyes, there was intelligence behind those eyes but also savagery. Like, the poor soul lost all the ability to reason, and carnage was all that mattered. Sarah knew she was done for. She had no time to aim before the female monster reached her throat, and that would be the end of it.
A frying pan appeared before her eyes, blocking the muddied light of the sun. The ringing thong was as sweet to her ears as it was destructive for the female wild one.
“See?” Brother Cavil smiled at her, holding his ‘war hammer’ with pride. “It is a solid weapon.”
Sarah couldn’t help but laugh.
***
“It comes from the left.”
“Done.”
“Right one is moving to attack.”
“No more.”
“Another one is standing on the rock nearby.”
“Done.”
Ray was like a child playing a computer game. Ijjok pointed at targets, and Ray obliterated them. Around him, a butcher’s shop of arms and legs and blown-up pieces of meat reddened the soil. His face and mask were covered in blood. He carried his own pistol, but not once through the whole encounter did it occur to him to use it. He was one with the stones, and stones were in perfect harmony with him. At one point, he even thought to use K’ta to shift in planes and take them all out, but Arinar warned him of enlarging the rupture with a tear nearby. He felt a little sad, unable to use his powers to the maximum. Ray knew he could move mountains if he wanted to. He thought he heard Serhmana warning him about drawing too much power in the back of his head, but it was a mere whisper.
He put his feet on the chest of a writhing savage, observing the creature before him as it suffered. It had a piece of clothing covering its loins. It looked like a male from the bulge. It had terror in its eyes, straining madly to free itself, but with the power of Serhmana, Ray knew he was crushing the thing’s ribs. He looked at the rest of them. None of the creatures were attacking him now. Working together with K’ta, he could see all the deranged beasts wandering inside the fog. They even had a small village of sorts somewhere inside a cave system a few dozen kilometers away to his left. The group attacking them had over two hundred in their pack. Ray counted a hundred and eighty-two bodies around him, only a few bearing weapon wounds. The rest were pulling back. He decided to let them go, looking back down at the male under his foot. He reached for the thing in his mind. He had never tried to read someone’s thoughts before, and for a second, he almost penetrated a barrier, but then he was blocked.
“Why can’t I reach its thoughts?”
“You are not trained to do it, brother.”
“But She can do it.”
“She is different than you.”
Ray didn’t like Yrrha’s answer. He narrowed his eyes and watched the creature’s head blow under his foot, Serhmana’s light fading around the thing’s body.
“It’s done,” a voice came from behind, and Ray almost crushed the owner with his power, only a warning signal from Ijjok stopping him in the very last moment. It was… Ray was sure he knew the man standing before him, but his name escaped from his mind.
“Samir,” he said finally, but it seemed the veteran soldier was unaware of his closely avoided demise.
“I think they’re pulling back.”
“I think they should,” Jan-Chris whistled, looking around in disbelief. “You are one killing machine, Ray.” The ranger seemed unsurprised and unmoved by Ray’s blood-galore gallery. Or he hid it well. “We are close to the military installation.” He pointed at somewhere inside the fog. “That way, five kilometers, give or take.”
“How can you even see in this damned fog? I can’t tell left from right.”
“I know how to listen to the fog, Captain Samir.” The ranger started walking.
“Listen?” Samir scratched his head, looking at Ray. “What does that even mean?”
Ray had no answer, nor was he that interested in how petty things worked. The ranger knew where it was, and he was taking them. Ray thought he could pinpoint the rift with his Arinar, but he agreed not to push the stones for the sake of keeping the tear small.
“I can fix the damage.”
“Not without Mara’tthane.”
He felt a sudden breeze of sadness wash through him. And anger. If Sim’Ra hadn’t destroyed Mara’tthane, he could have blocked the path of other planes leaking into his.
“Maybe I should kill the Baeal to avenge our brother.”
“You need his knowledge to understand Arinar,” Yrrha replied.
“How come he knows this much?”
“As the Devourer has shown, they are of an old and advanced race. They understand the nature of things, Lohil. It is the Creators you shou
ld focus on. They have the means to open another rift or create another demon.”
“Architects.”
“As you wish, Lohil. The Architects.”
Ray nodded. He was going to make this race of narcissistic creatures pay. “Let’s go and find this rift.”
“What?” Samir blinked.
Ray didn’t answer or even hear the question. He fell behind Jan-Chris with purpose in his steps. Ray would reach the military base, pass through the rift, and reach the Temple of Amasshan. Then he would find whoever sat inside that temple and turn their world upside down.
THE RIFT
“So, this is it?” Brother Cavil seemed disappointed by the long-dead structure sitting before them, left alone to rot within the haunting mist. “Hmph!”
“What did you expect, old man?” Samir asked, removing his goggles. “It’s an old military base.”
“It is a shack; that is what it is.”
“It’s the entrance. They were building a military installation, not a pavilion announcing its existence to the residents. The thing’s probably huge beneath the surface.”
Brother Cavil kicked a rock like a bratty kid. “Not amused.”
“What’s his problem?” Elaine asked from behind, and Sarah whispered in her ear in response. Elaine’s face turned sullen with realization.
Ray ignored the face. I know what you all think. Do you truly believe you can hide it? “Jan-Chris, where’s the laboratory located?”
The ranger was fiddling with the door controls. “There should be an elevator behind this door. The laboratory would be somewhere at the bottom of the facility.” He shrugged, “If this one has the same schematics, it will be an easy ride.”
“Does the station have power?” Samir asked.
“We do not need power. We have the Lohil.”
Ray saw nothing sinister behind Sim’Ra’s face—at least, nothing more than the usual. “Move aside,” he said to the ranger, and the Baeal gave an approving nod.
Balance of Power: The Blackened Prophecy Book 2 Page 25