The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  Other Books by Samuel Gately

  Titan Wars Series

  The Headlock of Destiny

  Open, Fire Eye, Close Series

  The Fire Eye Refugee

  The Fire Eye Chosen

  Spies of Dragon and Chalk Series

  Night of the Chalk

  Rise of the Falsemarked

  Alliance of the Sunken

  Visit samuelgately.com for more info.

  Edited by Mike Myers

  Creative Contributions by Adam Rose

  Cover Illustration by Dominik Mayer

  Cover Typography by Humble Nations

  Copyright © 2021

  Cylinder Publishing / Samuel Gately

  All rights reserved.

  378.1 series

  Contents

  Opening

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  Chapter 17.

  Chapter 18.

  Chapter 19.

  Chapter 20.

  Chapter 21.

  Chapter 22.

  Chapter 23.

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25.

  Chapter 26.

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Opening

  “Here he comes! Here he comes!” Erik shouted, his tinny voice trembling with an eleven-year-old’s excitement as it carried out over the tombstones.

  “Shhh. Be quiet, you moron.” Colin shoved the smaller boy and sent Erik stumbling face-first into his older brother Dean’s ample belly. Dean reached down with a meaty hand and casually tossed his little brother off a hip.

  Erik slid across the muddy ground on his bare feet and promptly crashed into a dirty puddle. The cold water soaked into his pants. He looked up angrily, mud across his face. Dean and Colin weren’t even looking at him. Their eyes were locked on each other, faces tense. Erik sighed and wiped a filthy hand across his chin. He wished they’d just go ahead and fight already. The tension between them had been brewing for a while, but so far they just showed off to each other by picking on him. And if those jerks were so keen on quiet, maybe don’t throw him into puddles.

  Dean broke off the staring contest. He turned his sour face, his old-man jowls making him look beyond his thirteen years, and pointed across the cemetery. “Told you he’d be here.”

  Erik shook mud off his sleeves and reclaimed his place between the bigger boys. They had chosen a hiding spot beneath a tangle of thin, twisting trees and behind several rows of tall grave markers. They had a clear view of the cemetery gate, and they were still close enough to the short wrought-iron cemetery fence to make a quick getaway if needed. When you spied on titans, you always planned for a quick getaway.

  Under an overcast sky that held back the early morning sun, the enormous titan Harlan walked slowly through the gate. He gave no sign that he’d heard the boys. He seemed bored as he walked the path down the middle of the cemetery. His skin was pale, head square, movements tight and controlled. With his huge muscles and long, tree-trunk legs, he carried himself like a titan who wouldn’t be afraid to get in the ring with the very biggest and baddest. He was about three times as tall as Dean. Probably a hundred times stronger.

  For a moment Erik simply watched the huge titan. Empire City had its share of travelers and foreigners crowding the streets and marketplaces, even outside of the annual Headlock of Destiny Tournament, which had ended the previous week. This titan was definitely not from around here. Something in the way he carried himself.

  “I heard he was champion of the northern ranges tribes,” Erik whispered, eyes wide. “Jimmy said they’re north of Corliss, not even part of the Open Nations, that’s why we’ve never seen him in the tournament.”

  “Oh, you mean Jimmy the Liar?” Dean asked.

  “He’s not a liar!” Erik’s voice grew shrill again. The three boys ducked behind the tombstones. For a moment, Erik imagined the titan suddenly looming above them, a giant that could rip them limb from limb with ease. But no heavy footfalls approached. The boys slowly poked their heads back up, but the titan merely carried forward down the path with his eyes down. He’d nearly reached the black pit in the center. Erik continued in a loud whisper. “And Mom said you should stop calling my friends names.”

  Dean chuckled. “Maybe you shouldn’t be friends with such losers.”

  Erik glared at his older brother. Dean had been friends with Jimmy just a few months ago, before he started thinking he was too cool for everyone in their neighborhood and began hanging out with Colin, who lived closer to Dale Parks.

  Colin scowled at them both, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Shut up, you two. I want to see what he does.”

  Dean’s face flushed and his mouth set tight in a way Erik knew meant he was pissed off. Nobody in their neighborhood ever told Dean to shut up without catching a beating for it. Dean glared at Colin before answering. “I told you what he does. Sits there staring at that hole. Waiting for either the OverLord or Van the Beer Man to come back out.”

  The boys fell silent as the titan reached the edge of the dark pit and peered down into it. After a long look, he turned away. He glanced around, walked to a tombstone a few yards away next to a copse of thin trees, and reached behind it. The boys jostled one another trying to find a better view of what would come next, waiting for the titan to reveal what mysterious sort of treasure he kept hidden in the cemetery at the very fringe of entry to the land of storms and nightmares. As they watched in rapt attention, the titan hoisted a rickety wooden chair out from behind the tombstone, carefully planted it on the ground, and took a seat. Then he pulled a sandwich from his pouch and began to chew it slowly while he stared at the pit.

  Colin scoffed loudly and stood. “That’s it? He’s just gonna sit there and eat a sandwich?” He looked doubtfully at Dean, his gaze passing over Erik’s head. “We wasted a whole morning to watch a titan eat a sandwich.”

  “You wanted to see him,” Dean said. “If you want to see him do something cool, maybe go punch him in the nuts. See what he does then.”

  “Screw you. He’d probably just eat another sandwich.”

  Dean snorted. His face was turning red. “Yeah, or throw your ass in there after him.”

  Erik risked a glare up at Colin. He didn’t mind a little back and forth between Colin and Dean, but Colin was way too fast in dismissing this. It wasn’t everyday they could spy on a titan. And the gateway to the Nether? Who knew what sort of crazy shit might start piling out of that pit? Everyone else stayed way the hell away from here. Erik would get a lot of points around his neighborhood for even having come this close.

  This was typical of Colin, though. Nothing was ever cool enough. He was from Dale Parks, and that meant all of Empire City was supposed to kiss his ass and talk about how tough he was. Erik had been to Dale Parks a few times. The tanneries made it smell like unwiped ogre butt.

  Plus, this wasn’t just any titan. Rumor was it took the entire Empire City Guard and Judge Cage to take Harlan down and lock him in the Warehouse before the Headlock of Destiny Tournament began. Then Van the Beer Man, Erik’s new favorite titan, had let him out, just the smallest piece of the legendary ass-whipping he handed Judge Cage.

  Erik wasn’t so phony as to pretend he’d been a Beer Man fan before the tournament, like Jimmy
and the rest of them did, but he was a fan for sure now. How could he not be? Van had stomped the hell out of Judge Cage and Scott Flawless, the two biggest jerks in the titan wrestling game. Then he beat King Thad with a headbutt for the title. After that, Erik had ripped down his old posters of Elephant the Titan and Hurt Factory and quietly thrown them in the trash after he hadn’t been able to find anyone willing to trade for them. He’d always liked Elephant the Titan, but what had he done lately? Lost in the first round of the Headlock, that’s all.

  “Why do you think he comes here?” Erik asked his older brother. He was already thinking about how he’d tell Jimmy and the others about this. Probably wouldn’t mention the being-thrown-in-a-puddle thing.

  “His only friend in Empire City jumped into the Nether rather than celebrate winning the Headlock of Destiny, going after the OverLord or something. So he just sits there waiting and watching.”

  Colin cut in. “We’re learning so much cool stuff this morning. The thing I’d most like to know is where he gets his sandwiches though. You know that one, dickhead?”

  “That’s it.” Dean and Colin squared off, practically chest to chest. Which left Erik’s head trapped between them. Dean resolved that awkward position by grabbing Erik by the throat and tossing him aside, where he slipped in the slick mud and slid into the same damn puddle. Erik pounded his small fists into the muck, succeeding only in splashing more grit into his eyes. The other boys ignored him.

  Dean drove a stubby finger into Colin’s neck. “I’m getting sick of your shit.”

  “I’m getting sick of your… I’m getting sick of you.” Colin curled his fists. “You think you’re so tough ‘cause you’re a big man in your little wimp neighborhood. Wouldn’t last five seconds in Dale Parks.”

  “You won’t last five seconds with me, wherever we are.”

  “How about right here?”

  Dean threw the opening punch. Colin caught his wrist and they began grappling. They fell to the ground, a rolling cloud of elbows and curses.

  Erik watched the drama unfold from his mud puddle. “Finally,” he whispered under his breath. He jumped to his feet, pants dripping, for a better view of Dean and Colin rolling in the muck. He wondered whom he should be cheering for. Dean was his brother and fought for the honor of the family and all that crap, and Colin was a real jerk. Of course, Dean was a jerk too, and it had been Dean who threw Erik in the puddle. Twice. Plus maybe if Dean’s clothes got torn, Erik would catch less hell from their mom about his own muddy pants.

  The easy answer was he could just cheer for both of them getting hurt. With a big grin on his face, Erik leaned down to scoop up a handful of muck. First good opportunity, he’d fling it at them. Real titans should be able to fight through distractions. He parked his muddy butt on a tombstone and let out a contented sigh, ready to properly enjoy the show.

  Chapter 1.

  Van fell into the darkness. The wind roared in his ears, pulled at his beard, cooled the shaved parts of his scalp and tousled the hair that remained. His deep blue uniform crackled in the wind, mixing with the sound of his hurried, harsh breathing. When he’d jumped into the pit, the walls had encircled him not more than a few arm-spans in any direction. That no longer felt to be the case. Now he plummeted down a vast, seemingly endless chasm, clutching an empty barrel of Kingsland Ale. He was otherwise unequipped and totally unprepared for what lay before him. Or more accurately, below him.

  He fell at a steady but cruel pace and waited for the panic in his gut to subside. When it finally did, Van carefully tucked his chin into his chest, flipped over, and looked upwards. There was nothing above him. No light from the cemetery, no circle of starry sky. Only more black.

  Somewhere up there, in a different place, a championship belt with Van’s name etched on it was waiting. He’d yet to touch it. Van had won the Headlock of Destiny Tournament, then immediately hurled himself into a pit to seek out the OverLord, an enemy who had already bested many titans stronger and smarter than the lowly, beer-loving ten-man from Headwaters. Up above, there were bright lights to shine on Van, hands to pat him on the back. His first taste of the glory that fueled so many other titans. Fame. Adulation. But any such scene back in Empire City wouldn’t be complete. Not everyone was there. Van flipped back over again and continued his fall into the Nether.

  Van had only the vaguest recollection of the stories about the land of storms and nightmares, which tended to focus on what misbehaving children had done to get taken there and less about the Nether itself. Who or what brought them to the Nether and what they saw when there was different in each story or, more often, missing entirely. But the Nether had been given a face in the past week. The face of the OverLord, a titan intent on harvesting an army of undead titans and rekindling the fires of the Titan Wars.

  Kyle had followed the OverLord into the pit, and Van had followed Kyle. She’d told him they’d need each other to find their way out of the dark. That was before he knew the dark she spoke of was the Nether. He wasn’t completely sure she wanted him to follow her there—he had never understood women very well. Nevertheless, here he was.

  The darkness just kept coming and coming, rushing past and through Van. Finally, as impossible as it seemed, boredom set in. He began cursing himself for emptying the barrel before he jumped. He could use a beer right now. He tried counting the passing minutes for a time, but that was even more boring than doing nothing. Then, just as Van grew resigned to a fate of falling for eternity, until he grew old and grey alone in the dark, the air shifted. He felt something massive looming before him, charging him with incredible speed, its arms spread from horizon to horizon. The ground, ready to dash him into a thousand pieces as penance for his foolish, blind leap. Van whispered Kyle’s name as it rushed to greet him.

  But it wasn’t stone that welcomed him to the Nether. It was a splash. Van plummeted into a wall of dark water that in an instant robbed him of all senses and pulled him both forward and back.

  …

  An approaching lantern outlined the closet door in bright orange. A low, unhappy muttering slipped through the cracks as someone fumbled with the lock. Finally, the door creaked open. Van winced as the light beamed into the small closet, followed by shuffling footsteps. He shielded his eyes as he waited to find out whom the town had sent to tell him his punishment.

  It hadn’t been so dark at first. Only after the sun went down did the closet grow more like a jail cell and the lengthening shadows began to bare their teeth at Van. They’d forced him back up on top of an old bureau where he’d wrapped his arms around his legs, tucked them close, and waited.

  Van had known the town would be angry when he stole the Savage’s beer and embarrassed everyone in front of the visiting titan. He’d also had a pretty good idea nothing much would happen until everyone had recovered from the Beer Festival. Sure enough, late the next day they’d sent someone by the Frome’s house, Van’s current foster home, to bring him to the town hall to face the consequences for his crime.

  “Hello, Van.” It was Cooperton Miles, Van’s foster care advisor. He was nice enough, but old. He had lanky grey hair and often used old words and phrases Van had never heard. Van knew he already had children who had children themselves.

  “Hello, Mr. Miles,” Van replied quietly.

  Mr. Miles looked around the cramped closet, made more cramped by the old furniture stacked against the walls and an overflowing filing cabinet which issued a musty scent. “I think perhaps they didn’t realize how dark it would get in here. And I’m guessing the lock wasn’t necessary?” He peered closely at Van, his attempt at a kindly smile ruined by the harsh angles painted on his face by the lantern light. “You would have stayed put, wouldn’t you?”

  Van nodded.

  “Well, I’ll speak with Miss Briggs. She’s taking her self-appointed role quite seriously.” He looked Van up and down. “How old are you now? Ten? Sometimes adults, well, and children too, I suppose, we see a person as big as an adult and expect
the person to act like an adult. But that’s not really fair, is it? You’ll remember we’ve spoken about this before.”

  Van nodded again, rocking forward on the bureau. Mr. Miles would get to the point soon. He wasn’t really prone to long lectures. Usually when they were together they hardly spoke, which seemed to suit both fine.

  “Well, Van, you’ve sure upset a lot of people. The mayor, the bigwigs from the brewery, Miss Briggs. Seems like the whole town is managing to take personal offense at what you did. Plumbing the depths of their creativity to come up with punishments as well.” He looked around again and brushed a cobweb from the corner of the doorway.

  There was a long pause. “And?” Van finally managed to croak out.

  “And nothing, Van.” Mr. Miles offered another smile. “I told them boys will be boys, and titan boys even more so. You filched a beer. Nobody’s putting you to death for that. For sure, mind you, you could have picked a better venue for your crime than the town square while everyone was watching. I’ll speak with the schoolteacher, and you’ll be writing apology letters to the mayor’s office, to the brewery president and his staff, to the festival coordinating committee, and maybe some others I’ll think of later. You can deliver your apology to Miss Briggs in person. She’ll appreciate the chance to lecture you, and you will stand there and smile and nod as long as needed. After that, if she tries to levy additional punishment, you send word to me.” He looked around the cramped closet again, his face sour. “Honestly, that woman.” He placed the lantern down on a desk set to the side of the closet.

  Some of the tension left Van on hearing the minor punishment. He let loose a long breath. Then Mr. Miles began sucking his lips in and making a sharp smacking noise, and Van found breathing a challenge again. That sound was never good. It was what Mr. Miles did when he had something to say that he didn’t want to say. Bad news or an awkward talk. There never seemed to be a shortage of either.

  Mr. Miles made the noise five or six more times, which Van thought might be a new record. At last, he blurted, “There’ll be a cart coming round to the Fromes’ tomorrow to gather your stuff. You’ll be moving in with another family.”