The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  “Over the years, these stories faded. The legends of the giants were older than the hills long before the first Titan Wars. Titans today do not have eyes of gold or red. And not every son of Malachisin bears eyes of white like the OverLord. But there is a test. A test of blood and spirit.” She picked up the smaller pouch on her lap and shook it gently. Then she carefully untied it, tilted it over the silver tray, and tapped out a light, airy black powder. “And that’s why we’re here, Van. To give you a test.”

  Alkylis, who had been silent throughout the story, hissed, “Because we’re not trusting some scheming son of Malachisin to hold the gates closed on the OverLord.” She pressed her spear harder into his throat.

  Kyle rolled her eyes, but then nodded in agreement. “It’s a simple test, Van. I’m going to blow some of this dust into your eyes. And it will tell us which bloodline is yours.”

  He glanced down at the black powder. “You don’t need that. I haven’t turned to the OverLord. Or whatever evil is standing behind him.”

  Queen Aoleon said, “To Malachisin, if he still lives on this world, you would be nothing more than a puppet, a toy to play with. As he has played with the OverLord. You were in the Nether, a place of his creation, for a week of our time. Kyle tells me it could have been a century down there. Anything could have happened. With or without your knowing. Or for that matter, long before you jumped into that pit. A titan comes from nowhere and wins the Headlock of Destiny. That same titan enters the Nether and seeks out the OverLord, then returns in a flashy show, and the fools in charge of Empire City hand him their army. We would not be so easily duped. You have not earned our trust and so we are here. Further protest only invites further distrust. Give him the test, sister.”

  Kyle shifted closer to him, even as the spears pressed tighter against his skin. “I told them, Van. I told them you didn’t come from nowhere. I told them you were always there, just waiting for someone to notice.” She raised the silver tray just below his eyes.

  “So,” Van asked, “what’s going to happen?”

  She shook her head gently. “No one has done this in my lifetime, Van. None of us know exactly. If it doesn’t work, we’re back where we started. If it does work, we’re told your eyes will turn golden, or red, or white. Golden or red, that’s fine. If they turn white…” She looked up at Alkylis, who clutched her spear tighter.

  Van indulged in a small fantasy where he broke his bonds and then cracked Alkylis’s spear in half over her head, but there were many more spears in ready stabbing distance. He didn’t have anything to fear, right? Nevertheless, he suddenly felt afraid. He remembered Billy Blades, who had begged for death as a release from his bondage to the Nether. Was Van already in the grip of the OverLord? A puppet who didn’t know he was on strings until he was made to dance? Van looked at Kyle, memorizing every inch of her perfect face, then turned his eyes to the ceiling and let his shoulders relax.

  Kyle leaned in so close he could feel her soft breath on his cheek, stirring the hairs of his beard. She moved the small funnel to her mouth. He suddenly longed to be far away from all this. Someplace they could just sit and talk, watch the night sky above the mountains. A place without spears and murderous titans and talk of giants of legend.

  She blew a gentle puff through the funnel. The dust coated Van’s eyes before he instinctively snapped them shut. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the grit off. It was merely unpleasant for the first few moments. He swung his head back and forth. Then the sensation deepened. It felt as though the dust were sinking into the surface of his eyes, funneling into him. Behind his tightly closed lids, his eyes began to burn. A horrid pain, like nothing he had ever felt, tore through him. He felt like his eyes were aflame, that they were melting and dripping inside his face. His last rational thought before the pain took over was that this had been some sort of trick, that his pupils would be bleached white by this poison, and he would open them to blindness and death at the hands of the valkyrie, even the one he loved. And then rational thought was gone. Pain was in charge.

  The agony shook Van’s body. He felt a panic so deep he lost himself, a leaf in a storm. He could feel his eyes erasing, melted down to liquid fire, then his face, down his torso, his limbs. Piece by piece, he was being dismantled, erased.

  And then the pain abruptly blossomed into a color, the color of a beautiful blue sky. He saw a stony rim, shadows of creatures great and angry against it. Beyond them was a land of paradise. Waterfalls and buildings that reached the clouds. But he fell away from it, thrown off the ledge and into the void. “NOOOOO!!!” he screamed as he fell. A hand in front of him, Van’s hand of stone and flesh, reached up, to catch an edge, a rope, someone else’s hand, anything to stop his fall. It found nothing, and Van plummeted away from his home, lost.

  As the paradise faded, panic soured to sorrow. The wind rushed past, and he longed for the death that would come at the end of the fall. His eyes locked upwards, burning with tears, he fell a distance unmeasurable.

  Someone was shaking him. “Breathe, Van!” But there was no point. He was lost.

  Something sharp pricked his neck. “Open your fucking eyes, titan! Show us!”

  “Pull it back, Alkylis! He’s not breathing.” A whisper in his ear. “Van, come back. Breathe, Van!”

  Van passed through a deep and lonely silence. Then he was back, writhing in agony on a dirty bed and gasping for breath. He opened his eyes. For a second, everything was washed in a golden hue. The wings of the valkyrie around him glowed like angels. Even Alkylis’s face, hovering pinched and angry above a sharp spearpoint held at his throat, was a gentle, beautiful gold. The colors quickly faded, and Van quietly moaned as the harsh real world came back into focus.

  Van looked over at Kyle. He felt as though he’d been gone for centuries, another long fall to an unknown place. At least he found Kyle at the end again. He opened his mouth, but was unable to speak, the sensation of falling still pulling him downwards.

  She smiled, staring into his eyes. “I knew it.”

  He looked over to Alkylis. She stuck her tongue out at him and pulled the spear back from his throat. She looked over at Queen Aoleon with a disappointed expression on her face. The other valkyrie also looked to their Queen. Kyle took the opportunity to lean over and carefully kiss Van on the cheek. “That’s my ten-man,” she whispered softly, then fell back onto her wings.

  Van shifted against the bundled bedclothes beneath him. His muscles were as tight as if he’d just gone the distance with the Landshaker. His eyes were strangely numb, but the memory of the agony lingered. Around him, the valkyrie were gathering to leave. Van looked up at Queen Aoleon and cleared his throat. “Wait. I need you to help me stop the OverLord.”

  “Perhaps,” she said as she rose from the chair.

  “I passed your little test.” He could still make out a tinge of gold on the edge of his vision. A son of Jugor for whatever that was worth. The sorrowful one. He could have guessed.

  The queen made a gesture and four valkyrie surrounded Kyle, preparing to lift her away.

  “You’re not going to help?” Van asked. “What about the urn? How do we use it to stop him?”

  “There is no we, titan. Keep quiet about the urn. You have merely earned the right to live to stand in the OverLord’s way. You have not earned trust beyond that.”

  “Well, take your time doling out trust. It’s not like there’s an army coming at sunset or anything.” She didn’t answer. “Secrecy still? You will have plenty of secrets to pack up when the world ends. Will you help?”

  Queen Aoleon did not answer. Kyle was lifted away, no parting words, her eyes closed. The other valkyrie followed, and Van was left alone in his tent. The lamps were still lit, and Van was still tightly chained to the bedposts. “Fuck,” he muttered at the ceiling. Then he began calling for the guards, hoping they weren’t so drunk they’d already passed out.

  Chapter 20.

  Van stood atop an abandoned building, his feet planted on
the gravel-strewn roof, as the sun dipped in the sky. The wind swirled around the thick, blue cloak he had been given, the gift of a rich Empire City merchant counting on Van to protect his family and wealth. He stared down at the Parkland Cemetery, a full city block of flat, green terrain in the center of the bustling metropolis, and scanned the meager collection of hungover titans and soldiers that stood ready. His golden eyes had not returned to normal since Kyle had blown the dust into them. People and titans alike that he’d spoken with over the long day had been afraid to meet his gaze.

  Van had his Headlock of Destiny championship belt thrown over one shoulder, heavy with its ornate golden plate that would have bought half of Headwaters. It had been wordlessly handed to him by Owen Grit minutes before Van had taken to the roof. Someone else had brought him a barrel of Kingsland Ale. He kept it by his side, not particularly caring if it had been intended as some sort of joke he didn’t get.

  Word about the seriousness of the imminent invasion had finally gotten out and, as sunset approached, the streets of Empire City were packed with the overloaded carts of fleeing citizens. Van didn’t know what exactly had changed their minds. Certainly nothing he’d said. It probably started when the politicians fled in the middle of the night; the same ones who just yesterday had commissioned a viewing platform were now racing towards Market City to the west.

  The vast majority of Empire City was too poor to afford such an escape. They remained hunkered down in their homes awaiting the outcome of this sudden war at their doorsteps. More than a few had come down to the cemetery to watch, but there was no cheering this time. Van could see other grim faces lining the parapets of the nearby buildings, their gazes frequently flitting over to him.

  Owen waited behind Van, feigning boredom. Kir the Attraction huddled with Titus and Brutalizer, passing a flask around an old sofa that had been dragged up here what seemed like a lifetime ago. The other Grunt-and-Groan titans were below. Among that crew, Van had already met Neiman No-Neck, Brock Chisler, and Wreck Riley. All seemed a little too eager for the coming struggle. They were spaced out through the ranks of defending soldiers. The Patriot Jack Hammer roamed across the cemetery, reveling in pushing the front lines into order and frequently whacking people to attention with his board. Van would join him momentarily.

  The soldiers were a comfortable distance back from the pit, their faces hidden under old steel helms. Their command still lay with Captain Jahrom, who earlier had asked Van for an autograph made out to his son. Jahrom was the only person who’d met Van’s eyes today, though his hands had trembled as he handed Van a pen.

  Harlan stood right at the edge of the pit in the center of the cemetery, looking fearlessly down into its depths, ready to signal the defenses at the first sign of invasion. The titan was cool as ice about the coming battle. He’d told Van it was not his first and had muttered something about hoping for a chance to meet Bearhugger.

  Van ignored the eyes on him as he looked over what would shortly become a battlefield. He had prepared at least one surprise for the coming army. Tall poles he’d had spaced across the cemetery would come into play. But it was hard to miss the holes in his defenses. In a bitterly disappointing turn, the ONWC titans had not shown. Van had sent Owen to King Thad’s place. It was empty of all but a skeleton staff who had no word on any of the titans. Venerate Holland’s offices had likewise been cleared. The soldiers ringing the pit behind the titans had been buttressed with volunteers willing to carry a sword, but overall numbers suffered as the wealthy pulled others away to serve as traveling guards, luring them with promises of pay without life-threatening combat. Van awaited word from Sevendhi on whether he could count the valkyrie among the defenders. If he didn’t, they’d lose the skies immediately. The army he’d seen in the Nether had no shortage of winged monsters.

  Van’s strategy was simple. Pin the invaders as tightly as possible to the pit. Make the cemetery a costly option as a gateway to this world. Minimize casualties and hope they can force the OverLord to turn away and find another access point, one that wouldn’t immediately hand the fate of tens of thousands of lives over to him. Let him open another gateway somewhere outside Empire City. Then maybe they could meet him with a real army, not this shaky hodge-podge of limited titan muscle and rusty human-wielded weapons.

  Van’s advisors had all agreed the OverLord would come up fast, forcing the defenders back as quickly as possible. If the Nether could take the cemetery, they’d set up a perimeter and buy time for their entire army to surface. After that they could choose any direction they wanted. They’d burn their way across Empire City first, scorching a trail of death and destruction. Once they held Empire City, the whole of the Open Nations would be ripe for the taking.

  Van heard gravel crunch as Sevendhi sauntered up next to him at the edge of the roof and leaned out over the streets below. “Where have you been all afternoon?” Van asked quietly.

  “Seeking counsel with the lovely Queen Aoleon of Kisket, as my general directed.” Sevendhi shoved his hands in his pockets and swayed gently back and forth, smiling as he looked down.

  “And?”

  “And she says this is not their battle. They will direct their energies towards helping the people flee safely.” When he saw Van scowl, he tilted his head. “Why the look of anger? It will be a good night for a fight, I think, whether the winged beauties take the skies or not.” Sevendhi’s smile grew even wider. He pointed it at Van like a weapon, as though its mere presence could erase Van’s fear and frustration.

  “Always smiling,” Van muttered. “Don’t you ever get scared?” The sun was edging down in the distance, covering the rooftop in bright orange.

  Sevendhi chuckled. “Many times. Being a champion does not mean being fearless. It simply means you are the one chosen to stand between those you love and those who endanger them.” He looked over at Van. “But also I know I do not walk into this fight alone. I believe in you, Van. Perhaps more than you believe in yourself. And I believe in us. We will survive to draw breath on the morrow.”

  Van said nothing, wishing he shared those beliefs. The wind blew harder, pulling at his cloak. He could feel the eyes of the waiting army pressing on him.

  “Come, Van,” Sevendhi said. “That pit will open whether we dally or not. And it will be no simple messenger that emerges this time.”

  Van slowly closed his golden eyes, feeling the sun on his face. He was less surprised to find himself in this position than he thought he should be. From the moment he’d seen the OverLord dragging a coffin through the Empire City streets, he’d known that the Titan Wars were coming, for him and for all. Now they had finally arrived. He let his championship belt drop forgotten to the gravel rooftop, picked up his barrel, and headed for the stairs.

  …

  The explosion of bright light from the pit was greeted with silence. Most of the waiting army had seen it before. There were no gasps of astonishment. No groans. The private fears of titans and soldiers alike were kept tightly shuttered. Though one or two of the polearms held by Captain Jahrom’s ranks may have wavered in the fading evening light, everyone held their post. Next to Van, Owen scratched his arm and coughed quietly. Kir the Attraction doffed his robe, letting it fall to the cemetery grass with an oily whisper.

  The light faded almost as quickly as it had come. The army blinked in its absence, finding itself again staring at a hole in the ground, dark and still. A gentle wind blew across the tombstones and monuments stubborn enough to resist the soldiers’ efforts to clear the field. Through the bare branches of the scattered trees, Van noted the storm clouds in the distance, covering the east and moving fast where there had been a clear sky moments before.

  A massive arm shot up from the pit. A grinning, stony face followed, rising up above the muddy edge. It was a golem, what the Patriot had dubbed a jobber. By the time the first one stood on the grass, more were clambering up on all sides.

  Arrows whistled past Van and slammed into the invaders. They clattered off s
kin of clay and rock. Van had told the soldiers most of the enemy could not be pierced by simple barbs. He’d ordered archers to drop their bows and pick up polearms to keep the Nether army as penned in as possible. Most had listened.

  More Nether troops—three more white-eyed titans, a handful of skeletons, and a two-headed bearlike thing that Van had no name for—gathered at the muddy rim of the pit. Van’s titans still stood in place as though waiting for a bell. How were these things supposed to start? He’d never been in a proper battle before. He took a deep breath, then marched across the grass towards the pit. The first jobber shambled up to meet him, graceless but strong and heavy. Van opened the new Titan Wars by firmly gripping its shoulder and punching it in the face so hard its head shattered. He heard a rumble behind him and, before he could even pull his hand back, his titans raced past him to join the battle.

  The oppressive silence of the cemetery broke. Titans belted out battle cries met with roars from the growing pool of jobbers. To Van’s right, Sevendhi landed a flying kick on a stony chest. To his left, Owen ripped a stone arm off and beat a path deeper into the fray. The titans drove the jobbers back towards the pit, but more monsters from below were surfacing. Van saw titans in black masks rise up from the pit and craftily fill the gaps in the Nether force, pushing the others ahead of them, making space on churned grass for more invaders.

  “Jaygan!” the Patriot screamed from nearby. He slammed his board violently back and forth through the Nether ranks. The ground at his feet was already littered with shattered stone limbs. As Van wrestled an aggressive pair of golems, he glimpsed Jaygan’s leering face.

  White-eyed titans were smashing through the soldiers at the edge of the pit. Harlan surged past Van and tackled the Bearhugger to the ground, rolling close to the pit as they grappled on the muddy grass. Van swore and tried to approach them, but a wave of hooded men waving bloody axes drove him back. He dropped low and threw a meaty shoulder into them. They scattered, tearing away grass as they fled to attack easier targets. Van frantically scanned the titans around him and the soldiers running between them. The battlefield had become a mess quickly. “Hold the line!” he yelled, already not sure where the line was and if it should be held.