Throne of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 2)

by Jacob Holo

  “How does it compare to your old seraph?”

  “Everything is so much easier, so much more natural! I hardly begin to think of an action, and it just happens! It’s wonderful!”

  “But have you lost anything?” Veketon asked.

  “What do you mean?” Quennin asked, suddenly sober.

  “Do you retain all your skills from before?”

  “That’s a fairly broad question,” Quennin said. “Let me think…”

  So much of piloting was based on training and perseverance. Natural skill only took pilots so far, and not everyone had Seth’s gifts. Quennin remembered a technique he’d drilled into her, practiced with her, coached her until she got it right. It had taken years to finally master.

  But with the throne, it should be easy, she thought.

  Quennin docked the chaos glaive onto her back and clenched her right hand. A chaos dagger burst into existence, extending from her wrist. The blade glowed a fathomless black, edged in ghost green.

  And now the other one…

  Quennin closed her left fist and concentrated…

  Concentrated…

  Concentrated harder…

  “Huh,” Quennin mumbled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t create two blades at once. I used to be able to do that.”

  “I see.”

  “Maybe my skills have degraded.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Veketon said. “I thought my cloned body might have been the problem, but it seems this issue is common to us. Remember, we both use stolen talents. I take mine from Bane Donolon, and you claim yours from Vierj. Some disruption of our skills is to be expected.”

  “Vierj never used two blades.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So, how much of Vierj exists in me?”

  “I don’t know,” Veketon said.

  “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.”

  “Speaking for myself, I have only witnessed minor changes. Certainly nothing that interferes with who I am. For example, I wasn’t left-handed until I transferred to this body. But as for you, well, I cannot say.”

  Quennin wondered if she would even see the changes herself. Besides the occasional dream featuring Vierj, was there anything? Certainly nothing that made her believe someone else was swimming around inside her head. But then, those images of the Homeland and Lunatic Ziggurat came from somewhere.

  Just how much of that monster still existed within her? She shivered at the thought.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Veketon flew over and rested a hand on her shoulder. His barrier crackled against hers, but the gesture still comforted her.

  “It’s okay. I can’t run from reality, especially when it’s in my own skull.”

  “Fear not these dark thoughts. You are Quennin S’Kev, Protégé of the First. The only person with the power to change that is you.”

  Quennin nodded. “Thank you.”

  “And surely, you must be eager to test the limits of your throne.” Veketon backed away and raised his portal lance. Its flowing script blazed with blue light. “What do you say to some friendly sparring?”

  Quennin retrieved the chaos glaive off her back. Her lips curled into a smile.

  “I accept your challenge.”

  ***

  “And that’s the Choir’s plan.” Zo turned away from panoramic wall screen and faced the assembled pilots.

  In the Resolute’s command center, Seth, Tesset, Mezen, Jared, and Yonu exchanged glances.

  Jared scratched behind his head.

  “Seriously?”

  Seth took in the room’s mood. Yonu twisted her braid around a wrist so hard it almost cut off circulation. Jared huffed out a frustrated breath and shook his head, while Tesset chewed at her thumbnail. Only Mezen, quiet and stolid, showed no signs of concern.

  The Resolute now waited a single fold from the Gate Maelstrom. All of the pilots wore their i-suits, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. Flourishes of silver curlicues graced the Renseki’s battle armor. Everyone wore bands representing their frequencies and allegiances, though Jared and Yonu also bore their squadron markings on their opposite shoulders.

  Jared had once described the animal as a horse. What that had to do with knights Seth didn’t know. It looked more like one of those playing pieces for that game he enjoyed, placed against the backdrop of a shield with its surface split into four fields of varied color and patterns.

  “The Choir’s orders are absolute in this matter,” Zo said. “We must eliminate Veketon at any cost.”

  “We’ve never destroyed a throne before,” Jared said. “Never even come close. And Veketon’s throne is a heck of a lot tougher than the others.”

  “Which is why we need to isolate him.” Zo pointed back to the wall screen. Glowing icons played through the scenario one more time. “Whatever forces he shows up with must first be stripped away. The Choir will deploy reserve seraph squadrons and an archangel swarm as needed to weaken his escorts. Once he’s sufficiently vulnerable, we’ll move in for the kill.”

  “That’s assuming our reserves aren’t busy elsewhere,” Seth said. “When Outcasts come, they’ll come in force.”

  “The Choir will ensure our operation has priority,” Zo said. “We cannot permit that abomination to live.”

  Mezen turned to his fellow pilots. Blue and red light from the wall screen played across his scarred face. His tall, muscular frame seemed to fill the cramped room.

  “Thrones are dangerous but not invincible. We’ve wounded them in the past. This time, they will not run away.”

  “The Alliance will blanket the Maelstrom theater with overlapping negator fields,” Zo said. “No Outcast vessel will flee without our permission.”

  “Until they blow them all up.” Jared ran fingers roughly through his hair. “Good grief. What makes you think he’s even going to show?”

  “The Glorious Destiny is on its way.” Zo nodded to the screen. One of the larger red icons blinked. “And we’ve confirmed the fold engines of Zu’Rashik are charging. The Choir believes the attack will commence shortly before Zu’Rashik folds in. With these kinds of forces, I doubt they’ll hold anything back.”

  Fold engine charge and calibration time was proportional to the distance traveled and the mass transited. And so, Zu’Rashik’s earliest possible arrival at the Gate could be calculated with great accuracy.

  Seth stepped forward and tapped a finger against the Glorious Destiny icon. “There’s something you’re glossing over, Zo.”

  Zo swallowed hard.

  “The stealth exodrone feed?” Seth said.

  “I know.”

  “The black command throne.”

  “I know. Curse it, Seth. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “So what does the Choir want us to do about it?”

  “We stop her.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  Zo took a deep breath and faced him. “By the only means we have left. Curse it, I wish we didn’t have to do this, either. But we don’t have a choice.”

  “Veketon is our target,” Mezen said. “We focus on him. There’s no need to confront Quennin if we don’t have to.”

  “And when Quennin gets in our way?” Seth asked.

  “If that happens, then I know what I have to do,” Zo said. “Do you?”

  Seth didn’t know how to answer that, couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if the choice came before him.

  Zo nodded sadly. “Thought so.” She patted Seth on the shoulder. “Best leave her to us, then.” She walked past him, with Mezen following her out.

  “What a mess.” Jared shook his head. “Well, Yonu, I guess we should break the bad news to the squadron. No milk run for us this time.”

  “Of course not,” Yonu said. “Were you expecting one?”

  “No, it’s just now and again I’d like a mission where we’re not fighting the Bane or the Eleven’s thrones or ten times our number in archan
gels. You know, for a change of pace.”

  “If we don’t do it, who will?”

  Yonu headed out, but Jared walked over to Seth first. “You going to be okay, sir?”

  “Thank you for your concern, Jared. I’ll be fine.”

  “Very well, sir. See you out there.” Jared followed Yonu out.

  Seth glanced over at Tesset, who had progressed to chewing her middle fingernail.

  “And how about you?” he asked.

  Tesset pulled the hand away from her mouth and clasped it behind her back. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t need your sense to read a lie that blatant.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Tesset, I know things have been confusing lately. I’ve felt all twisted up inside, not really knowing what to make of all this. But even with that excuse, I can’t forget my duty to you.”

  “Yeah?” was all she could manage, and she quietly waited for more.

  “You know who and what we’re about to face. If worse comes to worse, I want you to stay hidden. Don’t engage the thrones. Don’t try to be a hero. Just survive. That’s all I ask.”

  “But…” It slowly sank in, the meaning of his words. Seth saw the look of distant concentration on her face as she examined his aura.

  Seth didn’t expect to survive the battle. Indeed, he wondered if anyone launching from the Resolute would live through it. As skilled and brave as they all were, he knew they were no match for the thrones. If ordered to engage them head on, what other possible outcome was there? But Seth would not shirk his duty. He would fight on till the bitter end. The thrones would fall, or he would fall. It was as simple as that.

  Horror spread across Tesset’s face. She stood next to a man ready to die. It terrified her.

  “Seth, you don’t mean…”

  He placed a hand on her arm and drew her close. Tesset wrapped her arms around him.

  “Seth, I don’t want you to die,” she whispered into his chest.

  “Neither do I.”

  “But, with the way you are, I mean… with Quennin out there…”

  Seth stroked her short, blonde locks. “There’s no point regretting actions I cannot take back,” he said, feeling the words comfort his lover. And perhaps, with just her presence, Tesset was doing the same for him.

  Their moment ended when a klaxon sounded and ship-wide speakers blared alive.

  “All pilots to your seraphs! All pilots to your seraphs! The Gate is under attack!”

  Tesset stepped away from him. “So soon?”

  “Come on!”

  The two ran out of the command center and caught a lift down to the seraph bays. The door closed and the lift descended.

  “It’s too early for Zu’Rashik to fold in,” Tesset said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then this works out in our favor, right?”

  “Maybe. Our enemies are no fools.”

  The lift opened, and they ran out. Seth grabbed his i-suit helmet from the waiting technician and put it on, sprinting across the bay. His seraph loomed over him from the waist up, tall and menacing, its black armor gleaming in the bay’s soft white lighting.

  Seth hurried across the gangplank and fit himself into the pilot alcove. The hatch sealed him in darkness.

  He took a deep breath and concentrated. When he opened them again, he saw from the seraph’s perspective. He willed a trickle of power to flow outward, energizing his limbs and wings.

  The Resolute’s automated launchers thrust him downward into space.

  Seth spread his six blade-wings. Their edges wavered with power, then ignited with purple light. He pulled away from the Resolute then slowed, holding formation. Behind him, the other seraphs formed up.

  “We are revising our battle plans to counter the unexpected timing of this attack,” the Choir said. “Transmitting fold coordinates now. Engage the Outcast forces in your zone. Let none through.”

  Seth received the coordinates, fed them into his fold engine, and waited for calibration. After a few moments, all seraphs signaled their readiness. Seth transmitted fold authorization and, as one, they folded space to the Gate Maelstrom.

  Twenty seraphs snapped into existence near the Maelstrom’s edge. Out this far, eddies of Gate-spawned motion carried rivulets of particulate matter from the planetary debris orbiting the Gate. It was a sea of ice and rock, with the Gate and its massive anchors at its heart.

  A planet fragment drifted past them. Gate forces had struck it twice, sheering two perfectly smooth planes across the planet at slightly different angles. The remnant was a wedge fifteen hundred kilometers across.

  Ice and dust swirled rapidly around the Gate. But at this distance only the lightest patter of particles outlined his barrier.

  Ahead of him, a vast fleet of Outcast warships approached. Seth let his neural link do the counting. He grimaced when the total exceeded two thousand.

  Great shoals of exodrones and full squadrons of archangels maneuvered around a compact core of dreadnoughts and frigates. To his right, Alliance seraph squadrons and warships accelerated to engage. Beams and torpedoes crossed between the two forces.

  Outcast ships continued folding in to the rear of their fleet, even as their vanguard charged straight in. Those first few ships burned under Alliance guns. Who knew how many human lives (manufactured or otherwise) died in that first exchange?

  But the Outcasts were undaunted. They charged forward with an even larger group, and this time nearly thirty frigates broke through the Alliance fleet. The Outcast survivors headed for the Gate at full speed.

  “What are they doing?” Seth asked.

  “Rushing ahead to capture the Gate anchors?” Yonu asked.

  “Without securing the space around the Gate first?” Seth said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “They’re moving fast, too,” Yonu said. “If they don’t slow down, they’ll shoot right past the Gate.”

  “They’re not going to slow down,” Jared said. “Check their telemetry again. Each ship is aligned perfect with one of the anchors. Ramming attacks are a definite possibility.”

  “You don’t think…” Tesset said.

  “Best guess?” Jared said. “Their goal is to break the Gate free.”

  “Knight Squadron, engage and destroy!” Seth shouted. “Stop those ships!”

  “Confirmed, sir. We won’t let them through.”

  Jared led his squadron against the approaching frigates. Enemy beam cannons opened fire, boring down on the anchors. The Maelstrom acted as a natural barrier and diffused most of the energy.

  Most of it.

  The seven Gate anchors were massive edifices three kilometers long, each pointed towards the Gate like a titanic sword. Finned heat sinks lined the anchors, shedding Gate energy into the swirling ice storm.

  The first Outcast beam struck, turning its sinks cherry red. The Gate anchor was designed to absorb and disperse the Gate’s dimensional tantrums, not the directed force of a nuclear warhead.

  Dozens of beams pounded a single anchor. Its temperature rose and fell, sinks heating and cooling then heating again when another barrage slammed home. The structure turned orange near the middle and began to warp.

  With that small deviation, the Gate did the rest. Gate forces twisted the immense structure in on itself, crumpling it like so much paper. The Maelstrom roared past, breaking it apart and carrying chunks away in the swirling current.

  “What are they doing?” Yonu shouted. “It took us years to secure the Gate! What can they possibly gain by freeing it now?”

  “They’re forcing us to defend it,” Jared said. “That alone may be their objective.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Seth said. “Take them out!”

  “We’re on it, sir.”

  Twelve seraphs came in perpendicular to the Outcasts’ flight plan, matching course and speed. Every Knight Squadron seraph carried a mix of ranged and close combat weaponry, and all of them carried rail-rifles.

  The twelve seraphs
fired simultaneously, tearing through the Outcast formations. Outcast armor was highly resilient to damage, especially against beam weaponry where its reflective qualities helped redirect the energy, but it lacked the memory of mnemonic armor. Internal keels within their ships could work to reform existing plates, but once shattered, Outcast armor did not self-repair.

  Knight Squadron followed through with a hail of torpedoes, seekers, and fusion beams. Space thickened with explosions. Outcast ships melted and splintered under the onslaught.

  A squadron of Outcast archangels broke past the main Alliance lines and angled towards Knight Squadron.

  “Tesset, let’s go!” Seth flared his blade-wings and sped towards the archangel squadron.

  “Right behind you!”

  Seth pulled his twin swords free. Their edges flashed alive.

  The archangels spotted him coming and broke into two groups of six. Close combat specialists energized their swords and flew at him. The others formed into a gun-line and opened fire with their rail-rifles. Seth evaded most of the fire, but a few shots struck his barrier. He clenched his teeth, each hit sending short-lived washes of heat over his skin.

  The first archangel dove at him, its long sword alight with blue energy. Seth flew past it and cleaved its head and wings off. The archangel tumbled, bleeding luminous fluid. Suicide charges engaged, blasting the archangel out of existence amidst a white-hot flash.

  Five archangels came at him from all sides. But for as many as there were, they couldn’t match Seth’s speed. He darted through an opening and pulled away from them.

  The archangels all turned towards him, and Tesset materialized directly behind their ponderous formation. She ignited her rail-carbine’s bayonet and chopped into the rearmost archangel. Her strike sheered through one wing and embedded itself in its back. She fired her buried rail-carbine, blowing the archangel’s torso wide open.

  Tesset kicked the archangel off her blade a moment before it suicided. Two archangels banked around and flew after her. She fired a shot at one of them, but the bolt only sparked against its barrier. She darted over them and vanished.

  Seth sped in behind the archangel she’d hit and drew his sword through its body. The archangel blew apart.

  A rail-rifle bolt slammed into Seth from the side, splashing against his shoulder in spray of purple energy.