Spiral of Silence (The Unearthed Series Book 3)

by Marc Mulero

  “So it begins,” Blague said.

  Asura raised a fervent fist, directing her army to take aim through her mind.

  Aslock slung his arms outward in response, creating a sonic boom of sound, speed, and a scattered rush of Cryos that glowed to match the tracks on his skin. It was as if he threw a million puzzle pieces into the air and when he wound his two trembling fists back to his chest, the fragments suddenly reeled inward, interlocking together in formation. Protection of the highest degree. A Cryos shield that formed just in time for the first wave of bullets to fall flat against it.

  “Incredible.” Blague was in awe, mouth agape, watching as the azure surface rippled about.

  And before he could break free of astonishment, his Elder charged forward, beckoning his troop to follow while he held his connection to the shield steady.

  “His skill…” Elaina’s voice trailed off as they watched a cyclone of energy pour from his mantle.

  It was here that he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps this Neraphis was the most powerful of his kind. On a level all his own. The supreme. Although humility would never allow him to admit it.

  “No time for this,” Blague whispered to himself and jumpstarted his sprint to catch up.

  “Shit!” He ducked abruptly, feeling a phantom bullet sear through his head. Numbness. But when he looked up, all he saw was a wave in the blue field, the center of which was mere inches from his forehead. A dull ache manifested where the shot should have hit, forcing him to recognize mortality in the worst of times. He shook off his disbelief and carried on into the fray.

  The invading Neraphis force sprinted silently, shifting position as necessary behind Aslock, making it appear like one massive swaying black cloak was rising to stop the Aura. Forward. Straight ahead, they bolted toward the ledge of the grounded isle, with no bridge for them to climb.

  Asura smirked from far away. All could tell.

  Idiots, she must’ve thought as they rushed straight for the raging waters waiting to consume them.

  But when Aslock threw up his arms again, this time he had their attention.

  Crack.

  A chemical reaction was triggered when the shield burst into a dissipating flash, one that blinded the Aura soldiers waiting atop the next isle.

  This was their chance.

  Adjoining Neraphis gathered into groups like clockwork, using the enemy’s confusion to their advantage, and their own graceful discipline to sway into three single-lined formations.

  Each spearhead summoned a small force of Cryos to circle their bodies, becoming the blocker for their squad. The second in each line created an ethereal platform that extended upward, bridging the first two isles of Vicissitude and allowing the Neraphis to make their advance.

  “They’re all using techniques that we just learned. A hundred years of experience for each. This is out of our league, Elaina.”

  “Shut up, Blague,” she responded, drawing his own shield for him.

  Asura was flustered to find that there were others like Orin, who were able to stand up to the power of Rol with their own weapons. She sent spirals of smoke down to the reapers heading her way, trying to interfere and collapse the cerulean bridges.

  “Go, Blague. Elaina will protect us,” Aslock spoke, standing in line behind him.

  The Sin Leader took a deep breath and glanced up at the ethereal link that Aslock had summoned for them. He stood at the forefront, hoping to jog the memory of his old right-hand man who watched on from the top tier. It was a risky play, considering his Cryos wielding skillset was lacking in comparison to the others. And to be the first of his group to cross over, he had to become the shield. But he laid his trust in his partner, and his Elder, proceeding onward no matter the cost.

  “This is a different type of war. Different from all the rest that I’ve watched through your eyes,” Elaina said as the surface of the next isle became clear. “But nothing else has changed. The stakes are the same. If we fail now, the Sins die. Your brother will wipe the world of everyone he deems unworthy to coexist in it. Don’t let him win. Find the fire.”

  Blague gritted his teeth. “Find the fire,” he agreed.

  And with that, his body ignited into a resplendent line of defense just in time to guard against the Aura’s weapons.

  Bullets pinged off of him, one by one, then in herds. It was working. The void where his rage once fueled him was now replaced with something more prominent, something he’d been preaching for decades – hope.

  Still though, this style of combat was strange. In truth he felt naked amongst of squadron of executioners. Their faces found joy in activating the guillotine too, he could see it, but it really was just her, wasn’t it? One demon wishing for his death.

  His instinct was to find cover, be tactical, advance intelligently. A hundred battles won told him so. But this… this was something else entirely.

  The wall he carried was impenetrable, a protective cover leaving all ammo to fall to the wayside. The chemical glowed at the point of every contact too, making him and the two other human shields a walking light show.

  The comradery gave him chills. How could he, a lowly adept, be part of the front lines alongside masterful Elders? Yes. They could do this. Of course they could. They were an Ardian!

  He trudged forward for the sake of the Neraphis who put their faith in him, taking the same leap for himself. The plan was clear - waste the Aura’s firepower, deplete them, scare them. And so he raised himself to be tall, to protect the reapers in their assault.

  However, it wasn’t that simple, because when bullets failed, smoke followed. Slithering and winding, constricting the Cryos bridges running parallel to Blague’s by polluting their makers.

  “No!” he shouted, watching as the two bridge holders faltered in place. “Resist it! It’s not real!”

  But the hallucinations were powerful… devastatingly so.

  Blague could see the Cryos flickering at either of his sides, losing their solid mass state, devolving into a mix of liquid and gas. It made the entire line of warriors appear as though they were on a loose trampoline, dipping, sinking, with a raging sea waiting to claim them if they fell.

  All except for Blague, who was at the center bridge and numb to Rol’s wrath. Seeing the Neraphis suffer symptoms of the smoke’s control was crippling, but a stiff push from Aslock reminded him to carry on.

  His heart pounded from guilt. “I can’t let them die.”

  “You must keep on. Trust.”

  Aslock’s last word replayed in Blague’s mind, bringing him instantly back to a memory…

  One of his Elder walking casually through the Citadel as Blague studied with other Neraphis. Aslock’s presence was noted immediately when entering into the hall. All of the lowly adepts surrounding Blague hunched their heads so not to be noticed, speaking quietly, whispering in debate.

  “It’s him, I’m telling you. It was always him.” One adept nodded to Aslock.

  Blague watched on with a furrowed brow.

  “Nah, my coin is on Halewyn,” the other rebuked.

  “Who is the most masterful Neraphis, huh? Why don’t we just ask him?” Blague rose abruptly to call for him, but was slammed back down in his seat, three sets of wide eyes looking back at him.

  “You don’t bring the Tesdian of the Night into such trivial conversation.”

  Blague opened his mouth to protest, but another said, “All knowing and all modest. His stories are the stuff of legend. You don’t know how lucky you are to be taught by him.”

  Blague stared forward, thinking, until finally agreeing. “You’re right.” He sighed and decided not to bother his Elder, and instead share his experience at the Dome to add to their repertoire and confirm their beliefs.

  He then returned to an incredible scene: bridges about to cave, ancient warriors balancing on what looked to be a tightrope, the last strings of Cryos, an inch before tragedy. But that wasn’t what sparked his memory, no. It was his Elder whose very essen
ce seemed to have ignited.

  The connection he manifested between shuddering hand and blue bridge was suddenly inhaled into his body like electricity through a lightning rod, stuffed all the way down to his boots. Blague could tell by the transferring brightness. What was he doing though?

  Another look over his shoulder revealed outstretched arms, head down, and his immense concentration on repairing the broken links beside them while pushing the smoke from their path in one fluid motion.

  Aslock was the stuff of legend. And now, Blague would witness it again.

  He wasn’t afraid of Rol like the others. He was unique, experienced. Pinned to an invisible cross, Aslock fortified his channeled structures with glowing hands and feet, bending the chemical to his will to reconstruct the fading bridges just in time.

  “You’re carrying this mission!” Blague shouted over his shoulder as bullets pummeled his protected body.

  Aslock only concentrated in silence, using the combined resolve of Soros and himself to hold the line, to brace, until the recovering Neraphis shook off their daze.

  “Come on. Come on,” he whispered in frustration. “Take the reins.”

  Finally, the two bridge-wielders came to and took back control.

  Aslock exhaled a giant sigh of relief as stability was regained. The foot of the next step was in sight, and the Neraphis were free from the cloud of distortion.

  “Go,” Aslock commanded, and the cloaks flew.

  Rol shrieked in protest. Progress? No! Their arrival onto flat land was forbidden, and anything further would meet a torturous execution.

  The wrath was felt - the smoke was in their ears, their minds. Rol’s intentions were venomous… weakening will, confidence, destroying from within.

  And it was working.

  Blague’s Cryos casing flickered. It clawed to hold on as the smoke worked to undo their reality.

  “Too many of them…” He saw double, then triple. Demonic faces were coming closer against anything grounded in physics. “We need to surren-”

  Aslock flipped over the Sin Leader, head turned so Blague could only see the black shadow where his face should be. “See past the smoke. Search. Find what I have taught you.” He grabbed onto Blague’s glowing collar. “The Aura wants our defenses lowered. She wants us to fall,” he nodded behind them. “Do not be lured by the madness, Blague. Find yourself again.”

  Blague’s eyes kindled. The faces melted away, enemy numbers reduced within his sight. He was there, snapped back once more. “I… I will resist it, as I’ve done before.”

  “Good, your life depends on it.” Aslock stomped the ground, sending with it a force that heaved the smoke back like sand scattered in an ocean.

  The last Neraphis of each line swerved to the front to help manifest a joint shield so the others could replenish their energy. Rotation. Succinct. Graceful.

  Through her mind, Asura kept her soldiers prone and their rifles aimed, utilizing their range for when the barriers would eventually drop. This isle of Auront was flocked with combatants. It was a standstill within a tornado of chaos. The eye of the storm.

  Aslock once again turned to face Blague, green veins pulsing around pale hands. “Before we charge, there is something you should know.”

  Blague looked to where Aslock’s eyes should be, clenching his fists in anticipation of the battle.

  “Yes… internalize that rage, you will need it. But listen,” he put a hand over his fist, gunfire spattering over the shields beyond them, “long ago, before the Society banned the study of Rol, I accompanied your father on his quest here.

  “The path we took,” he seemed pensive, “it was arduous and warping. We fell deep into the rabbit hole of Vicissitude… until stumbling upon the geyser - the heart of all of this.”

  Blague nodded along, eye twitching, breath stuttering from gaining all of this information in the middle of war.

  “It was there where we parted. I chose to resist the smoke, while Orin… he let it consume him. He told me that months felt like years in his mind. He begged me to join him, saying the grandness of consciousness was amplified by the ichor… that I would be a fool to resist it.

  “I did no such thing. I learned to exhale when he inhaled. I climbed out while he sunk. And when it was time to part, when we were recalled to the Citadel, Orin opted to stay. No one could have convinced him otherwise. Not after experiencing that.” He pointed to Asura.

  “We lost him on that day only to see him return decades later with you.

  “Now, in our darkest hours, we have witnessed the raw power of Rol topple our Eldest in battle. If the leaders of the Aura possess that strength, we will not be able to match it. It was a long-shot when we planned it and it is a long-shot now, but you must confront your old allies. Disrupt their bonds anyway you can. Only then can I strike. Rol has sight through your friends and I cannot let it pinpoint me. I will remain cloaked until the time is right. Do you understand?”

  Blague swallowed hard, and then agreed. Aslock nodded back once and spun to face the enemy.

  “Neraphis!” Aslock raised his voice to a level Blague had never heard.

  Each warrior drew their weapons, all of which were close-range reinforced edges dipped in Obsidian. Scythes, ringed blades, double-edged swords. All of these fighters believed in ancient combat and had the unearthed tools to close any gap. Each unique bond awaited their Elder’s command, ready to show the Aura how many of their followers would count for one warrior of duality.

  “Fly!” Aslock shouted, pressing his heel deep into the ground to sprint forward.

  And as he dashed, the goddess from high above dropped her arm in response. The order was given. More metal rain. Red gunmen sprouted everywhere, from the left, the right, all appearing from misty cover, denouncing this Neraphis’ ability to make the smoke cower from his path. They wanted to stop him.

  But he was a shadow falling into formation. Just another hood. No one knew which one for sure.

  And when they broke away, Aslock swerved like a wraith out of hell, his cloak’s tail swirling behind him, trailing his pivots.

  He whipped his arms one after the other, throwing a quick right hook and then a left at the wind. What was he doing? Shadow boxing? No. Cryos was loosed from his fists like bolts of flaming lightning. The air around him quivered as these blasts of vibrant blue traveled at the speed of light - the first one disarmed a scarlet soldier and the second hammered his gut.

  Sssss. A strange sizzling sound seeped from where the man cradled his belly. Ssss. Again, until his eyes rolled and blood burst from his mouth.

  More bullets rushed in to stop the Elder, but a wave of his hand manifested a momentary barrier to deflect, followed by the swing of his entire body into a crescent kick. It made him appear as a pinwheel firecracker for a moment, until the surge of energy flew into the air hollowing the next soldier’s chest.

  Another freed from Asura’s hold.

  The Elder persisted, seemingly weaponless, immobilizing the Aura on every turn and then crushing them with an artful finish.

  Blague had no idea Aslock was so attuned with ancient martial arts, but he supposed it just added to his mystery, and was grateful for it, because combining it with Cryos turned out to be a devastating mix.

  One by one, crimson soldiers fell and the goddess’ vision grew a little dimmer.

  “This is our chance,” Blague whispered in his mind.

  He sprinted ahead, past the reapers that cleared a path for him and deep into the fray, Desert Eagle drawn, the cold metal feeling almost foreign in his hand it’d been so long. Now, like his Elder, it was time to marry his new skills with the old.

  “Guard me, Elaina,” he whispered again.

  Just then, an Aura member appeared in front of him, seemingly summoned by the smoke. She was demonic looking, obscured in black and red, but Blague was quicker to the draw. Two high-caliber bullets cracked through the air.

  The muffled sounds assured him that he hit flesh.

&
nbsp; And as the dying woman was brought to her knees, Blague could see her consciousness return to her like she was being awakened from a dream. Reality was even worse - regret from surrendering her life to a god was written in her expression before she finally fell.

  “Discarded from the hive like fodder,” Blague said to Elaina. “But that just means that Asura’s connective capacity will be shifted elsewhere. They operate under a single mind… one crosshair pointed at me means that a hundred more could be on their way.”

  Before he could finish the thought, a blaring roar came from the dead woman’s body. “What the hell was that?”

  And then a barrage of automatic fire crashed into his side from the other direction. The sound was reminiscent of past battles. Bullets pelting off of an object that shielded him, but this time that object was him. The pressure pushing against his skin from the bombardment felt surreal. It was as if Elaina’s essence had stepped in front of the attack.

  “I will be your armor. Now go, give Aslock the opening he needs to strike,” she said.

  He was nervous, though, how could he not be? Not an ounce of cover on these isles, just the same hazy blankets that he had no control over. He felt naked. Exposed.

  Elaina did give him confidence though, through her own. And so he was forced to shake off these weird feelings and accept his Ardian abilities.

  Focus.

  He cycled through his targets, taking quick aim and blasting off as many rounds as his pistol would allow to sever Asura’s network. When the coast seemed clear, his legs worked harder to find the end of the isle.

  “Ahh!” Blague ducked abruptly, faltering in his steps at the sound of Rol’s blaring shriek. Every time another body left the horde, Rol roared like a titan from another world. It was deafening, terrifying, no matter how many times it happened.

  Blague took a long breath when his hearing returned – the clanking of metal, odd Cryos whispers as it inflicted pain, and even the eerie calmness of the Neraphis – silent as they were graceful in battle.

  “Keep going,” he told himself, further away from all of it, along the seemingly endless stretch of land.