Gaslit Revolution

by Jason Gilbert

  “Magic is pain!” Lexi said. She held her hands up and spread them quickly apart. The soldier in the air was ripped into pieces, his arms and legs going opposite directions, his head literally screwed off of his body. The torso dropped to the floor.

  “Fuck Gentry,” Chesterfield shouted. “Kill them all!”

  Kane activated his amulet and lifted Lexi up with one arm as he shouted his spell.

  “Ethereal Clypeus!”

  He held his other arm up as the deafening roar of gunfire filled the tunnel, bullets slamming into the shield with enough force to push his arm back slightly. Kane backpedaled, carrying Lexi with him as Chesterfield sent a red blast at them. An ice spear flew by Kane’s shoulder and shot the blast out of the air, another right behind it impaling a trooper in the leg. More blasts sailed, hitting walls, sending bits of concrete and dust in every direction. Kane glanced over his shoulder, saw the tunnel fill with at least a dozen blasts, Magicians returning fire at the Special Forces. Hoyle was at the forefront, standing next to Chris, who sent an energy blast at the soldier Tabitha had crippled. The blast hit the man square in the face. He dropped like a weight, his body twitching as the electricity arced throughout his body.

  “Advance,” Hoyle said. “Push them back!”

  Kane turned back just as Chesterfield dove at him, his hands out. They collided and rolled, in the floor, Chesterfield on top of Kane. Lexi screamed and ran to Wilhelmina, the air thick with bullets and magic blasts. Kane pushed against Chesterfield, but the General reared back, the punch connecting with Kane’s temple. Kane swatted at him, but Chesterfield blocked and followed up with another blow to Kane’s face. Kane tried to buck the general off, but Chesterfield was a similar build to Kane, the General’s armor adding to his weight.

  “Aethereum Ignus!”

  Kane made to launch the fireball, but Chesterfield grabbed his wrist and hammered his other fist down on Kane’s chest. Kane felt as if his lungs had deflated, gasped for air, swore he felt his heart skip a beat. The fireball was caught in his palm, growing warmer.

  Charging.

  Kane heard Tabitha shout his name, heard the blast. The ice shard hit Chesterfield in the shoulder with enough force to yank his hand off Kane’s wrist. Kane flung the charged fireball at Chesterfield’s face. Chesterfield went flying off Kane, the blast sending pieces of hot metal everywhere. Kane felt the burning pinpricks as some of the slag hit his face. His vision was blurry from the explosion, his ears ringing. He got to his feet and stumbled, his head swimming from all the blows he’d taken. His face burned, flashes of light dancing in his vision. Tabitha grabbed him and pulled him towards the group as Hoyle stepped forward. He took aim with a rifle and shot down another soldier, then helped Tabitha pull Kane to cover.

  “Down to five!” Hoyle shouted, the sound muffled in Kane’s hearing. The ringing was already fading, things becoming sharper again. “Keep moving forward!”

  Kane looked around as both fighting groups fired on each other, the space thick with blasts and bullets. The Revolution had suffered casualties. A few of the Magicians Kane had seen in Wil’s camps. A few neighbors.

  One of them was the woman Jones had treated when Kane had gone to see the good doctor about some broken ribs.

  It seemed like eons ago. Not weeks.

  Magicians aren’t bulletproof.

  He’d remembered Jones telling him that once.

  Rage seeped through his body, carried by his blood, the sensation white hot as he gathered his feet underneath him and stood. His teeth grit, his muscles tensed as he turned to the remaining Special Forces. Five of them. Armed with Tommy Guns.

  Killing civilians.

  The soldiers saw Kane, turned their weapons at him. Kane charged a fireball in his hand, ran at the troops, and hurled the blast at them. It connected before they could squeeze off the first shot and blew one of the soldiers to pieces. The others fell back as Kane charged another blast. Tabitha hurled an ice spear, shouted at Kane to duck. He went down just as the spear went over his head and through the heart of the man in front of him. Kane got to his feet and slung the fireball at the last two men. It hit the one on the right in the midsection, blood and entrails flying out, the target blasted in half. Kane yanked the Tommy Gun from a fallen man and used it to club the other in the side of the helmet. The gunner went down, and Kane turned the gun around in his hands.

  “You’re on your own. Start talking.”

  The soldier held his hands up, scooted away from Kane towards the wall.

  “Stop, man,” he said. “Don’t do it!”

  Kane took aim, then lowered the Tommy Gun. The soldier kept talking.

  “I was…I was just following orders. It’s not personal, I promise! Just let me go!”

  Kane looked over at Sandra’s broken form crumpled against the tunnel wall, the spatter running down in long, bloody streaks. Her eyes were closed, strands of red hair bloodied and matted against her cheek.

  Sandra. They’d killed Sandra.

  Kane looked down at the groveling soldier.

  “Orders can be disobeyed,” Kane said.

  You wanna beat the devil? Send him packin’ with all his demons? Then you gonna have to be willin’ to be a devil yourself.

  The soldier stammered.

  “But…”

  “You made a choice,” Kane said. “Now own it.”

  The gun jumped in his hand. The shot caught the man in the forehead. He slumped over, not moving, blood dripping out from underneath his helmet.

  Kane looked up at his group. The tunnel had gone eerily quiet. Tabitha stared at him, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. Wilhelmina grinned at him. Lexi stood beside her, her arms around the Marsh Witch’s waist.

  He’d executed the soldier. A man begging for his life. It was done.

  And Kane didn’t care.

  Hoyle stepped forward, followed by Chris.

  “Chesterfield was right,” Kane said, stepping towards them. “This is war. We’re not safe here. They’ll send more.”

  “We can’t suffer more losses,” Chris said. “This was a shit show.”

  Kane looked at Hoyle.

  “You said five.”

  Arms reached from the dark, wrapped themselves around Kane, dragged him back and took him to the ground as the others cried out. Kane slung a fireball blindly, the arms releasing him as the attacker shouted and backed away.

  Kane got to his feet as Chesterfield leaned against the wall, catching his balance after being thrown off by Kane. Half of his mask was gone, the hose from the air tank on his back now dangling. He reached up and pulled the remains of the helmet off, ran a gloved hand over his black hair. His skin was burned in places, his cheek charred as he glared at Kane with eyes full of hatred.

  “You’ll die today,” he said.

  “Then you’ll have Gentry to deal with,” Kane said. “Really wanna have that fight with him?”

  Chesterfield rushed him, slung a red blast at him. It went wide, hit the wall and dispersed without even cracking the concrete.

  “You need blood,” Kane said. “Looks like short supply down here.”

  Chesterfield looked at Hoyle.

  “Not so much.”

  He reached for Hoyle, and Kane saw the red mist flow from the man’s nose, ears, and mouth as his body stiffened. Kane rushed Chesterfield, shouting “No!” as he knocked the Blood Priest off balance. The spell stopped, and Hoyle collapsed. Kane tossed a fireball at Chesterfield, but Chesterfield ducked and countered with his own spell. Kane swatted it out of the air as Chesterfield rushed him.

  The entrance. How far were they from the entrance?

  An idea came to mind.

  Kane turned and took off towards the direction the Special Forces had come.

  “C’mon, dumbass!” he called over his shoulder.

  He heard Chesterfield scream something unintelligible, heard the General running behind him.

  Good, Kane thought.

  A set of stairs came quick,
lead upwards. Kane took them two at a time as Chesterfield closed in. The entrance to the street above had been shut.

  Shit!

  Kane heard the blast, turned in time to see the red flying at him. It caught him in the chest, sent him upwards. They’d put wood over the entrance.

  Good. Wood was softer than steel.

  Kane felt the breath knocked out of him as he hit the barrier, wood and debris all around him. He fell back down to the street, the asphalt far less forgiving. Special Forces soldiers shouted at each other in surprise. Kane heard rifles made ready. He looked up and around, pain ringing throughout his body. The city was alive, skyscrapers towering on both sides of the streets. Clockwork horses were being halted, people stepping out of coaches to see what the commotion was about. Others scattered to the sidewalks, screaming or gasping in fear and surprise. People were dressed in style, expensive suits and flowing evening gowns with leather corsets and top hats with goggles either around their necks or on their hats for easy access in the event of acid rain. Airships thrummed above, lights from the decks shining down over the gathering crowds in the streets.

  “I say,” a man said.

  “Oh my word!” A woman.

  More voices joined the chorus, the air filling with whispers of “Has he thrown a gear?”

  Four Special Forces troops came forward, their rifles aimed at Kane.

  “Get up!” one shouted at him. “Move slow, keep your hands where I can see them!”

  “Right,” Kane said, holding his hands up. “Okay. Ease up.”

  Another one of them spoke to the crowd.

  “Nothing to see here! Keep moving! This man is wanted!”

  “Look at him!” a woman said. “He needs medical attention!”

  The guard stepped by Kane, his rifle aimed. Kane looked around and saw the older woman fanning herself, her extravagant hoopskirt a deep blue that matched her silver-blue hair and corset.

  “You shut your fucking mouth,” the soldier barked at her. The woman gasped audibly, shrank back from the guard as her husband stepped forward. The guard motioned to the husband. “Keep your wife under control!”

  “Hey!” Kane said, standing. “Leave them alone! It’s me you want, dickhead!”

  The soldier turned his head, looked at Kane, and nodded. Kane felt a blow to the back of his knee only an instant before he went down, his leg giving out underneath him.

  “Leave him!”

  Kane looked up from the ground at the sound of Chesterfield’s voice. He got to his feet as Chesterfield stepped up from the ruins of the subway entrance. His armor was loose in places, scorched, cracked, and melted where Kane had hit him with so many fireballs. He yanked the cloak off and tossed it to the side. He pulled the shoulder pauldrons off, removed the chest piece, and let it all drop to the ground. His stare was locked on Kane as he pulled his gauntlets off and threw them down. A lock of black hair hung in Chesterfield’s face, the burns looking wicked from where Kane had blown his mask off.

  “I’ll kill you slow, Kane Shepherd,” he said as began to pace to the right.

  “You don’t have the power,” Kane said, pacing to the left to keep Chesterfield in front of him. “You drained yourself down there.” He lowered his voice. “And I’m pretty sure what you are is highly confidential.”

  Chesterfield grinned.

  “You aren’t wrong,” he said. “But the importance is whether or not I care.” He looked around at the crowd watching them. The street was still, the collective anticipation of the people heavy in the air. “I think I’ll be fine here. Plenty to feed from.”

  “I won’t let you,” Kane said, his fists clenched.

  “Stand down, asshole,” one of the guards said to Kane, the rifle aimed in Kane’s face.

  Chesterfield’s eyes widened in fury.

  “I said he’s mine!” he screamed as he reached out at them. Kane saw all four guards go rigid as red mist flowed out from every crevice in their armor and into Chesterfield’s hand. The General’s eyes glowed red, his breath coming in red clouds as the guards fell to the ground, their bodies no more than dust inside empty armor. It all happened in less than a second. People in the crowd shrieked, made to run. Clockwork horses were put back into gear. Chesterfield launched a blast, not at Kane, but at one of the horses. The animal was blown to pieces, gears and scrap metal raining down as the inhabitants of the coach got out and ran the opposite way.

  Kane rounded on Chesterfield.

  “Stop!”

  Chesterfield laughed as he slung another spell at a group of city-dwellers trying to escape. The blast landed, and the sidewalk exploded under their feet. Kane conjured a fireball, charged it, the flame growing in his hand. He dove to the side as Chesterfield sent a blast his way, rolled to his knees, and threw the fireball at the Blood Priest. Chesterfield sent a blast at the fireball. The two blasts exploded in the air. Chesterfield went flying backwards through the glass front doors of a nearby office building.

  Kane looked around at the pandemonium, people running and screaming. He recognized the man and woman the soldier had threatened earlier and went to them. They cowered away from him, the man stepping in front of his wife with his hands out.

  “See here,” the old buzzard said. “No trouble!”

  “Your horse still works?” Kane said.

  The man blinked and nodded.

  “Go to the police station right now! Don’t talk to anyone but Cybil Lewis! Tell her Kane Shepherd said it’s happening!”

  “What, exactly, is happening young man?” the old woman said.

  Kane looked back at the building Chesterfield had crashed into, then back at the couple.

  “Go! Now! Before he wakes up!”

  They nodded and climbed into their coach as Kane began to walk towards the subway entrance. Tabitha and Wil emerged, looking around.

  “What happened up here?” Tabitha said.

  “Chesterfield,” Kane said, moving up to them. “He drained four of his men at once and attacked the crowd.”

  “Say that shit ain’t so, Kane Shepherd,” Wil said, her eyes wide. “That man done somethin’ stupid.”

  “What?” Kane said.

  “A Blood Priest typically draw from one at a time,” she said. “Like any other magic user. Too much power be too much!”

  The front of the building exploded outwards into the streets, sending debris and innocent bystander airborne. The smoke was a mix of dust and red mist as Chesterfield emerged from the wreckage, his eyes sunken and red hot, his skin pale and spiderwebbed with veins.

  “Odin’s Beard,” Tabitha muttered.

  “Him power-mad,” Wil said. “We in deep shit.”

  “Spread out,” Kane said. “Flank him.”

  Chesterfield pointed at Kane. He hunched down, broke into a run, his speed inhuman. Kane conjured a fireball and threw it. Chesterfield sidestepped the shot. Tabitha was ready with an ice spear. He ducked it, still barreling down at Kane. One of Wil’s vines whipped out at him. He jumped it, still coming at Kane full force. Kane sent out another fireball. Another. Another. Chesterfield shot them out of the air. Kane heard Tabitha’s shout next to him.

  “Geðveikur frysta!”

  Kane kept his eyes on Chesterfield as the man closed the gap between them, his hands glowing red. A cold blast of ice hit, too large to avoid. The street, the lampposts, the debris, everything turned white, the sheet of frost glistening in the city lights. Chesterfield lunged at Kane, his arms out, his face contorted in rage as the ground froze beneath is feet where he’d stood only a second before.

  His memory flashed. Sarah Broussard attacking. His blood splattering on her. Her skin burning, her body falling apart.

  Magician blood. Poison to them.

  Kane breathed out as time seemed to slow. Wil shouted something, but Kane could only hear his own heartbeat. He saw something out of the corner of his eye, reached up and grabbed Wil’s knife out of the air. He barely felt the cold steel as he ran it over his flesh, broke the
skin and meat. Blood poured from his forearm, dripped to the ground. Kane slung it around, droplets flying, hitting Chesterfield in the face as he collided with Kane. They went down, Chesterfield screaming as his skin smoked where Kane’s blood had sprayed him. Flesh began to melt from bone. Chesterfield’s jaw dropped off, hit Kane’s chest on its way to the ground. Kane bucked the dying Blood Priest off of him. Picked him up. Chesterfield’s head lolled on his shoulders, an eyeball dropping from the socket as the other stared at Kane.

  “Had enough of you,” Kane said. He shoved Chesterfield into Tabitha’s winter wonderland. The general hit the ground and started wailing as ice formed over his writhing body, overtaking him as he struggled to get to his feet. He reached for Kane, his tongue hanging from the remains of his mouth as his body turned blue, going rigid as frost worked its way up until it reached the top of his head, silencing his screams.

  Kane stared at the ice statue that had once been Chesterfield, now a dying creature frozen in ruin. He saw the flashes in his mind, memories of the shootings the General had ordered, the damage his Special Forces troops has done to Hidden Valley.

  The damage they still intended to do.

  Kane conjured a fireball, charged it, and hurled it at Chesterfield. The man exploded in a shower of frozen chunks of blood and meat.

  “Get what you deserve,” Wil spat at Chesterfield’s remains.

  Kane turned to Tabitha. She ran to him, put her arms around him.

  Kane looked around. People had gathered, keeping a fair distance away. They looked on in horror, cowering back from the scene, their eyes still glued with morbid fascination. Some of them were dressed well. Some were dressed more casually, low-level workers on their way home from doing their part to make the corporate machines operate. Others looked like vagrants, streeters and beggars that lived in the dark alleyways of New Chicago and hadn’t made it to the outer neighborhoods.

  No matter who they were, they were all the same: witnesses.

  A siren sounded in the distance. Kane focused his hearing. Clockwork horses. Orders being shouted. Kill on sight. Magicians attacking people in uptown.