by Sean Davies
“You must be Nathan Philips,” the girl began sweetly. “Please take a seat.”
The robed man pulled out a chair and Nathan did as he was told, pulling his ruined leg into position under the table as he settled himself.
“I guess you’re pretty surprised,” the young girl chuckled.
Nathan was afraid of what to say, but decided honesty would be the best policy. They were on the same side, after all.
“Yes,” Nathan replied hesitantly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you’d be so young. Quite frankly, I’m impressed!”
“Thank you,” the girl replied. “It’s been quite the journey, that’s for sure, but I’ve had some excellent help recently,” Daedrian replied, gesturing to the hooded man.
“From your name, I thought you’d be male,” Nathan said. He’d pictured someone quite different in his head.
“Only when I want to be,” Daedrian replied with a girlish chuckle.
Nathan frowned. “Sorry, I don’t follow…”
“As you’re being so honest with me, I feel it’s only right to be honest with you,” the girl said, and with that, her face and body matured by about twenty years. She smiled coyly. “I can do some pretty interesting things.”
Nathan recoiled and made to escape, but the robed figure held his chair in place and wagged his finger at the terrified man.
“You’re one of them!” Nathan hissed.
The woman shook her head angrily. “I’m nothing like those evil creatures. I assure you, I’m perfectly human—just gifted, is all.”
She made her skin tone darken, and then her hair, reducing its length and changing its colour while she cycled through appearances until Nathan was staring at a copy of himself. Even Daedrian’s clothes changed.
“Then what the hell are you?” Nathan asked angrily.
“The planet’s first fully human psychic,” Daedrian announced proudly, as she once again assumed the form of the young, auburn-haired girl.
“What do you want?” Nathan asked, wondering if that was her true form.
“Same thing as you,” Daedrian answered firmly. “The end of the unjust administration that ruined our world, turned our lives upside down, and set loose the horde of foul evil creatures that they expect us to be all matey with now. I grow more powerful every day, as does my organisation. And yes, this is my original form,” the girl added, answering Nathan’s thoughts. “I know what it’s like to lose everything too.”
The robed figure was staring at Nathan intently, and the crippled man shuffled on his chair under the scrutinising gaze of Daedrian Darkheart’s colleague.
“We’ve heard your story,” the girl continued, “and we know you’ll do anything to aid the cause. I can feel your determination… and your resentment. Are you still willing to take the job?”
Nathan remembered why he was there, and nodded bravely. If Daedrian could help him take down the new world order, then he could overlook the fact that she had ‘abilities’.
“We need you to crash the Conclave of Nations. Its due to start in a few hours, but my friend here has special means of transportation,” Daedrian explained. “All we need you to do is gather intel on Winston Reynolds—ask anyone who’ll give you the time of day about his mental state and recent behaviour, then come back to us. Any other info you can snag about the Conclave will be greatly rewarded, I promise you.”
“I can do that, “Nathan replied resolutely. “But why do you need me? You can be anyone!”
“They’re a tenacious bunch, constantly experimenting with technology and magic,” the girl replied. “I can’t risk being detected or the cause is lost. Once you’re smartened up, no one will look twice at you. I bet you were quite the respectable fellow before all this mess.”
Nathan thought back to his old life and struggled to keep the tears from his eyes.
“Now hold still and brace yourself,” Daedrian said softly. “I’m going to force the cells in your leg into action.”
“What… wait!” Nathan stuttered, but the robed man held him down as Daedrian narrowed her eyes.
His mangled leg itched unbearably and felt as though it was radiating heat from within. Nathan bit the inside of his lip as the pain and discomfort intensified, and he could feel his muscles and flesh slithering together, but then the sensation was suddenly gone, and his leg was as good as new.
The robed man released Nathan’s shoulders and moved to stand at the side of the room.
Nathan tested his repaired leg; he’d forgotten just how much he’d missed the ability to move it properly and without pain. “Thank you,” he whimpered with joy, despite his deep-seated hatred of paranormal powers.
“It’s nothing, I take care of my own,” Daedrian replied sweetly.
The robed man returned to the table with a nondescript black rucksack. “Be a gent and take this to the Conclave Amphitheatre for me,” the man told him, speaking for the first time. “Leave it somewhere they’re bound to find it.”
Nathan went to unzip the bag but the strange man slapped his hand away.
“Uh, uh, uh, no peeking. We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours,” the robed man chided.
“What is it?” Daedrian asked with a voice full of concern.
Her mysterious comrade shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a little gift for Alice.”
Nathan heard a faint sigh of annoyance escape from Daedrian’s mouth. He wondered what was inside the rucksack but wouldn’t dare try peeking again, primarily in case it was dangerous, but also because Daedrian’s partner terrified him to the core. He wondered why she couldn’t just read her friend’s mind like she could with his.
“It won’t harm the mission,” the weird man purred from beneath his hood, “or our new recruit.”
“Fine, whatever,” the girl conceded grumpily, before addressing Nathan again. “Get cleaned up in the pub. We’ve got a room hired for you, and a new suit is laid out on the bed. When you’re done, my friend will get you to Central Isle in a flash. I look forward to seeing you again—”
“Wait,” the robed man interrupted. “We should celebrate this new appointment with a drink first!”
Daedrian sniggered and increased her age into the mid-twenties. “I suppose you’re right.”
A bottle of vodka and three stubby glasses floated over from a nearby shelf and gently landed on the middle of the table, making Nathan flinch. Daedrian casually looked at her nails as her telekinetic abilities uncapped the bottle and forced the vodka out and into the glasses without spilling a drop. One glass slid across the table towards the strange man, while the other made its way to Nathan.
Nathan picked up the vodka and swirled it around suspiciously. The liquid looked crystal clear, but he was still worried; it only took a few drops of Gloom water to alter someone.
“Relax, its fine—look!” the older version of Daedrian said, gulping down a few mouthfuls from her glass.
Nathan brought the glass close to his mouth, but hesitated.
The robed man pinched the glass from Nathan’s hands and took a swig before handing it back. “See, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
Nathan took his drink back, trying not to frown as he saw that one of the strange man’s fingers was on the inside of the glass, touching the liquid within. He hoped that the creepy man’s hands were clean as he downed the drink in one go.
“To mankind’s glorious future!” Daedrian cheered, draining her own glass.
The weird man gulped his vodka down, and added to the toast with a cruel smirk. “And to the downfall of Winston Reynolds.”
Chapter 2
The Conclave of Nations
Veronica Reynolds was seated beside her husband Winston in the Primary Regulator’s box—or the ‘Imperial Box’, as many people had taken to calling it in recent months—and watched the enlarged holographic image of Imperia’s first Prime Minister, Albert Tiberius, waffle on about the increase of Rura’s coal output in the centre of the Conclave Amphitheatre, upon the
arena’s floor of white sand. She knew the only reason coal was on the up was because Deep Vein Oil was on the downslide, and that the worrying topic would be addressed later when the colosseum stands were less populated.
The light grey stone stands, wooden seats, and benches were packed with representatives from all over Mydia, including everyone from the Supernaturals in the Trinity of Old—noticeably absent their Werewolf leader, Kaine—to those of the New Desem Republic. The Conclave’s banner (a black open book symbol in the centre of a circle, upon a white background) hung from the metal posts atop the highest levels of the arena, and were spaced evenly around the complex. Every so many spaces, the Conclave Banner was interrupted by the Justiciar’s own Banner of a thick white war hammer against a black background. Veronica thought that the two half-Archmages, Winston and Alice, had picked the most unimaginative colour scheme ever, and had often teased about throwing a dash of red into the mix in the earlier days that followed the merger. Winston did allow the other factions to bring standard bearers to display their own banners, however, so the coliseum’s stands were currently a sea of colour, and Veronica found it to be a pleasant and uplifting change from the usual monochrome affair.
Veronica played with her shiny long black hair, fiddled with her golden ruby-encrusted tiara, and carelessly readjusted the deep V-neck of her crimson dress so that it flattered her enormous firm breasts and protruding nipples even more so, but an angry sideways glance from her white-eyed husband stopped her fidgeting immediately. Veronica knew she had already pushed her luck to the limits by defying his patronising request to ‘dress like a grown up’; not only had she selected one of her most revealing dresses for the Conclave of Nations, she had also chosen to leave her underwear behind too. Veronica wasn’t sure what had come over Winston, and couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what was going on in his head (which was infuriating considering her Vampire Bloodmage abilities included basic telepathy), but if he didn’t want to pay attention to her glamourous form, she would let the rest of the world enjoy it instead.
On the opposite side of Winston in the lavishly adorned box sat Lord Imperator Alice Eve and General Stein of the Justiciars, both of whom were in magnificent suits of white power armour adorned with black and gold cloaks and decorations to show their prestigious ranks. They looked incredibly uncomfortable in the public spotlight, but Winston had insisted that they attend the Conclave of Nations whenever possible to show the world the faces of their protectors.
Albert Tiberius finished his speech on the current affairs on Rura and the old Vampire offered his warmest gratitude to Winston for the continued support and assistance of his organisation, and then added a smaller courteous thanks to Alice.
After the merger the Nation of Imperia had found itself divided, and without an Autocrat or Archmage to stake their claim the continent had sprouted new factions and provincial powers, all of which enjoyed their new independence but also viewed each other’s resources and territories greedily. Albert Tiberius, the former chief economic advisor to Autocrat Edgar Aurelius the first, had been quick to secure Imperia City with the other members of his Concealed Council organisation, and they won over the citizens with their political prowess. Once securely in power they had put forth an interesting proposal to the rest of the Continent of Rura rather than resorting to violence, defying the usual Imperian tradition of solving problems through warfare. Albert had not only pledged to give each of the provinces a voice in his new government, but also offered every citizen on Rura a vote on their next leader every five years, something unheard of in the continent’s history. All but one territory had eagerly accepted the terms, and Albert Tiberius titled himself as the Prime Minister of Imperia. He had refashioned the World GOVT building in the heart of Imperia City into the Tower of Parliament, which soon became a hive of political activity and heated debates on everything from the strength of the Imperial Credit to road and sewer maintenance.
The province that had refused Albert’s proposal had been Gaelliard City, on the south-eastern tip of Rura. Georgina O’Claire, the female Mage that had taken control of the rustic port city, had declared total independence from the rest of the continent, claiming that it was finally time for them to live outside the shadow of Imperia. As no human alive could remember being anything other than an Imperian, she’d made friends with a lot of long-lived Supernaturals and enemies of everyone else. Georgina was previously one of the three leaders of the shady Morriganigh gang, and was thought to be dead until after the merger, but the death of her gang and her friends at the brutish hands of the Golden Fangs had made her think twice about relying on stealth and subterfuge alone. She forced the human, Supernatural, and Alternative population to abide by her regime’s will and began attacking areas of the town of Taynuliat and Fort Dominia in eastern Rura. The Prime Minister had threatened Georgina, as had the Trinity of Old as the problem involved Supernaturals, but Winston had intervened hoping that diplomacy would win the day—or so he had said. Georgina had scoffed at the offer, and made a ridiculous demand involving the public execution of Genevieve Jameson, the last remaining vestige of the Golden Fang’s elite. Winston had countered with a grandiose offer of gold, resources, the Supernatural killing substance Sanctium, and enough weapons and armour to kit out an army. All he had wanted in return was an audience between the representatives, claiming that there was no price he wouldn’t pay for peace.
Veronica bit her lip as she thought about what had followed, and the lie her husband had spun. Winston had received his audience, and brought along Cherriesa of the Trinity (the black-skinned Vampire Bloodmage who was as cruel and deadly as she was unbelievably beautiful), and a spokesman for the Imperian Parliament to the City of Gaelliard. They had been escorted to the old Ironthorn Private Security office block Georgina had claimed for her administration, where they were heavily outnumbered and outgunned, to discuss peace terms. Somehow during the meeting, Georgina had ‘lost’ all of her magical powers and ‘accidentally fallen’ from the fourth floor of the office building to her death; afterwards, all of her supporters had decided that Winston’s way was the best way after all. Gaelliard City was placed in the hands of a Trinity of Old representative who was ready to work alongside the Parliament, making it their first major territory above ground since the Shadow Wars. No matter how many times Veronica pressed for more details, Winston always returned to his original story with a sly smirk on his handsome face.
Although two of the three leaders of the Trinity of Old had been Winston’s rivals before the merger, they now loved him as much as the other world leaders. The insultingly simple formula for Sanctium had been rediscovered by Alice Eve during the War for Reality, and Winston always made sure a large amount found its way down to the Catacombs to secure their newfound friendship. The Trinity of Old had once bluffed about their reserves of the deadly substance and lied about the creation of the Catacombs that stretched beneath the surface of Mydia, to keep themselves in power and to keep the other Supernaturals underground, out of the way of humans for centuries. Now, thanks to Winston and the many Alchemists in the Conclave, their power was very much a reality.
The tunnels and underground structures of the Catacombs, which were all linked together by hundreds of portals, had been opened for travel (mainly due to Winston’s meddling, shady trades and political promises) to all those who could pass Mistress Cherriesa’s overly rigorous security measures. The Shadow Market had also reopened, selling every conceivable bit of Alchemy gear and reagent currently catalogued, and with the new magically-restored flora and fauna it was growing by the day.
For a time, Veronica was afraid about Winston and Cherriesa’s relationship, fearing that he was having an affair with the dark goddess of a woman (and had even wondered if something was going on between him and the pretty pink-haired Queen Azalea too), until she’d seen him work his charms on the other leaders. Winston had once been as sexually insatiable as she was—or at least, very nearly—but now his interests had moved well bey
ond the flesh. Sometimes she wondered jokingly if he’d been replaced by a body-double or a robot.
Veronica had privately voiced her concerns with the others several times, and they too had noticed a steady change in the young man. To begin with, he was the world’s guide, and a keen-minded individual with a passion to right his wrongs and help the world move forward, but with each passing week he became more ambitious and calculated. Winston had always had a craving for power, something he had chalked up to his Archmage side, but Veronica thought he had learnt his lesson after Omniosis led him astray. The others were at a loss about what to do, considering the unknown depths of Winston’s powers, but they also couldn’t deny the fact that his actions were ultimately benefiting the magically restored planet. All parties, including Veronica, had begrudgingly agreed not to intervene for the sake of Mydia’s stability. They would keep an eye on him, however, and take action if necessary—and if they were even able.
The real-life version of Albert Tiberius took his seat in the podium section and his holographic image faded from the centre of the arena. A human man then stood up from beside the Imperian Prime Minister, and began speaking about the state of Rura’s internal defences and armament production figures.
The man was Deputy Prime Minister Christopher Thorne, head of the new Imperian military, which he had restyled based on the image of the much stricter and far more disciplined ancient Imperian Legion. He was a skinny, stern-faced, blonde man in his fifties, but beside the pale aged form of Albert Tiberius he appeared a lot younger. Christopher had a long history of service in the Imperian Military (which was reformed into the Military Peace Keeping organisation once Autocrat Edgar Aurelius had successfully taken over the world), but quit when things became lax and his colleagues grew corrupt. For several years he was Managing Director of the Ironthorn Private Security firm, and was part of the resistance forces who opposed the Archmage in the War for Reality. Prime Minister Tiberius had been quick to enlist the support of such an experienced leader and put him to work in turning the lacklustre MPKs back into a feared fighting force.