Mydia's End

by Sean Davies

  “I know you’re very powerful, Winston, we all know you’re very powerful,” Veronica began, trying not to become emotional. “You don’t need to fight a mob of angry prisoners to prove anything to me or to Alice, but if you must go down there, I’d prefer that you keep those rings on.”

  “Hmm… I’ll meet you half way, dearest. Married life is all about compromise, after all!” Winston replied with a grin. “I’ll leave this one on,” he said, pointing to a band of coiled turquoise-coloured metal.

  “Fine,” Veronica agreed, crossing her arms and sinking back into her seat. She was angry that he wasn’t wearing all four, and hoped that the remaining one would keep him safe through his foolish bout; she wouldn’t be able to save his mind if his body was dead.

  “Intervene, and I won’t be happy,” the Primary Regulator warned Veronica and Alice as he moved to the far end of the Imperial Box.

  He opened his hand and a line of light appeared, starting at his palm and extending upwards in a perfectly straight line for two feet. From the air nearby, bolts of white light, littered with multi-coloured speckles that burnt so bright it hurt to focus on them, struck Winston’s lance of light and forged it into a crystal blade with a blue and purple hue, resembling a weird cross between a rapier and a fencing sword.

  Without warning, Winston ran forward and dived out of the box. He somersaulted several times before landing gracefully on the white sands of the arena. The ground rumbled violently, and everyone, including the Justiciars, took a step backwards.

  “Did you see that?!” Veronica gasped as she moved to the ledge of the box. “How did he—”

  “Veronica, look!” Alice said firmly.

  The Vampire Bloodmage turned around to see the Imperial Box fully occupied by radiant figures dressed in extravagant robes lined with gold, silver, and gems of every colour. Each one of them had a masquerade mask covering their face, decorated in different elaborate styles, but they took them off temporarily to accept food and drinks from their scantily dressed slaves who had shimmering metal collars biting into their necks.

  “Archmages,” Veronica said, awestruck. She retreated to the back of the box with the Lord Imperator to avoid clashing with the spirits. “They look so… perfect.” She observed as one of the men refastened his red, white, and gold mask back over his angelic face.

  “This is the Omni,” Alice said in fascinated awe as she studied the apparitions, “before they were sucked out of this world, and before they corrupted their sub-dimension prison into the Gloom.”

  “And damned themselves into Demons,” Veronica added.

  “Fifty Ether-Crystals on the newcomer,” a female with a yellow and black mask said to her kin. “Pity this arena is so small,” she muttered snobbishly to herself.

  “I’ll take that bet; his human heritage will let him down,” a male in a striking green mask that matched his robes chuckled. “What say you, Omniultrix?”

  An Archmage on Winston’s throne rose to his feet and turned to face the interior. His white mask was stuck in a noble but smug expression; both women instantly recognised it as Omniosis’ central face mask.

  Omniultrix slowly removed his mask and revealed a mesmerizingly chiselled face that bore a slight resemblance to Winston’s, with confident eyes that cycled through a selection of bright colours.

  “Maybe we should ask his wife?” the Archmage tyrant suggested, gesturing to Veronica with his white gauntlet. “Or perhaps the servant of the twin rebels would like to place a bet?”

  Veronica held her breath as the whole spectral group, including the slaves, turned their gaze towards her. Alice rushed forward, ever the fearless warrior, and swiped her hammer at Omniultrix, but the Spell-forged steel just passed through the leader of the Omni as though he were made of mist.

  Omniultrix wagged his finger disapprovingly at the Lord Imperator and chuckled. “Hopefully I’ll be about when this all ends; I want to watch you two witches burn,” he hissed, before disappearing, along with his followers.

  Veronica was speechless from the ghostly encounter. So far, she had heard of people seeing their relatives (or some sort of vague family connection) following the quakes, and pondered as to why the Omni had appeared before them. The busty Vampire looked at Alice and wondered if her partial Archmage heritage was traced all the way back, before she saw Winston down in the Arena giving the prisoners combat tips, promptly bringing her back into the present.

  The group of people in the heart of the Conclave Amphitheatre were engrossed with the unstable Emperor’s jolly fighting instructions, and had either missed or blanked the Archmages’ appearance.

  “Did he make that happen?” Veronica asked. “Did Winston’s power make the ground shake and the Omni ghosts appear?”

  “Maybe,” Alice said, keeping her thoughts to herself. She had a theory, but she wouldn’t dare to utter it in Winston’s precious amphitheatre.

  “What if he’s…?” Veronica stuttered. “What if he’s the one who’s breaking the world?”

  “Not here,” Alice warned. “Look, he’s starting.”

  Veronica silenced herself and stood beside Alice as they looked down at the combatants, wondering fearfully what would unfold.

  “Remember,” Winston began, raising the clear hilt of his crystal to his forehead and sweeping it to the side in some form of a duellist’s salute. “Just one hit and you’re free to go—and if you can kill me, then all this is yours!”

  The older prisoners backed off, grinning as they allowed their young lads to get a good aim on Winston with their borrowed Justiciar rifles.

  A Justiciar raised his hand towards the cloudy sky, paused for five seconds, and then shouted as he waved it down, “Begin!”

  Veronica flinched as bolts and lances of blue plasma energy hurtled towards the Primary Regulator in a flash. Winston stood his ground and struck each projectile and beam with his rapier, which absorbed the energy of each attack and made the translucent blade glow violently. Wolfgang, Iain, Brian, Steven, and Glen gasped in horror when the realisation of their failed assault sank in, and Winston yelled as he slashed his sword in their direction, unleashing the stored power within in a deadly arc of brilliant blue light that sliced the young men in two and immolated their remains.

  The parents screamed with agonised rage and lashed out with their swords, axes, and halberds, but Winston dodged every strike effortlessly. The Primary Regulator was moving even faster than a Vampire Nightclaw or Werewolf Swiftpaw, and Alice and Veronica struggled to track his movements.

  “I didn’t know Winston could move like that,” Alice commented in a nervous tone.

  “Nor did I,” Veronica replied gravely.

  Louise wailed like a banshee, crazed with anger and torn apart with grief as she charged at Winston with her halberd.

  Winston smiled evilly and moved to the side at the very last second. He grabbed the wooden shaft of the halberd and yanked the raging woman forward as she attempted to regain control of her weapon. James Steiner ran to save his wife, but it was too late. Winston stuck his sword into the ground and uppercut the stumbling woman in her gut, sending her flying dozens of feet into the air.

  The unofficial Emperor launched himself into the sky, taking the halberd with him. He overtook Louise and spun himself around, touching the wall of the magical weather barrier with his feet and using it to launch himself back towards her falling body with all his unnatural might. In a lightning-fast attack, he impaled the airborne woman through her midsection, pinning her to the arena floor with her halberd.

  Winston landed next to his crystal sword, plucked it out of the sand, and in the same fluid motion cut through the front half of Louise’s horrified husband from groin to sternum.

  “W-what the actual fuck?” Veronica stuttered.

  Alice pursed her lips and studied the leader of the Conclave, realising that he had grown stronger than her by far, and she hoped that her growing suspicions were incorrect.

  Harry and Maria Cotsworth backe
d away, holding their weapons before them as though they would somehow act as a barrier against Winston’s inhuman speed and strength.

  “Remember; just one touch and you can go on your merry way,” Winston said in a mockingly charming tone. “Although, I imagine it would be awfully lonely on the farm without your friends and family around…”

  Maria took the bait and charged blindly like a woman possessed. Harry tried to hold her back, but she was too quick.

  “Die, die you murdering bastard!” she screamed. “Die!”

  The distraught woman threw all her weight into her attack; however, she rushed right through Winston like he was a ghost.

  “It’s not nice when the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?” Winston remarked in a kind yet creepy voice. “If only you hadn’t murdered those Alts… then I wouldn’t have had to do this!”

  The unofficial Emperor reached into the woman’s back with his spectral arm and then solidified himself. Maria grunted and groaned in agony, and in one sharp movement Winston retracted his arm, sending blood, gore, and shattered bones spraying all over the white sands. He turned to face Harry Cotsworth and presented him with his wife Maria’s severed heart.

  “That’s not your husband,” Alice whispered.

  “No. No, it is not,” Veronica replied, wide-eyed and full of terror.

  Alice noticed that some of the Justiciars below were watching them up in the box, and wondered how much of her organisation was already in Winston’s grasp.

  “We’ll talk later, in the restaurant,” the Lord Imperator lied softly, summoning a vivid image of the Cathedral of the Twin Goddesses into her imagination.

  The Vampire Bloodmage nodded. “Make it the club,” Veronica replied, adding to the bluff. “I need a stiff drink after this.”

  ‘Cathedral it is, then,’ Alice thought as ‘loudly’ as she could.

  Harry Cotsworth crumbled, hopelessly dropping to his knees, and threw his swords to the side. “Just do it—just finish me. I’ve got nothing left,” he stammered.

  “You were the instigator, weren’t you?” Winston said, disintegrating the heart in his palm in a flash of white fire, along with his now unnecessary rapier.

  The last remaining prisoner nodded slowly.

  “Look around you,” Winston gestured to what was left of Harry’s fallen comrades. “Was it worth it? Do you regret it?”

  Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at the corpses, and lowered his gaze shamefully to the floor.

  “Burning is a horrible way to go, especially if you’re made of fabric,” Winston continued with a tinge of anger in his soft voice. “And that farmhouse was technically my property—everything on Mydia is now, you see,” he added with a mad look in his white eyes. “So you didn’t just burn them, you burnt me too. That hurts me, Harry, really it does.”

  Winston clicked his fingers and the man was engulfed in an inferno of mystical multi-coloured flames, so bright they almost looked white, and everyone in the arena (except for the Primary Regulator) had to shield their eyes from the intense light.

  Harry screamed, on and on, until Winston clicked his fingers again. The flames disappeared, leaving a completely skinned, charred figure shaking and stuttering.

  “You know, I just can’t bring myself to kill you,” Winston said cruelly. “I think it would be morally wrong,” he added in a mocking tone.

  With a simple clap of Winston’s hands, Harry Cotsworth was completely healed and looked even healthier than he’d been before entering the amphitheatre.

  “N-no, no,” the prisoner stuttered. “I can’t live without them—kill me, please!”

  “Take him to a cell,” Winston ordered the guards. “I think poor old Harry would like to be alone with his thoughts.”

  The Justiciars dragged the naked prisoner away as he kicked, sobbed, and begged to be put out of his misery.

  Winston looked up at his wife Veronica and the Lord Imperator Alice Eve, waving pleasantly before performing a series of flamboyant bows for their benefit.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  In Training Complex 2B, Connie Lee stared down the barrel of a pistol, trying to keep her arms as still as possible as she took aim. She selected one of the targets closest to her; an immobile thick iron sheet marked with the outline of a torso, topped with an angry-looking masquerade mask.

  “You know, this is stupid,” Connie moaned, lowering her aim and turning to face Genevieve, Stitches, and Instructor Brooke Sienna. “I could obliterate that target a dozen different ways with my magic.” She had never used a gun in her life, and felt that they were clunky and highly unnecessary if you could wield arcane powers.

  “And what happens if you can’t use your magic?” Brooke asked above the booming gunshots of the neighbouring trainees, like a teacher chiding a difficult student.

  “We Book Wielders are the only ones who can stop powers,” Connie shrugged, “so that’s a really unlikely scenario.”

  “It happened to me during the War for Reality,” the sharp-shooter Werewolf Shaman, Brooke, began sternly. “Lewis Thorne robbed me and Alex of our abilities, leaving us for dead at the hands of a horde of Autons.”

  “So your gun didn’t save you?” Constance interrupted rudely.

  Genevieve groaned. The new Book Wielder had been especially difficult during the ongoing tour, to her and to everyone they’d met. Their drunken comradery had apparently been long forgotten in the sober light of a new day.

  Brooke clapped Genie on her shoulder. “Good luck with this one,” she joked as she strode off down the corridor to help those who were willing to learn.

  Stitches, who was looking especially dapper in a dark grey suit, shook his head disapprovingly. “Constance, what’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing,” Constance lied. In truth, she hated failing in front of others, even if it was just for training purposes. She had also woken at the crack of dawn to find one of her hands greedily groping her tour guide’s cold, firm body while she’d been sleepily masturbating with the other, and although Genevieve didn’t seem to have acknowledged it in her drunken slumber, Connie still felt extremely embarrassed. “Can’t we skip straight to one of the magic classes?”

  “You might as well try a bit while we’re here,” Genevieve began. “I used to be a terrible shot, but after I put in enough practise I got better.”

  “I thought all Vampire Nightclaws were good with guns,” Constance said moodily.

  “Generally speaking—but I was terrible. I could barely hit the wall behind the targets!” Genevieve laughed. “I was a natural with throwing knives after I was turned, though. Took some effort to reach out of my comfort zone, but it was well worth it in the end. It’s good to have some decent ranged weaponry for back-up.”

  “Throwing knives?” Connie asked in an eager voice, seeing an opportunity to escape embarrassing herself. “I’d love a demonstration!”

  Genie pursed her lips and gave Constance an unconvinced look before conceding; it was the chirpiest she’d seen the Book Wielder all day. “Fine, I’ll show you, but you’re going to have to train with firearms sooner or later.”

  Constance was giddy as she unloaded the pistol and flicked the safety on for good measure, while Genevieve operated the range’s touchscreen controls and then went to fetch some blades. Within their section, hatches opened in the floor and the metal targets retracted, the range’s mechanisms replacing them with well-worn wooden dummies.

  Genie returned with a selection of throwing knives, all neatly slotted into black holsters, and laid them down in front of her.

  “You’d better not blink,” the Vampire Nightclaw said with a cheeky grin.

  “I’m sure I can keep up—” Connie began, but by the time the words had spilled from her mouth, each one of the wooden targets had a blade sticking out of their forehead. “Okay, wow!” the Book Wielder gasped, incredibly impressed.

  Stitches stroked his fabric chin and spoke up. “Mind if I try?”

  “Not at all,” Genie said,
gesturing to the range.

  “You’re so… fast!” Constance said, still awestruck.

  “Uh huh, and you wouldn’t believe how many uses super-speed has,” Genevieve joked naughtily, imagining what she would do to the sexy Tropican Book Wielder given half the chance.

  Constance thought back to the morning and how good the Vampire’s firm form had felt in her hands, and she looked away, feigning interest in the people practising further on down the hall.

  Stitches picked up the blades and copied the exact stance that Genie had adopted. His fingers plucked the throwing knives from their holsters and whizzed them towards the targets, just as fast as Genevieve had thrown them. Each blade clattered to the floor, but thanks to Genevieve’s enhanced vision she saw that every knife had collided perfectly with the ones she’d thrown previously.

  “You hit… every single one,” Genie said, shocked.

  “Oh, I just copied what you did,” Stitches said as though nothing spectacular had transpired.

  “Stitches is really good at picking things up,” Constance explained to the overwhelmed Vampire.

  “Nah, it’s more than that,” Genie mused. “I wonder…” she began, before walking away.

  Stitches looked at Constance for guidance, but the new member of the Conclave was equally as baffled, and she shrugged. She was just grateful that she wasn’t being forced into target practise.

  Genevieve soon reappeared with Brooke in tow. The bald Tropican sharpshooter had a small hunting rifle in each hand, and passed one to Stitches.

  “Right, you go first,” Genevieve said to a confused-looking Brooke as she brought back the metal target plates.

  “Okay…” Brooke said, humouring Genevieve as she took aim.

  Genevieve ramped up the range’s pre-set difficulty to the max, and the targets zoomed around quickly and erratically.

  Brooke, the ex-Imperian military sniper, had no trouble hitting the bullseye on each one, and the targets ground to a halt.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” the Werewolf Shaman huffed impatiently. “I have people to teach.”