Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain

by Southwell, T C

  Kayos nodded. “Shameful. The domain will have to be restored, and beasts that have been lost recreated, but she will not have the power to do that until she is mature.”

  “You could do it.”

  “It would not be right.”

  “I suppose not,” Bane said. “Although, at the rate they are destroying it, this world might not survive for another two hundred years.”

  “No, it will, but the people might not. If it becomes too bad, Sherinias will have to create a haven for a few and let the rest die. It will make her sad.”

  Bane summoned a cup of ambrosia, and they settled down to wait, listening to Sarjan issuing orders and receiving reports from his crew. The commander and his officers often glanced at the back of the room where Bane stood, but clearly did not dare to try to find out whether he was still there. Bane watched the changing landscape on the main screen, wondering how these people could bear to live in such a foul world. Then again, they did not have much choice.

  Chapter Three

  Destroyer

  Governor Predoran scowled at Major Ranjal, who stood in front of his desk, head bowed, fiddling with his data recorder. A haze of blue smoke hung in the air and cracks crazed the floor to ceiling windows behind him. The governor clasped his hands to hide their shaking after the shock and terror of the explosions that had ripped through nearby buildings. By some miracle, the tower in which his office was located had survived relatively unscathed, just a bit cracked by the vibrations that had shaken it barely an hour ago.

  Predoran turned his attention to the wall-mounted vidscreen on his right, which showed an aerial view of the Great Gate and the devastation in front of it. The burning wrecks of the fleet lay crushed on cratered streets, and ruined buildings belched flames and black smoke. The destruction spanned the city in straight lines that angled from the gate, and some of the surviving structures leant drunkenly, on the verge of collapse. People ran through the ruins in panic-stricken mobs, trying to flee the city. Parts of the fire dome had been destroyed, and the blue shield now had gaps in it, while the remainder flickered and swirled. In the foreground, a pale-faced reporter with glazed eyes shouted into his microphone, repeating his narrative over and over in a cracked voice.

  “We are all still stunned by what has taken place here in Sarlan City. The attack on the Great Gate brought retaliation from the ancient weapons located around it, and the destruction to the city is significant. Fortunately, this news crew was not caught by the weapons, and…”

  Predoran pushed the mute button on his remote control. “Well?”

  Major Ranjal looked up. “The entire fleet was destroyed, sir. As yet, no survivors have been found. Estimated dead in the city is fifteen thousand. Two ships that were not sent to the gate were also hit. One was destroyed, the other badly damaged. All we have left is one destroyer and two frigates. And, of course, three stealth ships, two of which are away on missions.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “From the vidfeeds we’ve received, it seems our attack activated those weapons. The gate was only chipped a little.”

  Predoran glowered at him. “So now it’s closed again, and we’ve lost our fleet. Tell me the stealth ship we sent inside has reported the death of that damned dra’voren.”

  “We lost contact when the gate closed, and at that time, they were still in pursuit.”

  “Good. Let’s hope they succeed, at least.”

  Ranjal consulted his data recorder. “Sir, some of our science advisors have pointed out that if we destroy this dra’voren, no one will be able to open the gate.”

  “We’ll work it out somehow. Either we’ll find a way to open it or a weapon that will destroy it. We’ve got plenty of good scientists to work on the problem.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Predoran faced the screen. “Keep me apprised.”

  Major Ranjal saluted and left.

  Bane shifted to ease an ache in one leg, and stretched it, watching the observation room’s main screen. Sarjan had spent most of the flight on the bridge, then had made his way down to the observation room two hours ago, when the stealth ship had passed close to a vast military base where rows of war craft were parked on cratered concrete aprons and battle-scarred weaponry pointed at the skies, ready to defend against airborne enemies. Bane and Kayos had followed, resuming their vigil at the back of the room. On the far side of the outpost, which Bane assumed was close to the border with Vockroy, ugly square buildings housed off duty troops and field hospitals tended to the injured soldiers who were transported from distant battlegrounds in rescue vehicles.

  Cargo ships ferried in supplies and carried away the dead for their grieving families to bury. There had been no aerial combat in progress at the time, but the myriad wrecks that littered the torn ground around the encampment told of a surfeit of such conflicts in the past. Somewhere, probably deep in Bayonan territory, battle-bitter veterans must be preparing hordes of fresh soldiers in training camps, and factories produced the warships necessary to fight this war, also well-defended against enemy attack. Evidently the conflict between Bayona and Vockroy had been raging for quite some time, and an entire industry had sprung up to feed the war machine. This was just the sort of situation a dark god revelled in, and in this world, with its billions of people and advanced technology, Parsimon and his cohorts could watch the action from the comfort of their luxury residences, doubtless whilst enjoying the attentions of pretty girls and indulging in some of the death and torture themselves.

  Now the stealth ship sailed over another area of dense housing, parts of which seemed to be abandoned. A vast city lay ahead, a sprawling concrete scab that looked like it needed to be scratched off. The ship slowed as it neared the metropolis, which, despite the bustling throngs of humanity that jammed its streets, had an air of neglect, as if its past had been more prosperous. Its far edge bounded a foul lake wreathed in pale vapour that hung about its oily surface like a noxious blanket.

  Yellow and red flags draped walls and flagpoles with garish colour, paying homage to the rabid dictator who drove his people to war and poverty to feed his lust for suffering. As the ship entered the city’s crowded airspace, it flew lower to avoid the traffic, the officers concentrating on their instruments. They wound between the towering buildings, air cars zipping past as they descended to land in the city.

  A screen on Sarjan’s console came to life, filled with the pilot’s worried face. “Sir, it’s too dangerous to fly through the city in stealth mode. One of those vehicles could hit us.”

  Sarjan glanced at the back of the room, then faced the screen again. “Keep going.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Bane raised a brow at Kayos, who inclined his head, his eyes becoming distant for a moment.

  Within a few minutes of the pilot’s warning, an air car headed straight for the stealth ship, veering off at the last moment as Kayos’ shield deflected it. The tension rose, and some crewmen darted nervous glances at the back of the observation room.

  An obstech said, “Presidential palace dead ahead sir.”

  “Scanners on,” Sarjan ordered.

  “Sir, are we really going to assassinate President Parsimon?”

  “If he’s a dra’voren, yes. That’s what we do.”

  “Except when we take orders from one,” another obstech muttered.

  Sarjan glared at the crewman. “I didn’t see that we had too many options, did you?”

  “We’re clearing the way for him to rule us, sir.”

  “Just until we hunt him down, too; he’s done us a favour, bringing a stealth ship into the world.”

  “He’ll probably destroy the ship when he’s finished with us.”

  “Then we’ll build another one,” the commander said.

  “Sir, look at this!”

  Sarjan went over to the senior obstech’s station and peered at his screen with a frown. “Fiends. Bloody hell, there’s a lot of them.”

  “Why don’t the people see t
hem?”

  “Maybe they’re invisible.”

  “Or they look human.”

  Sarjan straightened, staring at the screen. “It must be because Parsimon is a dra’voren.”

  “If they look like people, they could be everywhere. There could be some on the ship.”

  Sarjan shook his head. “There can’t be, or they’d have destroyed it long ago.”

  “I thought they were all destroyed by the first stealth ship; the one that was built in Bayona.”

  “Apparently not.”

  The obstech looked up at Sarjan. “There are enough of them down there to keep a flotilla of stealth ships busy for decades.”

  “Let’s concentrate on getting rid of the dra’voren first.”

  Bane glanced at Kayos. “If I destroy a few demons, do you suppose they will trust me?”

  “Probably not.”

  The Demon Lord sighed and sipped his ambrosia. “What fools they are.”

  Sarjan gazed at the main screen, where a geometrically designed building clad almost entirely in mirror glass grew larger. “Do we know if President Parsimon is in residence?”

  “If he’s a dra’voren, we’ll soon find out,” an obstech replied.

  “Find out now.”

  “Yes sir.” The man tapped keys on his console and read the glowing screen. “According to the latest intelligence reports, he’s here.”

  “Do a full scan of the building.”

  A minute passed, then the obstech said, “A lot of fiends inside, and something else. It appears to be in the basement, a source of dark power. Even more fiends down there.”

  “Keep scanning.”

  A beeping alarm broke the hush, and everyone jumped. The senior obstech said, “There! He’s in the east wing, top floor, with several fiends.”

  “His office,” Sarjan said. “So, the dra’voren was right.” He sat at an empty station and keyed a device Bane now knew was a communications’ relay. “Pilot, target area is the east wing, top floor.”

  “There’s a dra’voren in there?” the pilot’s surprised voice enquired.

  “Yes. It’s in President Parsimon’s office.”

  “Right.”

  The ship drifted around the building, turning as it did so, its bow pointing at the east wing of the structure. Flying vehicles zipped past, a few swerving to avoid the ship their pilots could not see. The chief obstech leant closer to his screen, his eyes intent.

  “Pilot, pass control to the observation room,” Sarjan ordered.

  “Yes sir. You have control.”

  Sarjan typed on his keyboard, glancing often at his scanner screen, which showed the location of the dra’voren. Bane went over to stand behind him, and Kayos joined him. Glowing green crosshairs inched towards a black form on the scanner screen, which appeared to be seated in a chair.

  Sarjan keyed the com-unit again. “Containment, prepare for capture.”

  “Generators online, sir.”

  The crosshairs reached their target, and stopped. Sarjan’s hand hung poised over a red button for a moment, then he pushed it. On the main screen, a flash of blue light came from the upper floor window of the building, and the black form on the scanner screen vanished.

  Sarjan leapt up and dashed to the lift doors. Bane and Kayos took a more direct route through the floor, and arrived in the containment room well ahead of the commander. The containment techs crowded around the shredder room window, staring at the lean, well-built man who was sprawled on the floor. His silver hair and charismatic, noble-featured face were designed to inspire confidence and respect in minions. Gold braid, epaulettes and medals adorned his rather gaudy red military uniform.

  Bane said to Kayos, “This one uses a glamour.”

  “He would look out of place otherwise.”

  Sarjan burst in and hurried over to peer through the window.

  A contech shot him a startled look. “That’s President Parsimon, sir!”

  “I know. He’s a dra’voren. Shred him.”

  The crewman tapped keys on his console, and the lodestones emerged from their niches as the oscillating light guns warmed up, glowing, then spun. Blue light shot from them, growing more intense until the room was filled with slashing lines of brilliance, forcing Bane and Kayos to look away. Sarjan donned a pair of dark goggles, as did some of the contechs.

  The senior obstech stated, “His form’s breaking down.”

  Bane glanced at the man’s screen, where the black form shredded as the light guns tore it apart and the lodestones drew off its power. After a few minutes, it vanished.

  “Shred complete, sir,” the contech said, tapping keys on his control board.

  The light guns shut off, and Sarjan removed his goggles, turning to face the men. “Good job. One less dra’voren to lay waste to worlds.”

  They grinned, and Bane nodded to Kayos, who withdrew his light shield and allowed the Demon Lord to reappear.

  “Good work,” Bane said, and Sarjan whipped around with an oath. His men recoiled with muttered curses and apprehensive expressions. “You have defeated him, not destroyed him,” Bane explained. “Your machine stripped away his dark form, and his spirit has flown to the Land of the Dead until he can Gather enough power to rise again.”

  “How do you know that?” Sarjan demanded.

  “I have defeated several, although not with such ease. Your machines are ingenious.”

  “You have the power to destroy worlds, yet our machines can defeat a dra’voren more easily than you can? Why is that?”

  “When I attack one, he tends to fight back,” Bane said. “Your stunner gives you an advantage.”

  “You can become invisible. Why can’t you knock them unconscious?”

  Bane shook his head. “We can still sense each other, very slightly. I might get close before he became aware of me, but I doubt I could hit him hard enough to render him senseless. It is not that easy. Your machine uses some sort of force wave?”

  “It’s an amplified low frequency concussion pulse.”

  Bane spread his hands, making the contechs tense. “Alas, I cannot do that, but, as I recall, it is extremely effective. It rendered me senseless for many hours.”

  “It only knocks them out for a few minutes.”

  “That is because they do not have mortal bodies. In fact, it is the droge shell that makes them susceptible, since it confines a dark form and compresses it.” Bane shrugged. “At least, I think so. Your stunners would not work on a dra’voren in his dark form, if I am right.”

  “That’s... good to know.”

  “It is doubtful that you will ever trap a dra’voren in his dark form, Commander. They rarely venture out of the dark realm without a droge body.”

  Sarjan was clearly fascinated. “Why’s that?”

  “Sunlight will strip away a dark form in a few minutes, just as your blue light stripped away his droge shell. They may go abroad at night, but generally they prefer to wear a droge body, since they were once mortal men who were damned to the dark realm and Gathered the power to leave the Land of the Dead and make themselves into dark gods.”

  Sarjan eyed him. “But you’re mortal, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I was changed by a dark god before he tore me from my mother’s womb and forced me to take up the dark power.”

  “I see.” Sarjan looked around at the gawping contechs. “So the shredder room won’t destroy you?”

  “No. It will only strip away my power, as it did on Nikira’s ship.” Bane indicated the blank green scanner screen. “The dark beings you saw in the city were not all demons. Many, probably most, were droges, condemned spirits granted the power to form a body by their master, a dark god. They look just like people, as do the demons.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I am trying to help you, Sarjan. We are on the same side, whether you believe it or not.”

  “Are there fiends aboard my ship
?”

  Bane inclined his head. “Probably, but droges are more common in a world that is inhabited by dark gods.”

  “Could you... get rid of them?”

  “Certainly.” He glanced at the back of the room, where a contech dived behind a console. Making a casual gesture, Bane muttered, “Thorack nadure.”

  The man shrieked as his droge form was rescinded. A few wisps of grey smoke rose from behind the console, and the crewman’s yells stopped, leaving a deathly hush. The rest of the men shrank back, and two drew their weapons, then thought better of it and holstered them again. Sarjan strode around the console and searched in vain for his crewman before looking up at Bane.

  “He was a droge,” Bane said.

  “He was a damned good contech. He’s worked on this ship for years. Why would he do that?”

  “They long to practise their debauchery and evil amongst the living, and they are the minions of the dark god who gave them their body. They are spies, or instigators, who go amongst the people to spread lies and dissent, or they commit heinous acts that their sponsor enjoys watching.”

  Bane shrugged again. “I am not an authority on droges, since I have never granted a condemned soul a form, nor do I employ them. Mostly, they are given base forms, that have no feeling, and they try to earn a better body that can feel pleasure by committing terrible deeds that please their master. Dark gods seldom grant this, since they enjoy their minions’ misery just as much as they do the pain of the innocent people who suffer at their hands. Still, the false promises drive the droges, although they also enjoy inflicting torture. What they have is a parody of life, but far better than being trapped in the Land of the Dead, so they do whatever they must to earn a droge form.”

  “Why would he live and work as one of us? He did nothing evil.”

  “That you know of. What he did in his private time is anyone’s guess.”

  Sarjan looked around at the rest of the contechs. “Was he the only one here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll believe you if you find me another droge, but this time don’t kill him. I want to examine him.”