Cypher Theorem Series Box Set: Books 1-3, The Zero Class, Shadow Moon, Dragon Fire: A Science Fiction Fantasy

by Mark Brandon Powell

  The hallway is empty.

  “They are working their way behind you.” Solomon says.

  Again gunshots ring down the hallway, but from where he was just hiding.

  Shifting the gathered mana, a flash of blueish white extends from his palm forming a half-dome. Bullets slam up against the shield, ricocheting into the walls.

  Solomon leans over in front of Vargas’ face, blocking his sight of where the John’s are. “Would you like me to help you?”

  “Not now.” Pushing him out of the way just long enough to see Big John’s blazingly red arm slam against the shield, and an explosion releases from his fist.

  Vargas slams into the wall behind him leaving a human sized dent in the stainless steel wall, next to the bullet holes. Blood trickles down the side of his mouth, and he can taste the metallic twinge. He can feel his mana slip away from him, his wings disappearing. Singed walls surround him, as he looks up to see the Johns within a few feet of him.

  Big John has a large smile on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever killed a Paladin before, have I brothers?”

  Little John says in a squeaky voice, “No you haven’t.”

  John agrees, “No, but you’re about to.”

  “Yes I am.”

  Vargas watches as the red glow around his bloody fist boils with rage and energy, his face contorting with it.

  Vargas says, “Help.”

  He opens his eyes to see everything in stopped. Big John’s face grotesquely contorted, and the other brothers faces in a mindless glee. He tries to move his head but he can’t. Solomon steps in front of him.

  “Sorry about how abrupt that was, you only just installed me.”

  “Installed you?”

  “Yes, when you put on the Pilot. Did you not know that would happen?”

  “No, I was just hiding it from those guys.”

  Solomon looks back at the Johns. “Ah, yes. I would rather not be used by them. You seem a more suitable host.”

  “So how is this helping? If you just stopped time, I can’t move either.”

  “I didn’t stop time, I sped up your brain. It just looks like time has stopped, at a glance.”

  “Won’t that fry my brain.”

  “Yes, if we use this too frequently, or for too long, but that won’t be the case. I just need to talk to you, and assess the battle field.”

  “How is that going to help?”

  Solomon got a displeased look across his face. “You will see, but I need you to let me have control of your body, it will only be temporary, till we finish the fight with these three.”

  “Sure, if you think there is something you can do that I couldn’t do. Worse that can happen is I die, which looks pretty close right now.”

  “Excellent!”

  Vargas switches places with Solomon, and stares back at himself. He stands up, and waves his hand out in front of him, across his body. A golden disk appears, receiving the punch and enveloping it, as if he was punching through water. The golden liquid wraps around his arm, with the explosion happening inside, rippling out yet containing it.

  The explosion turns the golden liquid red, falling to the ground, along with the portion of Big John’s arm that was covered.

  Solomon outstretches both of his arms to the side, palms up. Seven golden spheres appear behind him.

  He speaks in a language that Vargas does not know, and then points toward the brothers. Tentacles like strands of goo burst forth from the spheres. They slice through the walls and floor on their way to the Johns, slicing off their arms and legs.

  Vargas turns to look at the brothers, laying on the ground, blood pooling beneath them. Then Solomon switched places with him again. He falls to his knees, exhaustion almost to the point where his vision collapses into a tunnel.

  “Whoa there.” Solomon says. “I knew that magic would take a toll on you, but you’ll be ok. Just breath.”

  “What was that?”

  “The knowledge of Solomon.”

  Vargas gives him an agitated look, “I need to get this gunshot looked at.” He takes a minute to steady himself, and stands. “Guess Maldone’s people stayed away to let me deal with them. I should call them, tell them there are a few in need of medical care.”

  “They won’t die, and the limbs should be spared with magical treatment. I also sent the message to Maldone’s people for you. They should be here shortly.”

  “Good, I guess.”

  “Now then, we should discuss my living arraignment.”

  “Oh, why’s that? I don’t even know what you are.”

  “I am now living inside your brain, but I can’t stay there much longer without permission.”

  “In my head? No, I can’t let you do that. I have to give you back to Maldone, or I’m going to owe him for losing you.”

  A gunshot echo’s through the hallway.

  Vargas falls to his knees, with a hole in his chest.

  Solomon stands over him. “It’s ok, I can help. Just let me help.”

  Vargas tries to speak, but the words won’t leave his lips, and he falls on his side.

  Charles walks up to him on the ground. Dressed neck down in black; jacket, gloves, and boots. The look on his face is inquisitive, looking at the hole in Vargas’ chest, then over to the brothers.

  “It seems as though you have done my dirty work, for that I thank you.” His tone flat, kneeling beside Vargas. “I wanted to show you something before you and I part.” He reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a white mask.

  “Look familiar?”

  It was the same mask as Miku’s killer.

  “Yes, that’s good. You do recognize it. I would say that I will be seeing you again, but I don’t think that will be the case. May your death be quick.”

  Vargas vision begins to collapse into a tunnel, and watches as Charles, putting on the mask, walks away.

  Solomon’s voice carries to his ears, “Just hold on, don’t go into the tunnel.”

  Then it all fades to black.

  A single glow from a display screen lights a silhouette of a lone man, sitting in the darkness. Smaller lights, blink and flutter stacked atop one another. On the screen are images of Vernon, and Marie on their honeymoon. He flicks his fingers at lower right portion of the screen to make the play back go faster. As an image of Dray-Gon appears across the screen, the man quickly readjusts himself in his chair. Tapping the display to stop the video. He activates a second display, to the right of the first, which illuminates the small room, a little more. A small toilet sits beside a stacks of toilet paper in the corner of the room. Next to the toilet is a tall, and skinny refrigerator, with a high polish that reflects the displays light throughout the room.

  On the second display he pulls up images of different dragons, comparing them to the one next to Vernon’s drone. Within a few minutes a match is made. The man rubs at the three day long stubble that had been building on his face, and pulls up yet another screen to send a message. He awaits eagerly for a response, fidgeting back and forth in his swiveling chair. He rewinds the playback to the moment Dray-Gon steps out of the cave, and begins to let the computer transcribe the audio for later analysis. He leans back into his chair, thrumming his fingers on his desk nervously, reading what is transcribed as it comes through. A buzz at the door startles the man back into an upright position.

  As it opens, light shreds into the darkness of the room, making it all visible. A buildup of dirt is across everything that was not a worn path. Of which there were only two, one to the toilet, the other to the fridge. The visuals were mixed with a foul odor, of stale pizza, and if a sports team locker room had heavy use for three months and no one decided to clean it. The man who stands at the door isn't fazed by the disarray, or odor.

  He asks, “What is this report you just sent?”

  The man in the desk chair turns to face the other. Light shows all that darkness once held secret. He is a small, yet overweight middle aged man. A thinning brown hairline combe
d over to one side of his head, detracted the eye from his large black rimmed glasses, which hid his small beady brown eyes.

  He replies, “Yes sir, the drives you received from Paradise Sailing, it seems that he had contact with Dray-Gon, sir. The dragon is also on the move toward us, and may already be close. I would suggest someone look for the wondering forest, as that will be his most likely first stop due to the conversation that Vernon had with him.”

  The man at the door's face is even, and unmoved, he closes his eyes, rubbing his chin. Mulling over what the ramifications will be due to this unforeseen event, calculating which would be his next best option.

  As he opens his eyes he asks, “What was the conversation about, and do you think Vernon will do anything with it?”

  “No sir, he, and his wife both believe it was probably just an attraction of the cruise they had gone on that wasn't finished yet. I do not believe that it will compromise anything. With that said sir, I am more concerned with what Dray-Gon will do if he finds the factories.”

  The man lets out a laugh, “There is nothing to worry about there, he has been gone for far too long from this place to know what that is or where to look. We also already have his son Dray-Gos in our care, which is the only other dragon who knew anything. That old buffoon won’t find anything but our blades if he interferers.”

  “Understood sir, should I send an alert to Dragon Squad to be on the lookout?”

  “No need, he won’t be causing any trouble once he finds the forest, he will be too busy there.” He begins to laugh manically. “Was there anything else to report?”

  “No sir, nothing eventful.”

  “Good, send a full report of everything over to Adonis. He will be Vernon's new commanding officer soon enough, and I want him up to date on everything.”

  “Yes sir, understood.”

  Dragon Fire (Book 3)

  Prologue

  It never gets any easier. It was so avoidable yet these kids kept turning up dead. Kids. This one was probably in his mid to late twenties. Anyone still getting halo checked at night clubs like this, or without the gray overtaking their last bit of color was considered a kid to Vick.

  The coroner lifted the body into the back of the truck, the media packed up their cameras and tripods, and the rest of the squad began taking down the electronic yellow tape. Clearing the repulsion runes to keep the prying eyes of clairvoyants out, at least for a little bit. They couldn't record what they saw but all it took was one blabber mouth to ruin a case. It became increasingly difficult for investigators to know if someone had just a little too much info because they remotely viewed the scene, or if they knew something because they were there. Then there was the media, blasting out information so quick there isn’t time to drive to the scene before getting the details through the HaLO network.

  Vick knew there was still something he was missing. Even if these kids, these young men, were actually ODing on some new super drug they shouldn't be winding up in places like this dirty alley. His body was next to the dumpster but not near the warmth of burning trash barrel. Someone had to have dumped his body there. But why not just put him in the dumpster?

  If someone did dump this body here, they weren't pros or maybe they were in a hurry, but they did want this body found. That's a stupid thing to do because this boy still had his HaLo attached.

  Vick hopped back into his cruiser and headed to the morgue with only one stop planned.

  Stan only liked one thing more than digging into dead bodies, and that was drinking. You can't get sued for malpractice when your patient is already dead. You can't blame a guy that's seen what he's seen. When people say "He's seen it all" about Stan, they aren’t exaggerating. Having earned his doctorate during a warlock uprising only to then have a mafia boss cook up some bad magic drugs. His stories of the uprising always silence the room and sometimes even clear the room.

  Injuries inflicted by magic are vastly different injuries inflicted by weapons. Material weapons were always straightforward and would cause one type of injury, predictable. A cut could run from the average sharp stab to a dull puncture from debris or limb separations would vary. Location on the body would vary, but it was basically a matter of stopping the bleeding, reattaching what was available, and letting healing take place naturally until a qualified healer can come finish up the job.

  Magic injuries are always unpredictable. You have burns, freezes, poisons, and rapid diseases to name a few. But not only that, they come I'm every possible combination imaginable. Burns with unnaturally small entry wounds, frozen air bubbles where there wasn’t air in the first place, and abrasions that looked like industrial sandblasting. It never ended, except with a drink. Or two. No one understood Stan, except for Vick.

  With a pair of fine beers from a local microbrewer in hand, he held them up as Stan’s eyebrow raised, glancing at the godly liquid. Vick didn't even have to verbally ask for a favor anymore.

  "Hey Vick. Your a sight for sore eyes."

  "You mean a sight for bloodshot eyes you drunk bastard."

  "That's Dr. Drunk Bastard to you."

  The two shook hands and Stan eyed his new prize all the way over to a vacant spot in the vast wall of refrigerated containers. All part of the back log Stan still needed to get to, but the occupants didn’t argue at least.

  "Hold this will ya?" Stan said rhetorically as he put the bottle in the cold hands of the latest organ donor.

  "I saw that you were assigned to that sad case over there." Stan said as he made his way to the slab. "I have his halo data compiling now. It should be reviewable in about five to ten more minutes."

  "Thanks Stan. I just can't shake the feeling that there is something else going on with these kids."

  "You mean something more than high school dropouts getting high, and then getting too high?"

  "No I'm serious Stan. Look at his fingernails."

  Stan pulled his bifocals down off of the top of his head and set them on the end of his nose. Why anyone still had glasses this day and age was just a mater of vanity. Vick thought about his graying hair for the same reason.

  Stan picked up the boy's hand and put it under the light. The lines of neon blue where his veins should be going under his fingernails where tiny blue crystals were. His knuckles were gently rolling hills with tributaries of blue leading into streams and then rivers of cobalt that led into a delta that was his fingernails.

  "He has the blue lines going up to his knuckles... tiny crystals forming on his cuticles... all the tell-tale signs of an abuser."

  "That's very true, but you are letting your opinion guide your observation. Look at his nails."

  Stan squinted his eyes a little harder and then it hit him like an unholy rock in the face.

  "These are remarkably well manicured. You are right, this is odd."

  "I bet you don't see that too often from a junkie."

  "No. Not from junkies."

  They both stood there for a minute to pondering the implications when Stan's terminal rang out.

  "There's your halo data now."

  They both headed over to the terminal to see what kind of clues they could glean from the halo.

  "I appreciate you fast tracking these for me."

  "I appreciate the bribes you bring me." Stan said with a smile, jiggling the glass before he takes a deep swig. "With all the cases you've closed, why haven't you made sergeant yet? Or with your age, even captain?"

  Vick gave him a look that said it all.

  "Oh right, right. You are just too good at solving cases, especially ones that shouldn't be solved. And the government is out to keep you down."

  "You sure are a sarcastic drunk. But you need to get it right. It's not the government you know, there is some other force calling the shots."

  "I almost forgot, some mysterious shadow government, out to keep mighty detective Vick Braun down."

  "I didn't say anything about a shadow government. I'm just saying that some things don't add up."
/>   "You are a detective in the Knights service. You are paid to think that things don't add up."

  Vick took control of the terminal and saw the boy's name was Thomas. He wasn't a high school drop out, but a very well accomplished med student. He also had money in the bank. He tithed and from the looks of things had enough money to keep him focused on school and not have to worry about work. He even had a pass for the good trams. This wasn't going to be easy telling his parents. It never got any easier.

  "Thanks Stan. Let me know when you get his location and conversation data."

  "No problem Vick." Stan said solemnly. "Hey, when you crack this one wide open and throw the whole cartel in jail, why don't I buy you a steak dinner?"

  "Thanks Stan. Either a steak or I'll just see you at the dinner at our usual time."

  1

  Sweat drips down the back of his neck as he tries to get his eyes to focus. He isn’t sure where he is, but there is this lingering feeling that he’s been there before. The scent of burning leaves and trees fills the air around him. The smoke is dense enough to cut through, making it difficult to get his barring.

  A whisper off in the smoke calls out. "Vernon. Help."

  This brings him back to his senses. The sky is set ablaze. Smoke clears away to a molten pool cooling below a human figure, which looks as though the sky is holding him up by his back. Beady red eyes shine like pinpoints set within a skull of fire and lightning, softly illuminating the figure’s charcoal colored skin.

  It screams, "You are nothing to me! I am Adonis, you pathetic excuse for a Paladin. Prepare to die."

  With less than a second to react, Vernon opens a mental door within his chest, gathering light into a ball in the palm of his hand. Adonis has his grip around the molten clouds. They writhe in the palm of his hand, trying to break free. In mid-swing Vernon releases the ball, like a bullet from a gun. It cuts through the clouds, hitting the dead center of Adonis’ chest. It pierces though the hard carapace of molten goo covering his skin. The red lights in his eyes fade as the clouds and heat vanish with a puff.