Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  The Inquisitor nodded. “It is indeed troubling, for I can think of no other cause for the horrific brutality we have seen firsthand than to assume that Lilith’s brood was never entirely eradicated, that Symbiote 271 failed to complete even the most elementary of assignments, and now that Plague Queen and her brood seek to overrun these facilities yet again.”

  His gaze hardened. “You must cycle fresh clones immediately, Malus! If the infestation gets out of hand and we are forced to beg the High Council for aid, the fallout will not be pretty.”

  Malus de Farreach glared at his son. “Your latest charge was a failure on all possible fronts!” he barked. “You have much to atone for, Michaelmas.”

  Mitch clenched his shaking fists. “Permission to aid in the hunt, Father.”

  Malus pinned his son with his ice-cold gaze. "Don’t be a fool, Michaelmas. We wait for the contingent to escort us back down to the laboratory and we cycle free Symbiote 272 as we have already discussed.”

  Inquisitor Mordillin nodded. "Our Ego Crushes used in tandem should be sufficient to take out even a Tier 7 plague queen, should one dare to interfere. Once the clone is cycled free, we shall proceed with all due haste to my personal demesne, with all Johnathan Farreach memtapes and records as well.” He flashed a cold smile at the hard glares mirrored by father and son.

  “Come now, gentlemen, it is as we have agreed. Should your operations ever exceed agreed-upon parameters, the Mordillin clan shall assume complete responsibility for all further symbiote conditioning and have full rights to all research and patents previously established. In return, you may rest assured that your clan will be absolved of all possible transgressions and so-called war crimes committed in the lawful pursuit of your research. Best of all, you will be free to focus on whatever avenues of study interest you, even as you enjoy a generous portion of the proceeds from our shared venture, utterly absolved of all administrative headaches from this day forward."

  He flashed a sympathetic smile that did not touch his cold blue eyes. “And fear not. You will find me a most accommodating partner. Once we’re able to mass produce the Symbiote 270’s, I shall assure that you receive a full share of what will be most lucrative profits in the years to come. So you see, gentlemen? We all win.” His eyes suddenly brightened. “I feel my men approaching. Rejoice, my venture partners. We shall soon be relaxing in comfort and safety within my personal villa.”

  He then turned to the door, confident smile slipping from his face when bloodcurdling screams could be heard from the other side.

  Then nothing at all.

  Mitch paled. “He’s here. John’s here!”

  “Silence, Michaelmas!” his father barked, activating his Psiblade. Mitch paled and stepped back, earning a contemptuous shake of his father’s head. “Yet again, you disappoint me and dishonor the memory of your mother. Your breeding is impeccable, and those Symbiotes not even worthy of a true name are naught but the results of seeds planted in arcane soil. After all the conditioning we gave it to adore you, how can you possibly fear it now? Its head was removed! 271 was pain-vatted for its failures! Are you truly such a coward as to fear the ghost of your brother, or do you have reservations like your earlier models?”

  Hot red eyes froze Mitch where he stood. “You already know what we did to those who dared to oppose my will. Now quit acting the cowardly fool. Do you truly think any horror is a match for a true Highlord with Psiblade in hand?”

  Mitch squeezed clenched fists. “Even in death, that bastard mocks me.”

  “You mock yourself,” his father snapped. “Now go answer that door!”

  Stealth Modified +5 due to Dream Shift as you gaze down upon your targets! For what is gravity to a dream? Just one dimension away! Good thing they don’t sense your presence. Oh wait, there’s Mitch, turning around right now!

  You have successfully activated Blink Step!

  Inquisitor Mordillin has been critically hit with Dwarven Blade! Right arm cleaved free!

  Inquisitor Stunned!

  Quickness check made! Finesse check made!

  Mind Castle Successfully Counters Ego Whip!

  You have taken 20 Health and 0 Stamina from Ego Whip!

  You have successfully blinked back to the third floor!

  You have saved versus death!

  In a heartbeat, he was there, right behind the smirking Inquisitor who thought he had so mastered the pair of high-strung lords, both he and Malus with Psiblades at the ready, happy to use Mitch as bait to open the door.

  A bemused Mordillin couldn’t help but approve of the sire’s quick shaming of his son so as to better manipulate him to play the sacrificial lamb, in case only death awaited on the other side of the door he now opened.

  Mordillin’s eyes widened as he sensed the story of his thoughts echo within the mind of another.

  Before hideous pain tore through him, wondering why he had stumbled to his knees, the sensation of warm water soaking his attire before he realized it was his own spurting blood, his right arm holding a now inert Psiblade still on the ground.

  “He’s here! He’s here! Strike! Strike now!” Lord Farreach roared, and Mordillin could taste Symbiote 271’s cold smile crawling in the back of his mind. Impossible! His head was put in a pain vat! I tasted his screams! Even as a too-fast hand snatched the Psiblade free of his fallen limb, the inquisitor’s eyes suddenly tearing with pain, and when he blinked again, their nemesis was already gone.

  And who was that fool screaming like a violated wench? Ah. Of course, Mordillin thought, knowing their enemy was still burrowing within his mind. The pathetic fool screaming like a violated wench was himself.

  Hunter’s Sense in effect! With ear pressed against floorboards, you can hear your dear father perfectly well! You can even smell their fear. And you can now visualize them perfectly upon a board only you can see. Psi-sense is now Rank 2!

  John flashed a cold smile as his enemies panicked below. He gazed curiously at the exotic weapon in his hand. He had heard tales (the memory of a symbiote from long before) of just how deadly these tools could be. That to even let the crackling blade caress your skin would instantly crater it with a 1-inch deep hole. And sloppy form could kill you in ways even the sharpest steel never could.

  He knew he should be feeling a sick sort of dread at the violent rod of death he eagerly sought to activate, but all he felt was a giddy sense of anticipation.

  He had lost many things this night. Compassion, temperance, the ability to view the world through any lens that didn’t include the memory of hideous pain, absolute betrayal, and the haunted gazes of one girl after another that he could have loved dying before him, and he helpless to do a damned thing to save them.

  But he had gained many bittersweet rewards as well. Hideous power, the ability to cut down his foes without a lick of hesitation or regret, and a growing hunger to butcher every Highlord that dared to mock Jordia’s sacred surface with their vile, treacherous, serpentine presence. Most of all, he now had a complete disregard, disdain even, for his own safety.

  Death? The horrors he had endured transcended simple death like it was the gentlest of dreams. A dream that would end with him awakening in Arcadia, a land of endless blue seas, glorious heavens, and ancient forests rich with the most exotic wonders and gentle spirits filled with love for their Champion. He suspected that rebirth alone would heal the hideous wounds to his soul. Wounds that screamed even now for the blood of his enemies.

  The blood of a brother he had once loved with all his heart.

  John cast aside the now inert Psiblade that refused to work no matter how he tried to call forth its power, deactivated no doubt when he had jumped through shadow and dream. It seemed Faerie Magic didn't normally affect technology unless it or the individuals using said tech were the direct beneficiaries of that magic.

  So be it. The tungsten-edged blade so useful for dismembering horrors and soldiers alike, now strapped to his back in its specialized sheath, and the dwarven sword with an ed
ge that hummed and vibrated a bright blue when fed Psions would be the tools he would use.

  But first he would savor the growing panic and fear of his prey and set his plan in motion, knowing the night would not end before his ultimate target fled back to his nest, wherein a new link between Jordia and Arcadia would be forged.

  “He’s here!” Mitch shouted, his voice resonating with fear and vindication. “I told you he was here, Father. I told you!”

  The crack of a gloved fist smacking flesh could be heard once more.

  Mitch’s cry brought a hard smile to John’s lips.

  “Silence! The inquisitor has been struck most foully from behind. Now tighten the compress. We need to move, now!”

  The inquisitor groaned. “Your plan is… acceptable, Highlord Farreach. Head to the velimobiles with all haste. We can retrieve Symbiote 272 and my Psiblade later. I trust you never taught those creatures how to use our most prized weapons?”

  “Absolutely not, Lord Mordillin.” John could sense his father’s hot probing gaze and Mitch’s fearful shudder even a floor away. “Only once did Mitch grow so fond of his pet that he dared to defy me. A mistake the models that followed never dared to make again. Isn’t that right, Michaelmas?”

  “But what about… Yes, Father. You are correct. I detest that foul version of myself and the symbiotes even more than you! The pain vat was the least of what he deserved.”

  His father snorted. “The pain vat is what both you fools deserve. Flawed constructs, the pair of you! But you, at least, serve to the best of your limited abilities, Michaelmas, so have earned a modicum of mercy. If it wasn’t for the fact that only one incarnation can be present in any location at a time, I would have kept both your heads in pain vats as a lesson to all who came after! Enough of this. Help assist our… business partner to the velimobiles.”

  “Yes, Father,” Mitch replied, and John could taste his fear even from here.

  "Very good, lad," wheezed Inquisitor Mordillin. "Once we've returned to my estates, we can plan our counter-strike at our leisure. Should our research come to fruition and replication without discordant resonances prove feasible, we will be able to field an army of 270s with slave-collars around all their necks, and we shall end the Plague Queen scourge once and for all!”

  “And have a mercenary army the Contenders would pay a fortune to have fighting on their sides,” said Mitch.

  “Exactly. But we both know there is only one Highlord whose claim we support, and the head of the High Council has assured me that we shall be richly rewarded indeed, should we manage to pull the feat off! Best of all for you, you shall earn the right to stand tall as a real citizen at last, your future clones relegated to the duty of looking after the symbiotes you so clearly despise. Now come, lad. No more time to waste!”

  “Truly?” It sickened John to sense his brother’s sharp sense of desperate hope. “Father, you never told me...”

  “Because I did not yet find you worthy!” His father roared, before forcing himself to calmness. “But yes. Should you do your part to assure our safety this night, should the counter-resonance helms work as designed, you will have at last earned the right to be declared my son.”

  “I won’t let you down, Father,” Mitch reverentially declared.

  “Then cease your prattle and aid Mordillin! I shall guard our flank,” his father said.

  “At once, Father.”

  Stealth check successful! + 10 for being two floors up, Hunter’s Sense and Psi-sense effortlessly tracking your prey!

  But John was no fool, and neither was the monster that so enjoyed tormenting his offspring. He could sense his father’s probing mind, for all that he should be able to safely strike.

  Waiting for the perfect time to make his move.

  Stealth check failed! Despite your +10 bonus, your father is sneakier still!

  You have been struck by Ego Crush. Only 30 Damage taken! Save versus distraction made!

  Your father strikes back!

  “I sense you!” Malus roared, burning gaze searing through the darkness, Psiblade lashing out in a perfect spinning cleave that would have cut John in half.

  Had he not Blink Stepped 30 feet back, smiling at his father’s surprise, bracing himself against the blast of Psionic energies and hot caustic hate washing over and past his Psionic Castle as he tossed his father the cruelest of gifts.

  Insight gained! He had realized with the last attack that so much of mental defense was perception based. Instead of perceiving his defenses as a resolute wall that enemy attacks could pound and eventually destroy, he now saw his psionic shield as a sleek, impossibly resilient craft bobbing in the sea of psionic potency all around them, effortlessly cutting through waves that could pound entire cities to oblivion.

  He smiled at his father’s confused expression, the man only then looking down at the burs now by his feet.

  “Vinea Sanguine!” John roared.

  Malus’s eyes widened with horror as vines covered in leaves and thorns that were now as hard and sharp as spring steel blades wrapped deadly tendrils about his limbs. He struggled to free his Psiblade-wielding arm sufficient to cleave through the deadly trap, but even jerking his arm sent a dozen leaves and thorns tearing into his flesh in a sudden spray of blood.

  “Michaelmas! Help me!” their father cried, sounding vulnerable for the first time John could ever recall.

  Mitch stiffened.

  “You will do no such thing!” the inquisitor suddenly roared, eyes filled with glittering panic and desperate calculation. “To stay here is death, and will play into our enemy’s trap. Your father has served us well, but it is death for us to stay, and without my Psiblade there is nothing we can do against vines of steel!

  “You will take me to my vehicle at once. And in reward for your service, I shall declare you my second. Do you understand, Michaelmas Farreach? My second! No one will dare to disrespect you, abuse you, or call you anything other than worthy. You will never have to fear torture again. You will never have to fear dying at your father’s hands again! I swear this to you, Michaelmas. Do you understand? Here and now, I give you my oath!”

  Michaelmas's eyes widened with impossible hope. “You would accept me?”

  “Of course, you fool. Now go! Let the horror torment his father. Our only duty is to survive! Move, lad, move!”

  Malus’s eyes widened with horrified disbelief. “No, Michaelmas. Your father needs you, do you understand? This is your redemption. For all your failures, here is where you prove your worth.” His voice turned desperate, seeing his son’s cold glare. “Please, Michaelmas. Please don’t leave me to that thing!”

  All traces of sycophancy fled. The boy who had been so eager to please his sire just a short time ago shifted to the cold-eyed gaze of a son who had nothing but contempt for the desperately pleading father he had admired and feared for far too long.

  “No, Father.” Mitch trembled as he said it, shaking his head, speaking with resolve. “NO!” he shouted, turning his back at last on the man now pleading for his help, as John somehow knew Mitch had secretly dreamed he would do for so many years…

  But now it was late.

  Far, far too late.

  “We will return with reinforcements as soon as we can,” Mitch’s final cold words as his father shrieked his despair, panicked tears leaking free of his eyes at last.

  “No! No, Michaelmas Farreach! You will stay, do hear me? You will obey your father and stay!” He heaved a sob. “Don’t you understand, boy? I was only trying to make you strong. Make you worthy! Make you worthy of the woman who died carrying you to term. Don’t you see, Mitch? I needed you to prove yourself! To transcend pain and death in ways your mother never could! And I had at last thought you worthy of carrying my name. Of being my son!”

  His lonely plea echoed through empty corridors.

  Mitch was already gone.

  For long moments John waited as his father oscillated between quiet sobs and furious screams as he desperately
sought to free himself from the razor-sharp vines of steel lacerating his flesh, blood slowly pooling at his feet, Psiblade at last slipping free of his exhausted hand, clattering uselessly to the ground.

  “You have won, Johnathan Farreach. Do you understand? You have won!” Malus sobbed.

  The Highlord gasped when a powerful hand suddenly grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back to gaze into John’s furious eyes.

  “It’s Johnathan Everwood, you motherfucker!” John spat in his father’s face. “I would bear your name like a curse! Would that I could purge your blood from my veins, you monstrous piece of shit! And won? Won? You stupid asinine piece of psychotic filth, I have only begun to fight!”

  Eyes filled with madness peered into trembling orbs of gold. “Do you like what you have forged, Father? Does it please you?”

  John's discordant laughter rang through the manor, his Psi-sense making it clear that all its other inhabitants had long since fled. "Your idealistic son that could never hurt an in-game NPC has been forged into the creature I swore I'd never become. A monster just like you! And do you know what, Father? I have only begun my reign of blood. Only begun the killing!"

  John felt a furious jolt of satisfaction as his father’s eyes widened with fear. Before the man’s gaze hardened with scathing contempt.

  Your father has struck with Ego Crush!

  Evolving Castle holds! You have suffered 30 Damage! Bonus to critical save! Your mind deflects all risks of cerebral hemorrhage!

  John smiled into his father’s terrified gaze.

  “No. You were taught nothing. Nothing! How dare you defy me! You will free me at once, Johnathan Farreach. Free me if you ever hope to be counted as my son!”

  John’s gaze grew cold as ice. “I found him.”

  His father paled. “Impossible.”

  John squeezed his fist. “Murdered, along with several of the house guards while training in the wee hours of the night. He was cut down with a Psiblade, at the one time when you could be sure he'd have nothing but training weapons on him. If we had just stuck together... but he was so damned eager to ready himself for the adventures we were going to share, desperate to start his life over, just like I was.”