The God Mars Book Five: Onryo

by Michael Rizzo

  He tried to take my legs out from under me and then almost turned my lights out with a hit to the head as I staggered. I got stupidly brilliant and grabbed his Staff with my left hand—I felt the shock all the way up to my shoulder, my teeth—and I stabbed through his guard. He managed to twist enough that I only got him through the left shoulder, but I wrenched the Blade deep in his meat for all I was worth, made him fucking scream. Then as he over-reacted high, I wove around his weapon and hacked him in the left hip—right where he’d abused Murphy’s wound—and bit into bone.

  He levered his Staff against me and used it to throw himself down the slope, tumbling and rolling and bouncing over boulders, anything to get away from me, to run away.

  I didn’t give him any quarter. I bounded down the slope and leapt on him. He barely had time to roll over face-up to block me, but I got my Blade into his left eye socket before he could deflect it. This made him howl for me again. He tried to hit me, but I just started hacking, giving into my rage, chopping my weapon over and over again into his. Through the arc-flare and the ozone-laced smoke, I could see his Staff start to “come apart”, losing cohesion with each blow and trying to re-form before the next.

  I just kept hacking. In desperation, he blew a massive discharge between us. I could feel the skin of my face sear and current sputtered through me, knocking me clear. But as he staggered to his feet, it was clear he’d all but drained himself.

  I fought myself up through numb uncooperative muscles and snowy vision, my uniform smoking as the camouflage stuttered between the hard default pattern and matching the backgrounds, and with one last scream and two-handed hack I smashed the Staff from his grip.

  It clattered in the rocks just up-slope, and we both dashed for it as he whimpered like a terrified child. I was faster. And while I held him off with my Blade, I kick-flipped his weapon up into my free hand, and felt…

  I don’t know. It was like the two Companions joined, synced, but through my body. I could feel the new one splice into whatever tech runs through my brain. And for I don’t know how many seconds, I could see through Harris’ eyes as it downloaded what it had stored. All of his atrocities, including ordering the murder of his former comrade Peter Nagasawa, his wife and little girl. They shot the little girl right in front of her parents…

  I was overwhelmed. He had hurt so many people so callously. I had a full record of his atrocities spinning in my head. I was sick… Screaming… My only comfort was that the memory files didn’t include emotion—his sick glee in doing these horrible, vicious acts.

  I’d lost track of time, I realized, of reality. When I came back to the moment, back to the battlefield, the Staff was morphing in my hand, a living liquid. It shaped itself into a near-copy of my Blade—the only real difference was in how it felt. The power that coursed through it was palpably lesser than mine, but now this was mine too. And what more could I do with two such swords?

  Harris was gone. His blood was on the rocks, but he was gone. It took me a moment to find him. He’d run back up the slope, desperately scrambling like he was trying to get to something.

  I followed him eagerly, noticing as I climbed that the remaining Harvesters were holding back, had stalled in their advance. Maybe they were trying to avoid me, because I was between them and the Katar. The Katar were trying to retreat east, keeping low to avoid the Harvesters’ fire.

  Harris arrived at his target just as I recognized what he was seeking: Ambassador Murphy’s body. Or specifically, his revolver, the only weapon handy that might be capable of seriously hurting me.

  He found the gun in the rocks where it had fallen, and, before I could close on him, managed to dig a full loader out of Murphy’s belts and—with his hands trembling and fumbling—charged the cylinder.

  He aimed the first shot at me, but I was more than ready for it. I dodged the shell easily, letting it explode somewhere behind me down-slope. So, understanding his situation, he turned the weapon and aimed it at the retreating Katar, glaring at me with his remaining eye to make his intention clear.

  I necessarily hesitated, partially lowering my swords to see what he would do next. His priority being escape, he began edging across the slope to the west, back toward the Harvester force, as if that would be any haven. But then, he was short on options. (I’m surprised he didn’t demand I give him his Companion back, but the look in my eyes probably made my answer clear without asking.)

  I let him proceed, knowing he couldn’t possibly outrun me, and the further away from the Katar he got, the harder it would be to maintain his threat, even with his aim enhanced by whatever remained of his Mods. Mine steadily weakened when he’d separated me from my Blade, but I was still able to heal from his “tests” for all of those days in that cage, so I had to assume he was still physically enhanced. However, I was also hoping the physical damage I’d done to him was depleting both his nanites and his resources. And without his Companion, he had no means to replenish himself. He might well die of his wounds if given the time, but I wasn’t about to give him any more time.

  I did take the time as he limped away from me to quickly assess the larger situation. Some of the retreating Katar looked like they were nursing wounds, possibly dart wounds, but I couldn’t tell from a distance. The Harvesters had been whittled down to twelve visible drones, though more might still be hidden in the growth. Fohat was still sprawled where he’d fallen, head blown away above the jaw and brainstem, his body twitching unnervingly, like it might actually try to get up. His “war hammer” was still clenched in a gauntleted fist, as if he’d been hoping to do some slaughtering himself before he was neutralized. It scraped the rocks as he continued to spasm.

  And Terina was still actively fencing with Asmodeus, as if there was nothing else happening. Terina was still holding her own, still putting up an impressive fight, but I still got the clear impression that Asmodeus was holding back, toying with her, and thoroughly enjoying himself.

  “ASMODEUS!!” Harris screamed. “Help me!!”

  “Fuck you, Gandalf,” Asmodeus answered him without even looking, like Harris was no more than an annoying interruption to his fun game.

  “ASMODEUS!!” Harris kept trying.

  “You’ve got not one fucking thing I want…” he tried to convince Harris as Terina tried to take advantage of the distraction by increasing the tenacity of her attacks. “Even if you had girl-parts… you’re just too goddamn ugly to fuck…”

  I could see Harris process his doomed situation across his mangled face, trying to think his way out of it through his panic. I saw his solution click, and in a flash, he turned the revolver. I was too far away. Too slow.

  One shot. Apparently he still had enough of his Modded abilities to make it count. By the time I turned to look… I’d almost hoped he’d decided to shoot Asmodeus, to give us something that might be worth sparing his worthless life…

  The blast of the HE round initially obscured my view, but I knew what had happened in my gut. When I could see, Asmodeus had blood sprayed all over his face, all over his pretty gold armor, staring for a moment in dumb shock…

  Terina’s head… Her body stayed up for a moment, as if trying to continue the fight. Then she fell over on top of her Companion at Asmodeus’ feet, while Asmodeus looked down at her body like someone had just shit on his dinner.

  I think I screamed some… unintelligible… stream of obscenities… And… I guess I decided the most reasonable response was to give Harris his Companion back. So I threw it. Right through his fucking solar plexus.

  Then I advanced on him to finish the job properly, finally, while he clutched at the Blade stuck through him like he could repossess it, slicing his fingers to the bone. My own Blade was still linked to it, perhaps irrevocably, locking him out.

  If I just put my hand on the hilt, it would start sucking him dry. But I didn’t want any part of that fuck becoming part of me.

  I was thinking of so many things to do to him when I heard the engines of the flyers
, turned and saw Erickson Carter and Jonathan Dra… Strike that last… Saw Erickson Carter and the Onryō coming at us fast from the east.

  Even from where I was, even over the sound of the engines, I could hear him screaming in senseless, helpless rage.

  Chapter 8: End in Fire

  I am only half-a-klick away when I see it happen.

  I zoomed my vision as soon as we had sight-line, watched as Straker and the Katar fought back the massive Harvester advance, while Terina impressively engaged Chang.

  I was three klicks away when I saw Thel kill Ambassador Murphy, and Straker try to avenge him. Erickson saw it, too. But our flyers would go no faster. They were already burning their fuel cells dry because we were pushing them so hard—we might actually crash before we reached the fight, and the only reason I cared about that was how much more it would delay us getting there.

  So I watched while Straker took revenge, battered and hacked and stabbed Thel, then managed to take his Companion from him. But taking his Companion did something to her, made her lock up, and her feed was a blast of gibberish when I tried to link to her through Peter.

  “She’s syncing with it!” Erickson assured me, cheering like we’d just won a small victory. But while she was frozen, Thel ran, ran and climbed and crawled back to where he’d killed Murphy. He grabbed Murphy’s revolver and tried to shoot Straker as she unlocked and went after him, now with two Blades instead of one. When he missed, he pointed the gun at the Katar, but didn’t shoot. I could almost hear him shouting something as he tried to get away from Straker, but I couldn’t hear what it was over the wind and the engine blast, not even with enhancement. Maybe he was begging for mercy.

  But then he turned and shot Terina.

  All I could do was watch, still just too far away, too many seconds too late.

  He blew her fucking head apart. He killed her. She probably never saw it coming.

  All I am is rage. Not Peter’s. Mine.

  He’s mine.

  I take manual control and dive in for what I’m sure isn’t going to be a landing when Straker throws one of her Blades and sticks it right through Thel’s midsection. And all I can think is “Not yet,” because I want to do it myself, I need to do it myself.

  I bring the flyer down just over the rocks like I’m going to crash it straight into Thel, then hit the braking jets. Inertia tries to throw me off, and I go with it, jump.

  I’m flying right at him as he turns and looks at me with the Blade still through him, one of his eyes gouged out. I land short a few meters and roll, aim myself, and hit him with my body mass. I hear his bones break against my armor as we both go tumbling across the slope. But I also get beaten by boulders, feel joints dislocate, feel my spine pop. I don’t care.

  When I stop tumbling, I drag myself up, pop my joints back in place, and move through the pain. I don’t care about the pain.

  I find Thel on his back wedged in a rut between two big rocks. The Blade sticking through him is now leaning over sideways as it had ripped through most of his insides as he flew and rolled. He’s a mess of blood and meat and guts and one eye that tries to look at me but he looks like he’s passing out. I’m not going to let him pass out on me.

  I stagger over—still putting myself back together—and pull the Blade out of his torso. It fights me, shocks me, tries to get inside me through my gloved hand, but I just discard it, toss it away in the rocks. Then I drop down on top of Thel. I feel his arms break and grind under my knees.

  He’s mouthing something, choking weakly on blood. Begging or cursing me, I don’t care. I don’t care. He looks up at me with his one eye like he wants to plead with me, wants to say he’s sorry or please don’t hurt him please don’t kill him. I answer him by driving my thumbs through both his eye sockets, driving deep, snapping through thin bone into his head. He can only rasp his scream. His body jerks and bucks and struggles under me. Helpless.

  I realize Straker is standing over me, watching. She doesn’t try to stop me. She doesn’t say anything. She just wants to see it.

  I don’t drain him. I pick up his head a few centimeters and then smash it down on the rocks, but delicately, surgically, just to break his skull open. Then I pull my thumbs out of his eyes, look into the eyeless sockets. His mouth isn’t moving anymore. I bring the palm of my hand down on his forehead, just a smack, and then another, to finish breaking apart his skull. I want him to feel his mind go, not all at once, not instant oblivion, but piece at a time. I drive my fingers into the shattered mess, into his brain, and I knead it like dough. And when I’m sure I’ve destroyed everything he was, I use my palm to smash down and splatter apart what remains. Then I pick up scoops of it and throw them across the slope.

  “YYEEESSS!!!” I hear a sick cheer. Asmodeus is coming toward me, clapping his gloved hands, his collapsed spear wedged under his armpit, looking at me like a proud father. There’s blood and bits of what’s probably bone and brain sprayed all over the front of him. I know it’s Terina. I can see it slowing being absorbed into him, and that alone makes me angry—he has no right to any of her.

  “You were right,” I tell him softly, my hands covered in blood and brain. “I do like the slaughter. Way too much.”

  Then I get up and draw my Nagamaki to face him.

  “Not a smart idea, Skeletor,” he tries warning me like he’s not afraid. “The body double you hacked up back on the ‘Cloud Two was a D-Model. ‘D’ as in ‘Decoy.’ ‘Distraction.’ ‘Discount.’ ‘Disposable.’ You get it. This is a Premium. All the upgrades.”

  He’s telling me this isn’t really him, that I’m facing another copy.

  “He used a clone-double on the Stormcloud,” I tell Straker when I catch her looking confused. She’s circled to Asmodeus’ left, picked up Thel’s former Companion. Erickson is coming up on Asmodeus’ right, up-slope, his own Blade ready.

  “And what was he?” Straker gestures to where I see another gold-armored body sprawled on the valley floor, headless, twitching. But its cloak is white, not red.

  “No, not a copy,” Asmodeus admits like it isn’t important. “That was actually Fuckhead, the One and Only. The Great and Powerful. Fuckhead. That’s what I call him. Term of Endearment, really. But he was. Insisted on coming in person to run the toys. I think he wanted to get a little bloody himself, tired of doing it by remote-control. I suppose I’ll have to call him Fuck-No-Head until it grows back. No-Fuck-Head? Fuck-Headless?”

  It’s all just a joke to him. All the death.

  He sees us semi-surrounding him, getting ready to attack. (I notice Straker keeps her Blades down, not wanting to repeat the mistake of holding a guard up to him.) But all he does is chuckle at us.

  “Okay. Let’s make this more interesting…” He hits a sequence of hidden buttons on his spear shaft. I sense a surge in heat and particle radiation. “Back when I used to play VR games there were these things called ‘timed levels.’ I hated those. You had to complete your mission against a countdown, or else ‘boom,’ game over.” He shows us the spear. “Bel pulled this trick once on Chang. I saw it coming—I warned him—but he still got his bow blown off. The core materials that power these devices can be enriched until they become fissile. Add a shaped-charge to start the chain reaction… We used to call a bomb this size a ‘suitcase nuke.’ Not much yield at all compared to a thermonuclear device, or even a tactical warhead. Not even as much as the one Bel made—his was an implosion core, this one is linear. Simpler. Lower yield but enough to blast and burn… well, about half-a-klick radius. Assuming I did the math right. And then there’s the radiation… I just set the timer for three minutes. A standard boxing round. Ding.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Erickson hopes.

  “Wait two minutes and fifty seven seconds and find out. Like I said, I may have fucked up the math. Of course, if I didn’t, you won’t really know what hit you. Only Skeletor here will grow back. Maybe.”

  “And you?” Straker dares. “Shouldn’t you be running?”
/>   “I’m just a copy,” he insists easily. “Everything I am, uploaded home. That’s all any of us are, you know. Your consciousness is a phenomenon of your meat brain. It only exists in the current moment. You only know you’re you, have any sense that you’re a contiguous existence, because of your memories. And mine are just made up. Maybe yours are, too. But mine don’t even feel real—it’s more like I’m watching a documentary. Two minutes, forty seconds. You can either try to kick my ass and take the spear, or try to get the mortal meat to cover before zero.” He nods up at the Katar line. “Two minutes thirty-five.”

  Straker looks like she wants to explode. Stuffing her rage, she barks at us “Come on!” and runs for the Katar as fast as she can. Erickson reluctantly follows.

  I look at Terina’s body, then at Asmodeus. I pull aside my mask so he can see the look on my face. It just makes the fucker happy.

  I charge in, all righteous anger, Nagamaki against spear, and he shows me a little of how good he is. He dances away from me effortlessly, and with quick darting thrusts puts wounds in my thighs, my forearms, my face below my left eye. All I can do is keep him moving. I can’t reach him, land a blow. So I try leverage, momentum, try to slam the spear out of his grip, maybe destroy the warhead inside, but he won’t let me.

  “You’re doing better than she did,” he gives me.

  “Shut up!!” I spit at him.

  “I didn’t want her dead, kid. I thought she was hot. Really hot. Did you two ever…?”

  “Shut up! Shut up!!”

  I try a play, get my Nagamaki wrapped up with his spear, press in close and grab the shaft. He charges it to try to burn me off, but I don’t let go. Then I let go of the Nagamaki, and before it can fall, draw my revolver and empty it into him, going for the gaps in his armor. I aim the last two rounds at his head, up under his chin, but he twists and dodges them by millimeters. Then he throws me off of him, laughing. But he’s favoring his left side now. I did him some damage.