"Tough shit.” Scrornuck yanked the release lever and leaped headfirst for the train's rearmost car. “Hang on!"
The Black Dragon left the loading platform and plunged straight down, spiraling as it fell more than two thirds of the way to the tower's floor. Then it made a gut-wrenching turn, passed through three tight loops, and came within inches of the floor before heading back up. As the car rocketed upward, Scrornuck saw tendrils of purple lightning ripping holes in the ceiling. The ride flipped over and plunged downward, its steelwork screeching and clanging as the Orb's energies tore at its upper supports. Pieces of plaster and foam, some of them smoldering, peppered the coaster as it grazed the floor and shot upward.
A loud shriek, a hard bump—and for an instant the car was airborne. Scrornuck suffered a moment of near-panic before they landed on the track with a hard thud. This thing's a masterpiece, he thought, realizing that the free flight was part of the ride.
The train went over the top of a loop, upside down and only a few feet from the seething mass of lightning that tore at the track's upper supports. As the coaster began another stomach-churning dive, a huge chunk of steel truss collapsed, clanging against the ride's framework and missing the car by inches.
As the track dropped toward a steeply banked turn-and-loop before veering back upward, Scrornuck decided it was time to get off. He ripped up the car's plastic floor, hoping against hope that the Black Dragon would be one of the few coasters with emergency brakes built into the cars rather than the track. There! He found a cable, and yanked with all his strength. The wheels shrieked, sparks flew, and the train came to a halt at the bottom of the turn, tilted at an absurd angle, still twenty feet above the floor.
Scrornuck found Jape leaning over the side of the first car, upchucking violently. “Sorry,” he said between heaves. “I told you I hate these things.” As another huge chunk of steel crashed to the floor, Scrornuck threw Jape over his shoulder and jumped, landing so easily that he wondered if he even needed his boots.
He ran, four steps at a time, down the grand staircase to the lower level pavilion. Plastic tiles rained from the ceiling as he sprinted across the stage and down to the rubble-strewn floor. Moments later, as he reached the exit, the roller coaster's main support column crashed through the ceiling and obliterated the stage.
Scrornuck set Jape down, and they stepped cautiously from the chaos of the central tower into silence and near-darkness. The castle courtyard was littered with hundreds of bodies, the remains of Draggott's army, and a dozen or more thin strands of the Orb's lightning moved methodically among them as if looking for something. Scrornuck and Jape watched as one found its target, a body that looked more asleep than dead. The strand brightened and thickened, surrounding the body in a pale, cold blue fire. In seconds the dead man shriveled into little more than dust, and the strand snapped up into the darkness.
They crossed the peculiar graveyard in silence, stepping between the bodies, giving a wide berth to the searching strands. As they reached the second ring of towers, the last row of the dead, a strand dropped from above and touched Jape's shoulder. He jumped, and Scrornuck instinctively slashed off the end of the violet tendril with a clawed fingertip. He felt a shock as the remainder of the strand snapped back toward the Orb, and the cut-off part dissolved into powder. An instant later, the other strands snapped upward, and something near the top of the tower rumbled ominously.
"Run!” Jape cried. Scrornuck risked a look over his shoulder, and saw a brilliant blue-white column punch down from the Orb, straight into the great tower. For an instant, light shone from the many gaps and holes in the wall. Then the tower split open, top to bottom, and a sheet of violet flame blasted across the courtyard. Slowly, almost gracefully, the smaller towers toppled inward, their flying buttresses first falling, then writhing upward like snakes attempting to strike the source of their pain. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of lightning-bolts poured from the Orb, tearing at what remained of the castle. Scrornuck grabbed Jape and ran, leaping over the debris of the gate and sprinting toward the drawbridge, as a great explosion lifted the floor beneath them and threw them headlong into the moat.
Wet and dirty, they scrambled up the sandy embankment, into the bright light of early afternoon. The Orb floated at the middle of a great purple-black bruise in the sky, surrounded by crackling bolts of lightning. Strands of energy shot down from the Orb, blasted apart the castle's walls, and snapped back up like some kind of insane yo-yo.
"Well,” Scrornuck panted as they reached the skimmer, “what now?"
Jape unrolled the softscroll on the vehicle's fender and stared at the graphs and pictures. “I don't know—I think our weapons will just make it madder."
"Even this thing?” Scrornuck hoisted a shoulder-fired energy cannon.
"Even that.” Jape gazed intently at his rings—and stopped, whistling softly. “Would you look at that..."
"What?"
Jape held up the ring. It was still jet black—but at its very center a tiny spark of green flickered, surrounded by bands of blue and silver. “It almost looks like there's a fight going on in there..."
"A fight?” Scrornuck stared at the ring, and then gazed up at the Orb. “A fight! She's still alive!" Suddenly, he understood the meaning of the words that had come to him in response to his prayer: Your battle's not finished yet. Duty had called him to see Jape safely down from the tower, but now something far stronger called him to return. “Jape, I've got to get back up there!"
"How?"
"I—” Scrornuck realized he didn't know. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he stared at the Orb. Another bolt of violet lightning shot down, obliterated a tower in the Castle wall, and snapped back up. He stared, thought, stared again—and an idea formed, a thoroughly lunatic idea, but the only idea he had. He raised the energy cannon.
"That won't hurt it,” Jape said.
"Doesn't have to. I just have to get its attention."
Jape frowned. “You know you're probably going to get yourself killed."
Scrornuck nodded. “Do you have any better ideas?"
"No,” Jape admitted, “I don't have any ideas at all.” He patted Scrornuck's shoulder. “Good luck, Mister Saughblade."
"I'll need it.” Scrornuck centered the Orb in the crosshairs. “And just in case this doesn't work, the coffee's in the rear pocket of the secondary backpack. Now get your ass out of here!"
"Thanks. Take care of yourself, Mister Saughblade!” Jape fired up the skimmer's engine and took off as Scrornuck squeezed the trigger. A bolt of white energy rose from the weapon and blasted the side of the Orb, raising a ring of ripples. He squeezed the trigger a second time. “C'mon, notice me, you bastard..."
The Orb noticed, abandoning its attack on the castle. A single, immense violet-white bolt shot forth, straight at Scrornuck. He dropped the energy-cannon and extended Ol’ Red's blade to full length. “All right, bitch,” he shouted, “come to papa!"
The lightning hit like an avalanche, pounding him toward the ground, enveloping him in smoke and sparks. His muscles jerked involuntarily, his hair smoked, he hurt like he had never hurt before, his defiant battle-cry turned into a scream of agony—but he stood. Slowly, very slowly, he shifted his trembling fingers, and Ol’ Red's blade dissolved into a million microfibers that somehow hooked the lightning.
Scrornuck felt the lightning-bolt trying to snap upward. It tugged with increasing force as if bewildered, and finally pulled hard enough to lift him into the sky, into the blue-black darkness surrounding the Orb. The bolt swung furiously, playing crack-the-whip as if trying to flick him off. No way, he thought, you're not making me let go. Fighting the spasms that shot through his arms, he shifted his grip again, and some of the sword's fibers wrapped around his forearms, tying themselves to his elbow-spikes to help support his weight.
More lightning crackled from the Orb, scorching and shredding his kilt, tugging and pulling at his arms and legs, trying to make him lose his grip. His boots smoked and bubbled as the l
ightning tore at the hydraulic cylinders, his legs cramped and danced as though they had a mind of their own. He closed his eyes and repeated, over and over: “Hang on, hang on, HANG ON!"
He opened his eyes and stared in amazement—a dozen lightning-bolts had lifted a thirty-foot chunk of the tower's wall and sent it tumbling end-over-end, directly into his path. There was just enough time to think, oh, shit, this is gonna hurt! before he crashed face-first into the fake-stone surface. The impact cracked his ribs, smashed in his face, and burst his left eye. His grip loosened and Ol’ Red went spinning away into the darkness.
As he pulled his shattered face from the plastic-and-stucco wall, he found himself grinning—the tumbling chunk of castle wall was still rising, its momentum carrying him closer and closer to the Orb. He dug his claws into the pale yellow plastic and hung on, feeling his face creaking as the millions of microbots rebuilt it. Vision returned in his left eye as the chunk of wall reached the top of its trajectory. Using those wonderful dragon eyes, he gauged the distance—the leap would take all his microbot-enhanced strength, plus every last bit of spring the ailing boots could deliver. He planted his feet firmly on the fake stone, wiggled his toes, crouched, waited. Now! Boots sputtering, muscles straining, throat screaming an old Celtic battle-cry, he leaped.
Sparks and smoke surrounded him, fire and electricity flooded through his body as his claws pierced the Orb's surface. This was worse than riding the lightning-bolt, much, much worse. He felt himself slipping down, as his hands refused to grip the slippery membrane. Then, with a sudden jerk, the bony spikes on his knuckles snagged, and he hung by his right hand from the enormous violet balloon. Fighting the pain and muscle spasms, summoning all his strength, he pulled. The sharp, bony crown atop his head pressed against the Orb's surface, stretching it. He flailed with his left hand, finally piercing the Orb's surface with a claw. He pulled as hard as he could with both hands, and in a storm of sparks and fire the point of his crown tore through the elastic membrane. "Honey, I'm home," he whispered. Those big, deadly, terrible, beautiful claws got a grip on something, and gritting his teeth into something that resembled a smile, he hauled himself into the Orb.
He felt like he had fallen into a killer river rapid, a roaring violet whirlpool that pulled him first one way, then the other. The cloudy fluid limited his vision to a few feet, and bits of sharp-edged black ribbon tore at his skin as he pushed his way through the storm. The shadow of the shark, large, dark and sinuous, moved through the murk, always just beyond his vision. For a terrifying moment he thought he was drowning—then he realized that whatever strange fluid filled the Orb, he could breathe it, if indeed he even needed to breathe. Bellowing his defiance, shredding some of the bigger clumps of ribbon, he forced his way toward the center of the Orb.
He suddenly heard voices—tens, hundreds, maybe a thousand of them, all whispering the same question:
Why do/why do you do this/what do you hope to find here/what is here for you?
His lips trembled uncontrollably. “N-N-Na-Nalll-i-a,” he stammered.
Why do you/why torment/why torture/why hurt so/why suffer?
"B-b-be-because-I-I-I"
You/you will only/only die/die here/why/why
"I-I-I"
The voices joined for an instant. Why do you suffer and die for one you cannot have?
He shouted, loud and clear, "Because I love her!"
After that, the voices said no more.
Scrornuck plowed through the maelstrom, heading by instinct toward the light at the Orb's center. He emerged abruptly into a silent, still, clear space that seemed larger than the whole Orb had appeared from outside. His heart jumped, for ahead, at the brilliant center of the Orb, he saw Nalia, surrounded by a network of luminous white ribbons that tied to her hands, feet and hair.
He saw something dark in the distance, something big—no, something enormous—circling, growing, until it suddenly emerged from the violet haze: the shark, grown to titanic size, all black but for its glowing orange eyes. The monster fish flicked its tail and headed straight for Nalia, opening a mouth that could swallow her whole, lined with enough teeth to grind her to hamburger on the way down.
Scrornuck kicked and paddled desperately toward the monster fish. It saw him, turned, swam past Nalia and charged. Again, the shark's eyes met Scrornuck's, and again, for a timeless instant, he saw a vision:
Hunger. A tiny and shrinking world. Death approaches.
Salvation. Contact with the other Orbs. Food. The shark gorges on minds thrown into the Orbs as sacrifices, heretics, slave soldiers. It grows fat, sleek and powerful.
Catastrophe. In an instant of confusion and chaos, the Olympus World Orb collapses on itself and dies. Silver hair and blazing blue eyes.
Disaster. The Orb of political punishment explodes into the vacuum of space. Behind the faceplate of a blue helmet, the shark sees blonde hair and deep blue eyes.
Terror and agony. The Orb housing an army of slaves is twisted to shreds as a world dies. Through the eyes of the slaves’ master, the shark sees the two Orb-destroyers.
Desperation. Contact. A tangle of minds, outside the Orbs and useless as food, but maybe, just maybe open to manipulation. The shark reaches deep, explores dark corners, finds resentment and anger and pain.
Determination. A plan: exploit the darkness. Nurture the desire for vengeance. Lure the survivor to Taupeaquaah.
Feed the shark.
Scrornuck forced himself to look away from the shark's eyes. He shook his head for an instant, and a savage howl rose in his throat, one that combined instinctive revulsion with every battle-cry he'd ever known. Screaming his hatred, he charged the beast.
The shark attacked, snapping at Scrornuck with its enormous jaws. The skin of the great fish was like sandpaper, and when it struck him with its sharp-edged fins he bled, clouding the “water” around him. Wishing he still had Ol’ Red, he fought back, ripping into the beast's side with claws and spikes. The shark's wounds “bled” clouds of multicolored ribbons, which coalesced into tiny, brightly-colored fish and swam away.
The monstrous fish hammered him with its enormous tail, sending him tumbling end-over-end. For a moment he was disoriented—then he saw the shark charging, its mouth open, showing row after row of razor-sharp teeth. Desperately, he ducked beneath the fish, and as it passed over he jammed his arm-spikes into its soft belly. A cloud of colored ribbon streamed from the wounds in the great fish as it dragged Scrornuck along. He pulled his legs up and speared the fish with the spikes growing from his thighs. The shark shook and twisted, trying to throw him off, as he slowly worked his way around its side and up onto its back, tearing at its flesh.
He got a brief glimpse of something silver and blue, separating Nalia from the luminous white ribbons that bound her to the Orb's center. Seeking a better view, he raised his head—and with a convulsive twist the shark tossed him off. By the time he regained his bearings, the great shark had disappeared into the cloud of ribbons and swirling fluid surrounding the Orb's center. He looked ahead, back, left, right—and then, from above, the shark suddenly appeared, diving straight down, mouth wide open. He pulled desperately at the water, but it was too late—he felt the shark's teeth tear his flesh as the monstrous fish swallowed him whole.
In utter blackness, he slid into the belly of the beast. Its digestive juices stung and burned his wounds, and the contractions of its gut crushed his ribs and twisted his arms and legs into agonizing positions. He fought back with everything he had, but as the beast's stomach squeezed, tighter and tighter, he knew he was weakening. He tasted blood in the water and knew it was his own, he smelled something foul in his lungs and knew he was slowly suffocating. In the peculiar reality within the Orb it seemed the microbots were unable to heal his wounds, and it would only be a matter of time before the beast squeezed the life out of him. I'm going to die in here, he thought.
No! he told himself, and the thought came with such ferocity that he drove his claw-tipped fist dee
p into the monster's gut, through the stomach lining and into the soft tissues beyond. Not until you save Nalia! He dug his claws deeper into the soft tissues, grunting in satisfaction as he felt the fish squirm. There had to be a nerve, an artery, something vital in there.
And then, to his amazement, he heard music, coming from somewhere outside the shark's body—first one voice singing, then a few, and finally an enormous choir, all in perfect harmony.
With new energy, he dug his claws into the beast, ripping at its flesh until he thrust his fist through its skin. Brilliant white light streamed through the wound, and outside he saw a swarm of colorful fish, hundreds of them, moving in perfect synchronization as they devoured the immense shark. Prying the beast's ribs apart, he squeezed between them into the light. He recognized the music now—the song he'd played on the Setron at Darklord Castle, the sweet melody that had encouraged the Army of Taupeaquaah to fight Lord Draggott's slave warriors.
The great shark squirmed, thrashed, twisted, desperately trying to escape the cloud of tiny, colorful fish. Scrornuck joined them, ripping out chunks of the shark's flesh as he clawed his way up its back. Finally, he reached the huge head and stared down into those fiery orange eyes. Instinctive rage filled him, and he slammed his fist into the center of the beast's head, over and over, harder and harder, screaming his hatred for this abomination, not caring that his knuckles were shattering—and then he felt the skull crack. He summoned up the last of his strength for one more blow, the hardest yet. The shark's head split open like a rotted pumpkin, and a tangled mass of black-as-death ribbon oozed forth. He attacked the vile mass, shredding it with his claws until nothing remained but a cloud of black dust that slowly drifted away. His rage finally spent, he looked with satisfaction into the shark's dark, lifeless eye-sockets. A moment later, what remained of the monster's head vanished, torn to nothingness by the swarm of colorful fish. Scrornuck had the feeling that something very old and very evil had finally passed from the world.
He looked for Nalia in the place of luminous white ribbons, but she was not there. Then, he saw a sudden flash of silver, blue—and white. He looked down into his open arms. Nalia looked up with wide eyes and smiled.
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