by Jacob Holo
“You’re damaging it,” Veketon said. “Continue the attack.”
The fleet fired again and again, each strike burning a deeper cleft into the outer ring.
All over the artifact, hundreds of brass eyes began blinking rapidly. Black lightning scintillated across the surface and collected in a dark wall between it and the fleet. Veketon held his breath as the next volley focused in.
The torrential sleet of plasma impacted against the thickening defenses and splashed off like water against a stone.
Veketon let out a slow, frustrated breath.
“Is the artifact generating a chaos barrier?” Quennin asked.
“So it would seem.”
Another volley smashed against the Ziggurat ring’s defenses, but the barrier was now so powerful it became fully opaque wherever beams hit.
Underneath this protective barrier, the glowing cleft began to cool and darken. Thick arcs of brass pushed through the molten armor and began to close the wound.
“Our attacks no longer appear effective,” Fuurion said. “Shall I fire the Ascendant’s main cannon?”
“No, randomize your targeting. Try to find a chink in its armor.”
“At once, venerable master.”
The Fellerossi ships spread their attacks across the entire Ziggurat ring. Every beam reflected off the same dark barrier.
“Curse it,” Veketon muttered under his breath.
“What about that vortex underneath the ring?” Quennin asked.
“Worth a try. Fuurion, focus on Quennin’s target.”
“At once.”
The fleet spat thousands of beams through gaps in the ring. Some stabbed into the pulsing inferno with no visible effect, but others slammed into the brass panels orbiting the vortex. One of those panels liquefied and fell into the interior.
The vortex became intensely violent, throbbing and undulating like an irregular heart. Another salvo bored down but rebounded off condensing barrier energy.
“Master Veketon, we may be able to damage it with antimatter. I can deploy flyers to place charges directly onto the Ziggurat structure.”
“No. They won’t get past the barrier,” Veketon said. “Resume your attack on the Disciple warships. Quennin and I will go in and forcibly remove the portal lances.”
“As you command.”
“Quennin?”
She reached over a shoulder and disengaged the chaos glaive from her back. Harsh light from the giant star below shone off her throne’s sleek feminine lines. Black energy snapped along the glaive, creating a faint nimbus of green light.
“They won’t catch me off guard this time,” she said. “I’m ready for this.”
Veketon retrieved his own chaos glaive: an exact copy of Quennin’s weapon. He released a trickle of power through his palm into the long shaft, letting the weapon flare alive with blue light. His halo-wings spun up to full speed, their edges burning brightly.
“Vek, what about Gate effect? Will the Gate interfere with our thrones?”
“Lances within the Ziggurat ring seem to be neutralizing the effect. Besides, the Gate itself is not fully formed. We’re safe for now, but we should keep our distance from the center as a precaution.”
“Understood.”
“Follow me in.” Veketon dove towards the Ziggurat ring.
“Right behind you!”
Two black seraphs veered towards him and accelerated. Riviel brought her broadsword out, its dual edges alive with little snaps of red lightning. Othaniel gathered arcane forces in her open palms and prepared her next attack.
“Where’s Zophiel?” Quennin asked.
“I don’t know. Stay alert.” Veketon interfaced with the waiting archangels and selected a diversion squadron for the two Disciple sisters.
A fold point flashed open ahead of Veketon, and Zophiel’s seraph shot out. But instead of attacking, he slowed to a halt. Riviel and Othaniel decelerated as well, keeping their distance.
“Veketon, stop!” Zophiel spread his arms wide. “I must speak to you!”
Veketon raised his chaos glaive and flew straight at Zophiel. The Disciple held his ground without drawing his Ziggurat sword.
“Veketon, my honorable ancestor, please listen to me!”
Veketon increased his speed and gathered energy in his glaive. But despite his clear intent, Zophiel did not move. His sisters remained too far away to immediately assist, should he be attacked.
“Please, my ancestor! It is vital that I speak to you! I have made a grave error! Please, you must listen to what I have to say!”
Veketon growled through clenched teeth. Against his better judgment, he reversed his halo-wings and stopped in front of Zophiel. Quennin came to a halt behind him, power coiled tensely within her, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice.
Riviel and Othaniel stayed back, neither of them an immediate threat.
“What do you want, Zophiel?” Veketon asked. “I will not order my fleet to stop.”
“The fate of our fleets does not concern me. It is you I am interested in, your mind and your choices alone, not those of your followers.”
Veketon gazed up at the forming Gate. The oscillating sphere’s mercurial heart pulsed larger by the second. He performed a rough mental calculation.
Still several minutes before the aperture is wide enough for a seraph, Veketon thought. Not much time…
“Speak quickly, Zophiel. I will not stay idle for long.”
“Thank you, my honorable ancestor.” Zophiel bowed his head, keeping his arms spread to either side. “I realize now that I have made a terrible error. I approached you without truly appreciating your strength and determination. I did so foolishly, thinking only of claiming your portal lance for my own ends. That was a mistake.”
“Clearly,” Veketon said.
“And I freely admit it! Why? Because I realized you and I are not so very different. Yet here we are fighting one another, wasting resources and risking our lives. And for what? For nothing! My honorable ancestor, please believe me when I say this does not have to be. There is another way. Do we not both oppose the Keepers? Are they not our common enemy? What fools are we to fight one another when we could be striking at our true enemies!”
Veketon lowered his chaos glaive ever so slightly.
“Go on.”
“My honorable ancestor, I am even now opening a Gate to the Lunatic Realm. There, my lord Vayl has amassed an army ready to pass into this universe. With it, we will storm the Gate of the Homeland, and we will breach it! Not even the Keepers will be able to stop us. We will crush the Homeland and take that realm for ourselves. Is that not what you also desire? Are we not fighting the same battle?”
“Perhaps.”
“Much separates us, my honorable ancestor, but common blood binds us together. We are the same, and we fight for the same cause, even if we came to it in very different ways. Can you not see that? Should we not be united at last?”
Veketon remained silent, his mind a whirlwind of thought.
“And think of the power we would have together,” Zophiel continued. “Who could oppose us? I was a fool not to recognize your undeniable strength. You even cheated death and came back stronger, a feat I can hardly believe. And I, as a Disciple of Vayl, have much to offer you. With the mighty armies of Vayl at our command, who could possibly stop us?”
Veketon bowed his head, temptation tugging at his mind. It made sense, in a way. After all, why bother creating a new power to oppose the Keepers when here was one already prepared? He was a patient man. He could easily bide his time across the centuries and manipulate this power from within.
The path Zophiel offered was both logical and familiar. After all, had he not splintered the Keepers in a similar manner?
And yet…
“Please share your thoughts with me,” Zophiel said. “Do you not see the waste in continuing to fight? Do you not see the advantages of allying with us? Have my words not reached you?”
It was a da
ngerous path, no doubt, but it made cold, logical sense. He would supplicate himself before this Vayl entity, swearing whatever oaths it required and obeying them for a time. He would cooperate and manipulate and plot from the shadows, patiently waiting for the right moment. In time, he might even bend Zophiel into one of his own followers using the allure of their shared ancestry. What a powerful weapon the Disciple would be.
And yet…
“Honorable ancestor, say the word and let us unite! Let this wasteful conflict end! Let us combine our strength and face the Keepers together! What do you say? Please, give me your answer.”
So many possibilities before me, Veketon thought. So much I can take advantage of. With only a word, I can regain much of my lost power. And yet…
He glanced over his shoulder to find Quennin staring directly at him, silently waiting for him to speak. He pondered what she thought of Zophiel’s offer. Regardless of his choice, she would remain by his side. He didn’t doubt this for a moment, but he also knew which answer she yearned to hear.
Veketon faced the Disciple.
“Zophiel.”
“Yes, honorable ancestor?”
“My answer…” Veketon hesitated. He took a deep breath.
“Yes, honorable ancestor? What is your response?”
“My answer… is no!”
Veketon raised his chaos glaive and flooded his throne-body with power. Quennin flourished her own weapon.
“But why?” Zophiel asked. “What possible reason could you have? Tell me!”
“Zophiel, your offer holds many merits,” Veketon said, his voice soft and calm. “Indeed, I see much of myself in you. For eons, I have chased my revenge against the Keepers and, in so doing, have sought the power necessary to see it through.”
“Then why reject my offer if we are so similar?”
“Because I don’t want revenge anymore,” Veketon said. “It took a rebirth for me to finally realize this, but through that experience I have begun to understand my own flaws. Perhaps now, upon hearing your offer, does it become clear why I will never join you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, Zophiel, I see in you everything I have come to hate in myself.”
Veketon’s last words seemed to echo in the silence that followed. Zophiel’s black seraph remained motionless for long seconds. Finally, he retrieved the brass sword docked against his back and pointed it at Veketon. Its edges crackled with black and red lightning.
“So be it…” Zophiel said, barely a whisper.
Othaniel and Riviel spread their wings and rushed in.
Veketon interfaced with every archangel squadron waiting in reserve.
“So be it!” Zophiel shouted. “I have made my peace offering, and you are a fool to reject it! The time for talk is over!”
“Now!” Veketon shouted.
He and Quennin charged Zophiel, who was still isolated from his sisters. At the same instance, one hundred twenty-four fold points disgorged archangels in a rough sphere around the Disciples. The archangels raised their rail-rifles and opened fire.
Kinetic bolts slammed into Zophiel from all sides, but he flew straight at Veketon, undeterred. He swung in with his brass sword, and Veketon countered with his glaive. The two sparked against each other in an eruption of blue and black chaos energy. More rail-rifle bursts pounded Zophiel, and Veketon shoved him forcefully back.
“Break past the Disciples!” he shouted. “Head for the ring!”
“Understood!”
Veketon and Quennin shot past.
Othaniel clenched her regenerated right fist, black lightning arcing between knuckles. In a sharp motion, she extended her hand and released an energy whip towards Veketon. He dodged upward and let it slash by underneath him.
Othaniel drew her arm back. The whip curved up and around, seeking to stab him in the back. Quennin cut through the whip with her glaive, and the attack evaporated into black mist.
The two thrones veered towards the Ziggurat ring and accelerated. Disciple seraphs followed them, but constant harassing fire from the archangels slowed their progress.
“Fuurion, reprioritize targets,” Veketon said. “Focus all available fire on the Disciple seraphs. Slow them down!”
“At once, venerable master.”
The Ziggurat ring loomed ahead, so huge it became a wall of brass that gently arced away to either side. Giant eyes opened and observed their approach. Behind them, hundreds of fusion beams smashed into the three Disciple seraphs, delaying them further.
“Where are the lances?” Quennin asked.
“See those seven large spikes aimed at the center like the spokes of a wheel?”
“I see them.”
“They’re inside those.”
“But where? Those things are huge!”
“I know where mine is. Follow me!”
Veketon and Quennin rose over the wall and flew across a wide plain of brass, their thrones nothing but specks against the vast artifact’s outer ring. Giant bolts of black lightning flashed between the towering mechanisms on the surface.
Ahead, the Gate continued to form and grow, its mercurial surface taking on more definition. White energy foamed around it, bubbling outward and touching the seven spikes.
Veketon flew past the ring’s edge and dove until he came level with one of the gigantic spikes. He sensed his portal lance drawing closer. This lance was not merely one of the eleven at random but had been his in life and life again. It called to him now with a faint pulse to his mind, radiating with a desire to return to his hand.
He spotted a heavy segmented door in a recessed section of the spike. Eyes around the recess opened and focused on him.
“There!”
Veketon landed feet first on the door. Black energy whirled around him as if he were in the eye of a storm, but his barrier shimmered alive and easily counteracted the artifact’s defenses. He jammed his chaos glaive into the center of the door’s many segments and began prying it apart.
“Vek, they’re coming!” Quennin said.
“Hold them off!”
The door’s reddish brass turned soft where the chaos glaive touched it and floated away in golden rivulets. Something broke within the door’s hidden mechanisms, and two segments slid aside freely. Veketon shoved his hands in and forced the door open further.
The white shaft of a portal lance gleamed below the door, black energy filling its elegant script.
“There you are,” Veketon whispered.
“Vek, hurry up!”
He pressed his shoulder against the opening and reached for the portal lance. His fingers barely grazed the surface, and the foreign energy emptied from its script. The lance joined with his barrier, his power funneling into it. Its continuous characters ignited with blue fire, and the whole Ziggurat spike shuddered from the loss.
Veketon grabbed hold and ripped it free. Brass contraptions hissed wherever the lance touched.
Othaniel, Riviel, and Zophiel were almost upon them, but they were too late. The Gate convulsed, spewing streamers of quicksilver into space that looped around and crashed back into its quaking surface. All seven of the Ziggurat spikes shuddered as if the Gate were trying to tear them off.
The unfinished Gate grew in surging spurts. Its mercurial surface expanded outward, swallowing over half the length of the seven Ziggurat spikes. Soon, the entire artifact ring began to shudder so violently that pieces broke off. All around them, the Ziggurat eyes blinked at a frantic pace.
“VEKETON!!!” Zophiel charged straight at him.
He flew out to meet the Disciple. Lance smashed against Ziggurat sword in a fantastic flash of energy, and Zophiel staggered back from the weapon’s awesome power.
Riviel and Othaniel swooped in moments later, but Quennin was by Veketon’s side, glaive ready. She rushed to face Riviel head on. Othaniel raised her arms, palms open, but over a dozen archangels swarmed over her from behind. One struck a ringing blow against her shoulder before she darted
away.
The Disciples regrouped and fled across the Ziggurat spike, heading towards the convulsing Gate. Veketon let them go. Sections the size of warships broke off from the Ziggurat ring, cluttering space with wildly spinning brass debris. The seven spikes strained against their bases, looking ready to snap off.
Veketon and Quennin pulled away, gaining some altitude above the quaking structure. Archangels fell into formation behind them.
“You stopped them,” Quennin said, surveying the spreading damage.
“Veketon!” Zophiel shouted, his seraph hovering near the quicksilver surface of the Gate. A prominence of mercury arced over and behind him. He pointed his sword at the two thrones. “Veketon, look at me! I want you to see this!”
The spike below them snapped off, eyes across its surface still twitching. It fractured repeatedly, some fragments spinning into the Gate, others falling away from the dying artifact ring.
Veketon chuckled. “I am looking, Zophiel, but I am not impressed.”
“That is because you do not understand our resolve. Behold! The power of my lord is not to be underestimated!”
A section of the Gate calmed, becoming a flat recess surrounded by short-lived mountains of mercury. The section fell inward, transforming into a funnel leading towards the Gate’s core.
“No…” Veketon whispered, his whole body tensing for whatever came next.
A swarm of black shapes spewed forth as if the Gate were vomiting a cloud of flies. The creatures swirled around the Disciples, each roughly the size of a seraph. Their black bodies were strange and amorphous, often with red or golden veins branching across their skin. Thick appendages writhed from their centers of mass, hiding deeply recessed mouths with rows of glistening black teeth. Some carried Ziggurat swords or shields or pieces of armor wrapped to guard their oil-slicked flesh.
“What are those things?” Quennin asked.
“Chaos spawns, I believe,” Veketon said. “But… different.”
Most of the spawns were eyeless, though some possessed very human eyes hidden amongst their insane collections of appendages. Even more disturbing, some of the appendages resembled human arms or legs. Veketon had never seen chaos spawns so twisted before.