by Chris Fox
The ship lifted off and zoomed slowly out of sight, leaving an unbroken starfield in its wake. Wherever he was, it appeared they were directly exposed to space. So how was he breathing?
Yorrak had said ‘other ocular cavity’. Was this the eye socket of some sort of moon-sized skull? That would mean this wasn’t bleached stone. It was bone.
“Keep moving!” One of the tech mages boomed as he trotted up the ridge toward Aran.
Aran did as ordered, turning back toward the rest of the slaves. Kaz was still in the lead, picking a path across the bone field, painted violet by the smoldering orb in the distance. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the painful brilliance. It was like staring directly into a sun, but somehow made worse because of the violent cold.
“Order your men to take up defensive positions along those outcrops,” Nara ordered, pointing at a series of bone spurs that jutted out of field.
Aran trotted forward, dropping into cover behind the closest outcrop. It only came to his shoulder. “You heard the lady. Get into position behind this terrible cover, with weapons that won’t do shit to an enemy that we can barely see.”
Nara stalked several meters closer. “I could execute you right now, if you prefer.” Her tone suggested it wasn’t a bluff, and he found confirmation when he turned in her direction. Her spellpistol was aimed directly at him, her face hidden behind helmet.
“Uh, I’m good. Bad cover is better than no cover.” Aran raised his hands and offered an apologetic smile.
Nara turned coldly away, and began leading her tech mages along a ridge that sloped up into the darkness. Their path took them toward the light, but in a more winding route. It also took them away from the defensive position she’d asked him to establish. Aran shaded his eyes, but couldn’t make out much as their forms became nothing more than silhouettes.
“What are they after, do you think?” Kaz asked from the next outcrop.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is I’m betting it’s a whole lot safer than sticking around here.” Aran rolled to his feet, but stayed low. The rhythmic pounding was getting closer, and he could make out shapes now, against the blinding purple sun.
Their silhouettes were monstrous, approaching with alarming speed. He judged their approach, coming to the only possible conclusion. “They’re going to overrun our position almost instantly. If we stay, we die.”
“What are you proposing?” Kaz asked as he rose slowly to his feet.
“Run!” Aran turned and ran full tilt after Nara and her tech mages. He felt a moment’s pity for the rest of the slaves, but staying here and dying wouldn’t save them.
Kaz panted a few meters behind him, keeping pace as Aran picked a path through the bony ridges. In the distance he caught the flash of a fire bolt, but by the time they made it around the corner there was no sign of whoever had fired it.
Before them lay an unbroken wall of purple flame, the blinding sun that they’d glimpsed from the first ridge. Intense cold radiated from the flames, but there was more to it than that. There was a power there, a sense of infinite age, and timeless wisdom. He had no idea what he was looking at, but whatever it was— it was greater than any human mind.
Something scrabbled across the bone behind him, and Aran spun to see a demon charging. Instead of a spellcannon, this demon carried a truly massive hammer, clutched effortlessly in one clawed hand. The creature roared and charged Kaz.
The bearded man roared back, charging to meet his much larger foe. The demon brought the hammer down, but Kaz dodged out of the way at the very last moment. The hammer impacted and shards of bone shot out in all directions, pinging off their armor.
Aran glanced at the blinding purple light where Nara and her friends had disappeared, realizing he could make it in before the demon could deal with him. For a moment he was frozen. Was he the kind of person that would abandon the closest thing he had to a friend?
Screw that. He circled around the demon, waiting for an opening. “I’m going to paralyze it, like I did the last one. See if you can get that hammer away from it.”
Aran reached tentatively for the power he’d felt before. The magic rose easily at his call, as if it wanted to be used. There was a separateness to it. The magic was inside him, but it was not him. It responded to his command though, and right now that mattered a lot more than figuring out where it came from.
The lightning leapt down his arm and into the blade, reaching the tip as Aran began his charge. He sprinted fast and low, leaning into the blow as he planted his blade into the back of the demon’s knee. The enchanted steel failed to pierce the demon’s armor, but that had never been the intent. Electricity crackled through the metal, and the demon twitched silently, struggling to regain control of its body.
Kaz stepped forward and yanked the hammer from the creature’s grasp. He took a deep breath, then brought the weapon down in a tremendous blow. It crushed the creature’s skull, splattering them with black ichor.
Behind them, the final screams faded to silence. Aran turned to see a half dozen demons moving past the corpses of the slaves— in their direction.
“Looks like we’ve got no choice but to brave the light.” Kaz offered a hand. Aran shook it. “Good luck, brother.”
“Good luck, brother.” Aran turned, took a deep breath, then leapt into the light.
4
Enlightenment
Aran had no words to describe what came next. A vast, unknowable consciousness lay before him—an ocean of power and memory, compared to his single drop. He fell into the ocean, became that consciousness. The universe stretched out before him, vast yet somehow perceivable with thousands of senses, all at once.
He understood how the worlds had been created, how the stars were given form. He watched the making of all things, from the perspective of a god who’d not only witnessed but participated. Xal was not the eldest of gods, but he was among them.
Understanding stretched beyond the comprehension of time. Aran saw the strands of the universe, how they were woven into existence using magic. He understood the eight Aspects, and the Greater Paths that could be accessed by combining them. The complexities of true magic, as Nara had used, became simple.
This power suffused him, endless, like space itself. If he wished, he could create a new species, or snuff one out with equal ease. Dimly, he was aware he had a body, aware of his petty temporal problems. They were inconsequential when compared with the vast infinity of Xal.
Yet, in his sudden understanding, he also saw Xal’s undoing: a ghostly memory of many younger gods, all united in their purpose. They flooded the system, using their magic to prevent Xal from escaping into the Umbral Depths.
The memory seized Aran. He was there. He was Xal.
“You have come to come to destroy me,” Xal said, turning sadly to face the assembled host.
“Your children are evil,” called a goddess surrounded by armor of primal ice. “They have laid waste to many worlds, and Krox has warned us they will come for us next. We will not allow it. You might be stronger than any of us individually, but together we will destroy you.”
“And who spun you this tale? Krox?” Xal shook his mighty head sadly. “Do you know nothing of his ways? Krox, the first manipulator? He is using you to attack me, so you will weaken yourselves. If we battle today, many of us will fall. The survivors will be weaker for it, and easier for Krox to pick off one by one. After today, there will be none strong enough to oppose him.”
Xal examined all possibilities, trillions upon trillions. There was no possibility of his own survival. But the war between him and Krox would not end with their deaths. It would outlive them, unfolding until the last sun went cold.
And there was something he could do to ensure he won that war.
The smaller gods surrounded Xal, who made no move to defend himself. Instead, he allowed his foes to tear him apart, knowing that one day those same gods would dismember Krox. If he killed any of them, that possibility diminished greatly.
Aran watched Xal die. No, die was not the right word. A god could not be killed, not truly. They could only be shattered, with the pieces of their bodies forever seeking to reunite. Aran understood why the head of Xal had been severed.
The younger gods scattered the other pieces across the galaxy, ensuring it would be nearly impossible for Xal to resurrect. This filled Aran with rage, and loss, and pain—Xal’s emotions, still echoing through Aran’s dreaming mind.
Aran focused on the secrets of the universe, struggling to hold onto them. Briefly, he understood the illusion of time. He lingered with the knower of secrets, listening to his endless whispers. He peered into the Umbral Depths, and saw the things that dwelt there.
He noticed the great, and the small. Something tiny drew his attention—a speck of light he’d only just noticed. It lay in his hand, so small he’d missed it in the blinding brightness of Xal’s majesty. Dimly, Aran realized it was the spellblade he’d picked up.
That spellblade was a living thing, waiting to be shaped. So he shaped it. It came instinctively, power and knowledge borrowed somehow from the god’s mind.
He poured Xal’s power into the blade, altering its shape to be more pleasing. Aran infused it with void, and the blade darkened even as it grew lighter in his hand. The intelligence within the blade grew more aware, more capable of complex thought. Aran forged a bond between them, connecting him to the new intelligence as a child is connected to parent. The weapon couldn’t yet think, but there was a dim awareness there, watching.
The need to create did not diminish, and he burned to use the understanding Xal shared with him. He realized that the spell that had wiped his mind could be removed, and his identity restored. Such a thing was possible, though not trivial. Yet Aran couldn’t quite grasp the spell. To do that, he needed more of Xal.
He plunged deeper into the god’s mind, seeking the power that would allow him to become whole. It must be here, somewhere. An urgent buzzing began in the distance, but he ignored it, swimming toward the wonderful power.
The pain grew blinding, yet it brought with it knowledge. The pain was worth the price, if it would restore his mind.
The buzzing grew more intense, and a sharp prick shot through his palm. Aran looked down and realized that he was holding the spellblade. It was the source of the buzzing, and as he studied it Aran understood.
“You’re warning me.” Pain built behind Aran’s temples as he stared deeper into Xal’s mind. The sword vibrated in his hand, breaking the siren call.
Icy fear brought clarity. Xal’s vastness was tempting, but Aran needed to flee before it reduced his mind to cosmic dust. Thrashing frantically, struggling away from the power, Aran forced himself to look away from the universe, snapped his eyes shut and tried to focus. Relief pulsed from the spellblade.
Then, as suddenly as the experience had begun, it was over. Aran tumbled away from the majesty and power, secrets slipping from his mind like oxygen from a hull breach. He shivered, cold and barren in the wake of all that power. Only a tiny ember remained, smoldering coldly in his chest. That piece was woven into him, a part of him even as he was now a part of Xal.
Aran caught himself against a bony ridge, trembling and weak, and rose back to his feet. He glanced back the way he’d come—at the purple sun—still as brilliant as ever, but he no longer squinted. He no longer felt the chill. This place was home now; it was part of him, as he was part of it.
The blade clutched in his right hand had changed. Instead of the slender short-sword, Aran now held an officer’s saber, sleek and deadly. The weapon fit his hand as if molded to it, like an extension of his body. It waited, ready to be used.
“I told you,” Nara’s voice said, sounding muffled and far away. “He made it through, and he made it through first.”
Aran turned toward her, blinking. She stood with a cluster of people, the three tech mages, and four more people in conventional body armor. All had weapons, either spellpistols or spellblades. Their posture wasn’t threatening, but neither was it friendly.
Behind them sat the boomerang shaped starship, its ramp already extending.
He glanced at Nara and her companions, then at the ship. Even if he could reach it, what then? There was no obvious means of escape. That didn’t mean he was giving up, though. Sooner or later these people were going to let their guard down, and when they did he’d be ready.
5
Betrayal
Rage flashed through Aran but burned out quickly, denied the oxygen it needed to burn. Anger left him vulnerable, even easier to manipulate than he already had been. He composed himself, straightening. If he were going to die, he’d do it on his feet. Fighting.
Nara and her compatriots were laughing and joking.
“You used us as bait, didn’t you?” he demanded, as emotionlessly as he could manage. Scorn leaked into his tone anyway.
“Of course we did. You didn’t think we’d risk our own lives against tech demons, did you?” Nara mocked, rolling her eyes. The girl-next-door mask vanished, replaced by a cold mercenary manner. “Don’t take it so personally. Maybe think of it as an initiation. Becoming a tech mage is dangerous business. The demons here are both powerful and territorial. If we’d tried to do this on our own, none of us would have survived.”
“So you came here for magic, and spent our lives to get it.”
“…And you’re pissed off about it. I get that.” Nara slowly folded her arms. Aran tensed, but didn’t react. If he attacked her, her companions would cut him down, and she clearly knew it. “Don’t be so dour. You’re alive, and you’re more powerful now than when we picked you up. Much more powerful. This isn’t just any Catalyst. This is a Void Catalyst. That means you have access to void magic, and through it, gravity magic.”
“Wow, that’s really great… but I don’t give a shit. Where did you pick me up? And who was I?” Aran demanded, studying Nara. Hot shame gurgled through his gut. He couldn’t believe how gullible he’d been. How many similar groups of mind-wiped slaves had these people led to their deaths? And, more importantly, what happened to survivors like him?
“We have bigger problems right now. You’ve got a decision to make.” Nara nodded at the ship.
Behind her, Aran could see a group approaching, walking slowly in their direction. Four more guards escorted Yorrak—coming to inspect his new ‘cargo’, no doubt.
“I know you blame me for this.” Nara pursed her lips. “Are you sure that’s fair? I’m not in charge, Yorrak is. He’s the one who kidnapped you and the others, just like he kidnapped me. He tossed you into a Catalyst, not me. Trust me when I say you’ve never met a more terrible person. Whatever you think of me, I promise he’s infinitely worse.”
She had a point. Aran knew she was merely deflecting blame, but he glared at Yorrak anyway. Ultimately, the true mage was the greater of two evils. Overcoming Nara would accomplish nothing if he couldn’t also deal with Yorrak.
Aran whirled instinctively as something clattered to the stone behind him. The bearded man plunged out of the purple sun, landing in a crouch. Kaz’s broad shoulders tensed as he rose to his feet. He held the hammer he’d taken from the demon, but, like Aran’s sword, it had been reshaped to fit the wielder. Now the head was ringed with half-meter long spikes.
The bearded man’s chest heaved, and his lip curled upward as he glared around him. “Which of you bastards is responsible for enslaving us?”
“He is,” Nara said, pointing at Yorrak’s approaching figure.
Kaz tensed, ready to charge the true mage.
Aran raised a hand to stop him. “Not yet,” he hissed, taking a step closer.
The bearded man’s eyes were wild, but after a long moment of indecision he finally nodded. His voice boomed around them, easily loud enough for Yorrak and his approaching goons to hear. “I’ll wait, for now. But make no mistake: I’m going to kill that mage.”
Aran sighed. So much for that plan.
“Yes, yes, I’m utter
ly terrified,” Yorrak called back, striding arrogantly up. One of the guards was holding Yorrak’s helmet, but the other three held their rifles at the ready. “Two survivors, more than I expected.” He turned to Nara. “You’ve done well. Ready my bed, and have a glass of mulled wine waiting.”
He waved dismissively at Nara, missing her murderous gaze. Her hand slid to her spellpistol.
“Now,” Aran whispered to the bearded man, realizing they had a sliver of opportunity.
The bearded man roared, sprinting toward Yorrak. The mage blinked in surprise, waving at his guards. Aran took a step in their direction, but Nara’s spellpistol was in her hand before he could attack. A cloud of white dotted with soft pink motes settled over all four guards, and they slumped to the ground—dead or asleep, it didn’t matter. They were out of the fight, just like that.
Aran circled wide, moving into Yorrak’s blind spot. Kaz charged again, but at the last second he popped out of existence, reappearing a moment later directly behind Yorrak. Aran recognized the spell as void magic, remembering it dimly from his time in Xal’s mind.
The bearded man slammed his hammer into Yorrak, driving a spike through Yorrak’s armor. It punched through his shoulder in a spray of blood. Yorrak staggered back with a cry and struggled desperately to maintain his balance. Aran maneuvered behind him, looking for an opening. He was vaguely aware of Nara and her companions, who were quickly and efficiently slitting the sleeping guards’ throats.
Yorrak stabbed a finger at the bearded man, hastily sketching a trio of sigils. A wave of dark blue light washed over the bearded man, clinging to every part of his body. Aran watched in horror as the slave began to shrink. His bushy beard spread across his entire body, and within seconds the man was gone. In his place squirmed a tiny and quite harmless… hedgehog?