To Beat the Devil (The Technomancer Novels Book 1)

by M. K. Gibson

  Upon entrance, Grimm and I were both handed huge earthenware cups of God knows what. Men and women sat around tables and talked, drank, and tried to get lucky. My kind of place. Scattered about were competitions of strength and skill. Old axes and hammers were just as visible as plasma weapons and munitions hardware. It was kind of awesome. As if the Riders of Rohan met Delta Force.

  At the head table were two men who, judging from body language and how people reacted toward them, were in charge. This must be the “Vic and Val” Father Grimm had mentioned. At first glance they didn’t look too special. Both big men, over 6’ 5” and hefty. But the longer you looked, the more in awe you became. Grimm saw me and saw how I was looking at them.

  “It is a glamour,” he said. “Something of their divine nature. The force of their being mingled with your humanity. It will pass if you allow it.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. So I tried to look at them as if they were just a couple of amped-up bikers. One was dark-haired, with a goatee. His hair was long, past his shoulders, and completely straight. He wore a leather vest with no sleeves. His arms were huge, with runic tattoos. But those were not his standout features. It was his boots. He had dark brown boots with overly complicated straps and buckles that went up to mid-thigh over his homespun jeans, and they were trimmed in fur and plate metal. They resembled a renaissance fair nerd’s vision of fantasy armor. More than that, though, they looked like weapons. His matching gloves were the same. They went to his elbow and were strapped, buckled, and ready for a Conan movie. His presence said “hunter and killer.”

  The other one was the opposite. He was golden-haired and had a short beard. Equally built, but carried in a leaner way. He seemed jovial and fun-loving, the life of the party. He had a woman on each arm, and I could tell this was a usual thing for him. I noticed behind his chair was a huge, overly complex compound bow. An archer?

  I sipped my drink, let my mind wander and allowed my mom’s mythology lessons to come back to me. They began flooding in with crystal clarity. For a moment I was reliving them. Damn, T and the Collective do good work.

  If this was a place of Nordic heritage, then these two gods were of the Aesir or the Vanir. But which ones? Grimm watched me puzzling it out. I caught his eye and he nodded his head toward the two big men.

  “Any guesses?” he asked. I could tell this was amusing to him.

  “They aren’t any of the big ones. That much I can sense. And if G-Day was Ragnarok for the Aesir, the true twilight of the gods, then only a few were to survive. Tall, dark and booted, that would have to be Vidar. The silent god. The son of Odin who was fated to kill Fenris Wolf. The other? Maybe a son of Thor. Magnus or Modi. But Thor had red hair. I don’t really recall an archer among the Nordic pantheon,” I said. I lit a smoke and drank a bit. Grimm still watched me. He wasn’t giving anything up. The blond guy laughed with his two women. People hung on his every word. He was charming, yet there was something behind his eyes. A sadness, a hole that no amount of wine or women could fill. That’s when it hit me.

  “Got it,” I said, coming to my revelation.

  “And?” Grimm asked.

  “Vali.”

  “Why?”

  “Vali was conceived and born in one night with the sole reason of killing his half-brother Hod, the blind god. Hod had been tricked into killing Baldr by Loki. So, when you have completed your life’s work, your sole reason for being…then what? What purpose drives you? Not being empty. Trying to fill your life with as much anything and everything you can. That kind of desperation makes one a king, a martyr, or a devil.”

  “You seem well-versed on the subject,” Grimm noted.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the same eyes looking back at me in the mirror for decades.” Grimm’s stoic stare didn’t reveal much. But I picked up a slight hint of empathetic sorrow.

  “So, am I right?”

  “YES,” came a booming voice from the blond one. Vali. He set down his drink and kissed each of the lovely women. He made his way down to Grimm and me. The dark-haired silent one, Vidar, was on his heels. As he approached, I could feel his presence, his aura, radiating power. For a moment, I swore my knees would give out. This must have been something like what Maz felt in Grimm’s presence. So what did that make Grimm?

  Vali shook Grimm in a friendly, if not vicious, bear hug. Grimm took the hug as he did everything, in quiet tolerance. Vidar just shook his hand in clasped forearm style.

  “Glad to see you return to us, venerable one,” Vali said to Grimm.

  “Venerable?” I whispered to Grimm, who gave me a curt “Shh” before Vali continued.

  “Your supplies help keep Midheim running. We are in your debt.”

  “Perhaps it is a time to pay on that debt,” I said. “We have some questions for you, big guy.”

  In the old movies, when someone said something incredibly stupid, or naive, the music would stop and everyone would stare at the person.

  This was one of those moments. Leave it to me to sass-mouth a deity.

  Rather than the cliché record scratch, Vali gave Vidar a brief look, and ol’ Boots McGee gave me a violent backhand that sent me to the ground. The attack was lightning fast and strong. It felt that he could have taken my head off if he wanted. I suddenly remembered Mom’s lessons of Viking myths as I hit the ground. Vidar was the second-strongest Norse god behind Thor. I rubbed my jaw and pondered that while I powered up the mass inducer in my tech bracer. Time to test T’s tinkering. I localized the extra weight into my fist and the hard light cameras created a protective field around my fist.

  I faked being wobbly as I stood, and as fast as Vidar had struck me, I gave the god an overhand right that took him by surprise and off his feet. He hit the flat of his back hard, rolled with the momentum and came up on one knee, his hand rubbing the spot between his eyes where I’d decked him. His eyes were wide with incredulous rage. He never said a word.

  As the kids would say, it was on.

  The people of the hall began to curse and yell. Vali held up his hand to silence them.

  “People of Midheim, be silent.” And they were. “We have a challenger to a contest of combat with my unbeaten brother. Prepare the room.” Applause and a roar of excitement went up. People moved in unison, moving tables out of the way, clearing the spaces around the fire pit. Several of the musicians who had been playing jovial drinking tunes now laid out a beat, a slow, steady beat mixed with guitars and pipes. A hammered dulcimer began a rapid staccato over the beat.

  Fighting music.

  Good. I always wanted to kick someone’s ass to a soundtrack.

  Father Grimm grabbed me by my shoulder and I rolled my arm away. I may have been accompanying him, but we were not on a touching level yet. Buy me a drink first and all that.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, low enough that only I could hear.

  “All part of my plan,” I replied, turning away from Grimm to get a good look at Vidar and the fighting space. I hoped that sounded as confident as I intended.

  “What plan?”

  “Gods or angels or whatever, they were the inspiration of the ancient Viking ways, right? Tests of strength and combat were prevalent,” I said as I began loosening up my arms and chest, flexing my legs. “They know you. But I am just some nameless guy. If I want my words to have any meaning, I need to make an impression.”

  “Vidar is going to leave an impression of his fist in your skull,” Grimm said. He had already determined the outcome. Fine. I love when people bet against me.

  “Then bet on him, if you like.”

  “Did you just quote The 13th Warrior?” Grimm asked.

  I looked at him blankly for a second. “You saw that movie?” I asked. “I thought you were Mr. No Fun McSerious?”

  “I am an immortal scholar, not a shut-in. I do enjoy a multitude of recreational activities.”

  “Touché,” I said. “When this is over, we should watch it sometime. I have a rare ultra-def director’s cut.”


  “I thought that version was never put out?”

  I just smirked at Grimm. “I knew a guy.”

  “Fine. Survive and I will bring the beer.” Grimm joined the rest of the crowd, standing by Vali’s side.

  The music pulsed like a heartbeat. Vidar stood at one end of the hall. He seemed to be working himself into a silent frenzy. A berserker. Just great. As I stretched a little more I felt my upgrades practically humming with anticipation. This should be one hell of a field test. Vali raised one arm, and then quickly dropped it.

  “Begin.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Holy JC

  Johnny Cash.

  He has been dead for centuries now. But there was something I always loved about his music. Maybe it was my grandfather. When I was little, he was the one who introduced me to “the man in black.” Granddad was always tinkering on some machine, or some car. I guess that’s where I got it from. Not my dad’s super smarts and business skills. Nor Mom’s thirst for arcane theology. Just building and tinkering. As a kid I would take everything apart, just to see how it worked. In that way, machines were easier than people. But anyway.

  While good ol’ Granddad worked, he would play Johnny Cash. I still have Granddad’s Live at Folsom on vinyl. A demon lord once offered me an obscene amount of credits for a copy. But I turned him down. Well, that’s a lie.

  Truth was I took half my fee up front, sat on my ass for two days “looking for a copy,” and then produced a broken record, claiming I had been attacked by one of his rivals. I got to keep my record and part of the down payment as a reward for fighting off the fictional attack. So, win-win for me.

  Why do I bring up the holy JC? Well, there is a line in “A Boy Named Sue,” right after Sue meets his dad and they begin brawling, crashing through the wall in the mud, blood, and beer. Johnny sings: “I tell ya, I’ve fought tougher men, but I can’t remember when. He hit like a mule and bit like a crocodile.” That was what my fight with Vidar was like. I have fought some pretty tough customers in my two hundred years, but I could not recall any at the moment.

  Now, it could have been that I was unable to recall a tough opponent because of my long and combative life. Or, more likely, it was because a Norse god had just hit me hard enough to concuss my brain, causing me to wax nostalgic about a dead country western singer and childhood memories.

  I reeled from the next blow, which brought me out of memory lane, and I got my guard up. We had been trading punches, kicks, parries, and the occasional headbutt for twenty-four minutes. I was beginning to breathe hard, but Vidar was silent as the grave. My cybernetic nature healed me at a rapid rate. I could track most of his attacks with ease. Yet some of them were so fast, I saw nothing. He was tapping into a source I could not see in any spectrum with my new eyes. But honestly, I really didn’t have time to check. Preoccupied with a throw-down with a god and all that. The only thing I could tell was that he was frustrated I was not down yet. Good.

  He came at me with a one-two combo followed by a knee to the ribs. I sloppily blocked both fists and pivoted away from the knee. As I spun I landed a spinning back fist to his jaw with my right, and a forearm to his temple with my left. Thanks, YMCA karate lesson!

  While in close, I held on to his clothes and slammed my own knee in three quick successive bursts to his sternum. I heard a grunt and gasp come from him. Finally, a reaction from the silent god.

  The crowd roared in excitement. Many yelled for my death. A few cheered me on. But I could tell ol’ Vidar was the people’s champ of Midheim.

  All part of my plan.

  While Vidar was on the proverbial ropes, I pressed my attack. I leaped and landed a knee to his chin. As I made contact, he grabbed me, twisted and slammed me down to the ground. Hard. We both scrambled for a bit, trying to gain a hold on the other. I’m no slouch at grappling, but Vidar was over a thousand years old. Trained by Thor, Tyr, Heimdall, and bloody Odin himself in combat. I was good; he was an artist.

  Vidar had my neck and arm in an intricate lock, his weight on top of me. I could feel his next move coming. He was going to flip me into a choke-out position. Even I need air. So I cheated. If he was tapping into something, why couldn’t I?

  I fired up the mass inducers again. My density and weight began to grow. And in a few seconds, not even the mighty Vidar could move me. He tried and tried, getting frustrated and tired. When it was obvious I was going nowhere, he released his hold on me a little to try something new. Which was a relief. All the extra mass played hell on my lungs. Enhanced musculature aside, when you weigh as much as an elephant, just breathing is a challenge.

  When I felt Vidar release the hold and shift his weight, I deactivated the inducers, and released a charge from my tech bracer. My new energy production must be something because Vidar arced his back like Thor’s own lightning just shot up his ass. I got to my knees and swung and hit him in the face as hard as I could, rocking his jaw to the side. The crowd roared in excitement. More chants for me came my way. Vidar was now breathing harder than ever before. The battle was rapidly taking its toll on him. His source of energy was drying up quickly.

  Vidar got to his knees and swung on me, connecting as hard as I had. We traded punches like that for minutes, both of us exhausted, neither wanting to lose. Blood flowed freely from my mouth. My nose was pulp. A deep gash had opened over my eye. I was a mask of blood. Vidar was not much better. His eyes were almost swollen shut, a couple of his teeth were missing, and he too was a bloody mess.

  We both swung at the same time, one last haymaker each. Both punches connected. Both of us hit the ground. The only difference was Vidar eventually made it back to one knee, and I just lay there.

  “Winner!” announced Vali, and the crowd went apeshit crazy. I got to my knee a moment after the cheering began. Vidar looked at me, and I at him. I don’t know to this day who started first, but we both hugged each other like long-lost brothers. Like only two people who went to war together and came out alive could.

  “Thank you,” he whispered into my ear.

  “Anytime,” I whispered back.

  The crowd rushed us, picked us up and brushed us off. It hurt. A lot. The room was an ocean of voices congratulating us. We were whisked to the head table and large steins of alcohol were placed before us. Vidar and I toasted the crowd and each other and drank. Deeply. The crowd cheered again and resumed drinking just as they had before Grimm and I had come in.

  “All part of your plan?” Grimm asked me, taking up his own drink and clinking my stein with his.

  I tried to laugh, but I hurt all over. I hoped The Collective wouldn’t be too pissed and would patch me up to a state of comfortably numb. Well, the booze should help a little in that department.

  “Where is the beer you promised me for surviving?” I asked, draining my stein and ignoring his question.

  Father Grimm produced another stein and placed it in front of me. I gave him a sideways smile and clinked his stein with mine this time.

  He smiled.

  It creeped me out a little.

  “So, losing was your plan from the beginning, then. I apologize. I thought you were going to beat him to prove yourself.”

  “Nope,” I said as I tried resetting my broken nose. On the third try it popped back into relative shape. Enhanced synthetic cartilage and a Wolverine-like healing factor meant that each broken nose was like first time. It freaking hurt.

  “That wouldn’t have proven anything other than I was tougher than their champion,” I explained. “I needed to take him to his limit and for people to see it. As long as I made a good show of it, he maintains his status and I am seen as serious.”

  “Do you think you could have won?” Grimm asked.

  I thought about that for a solid few moments. “I don’t know. Maybe. I have a creepy feeling he was holding back. But I sure as shit don’t want to find out.” As if on cue, Vidar appeared behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

  “Round two?” I
asked.

  Vidar smiled, then shook his head no, and gestured his chin toward a door at the back of the hall. Vali stood there with a small wooden keg under his arm, waving us over.

  “I guess it is time for that talk.”

  “Indeed,” Grimm replied.

  ********

  The small antechamber at the back of the hall was cozy. Books lined shelves, a small private fire crackled in a hearth, and a gas lamp lit the windowless room in dull flickering yellows. Cozy leather chairs from the old world faced inward to a huge solid anvil that served as a coffee table. Except this one had a very interesting centerpiece—an ancient warhammer that seemed to “hum.” The four of us enjoyed a plate of some kind of roasted dead animal and a dark liquor from Vali’s wooden keg and chatted like civilized men from days gone by.

  I lit a smoke and offered one to the Norse gods. Vali shook his head, but Vidar took one. He inhaled deeply and visibly relaxed as he exhaled.

  “I thought you quit,” Vali said to his brother.

  Vidar shrugged.

  He was already on the mend. I could see him regenerating at a faster rate than I. My own injuries were nearly gone as well. I could see Vidar eyeing me and cocking his head in a curious manner.

  Odd as today had been, and despite the business we needed to address, I had a burning question.

  “Is that the Hammer of Thor?” I asked, pointing to the ancient warhammer sitting on the anvil coffee table.

  “Hah, yes.” Vali nodded gravely. “After Magnus and Modi died in the second demon war, I kept it here to remind us that we could indeed die. With no other Aesir or Vanir, it serves no one anymore. A relic.”

  “That is kind of tragic,” I said. “So I guess Ragnarok has already happened, then?”

  “G-Day wasn’t just for the mortals,” Vali responded. I nodded in partial understanding. I could tell there was more to that story, but now was not the time.