Reality Falling (The Book Wielder Saga 2)

by Davies, Sean

  Jonathan took his hand off Alice’s shoulder and looked at her with confusion in his purple eyes. Alice looked ready to kill.

  “Fuck off, you old Vampire whore!” Alice screamed before storming out of the sanctum, Cherriesa’s hysterical laughter ringing in her ears as she went.

  Alice stormed back to the Central Isle, going to the fully restored high tech Central Tower in the middle of the Isle, which was her home and main base of operations. She went straight up to her room at the top floor, and not once did she interact with anyone.

  The room had once been home to both Edgar the first and second, until a female Freak assassin had taken Edgar II’s life and detonated the whole top floor with crazy green magic. Now it was fully repaired, and Alice had installed links to the hidden base beneath the tower which housed the main effort to retake to world and stop Winston and the Archmage, as well as her very own radio uplink.

  She slammed her hand on the receiver. “Tropica, come in; this is Lord Inquisitor Alice Eve. Do you receive me?”

  There was a long pause, and it fuelled her anger more so.

  “Tropica receiving,” a voice crackled back. “What do you want?” it asked rudely.

  “Get me Azalea now,” Alice said in a tone that was pure venom.

  “Queen Azalea is busy. Too busy for you, at least.”

  Alice felt like reaching into the receiver and strangling whoever she was talking to. “Get me Queen Azalea right this fucking minute, and tell her that I know what she’s been up to!”

  The voice let out a long bored sigh. “Fine, I’ll go and get her for you.”

  Alice waited in unbridled rage to speak with the wayward General.

  Azalea’s voice finally crackled through. “Yes, what do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Alice snapped. “What do I want?! You’re supposed to be my General, not the Queen of fucking Tropica! You’re supposed to report to me, and instead I’m hearing about your activities from the damned Trinity. Have you hit your pretty little head, you dimwit?”

  “You could say that,” Azalea said nonchalantly.

  Azalea’s blatant lack of caring set Alice off more so. She felt like she was going to lose her marbles. “That’s all you have to say to me? We’re struggling to keep the Archmage’s forces out of Industria city, and you’re sitting over there in Tropica on your throne, with the combined power of the Inquisition, MPK’s, rebels, and Supernaturals under your command. Not to mention all those weapon and vehicle caches the Imperian forces and Tropican rebels left lying around after the Great War. We are fighting tooth and nail over here to keep Winston Reynolds out of Industria. We’re sacrificing our lives to prevent another merger, and you choose this moment to defect! What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

  Azalea sighed sadly. “Alice, Alice, Alice… you’ve already lost on Desem. Winston is already in Industria City. Didn’t you realise he can open portals out of the Gloom, too?”

  Chapter 3: The Battle of Industria City

  Winston stood in the plaza of Pollutia, the dark reflection of Industria City in the real world, and just like its normal counterpart the city was a hive of industry, traffic and pollution. Searchlights lit up the brown, yellow, and white churning clouds above, and mad Alternatives piloted rickety dirigible airships and haphazard biplanes alongside some of the Archmage’s dusty old dragons.

  He wasn’t far from the gargantuan superstructure of the Foreman’s clockwork, gloom magic, and steam-powered colossus. Even after everything he had seen, Winston still found the sight of the Foreman’s outer body astounding as it towered over most of the dingy skyscrapers and factory chimneys around it.

  The base of the colossus was a plate of power plants that clicked and whirred, steamed and crackled. Around the edges were supersized mechanical spider legs that Winston had once thought were just for display. The trail of destruction the Foreman had caused moving from the area he’d been located into the plaza had shown Winston otherwise. Stemming from the rear side of the base were tall chimneys that looked like the tubes of a pipe organ and acted like the backrest of a chair. The tips bellowed out constant streams of toxic smoke that cluttered the sky, along with that of every other plume of pollution rising from the many chimneys and exhausts from within the city. Two rectangular fortresses acted like armrests, and hosted a wide array of horrific Gloom weaponry and thin rectangular windows for shooting out of.

  The Foreman’s colossus that sat upon its mechanical throne like a giant king was an enormous copper and brass coloured statue of an armoured Alt. It was complete with terrifying green witchfire floodlight eyes, a mouthful of gigantic speakers, fingers that ended in cannons, and massive mortars sat on its shoulders.

  Engineer Alternatives crawled over him like ants, painting, repairing and tinkering with their overlord’s plate work, gears, pipes and wires. Winston knew that there were plenty of Alts working on the inside too, and that the actual Foreman himself resided in the head of the structure.

  The real Foreman was just a head and torso of a regular Alt, with glowing green goggles and a necklace made of cogs and gears. He was plugged and inserted into a swarm of wires in the back of the colossus’ head. He had recently upgraded himself to include the arms of the Deputy Vice Assistant to the Foreman (or DVAF for short), so that he could stuff himself full of sweet treats. DVAF had received mechanical arms out of the deal, but he was so sycophantically loyal to his boss that the idea of giving away his own arms hadn’t even fazed him in the slightest.

  All around Winston was Alternative activity on a scale that was mind blowing. The Commodore’s riflemen, mobs of the Mayor’s Alts, and hordes of the Foreman’s forces armed with deadly Gloom powered energy weapons and explosives marched down the streets. Spidertanks, Spidercars, and menacing tracked lorries with jury-rigged mounted guns patrolled the roads. Since the successful merger of Imperia City, the Omni had been moving their Gloom-based assets over to Pollutia while giving the impression that their forces were being spread evenly across Imperia and Industria. Coupled with the distraction attacks on Industria City in the real world, the forces of the Omni were all set for their surprise attack.

  Winston had experienced quite the journey over to Pollutia. His honeymoon had thankfully not been cut short, as he was sure Veronica would’ve killed him if it had. The newlywed couple had enjoyed their two days together thoroughly, and in a lot of ways Winston wished that their time in the manor had never come to an end. But he had a responsibility to fulfil; only he could merge the worlds together and bring it back to its rightful magic-filled state, and if it meant he would be co-owner of that world, then all the better. He and Veronica would have plenty of time to enjoy the good life when the world was in the palms of their hands and all the madness was done with.

  He had received word from the Archmage, via Lewis, that the time had come to make their move. Winston had travelled to Tidussex, on the eastern most point of the continent of Rura, under the protection of a large escort of both land vehicles and requisitioned airships. From there he had boarded Kelpbeard the wooden pirate puppet’s own galleon, the Driftwood, and sailed with him to Beachhead One, under a naval escort of the Pollutian Ironclads and the Commodore’s immaculate galleass’. They had paused their plundering of the real world seas to get him to the tip of Desem safely.

  On the seas the golden toothed, crab-clawed, seaweed bearded pirate had regaled him in the story of how the Commodores possessions were in such good condition. According to Kelpbeard, the Commodore had struck a deal with a Demon named Gluntonix, who used his magic to alter the usually deteriorated Gloom items on the condition that he was well fed. According to the tale, Gluntonix had been living underneath the Commodore’s mansion in The Colonies, the Gloom equivalent of Tropica, for centuries and centuries, having its fat and bloated face stuffed to the brim by the Commodore’s slave Alts.

  Once in Beachhead One, Winston had reported to Blake who was clearly a lot less chipper than the last time they’d met. He ha
d hoped to see Lynette and Kavarne, but they were out on patrol so he would have to catch up with them after the merger. Winston assured Blake that the hardships would soon be over once Industria had fallen. He then opened a portal into the Gloom, where an escort of Alts were waiting for him with a convoy of Gloom bikes, trucks and Spidercars.

  They had travelled down the long cracked road, watching the giant worms plough through the wastelands and attempt to breach the electro-rod and tank-trapped minefield either side, as they journeyed under the clear purple Gloom skies towards the foul overcast brownish yellow horizon. When they finally reached Exhaustown, the team leader Alt named TL had taken him to the train station, where he boarded the living Gloom train to Pollutia City.

  At the end of the line the Sheriff, the distrustful cowboy-looking Alt, had taken him to the Foreman in stony silence with a posse of Alts mounted on mechanical horses. He didn’t like Winston, but then from what he could tell, the Sheriff didn’t like anyone.

  With the amount of time he’d spent in the Gloom, Winston was immensely grateful that the Archmage had made him slightly resistant to its effects, otherwise he would have died of exhaustion or become some sort of demon-thing halfway through his journey. Although the urge to stay in the dark dimension was growing noticeably stronger by the minute.

  The site of Pollutia’s reflection of the World GOVT building had been completely decimated by the Foreman’s impressively catastrophic power in accordance to Winston’s plans. The whole plaza was now a level surface of charred debris. Now Winston stood patiently awaiting the go-ahead from the Foreman. Soon the combined Alternative forces would be in place, and the battle for Industria City would commence.

  - - -

  Lewis knocked lightly on Lucius’ door. The founder of the Shadow Circle lived in the Autocrat Suite, the most luxurious room in the Hotel Noir.

  Lucius answered the door and was ready to go. Like always, he was in one of his gang’s black pinstripe suits with the little emblem of the Shadow Circle stitched on the suit jacket’s front pocket. He did not look impressed.

  Lewis was dressed in a mix of smart and casual wear; a pair of jeans, white t-shirt and black suit jacket, and smart black shoes.

  “Omniosis is ready to see you Lucius,” Lewis said politely.

  “Good,” Lucius said bluntly.

  They made their way down to the lobby of the hotel and Lewis led his old boss outside. A Spidercar-drawn carriage with scrappy black cloth curtains was waiting for them.

  “No car?” Lucius asked suspiciously.

  “Nah,” Lewis shrugged, “I thought we’d travel in style. This is the Mayor’s carriage and it’s very nice. Besides, it will give us a chance to talk.”

  Lucius looked puzzled. “Oh, will it?”

  “Yeah. Look, I know what you’re going through man,” Lewis said as he climbed in the carriage. “This stuff is getting crazy.” He held out his hand and helped Lucius inside before drawing the curtains.

  “It certainly is,” Lucius agreed, as he tried to find a patch on the torn leather seats that wasn’t damp or destroyed.

  The Spidercar chirped some steam from its brassy joints and bounded along down the road on its heavy limbs.

  Inside, Lewis and Lucius were bumped about. Lewis seemed oblivious to it but Lucius was clearly uncomfortable.

  “I know you’re not happy with the Archmage’s decisions-” Lewis began.

  “I didn’t spend all this time spreading my influence over Imperia to have it taken away in his campaign to merge the world,” Lucius interrupted.

  Lewis opened his arms empathetically. “I get what you’re saying, really I do man, but don’t you think we should just go with Omniosis’ plan? I mean why fret over one continent when you’ll have all three soon?”

  “Will I though?” Lucius questioned coldly. “And even if I do, at what cost? My friends and colleagues are dropping dead around me. We had all we could ask for before and we didn’t have to die for it.”

  “But your original plan was to take down the Trinity, wasn’t it? Surely that would have cost lives too,” Lewis retorted.

  Lucius looked at him suspiciously; he could tell that something was different about the young man he’d once hired. “It may have done, but nowhere near the amount of lives that will be lost if this carries on.”

  “So you’re just going to leave Winston in the lurch then?”

  “No,” Lucius said defensively. “I’m going to ask the Archmage to consider the needs of our forces here as well as those around the world. Our allies need help.”

  “And if the Archmage doesn’t agree?”

  “Then I’m out, along with anyone else in the Circle who feels the same.”

  “So you don’t care about Winston then,” Lewis said harshly.

  “Of course I do,” Lucius said angrily. “If it comes to it, I’ll talk Winston out of this folly and we’ll try to go back to the way things were. I know he doesn’t want to see any more of his friends get hurt.”

  “The Archmage won’t like that,” Lewis said sternly.

  “The Archmage can go fuck himself,” Lucius spat back.

  They spent the rest of the bumpy journey in awkward silence.

  The Spidercar came to a halt and whistled steam from its vents. Lewis jumped out of the carriage and Lucius slowly followed.

  They were at the base of the Archmage’s tower. The plaza looked completely different to how it did during the wedding ceremony. It was dark and dismal, and the masked faces protruding from the glass seemed to look downwards in an oppressive and highly intimidating way.

  Lucius marched up the steps towards the tower’s iron doors and Lewis followed a few steps behind. Either side of the metal doors, which were also marked with the Archmage’s mask banner, were two of the altered Inquisition troopers. They stared blankly ahead with their new black orb eyes, their shaven heads and stitched up faces leaving little indication to what gender they had once belonged to. Their power armour and rifles crackled with green Gloom electricity every now and then, for DVAF had become quite the pro at fixing and enhancing Inquisition technology.

  Lewis gestured for the troopers to open the doors and they did so obediently. Lucius didn’t even pause for a moment and stormed into the spacious lobby, and Lewis upped his pace to keep up. Long black banners with a single white mask hung from the tall ceiling at regular intervals, and the floor was black and white slabs of marble that were chequered like a chess board. The troopers closed the big doors behind them.

  “So there’s nothing I can say to get you to reconsider?” Lewis asked pleadingly.

  “Not a damned thing,” Lucius replied coldly.

  “That’s a shame former boss-man, a real shame,” Lewis said sadly.

  Lucius stopped in his tracks in the centre of the lobby. He looked down in shock and saw a thin enchanted blade protruding from his chest. The growing evil slither of razor sharp silver metal had pierced his heart.

  “You… treacherous little… shit…” Lucius wheezed as blood poured from the wound.

  The blade retracted and Lucius acted quickly. He only had a brief window of opportunity to survive the encounter. He made to turn on the spot, draw his pistol, and shoot the turncoat Book Wielder in the face, but his reactions were sloppy and his movements careless, for Lewis was negating his Vampiric abilities. Even though the time it took Lucius to line up the shot was a mere few seconds, it wasn’t quick enough. The Book Wielder had already moved himself behind the injured Vampire and kicked him in the back of the legs, bringing him to his knees.

  “If only you could have seen things our way,” Lewis said in a peculiar distorted voice that was a mix of Omniosis’ and his own.

  The elongated blade cleanly nicked Lucius’ head off his shoulders. The body and head toppled to the floor, and blood spread across the chequered marble slabs. Unable to sustain itself, the Vampire’s corpse and head dried and became ashen, quickly caving in and collapsing into a heap of dust. The blood also turned grey, st
arting from the origin point and spreading outwards, until that too was just a thin film of ashes. All that was left of Lucius, the founder of the Shadow Circle, was a dusty suit, a few personal effects, and a pistol.

  Lewis retracted the magical blade, closed it, and put it back in his suit pocket. The black eyed Book Wielder walked casually back to the entrance, swinging the doors open and peeking outside in a comical fashion.

  “Guys,” he said to the two altered troopers. He thumbed backwards in the direction of Lucius’ remains. “Clean that mess up for us.”

  - - -

  “Winston, bringer of succulence and snacks!” the Foreman boomed down from his speaker-filled mouth. “We are ready to begin the carnage!”

  Winston gave a thumbs-up in the general direction of the Foreman’s face. He’d been preparing for this moment for weeks, and now he would see if all his prudent planning had paid off. Holding his book in one hand and his quill in the other, he raised his arms outwards at his sides and closed his eyes. He imagined all of the required locations on his mental map of Pollutia and began tearing open portals into reality.

  In the real world, in Industria City, word had spread that the forces of the Archmage were about to take the city, but the news was too convoluted with rumours and it had arrived far too late. Panicking civilians either hid in their homes praying to the Twin Goddesses for the best, or stampeded towards the docks and harbours in the hope of reaching a vessel bound for elsewhere. Trinity of Old and Inquisition reinforcements struggled to rally their own ranks, and the portals had only just begun to open. Most of the rebels were fighting out in front of the city, unable to retreat to the city without allowing their aggressors in with them. The Clockwork Angels and Desem Patriots had been valiantly defending the innocents in the cities up and down the Desem coast line and in the small town and villages within the heart of the continent, but they were now extremely hard-pressed to make it to the real battle. The only real hope the rebels had of stopping Winston was the Autons, who were currently defending the World GOVT building plaza and waiting for him to make his move.