Hayden hung face down above the starless, empty maw of the gate, suspended by barbed chains wrapping his armor, binding him between heaven and earth, between life and death. Blood leaked from his armor where the spines pierced it, droplets of dark crimson counting seconds as they fell into eternity. Each chain glinted with a venomous sheen under his blazing gaze. Deckard knew each restraint on sight: duty, honor, courage, purpose, and compassion.
Hayden raised his head. His faceplate had shattered on one side, revealing the boy’s sly smirk and serene eyes the grey-blue of the sea just after a storm has passed.
“You knew, didn’t you?” the young man asked. He smiled slightly wider, accepting. “Of course you did. You knew I’d die for you.”
A spike of ice drove itself into Deckard’s heart. He reached out and drew on as much Axiom as he could hold, intending to slice his apprentice down, to save him.
The instant he tried, the Axiom rushed out of him. His limbs froze. His heart stopped. And the tide of sorcery he’d unleashed funneled into the chains and set them alight.
His vision faded to a point as death’s shadow fell on him, sparing him the sight of Hayden thrashing himself to pieces. A loud hiss of cold malice wormed its way through his gut into his very soul, drowning out the world.
But he could still hear the scream.
Deckard woke with a start. Biting cold radiated from his abdomen, sending spokes into his leg and back. His limbs shook, but with cold or with fear he didn’t know. His head ached, and medicine fogged his mind. He reached one sluggish hand to pluck himself free from the cords that entangled him, but before he could someone grabbed him at the wrist. A burst of cologne assaulted his nose.
“Easy, Dr. Riss. Easy.”
Deckard blinked and focused on the face of Detective Pagliano. He began to speak, but his mouth was dry and he collapsed into a fit of painful coughs. When it passed, Pagliano offered him a sip of water from a beige plastic mug with a matching straw. The liquid soothed his throat.
“Detective. Why are you here?”
“I promised your boy I’d keep you safe while he...minds the shop, so to speak.” Pagliano smiled, and his eyes shone with hidden laughter. “You should be proud of him, Doc. That’s a big stole to fill for such a short kid.”
The cotton around his mind made thinking difficult, but the pieces fell into place for Deckard after a few seconds. “Then you know,” he stated flatly.
The detective flashed a grin, but it melted into a serious nod. He sat on a stool next to the hospital bed. “I know you’ve been a big help to this city. Who knows what some of the crooks we deal with would’ve gotten up to without your expertise. You ask me, we could use a couple more like you and your boy.”
Deckard sorted through the emotions as they came, a mix of frustration, admiration, gratitude, and mirth. Pagliano knew, but he implied he wouldn’t tell. “That’s very kind of you, Detective, but I’m afraid not much can be done to protect me now.”
“I disagree. Your house was torched. Arson. And you almost died. Regardless of what you think, I think you need two uniforms outside the door and me in here.”
“I’m dying detective. Nothing you or anyone else can do will prevent that.”
“Humor me.”
Deckard sighed in frustration. His eyes were so heavy, but he forced them to remain open. “I suppose I’m in no position to argue.”
“Doc, something tells me that’s a first for you.”
Deckard glared at the detective, who just smiled blandly back. “I get enough disrespect from my pupils, Detective Pagliano. Speaking of which, when do you expect Hayden to return? I have some...final instructions to impart.”
“Not really sure, Doc. I got word he was chasing down a lead just before I walked in here to find you trying to break out.”
Deckard motioned for the water, and Pagliano held the cup out for him. He took a second sip, then a third. “I owe you an explanation, Detective, but it needs to wait. For now I need to speak with Hayden. Can you contact him?”
Pagliano’s brow furrowed. “I can try, but it would have to go through dispatch.”
“Then what use…!” Deckard barked, but he was brought up short by a spasm of pain in his abdomen that curled him up and stole his breath. For several seconds, every muscle he had command of locked together against the agony. When the pain passed, he spent several seconds gasping for air.
“Doc?” Pagliano stood to his feet, looking from Deckard to the medical machinery to the door.
“I’m...alright. A moment.” He brought iron will to bear on his rebellious lungs, slowing his breathing, demanding stillness and calm from his mangled body. Eventually he could speak without interrupting every other word. Detective Pagliano returned to his seat on the stool, and Deckard looked him in the eye.
“Something is wrong, Anthony. I know it. If nothing changes, Hayden is going to die, and this city may die with him.”
“We know about Wolfe, if that’s what you mean. If he makes a move, Special Operations will have a team at his door in minutes.”
Deckard rocked his head back and forth on his pillow. “It’s more than that. A tide is building, out there.” He knew it was true the moment he said it. Whether the instinct developed over centuries or some sense he’d gained from being connected to the Axiom for so long, it didn’t matter. He knew in his brittle bones he was right.
“When it crashes, that wave will sweep everything before it. I have to help Hayden, before the fool boy tries to stop it by himself.”
“No offense, Doc, but right now you can’t even stand. How long will you last out of that bed?”
A knock at the door forestalled Deckard’s reply. A uniformed officer stuck his head in.
“Detective? Dispatch just came through. Some kind of lightning storm just appeared over the north end of the city.”
Pagliano rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain, but nothing was visible except the brick exterior of another hospital wing. He spun back to the confused officer still leaning in the doorway. “Get up to the roof and confirm it. Tell your partner to stay put. This could be a distraction.”
“It’s not a distraction.” Deckard pushed himself upright, hissing against a new burst of pain. “Wolfe is opening the gate.”
“Gate to where?” Pagliano asked.
Deckard gripped the rails of his hospital bed with frail hands. His voice rasped with pain and anger.
“Hell.”
Chapter Fifty
Lights and sirens, Hayden decided, were going in his next car. Traffic continued to part for the red-and-blue light show. He’d torn through downtown at horribly unsafe speeds, ignored every stop sign and red light, and nearly pancaked himself on the broad side of an eighteen-wheeler, but he’d almost reached Wolfe’s building. It didn’t hurt that most people were driving away from the crazed storm raging unabated above the high rise.
The lightning formed a solid mass, throwing harsh, weirdly dancing shadows over the neighboring blocks even as it washed the color out of the world. Instead of rolling peals of thunder, the air held a crackling hum that waxed and waned at odd intervals. The inherent wrongness of it set Hayden’s teeth on edge.
He slid around the last corner and slammed on his breaks. The abused police cruiser squealed its tires in protest as he forced it to hop the curb mere feet from the sliding glass of the apartment complex’s front door. He flung open the door and flew toward the steps as fast as his tired muscles could carry him, shouting at the few remaining bystanders to run.
Hayden knew the basic gating process from Deckard: Energize the glyphs, stabilize the gate, orient the gate to the intended destination, force the connection between your present location and destination. The last part would be the hardest for Wolfe. He was accessing an entirely different reality. The energy required would be immense. If his control wavered he could open a portal to the surface of the sun or blow himself up as all that power spilled out. If Hayden moved fast enough, he could hel
p that last bit along. He grit his teeth and ran up the short flight of steps to the entry.
Glass shattered as four ropes of chain-link burst through the lobby doors and streaked toward him. Hayden leapt aside and threw up a shield, but weariness slowed both limbs and mind. He hopped left and tripped on the rounded concrete lip of the stairs, which sent him into a tumble. The shield construct blossomed on his left arm, rippling, unstable, and useless against the chain that snaked itself around his right ankle and jerked him up short.
In a parody of what he’d done to Helmet Head earlier, Hayden spun in a short arc that cracked his temple against the concrete, filling his vision with stars and breaking his concentration. His shield flashed out of existence. Hayden blinked slowly, trying to focus, as he was lifted upward by the metal lariat on his ankle. Three more restraints wrapped themselves around him, pinning his arms below his head, binding his legs together, and squeezing his chest.
The bindings reeled him closer to their source, clanking. The world flipped again as he was turned upright, held a foot off the ground. Hayden’s vision cleared, and he peered through the silver-edged gloom at the figure standing on the top step.
Chains’ ugly face glared down at him. At first, Hayden thought the Bone Dog wore armor of some kind, but as the uncertain light shifted it revealed something worse. Wrapped in layers of his namesake, head to toe, Chains gained even greater bulk. The cords of metal links expanded and contracted with the man’s breathing, clattering gently over each other. Two chain tentacles still extended from his massive forearms, but now four more bent around from his back, and two shorter lengths hung from his calves, lifting him two inches from the ground.
“Arclite,” Chains sneered. “I was hopin’ you’d be dumb enough to come here.”
“Noah!” Hayden said in mock surprise. “I thought you’d still be doped up at County. How’s the head?”
Chains growled, and Hayden swung sideways, fully extended like a living baseball bat. His arms and the back of his head struck the brick building, hard. Hayden grunted and the stars returned, along with little black dots at the edges of his vision. His fingers and forearms tingled numbly and his head pulsed with pain.
“‘Bout like that,” Chains said.
Lightning flashed under Hayden’s feet, then overhead as the thug spun him around once more. He needed time to recover, get his bearings, but his mouth moved on auto-pilot.
“What’s a little brain damage between friends?”
“Friends?!” Chains roared. “Look what you did to me!” Chains pounded his metal carapace. “Wolfe turned me into a freak!”
Cold terror jolted Hayden into focus. “Wolfe did that? How?”
Chains shook him like a rag doll. Hayden tried not to bite his tongue in half. “Magic, moron! How do I get back to normal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t gimme that.” Chains reached out with his flesh and blood hand to grab Hayden by the armored throat and pull him closer. Hayden smelled Chain’s cigarette laced breath over the scent of oiled metal. “You work with a magic man. You know somethin’. Tell me how to get back.”
“The women don’t like your new uniform?”
Chains bared his teeth in a growl, and the ropes holding Hayden ratcheted tighter. Hayden thrashed at his bonds, but Chains tightened them further, crushing his air. After a few seconds, Chain let the python squeeze end.
Hayden starred Chains right in his dark eyes. “I don’t know! We don’t go around forcing people to audition for a heavy metal Mummy remake.”
“No, you just let your pal Wolfe do it for you!”
Hayden had to laugh at that, snorting out short chuckles that hurt his bruised ribs. “Noah, you are some kind of special. Do you know what Wolfe’s doing? Why are you even working for him?”
Emotions flashed over Chains’ face, too fast to follow. Hayden only caught a glimpse, but that was enough. Wolfe terrified Chains.
“You think I wanna be here? He made me wait for you, said he wanted you here until he’d done his trick with the lightning up there.” Chains shook his head. “I got no choice. And now…” He flexed his hold on Hayden. “...Neither do you.”
Lightning. The gate. A spark of hope ignited Hayden’s mind, but it was risky. He had to keep Chains talking.
“It was the Shard, wasn’t it Noah?” Hayden gathered his will and spun a filament of Axiom, a thread smaller than spider silk that extruded slowly from his foot. “That’s how Wolfe got his claws in you.”
Chains’ lip curled up. “He forced it on me while I was in the hospital bed you put me in!”
Hayden flinched from the shouted accusation and kept running his line of Axiom out, curving it up Chain’s back, looping it through the links covering his skin.
“I didn’t know what it was, Noah. I thought it was just a drug.”
It was Chains’ turn to laugh. “You thought? Doesn’t matter what you thought. Only thing that matters now is, I beat you. When the light show stops, I’m gonna rip your arms off. Then that smug nancy boy is gonna get his.”
Two more link ropes wrapped Hayden’s limbs. The restraining metal stretched taut and pulled his arms and legs out into an X shape. Hayden fought down a wave of panic, holding onto his tiny construct. It peaked out from over Chains’ shoulder. Almost. He just needed a few more seconds.
“Wait! Noah, you don’t know Wolfe. If he finishes what he’s doing up there, you’ll be dead.”
“Maybe. And maybe that means the only choice I got left is how to kill you.”
Hayden pushed his filament skyward, straight at the storm. “I can help you, Noah. I do know something about magic. It could help.”
“Arclite, begging to make a deal.” Chains smiled. “Ain’t that sweet? Alright, hero, what’s gonna help me?” The little line of energy zipped higher, passing multiple stories with every heartbeat.
Hayden lowered his voice, forcing himself to sound earnest. “Did you know…” The construct passed the roofline, a thin wire of golden light. “...that lightning summoned by magic feels exactly like normal lightning?”
Chains’ brow furrowed in obvious confusion that bled into anger. Hayden’s wire touched the limb of Wolfe’s lightning-tree. Hayden severed himself from the wire, leaving it intact, and threw every ounce of will he had left into shielding himself. A sheen of Axiom raced from his head to his feet between the outer layer of his armor and the flexible golden bands laying against his skin.
A bolt of silver-blue lightning fell from the sky and struck Chains in the back. Even with the coating of Axiom protecting him, it seared Hayden’s eyes and threw a wash of heat over him. Chains jerked, arching into a bow, his arms spasming wide. His tentacle-like appendages lashed back and forth, flinging Hayden’s legs away and wrenching his arms. Hayden heard a pop as his left shoulder pulled free of its socket, and new pain joined older aches.
Chains collapsed limply in a heap of clattering metal and Hayden dropped two feet to the ground. He worked himself free of the loops of chain link and stood slowly, groaning and cradling his near useless left arm. Chains lay unmoving, trailing steam into the cool night air.
“Shocking, I know,” Hayden panted, smiling to himself. Chains didn’t react. Hayden considered that sufficient evidence he’d neutralized Chains as a threat. A pun that painful could wake the dead.
He staggered up the front steps and into the lobby through the broken door. A group of fearful faces stared at him in awe from behind the front desk. A couple wore matching outfits and nameplates. No one spoke.
“Penthouse elevator?” he asked them. “I’m expected.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Deckard tried to shift his legs, but only succeeded in flopping his left one next to the rails. His right leg might as well have been dead. Sweat beaded his forehead and the muscles in his arms and abdomen burned with strain simply holding him up. He closed his eyes and conceded defeat, slowly laying back on his pillow. There was no way he could leave the hospital bed with h
is body in its current condition.
“How do we stop him?” Detective Pagliano asked. “I thought Hayden was going to keep this from happening.”
“He’s trying, Detective, but it would appear he’s too late. I’d hoped…” Deckard frowned at himself. “I’m out of time. We all are.”
“I’m calling my captain. He can request Special Operations to move, maybe give your boy some support.” Pagliano plucked his phone from a pocket and flipped it open.
Deckard shook his head. “They’ll be too late.”
“We have to do something!”
“I will.” Only Deckard’s knowledge could tip the scales for Hayden. He had to be there. Even if his body was not. “Live well, Anthony.”
“Doc?”
Deckard opened himself to the Axiom. That sweet golden energy gurgled and splashed through his will, spilling out in heatless flames over his body. He had never attempted anything like this.
There were legends, though, old when he had been a boy. They spoke of a mage desperate to extend his life and power. He crafted a suit of armor to sustain him, drinking raw Axiom and using it to knit his failing body together, and replacing pieces of himself with more sorcerous artifacts as organs rotted and limbs withered. Eventually, even that wasn’t enough to keep up with the decay. So he poured his spirit into the armor itself.
Deckard reached into the shadow of reality where he stored his Archon armor and drew it forth. The golden metal floated above him, suspended in an aura of visible Axiom. The pool of energy around the armor melded into the tendrils seeping up from Deckard’s body. A memory floated to his mind of words he’d spoken once, so long ago.
“I am the bridge and the gate, the sword and the shield.” Atlantean felt thick on his tongue, but with each syllable the familiar sounds of the past returned to him.
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