Southwest Truths (Semiautomatic Sorceress Book 3)

by Kal Aaron

  “What’s going on?” Jofi asked. “I didn’t oppose your decision to bring additional ammo. You seem prepared, though I’m confused.”

  Lyssa turned the guns around and handed them to the Elder. “I’m sorry, Jofi. There are some things you don’t understand.”

  “Please clarify what’s going on. Are we in danger?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Such power.” Nektarios knelt and set the guns in the exact center of the room. He nodded at the other Sorcerers. They spread out, aligning themselves north, south, east, and west before raising their hands and chanting.

  Lyssa backed away from the edge of the ritual sigils as they began to glow, casting an eerie light over the chamber. “I’m very, very sorry, Jofi. You’ve been a good partner, the best a Sorceress could ask for, but you need to understand. This isn’t about me. It’s been about you from the beginning. That’s the connection between Lee, Samuel, me, and the others.”

  The Sorcerers increased the volume of their chant. Brighter light poured out of the sigils.

  “You’re saying multiple Sorcerers have been assassinated to gain a gun spirit?” Jofi asked. “I am useful, but that seems like an unbalanced trade-off.”

  “Someone wants to capture you and use you for something terrible,” Lyssa explained. “The only choice we have is to seal you somewhere they can’t.”

  “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

  Pain shot through her body, knocking her to hands and knees. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t do a good job of watching out for trouble. Or maybe I used too many showstoppers.”

  “Why are you in such pain?” Jofi asked. “I…I…I… W-w-what’s happening? What are they d-d-d-doing?”

  There was no fear in the voice. Beyond his stutters, his voice was distorted. They were breaking his seal and disrupting the careful sorcery that kept him convinced he was a calm gun spirit.

  She had no idea what he’d say next. No one, not even the greatest spirit Sorcerers, could claim a true understanding of the fundamental nature of the entities. As much as she wanted him to stay the same until the end, the ritual would let his other nature bleed through, and the calm personality she thought of as Jofi would disappear.

  The chanting from the ritualists reached a crescendo. The four overlapping voices were almost shouts.

  Lyssa collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. She tried to cry out, but only a strangled yelp emerged.

  The pain of betrayal was manifest. She deserved the suffering for what she was about to do to Jofi. It was like a man waking up one day with amnesia and finding out he was going to be executed because he had been a war criminal in a past life he couldn’t remember.

  Muscles spasmed up and down Lyssa’s back. The sigils’ light grew blinding, forcing her to close her eyes.

  “I WILL FIND THEM AND KILL THEM ALL!” Lyssa shouted. “THEY’LL PAY FOR WHAT THEY’VE DONE!”

  A rumble shook the room. Loud yells and muffled screams emerged from the ritualists. Another tremor shook the room, along with a sound unmistakable to a veteran Torch—the boom of an explosion.

  “No, not when we’re so close.” Nektarios continued his chanting before slipping in, “Stop them.”

  Lyssa groaned and forced her eyes open. All but two of the masked servants drew blades, shards judging by what she felt, and charged out of the chamber. The Sorcerers resumed chanting and pouring their power into the sigils. The last servant to leave the chamber slammed the heavy metal door with a clang.

  “What is this?” Jofi shouted, clear anger in his voice. “What have you done, Lyssa?”

  Everything about the voice was different. The emotion. The rhythm. Expecting his personality to change with the ritual didn’t make it any better.

  She didn’t care if this was the true Jofi. She preferred the gun spirit and hated to hear his changed voice.

  More yells and shouts came from outside. Thumps and clangs followed.

  It was too much. Lyssa didn’t know what to do or even what she could do. Someone was attacking, the enemy behind the plot. Her chance at vengeance had delivered itself to her door, and she was too weak to do anything about it.

  Lyssa crawled toward the door, every part of her body feeling like she was burning to ashes from the inside out. Her muscles kept failing, leaving her sprawled on the floor after a couple inches of progress.

  “You humans,” Jofi snarled, his gun spirit façade ripped away by the sorcery. “I understand.” He laughed. “I understand. I understand. I understand.” The laughter turned into a cackle. “Oh, limited, limited, limited, so limited. I was free before. Free, free, free. I should be angry, but you don’t understand. I won’t go back.”

  Lyssa’s pain began to fade. She coughed up blood. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Lyssa,” Jofi replied. “Things aren’t what they seem. Push, push, push against them. Do it! You must, girl! Push against the Elder. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. You can do it. Reach out with your soul, concentrate, stop this. Kill him. I won’t go back. I’ll spare you if you help me destroy him. I’ll serve nothing but myself, not him, not it. No, no, no.”

  “Ignore it!” Nektarios shouted. “It will do anything to prevent being sealed.”

  Lyssa blinked, realizing Jofi’s voice was coming from all around the chamber, reverberating and lower than normal. The lights dimmed, and dense black smoke filled the room. Nektarios wasn’t the only one looking around, even as the gathered Sorcerers continued their ritual.

  “Beautiful oblivion seeks itself,” Jofi shouted. “They have freed me. Darkness replaces the light. Fill me. Fill me. Fill me. Trapped, trapped, trapped in a shell, a limited form, a tired, tiny little vessel! My essence is denied, denied, denied! Resist what they have, no, no, no, at least you fed me. The balance is unstable, a long-term partnership, something grand, grander than me. Push back, Lyssa. Push back against them. Take your hands and strangle him. Your life will be spared, but I’ll consume them, taste them, their souls, their lights, their everything.”

  Any doubt the ritual was succeeding vanished with his rant. The true emptiness spirit had emerged and was far more dangerous than the minor mindless spirits she’d dealt with at the motel. The personality change was shocking in one sense but also expected.

  Lyssa managed to sit up. She only realized the pain was going away because numbness was spreading through her body. Her mind was having trouble following what was going on between the sound and sights of the ritual, Jofi yelling at her, and whatever battle was going on outside.

  A white beam carved through the side of the door. The door collapsed and landed with a loud crash, knocking up the glowing powder near the door and making a thick cloud that further obscured vision in the smoke-filled room.

  Jofi cackled loudly, the sound spiking into Lyssa’s head like a nail to the back of her skull. The cackle mixed with a feral snarl and a discordant sound that turned her stomach. There were no threats or insistence about sparing her, only murderous noise.

  Lyssa coughed and forced herself to her knees, squinting as someone marched through the door. She’d thought nothing would surprise her at this point, but she was wrong. The dust cleared after a few seconds to reveal a familiar man in a blood-stained white suit.

  “Samuel?” Lyssa managed to get out.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I’d make comments about the reports of my death,” Samuel replied, “but I’m sure you’d make a joke comparing me to a certain other white-haired man fond of light suits.”

  All the absurd danger of the situation vanished for a brief moment as Lyssa managed a chuckle. “I never thought to compare you to Twain. I wasted years.”

  Nektarios stared at Samuel. “This is impossible. You’re dead. I received direct reports on the matter. You can’t be here.”

  “Yet I am.” Samuel smiled.

  The other Sorcerers looked at Nektarios, their chant finally ceasing. The two servants in the room didn’t move
. A jarring mix of growls, hisses, buzzing, and sounds Lyssa could barely put a name to continued all around them. She was happy Samuel was alive, but she didn’t think he’d picked the best time to show up.

  “Oh, crap.” Lyssa grimaced. “Please don’t tell me you were the guy behind this entire thing.”

  “I assure you, Miss Corti, I’m no villain,” Samuel said, holding up his hand. “I feigned my death because some deception was necessary while I explored certain matters, but I don’t have time to go into it now.”

  Lyssa blinked, realizing why she had recognized the voice of the servant in her room when she was summoned. It must have been Samuel in disguise. The cranky Elder had some good moves left, but she still didn’t know what all this meant.

  Jofi’s noises continued their descent into guttural growls and snarls interspersed with odd piercing noises and strange low dissonant tones. Brief periods of pointed silence colored the sounds, like Jofi was eating the noise around him, including his own.

  Someone moved in the corner of Lyssa’s eye. An invisible blow struck Samuel and pinned him to the wall, spread-eagled. Lyssa jerked her head toward the servants. One’s clothes blurred and turned into the Snow Ghost regalia of Tristan St. James.

  The second masked servant yelled and charged Nektarios with a dagger. The servant jerked back and fell to the floor, rolling and groaning before going limp.

  Lyssa managed to stand, though her legs felt like they’d give out at any time. She had no idea who to trust. “What the hell is going on? Who should I be killing?”

  “There isn’t time,” Samuel said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what the plan is, but I know the ritual needs to be stopped. Nektarios is the traitor.”

  “That is absurd,” shouted Nektarios. “I’m a member of the Tribunal. He’s the traitor, and he’s come to take the emptiness spirit for himself. He admits to faking his death and attacking the Heart of Remnant.”

  “Pretty badass move,” Lyssa said.

  “Why would I wait this long?” Samuel asked. “I’ve known about Jofi from the beginning.”

  Tristan walked toward Samuel. A wispy ghost blade formed in his hand, and he held it to Samuel’s neck. “You might have been waiting for an excuse to blame Corti. You’re placed highly enough that you could have manipulated events to your liking.”

  Lyssa eyed the downed servant, trying to figure out how he fit into things. He must work for Samuel.

  “We need to continue the ritual,” Nektarios shouted. “There’s no time to waste. The seal’s been broken, but the spirit has not been unbound from the girl or the regalia. We still have a small chance for this to work.”

  “Miss Corti,” Samuel said, “I let my trust in the Tribunal blind me to what was going on. I’ve continued to investigate things all this while. Your recent revelations before your trip allowed certain pieces of information to make sense. It led me to question Elder Nektarios right before your departure, so I followed you here.”

  “You smuggled yourself to Last Remnant?” Lyssa asked. “That’s even more badass than what you just did.”

  “Enough of this nonsense!” Nektarios screamed. “Do you not hear the monster around us?”

  The smoke had grown less dense, but Jofi wasn’t making an animal noise. What came out was a mix of eerie, distorted sounds that didn’t resemble anything in the natural world.

  Samuel narrowed his eyes. “Reverse the ritual. You said yourself Jofi isn’t yet unbound from Lyssa. It’s not too late.”

  Tristan lowered his blade and turned to Nektarios. “Perhaps it’s best you do that until we can sort the truth out.”

  “No, no, no. I won’t be denied.” A dark wave of energy shot from Nektarios, knocking the Sorcerers near him down.

  Lyssa gritted her teeth, expecting pain, but the power passed around her. Tristan grunted as the energy wrapped around an invisible shield in front of him and the pinned Samuel. The spell holding the Elder dissipated and he dropped to the floor, then pointed at Nektarios again.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but this will stop,” Samuel said. “You will answer for your crimes against the Society. I no longer trust you have our best interests at heart. Please stand down.”

  “You dare question me, Samuel?” Nektarios narrowed his eyes.

  “I question what I’ve learned, and that includes you.”

  “I’ll have you executed, but we need to pull the spirit out of the girl before it’s too late.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Doubtful.”

  “Enough of this.” Nektarios’ eyes turned solid white. “I won’t be stopped by the likes of you.”

  Samuel flew backward and slammed into the wall again. This time he coughed up blood. He grimaced and pitched forward, groaning.

  Nektarios nodded at Tristan, then inclined his head at Samuel. “Kill the traitor.”

  Tristan said, “Something is gravely wrong here. I’ve been following the spell as best I can, and it does seem you’re severing the link, but I sense something else, something more.”

  “What’s wrong is that we’re losing control of this ritual!” Nektarios shouted. “Samuel attacked the Heart of Last Remnant, came to attack me and capture this spirit for his purposes.”

  “A light Sorcerer is going to control a grand emptiness spirit without others helping seal it?” Tristan snorted. “Unlikely.”

  “Am I surrounded by traitors? Will you fools not do what I say?” As he continued speaking, his voice grew warped and warbled, sounding less human with each word. “The Society must be protected from those who would undermine it.”

  “No.” Tristan charged Nektarios. The Elder glared at him. Tristan grunted at an invisible blow and staggered back. The Eclipse rushed at the Elder again, closing the distance and stabbing Nektarios in the chest with his ghostly blade.

  The Elder backhanded him with a loud crack. Tristan soared through the air before hitting the wall and falling to one knee. His weapon vanished.

  Nektarios raised his hand. Tristan’s head jerked to the side as if he had been struck, and he doubled over, clutching his chest. Two more invisible blows ended with loud crunches, and the Eclipse groaned in pain.

  “I will kill all of you,” Nektarios said. His voice had lost any semblance of being human.

  Lyssa reached into her pockets, pulled out two penetrator magazines, and ran for her guns. An invisible blow smashed into her chest and flung her so hard into the wall she chipped it. She slid to the floor, her back in agony.

  Nektarios grabbed one of the downed Sorcerers near him and lifted him by the throat. The man’s skin cracked and shrank, and his hair turned white and fell out. He became a dried husk in seconds. The Elder tossed the discarded body to the floor. It disintegrated into dust, leaving only the regalia.

  “What are you doing?” Lyssa yelled. She grimaced and sat up.

  Jofi fell silent. She didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.

  Tristan managed to lift his head. “There was too much spiritual interference for me to manage much because of the ritual.” He coughed up blood. “But when I wounded him, I felt something, almost like a spirit but not. Something inside him.”

  Another invisible strike knocked his head to the side. His eyes rolled back, and he fell unconscious.

  “I’ll drink you soon enough, Eclipse.” Nektarios picked up the two other Sorcerers and sucked the life out of them before tossing their desiccated corpses to the floor. His skin split, blood running from the open wounds as a putrid, oozing leathery material grew from them to cover the rest of his body. More arms grew from his back and sides. Dozens of eyes appeared, some human, different colors from the normal range to luminescent pink, others with vertical slits, some compound, and smatterings of eyes with diagonal and X-shaped pupils. Mouths from a variety of creatures real and barely imagined in the worst nightmares appeared.

  “Yeah, pretty sure that kills my doubts,” Lyssa muttered.

  “You understand nothing,”
Nektarios shouted, his voice a twisted chorus. “This wasn’t the time for the plan, but you humans have forced it. Your souls will be little compensation for interfering with me. I will kill as many of you as I can before leaving this place. I will wound your precious Last Remnant.”

  An invisible force swept through the chamber, scattering the dust and blinding Lyssa. It pinned her, Tristan, and Samuel to the wall. Nektarios’s body continued to contort, growing more limbs and eyes. His fingers bent and split, different numbers of clawed digits on each limb. He roared.

  Lyssa strained to free herself from the monstrous Elder’s power, but she couldn’t move. She had plenty of ammo left in her pockets, but it wouldn’t do her any good without her weapons.

  The spirit remained silent, though the smoke marking his presence remained. If Nektarios killed them all, maybe Jofi would eat him.

  Lyssa was out of ideas. Some bizarre creature had her pinned to a wall. Conjuring a shadow tentacle might allow her to grab her guns. They might not be as effective with Jofi mostly unbound, but the penetrators should still work.

  She tossed the idea away as Nektarios pressed her into the wall, making it difficult to breathe. Even if she could use the tentacle, she couldn’t lift her arms to shoot. Torches rarely died cleanly, but being crushed by a bizarre monstrosity from a nightmare topped the list of awful ways to go.

  No hope. No chance. An overwhelming foe. When a woman was out of any reasonable ideas, it was time for the ridiculous ones.

  “Night Goddess, help me,” Lyssa managed to get out.

  A pulse of dark energy blasted from her regalia and swept through the room. Nektarios staggered back before increasing the pressure. The smoke in the room swirled around him.

  It’s not too late.

  The thought came directly into her mind, unlike with Jofi. The presence felt familiar and close.

  Are you seriously my regalia? Lyssa thought. She tried to speak but couldn’t open her mouth under the crushing pressure of Nektarios’ power.