by Chris Fox
“All right, everyone.” Aran lowered his rifle a hair so he could study the four figures without looking through the scope. “The one in the center with the falchion is the primary target. Crewes, I want you to engage spell amplification once we close the gap. Burn it all, or until they go down. We’ll use mine on whatever the next wave is. I want to save Bord and Kezia’s until we face Arkelion himself, if possible.”
“And me?” Kheross demanded. He swung his axes in slow, lazy twirls.
“Look for an opening, and do as much damage as you can.” Aran frowned as he studied the four demons, who’d yet to leave the lift. “They’re waiting for us. Let’s not disappoint them. Crewes, you’re on point.”
“Oh, good, I’ll go introduce us.” Crewes fired the thruster on his armor and rocketed into the corridor on a plume of flame. All four demons watched him with interest, but none made a move to approach as he closed the gap. Aran fell in behind him, keeping his rifle cradled in his arms as he approached.
Kheross trotted past them both, giving a nod as he moved to engage.
Bord and Kez came last, with Bord waiting near the door while Kezia stood protectively between them. They all knew their roles, and executed without needing to be told.
Crewes stopped about twenty meters from the lift, and called out cheerfully to the demons, “Hey, there. You ladies look lost. You sure you want to be in this neighborhood after dark? ‘Cause people have a tendency to get hurt. Here, let me show you a little trick I’ve been practicing.”
The lead demon gave a delighted laugh. She stopped laughing when Crewes raised his cannon and fired a continuous stream of superheated flame. It poured from the barrel like water from a hose, and Aran quickly realized that Crewes had somehow found a way to unify the two elements. Whatever he was firing burned like flame, but moved like water.
It flowed around all four demons, and coated every bit of exposed skin. Cries of rage came from the lift, and the lead demon charged Crewes. The sergeant snapped down his hands and his wrist spikes extended. He dropped his spellcannon at his feet. “Looks like you want to tussle. Come get some, skank.”
The demon raised her falchion, a large, curved blade not unlike Narlifex. She brought it down on Crewes in a brutal slash, but Crewes was ready. The Sergeant knocked the blow to the side with his right hand, then jabbed the claws on his left wrist into her midsection. All three blades snapped against her armored skin, and the broken weapons clattered to the ground.
She delivered a roundhouse that sent Crewes skidding across the floor in a shower of sparks. Aran snapped his rifle up and sighted down the scope. He aimed for her chest, and thumbed the selector to level three. “Crewes, can we get that amplification?”
“On it, sir.” Crewes’s armor flared gold, and a wave of energy shot out from his armor. An answering resonance came from the rest of the squad’s spellarmor, and a tendril of golden energy attached to each of them.
The effect was instant. Aran could move faster, think more quickly. He was stronger, and his magic was also stronger. He smiled as he fired an empowered level three void bolt at the demon’s chest. The energy knocked her back a half step, but Aran blinked in disbelief when his strongest spell had no visible effect.
A fifth figure dropped suddenly from above, and slammed into the ground behind the four demons. It gave Aran his first real look at Arkelion, an ordinary looking man with long, blue hair flowing loosely around his shoulders. A bit like Kheross, but even more emo. The hair shimmered and glistened like water, and Aran realized it reminded him a great deal of Frit.
His features were handsome, but not supernaturally so. He was well-muscled, but again not supernaturally so. He looked rather ordinary, with the exception of the hair. Arkelion’s face split into a cruel smile. “I see you’ve learned that my daughters are quite impervious to magic, and I’ve warded them against flame since your squad seems so fond of its use.”
Aran switched to his internal microphone, which meant Kheross theoretically couldn’t hear. “Switch to non-fire-based attacks. Let’s see what kind of mileage we can get with water.”
The lead demon charged Crewes, who was struggling back to his feet. Kezia rushed forward and leapt into the air over him. She raised her right hand to fling a ball of water at the demon’s feet. The spell hardened instantly, and the demon tripped. Kezia wrapped both hands around her hammer, and brought it down on the demon with immense force.
The blow knocked the demon prone, and her sword went skittering away.
“You will,” the demon panted as she rose, “pay for that.” She began struggling to her feet, but clearly the blow had done something. That gave Aran hope.
He snapped open his spellshield, and shifted Narlifex to his free hand. If magic wasn’t going to work, this needed to be settled the old-fashioned way. “Kheross, Crewes, let’s form a line.”
Aran moved to stand in the center of the corridor, while Kheross hurried to his right. Crewes trotted up on his left, and seemed no worse for wear other than his missing wrist blades.
Kezia and the first demon were still scrapping in the corner. The others charged, each leaping toward one of them. The demon Aran squared off against topped three meters, and had the range to match. Her spear was larger than Aran’s sword, and afforded her even greater reach. Combined with her natural magic resistance that deprived Aran of almost every available strategy.
Almost.
Aran leapt at her, and as expected she brought her blade around in a defensive strike that should have forced him to leap back. Instead, Aran shifted his entire body to air, and the enemy’s spear whistled harmlessly through the space he’d occupied.
He rematerialized and yanked the pistol Hernandez had given him from its holster, then aimed it at her face from a half-meter away, which probably wasn’t a great idea given what Hernandez had said about close range.
Aran stroked the trigger, and the pistol kicked in his grip. A purple round shot into the demon’s face, and detonated on impact. The resulting explosion sent Aran tumbling away, though he was able to roll with it, and came back to his feet a dozen meters away. Several angry yellow warnings sprang up on the spellarmor’s HUD, but nothing critical.
The demon wasn’t so lucky. The round had caught her in the temple, and while her chest still rose and fell, she was very much unconscious and out of the fight. For now at least.
Aran turned back to the rest of the combat. Kheross was being forced back by a demon with a pair of short swords. She was larger, faster, and impervious to all of Kheross’s responses.
Crewes was faring better, and clung to his target’s back with an arm around her throat. She rammed him into the wall, but he refused to budge.
Behind him, Kezia was still squaring off against her opponent, and getting the worst of it. Their line was about to buckle, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it, except keep Arkelion occupied. Aran knew that, in all likelihood, he was about to die.
He dragged Narlifex’s tip along the floor, drawing a line of sparks as he approached the ancient Wyrm. “I hear you fancy yourself a blade master. I seem to be short a dance partner. Shall we?”
Arkelion’s smile grew more predatory. “Let’s.”
47
Counterspell
Voria settled into a full lotus position, the kind of thing she rarely liked doing. In this instance, the pose was fitting, and it meant that she wouldn’t have to focus on standing while attempting the single most complex spell she’d ever witnessed, much less cast.
She’d set the walls of the matrix to be their natural state, a sea of ever-changing sigils. Their energies bathed her in brilliant power, and she drank eagerly of that strength. It originated from all over the ship, from anywhere that a tech mage happened to be. The ship siphoned the energies they were willing to part with, and fed them to Voria.
She breathed. Deep and slow, the rhythm running counterpoint to her own heartbeat. When she was ready, she sketched the first sigil. She begin with life
, then added spirit, then life again. She added water, and finally she sketched an earth sigil to harden the spell. So simple for such a massive endeavor.
It took moments, no more than a simple void bolt might have. Yet the energies flowing through her dwarfed the power a mortal could wield. It dwarfed the strength of the ritual used to cleanse Kheross and Rhea. For the first time, she suspected she was experiencing what a god felt. The feeling of unlimited power was heady, and dangerous.
Voria focused. She envisioned the planet below, seeing it through the eyes of the First Spellship. A human saw in one spectrum. The ship saw in all of them, hundreds of layered senses, and countless possibilities. She could feel the abominations below, clogging the cities dotting the surface on every continent.
She could feel the life force of the millions of surviving humans. She could even sense their dread and their resignation. Under that, for some at least, lay hope. New hope, inspired recently. That was growing, though not quickly enough. Perhaps she could speed it along.
Voria completed her spell, and a blue-grey counterspell streaked from the Spellship’s hull. It slammed into the surface of the world in an inaudible explosion of light. That light flowed over the planet’s surface like mist, covering every centimeter.
Everywhere it passed, the abominations flared as they were touched, then simply ceased to exist. Corpses toppled to the ground all over the planet, while bound creatures found themselves suddenly freed, able to turn on their former masters. The counterspell completed its work, and the blue energies faded.
“You okay, ma’am?” Pickus asked quietly from the corner. “Looks like it took something out of you.”
“A great deal.” She rose shakily to her feet, and vertigo nearly stole her balance. Ikadra was suddenly in her grip, and she sagged against the staff. “Thank you.”
“I want to make a joke about sweeping you off your feet, but I got nothing.” Ikadra’s voice had returned to full enthusiasm. “That. Was. Awesome. I bet those binders are so pissed right now.”
“Ma’am,” Pickus called, “I’m putting the admiral on screen.”
“Of course,” she slurred. She shook her head to clear it, but that was a mistake. It loosed a wave of fatigue that saturated every muscle. She badly wanted to sleep, and realized in horror that like it or not, she wouldn’t have much choice soon. The spell had simply taken too much out of her.
She blinked a few times to force her eyes open, then focused on the scry-screen. It held an impossibility. Nimitz was smiling. “I take back at least half the bad things I’ve ever said about you, ma’am.” He removed his hat. “I don’t know what you did, but my people are taking back over a dozen cities as we speak.”
“C-can you handle the remaining binders?” She raised her free hand to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn.
The smile faded, replaced by grim resignation. Nimitz replaced the hat, and straightened it before answering. “Your boy, Aran, is a sight to see.” Something bright exploded in the distance, and a trace of smoke drifted across the monitor. Nimitz cleared his throat, and pointedly ignored whatever was happening around him. “If this is the last time we talk, you’ve got my apologies. I’ve got to get my rifle now. If we go down here, avenge us, Colonel.”
The screen died. Voria wrapped both hands around Ikadra and pulled herself to her feet. Sleep would have to wait. She was about to order the Spellship into low orbit when a fiery-red border appeared around the scry-screen to indicate an incoming missive.
Voria waved impatiently and the screen lit. A haggard Eros stared back at her, then staggered as the Arcanaca lurched behind him. Smoke and flame belched into the room, but Eros sketched a ward with incredible speed. The white runes swirled around him, protecting him from the blast.
He turned back to the screen. “We are ruined, Voria. Teodros has come. Our fighters burn like candles. We are naked before the fury of a demigod, and I do not possess the strength to stop him.”
Erika suddenly entered the picture, and moved to wrap an arm under Eros. “I’ve got you. Hang in there, Tender.” She turned to face Voria. “We’ll get to the Chamber of the First, and try to slow Teodros down. It’s all we can do.”
The implications slid a blade into her heart, cleaving it permanently in two. “I cannot reach you in time to make a difference. I’m so sorry, Eros. I was so very wrong.”
Only in that moment did she realize the terrible extent of the manipulation. She’d been maneuvered like a Kem’Hedj scale, every piece set in such a way to cause her next, very predictable move. Teodros had been behind it all, and had ensured she’d be far from her homeworld when he came to claim the body of their goddess.
“We are past apologies, Voria. I forgive you, for what it’s worth. I have no interest in grudges, only in saving our goddess.” He lurched closer to the screen, soot smeared across one cheek. “Avenge me, Voria. The fight won’t end here. He can drink the pool, but not even he can uproot the tree and get to Shaya.”
“Don’t give up,” Erika snapped. She glared hard at Eros. “We can still prevail. Get us down there.”
“Goddess be with you, Voria.” Eros threw her a tight Confederate salute, and then the screen went dark.
“What have I done?” She sank to her knees. Sleep no longer beckoned, her grief keeping exhaustion at bay. Under it all lay anger. Rage. She’d been used, but she was still in this fight. She rose shakily to her feet, leaning heavily on Ikadra. “Pickus, I’m going to open a Fissure. Pilot us through, and then set a course for Shaya.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His tone was somber.
Voria raised a trembling hand and began to sketch. The three sigils took an eternity, but when she completed them, the familiar hellish glow of a Fissure split the sky. She prayed that Aran would be able to protect these people, and she prayed she reached her own in time to make a difference.
Then Voria toppled forward, asleep before she reached the deck.
48
Shards
Aran raised Narlifex into a guard position with both hands, and shifted his body so the spellshield on his left wrist faced Arkelion. He knew he had no chance of taking a full Wyrm as old as Arkelion, but he was certainly going to go down swinging.
Arkelion drew a gladius, the sword a little over a meter long, with a thick blade that could either be used to chop or to stab. He swirled it once in one hand. “Whenever you are ready.”
Aran reached deep into his magical reserves. He increased his speed and his strength with fire. He made himself more agile with air. Finally, he triggered the spell amplification on his armor.
Then Aran charged. He rained a flurry of blows upon Arkelion, every one a test. Arkelion casually batted each aside, and each time he moved the gladius only enough to deflect the blow. The fact that Aran was using a two-handed weapon with enhanced strength didn’t matter at all, and Aran was unable to force him even a single step backward.
Arkelion gave Aran a contemptuous look. “Teodros claims that you are some sort of champion of the gods, and that several have imbued you with their might. Thus far, I am not impressed.”
Then Arkelion rushed Aran, his blade seemingly in a hundred places at once. Aran wildly parried, and dodged what he could. Warning lights still bloomed all over the paper doll on his HUD as the blade master scored hit after hit.
Aran flipped backwards, dodging a kick, then ducked under a slash. He rolled back to his feet and brought Narlifex around in a low slash that Arkelion hopped over. He reversed the stroke and brought it up toward Arkelion’s side, but the dragon seized Narlifex at the last moment. He held the blade firmly in his hand, ignoring the trickle of dark blood where the sword had pierced his hand.
Aran strained against him, struggling to yank his blade away. Arkelion didn’t budge. His hand began to shake, and the muscles on his arm bunched. “Allow me to demonstrate the differences in our relative strengths, mortal.” His fist tightened suddenly, and the last quarter of Narlifex’s blade shattered into shards.
The blad
e screamed in Aran’s head—pain, rage, and horror. Aran echoed those emotions, but it was the rage he held onto. He reached instinctively for air, and gathered the shards before the landed on the floor of the lift. Each rose, and they swirled around the now jagged end of Narlifex.
Aran launched an attack at Arkelion, which the master easily parried. Only, he didn’t parry the dozen shards rotating around the sword’s jagged tip. They zipped past his defenses and sliced into his face and neck. Arkelion hopped back with a roar, and Aran retreated into a guard position.
“How you holding up, bud?” Aran whispered to his blade.
Narlifex strong. We kill. Then heal.
Aran wasn’t sure exactly what was involved in the healing part, but he caught the gist and figured he could deal with it later. For now, he had a fight to win.
Arkelion had fallen back several meters, and now circled Aran with a calculating gaze. The wounds on his face healed as Aran watched. He risked a quick glance at the rest of the combat, and all over Aran saw his people being pushed back by the demons. No one had gone down on either side, except for the demon Aran had dropped. That meant a stalemate, at least until the tech mages started running out of spells.
“I notice you’ve gotten awfully quiet,” Aran taunted. He kept his distance, until he saw an opening anyway.
“Do not bait me, child.” Arkelion leapt into the air, and came down on Aran with a fist to the jaw. Aran’s armor cracked, but held, as he was thrown to the ground several meters away.
Arkelion advanced, and Aran hurriedly climbed to his feet. He raised Narlifex, and used the wounded weapon to desperately deflect most of the blows Arkelion leveled at him. Then a blow slipped through, and the paper doll showed red over Aran’s chest. The next hit there and he was done. Aran hopped backwards and looked to the company for help, but no one was in a position to provide it.