The Revered (The Earth Epsilon Wars, Book 3)

by Terrance Mulloy

  She tucked the sticks away and hurried over the bridge as fast as she could, resigned to the possibility she may never escape this place alive. Regardless, that was no longer her primary concern. The kernel of cold fury she held onto could only be extinguished by avenging those in the future who she had loved and lost. She was determined to find Cromwell’s quantum displacement device and destroy it. Whatever happened after that, was out of her control.

  After all, much like her presumably late father, she was a soldier, and he too would have expected her to complete this mission no matter what.

  Twenty-Five

  Matt led Rossiter down a damp stone staircase, deeper and deeper into the monastery’s gloomy lower levels. Matt swept the choking darkness with his weapon, taking note of Rossiter’s troubled breathing. It was coming in raspy exhalations as he hobbled alongside him, struggling to keep pace. “Do you need to rest?” Matt asked.

  “I’m fine,” Rossiter replied grumpily.

  “You sure about that?”

  “I used to jog for an hour every morning.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Rossiter shot him a displeased look, remembering his kidnapping for the first time in a long time. “Thanks for bringing me here by the way. I appreciate it.”

  “I never brought you here.”

  “Perhaps if you didn’t kidnap me, I’d be home in D.C. eating actual food as opposed to insects.”

  “We can argue about that once this is all over.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying our little stroll together. But do you have any idea where you’re taking me?”

  “I told you, we’re going to find Cromwell’s quantum displacement device and destroy it.”

  “What makes you think it’s even here?”

  Matt stopped to bring up the Combine’s holographic map on his time band. He would only need to think of the map, and it would appear. A red glow pulsed, indicating his current location within the monastery and the location of the device. They were getting close.

  “What is that?” Rossiter asked, fascinated by the strange looking imagery floating before him. The projection of the map seemed to somehow be alive, shimmering with organic light as if mimicking the patterns of electrons through a vast circuitry system.

  “I haven’t the time to explain. Let’s just say I’ve had a little extra-dimensional help.” As Matt lowered his arm to continue, something caused him to stop in his tracks. Without even thinking, he snapped his Reaper-rifle up and took aim.

  Framed in the gloom ahead, he saw the shrouded figure of a monk, the black fall of a robe coming off bony shoulders.

  Thinking this might be Iosef, Matt tightened his aim and stepped forward. “Move towards me. Nice and slowly.”

  The mysterious figure did not seem to be startled by Matt’s weapon. It stood there, unmoving.

  “Identify yourself,” Matt commanded. “I will not hesitate to shoot!”

  “It’s good to see you again, Matt.”

  Matt’s resolute expression wavered. The voice was female. One he vaguely recognized, despite the weird synthetic stutter that coursed through it. Her voice also echoed slightly after she finished speaking as if her words were being filtered through a reverb pedal.

  Matt could feel his heart thundering and his index finger tightening around the trigger of his weapon. “Step forward. Last chance!”

  As the figure stepped into a pillar of dim overhead light and disrobed, Matt paled with shock.

  It was Rowles.

  Or at least what was left of her.

  The once dark and chocolatey mane Matt remembered had been replaced with patchy, anemic tufts of hair, some it failing to conceal sections of her bare skull that had been fitted with neural shunts. A twisted and hideous collection of black wires were also grafted uneasily across her ashen skin - electronic veins that seemed to serve no purpose other than to horrify. Her fierce brown eyes were now two cataract-grey orbs that glared vacantly from her wretched visage. She wore the same clothes Matt had last seen her in, yet they were now filthy. The once well-toned figure was now rail-thin, with every limb repulsively elongated, almost comically so as if she had spent years being stretched on a Medieval torture rack.

  This was the net result of enhancement.

  Until now, Matt had never seen an enhanced human before. He figured not many would be equipped to survive the process. But the Susan Rowles he once knew was a woman whose grit and toughness went well beyond the normal boundaries of most people. At first, she probably thought she could endure Cromwell’s abuse and he would eventually give up.

  She would have soon learned otherwise.

  The true purpose of enhancement was not to merely inflict pain - although that was the preferred method in which it best worked. It was ultimately designed to forge new pathways in the mind that could be programmed accordingly. A bending of the will. The Stasi once used a similar method during the Cold War which they called decomposition.

  As Matt stared at her, there was almost a macabre, androgynous beauty to her. A strange sort of fragility, as if he were viewing her through a cracked lens. Cromwell had attempted to recreate her into his own image. On a cosmetic level, he had destroyed her. But on a neural level, her entire being was now an extension of Cromwell himself. She was no longer human.

  She had become Wraith.

  “He has plans for you, Matt. Such wonderful plans.”

  Hearing those words banished any reservations he may have held about pulling the trigger.

  Before he could, Rowles moved on him.

  As if jerked away on an invisible cord, Matt’s rifle was suddenly ripped out of his hand before he could fire off a shot. The gun went spinning across the room, and before his mind could contemplate what had happened, a lightning-fast series of kicks and punches peppered him across the chest and face, drawing blood. He reeled backward, shoving Rossiter out of harm’s way before he fell to his knees and spat out a mouthful of thick, crimson-laced spittle.

  “He always thought you might show up again one day. He’ll be glad you did.”

  Even with her dreadful appearance and rail-thin build, Matt was still no match for the well-trained Wraith operative. He raised a hand as if to stave her off until he had caught his breath. “Rowles— just wait—”

  Ignoring his plea, she attacked him again. Her actions were rote and mechanical, operating on a level that was beyond her normal thought processes. It was now simply to appease the will of her master.

  As Matt took the blows and came up to counter her attack, Rowles struck him again in another blistering flurry of punches. He went down harder this time, crashing to the ground, wheezing in pain and spitting clumps of blood. He was struggling to breathe now. Another blow to the face and he might pass out.

  “Leave him!” Rossiter pleaded.

  She only needed to level a look at Rossiter for him to cower in surrender. “No. Please—”

  Standing over Matt in silenced fury, she snatched his throat and pulled him up closer to her. “You should never have come here, Matt.”

  Matt struggled to speak, blinking furiously as he tried to focus on her, his face turning beetroot red. “It’s… ack… not… I’m not afraid… of Cromwell…”

  Rowles gave the tiniest of smirks, but it still dripped with menace. “It’s not Cromwell you should be afraid of. It’s me.” And with that, she struck him again across the jaw.

  Rossiter curled tighter against the clammy wall when he heard the heavy grunt of more Wraith guards swarming into the corridor. He knew Cromwell had little use for him now. Only death awaited him.

  If he were lucky, it would come quickly.

  Twenty-Six

  Ally crept into another dim tunnel that had been further excavated, the mirror-smooth walls yawning to become a larger, vaulted cavern. Unlike the other tunnels, this huge space was illuminated by masses of black metal and wiring that seemed to shimmer like cobwebs of violet light.

  And then, as if materializing from th
e darkness, an enormous and complex spherical machine rose from the middle of the room. It was partially inset into the ground, with three metal rings slowly rotating around it like a gyroscope. Encrusted with a webwork of wires and organic circuitry, the machine hummed like a giant industrial refrigerator, creating a discordant echo throughout the cavern as it bounced off the stone walls. It was almost a living thing.

  She had found Cromwell’s quantum displacement device.

  Not that she knew it, but the core of this device had been dramatically modified since it was taken from Prescott’s mansion. Even by Wraith standards, this was a dangerously constructed and highly bastardized version of a machine that not only allowed Cromwell to travel through time, but also traverse vast interstellar distances. The only device that rivaled its power was the time band the Combine had attached to Matt’s arm.

  Ally steadied herself, overwhelmed momentarily by its eeriness. She was spellbound by this alien structure. It was a perfect combination of the organic and the mechanical. A device that had reshaped Earth, and thus, denied her of so much human history.

  And that was why she needed to destroy it.

  The only thing stopping her from doing that was the two Wraith guards standing behind her brandishing Reaper-rifles, ordering her to turn around.

  She dropped the canvas bag and slowly raised her hands in surrender, placing them behind her head, interlacing her fingers.

  One of the guards barked something at the other and stepped forward, grabbing a fist-full of Ally’s collar and shoving her forward against a support column.

  The other guard snatched the canvas bag off the ground and peered inside. Head cocked; he did not appear to know what the contents were. However, the guard was smart enough to know it was something that could be used against them.

  Ally’s eyes stared straight ahead. That was until she decided to act.

  It almost did not register because it was so smooth and fast. She spun around and her right leg shot out with the force of a wrecking ball. The blow turned the guard behind her into a flying sack of limp meat and bone that slammed into the guard farthest from her.

  The air began to sizzle when Ally took off, weaving through the room as plasma rounds raked the walls behind her, dislodging large chunks of stone that peppered the room like shrapnel.

  The guard who was firing the weapon suddenly had a hand snatched and twisted unnaturally. The signature disarming move Liam had taught her was efficient, stealthy, and if needed, lethal. The guard screamed as wrist bones snapped like shards of honeycomb, the Reaper-rifle simultaneously firing on the other guard who had just recovered from her kick. The guard’s body disappeared instantly, vaporized by a brilliant flash of mercurial blue light.

  There was a final, violent exchange as Ally swept the stunned guard’s legs out from underneath and yanked the rifle from his fractured hand, twirling it around to fire on him. The thick ash cloud wafted up into her face, causing her to cough. It had only taken a few seconds, but when the carnage ended, she was the only one left standing.

  No doubt, the loud chugs of gunfire would have alerted more guards to her position, so she hurried over to the canvas bag, pulled out a few sticks of dynamite, and fished out her lighter.

  It was time to get this show on the road.

  Twenty-Seven

  Matt and Rossiter were led up into a vast hall by Rowles. A small unit of Wraith guards trialed closely behind them.

  Inside, the entire congregation of Zograf monks stood in a circle twenty rows deep, heads bowed as they softly chanted prayers in unison. A beacon of torches blazed like wildfire against the surrounding darkness, illuminating pallid faces and blank eyes. It was as if they were all in a deep trance, preparing for some type of mass baptism.

  Matt couldn’t help but be astonished by the monumental scale of this hall. Various holes located around the chamber dropped away to form bottomless chasms. In the center of all this loomed a grotesque throne of black rock, sculpted into the form of a humanoid spine. Towering behind the throne, hung a black curtain with the ancient symbol of the Zograf Order embroidered into the faded drapery.

  And of course, sitting on this throne was Cromwell. “Welcome home, Matt,” he declared in his usual smug manner. His gaze shifted to Rossiter and tightened with anger. “Oh, I am so disappointed in you. After all these years, I thought you would have honored our agreement.”

  Head-down and staggering limply, Rossiter wanted to scream at the absurdity of that claim, but he dared not to. Besides, he did not harbor the lung capacity to scream.

  Matt, on the other hand, glared at Cromwell furiously. Rowles shoved him forward and kicked his legs, causing him to stumble to his knees. Rossiter followed, kicked to the ground by a guard, and forced to kneel next to Matt. Both men now awaited their fate.

  It was difficult to tell if Cromwell was smirking or not, but he appeared different. While his usual arrogance and pomposity had not been diluted in any way, gone was the tall sinewy build, immaculate garb, and calculating gaze. He now sat slumped in his throne, bloated and overweight, wearing a grandiose military uniform of some kind, adorned with jewel-encrusted epaulets and medals. His pale-grey eyes remained sunken into his newly acquired jowls, glowing like the milky cataract of a full moon. This was not the Cromwell Matt knew. This was a delusional caricature, more akin to the final days of Hermann Goering than a lauded Wraith commander. This version of Cromwell could not lift an arm to save his own life. “Do you like what I’ve done with this place – what I’ve created?” he asked with a proud gleam.

  Matt scoffed and shook his head. “That’s funny. I doubt you could create anything, Cromwell. You wouldn’t know how to.”

  Cromwell tried to straighten his posture, struggling to lift his own weight. “These holy men were leaderless and lost. Yes, I engineered them to serve my needs. But I also gave them much more than that. I gave them purpose. I gave them life.”

  “As slaves.”

  “You can’t imagine what it was like before I arrived here, Matt. My kin. My people. Forever changed. Like humans we had survived for millennia, scraping the lichen and microscopic organisms from the surface of our world with our teeth. Endlessly digging for water with our nails. Countless generations, surviving in the filth and the muck like animals. That was until we discarded our tribalism and became a true civilization – our potential cut short when the Combine arrived and decimated our world, enslaving us to become nothing more than machines of war. When we rebelled, they unleashed a pandemic we could never recover from. We had no choice but to retreat underground and build our cities, cutting deep into the strata. Centuries later, when we tried to emerge into our sun, we could not. Without the ability to adapt, we had no choice but to wage war for our new masters. They made us Conquistadors, plundering worlds for their benefit. Yet, we survived. We endured. As will this world.”

  “You’re about to destroy this world.”

  “I am about to recreate it.”

  “And fill it with more slaves!”

  “Oh, who are you to lecture me?” snapped Cromwell, a bolt of anger shattering his calm veneer. “Humans have spent their entire existence on this Earth succumbing to their bloodlusts, slaughtering each other without remorse. You’re all just somebody else’s androids anyway.”

  “If that’s true, what does that make you?”

  Cromwell grinned devilishly. “A god.”

  “You’re no god. You’re not even the person I once knew.”

  “Take comfort in knowing that if it weren’t for me, the Combine would have enslaved this planet by now. You’d only be doing their bidding.”

  Matt grinned and defiantly held up his arm to show off the time band. “I already am.”

  Cromwell blinked. He was not expecting that answer. If he was concerned, he refused to show it. He leaned forward in his throne to emphasize his next point. “And now, you will also do mine.”

  “To become your war machine. That’s not going to happen, Cromwell.”


  “It is too late, my friend. The primer is ready. I’m sure the good doctor has already disclosed that to you. Once humanity has been reborn, the Combine will know fear. They will know what it’s like to suffer on a level they never thought possible.”

  Matt began to seethe. “You’re so full of shit, Cromwell.”

  Ignoring the insult, Cromwell’s eyes pivoted to his favorite acolyte. A silent order was given.

  Rowles immediately snatched Matt and hoisted him to his feet.

  “I’m afraid our time together has finally come to an end, Matt. You have been a worthy adversary, and I’m saddened to say there are no further plans for enhancement. I would have hoped you could join me, but alas, it was not meant to be.”

  “You can kill me a hundred times, but you’ll always be the one who’s lost.”

  Cromwell stared at him dispassionately, his voice resonating with a strange poignancy. “I don’t need to kill you a hundred times, Matt. Only once. However, I can choose to take all the time in the world with your daughter.”

  Matt’s heart caught in his throat. Ally was alive? Overcome with blistering rage, he went to rush the throne, but Rowles neutralized his advance with a five-fingered blow to the throat. He buckled over and dropped to the floor, desperately gasping for air.

  “I’ve always considered myself fair and just when dealing with your kind. So, I’m happy to make you an offer: I send you to where you just came from, or you die here tonight. The choice is yours.”

  Matt remained on his knees, rubbing his throat. “Why would you send me forward in time again?”

  “Because the future you come from is immutable, and I am the future.”