by DJ Molles
“Sure, but you didn’t have to beat his face in with a glass.”
“Okay. You’re right about that. But again, we’re getting a little off topic…”
Perry had been so focused on the encroaching horde of men that looked like they wanted to stomp him to death, that he didn’t notice the one behind him until the chair broke against his back.
The pain shot through Perry’s spine with surprising electricity as his body lurched forward under the blow, stumbling to try to keep his feet, right into Monty.
Monty hauled him upright and sent a solid fist right into his face, knocking the vision clean out of his eyes. He wasn’t exactly unconscious, because he still registered the sensation of blood spurting out of his nose, and the strange, weightless feeling of falling backwards.
He hit the ground like so much tossed garbage. His muddy vision cleared just enough to register the shapes of many people looming over him—gods, isn’t this a familiar vision? It’s just like the locker room at Hell’s Hollow—and he let his mind flow into his clasp.
Even as he was very aware that they would probably beat him to death if given the chance, he still didn’t want to hurt them. Not as a conscious thought, but as a deeper, subconscious barricade, like a governor on the throttle of his aggression. So as the shield came to life, he knew he didn’t want any of them to touch it. And so he did the only other thing he could think of with it.
Maybe it was because he’d been doing it nonstop for almost the entire last day, but he pulsed.
Perry went flying in one direction, and all the men that had been near his feet went flying in the other.
His body moved like it had been shot out of a cannon. Dimly, he felt himself collide with whoever it was that had bashed him with the chair, but his body didn’t stop there. He kept on going, not losing a bit of momentum, as the chair-attacker’s body went flipping end over end.
Out the door. Or, more accurately, through the door, in a cloud of wood splinter and glass. Had his shield reformed to keep his skull from being bashed in? Because he wasn’t dead, he realized, with something like surprise, as he landed hard in a heap in the dark, dusty street.
Perry didn’t remember consciously reforming the shield, but sometimes it operated like that—on some sort of intertwined instinct. And he was glad enough to be alive that he didn’t question it too much.
Alive, but not feeling great.
“Oh my fuck,” Perry groaned, writhing up into a sitting position, trying to clear the fog of the multiple impacts to his body and head. Tears in his eyes from Monty’s straight jab to the face. Blood in his mouth. A quick inspection with his tongue found all of his teeth in place. The blood was pouring from his nose, into his mouth as he gasped for air.
His mind was still in go-mode, ready for the next attack, still swallowed up in Confluence, wondering who was going to come at him next, and then, distantly, recalling the way that pulse of his shield had sent them all sprawling like they’d been hit by a shockwave.
A sort of half-realized glee settled on him. Wait until I tell Mala about THAT shit! Did she know you could pulse your shield to knock people on their asses? Probably not. She wasn’t terribly keen on non-lethal means of fighting.
Gradually, over what felt like an entire minute, but was probably more like a few seconds, the shattered doorway of The Thirsty Ox came swimming back into view.
The ruddy glow of firelight from within.
Perry stared at it, his jaw working, fingers twitching. All at once, any semblance of control or concern for the lives of the people inside fled him. He was hitting that deep spot in Confluence again, the one that he’d felt when he sheared Boomer’s arms off.
Some part of him, still connected to this world and his place in it, warned him that there was something very wrong with this feeling. But it was drowned out by a raging hunger in his chest, bubbling up from his brainstem.
Fuck them. Kill them all. How dare they? They don’t know who I am or what I’m capable of.
And he imagined burning that fucking bar to the ground, and pulsing his shield every time a screaming form came running out with their backs on fire, sending them tumbling back into the flames, screaming, flesh bubbling, sloughing off—
“Gods,” a voice lilted behind him. “What is that?”
Perry snapped his head to the right—a mistake: searing headache—and found the woman that had led him to The Thirsty Ox, standing there, eyes wide, pointing…
Pointing at the glimmering disc of his shield.
Shit.
He immediately extinguished it. “What?” he murmured around a mouthful of blood. Spat it off to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She jabbed her finger at the air where his shield had been. “No, there was definitely something there.”
“I didn’t see anything.” Perry crawled slowly to his knees. Then to his feet. Swayed a bit, his inner ear not quite sure what the hell was going on at this point, though it seemed to believe that the ground was moving.
What was going on inside of his brain? It was like he’d disconnected with himself for a moment there. Forgotten who he was, and what he was hear for. Forgot about any semblance of strategy, or bigger-picture thinking. For that little instant when his mind had been all wrapped up in Confluence, all he’d wanted was death.
You need to control this, he worried at himself. It’s getting out of hand.
“I told you to be careful,” the woman said, apparently deciding that she’d hallucinated whatever it was she’d seen. “Are you gonna die?”
Perry reached back and rubbed his head, discovering that his scalp didn’t actually feel like it had taken a beating—no bumps, no gashes. His neck, on the other hand, had taken a bit of the chair, and it felt like a few vertebrae might have slipped into some odd positions.
“No, I don’t think I’m gonna die.”
“Shit. You should be dead.”
“Many times over,” Perry sighed, then faced the door again.
“Wait. You’re going back in there?”
Was he? Well, his feet were moving, so he guessed he was.
“I didn’t even get a chance to talk!” Perry shot over his shoulder. He trudged up the single step—it took an inordinate amount of effort—and parked himself in the doorway, posting his hands on the frame to steady himself.
A crowd of people hovering at the bar. Staring at him.
Gone was the look of abject malice. Replaced by a bit of cautious wonder.
“Get!” Hauten’s voice. “Get-get-get! Out of the fucking way!”
A hole in the wall of bodies appeared, Hauten not striding through it, but rather waving his arms as though the people were smoke to be cleared out of the air. He leaned back on the bar, looking all out of sorts. As the bodies cleared, his eyes locked onto Perry again.
“What the fuck was that?” Hauten demanded.
“Well, it serves you right, you asshole.” Perry thrust himself through the doorway—followed by a rapid glance to either side to make sure someone wasn’t lurking in the shadows with another chair.
But no, everyone was gathered on the far side of the room. Gathered around Hauten. Their King Shit.
“Was that a grenade?” Hauten’s voice went up an octave. “Did you blow up a grenade? In my fucking house?”
Perry spat more blood off to the side, wiped his nose. “Fuck your house. And no, it wasn’t a grenade. But I swear to the gods, if one of you tries to lay another hand on me I’m going to send you through the wall.”
“You hurt my back!” Hauten moaned, seeming to be unable to decide whether to exaggerate the pain in his back or the limp in his leg.
“You hurt my neck!” Perry accused back.
“You hurt your own neck!”
“Alright!” Perry took a deep breath, which rattled uncomfortable through his busted nose. He held up his hands, then lowered his voice to a deathly whisper. “I’m going to stop yelling now. Because it hurts my head. You’re go
ing to stop yelling too.”
“I’ll yell all I want!” Hauten proclaimed, churlishly.
In response to that, Perry activated his shield. One, big, shimmering rectangle, which he pressed forward through the air, until it struck an overturned chair and burst the wood into flames.
After that, there was blessed silence.
“Hauten,” Perry said, his voice still low and dangerous. “I’m going to sit down, and we are going to talk. Is that going to be a problem?”
Hauten seemed unable to take his eyes from the shield that hovered in the air, faintly glimmering, tiny, almost microscopic sparks of energy speckling it as the dust and smoke particles that hung heavy in the air sizzled against it.
The chair crackled menacingly as it rapidly turned to ash.
Perry extinguished the shield, feeling that his point had been made. He turned and hobbled on aching joints over to an abandoned table. It had several tumblers already on it, but Perry had no idea what kind of filthy creature had been drinking out of them. There was a bottle in the center of the table. He grabbed it and was disappointed to find it empty. He slammed it down, irritated.
“Please tell me you have more whiskey.”
Hauten, still draped across the bar in a pose of agony, though his face was no longer acting out his body language, narrowed his eyes at Perry and pursed his lips in an expression that Perry recognized as “thoughtful.”
Then Hauten pulled himself upright, apparently no longer disabled by his back or his leg—a downright miracle, Primus be praised—and snorted loudly. “Of course I have whiskey. I have all the whiskey. What kind of a savage do you take me for?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DEALING WITH PEOPLE
Perry’s mouth was dry by the time he got done talking. He’d yammered on nonstop, spurred, despite himself, by Hauten’s dubious expressions and his own desire to never give him a chance to interrupt until the entire tale was out.
He’d barely touched his whiskey. Now, finally reaching the conclusion of his byzantine story—which just sounded more fantastical the more he tried to make it sound real—he snatched up the tumbler and applied it to his mouth like a muzzle. Cool on his tongue, hot down his throat. A strong, bracing sting that let you know you were getting fucked up, as opposed to that sneaky shit they’d served him and Stuber at Praesidium.
Hauten allowed him to drink for a protracted moment of silence. Perry stared at the golden liquid in his glass, hoping that it would improve his spirits. Hauten’s demeanor certainly was dampening them.
“So…” Hauten frowned at the table top. Glanced furtively at Perry. Then back down. His mouth worked with unsaid words. A finger pried at a nail head in the table top. Whatever was on his mind, he was really struggling with. “You really want me to believe…you’re really trying to sell me on the fact that…you haven’t fucked Teran?”
Perry slammed his tumbler down and just barely managed to swallow the whiskey in his mouth before spewing it across the table. “Gods, Hauten! What part of anything I said had anything at all to do with that? Were you even listening?”
Hauten raised a hand. “Well, I was somewhat distracted, waiting for you to get around to the part where you and Teran consummate your tragic love for one another.”
Tragic?
Perry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you hear the part about the Guardians?”
“You mean the murder-bots that you released on mankind? Yes, I recall.”
“I didn’t…” Perry slapped the table. Stared at Hauten, unable to keep a humorless grin from seizing his mouth. “Yes. The murder-bots. They’re called Guardians.”
Hauten took a deep breath and, for once, seemed to take things seriously. “I witnessed them with my own eyes. We were here in Junction City when they hit. We were wise enough to stay hidden and not try to fuck with them. Unlike so many others that ran about screaming and shooting at them, only to get blown up.”
“Or disintegrated,” Jax put in from his perch behind Hauten.
“Or melted with that green stuff,” Monty said, looking haunted.
“Right. Yes.” Perry nodded. “All of that.”
Hauten leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table. “And you claim they’re out to exterminate all life on the planet?”
“More or less,” Perry agreed. “Not sure how they feel about animals, but they’re definitely killing people.”
“Hm.” Hauten rubbed a finger across his mouth. “If that’s the case then we need to get out of here. It’s already crossed my mind that I’m not a fan of the stranglehold Gaius has put on the city. Very constraining. Hard for us to make a living with all that going on. I guess we would have had to make a break out of this place eventually, but if what you’re saying is true, then being in a high populace area is dangerous.”
“Yes,” Perry seized on that, a tiny bit of headway. “You need to get the hell out of here. And we need your help in Karapalida.”
Hauten frowned, shaking his head. “Now why on earth would I trade on populated area for another?”
Dammit. “Legatus Mordicus, the guy that’s taken over Karapalida, he’s not near as much of a hard-ass as Gaius. And he’s had some success in taking down the Guardians. But he’s out of ammo. Now, I’ve already got him working on making copper billets for us to form into projectiles, but…”
Perry trailed off as Hauten waved a hand, as though calling for a cease-fire. “You’re not hearing me. City jammed full of people equals inevitable doom. That’s what you said. And frankly, I believe that part of it, even as much as I struggle with some of the other details. I suppose I believe it because I’ve seen evidence of it myself. So, no, I will not be going to Karapalida, or anywhere else with a bunch of people waiting to die.”
“Hauten.” Perry nearly reached across the table. He was pressing himself so far forward that his chest was against the edge of the wood. “We need your help! I told Mordicus that I would get you to come help!”
“Well, maybe you should have talked it over with me before making promises.”
“I’m talking it over with you right now!”
“Fine then. My answer is no.”
“We have a chance to beat them, Hauten. We have a chance to stop these Guardians from killing everyone. You can’t just turn your back on us.”
“Sure, you have a chance. But it’s not a good one. Frankly, I think you’re all going to die, but I guess that’s your choice. If you want my advice, I’d tell you to go back to Karapalida and tell everyone to flee these urban areas.”
“It won’t make a difference! Don’t you get that? The Guardians have one job, and that’s to exterminate everyone—everyone! They’re not just going to stop because everyone fled into the countryside. They’re going to keep hunting people down, no matter where they are. If everyone runs off into hiding, the only thing that changes is maybe it takes them a little longer to make humanity extinct. All that would do is postpone the inevitable. The only way humanity makes it is if we start working together and figure out a way to beat them.”
“Alright. Fine.” Hauten twiddled his fingers at Perry. “You go figure out a way to beat them, and when you’ve figured it out, let me know, and I’ll come help.”
“That’s what I’m doing right now!” Perry almost shouted.
“I thought you weren’t going to shout anymore.”
“My headache’s gone!” It wasn’t. “There is a way to beat them! With overwhelming firepower! But only if we can get enough ammunition! And for that we need reloaders! We need you!”
“And what about your new demigod friends?” Hauten asked, quirking his eyebrow. “Wouldn’t they be far more effective at fighting these Guardians? Wouldn’t you be far more effective at fighting them?” A worldy-wise glint in his eyes. “Or do you not possess the same abilities that they do?”
Perry gritted his teeth, hands tense upon the tabletop. “There’s only three of us. One that truly knows how to fight. The other is…not
quite as adept. And I’m still learning. But even if we were all equal fighters, it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“Well, perhaps you’re rummaging the wrong pile,” Hauten said, airily. “There’s an entire city of demigods—this mythical city in the clouds you claim to have been to. Why not go there and enlist help from the other asshole paladins that abandoned us down here? Surely an army of paladins would be sufficient.”
“I can’t go back to The Clouds,” Perry said stiffly. “The Sons of Primus are there. And they are…not friendly.”
“Why, Perry.” Hauten put on a shocked face. “That’s heresy.”
“It’s fact. They’re not what the flamens preached.” Perry swallowed, uncomfortable. “Which is part of the reason why Mordicus executed them all.”
Hauten grimaced. “He sounds like a volatile character. I see why you’re afraid to disappoint him.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Perry said earnestly. “I’m afraid of the Guardians. I’m afraid of extinction.”
“All the more reason to avoid places that will draw their attention. Like Karapalida.”
Perry sat there for a long moment, staring at Hauten, trying to see into the man’s soul, trying to see if there was some leverage in that man’s mind that Perry could use to turn him around. But Hauten was nothing if not an expert swindler, and he gave nothing away.
“So that’s it?” Perry leaned back. “Fuck us? Fuck the world? Let us all die?”
Hauten sighed laboriously. “You make me sound so cold-hearted. But…yes. This problem was not my doing. And I don’t intend to risk my neck to solve other people’s problems.”
Hauten must have seen the anger boiling up in Perry. But he didn’t seem to care. He smiled at it, which only brought Perry to the edge of doing something rash and very violent.
“Are you going to use your powers on me, then?” Hauten asked, quietly. “Is that what it’s come to? Because unless you’re willing to kill us all, we’re not going with you. And if you kill us all, well, then, we won’t do you much good will we?”
Perry shook his head, suddenly tired. It all hit him at once, taking the anger out of him and replacing it with a strange malaise that seeped from his bones into his muscles. “No. I’m not going to use my powers to hurt you.”
