Sunset was nearly upon them, and none of the ONWC wrestlers had shown, despite the Landshaker’s big speech. The huge titan had hung back to speak with Thad and the others. Van had hoped he’d be here and with more numbers. Maybe Thad convinced him to stay away. Maybe the ONWC titans had teamed up on him, tied him up, and threw him in a cart headed to the Vantages. Maybe they were all having a good laugh that Van had ever believed the Landshaker in the first place.
Owen had recruited three titans from one of the local gyms. They seemed a little starstruck around the tournament-level talent, but Van had shaken their hands and felt their titan strength. They would be worth a hundred of Jahrom’s soldiers. They gave their names as Billy Jack, Rip Olivus, and Omar the Maker. Van promptly forgot which was which.
The soldiers now numbered close to one hundred including one or two commanders who seemed far more competent than Captain Jahrom himself, though he was technically still in charge, or so he’d rushed to assure Van. There was no sign of the valkyrie. If Empire City kept growing their defenses at this rate, they might be ready to face a small pack of stray dogs sometime next year. Van would just have to hope they still had more time. He’d have to hope the Nether remained silent at least one more day. He spat at the grass near his feet but missed and hit his boot. The sun dipped below the horizon.
Van’s hopes were dashed when a brilliant shaft of light shot up from the pit into the sky. A riot of blues, reds, and yellows that made the sunset look dull by comparison. Van shielded his eyes. The Nether was opening.
Van’s mouth was suddenly dry. He needed more time. He’d wasted the time he’d had. “Be ready for anything,” he yelled, looking around wildly. Soldiers hastily picked up their polearms and adjusted their helms. The titans around Van stood and readied themselves with whatever weapons they had. Many of the hangers-on at the gates screamed and fled. The rest pressed forward, eagerly seizing their vacated spots.
The sudden light faded. Van watched the pit, waiting for the first attackers. Maybe the arm of the mighty Bearhugger. Maybe the claw of a dragon the size of a house. Maybe the dread OverLord himself. What terror would the Nether visit upon the paper-thin defenses first? Van crouched halfway into a fighting stance.
A small, lizard-looking creature hopped out of the pit and onto a broken wooden beam. It was Saint. He stood silhouetted by the lingering light of the dying sun. He scanned Empire City’s defenses, moistening one of his black eyes with his tongue as his head slowly panned from right to left. Finally his bug-eyed gaze settled on Van. He laughed and gave Van the finger.
Captain Jahrom was squinting, one hand shielding his eyes. “Is that a fucking frog?”
Van growled in annoyance at the sight of the demon and returned his middle-finger greeting. Saint doubled the greeting with his other hand, then turned around to show his rear end to the titan. He waggled his butt in the air, bending over to peer at Van from between his legs, and waggled both fingers above his tiny asscrack.
Van glowered. He, too, now had both middle fingers up. He clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. He should have tossed that little fucker harder.
“Van,” Owen said. “Uh…Van? Everyone’s watching.”
Van looked around. There were, in fact, hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, watching him exchange crude gestures with the obnoxious little demon. He sheepishly lowered his hands and smoothed his expression. His eyes still smoldered as he imagined tearing the oily bastard limb from limb.
Saint hopped off the beam and began waddling across the cemetery grass towards Van. He wore his loincloth and a small pouch across his shoulders but carried no weapon. Van didn’t see any white-eyed monsters popping their heads up from the pit yet. He approached Saint cautiously, flanked by Owen, Harlan, Sevendhi, and the Patriot Jack Hammer. Captain Jahrom also hustled forward, his armor rattling. He periodically glanced up nervously towards the viewing platform where his bosses watched, drinks in hand, mouths agape.
Saint gave a mockingly deep bow as the titans stopped before him, then flashed a grin at Van. “Such a mighty army you have mustered, titan.”
“Fuck you, Saint.” Van made a show of looking past the demon. “Is it just you tonight?”
“Tonight, yes,” Saint replied. He looked around. “It’s been a long time since I’ve set foot on the surface world. If I had to guess, I’d say almost exactly one hundred and ten years.” He shot a glance at Van, waiting for him to take the bait. When Van simply shrugged, Saint scowled. “Titans. No students of history among you?”
Sevendhi spoke quietly, his distaste clear. “The original Titan Wars began one hundred ten years ago.”
Saint chuckled. “Exactly. And I served the Master as a messenger then as well. I met with the Great General Grand Reffe. A humbling experience, mind you. Puny titans such as yourself couldn’t hold his codpiece.” He looked at Van, who for the first time saw a dangerous menace in the gaze of this tiny creature, and then he continued. “You are no Grand Reffe. You are an embarrassment.” His black eyes slid over the group. “As is your pathetic army. I see titans old, injured, green, or clueless. With no idea why they’re here.”
“I never said I was a general. And I’ve been called an embarrassment by much more important people than a slimy lizard servant,” Van replied. “They’ve all learned to regret that remark.”
Saint scoffed. “I’ve regretted nothing before today, and I will regret nothing that comes after.”
The Patriot cut in with a loud voice. “You didn’t regret being stuffed in a beer barrel and lugged around the Nether by my ten-man Van here?”
Saint hissed angrily, then fell silent. “Yes, that did kind of suck.” He produced a tiny cigarette from his pouch and lit it. Acrid smoke wafted up Van’s nose. The demon looked around again “The Master has a message for the titans who would stand in defense of Empire City. I guess that applies to all, what, like ten of you?”
“Enough to slow you,” Van said. “Hell, maybe enough to stop you.”
Saint laughed. “We both know how untrue that is. And if the loyalty of these sad sacks stands on the strength of that lie, I don’t imagine it will stand long when they see what they face. I am here to offer you an alternative. The Master will give all titans the opportunity to join his army. He does not wish to kill you. You share his blood. You share his toil. You are his brothers, and he would have you join him in turning this world upside down.”
“Join him in slaughtering everyone and everything?”
Saint exhaled a plume of vile smoke. “Yes. It will be fun.”
“Tell your Master to go fuck himself,” the Patriot said, shouldering past Van.
Saint’s gaze slid past the Patriot to Van. Van shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
“Then tell him yourself. Tomorrow night. Spread the word to other titans of the choice they have. Or don’t. I don’t give a shit. Tomorrow night the army of the OverLord will pour forth from the Nether. I hope you’re waiting, Van the Beer Man. I will spit on your face as I watch you die. Then I’ll watch your friends die. Then everyone else.” He cocked his head to the side, cigarette parked in his shit-eating grin, and peered through the titans’ legs at the crowd near the cemetery gate.
Van shifted to cut off Saint’s view. “He doesn’t need to do this. He’s mad at his fate, mad at a giant out of a fairytale, some fever dream he had when he lost his mind from grief. If he just wants everything to end, I’ll end it for him.”
“No, you won’t. You’re far too weak. He’s tried other paths. This is what remains. The world must be remade.”
“He could face me, one-on-one.”
“Don’t worry, two-man. If you stay in his way, he will. But that won’t be the end of it. Your death will be the beginning. Tomorrow night.”
Still staring at Van, Saint flicked his small cigarette straight into the Patriot’s eye with a shower of sparks. The Patriot tossed his head back and growled a string of curses as Saint hopped away laughing. When the demon reached the edge of the pit, he
turned back and gave Van the finger one last time and leapt in.
There was a lengthy silence. Then Captain Jahrom cleared his throat loudly, causing all of the titans to turn in surprise, apparently having forgotten he was still around. “Well, that was a very rude little creature. He had nothing to say to anyone who wasn’t a titan, did he? It’s enough to make a man feel quite left out.” He toed at the grass with an armored boot. “It’s like I’m not even in charge of a very large group of soldiers.”
“Very large?” Owen asked.
The Patriot Jack Hammer stepped forward rubbing his eye. “Tomorrow night, then.” He flexed and gave his board a few swings in the air. “Can’t wait to see Jaygan again and finish what I started.”
Van spat on the grass. He was tiring of Jack. He was the only other titan who’d seen what they were facing, and he’d been little help to Van in convincing anyone the threat was real. He seemed to look forward to the fight, wanted to die in a blaze of glory. It had been a crafty move by the OverLord to send Saint. The little lizard had said his piece and probably done nothing to alarm the underprepared, and now slightly tipsy, Empire City powers-that-be. Though probably the OverLord hadn’t even cared enough to consider that. Whatever defenses Empire City mustered at this point would pale in the face of the ascending army of the Nether.
Van turned back to the cemetery gates. The streetlamps had already been lit. The rooftops of the many buildings that overlooked the cemetery cut a sharp line against the darkening sky. A cluster of silhouettes, women with wings on their backs and spears in their hands, stood on top of one. Whether or not they had come to help, Van wasn’t sure. He raised a hand to wave, but they ignored his greeting, flew away without a word.
Sevendhi stepped next to Van. “They have relocated. I do not know where. Queen Aoleon clearly wants me at your side. And does not seek my council, nor does she allow me to seek hers. We are in darkness as to their intent.”
Van grunted softly. “We have one day, Sevendhi. Find a way to get them word. If they don’t figure out how truly fucked we are by tomorrow and lend us a hand…” He stared at the sky and wondered if Kyle was with them. He shook the thought from his head. “One day,” he said firmly, not sure exactly who the words were directed to. “One day.”
Chapter 17.
The wooden façade of the Grunt-and-Groan Titan Gym was covered in colorful paintings of titans striking dramatic victory poses, some so garish Van fought the urge to shield his eyes. The street was dark and quiet, but bright lights streamed from the gym’s small windows that faced the street. A large CLOSED sign hung on the massive doors. Van ignored it and entered the gym; Harlan followed.
They muscled past a front area dominated by two elevated wrestling rings and a series of hanging bags. Some of them were stuffed, others were solid rock. The gym was about the size of one of the Headwaters Brewery warehouses. The middle area was piled with mats and weightlifting equipment. The back looked to be less well-used with boxes stacked against the walls. Massive square stone pillars broke up the room, running from floor to ceiling. A low and laugh-filled conversation bounced around a large group of titans gathered at the gym’s center. Most of them lounged on piles of mats; others leaned against the walls. All held beers.
Owen and Sevendhi had already settled in amongst the other ten-men. They looked up as Van walked in and their conversation tapered off. “You’re late,” Owen said lightly as Sevendhi rose from his mat and headed towards the back of the gym.
“Meeting with the mayor ran long,” Van replied. He spoke to Owen, but his eyes strayed to one particular titan, who could only be Kir the Attraction, a former Headlock champion and the gym’s owner. Kir had been one of the most prominently featured titans painted on the outside of the building. At one point he’d been the self-proclaimed most attractive titan in the world. He sat in a high-backed wooden chair with his hands folded in front of his bare, battle-scarred chest. His long sequined robe, open to the waist, sparkled in the lamplight. He had a shock of white hair, carefully combed straight back from his brow. His face was deeply tanned and wrinkled.
“And?” Owen asked.
“And this city is run by morons,” Van replied.
Kir smirked knowingly and the other titans chuckled. Sevendhi loped back with a mug of beer for Van. Van took it and downed it in one long pull. It was surprisingly cold, exactly what he needed after hours of listening to the Empire City politicians do everything they could to wish the threat of the OverLord away without dedicating any of their hard-earned political clout or money to the cause of stopping him. Van gave Sevendhi a brisk nod and the titan wandered away again to fetch a refill.
Kir took a drink from his own gold-rimmed mug. “I could have told you that, greenhorn.”
Owen made a lazy gesture in Kir’s direction. “Van, this is Kir the Attraction. He runs this joint.”
“I know who he is.” Van reached out to shake the titan’s hand. Kir leaned forward and gave Van his hand, though he didn’t rise. They locked hands in a crushing grip, sizing each other up. “Two-time Headlock champion. They used to refuse to book you in Headwaters because they were scared you’d run off with all the ladies. They said it was just a joke, but then they never booked you.”
Kir laughed. “Son, they couldn’t afford me. I never played the sticks.” He smirked again and looked around the room, locking eyes with several of the other titans. “But yes, I would have stolen all their ladies.” He flashed a set of big, white teeth in a practiced smile, his face tightening into wrinkles. “And my men here would have wreaked havoc on the sheep population.”
Van gazed around the gym as he took another beer from Sevendhi. He didn’t recognize any of the other titans. There were maybe ten with Kir, a solid haul that would double Van’s current forces. They were of all varieties of skin color and dress, but uniformly massive and muscular. Several seemed to share Kir’s love of flair with fancy lilac boas and glittery robes. One looked to be of mostly orc blood, shorter and a bit thicker than the others with a yellow-green tone to his skin.
Van looked back at Kir. He didn’t really have time to win this titan over with charm. Or, to be fair, much charm to win him over with. Van figured he had to go straight at Kir. “You don’t play the sticks? Where do you play? I don’t recognize any of you from the Headlock bracket.”
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t, greenhorn. You won yourself a little regional in the tiny Uplands thanks only to Owen’s gimp leg. Stumbled your way through the Headlock. I certainly wouldn’t have pegged you as an expert on the scene, or really, well, on anything, except for maybe beer. And that’s about as useful as a prostitute’s singing voice. But let me educate you, son. This here’s my gym, and these are my boys, and I assure you they’d give the ONWC stable a hell of a run. The Headlock ain’t the only game in wrestling, but it is a big draw, and one the ONWC keeps as exclusive as possible. They’re afraid of my boys, and they should be.” He stood and pointed to one of the titans leaning up against the wall. “I’ve been training the Brutalizer for five years and I assure you he—”
Van cut him off. “ONWC ain’t a friend of mine. I’m not in their stable. I’m not in their pocket.”
Kir’s face tightened and he exchanged a hard look with the Brutalizer. He pulled his robe closed and sat back down. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me, son, if I find that a little hard to believe. Hard to believe something happened in the Headlock without the ONWC stamp of approval. The corruption runs too deep and it infects everyone. I heard you met with King Thad yesterday. Were you two talking about how to set up a rematch that would draw even more gate than that farce of a Headlock championship?”
“No. We were talking about the OverLord. And King Thad proved to be too much of a coward to help us face the Nether army. I’m still hoping some of the other ONWC might, though it doesn’t look promising. You gonna be a coward like Thad, Kir the Attraction? He can at least claim Empire City isn’t his to protect. You can’t.”
“So you’r
e here to ask us to be on your side when you rumble with the OverLord and his little followers tomorrow night?”
Van shook his head. “It’s not my side. It’s our side. Everyone who likes breathing and not taking to their knees in front of the OverLord.”
“Maybe you should take him on in a fair fight—ten-man against ten-man. Finish what you didn’t get done during the Headlock.”
“Funny, I said the same thing to the little shit messenger he sent up a few hours ago. He didn’t seem to like the idea. He said why waste a perfectly good army. So instead he will be ravaging Empire City, slaughtering people in the streets and burning down perfectly good buildings just like this.”
Kir looked around his gym. “I’m not going to pretend I like that.” He snapped his gaze back to Van. “But I also don’t like the idea of lining up behind a lesser titan. We take rank pretty seriously here. Leadership roles are earned, not just handed out like fake belts.”
“Who’s a lesser titan?” Van was tired and irritated. Kir’s attitude was grating on him. He flexed and stepped closer to loom over the seated titan, looked the ten-man’s girly cape up and down. “I didn’t pretend not to know who you are. You gonna pretend you don’t know who I am? What I’ve done in the last two weeks? You can pretend the ONWC handed me a championship, but we both know that isn’t true. They threw everything they had at me and it wasn’t enough. Same with the Nether. But now I need help. Help you can give me. So let’s stop dancing around and get to the point. You want to decide this in the ring, old man? That what you’re hinting at? Or maybe me and your precious Brutalizer there if your ancient bones are aching?” It made little sense for them to beat each other bloody the night before they faced the Nether army, but Van would do whatever it took to get these titans to the cemetery.
The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2) Page 13
