by Hugo Huesca
The undead man’s answer, as always, was silence, although she could sense his hands on her as he lifted the mass that was now her body as if it weighed nothing. Step by step, he brought her closer to her final destiny.
Trapped inside her own body, Vaines wasn’t sure what would happen once they arrived at the office. All her senses were fading, and she knew without a doubt she’d become something like Everbleed. As a Dungeon Jewel, she would try to hold on to a measure of the power and authority she once had, and slowly she would come to lose it all, until only the Jewel remained, stashed in some deep corner of Tal Zamor’ temple until the end of time.
She remembered her brother, Heines, who had lived a violent, passionate life, and had crushed a thousand enemies under his boot before finally leaving this world to walk Murmur’s halls for eternity. Beloved Heines wouldn’t have suffered the humiliation of turning into a sentient stone. No. He’d chased a heroic death, earned it many times over, and in the end had gotten it.
Vaines, on the other hand, had always been the cold one. The one who calculated, who counted their projected losses against the possible earnings, the hand that aimed the axe that was her brother. Together, they had been an unstoppable force. Conquerors. But that was a long time ago.
Perhaps marching to what was surely her death was Vaines’ way to go into the Dark like Heines had. One last fight, and then she would pass the torch to the next generation. Let someone else take care of war for a change. For a long time, she had thought there would be no one to take up the mantle, that the new Lordship was but a bunch of incompetent fools. And most of them were. But now, she wondered if she had refused to see beyond her preconceptions because she didn’t want to pass the torch. War was all she knew. And she had learned to enjoy it.
Perhaps turning into cold stone was the appropriate fate for someone such as herself.
She didn’t realize when they had arrived at the office, but she could sense Tillman’s presence, the necromantic threads flowing into her body animating the wraith like a puppet. Those threads grew weaker as Vaines observed them feeding the spells and enchantments that Tillman kept ongoing. Soon enough, there would be nothing left to fuel her unlife.
The ascended wraith was talking to the Dungeon Lord that people called Wraith. Although Vaines had no ears, she nonetheless could listen. And as she listened, she realized that it had been indeed fate that brought her here, to this.
Not every maimed Dungeon Lord turned into a Dungeon Jewel. Only those that, for some reason, the Dark thought could still serve the cause.
Vaines wanted to laugh. She was only a tool. A monkey dancing in the palm of the gods. But, gods-be-damned, at least she could still fight.
Good enough, she thought, just when Tillman was saying to Lord Wraith:
“There is no one else.”
And Vaines knew what she had to do. If she had had enough facial muscles to muster a smile, she would’ve. As it turned out, it wasn’t too late for her to conquer the Standard Factory after all.
All she had to do was learn to compromise.
“I’ll be his mentor,” she announced.
The voice came from seemingly nowhere. “I’ll be his mentor.” Vaines appeared, carried in Rolim’s arms. The Jewel transformation had advanced since the last time Ed had seen her. Her legs had fused together, and her torso was like a misshapen lump. Only part of her face remained visible, a single blind eye fixed in Tillman’s general direction.
“Vaines,” Ed said. He felt mixed emotions. The cavalry was here, but the cavalry was in no condition to fight at all. “You didn’t leave.”
“Of course not,” Vaines said confidently. “We’re a team. Like Madame Tillman said, we work better together.”
In fact, they weren’t a team. Vaines was lying her ass off. She had almost killed Ed on several occasions, manipulated him every chance she could, and used him as a stepping stone to reach the Factory. He didn’t trust her, she wasn’t his friend, and she was only here because it benefited her.
He was very glad to see her. “Of course we are a team,” he said, matching her tone. “The power of friendship and all that. Right?”
“Right,” she said cheerfully.
Sephar groaned in his sphere. “Have some damn dignity,” he said.
“A team,” Tillman said softly. “Two Directors, as different from each other as they come. Most of your goals are in conflict with the other’s, your philosophies are incompatible, and you are sure to be at each other’s throats just as much as you are your enemies.” She cocked her skull to the side, and Ed was sure she would’ve smiled if she had had the means. “Just like in the old times.”
“You and Saint Claire,” Ed said.
Sephar groaned again. “Just kill us all already, Tillman!”
But she wasn’t listening to him anymore. She turned to Ed, then to Vaines, and then she floated down to the main bulk of the brass machine that was the Factory’s brain. “You could complement each other, plug the other’s weaknesses. Vaines the realist, and Wright the idealist. She would teach you all you need to know, and you would bring much-needed new blood to our company. Yes. It can work.” She turned to Vaines. “But there is a price,” she said gravely.
Gears and machinery whirred inside the brass organ, and the pipes trembled as if under a heavy load. The main bulk of the machine hissed as jets of steam surged upward. Its sides parted to reveal a black interior, like an oven. The smell of formaldehyde grew heavy, almost overwhelming, and then a wide tray emerged, the air around it glimmering with necromantic residue. There was a mummified corpse on the container, and Ed realized the brass machine wasn’t just a brain.
It was a coffin.
“Do you understand?” Tillman asked Vaines. “This is how I kept the Standard Factory away from the Regents’ grasp all these years. If you and Wright are to do the same, the Factory needs a mind at all times. Once you go through with this, there is no coming back.”
Ed’s blood turned cold inside his veins. Tillman was asking Vaines to bury herself alive!
“Is that all?” Vaines asked. “Let’s get on with it, Rolim. I don’t have all day.”
As the hulking undead man advanced toward the platform, Ed could’ve sworn he saw a triumphant glint in Tillman’s eye. Of course, that had to be impossible.
Rolim had only taken a few steps when Ed heard a cracking noise. He turned just in time to see Sephar’s hands finally break through his holding sphere, which dissolved into a thousand shards—they then flew in all directions and dissipated in a shower of feedback.
Sephar rolled as he fell and jumped to his feet with surprising agility before ducking under a series of dart-like magical projectiles Tillman unleashed his way. “I’m afraid I can’t allow this alliance,” he said. Still on the move, he started setting up a series of buffs and enhancements. Heroic magical resistance, spell reflection, silencing touch. Ed tried to interfere by using the frightening upgrade of his Evil Eye, but Sephar never met his gaze, focused instead on dodging Tillman’s attacks.
“Enough! Obliterate!” A sphere of concentrated necromantic energy smashed against Sephar’s chest. There was a flash along with the overbearing smell of burning ozone as the spell bounced back at Tillman. The wraith’s robe was engulfed by black flames, and she fell to the ground like the sack of bones she truly was.
“You and I are going to have a long talk, Lily,” Sephar promised the wraith, and then rushed toward Rolim and Vaines, faster than any human had a right to be, his black spear materializing in his extended hand as he charged.
“Let me go!” Ed urged Tillman. “I have to stop him!”
Rolim barely had time to put Vaines down on the floor, and then Sephar was upon him. The spear went through the undead man’s torso and out in one fluid movement. No blood came out. Rolim threw a kick that would’ve turned a mortal person into mush. Sephar ducked under the attack, however, and struck Rolim’s knee. There was a crack and Rolim collapsed.
Tillman managed t
o stand. She was a charred skeletal husk, not unlike Ed’s cursed hand. He could see the wraith fading by the second. “You are not ready,” Tillman told him. “Face Sephar as you are and you will die.”
Rolim tried to reach at Sephar’s head and crush it with his gigantic hands. Sephar made a lazy spin with his spear, and Rolim lost four fingers on his left hand. The undead man gave no signs of pain, but he kept his arms closer to his body as he tried to pressure Sephar while the Dungeon Lord used the range of his spear to keep out of range.
“He’ll kill Vaines if I don’t go.”
“Maybe. But you’re not her only defender.”
The world shifted again around Ed’s floating sphere as the Factory violently changed course. Sephar lost his footing and slid away from Rolim an instant before he had a chance to impale Rolim’s head. As he fell, Sephar began to change into his true form. He was halfway through when Gallio charged out of the darkness, his sword shining gold with the righteous power of the Light. The slash caught Sephar by surprise and severed muscle and tendon. Sephar groaned in pain, a deep wound sizzling in his side. He stopped his transformation, although the wound began to knit itself back together.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Ryan rush toward Vaines. Sephar saw him, too, because he readied another spear throw.
Gallio rushed him. “Sunwa—!” he started, but Sephar threw the spear at him. The weapon homed with magical precision at Gallio’s chest, and the Inquisitor had to dive to the ground to avoid being run through. The spear hadn’t yet fully gone past when Sephar had already summoned it back to his hand again. Before the Inquisitor could regain his footing, Sephar was on him again. The fight was fast, desperate, brutal. Sephar did not bother parrying most of Gallio’s attacks; he simply regenerated those wounds and mounted on the offensive. Gallio was losing ground, could barely keep his stance, and Ed knew Gallio would be dead in instants unless someone did something.
Ryan reached Vaines at the same time Sephar disarmed Gallio. The Planeshifter reached for the crystal figure. “Gust!” Sephar used a basic spell, and Ryan disappeared down the downward slant of the office and into the darkness.
Then the Dungeon Lord of the Wetlands towered over the Inquisitor. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “Killing your kind never gets old.” He readied his spear.
“Murmur’s reach!” Ed exclaimed, hoping to all the gods he still had a spell left.
It was as if Gallio’s world had been reduced to the spear hovering an inch away from his throat. He was aware that his remaining time in the world of the living could be measured in heartbeats. Perhaps he should have used that time to think of his fellow countrymen, or all the soldiers of the Militant Church that were about to embark on a long trip to Starevos, unaware that the very monsters that had forced the Inquisitor to raze cities to the ground could be hiding among their very brothers in arms.
He didn’t think any of that, though. He could only wonder, as he locked gazes with Sephar himself, why Sephar was invulnerable to the Light’s retribution.
Sephar smiled, perhaps reading his thoughts. His expression said, I bet you would like to know. The Lord of the Wetlands readied himself to deliver the killing blow.
And then a foot the size of Gallio’s head appeared from the side and kicked Sephar so hard in the ribs his feet left the ground and he disappeared into the darkness.
Still alive, Gallio thought, stunned, as he looked up to Rolim’s stitched-together face, dead eyes blazing to life with the eldritch light of the Evil Eye. “Ah, Wraith,” Gallio said.
“Who else?” Wright’s voice came from Rolim’s dead throat. “No one else is allowed to kill you, Inquisitor.” Chuckling to himself—or to Rolim—the Dungeon Lord stepped over Gallio.
Sephar came flying out of the darkness, fully transformed into an armored monster that towered even over Rolim. He still retains his enchantments, Gallio thought. Just what was that creature?
The two monstrous Dungeon Lords crashed with such violence that fragments of bone, chitin, and ichor splattered over Gallio’s shirt. There was nothing noble about the fight that followed, nothing elegant. The two monsters fought without exchanging a word, every ounce of their beings focused on doing as much damage to the other as fast as they could.
Wright reached out and tore off Sephar’s wing. Sephar clawed out a chunk of bicep, rendering that arm almost inert. Wright caught Sephar’s forelegs under his arms and smashed his forehead against Sephar’s skull over and over while Sephar raked his claws and his legs into the undead’s belly, causing it to burst wide open like a balloon.
Gallio looked away, sickened. He couldn’t breathe, and he also suspected he should have lost consciousness a while ago. You cannot rest yet, you asshole, he thought, furious at himself. His sword had disappeared, and he had no weapons left, but he had to get back in the fray.
Wright was losing. Rolim had lost too much mass on the previous fights, and he was no match for the talent-empowered mindbrood.
Sephar’s serrated tail punched through Rolim’s chest and came out his back, then the mindbrood lifted the undead man as if he weighed nothing. Wright struggled weakly, trying to regain purchase without success. His broken arm lay uselessly to his side.
Wright summoned Eulogy with his broken arm. The sword slid out of his unresponsive hands and clanked against the ground.
Sephar set his oversized hand right in front of Rolim’s face. His spear appeared and ran Rolim’s head through, entering through an eye and exiting from the back of his skull, showering the floor underneath with gore. Rolim went slack, and back on the holding spear, Wright’s real body convulsed from the agonizing feedback.
The Evil Eye in Rolim’s remaining eye dimmed and then vanished.
“It’s over,” Sephar said. “I’ve won.”
Gallio slid between the legs of the undead man, grabbed Eulogy, and, howling in agony as he felt the last dredges of his power keep the weapon’s curse at bay, severed the monster’s tail. The monster roared, more in anger than pain, as Rolim dropped heavily to the ground. Sephar readied a strike that would end Gallio once and for all.
The Evil Eye roared to life in Rolim’s eye. Wright caught Sephar’s claw, broke it, then dragged the mindbrood into a viselike grip. “Do you feel like you’re winning?” he yelled, then smashed Sephar’s skull against the floor, over and over again.
Slowly, the other wounds on Sephar’s body began to heal. Wright kept wailing on him, however, systematically tearing him apart faster than the creature could heal. “Now, Ryan!” Wright exclaimed.
There was a flash, and a Portal tore to life a few inches away from the entangled monsters. The Inquisitor saw a red vastness through the Portal’s edges, and a powerful wind took hold of his inert body and dragged him toward the Portal.
Wright grabbed Sephar and jumped through, the Portal closing behind them a second before it sucked Gallio in. The Inquisitor fell hard to the floor; then, finally, he blacked out.
“We could’ve been friends, Edward,” Sephar told him as they fell through the red sky.
When falling from a high-enough spot, Ed felt as if he were flying. His heart roared in joy. Up here, there were no Regents, no Kharon, no Inquisition. Just peace. Just the craters of Camcanna below and the stars above, and in the middle of such incredible vastness, two Dungeon Lords were locked in struggle. They could’ve fallen forever, it felt like. Ed doubted he would ever fear heights again.
After what felt like a long time, Ed fixed Rolim’s remaining eye on the monster with the heart of a Dungeon Lord. “I have enough friends,” he told Sephar.
They were alone, the two of them, and Rolim’s crushing hold was almost intimate, if not for the sound of cracking bones.
Sephar’s Evil Eye, if viewed from the ground, may have appeared to an observer like a pair of falling stars. “For now,” the Lord of the Wetlands said joyfully. “For now.”
The sound of Sephar’s laughter stayed with Ed even after he ended Murmur’s reach and his soul soar
ed away, upward, as fast as the wind.
32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Homebound
The mortal remains of Evangeline Tillman crumbled to dust after Vaines’ Dungeon Jewel replaced them in the heart of the brass machine. The office went completely dark, all displays snuffed out like candles under a sudden breeze. Tillman’s wraith cast a small light spell, which flickered like a faulty lightbulb. Her bones crumbled as her essence faded.
Ed would’ve found it sad, if he hadn’t been busy dying from lack of oxygen. Next to him, lying on the cold floor, he could see the faint outlines of Gallio and Ryan. Neither of them were moving.
It was a close call, Ed thought. Holding Sephar back had taken everything they had, and Ed knew they had gotten extremely lucky. Next time, the Lord of the Wetlands would take measures against asphyxiation.
Still, the white relief of victory washed over his mind like a warm wave. He had fought, and he had stolen triumph from the jaws of defeat. The pleasure of being alive was almost a religious experience. That, or the brain damage was finally setting in.
“She’ll be unconscious for a while,” Tillman told him, pointing a bony finger at Vaines as the corpse tray entered the machine with a hiss. “In the meantime, I’ll maintain current altitude to clear the infestation on the lower levels. If we don’t, Sephar will simply return using one of those bodies.” A pause. “I’m afraid the mindbrood shows more resistance to lack of air than a human being. You and your allies need to leave the Factory now.”
Ed nodded weakly toward Ryan. The Dungeon Lord was too weak to reply, so he tried to tell Tillman with a look that their ride was currently unconscious.
