A Viral Imperium: The Plagueborn Series Book 1

by Darren Joy

  ‘Let me in. Oblivion is my home, not yours. You’re trespassing. Let me in. I don’t wish to get angry. Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like that.’

  Threadfin backed towards the bed, the blankets in a disorganized array. He needed a moment to think. The words of the old man, who he knew was really the Watcher, replayed in his mind. He was in Oblivion. What was that? Where was it? An emptiness between worlds came the answer in his mind. Someone had told him that.

  It took him a moment to notice the girl standing in the corner. His gaze swung to the door and back to the girl. How had she gotten in? Her face remained in gloom, but he felt her staring. ‘Um, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. Are you lost?’

  ‘You is losing yourself, Threads,’ said the girl, and then he recognised her, again.

  ‘Cat,’ was all he could manage with a choke. It was odd seeing her, as she used to look, as though nothing had changed.

  ‘You needs to grab hold o’ your power now, or it’ll destroy you. Listen, Threads, time’s runnin’ out.’

  ‘All very well for you,’ he snapped. ‘It’s me that’s got to do this. It’s a lot harder than you realise.’

  ‘Then, mud for brains, try harder.’

  WHEN HE AWOKE, THREADFIN leapt to his feet. He didn’t recall going to sleep. Tezcat was gone. It had been good seeing her, lost soul or no. He sat on the edge of the bed, nerves in tatters. The Watcher, now in the form of a rabid old man, was his magic. Either he learned to control it or it would destroy him. Great, just Grim-damned bloody brilliant.

  Why didn’t the Watcher follow him inside this room? The door remained unlocked. He got up and walked to it, laying a skeletal hand on the wooden knob. ‘This is a bad idea,’ he muttered. He opened the door. ‘Wouldn’t be my first one, though, now would it.’

  The corridor was gone. The old man stood midway down a long tunnel that stretched from the door into emptiness. He had half wished the Watcher wouldn’t be there. ‘You and I got business to discuss, it seems,’ he said, feeling like a fool when the old man laughed. ‘You are real, aren’t you?’

  ‘There are no dreams here, only souls falling through the cracks. Your face looks like you’ve seen the dead,’ and the old man laughed again, while walking towards him. His voice crackled like scrunched gravel. The horns began to re-emerge as the face turned bestial. ‘I’ve seen the dead walk; curious and humorous. Delightful. The dead cannot harm you though. They are useless. There are other types of dead, however.’

  Behind the old man, a thick tail began to form as though from a black mist, even as the words turned to meaningless growls. The man’s jaws extended, fangs growing fast, as his face stretched and reformed.

  Threadfin gave it no more thought. He knew what he had to do and couldn’t waste another second. He ran out of the door, leaping at the creature with a cry ... and missed.

  The bottle the old man had held, smashed against the brick wall of an alley, the tunnel gone. The fragments faded into wisps. Threadfin hit the wall with a crack of bone. He picked himself up, ready to fight.

  Something with a vast wingspan swept across his path, a sinuous tail in its wake. It swiped at him. He turned and chased after it. About him, the alleyway dissolved. He hunted, merciless in his need. It turned with a high-pitched screech and swept back towards him, jaws gaping wide. He leapt, arms flailing into nothingness. This time, he wouldn’t miss.

  He grabbed hold of the creature’s leg. All he had to worry about now, was not bloody well letting go.

  THREADFIN DUCKED LOW branches as he exited the forest. Vines, clinging to the dead trees, grasped at his hair. The forest hindered his passage. The concept should’ve been laughable. Somehow, he’d changed, as had his perception. The dead trees were alive with many denizens hidden amongst the branches. They didn’t like him, their malice palpable.

  His physical body deteriorated quickly. Scraps of rotten meat, which clung to his bones, fell away. He’d lost an eye, and was certain the other wouldn’t last. He was uncertain whether he was full dead, only that he was aware. All was grey. All was damp. All was cold.

  He clambered uphill, skeletal hands reaching for purchase. Several rocks gave way. He slid back, but always kept his eye fixed on the summit. Finding strength, he forced himself upwards.

  From the summit he spotted two figures locked in combat on another hilltop. He began the treacherous descent into the valley between.

  He noticed others daring the descent too. Like him, they had decaying bodies, were tumbling, and falling, and not all were human. A few were overlarge like giants, though not all resembled Nephilim. Some were ethereal in form, and not a few had such strange shapes and skeletal design he knew they were not from his world. There were others he couldn’t see, but felt their presence on either side. They all followed him, and the fact didn’t surprise him.

  After all, he had summoned them.

  Reaching the narrow valley floor, he began to climb the second hill. Near the top, he felt the hollow thumps, which threatened to shatter his fragile bones. One creature flew upward, vast wings lashing the air with turbulent force. This one had a thick horned tail, a long-scaled body and a head filled with horns and teeth. It was the Watcher, his magic. Filled with determination, Threadfin glared at the creature.

  Five times, he’d attempted to force his will on the beast, to bridle his power, and five times it had fought back with a wildness both vicious and admirable. In the end, they’d reached a sort of truce. His flesh continued to slough away, as he fed the Watcher his soul, and the souls of those gathered around him. For that price, it now fought the angelic force controlling Gog of Magog, the force inhabiting Liviana Avitus.

  Presently, the four-winged harpy was on her knees. At times, her form shimmered and faded, as though it wasn’t completely there. Winged shadows encircled her, scratching and biting, and she screeched in frustration.

  In her grip was a long sword, double edged, which she now held with the point resting on the ground. Its surface shone, reflecting light that wasn’t there. The angelic spirit, named Andromeda, was perhaps ten feet in height and muscular, but there was a feminine hint to her features and body, though nothing of it resembled Liviana. There was no doubt in Threadfin’s mind this was Liviana’s angelic half. She had a foot in two realities. Scatter had gotten it wrong. To stop Gog and his horde, he needed to first defeat the harpy. In fact, they would have to defeat her in both realities at the same time. Brother and sister fought the same fight.

  Then he spotted something else, a rotating ball of colour and light in her other hand, which vanished a moment later. The Shathra Stone. Whether it was the Stone or a reflection of it, he didn’t know, but he knew it was Andromeda who controlled it, not Gog. The Nephilim heir was nothing more than a vessel, a means to destroy the world.

  The Watcher flew as though injured. Its wings were wide, their span greater than its opponent’s, but it couldn’t rise higher. The harpy was a formidable foe. The Watcher’s tail lashed at its opponent who had gripped a thick hind leg. It attempted to impale Andromeda with curved bones jutting from the tail’s tip. The harpy, weathered the attacks. Sword in hand, she also took flight to a great height, and pausing, she then plunged earthward into the Watcher. Both fell in a tumble of wings and talons. They drilled into the earth erupting a fountain of dirt and rock.

  Another sound turned Threadfin’s wonder to fear. It was a howling he hoped was wind. Ignoring it with effort, he reached the lip of the crater. Taking a few steps more, he saw both creatures within, one atop the other. The Watcher was pierced through, the sword in its back. The harpy was still alive. She began to shove the Watcher off her.

  Threadfin had failed. No, he was not a mage, but a fraud, a fool to think he could master such forces. He had no control of his power, and was therefore impotent. All he could do was watch.

  Andromeda’s black eyes, threaded with blood, stared at him. The former angel knew him, what he was. Without thought, Threadfin leapt on to the scal
y body of the Watcher, attempting to pin the harpy down. Others arrived to help, men, women, children, giants, and stranger forms, all lending their strength, feeding his power with theirs. He glanced to the left and right. Those faces haunted him, with looks of despair and pain, the lost and the damned.

  The Stone reappeared in the harpy’s outstretched hand. It awoke with a swirling maelstrom of colour and impending doom. Andromeda sneered at his efforts. With such power in its grasp, nothing could stop her.

  In that moment, a strange shadow swept past him. Thin and lithe, it seemed almost human to Threadfin’s eye. There was a sense of familiarity, as though he knew this intruder.

  The howls were closer. The dead stared at one another, uncertain, terrified even as the viral mage devoured their souls. Andromeda screeched, and Threadfin saw why. The Shathra Stone was gone. He knew by the harpy’s desolate cry the shadow must have taken it. He silently thanked whoever it was.

  The harpy mauled the body of the Watcher in an unstoppable rage, and began heaving it aside. Threadfin and the other dead stumbled back. The sheer power of this angelic spirit was immense. She stood to her full height, four wings spreading. A memory struck him of statues in a forest, and he now knew who those statues represented.

  Then he did the only sensible thing he could think of.

  He ran.

  Not very mage-like, but practical given the circumstances. The howls sounded closer. He realised as he fled that he was going nowhere. He didn’t understand the rules of this place. He glanced back. Over the hills, bulky shapes bounded closer.

  The dead screamed as large four-legged creatures closed on them. These bore more of the Fallen Ones, all of them harpies. The mounts leapt forwards and ripped into the fugitives. The riders, some with a more masculine cast, spread their quad wings and did likewise, screeching with glee. Then he spotted what lay far beyond them, a forest of dark wings, forms blurry and nauseating to look at.

  The Darkness, but it was no longer nameless. The Watcher knew it, and therefore Threadfin did too. Tartaros was a vast and unbounded entity, both one and myriad. Populated by winged shraeds, its hunger was insatiable. Looking into that blackness, he saw true oblivion.

  More of the long tails appeared in the sky, smaller than the Watcher had been, but powerful. He recognised them as viralic souls. A collective roar echoed across grey skies. The longtails folded up and plunged earthward, snatching the Fallen from their mounts, or from the air. Some of them dove upon the encroaching evil too, but these the shraeds devoured. Others landed and sliced through the oncoming horde of four legged terrors. harpies waded through bodies, hacking all in their path trying to get at the longtails.

  Threadfin had halted in his escape to watch, astounded and frightened. He couldn’t run. There was nowhere to run to. If this was his end, well, fine, but why not make a fight of it. Not that he could do much.

  Something hammered into him, and tossed him aside. A four-legged beast was on him, slavering jaws devouring the flesh that remained, crushing his withered bones.

  A longtail seized his tormentor in powerful jaws. It tossed the gorgon high, snapping its spine with a blow of its tail. Its wings fanned proudly before it looked upon Threadfin. It wasn’t just any longtail, but his own power, the Watcher ... if looking a little the worse for wear.

  Then he heard his sister’s voice, as though she whispered in his ear. ‘It is now you must lose yourself.’ His grandfather’s too, ‘It is time, little Fin.’ Then, Tezcat’s voice rang in his head like a bell, ‘Hurry up you grolg-headed lummox, afore it’s too late.’

  He had fought it each step of the way, but it wasn’t until that moment he understood. Since the day he had almost killed his sister in the pond, he had feared what he might do. He’d avoided his own reflection to the point where it had vanished. Like a heavy burden he’d carried all these years, he let go of his fear. He surrendered, opening his arms wide as he lay on the ground, and offered himself to his power. Teeth ravaged his body, but there was no pain. The Watcher tore what remained of Threadfin Todder asunder and devoured him. Arms and legs, bones with strips of rotten flesh, its teeth crunched them all to pieces.

  Threadfin was floating, a disembodied consciousness rising. He watched the scene unfold below and saw a dirt path, which led towards the shimmering image of a city. He sensed his sister in danger.

  Something brushed by him, slashing at his spirit. His power, the Watcher, also devoured his spirit. Then he was a part of the beast, seeing through its eyes, feeling its massive heart thumping, the blood coursing through veins. He wondered if this was just his mind’s interpretation.

  Flying high, he began to guide the souls of the dead towards the shining palace of blue, and his sister. Other longtails continued to rip the traitorous angels asunder. As the battle raged, Threadfin sought out his enemy.

  Below him, creatures bounded across the hills, which now bordered a vast ocean of heaving waves. For what seemed an age, he searched through the melee until at last he spotted her, battling five longtails. Spreading his wings, Threadfin hurtled towards the harpy, jaws opening wide.

  His target looked weakened, staggering with a fresh wound in her back between the wings. Andromeda had a moment to look surprised before teeth the size of swords cut her in two.

  Chapter 43

  For Justice

  DESPITE THE SWORD skewering her, Aiyana forced herself upright, inching up and forwards. She’d done all she could for Threadfin. Mere seconds had passed in the Blue Palace since. Between worlds, there was no time, or whatever time existed, it flowed at a different pace. The soul splice lay between them on the blue slate floor. Her magic continued to attack the other woman, the sword enveloped along with Liviana’s entire right side, all but her head and neck. She wasn’t certain what effect it had on the harpy within, but Liviana wasn’t having a good time. Perhaps it was enough to hold her off, although what came next, she had no idea.

  The palace shook as Liviana’s suffering increased. Cracks ruptured the walls and floor. The earth groaned. Her pain was translating into physical manifestations. Aiyana realised that killing Liviana might bring the building down on top of them. So be it, she thought. I will save my people, and this world, at any cost.

  Skeletal hands grabbed at the edges of the abyss as the dead rose, their hope realised. Hulking creatures also bounded over the lip among them, skins rippling with muscle, eyes red. The gorgons began to savage the dead, crushing that hope. Liviana was using her link to the Stone to fight back despite the viralic power half enveloping her. The gold ring on Aiyana’s finger began to smoke, the silver winged inset darkening. Dark ephemeral vines fingered Liviana’s neck. She glared, furious and contemptuous at the stalemate Aiyana had forced on her.

  One after another the gorgons came, bodies glistening in the half light. Threads of shadow clung to them like ragged coats, as they snapped at the withered reinforcements.

  CANAAN GLANCED AT THE Angelborn trapped inside the pillar. Once, he had been like her, full of righteous desire. He had believed it was his fate to serve justice. Such notions were foolishness. Still, he couldn’t help but admire the innocent bravery of this one. He mourned for himself, for a time when he hadn’t known better. It had been simpler then. Well, it would be again, one last time.

  In their tens, and then hundreds, the dead attacked Andromeda. With the leader of the harpies distracted, the angelic-wrought sword dissolved and the stone pillar released its prisoner. The Darken struggled to her feet, weakened but determined. Yes, he mourned and delighted in her persistence, her utter defiance in the face of defeat. He missed that.

  ‘I’m all yours, Drayl,’ she whispered, turning to face him. His true name sounded good even in a human tongue. However, he did not belong to it anymore. For too long he’d existed as human and at times had forgotten who he was.

  ‘I offer you my existence, my soul,’ she added, staggering a little. ‘I am too weak to resist you. This body is dying. Take it, take it all, but leave the vira
l be. Let her do what she must.’

  The offer stunned him. He’d heard of other Fallen devouring their former kin, absorbing their essence, becoming greater. He could not deny the temptation, but he had come here for something else.

  For justice.

  The harpy screeched as the dead hauled her towards the edge, even as the gorgons ripped into their numbers. He didn’t think they would succeed. She was too strong, too vicious, too corrupted. Andromeda’s wings erupted in a gory spray of blood, dark crimson feathers with a hint of emerald. Stone fingers grappled with the corpses, trying to free her.

  The dead knew Andromeda commanded the gorgons, knew that destroying her was their salvation. How had they found her? How had they entered this world? The abyss was a warping of reality, but they should not have been able to cross. Someone had riled them into this frenzy. Someone was helping the dead.

  Andromeda lashed out with slithers of fire and the razor edge of her wings. Most of the dead were emaciated things, but for a second time, Canaan recognised one among them. A leader, if not the instigator, the former imperator refused to admit his death. Markus Olen had always been stubborn. Still, the dead were losing this battle. The gorgons savaged them and Andromeda decimated their numbers. Soon, only a handful remained and they fled back into the abyss, several gorgons giving chase. The others prowled, eyeing the viral female as their next victim.

  The Darken attempted to reach the viral but collapsed. Canaan ignored the confusion in Cathya Shivar’s face, as he stepped past her. He watched as the viral retrieved the soul splice. Strange, how events could turn out. He remembered losing the weapon, having given up, and yet here it was in the hands of his enemy. Perhaps fate was not such a foolish notion.

  What an amusing thought.

  AIYANA WATCHED PEN Luthus approach behind Liviana, the hem of his red cloak caressing the flagstones. She felt too weak, and could not fight both. She spotted her Darken, bleeding out, collapsing. I can’t save you, and the pain felt worse than anything Liviana could inflict.