The Architect King

by Christopher Schmitz

  He roared and ducked as the police opened fire. The werewolf shrugged off the marginal small arms fire that bit his hide and he leapt into their midst, slashing with his claws. It was over within moments and the chamber again laid quiet, reeking of vyrm blood and gun smoke.

  The battery operated lights provided enough light to see by, here, and Zabe melted back into his human shape. A table in the middle of the room was filled with materials and several maps had been hung on a wall. Pins in the map marked locations across a couple nearby countries.

  Zabe paused when he realized that he’d already been to many of those places. He looked closer at the world map. There were roughly fifty pins across the planet and they had heads of two different colors.

  He traced his finger backwards across the line he’d cut across Europe and traced his route backwards. This was the seventh vyrm cell he’d wiped out since embarking on his quest.

  Each of the previous six were circled on the map: three of each color.

  “They were tracking me.”

  He realized that seven of the different pins had stars drawn around them and they were all yellow pins. Odessa’s pin was red. “What does it mean?” he wondered aloud.

  Zabe looked down at the table and sorted through their documents. He didn’t speak a lick of Ukranian, but luckily they were mostly in vyrmic which he knew enough of to struggle through.

  He grinned when he scanned the hasty vyrm scrawls. The red pins were looking for him and they’d drawn up a map for every cell of shade sleepers they knew about. Zabe had just found a map to direct him to all of his targets if he could just decipher the clues.

  Since coming to Earth by the first available portal, which dumped him in Russia, he’d been using the scanner to track down any signals displaying darquematter auras. It was the best lead he had on finding Sisyphus without attacking the Heptobscurantum head-on. One of the last things Jenner had said before being hauled off to prison had deeply bothered Zabe.

  My father was taken from me by those psycho cultists—Nitthogr’s minions from Earth, and we still haven’t done a damned thing to get him back.

  Zabe was angry with Jenner—furious! The kid was a killer… but he’d been right about that one thing: they had barely looked into recovering Professor Jarfig.

  Jenner’s comment stung and Zabe figured he could at least do this one thing; Jarfig deserved to be rescued whether or not his son was a murderer. Zabe was still his father’s son, whether Zahaben was alive or not, and rescuing Jarfig was the right thing to do.

  More than anything, Zabe wanted to make Jenner tell Jarfig what he had done to Zabe’s father. That was the punishment Zabe wanted for the murderer: to endure his father’s disappointment, and he would do it if he had to track down every darquematter scrap on Earth until he eventually found the wizard and forced him to surrender the professor. He assumed Sisyphus had collected at least a few of the alien items.

  Zabe clutched the notes and turned his attention back to the map and its seven stars around yellow pins. What are there seven of?

  The three yellow pins were locations that he’d raided and all of them had Heptobscurantum icons and items in their lairs. It had not surprised him; the Heptobscurantum frequently used shades to plant new factions of their cult across the globe, it was how they’d spread so rapidly since their near eradication after the defeat at Mullen, Nebraska.

  Zabe looked around. The Hadyuka site had none of that. As he thought of it, neither did the other three locations with red pins… they were not aligned with Illuminati and their Seven leaders.

  It clicked into place. That’s where the Heptobscurantum leaders are located!

  He scanned the notes again. The Red pins knew that something was wiping out their nests and had deduced that it was something targeting the Heptobscurantum—that the cult must’ve done something to make a deadly enemy who the red-pinned Shades knew nothing about.

  Zabe traced a finger to the nearest star on the map. “Germany.”

  The pin was several countries away, and he’d have to sneak in and out of each one since he had no passport or transportation. His eyes burned as the stared at the yellow pin within the starred dot. In as few as a couple days, he expected he’d collect his prize.

  “Jarfig is coming home to see his son’s trial,” he promised aloud.

  ***

  The Prime

  Nitthogr looked across the grassy fields of the cloister. They had been cleared out now that the shades were stationed inside the monastery.

  The sorcerer sniffed disdainfully at the weakness of the human olfactory gland. He could smell the blood from here. Most of it had been scrubbed clean or hidden behind closed doors in the barracks section where they had piled the bodies like cord wood.

  Down the road, he could see the hoverskiffs approaching. They were filled with Guardian Corpsmen; their distinct armor flashed brilliant in the daylight. His army excelled at disguise and subterfuge; none in the royal army or guardian corps were aware of his take over yet… aside from his servant, Gita.

  Nitthogr reformed his body into the shape of Shjikara. It felt doubly unfamiliar now. Every cell of the sorcerer’s body was filled to the brim with dark energy. They practically vibrated with the power of his ravenous agod who now lived in and through him. Nitthogr was no longer also Shjikara… he was Sh’logath and also Nitthogr! And nothing could stop him, now. Nothing remained of Shjikara but a fading image used when it became convenient.

  Still, he felt compelled to reveal his true form and devour the Guardian Corps troops as soon as they entered the soiled grounds, but he knew that the time had not yet arrived. Shjikara looked over to his minion.

  Gita held the box in both hands. Her eyes indicated that her total despair had been made complete.

  The skiffs settled down in the courtyard and Tahnak exited. Two dozen of his guards walked across the lawn to meet Gita. “I got your message, Gita.” He gave a secret hand sign to indicate that he’d understood the coded words she’d inserted and understood that she’d thought a situation was urgent and potentially violent.

  Tahnak did a double take at the empty grounds and spotted Shjikara as he headed inside the monastery. “The un-petrified men and women are gone already? I would have thought it’d be months, and not mere days before they were moved on.”

  “That’s what I wanted to show you,” Gita said. “Follow me. It’s easier if you see it, rather than let me describe the problem.”

  Tahnak raised an eyebrow, but went where she led. The Corpsmen, both men and women who Gita knew by name, followed them in. They were on high alert and expected some kind of trouble; the soldiers did a poor job of hiding their edginess.

  The halls of the Veritas’ home were as warm and inviting as ever. Monks passed them with friendly smiles and nods.

  Gita arrived at the door to the Sacristy vault. It had been blown off its hinges. At the center of the vault a statue of a small child had been placed. The young girl had a broken hand clinging to her arm.

  “What… I don’t understand,” one of the Corpsmen said.

  Tahnak whirled around. A vein in his forehead twitched. Tahnak had become attuned to the nature of the Darque during his time trapped there and he could sense things others could not. “Shades! They are everywhere,” he shouted. “Form up!” Tahnak didn’t understand the statue, but who else would have broken the Sacristy’s barrier.

  The leader of the Corps stepped in front of Gita to guard her from the noises coming up the hall. “There are vyrm in the Vangandran tunnels—I can feel them there—hrrk!”

  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Gita said through the tears that rolled down her face. She pulled the knife out of the Tahnak’s back. She’d slid it in between armor plates, where only a Corpsman would know to strike. “He made me…”

  Her fellow soldiers could not react to the murder before the overwhelming force of vyrm rushed upon them and began the slaughter. An elite unit slipped out from their hiding places in the Sacristy a
nd gunned the others down while they fought the vyrm pouring forth from the tunnels.

  Shjikara shuddered, and he became Nitthogr again. One of the shades howled from the courtyard. “They’re getting away. They’re getting a—ackk!”

  Gita and the shades closest her sprinted outside. Pollando, Druen, Perribelle, and Minas all climbed aboard one of the skiffs and slammed the throttle forward.

  Nitthogr glanced aside at the four shades who had taken the forms of those heads of the order after they’d killed them. “I thought you murdered them in their sleep?” the sorcerer hissed.

  The shades nodded, just as confused as their leader. Catching Minas’s eye as they sped away, the sorcerer growled, “Of course they used magic. The head of The Flame Order must have seen you coming. You killed illusions, you fools. They were just waiting for an opportunity to escape!”

  Nitthogr turned to the small army that had gathered and awaited his commands. “Well don’t just stand there! Shades, overtake them!”

  The shape-shifting vyrm hurriedly stripped and dressed in the armor of those they’d just killed. They scrambled towards the remaining two skiffs and piled in. Spotting the four heads down the mountain path, the vyrm raiders blasted over the edge of the road and cut an angle to intercept them.

  In the pilot’s chair, Druen spotted them taking the dangerous maneuver and tried to game the angles. The two pursuing craft slid in behind them and the four leaders shouted when the first one rubbed fenders with it.

  Druen kept the craft from fishtailing and righted it on a straight course. With fewer passengers, they pulled away and put some distance between them.

  Perribelle of the Wax order snatched the gun from Druen’s holster. “I’ll hold them off,” she said and then crawled to the rear of the open-air flying platform. She snapped off a few shots and the first craft veered away. It quickly corrected itself and then resumed the chase.

  The hover skiffs were designed for use by the Guardian Corps. Their armor would hold against a small blaster.

  Perribelle screamed as the fake soldiers behind her returned fire. Chunks of plating scorched and sizzled with a heavy volley of laser blasts. The enemy had bigger guns at their disposal.

  Druen spotted the Guardian Corps barracks up ahead at the group’s main compound, only a short jaunt from the castle walls. He angled for the outpost and heard Perribelle’s high-pitch wail. She crawled back towards the driver’s seat, moaning.

  The leader of the Merciful Hammer smelled the burned flesh and could tell she’d been shot without needing to look. “Almost there, Belle… hold in there. The Corps will set things straight!”

  Voices squawked on the communicator that opened to the Guardian Corps’ private channel. “Incoming, incoming—GCHQ, we are in pursuit of four rogue vyrm shades. They’ve stolen a skiff at the monastery and are inbound!”

  “No, no, no!” Druen shouted as he spotted the turrets on the outpost wall angling to acquire them as targets.

  “A little help, Pollando… Pollando?” Druen called to the psychic head of the Mystic Order. He remained stoic and mute as ever. He stared off to the distance and Druen knew that he was not present—he’d departed for some other mission—hopefully one that would help them stay alive.

  Minas looked up from tending Perribelle’s wound and he flung his hands skyward just in time to throw up a force field as Druen swerved. Their skiff evaded the first laser battery, and the force-field caught the second burst. It slammed into the magic bubble and shook the air, thundering with shimmering azure intensity.

  Druen’s skiff darted around to the far side of the outpost and they were nearly clear when a third battery fired. It hit directly on center for a kill shot and Minas’s protection splintered to shards of pure force that smashed into them and nearly derailed the skiff from its destination.

  Perribelle panted from the floor of the vehicle. “So much for help from the Corps—and our Veritas are out of commission, too.”

  “We can’t be certain the Military is safe either,” Minas said.

  Druen knew what had to be done. “We’ve got to rescue the Princess before we are overrun from within.” He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but could feel their nods of agreement.

  The enemy skiffs closed behind them again. They spotted even more as their allies bought into the lies of the enemy—the four would be dead before they had a chance to correct their peers.

  Druen maxed out the thruster and arced a tight corner and angled for the main gate of the castle. He spotted the guards at the door’s control; their eyes had turned a milky white as Pollando held them in psychic stasis. Controlling them only slightly, he made his thralls slam the door shut as they coasted through and then they threw the keys over the edge of the protective walls to buy the four fugitives a couple extra minutes.

  Nearly crashing the skiff through the statue garden, Druen did his best to minimize casualties. He apologized profusely as the vehicle clipped a few of the petrified warriors, breaking some and toppling others. Their craft’s hoverfield failed as the engines crumpled under the damage and it skidded to a halt in the main courtyard.

  Curious onlookers said nothing, but all eyes were fixed upon them.

  Druen scooped up Perribelle, and he dashed into the hallway. Minas and Pollando followed.

  “I can walk. The wound is superficial,” Perribelle insisted, and he released her. They sprinted as a team towards the royal hall. This time of day, Princess Claire would be holding court in the throne room. They’d just gotten inside when the alarms sounded at the gates, barely audible within the buildings.

  “They’re inside the castle if the alarm is up,” Druen said. “We don’t have much time!”

  A few steps later, they rounded a corner and found the entrance to the throne room. The main chamber was filled with citizens of every stripe as the court conducted its regular business.

  The four comrades pushed their way through and emerged before the throne where Claire sat. A strange moment of awkwardness passed through the crowd as the four religious leaders shoved their way to the center. All eyes fell on them within seconds.

  “Princess, you’ve got to come with us,” Perribelle insisted, looking beaten and bedraggled. A scorched wound seeped blood at her shoulder.

  A siren split the air and startled the crowd. Voices came from the speaker a moment after. “Intruders. Intruder alert—four vyrm shades disguised as the heads of the Veritas factions have accessed the castle…”

  The princess stood to her feet, ready to flee. The crowd stiffened, ready to finally enact their revenge upon an enemy that had caused so much hurt in the past. They outnumbered them at least thirty to one.

  Minas growled, “We don’t have time for this!” He raised his hands as he shouted and used a blast of wind to shove all of the crowds out of the doors. With a telekinetic bump, he slammed the doors shut and locked them with cross braces.

  Claire looked up with panic in her eyes.

  Pollando rushed to her side. “My princess. My princess, it is I. I know that only you will recognize the sound of my voice,” his words came out raspy from his unused voice box.

  She stopped in her tracks. “Pollando?”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “You are in danger. Nitthogr has returned, my lady. He is stronger than ever and he has infiltrated the Veritas and the Guardian Corps. We must get you out of here before it is too late.”

  She nodded as the others joined them.

  “Those doors won’t hold forever,” Minas insisted. The only way out from here was up. They could retreat up the rear stair which led to the private residences of the royal family, but the mirror room, which had historically been their best escape option, had been destroyed during the conflict with Akko Soggathoth. The soldiers would likely look for them there and they would have no other escape routes.

  “Here,” Bithia said, uncovering a secret compartment where they could escape into the subterranean tunnels. “It is connected to the Vangandran caves.” B
ithia no longer had access to all of Claire’s mind, but she remembered this part—the memories were too vivid to forget.

  They scrambled down and into the secret paths before resetting the hidden access. The leaders followed their princess as she led them through a grotto and into a dark and winding trail. Minas conjured an arcane light to guide them.

  None of them knew these caves. “Where does this lead?” Druen asked, wishing Perribelle had not lost their only weapon in the chase.

  “It leads to the tunnels that belonged to Zabe’s ancestors,” she said. “They connect to the monastery…” she trailed of, realizing they had just come from there and were now going full circle. “There is a gate there. We can open a portal in the depths of the monastery and escape. Nobody but Zabe’s family knows about it… and, well, just a few others. It’s a secret gate,” she insisted.

  Many in the Veritas and Guardian Corps knew of the Vangandran tunnels that burrowed beneath the monastery grounds. The tunnel connecting them to the throne room, however, was a better guarded secret than the complete contents of the Chamber of Mysteries.

  A short while later, they rounded a corner and spilled out of the tight quarters and into the main caverns. The cluster of vyrm soldiers hiding there whirled as they spotted the intruders.

  Druen charged forward and slammed into the cluster of enemy soldiers guarding the gate. He knocked them back and began smashing them with his fists and feet.

  Bithia looked up just in time to see it: the statue of the Architect King, guarded by a whole contingent of Black vyrm. Basilisk had made good on his promise to send the sacred statue back to the Prime by the hidden portal. Why didn’t Shjikara inform me that it had been delivered? How deep can this conspiracy possibly go? Below the statue, Bithia’s eyes met with Gita’s. She held some kind of box and wore a mask of shame.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gita said, and Nitthogr stepped out from behind the statue.

  Bithia hissed a curse as she berated herself. She’d told Gita and Respan about the tunnel during their foray into the AVA gathering.

  Druen continued fighting and refused to budge an inch. He would not allow an enemy to get past him.