by ST Branton
This type of occurrence is very rare with horses.
“This route’s blocked.” I swung the wheel to the right. “We’re going the long way. Yell if the van starts moving.”
“They’re still there.” Namiko clicked a few times. “I can’t get details on traffic or obstructions or anything like that. There’s probably no one feeding that information through.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The Hummer roared along. We blazed through stuck or dead traffic lights, veered around turns without pissing anyone off, and didn’t get bogged down in a sea of yellow cabs. Getting to cruise the empty streets of New York was more than once in a lifetime—it was probably once in an entire universe.
The next obstacle we encountered was a berm of debris from a crushed building that had settled across the road. I slowed long enough to observe the height and depth of the obstruction and made a snap decision. My foot switched from brake to accelerator. “Could a horse do this?”
No. Horses have too much good sense.
“What are you doing?” Brax demanded. His eyes were wide. “Slow down!”
“It’s all good,” I told him. “This is what these things were made for.” In a manner of speaking anyway. The front tires spun when they hit the edge of the berm, but the heavy duty treads found purchase soon enough, and then we were snaking our way up and over. The ride was not without turbulence. A few times, the heavy truck pitched at what felt like a dangerous angle. Debris slid audibly from under the tires with every inch. I glanced at Brax. “See? Not so bad.”
He stared forward grimly, one hand locked on the overhead grip. His head bounced close to the roof of the cab, and his other arm braced himself against the downward angle of our trajectory. I chuckled to see him looking so concerned about a little makeshift off-roading. Then the truck touched down on the other side, and he visibly relaxed.
That lasted about a millisecond. As soon as we were clear of that hedge of debris, something traveling at an incredible rate of speed zinged off the edge of the side mirror. I recognized the distinctive pockmark it left behind. “Someone’s firing on us!”
Brax spun around in an effort to pinpoint the source of the gunfire. Another round struck the rear door, and another lodged into the back windshield.
“Oh shit!” Namiko said. “I heard that!”
“Hold on tight,” I told Brax and stepped hard on the gas pedal.
He sucked in his breath, grabbing for the handle again. “I don’t care for this.” His cheeks had actually gone a little pale.
“Aw, come on. You look like the world’s biggest adrenaline junkie. This doesn’t do anything for you?”
He clenched his teeth, watching out the front. “Just because I break out of Asphodel by habit doesn’t mean I do it for fun.”
The last word of his sentence was overshadowed by the rear glass, already weakened by one bullet, blasting inward. Both of us ducked forward. My arm hit the center of the steering wheel, causing the horn to bellow. “Hard left!” I yanked the wheel like the captain on a sinking ship. We skidded around the turn, and I gunned it down a narrow passage.
“You’re out of your damn mind!” Brax hollered. Wind rushed through the hole where the rear window used to be.
“I can’t hear you!” I shouted back. The opening at the other end of the alley sprinted toward us. I bore down on the gas. The speedometer crept higher and higher. It was at fifty when we erupted into Times Square.
“Go south!” As I turned, I caught sight of my buddy Steve Stephenson up on the huge screen. Good for him—he’d finally made the big time.
“Oh, no.” Brax covered his face with his hands, squeezing tightly.
“It’s okay if you puke,” I reassured him. “This isn’t my car.”
“Rocca’s close,” he answered. “And so is her army.”
“Three blocks!”
It was too late to even think about turning back now. I eased off the gas a little, but we pressed forward until Namiko told me to hang a left, which I did. The sky was just starting to show the faintest signs of light. “How far?” I asked her.
“Okay, now—”
I slammed on the brakes, pitching myself and Brax into the dashboard. He did look a little nauseous as he pushed back off the glove compartment, but his attention was entirely focused on the massive horde filling in the street at the end of the block.
“Vic,” he said.
“Sorry about that.”
“No. Get us the fuck out of here.”
“I can do that!” Throwing the gearshift into reverse, I looked in the rearview mirror and stopped cold. “Oh, shit. We’re boxed in.”
Both armies surged forward, pouring ever closer to the Hummer in the middle of the street. Neither side seemed to notice the car or its occupants.
“I don’t think they’re here for us,” I said. “But we’re about to get caught in the crossfire! Go!” At the last instant, I grabbed my phone as I flung my door open and threw myself into the street. Brax leapt across the truck’s hood, sweeping me up on his way by. We torpedoed into a storefront amid the cacophony of more smashing glass.
My last glimpse of the Hummer was fleeting, its blocky shape awash in the collision of two mighty forces. The bright burn of the Marked clashed horribly with Beleza’s bronzed muscle men. Beleza himself loomed over his devotees, arms spread wide. He was still grinning, but the expression held little warmth. As if in answer, the deafening crack of a chain thundered over the melee.
Brax set me on my feet, shaking glass off his coat. He looked up at the panorama of war unfolding before our eyes, and for a moment, he went far away. Then he snapped back. “This is bad. We need to go.”
“Cut through the building you’re in right now,” Namiko said over the phone. “The van’s on the other side. I don’t know how much longer it’ll stay.”
Brax and I looked at each other and broke into a dead sprint.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The drab, featureless background in Steve Stephenson’s shots turned out to be the loading dock behind the bank of stores where Brax and I emerged. We charged in tandem toward the nondescript white van. My efforts doubled when I realized Steve and his tiny crew were packing up their equipment, preparing to move to another location. Around the news crew stood three mean looking dudes with assault rifles ready in their hands. They raised them at us, fingers on the triggers.
“Steve!” I shouted, hoping my voice wouldn’t be drowned out by a chorus of automatic bursts.
“What the hell?” The reporter turned toward us, and I watched as his face morphed from confusion to terror. “Holy shit! Who are you? Have you been seeing the broadcasts?”
I slid to a stop in front of him, as did Brax, who was completely unruffled by the whole ordeal. He folded his arms over his chest, apparently content to join the mean mugging contest and let me do the talking.
“My name’s Vic. I saw some of your broadcasts while we were hiding out with some other survivors, and I knew I had to find you.”
He smiled. “That’s great to hear. I’ve been really hoping to reach at least some people this way, but so far, you’re the first to come forward. Not that I think people should be coming out of hiding just yet, but—”
“Right. It’s too dangerous. That’s why we need to use your van.”
Steve held up his hands, chuckling nervously. “Whoa, whoa. Vic, was it? Listen, I appreciate you coming out to talk to me. I know it can’t have been easy. But I can’t just let anyone use my stuff. It’s at a premium right now, you understand? I can’t afford to lose it.”
“We’re not going to steal it. I need to use it to send a message. That’s all. When I’m done, we’ll leave. We have other things to do.”
“Other things?” Steve’s reporter’s instinct kicked in big time. End of the world or not, the guy could smell a scoop.
“Things where reporting isn’t gonna help so much. This, though? We need you for this.” I hesitated, searching his face. “Please. It’
s not just about New York anymore. We’re saving the world.”
Steve shifted his weight and glanced back at the van. His crew watched him, silent and wary. “I’m not sure how far the signal actually reaches on our rig. Could be miles, could be… blocks.”
“Anything is better than nothing. It’s worth a shot.” I couldn’t tell how on the fence he was, and it made my stomach twist into knots. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was take the van by force.
“There’s not a lot of time,” Brax chimed in. He nodded toward the back of the store. “A war’s brewing on the other side of those buildings. It might spill over soon.”
Steve ran a hand through his mop of brown hair. He was sweating. “All right,” he said finally. “Okay. Yeah.” He turned toward his crew. “Set these guys up to go live right now.” He looked at his guards. “Point those things down before you shoot someone.”
“Thank you, Steve. You can’t know how important this is.”
“You’re right.” He gave Brax a onceover. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“We’re ready for them,” a crewman called. He beckoned me to a spot on the pavement. “Stand right there and look directly into the camera. We’ll make sure the picture and sound are balanced right, so don’t worry about that. Just say whatever you need to say.”
I nodded. My stomach did a little flip, and I swallowed hard. For some reason, the nerves I’d lost over wielding the sword came back full force at the prospect of being on camera. Brax crossed over to stand beside me again, arms still folded.
“Three! Two! One! We’re live!”
A light on the camera intensified. I somehow managed not to squint. “Whoever’s out there listening, this message is for you. I know there’s been a lot of confusion, but this is the truth. The gods are real…and they’re assholes. They’ve come here to take this world for their own. Right now, things might look pretty dire. But I’ve fought my way here to tell you that there is still hope. This isn’t the first time the gods have returned, and it won’t be the first time they are beaten. They were forgotten once. It’s time to rise up and erase them again.
“The gods look down on us. They think we’re weak, that we’re pests to be exterminated. They think they can kill us all without a second thought. But listen to me: they’re not invincible. They know nothing about the true strength of humanity. Stay strong. Be safe. Don’t let them divide us. They are gods, but they bleed, and they die, and we can be the ones to kill them if we stand and fight together.”
Having said my piece, I stepped back. The camera light dimmed. Steve and his crew gawked at me from their positions around the van. “What did I just witness?” Steve murmured. “History? Or the greatest hoax mankind has ever seen? I guess that’s still history.”
“It’s not a hoax.” I pointed at Brax. “Does that look like a costume to you? You’ve seen the carnage firsthand, man. You’ve seen gods.”
Steve studied me for a moment. Then he opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by a sudden, violent crushing sound. The roof of the van flattened downward beneath the weight of a giant figure whose skin shone a telltale bronze. Steve’s crew scattered in a panic.
I looked over at Brax. He drew his hammer, and I pulled my sword.
Beleza rose from amid the wreckage of the news van. “Well, well.” His sonorous voice boomed across the loading dock. “What is this? Some sort of festive gathering, unblessed by the radiance of Beleza? Simply unacceptable!”
“My van!” Stephenson’s jaw hit the ground. “What did you do to my van, you crazy mother—”
Beleza froze for a split second and then turned toward us with that smile fixed in place. I clapped my hand over Steve’s mouth. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “Or he’ll spray you with tanner and put you in a thong. And that’s the best-case scenario.”
“Don’t be silly.” The god stepped forward, naked as always, and beaming. He looked a little like the Atlas statue had stepped off its pedestal and followed us down the street. “I am only here to glorify my name, to bestow it upon this dark and wretched realm. You say we have been forgotten? Such foolishness astounds me!” He raised his arms. “I am impossible to forget. And soon, this world, too, shall know.”
“You just destroyed the last mobile broadcasting station in who knows how many miles,” I told him, pointing at the carcass of the dead van. “Not what I’d call the most efficient start.”
Watch your words, Victoria. Remember: there are no weak gods.
Beleza threw back his head in gleeful laughter. “This?” He hooked one hand under the front end of the van and tossed it vertical. Steve Stephenson physically recoiled as he was forced to listen to thousands of dollars of equipment shattering into pieces on the inside. “This is nothing. I am meant not only for ‘the big screen’, as you say, but for the kind of art that is hand-molded by the greatest beings ever to set foot upon the land. I, Beleza, shall be venerated.” His eyes burned like torches as he spoke, gazing up at the gradient sky. “Humankind and godhood alike will exalt in tandem before me! Can you imagine?” He chuckled, returning to us. “You cannot, of course. Your minds are too small for such grandiosity. But do not fret. I shall bring you everything you never knew you wanted.”
A shiver crawled across my skin. This guy was officially giving me the creeps. I ignited my blade just as his hand came swinging down to grab me, and instead, he had to jerk his fingers away from the searing heat of the blade. “You know what I want, jackass? I want you to put on some friggin’ pants.”
Beleza’s laughter flooded the loading dock. “You are a feisty little thing,” he commented admiringly. “It is a shame you are so fool-headed. I almost hate to stamp you out.” From the corner of my vision, I noticed a slew of scantily clad male figures pouring into the lot through the alleys on either side of the storefront. They didn’t smile as readily as Beleza, but they were bronzed and hard-bodied like him, and they arrived in multitudes.
“This is bad!” Steve shouted. “We have to get out of here!”
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Good thought, though.” Brax took the reporter by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Stay out of the way, or you’re gonna die.” He glanced at me. “Don’t worry about these kids. I got ‘em.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Beleza swung his arm down again, fingers now curled into a heavy, bludgeoning fist. I got as much of a running start as I could eke out before having to leap upward, ripping the Gladius Solis in a vicious uppercut. The flames coating the blade licked off of Beleza’s shoulder, leaving a swipe of soot.
“Silly girl.” He wiped it off and examined his palm. “That little thing is a toothpick to me. You are only wasting the final minutes of your life.”
“You aren’t as big as you think you are, Beleza!” I yelled. It was true, but he was still big enough to be a major threat. The god threw another, harder punch, and as his knuckles crashed into the ground behind me, I felt the world tremble.
“Do not misunderstand me, human,” Beleza said conversationally. “I am thankful for your martyr’s death, for it will only bring more attention to my exceptional power. We will enter into the great records together, you and I. It is a shame you won’t be able to see it!” On the last word, he snapped around with unsettling speed. The edge of his fingers caught my leg.
I stumbled. Pain throbbed in my calf, and I had to drop to the pavement and roll out of his reach, slicing at his hand as I went. Again, he reeled his hand back but then thought better of it and shot forward, fingers extended. I managed to reposition the blade just in time to skewer the center of his palm. His flesh felt like packed wet sand around the blade, but he wasn’t immune to the sword’s effect.
The god bellowed. He tried to tear the sword away by wrenching his hand free, but I held on tightly, even after the force of his strength lifted me clear into the air. Beleza shook his hand as if to flick off drops of water. The world bucked and spun around me.
Do not neglect your connection with the sword! Marcus
reminded me. It will respond to your call!
The next time I found myself reasonably low to the ground, I dropped. Immediately, the bronzed arm pinwheeled backward, far out of my reach. I looked up to see the Gladius Solis outlined in orange and yellow against the sky, still stuck firmly in the meat of Beleza’s hand. Backing up, I concentrated my thoughts and imagined the weapon flying back to my outstretched hand. Then the hand rocketed forward, relinquishing my sword in a rain of god-blood. Beleza roared once more.
“How could you mar the utter perfection of my form?” he cried. “Unforgivable!”
The sword hilt landed cleanly in my grip. I cocked my arm back and chucked that thing like a burning javelin, aiming for the center of Beleza’s chest. He had to come toward me to get back into range, and on his way, he swatted my weapon out of midair. I watched it tumble end over end. “Gladius!” My hand moved on instinct to try to snatch it up. A quick thought crossed my mind.
The sword shuddered to a stop, twitched, and then I sent it rocketing back to Beleza from a different angle. It buried itself in his shoulder, and he stopped in his tracks.
I called the Gladius Solis back again and zipped it around Beleza’s head. He made a grab for it, and I tagged his other shoulder with the blade. Then, while he was distracted, I summoned it straight back to me like a shot, seized it in both hands, and charged for his legs.
The easiest thing to do would’ve been to go for the low-hanging fruit, as it were. But in my current position, I was afraid I’d get crushed by his thighs of steel during his inevitable agonized writhing. Choosing to err on the side of caution, I dug the sword into the back of his knee instead. The leg buckled beneath his weight, kneecap slamming into the earth.
Oh man, did it feel good to finally bring him down to my level. Now I was at the perfect height to finish him.
Beleza clutched at the injured joint, fighting not to bow his head. “You know not what you do, human.”
