Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  The first to volunteer is Magine, the dueling maniac. Freif joins him after glancing at the group. It’s not a bad team-up, considering Freif will need to hide behind and set up if he wants to take out Bolo. Unfortunately, the flat arena won’t do him any real good. That’s no way to hide, to back off and open fire on the Dragon Lord. It’s not the ideal environment for the marksman and I’m sure he’ll complain about it later.

  The pair set up as I expect them to. Magine stands before Bolo, weapons held down and to the side, a short dueling sword in each hand. These aren’t big honking pieces of steel or even the curved elegance of a katana. No, these are dueling swords, tiny weapons about four feet long with a blade that’s maybe a millimeter in diameter. The blade itself appears from a hitless basket guard, formed of Mana and a thin extrusion of metal. Instead of a single flat edge, they’re an irregular triangle of blade edges, with diamond-tipped edges to increase cutting area. On top of that, low-level energy projections erupt from the blade edges, giving the weapon a monofilament edge.

  That Magine wields two at once, and with the lightness of the weapons, means he’ll be attacking faster than Bolo. Theoretically.

  Freif stands behind Magine, at the far edges of the courtyard. This leaves Freif little space to retreat, but Magine is ready to intercept Bolo. Unlike his melee-wielding partner, Freif is hauling around a sniper rifle that’s nearly as big as he is. System physics means that he can carry it without a problem, though he has additional braces emerging from his armored body, along with force-projected stabilizers, that help anchor the sniper rifle to himself and the ground.

  All the while, as they set up, Bolo stands there, leaning on the shaft of his hammer, waiting with a smirk. “You want me to beat them, correct? With flair?”

  I glance at the party chat that Bolo sends his notice to us from and keep my face still as I reply. “No deaths. Feel free to cripple. Heck, that’d be preferable.”

  “Not very nice of you,” Harry sends.

  “Good training.” That’s from Mikito, the samurai eyeing not the fighters who are stepping out to deal with Bolo but the rest of the group who hasn’t. She’ll be taking her turn soon after. And unlike Bolo, she’ll take this seriously.

  “Whatever. I’ve been itching to hit someone,” Bolo sends his reply.

  “You intend to signal the start?” Ayuri says, gesturing out to where the opponents wait.

  “Nope. When they’re ready, they can start,” I reply idly.

  As if he was waiting for me to say that, Magine launches himself at Bolo. He crosses the twenty feet between them in a flicker of blurred cloth and steel, Haste already turned on. He’s fast. Faster than me, I’d say. Agility focused, but with significantly less Health.

  Rather than pick up his hammer, Bolo reacts by punching. He’s moving so fast, everyone is moving so fast, that I’m not even sure the Paladin initiates spot the slight deviation Bolo makes while punching. A deviation necessary to take in account Magine’s dodge. One moment, Magine is a blur approaching Bolo. The next, he’s being punched in the face, that fraction of a second when his momentum is canceled like a photograph in our minds. His face, crumpled, a blade sunk into Bolo’s arm half a foot deep. And then, of course, momentum takes over and Magine is flying backward nearly as far as he was charging, tumbling head over heels.

  A crack, the noise from the projectile thrown down field as it crushes the sound barrier, informs us that Freif is joining the battle. Freif reacted as fast as Magine, but they’re all moving so fast, the crack only arrives a fraction of a second before the noise of Magine’s own breach of the sound barrier.

  The projectile lands on Bolo’s chest, just slightly off center and at an angle, shattering on the scalemail and showering the ground with shards. Bolo’s enchanted armor doesn’t even scar.

  Neither of the initiates take their failures lying down. Magine is already bouncing to his feet and charging into the fray, blood streaming from a broken nose, swelling already forming on his face. He circles sideways, making sure to give Freif a clear line of vision. He’s learned his lesson, circling rather than doing a straight, face-first challenge. Freif is reloading, taking his time as he pumps Mana into his next Skill attack. No hasty shots here.

  And Bolo? He’s grinning.

  What happens in the next few minutes is a massacre. Bolo never even bothers to pick up his hammer. Instead, he alternately punches, kicks, and in the end—while holding Magine’s hands apart—head butts his opponent into submission.

  As for Freif, even after conjuring weaponry all around the arena to increase his damage and slow down Bolo, he fails to do much to the Dragon Lord. After the first shot, Bolo dodges. His movements are almost languid, but he shrugs off, disperses, and dodges the vast majority of Freif’s major attacks. The rest of the drones and automated weaponry, Bolo ignores.

  When the Dragon Lord is finally done with Magine, he slowly stalks over to Freif, dismissing or plowing through the mines, chaos grenades, smoke particles, and illusions to grab hold of his opponent. Then he throws the Erethran sniper to the ground and stomps on him. Even from where I am, I hear the snap, crackle, and pop as pelvis, hips, and fingers are destroyed.

  “I think that’s enough.”

  Bolo grins, looking up, and kicks Freif over to the edge of the arena. The duelist staggers back to his feet, battle recovery and stubbornness getting him up, but he’s swaying, his reconjured swords in hand.

  “I think we’ll do three next,” I say to the Honor Guards, some of whom are quite, quite angry.

  Not scared though. Not worried. Not even surprised. Just angry. They don’t show it much in their faces, but I’ve been observing them for hours, watching their combat videos, their training logs, and eyeballing them during our interviews. I’ve begun to put together a picture in my head, build a baseline.

  They’re angry, but not scared or worried. I think that says something about the kind of training they’ve received. And, I have to admit, I wonder if what I’m doing will even drive home the point I intend. Who knows, maybe getting their asses kicked by a higher Class opponent is a common thing in their training. Memory returns, informing me that that’s true; but sometimes, lessons have to be relearned.

  ***

  Bolo trashes the next three with as much ease as the first group. It doesn’t help that their best fighters grouped up to begin with. When I make it four, Magine and Freif join up again. I almost want to comment about them being masochists, but I restrain myself.

  Guns fire, spells flash, and for the first time, I get to see what Gheisnan brings to the table. Freif stays close, laying out mines and drones to protect the Pooskeen. Magine and Kino confront Bolo directly. Together, the pair of Honor Guards are strong enough that they make Bolo pick up his hammer and wield it, battering the pair around even through their blocks.

  That’s what the Shaman brings. He ties in everyone, what the others are seeing, hearing, and sensing. He layers in his own understanding, his own predictions of what Bolo will do, and so, he coordinates the offense. It puts Bolo on the defensive for a few minutes, wears down his Mana and health while the Dragon Lord gets his footing in the new battlescape. It’s a good showing.

  It’s not enough.

  No matter how good you are at seeing the future, at predicting your opponent, it’s useless if you can’t stop them. My own proof of that is my last fight with a Master Class speedster. In Bolo’s case, when he gets serious, he smashes apart the defenses of the Honor Guards. Perfect blocks divert some of the energy, but not enough. Soul Shields absorb, flash, and shatter in single swings. Kino falls first, then Magine. After that, it’s just mop up.

  When the fight is over, I gather them all again.

  “Well, that went about as well as I expected. What did you all think?” I speak casually, in contrast to the orders that they’re probably used to.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir,” says Ropo.

  I eye the dwarf, remembering how he ate one of Bolo’s strikes,
the way it sank him all the way to his chin before he threw himself out of the ground. Stubborn, good fighter. His Poisoning Skills helped to add a damage over time attack to his own efforts and his friends’. Even if he mostly concentrated on defense in this fight, he was useful. Too bad Bolo’s base recovery levels and resistances overrode his efforts.

  I nod. “We might as well make this clear. You all have the right to speak freely to me at any time, any place you want. If I don’t like what you say, I’ll let you know. In a very direct manner.” I flash them a wide grin at that.

  “Then you’re a poison-swilling fool. There’s no way an Advanced Classer, capped or not, can beat a high level Master Classer. Add the fact that the Dragon Lord is a prestige Master Class, geared for fighting alone, and this was a waste of time. We know we can’t beat Master Classers, and if you thought this was a new thing, we might as well drink a Thrice-Croaked potion,” Ropo says with tension high in his voice, his jaw jutting out.

  “And why is that?” I say.

  “Because, you towering, infected donkey’s penis, we are Honor Guard. We’re trained to fight Master Classers, either alone or in teams, the moment we were recruited. There’s no point to this. We know how to fight and survive. But there’s never a winning scenario, not against him.” Another jerk of his bearded chin takes in Bolo.

  “And is that what you all think?” When my question to the group meets sullen silence, I get my answer. I turn to Mikito next. “How many do you want?”

  The samurai glances over the group, taps her lips, then calls out, “One on one.” Then she walks over to the corner that Bolo had started all his fights from.

  “All right. You heard the lady. Line up and get your asses kicked.”

  While Ropo grumbles and moves to face off against Mikito, Ayuri sniffs and turns on her heels. She stops, calling out to me when she’s halfway to the exit. “Paladin. I want a word with you.”

  I note the glances the initiates shoot at me. They’re probably speculating that I’m going to be told off by Mommy. As I join the Champion, I toss behind me a drone so that I can continue watching. I’m not worried about my conversation with her, for I have a plan.

  I just don’t know if it’s a good one yet.

  ***

  “What are you doing?” Ayuri says, once we’re away from the playground and out of earshot.

  “Making a point.” I flick a glance back to where Mikito is getting them sorted out. I split my concentration between the drone I left behind and Ayuri.

  “And what kind of point is that?”

  “Well, that depends on who we’re talking about. Freif is a great sniper, but even with all the points he’s put into his Skills, he can’t really hit a Master Class like Bolo. And when Mikito has him alone, she’ll still beat him like the redheaded stepchild he is.”

  “He’s not a redhead. He is a stepchild, but that has no legal standing,” Unilo says, looking a little confused.

  “Earth culture. You should read the books,” I say. “Real mainstay of Canadian culture.”

  Ayuri ignores my nonsensical remarks while Unilo mouths the word Canadian. “He knows that. He’s a sniper. His job was never to be in the front lines, fighting directly. You’re not teaching him anything he doesn’t know.”

  “Maybe he knows it, but you guys obviously don’t. What is he going to do when you make him a Paladin? When his enemies come for him in the middle the night, when he’s all alone and injured, when things are bleak and he hasn’t had time to set himself up for that perfect shot? He’s not a Paladin,” I say.

  I wince as I watch Mikito boot Ropo in the nuts. The fact that the dwarf continues coming says a lot about his stubbornness and his innate resistances. The fact that he’s tried to use a bunch of poison gasses and weapons is an interesting new addition to his fighting technique. Not that it helps.

  “Freif’s just a target waiting to be ended.”

  “He’s not you, Redeemer. We will provide security and teams for all of our Paladins,” Ayuri says.

  “And that’s where your next mistake comes. We don’t work for you, or your military, or even the Queen. Whatever teams you put together, the Paladins will have to trust them with their lives and more. They have to trust the team to be loyal. To let them, as a Paladin, do whatever the heck they think is right,” I say. “If they decided to kill your Queen, would the groups you create follow them?”

  I snort when Mayaya stirs and Unilo frowns. Ayuri’s the only one who doesn’t react to my almost treacherous words.

  “Any group you create for them will be a compromise,” I say. “That won’t work.”

  Ayuri shakes her head, dismissing my words. “We’re not looking to create another group of insurrectionists. We don’t intend to have a repeat of the War of the Seven Systems.”

  “Then you’ve got the wrong people. And I won’t give them my approval.”

  And finally, finally, Ayuri reacts. She steps close, looms over my shorter form, and stares me down. Her aura turns on, and I don’t know if it’s conscious or not. The pressure she exerts is much, much stronger than nearly any aura I’ve ever felt. Only the Queen and the Librarian were stronger. It’s as though the weight of an entire star system is behind it, the regard of the population of an entire empire and their favor bearing down on me.

  I stay upright and keep my face impassive under the building pressure. But as is my way, as she crushes me with her aura, I reach for that kernel of anger within me, that raging ocean that never seems to end. Pain, never resolved, turned into anger and passion. I use it the same way I always use it, and it reinforces my backbone.

  Eyes narrowed a little, I snap back. “Drop it. You wanted a Paladin. You have one. You can’t intimidate me, Champion.”

  “Maybe we’ll just try again. With someone a little more agreeable,” Ayuri snaps, fists clenched at her sides.

  I note that the other two members of her group have moved to flank me. Mayaya is probably ready to open a Portal and shut it with me halfway through. Unilo—well, I’m not sure of her plans. Probably something involving that spear she wields.

  “You mean like the two dozen guards you sent before me?” I watch Ayuri’s eyes widen, watch as she realizes I’m not as oblivious as I’ve played. I know more than she thinks about what that planet once was. Of the layers of pain it contains. “I know about them. I know about all the failures, everyone you sent to the Forbidden Planet in search of Suhargur. Every single failure. All the rejected ones. I am literally your best option. Now get out of my way and let me do my job. Let me let you get a Paladin.”

  Ayuri continues to stare at me, never releasing the aura that makes the space around us warp. In the corner of my eyes, I spot the way the hallway itself twists, buckles. I meet her gaze even as notifications of the aura being resisted ping off a corner of my vision. She stares and stares, her gaze turning inquisitive after a while, searching my own eyes for something. And then…

  She laughs.

  The aura disappears as quickly as it arrived, allowing me to roll my shoulders as the metaphorical weight vanishes. All the while, Ayuri laughs and laughs. She claps me on the side of my shoulder, the impact making me stagger. I’m sure I’m going to get a bruise from it.

  “Good. Don’t let anyone, anything intimidate you, Paladin.”

  “So. Was that all a test?” I’m getting a bit whiplashed from the way that she’s been treating me. Telling me that the Paladins are our own players, then trying to make me do things her way.

  “Weren’t you testing me as well?” Ayuri says, a smile still on her face.

  I shrug. Still chuckling, Ayuri slaps me on the shoulder again and walks off with her friends. I watch her back as she goes, then finally turn around and head for the training grounds.

  I’m still not sure who came out that interaction better off. But my head is still on my shoulders, so I’ll take it as a win.

  ***

  Mikito’s fights afterward are a letdown. After the bone-crushing, shatt
ering, explosive sonic attacks of Bolo, hers are just boring. She restrains her Skills and attributes, fighting at the same level as the Advanced Classers. Matching them, as best as one can, in terms of skill and strength.

  She still wins.

  Compared to the triumphant thrashing of the guards before, Mikito’s restrained victories seem to have a deeper effect on the morale of the group. Even if she is a Master Class, the fact that she’s not using her higher-level Skills is telling. It’s a lot harder for them to discount her ability when she’s not triggering and using Skills that give her an insane advantage.

  The fight with the Roach is a great example. Smo’kana has the height advantage, able to swoop down, attack, and retreat as his wings deploy. They allow him to hold in place or swoop away with equal ease. The roach wields a pair of blaster pistols in his first set of hands and a pair of cutlasses in the second.

  Mikito doesn’t hold still though, constantly shifting her position as she picks her attacks with her weapon. The ghostly armor deflects the occasional beam blasts that S’mo’kana releases against her, but for the most part, the roach darts in to do battle with his swords. It’s no surprise, since even with Skills, beam weaponry doesn’t transfer the attribute bonuses of Strength and Skills as well.

  Not unless you specialize. And the Roach is a generalist.

  Under her Haste Skill, Mikito darts back and forth, lashing out with her naginata whenever he comes close. At first, the fight looks to be at stalemate, with Mikito never doing enough damage nor the Roach able to hit her. But on the tenth swoop, Mikito jerks her hand toward herself and hidden gravity mines trigger.

  They yank Smo’kana down, forcing him to the ground as he suddenly weighs much more than his wings can handle. Even if he could adjust his weight, the strength of his wings, and his attributes to make it viable to fly again, he never gets a chance. A series of quick strikes rips off portions of his wings, takes a hand, and ends up with the naginata placed against the center of his torso. As quickly as that, even as the dust from his constant flying around is still settling, the fight is over.