Dimension

by Shay Zana

  All it will take to kill him now is just one soldier to switch to nikita rounds and penetrate his armour.

  “Hana!”

  Pursuing the fierce cry, Kitera charges out in desperation, letting it rain fire.

  Something rips into her left shoulder, pounding her body, backward and around, falling. The grass welcomes her, cradling in its feathery sway. The gun is absent, no memory of losing it, fingers groping for grass.

  It stings! Her adrenaline subsides and reality hurdles at her in a sickening rush, hand clutching at her shoulder in agonising pain. The wound is burning and her blood is curdling with mild poison. A toxic shard. An excruciating cry rises from her, baring her teeth, writhing and pushing her toes firmly into the soil beneath her, entire body wracked in the sear.

  Silence.

  Pounding footfalls boomerang at them. They are surrounded, soldiers raising weapons, ready to execute the tamed Paragon. They see smirks of triumph, taking pleasure in inflicting pain.

  Kitera feels harsh fingers lock around both arms and haul her up, ushering a piercing cry of pain, her wound stretching. Another hand tangles its fingers into her hair and gives a cruel yank, jerking her head back. She hisses scathingly, poison blooming within her.

  “Who’s this little slut?” one of them breathes in her ear, voice cold and gravelly. “Yours?”

  Deo snarls at the man through winces of his burnout, trying to support his weight up but failing with a shaky flop. A marine kicks him over on his back and slams a boot down on his chestplate to secure him.

  Her head is shoved forward upon the release of her hair, and the man circles around in front of her. She sees his eyes roam up and down her body, and her upper lip curls in disgust.

  “Must be one of your Natives,” he continues to Deo, toying with his prey. “Pretty. I didn’t think you cyborgs had dicks down there.”

  His companions snicker in a choir, taunting.

  “He’d rip her just trying,” a man yells out, rewarded by snorts of amusement.

  “Just kill them already, stop playing with them,” says one of the female marines far off, holding Deo at nervous gunpoint. She is obviously disgusted by her male companions.

  Kitera watches helplessly as one of the soldiers presses the barrel of his weapon right smack centre to Deo’s visor plate, grinning at the Paragon. No. Not her Paragon. Not like this.

  “Do not touch him,” she growls in enmity.

  The man before her watches her reaction with sick interest. “Oh, you wanna go first? Well then, by all means, ladies first.” He spins to regard his fellow marines. “Who should watch who die first?” he asks as if a host on a game show.

  There is no obvious superiority or chain of command here, leading Kitera to guess that their ranking officer had been killed in the firefight. Soldiers free of such discipline are dangerous.

  “Kill the bitch, make the Paragon watch,” a woman calls. Nods all around serve as agreement.

  The man slinks a combat blade from its sheath on his chest and wags it along Kitera’s neck. She lifts her chin away from it, but this only earns her another yank of hair as he again clutches a handful and holds her still, the blade held firmly to her throat, drawing blood with its razor-sharp edge. She twitches once but clamps her teeth shut, striving to not give them the satisfaction of whining.

  Deo, however, gives a muffled groan in protest, grappling for control of his nervous system, but the tumbling of his vision and the dead-weight of his limbs holds him prisoner in his own body. The surrounding voices mingle together into an ugly parade, and the droning vibration of his hibernating entity deep within rub at his senses uselessly. He manages to flail a hand weakly at the boot on his chest, grip slipping. He tries again, this time his hand finding purchase to clutch around the ankle of the boot, scaring the owner away with a high pitched curse. Spectators laugh. Another takes his place, landing a stomp to Deo’s visor.

  “Get him up, make him watch!” the man at Kitera’s throat yells, and four soldiers swarm in to lift the limp Paragon, taking all of their strength just to support him upright. His head drops down, neck too weak to support, but one of the marines tugs it up again.

  “Get his helmet off!”

  So the same marine fumbles around at the base of the helmet at the nape of Deo’s neck, eventually finding the manual release. The helmet yawns open and retracts away, revealing the Paragon’s bloodshot eyes, swimming with the fog of mental fatigue, rage lurking beneath.

  The marine ploughs a fist into Deo’s jaw and snatches his head up again by a tuft of hair, only to secure the barrel of his pistol to the Paragon’s ribcage, wedging it between a gap in his armour plating. A dull crack, and a shard is punched into him.

  Deo flinches raggedly, but his recoil is dampened as he is held firmly in place. He grunts out a deep cough, blood lunging from his lips before the marine redirects his grimacing face right at Kitera. Now, she releases a broken sob as she meets his pained eyes.

  The man with the blade wrenches her head back even further, exposing her jugular vein. She can feel it pulsing, the nearby sting of her sliced skin joining in. The blade draws nearer, her skin quivers, Deo growls through bloody teeth.

  It is not your fault, she wants to tell him. Close those eyes.

  She beholds the beautiful sky through a veil of tears, and closes her own eyes.

  OLYMPUS BURNING

  An air-splitting crack invades the moment, and Kitera’s tear-blurred view is exchanged with the grass once more. The scene explodes into action.

  Three shards pierce the air and the skulls of three UEU soldiers. An elevated explosion of a lightning grenade follows above, destroying all shields, knocking the closest few to the explosion unconscious, and pushing the others down to their knees from the impact.

  Natheus bursts from his hidden position, letting off another trio of shards from the barrels of his Parallel, taking down another three soldiers. He finishes the bursting movement by swapping to his Phoenix, sending a few entity rounds through two more soldiers before morphing the weapon to its bow form in one intricate rotation.

  With lucid kinetic energy igniting as the bowstring, Natheus poises the modern-arched bow and allows his entity to gather, notching a cluster of particles and releasing them into the air with precision and strength of the mind and the added velocity of his arm. He is able to bend the path of the spear-shaped cluster like a curving bullet, confusing his enemies who dive for cover in the wrong direction. The entity arrow angles from its original trajectory and pierces through them fluidly, dispersing in a flame of light and disintegrating their bodies like hot ash.

  His attack is countered by a barrage of acidic shards, and Natheus responds to the tidal wave of liquid by tossing an incendiary grenade right into the airborne acid, causing the flammable element to burst into a fiery explosion before it can reach him. Sprinting through the ball of fire at full speed, Natheus dives below another wave of acid, narrowly dodging beneath it as the liquid lands with a great splash in the grass behind him, fizzing and eating away at the ground.

  The marine firing these heavy rounds backs up in a panic, trying to get a fix on his rapidly approaching target. Before he knows it, the booted foot of the Paragon collides with his weapon, knocking it from his reach. He dives in defence and dodges the Paragon’s following round-house, grabbing for his combat blade before righting himself back on his feet.

  The sharp clicks of the Phoenix bow follow, manipulating its form in a maze of motion. Natheus charges in with his sword, held back-handed, trailing in his wake with a crisp slice through grass. He raises and parries a blow from the marine’s blade, nikita shrieking through the air. He catches the next swipe, crushing the marine’s wrist. One clean swipe with his Phoenix sword, and Natheus has beheaded his foe.

  Once the area is clear, he holsters his weapons and rushes toward the shard riddled grassline, finding Deo and Kitera struggling in pain.

  "Reckless," he chides both of them, shaking his head on approach. H
e pulls Deo to his knees and examines him, and now kneels next to Kitera to examine her. "A toxic shard," he utters, seeing the green substance seep from her wound, carefully handling her shoulder. "The symptoms will pass soon. Do not seal it over with elixir, the substance needs to seep." He examines the shallow slit in her throat. Nothing serious.

  Kitera nods to him and grinds her teeth together, crawling over to Deo as he remains slumped on one knee, rigid and gnarling. "My Paragon," she murmurs as she gathers his face in her hands, thumb wiping at the blood leaking from his mouth. His eyes take a while to meet hers, burst capillaries creating a gauze of strain. “Will he be alright?” she directs at Natheus.

  Natheus moves closer, hand fishing for something in one of his utility packs. “His entity has exceeded its limits, more so than usual. He’s lucky to still be conscious.” He pulls out a small oblong device, clicking it like a pen to activate a slim needle from its base. He stabs the stimulant into Deo’s thigh, ejecting the contents, and in instant response, Deo’s head jerks upright and his eyes fling into focus. He almost falls onto Kitera in the rush of adrenaline, steadying himself in time. Natheus pulls him to his feet.

  “Are you alright?” Kitera breathes out, stepping back from him now, almost shy in the return of his stalwart presence.

  Deo winces slightly, his armour sparking with electricity from the shower of lightning shards, and blood trickling from the wounds in his abdomen and ribcage. "I’ll live," he grunts, looking at her regretfully. “You?”

  “I will live.”

  He has to exhale a breathy laugh at her returned bluntness. He can see that her eyes are extremely bright, the irises brighter than the whites, and the muscles of her usually smooth and flawless face are contorted as she tries to hide her pain. He looks to the sliver of fresh blood at her throat, and now the gaping, poisoned shard wound in her shoulder, and feels his gut curl in remorse.

  Natheus administers a sealing coat of elixir to Deo’s wound, the medicinal liquid solidifying in place. “Abdominal wound is shallow, but your right lung has a punctured wall. The elixir will stop the bleeding and cease infection, but you must keep your respiration steady.”

  “Thanks, doc,” Deo quips before grimacing in the pain of a breath.

  Natheus gives a wordless nod, sparing Kitera a glance. "Are you able to walk?" he asks, and when she nods and begins to move forward, he feels relieved.

  Natheus now begins to lead them through the stream of dead bodies, toward the suspended facility in the distance. But with an entity weakened, the trek is even more perilous now.

  Deo has retrieved his weaponry and donned his helmet again, not only to shield his vision from warfare, but to conceal the pain inflicting his features from every step he takes. The shot of liquefied star energy that Natheus had provided is making its way through his system, pulsing his entity with rejuvenation, allowing his body to retain its functions. Paragons typically dub the liquefied star energy as the ‘shot.’ Some even use it to get high. He has a hunch that Boone takes a shot regularly.

  Kitera breathes through parted lips to stifle the smell of charcoaled flesh. Her wound has stopped stinging now, and her blood is no longer hot. Still, each movement feels as if tiny prongs are tugging at her flayed skin. She thanks the Zodiacs for a clean wound.

  As the three continue on at as fast a pace as the injured can manage, something stirs in the environment. The incoming sound of Daggers punches through the air, and flickers of flames can be seen in the distance, flowing from the tree tops with smoke rolling off into the sky. The Daggers appear along the skyline of the jungle. A squadron, all using the flame throwing element to ignite the jungle and trap anyone unfortunate enough to fall into the fiery path.

  Terror tactics.

  The visors of the two Paragons reflect the danger vividly, and the Cipher’s eyes mirror the image of her vision.

  Olympus burning.

  A thundering crack. An uproarious bang. A resonating roar and an ear-splitting shockwave from orbit. Bodies are thrown to the ground under a powerful force, stomachs feeling as though they were left behind. The ground shakes, the sky shakes, everything shakes with a monstrous upheaval and a clamouring noise.

  The Cipher’s silver eyes, riddled in shock, peer upward from her fallen state to the skies above. Just as she had seen in her vision, the moon, Phila, has fractured and splintered into many large chunks, wrecking the once stable gravitational force and expelling fire through the atmosphere.

  A riveting pulse tours through the very fibres of space, journeying into every atom of every body on the planet. Space distorts, and they are vaulted through the air in an array of directions, sent crashing through the jungle to land heavily, the very gravitational force of Olympus distorting and growing heavier in a breath.

  Kitera lands with a thud against something solid, breath exploding out, winded, unable to rise until the gravity releases her body from the ground. A heave of the ground kicks up at her stomach, rolling her like a ragdoll. She crawls aimlessly, her teary eyes watching the flaming tree tops wither and burn in silent pain. Another blast from the altitudes of space sends sprinkles of flaming rock outward like fireworks. The fragments of the fractured moon are looming overhead, some hovering helplessly, some beginning a re-entry run into Olympus, and others floating slowly toward the neighbouring moons. She cries out in shock, scrambling to her feet, ignoring the pain from her wounded shoulder as she begins to run in no specific direction, disorientated in terror.

  She can see the ground heaving in rolling motions, joined by the groans of clashing crust. She can see the trees keeling over, shredded from their ancient roots, each raid of motion fracturing the grounds, opening rifts where the smell of rotten decay breathes in her throat.

  The ground beneath her rumbles in constant earthquakes, making it nearly impossible for her to run, bare feet slamming painfully, one second airborne, the next pounding down. The impacts jar her bones, and the trauma of everything is sucking her breath from her lungs. She soon finds herself gasping in air, wheezing and choking. Her breath abandons her, and just when her body is about to falter from the unstable tremors, the Zodiacs scream at her in another warning.

  Overwhelming! She screams with them and clutches at her skull, clawing and ravaging.

  A thunderous eruption of violence assaults her eardrums, but it is not the sounds from a human weapon, but nature’s weapon. Soldiers and warriors forget their enemies and burst into a fleeing sprint. Men and women yell in shingled disorientation, animals give shrill warnings, and the planet cracks underfoot in its opening grimace.

  Kitera spirals. The skies to the jungle’s back have erupted in a monstrous volcanic ash cloud. A volcano has erupted and is spewing its contents high up and at incredible velocities of heat and speed. The very core of the planet is eating at the deep crust, forcing its way upward, and bleeding out in fierce escape. Through the trees to the east, where the mountains lie, the pyroclastic density current drives angrily down the west flank of the giant volcano. The superheated gas, ash, and lava fragments race toward the vast jungle at speeds of seven hundred kilometres per hour, and with a heat of one thousand degrees Celsius.

  A roaring landscape eater.

  Kitera feels heat spill from her eyes as she cries out in both anger and sorrow, voice only drowned in the vibrato of anarchy. Fear torpedoes in her, a phobia of fire freezing her in a stasis of horror, the encroaching demonic roar murdering her limbs to crumble beneath her. She pulls her eyes away from the looming terror behind her and forces herself to keep her eyes forward, crawling, searching for the Paragons while her limbs strain under each brutal tremor and the reverberation of incoming power.

  "Boone!" the call rips from her throat, standing but stumbling as the ground vibrates and beats in a violent rhythm beneath her. Her fear is doubled by her concern for the Paragons, not just because of the fact that she cares for them, but because of their importance. If even one of them is to perish, the mission will be over. She will not let her v
ision become reality, she cannot let it. "Paragons!"

  The trees crash in their wretched dances, their shockwaves rolling at her, canopies netting her as she peels her way through them, bare skin raw with slits. Her calling voice is a shriek, her heart beating so fast and so full of frightened adrenaline that she feels it will burst out of her ribcage. The barbaric force of each tremor tears open the planet’s crust around her, foliage bowing to collapse, perishing in fumes of climbing magma.

  “Paragons!” Her heart is blistering, blood pumping too fast, as angry as the red spawn belching out from the planet’s core. Her soul is heavy, body a burden, mind wailing with the gods. This is too much. She cannot endure. Visions of Olympus burning, Nefnala, Earth, Eden, Scattered Planet. The universe. Life.

  “DEO!”

  Deo explodes through the fire, joined by the other three Paragons from multiple directions, all bolting for her at unimaginable speeds. Without gentleness, just pure urgency, Deo grabs her by the waist and hefts her with him, carrying her over his shoulder as he slams himself through the thick jungle. Kitera gives a gut wrenching heave as his arm collides around her waist, but she soon forgets the pain as she sees the monstrous wall of volcanic ash eating up the jungle behind them, looming closer to them faster than they can outrun it. She clings to Deo’s shoulders, fingers securing to his plating, her streaming hair blurring her view of the others beside them. Her wide eyes reflect the horror just as much as her Paragons’ armour, and her pained cries of the suffering around her drown out her hot tears. She feels Olympus dying.

  Every able-bodied soldier in the jungle runs as fast as their feet can carry them, screaming, silent with baring teeth, with pounding hearts, or with regret from having to leave behind those who are too injured to run. The Paragons outrun them easily, flashing past almost too quickly for the augmented eye to follow. The entire west flank of the volcanic mountain has collapsed to join with the pyroclastic-flow, adding to its mass and speed, and pushing it faster with hunger. Anything in its path is absolutely vaporised, and the encroaching sound is utter hell, even louder and more menacing than the booming reverberation of the colliding moons in the skies or the grinding plates beneath them.