The Prophet: Death: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by David Beers

  “It might also be dangerous. Keeping her, that is,” the Priestess said. “Have you asked Corinth about it?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what did He tell you?”

  “He directed me the same as He did with the others. Keep her, use her, and better protect ourselves when the Black returns.”

  The Priestess nodded, not looking at him. “Maybe you’re right … I’d like to talk about our plan once we arrive inside the One Path. The High believes you are the only one coming, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “And these ships we can’t see, the ones traveling with us, will he be able to see them?”

  “It’s possible,” the First said. “If he thinks I’m not coming alone, then he has the authority to see where and how we’re moving our army.”

  “And we can’t take that power away,” she said, speaking softly.

  “Not unless we want to risk him using his machine. I think any sudden changes might push him toward it faster.”

  “I agree.”

  “He has the Disciples, too,” the First said, bringing up his own fears. “But even so, they simply can’t see everything at once.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” the Priestess asked.

  The First was silent for a moment. The truth was, he didn’t know much about the Disciples. No one did. They were started long before the First’s time, and it was the High Priest they served for the most part. The First had used them, of course—seen their capabilities with individual people—but when it came to everything they could do? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure anyone did.

  “That’s what I thought,” the Priestess said. A brief silence passed, and then she continued, “What if he does suspect what we’re doing, and he sees all of this coming at him? I’m just wondering if it might be smarter to actually send you alone.”

  I’ll send you alone, you fucking bitch, the First Priest thought, though his face showed none of the emotion beneath. He wasn’t going to meet the High Priest alone ever again. The black box was as close as he would ever get to that.

  “We don’t know how much time we have,” he said. “Having me inspect the place, and then sending ships out could be too late. We need to be ready in case he’s closer than we believe. In case he won’t see reason.”

  The Priestess nodded again. “So you’ll be in there alone?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “It’s brave of you,” she said.

  Finally the bitch was giving him the credit he deserved.

  “We all serve Corinth as we must.”

  “Especially given what I’ll have to do to the structure, if he is too close to be stopped.”

  The First Priest turned his head slowly, a thought lighting in his head that hadn’t been there before. In the time it took him to look from the window to the Priestess, the small match flared into a roaring fire, outshining all else.

  Because he understood what she was saying.

  He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before, but he was now. It should have been obvious from the beginning.

  If he was inside the High’s home and decided that it had to be destroyed …

  … Then he would be destroyed with it.

  Night was falling and it would be the last one Raylyn spent underneath Corinth’s grace, if such a thing existed.

  Perhaps it did, and perhaps it didn’t, but either way, Raylyn’s choice had been made. After she spoke with Rebecca, she’d tried accessing the security logs for the cell, but her nanotech was denied. She didn’t know if the First Priest had checked them or not, and so she spent the next 24 hours expecting a Disciple or someone just as capable to arrive carrying a necklace for her to wear.

  No one came though, and despite the terror coursing through her blood, she had to keep going. As twilight approached, Raylyn stood from her bed and left her room. She went downstairs again, though this time she went to Scoble’s room.

  Another assistant waited, and a similar conversation as before ensued. She thought the assistant from last night might have said something to the others, because it went a bit easier. They were expecting Raylyn Brinson to come and go now, which would keep working until the First Priest found out.

  And as long as he didn’t find out by tomorrow, everything would work out—at least as far as entering prisoners’ cells went. In the end, Raylyn would probably die no matter what the First Priest found out.

  The wall flickered away and she stepped through, letting it reform again behind her.

  The man was in decent shape; the First Priest hadn’t harmed him, at least not physically.

  He didn’t stand, but remained sitting at a small table in the middle of the room. There was a cot similar to Hollowborne’s forming from the wall. She saw recognition in his face, remembering Raylyn from his capture.

  Scoble said nothing and Raylyn moved to the table. She didn’t take a seat, but continued looking at him in silence. He knew by now that one of his own had given up their savior, but did he know exactly who? She imagined so; the First Priest would want to use that against him.

  “You know it was the weapon’s sister, right?” Raylyn asked. “That she was our informant?”

  He nodded.

  “Good,” Raylyn said, meaning it. She didn’t have the time to deal with the immediate aftermath of such knowledge. What she needed was this man functioning. Raylyn pulled out the chair—her nanotech not working in here either—and sat down. “The only other thing I really want to know is, do you want to live?”

  Scoble’s face didn’t change at the question, and that surprised Raylyn. She didn’t know if it was from training or the First Priest’s threat, but either way, no emotion showed.

  A few seconds passed. “It depends on what I have to do.”

  “Two things. You have to help me save one of your kind. You were in the same cell as him a few days ago. And you also have to work with Hollowborne.”

  Still, Scoble showed nothing. Even if he thought it was a trick, she couldn’t tell by his face. He said nothing, only studied her.

  Seconds turned in to a minute, and still he kept his silence.

  “Are you okay?” Raylyn finally asked, wondering if his mind had snapped and those brief words were all he had left. Maybe the First Priest had broken him in ways beyond his body.

  Scoble nodded. “I’m deciding whether you’re telling the truth.”

  “By looking at me?”

  “If you’re going to lie, it’ll be with your words.”

  Raylyn kept her own mouth shut, knowing anything else she might add would only further his point.

  Finally he said, “I can do those two things, but you’ll have to add one more item to your list.”

  “What?”

  “Christine Fain. She’s here, and she comes with us. If not, then I’ll sit here and wait for your Priest to finish whatever he’s got planned.”

  “She’s one of yours?” Raylyn asked.

  Scoble nodded. “She hasn’t been treated like me. You all took blood from me, but not like that. She’s injured, and it’ll take some care to get her out of here safely. Either we do that, or I’m out.”

  “Fine. She’ll come too. You’ll have to kill people, in case you’ve suddenly had some change of heart in doing that.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I’ll come for you tomorrow. Until we’re out of the Shrine, you’ll listen to and obey everything I say. You understand that as well? Once we’re safe, you can do whatever you want.”

  “Okay,” he said again.

  Raylyn looked at him for a few seconds, taking him in. He hadn’t asked her why she was doing it, nor any other questions. He simply had made up his mind, made a demand, then agreed to everything else she said.

  Raylyn nodded, stood from the chair, and left the room. She hadn’t known about Fain, but she quickly used her nanotech to access the woman’s location. She needed everyone on board before tomorrow morning, so she couldn’t wait to speak wit
h her. Raylyn also didn’t know the extent of her injuries, but she needed to understand them before tomorrow.

  She didn’t understand Scoble. Raylyn identified with Hollowborne easier. She had traded her God, just like Raylyn. Scoble though … his God was inaccessible, his savior dead. There was no chance of resurrection and yet, Scoble held firm. He didn’t switch sides. He didn’t even put his life above the rest of those who served with him. He said he wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t save himself, unless Fain came too.

  What was he dedicated to? What did he love?

  His love was different than Raylyn’s. She had loved Corinth, when she believed what the True Faith said. As the possibility of lies grew into certainty, though, that love had been hollowed out—leaving a hole inside of her. She didn’t see a hole inside of Scoble, even though his religion was as dead as hers.

  Raylyn found Fain’s cell. No assistant guarded it, and she immediately saw why. The cell was much, much smaller, and not built into the actual building like the others. She was inside a box with transparent sides, hanging from the back wall.

  Corinth bless us, Raylyn thought, her mind automatically using phrases that no longer held meaning for her.

  Saving Fain would be hard, if not impossible.

  Her skin was like paper, lacking any color or resilience. Raylyn thought if she scraped a nail lightly across Fain’s flesh, it would rip open, sounding like cracking twigs as it did.

  Tubes were attached to the woman’s body, and Raylyn could see immediately what they carried. Blood. She was being drained, constantly.

  Raylyn thought—briefly—about turning back around and going to Scoble again. Telling him it wasn’t possible to save this woman, not if anyone else was going to live as well. She’d say that he could either help or sit here and die with his friend. The thought fell away quickly; Raylyn knew his answer would be simple, and without hesitation: Okay.

  So this was it, what she had to do. Break two people out of detainment. Using them, save Manor before he was cast off Corinth’s Shrine. Then, finally, the four most wanted people in the True Faith would head from the very top of the Shrine to the very bottom, and save this half-dead woman.

  Want to listen to me yet? the stubborn half of her mind asked.

  No, Raylyn answered.

  Rachel Veritros

  Rachel Veritros’s war had taken her to the Nile River, along with almost every other human being still alive. They came to either support or kill her; regardless of allegiance, they came.

  Veritros remained under water. Most everyone on the Nile’s banks saw her go, watching the gray laced net shield her as she dropped.

  One side cheered, the other felt horror stricken. Some on both sides jumped into the river, intent on chasing after her despite the clearly boiling water. Their skin burned immediately and their screams rang out for mere seconds before they were lost beneath the roiling death.

  Boiled alive.

  The others, those not enthralled with following their savior or tormenter, continued fighting. Boulders coated in burning oil flew through the air, long streaks of black, greasy smoke trailing after. They crushed buildings and bodies alike. Lasers fired into the sky—technology thousands of years more advanced than rocks—and killed with impunity.

  Above the water, madness reigned, with no one remembering the exact purpose of being there. Perhaps it’d been completely forgotten. The woman they had chased, followed, and ran from was gone, out of sight and with no promise of returning. Yet, still they fought.

  People died by the thousands, their entrails and blood soaking the land before overflowing into the river.

  Large swaths of the flowing water were turning red, looking like long, thick ropes of crimson ribbons.

  And still, no one—not a single person—thought to lay down their weapons. If anything, they only considered how they could hurt the other side more. How they could inflict more death, more destruction. The bloodlust in their hearts did not discriminate against creed. It possessed them all, and both man and woman looked completely insane.

  More animal than human.

  Without a doubt, they would have fought until no one remained. They would have killed and destroyed until nothing stood, not person nor building. There was no reason any longer, no thoughts even of survival. There was only … kill.

  None noticed when the river first started to rise. So enraptured with their bloodlust, they didn’t see the water moving above the canyon it had sat inside for millions of years.

  Inch by inch, though, the water did rise, and finally, they couldn’t help but see it.

  It didn’t overflow the banks, but rather held its same shape, stretching for miles and miles in each direction. The river was simply picking up and flowing over the exact same path, but in the air.

  Five feet, then ten, then twenty.

  A burning boulder streaked through the sky and collided with the winding river. Gray bolts jolted out at the impact point and the boulder shattered immediately, a thousand pieces of fire ricocheting down amongst both people and the dry river bed.

  Nothing else soared through the air as everyone stared upward.

  The river was not stopping, nor slowing down. It continued to rise, and no matter how far one looked north or south, they couldn’t see where it dropped back down into its bed.

  Everyone holding weapons let them drop to their sides, staring up at something that shouldn’t be possible, but yet was happening right in front of them.

  They saw no sign of Rachel Veritros. No sign of the Unformed.

  There was only water, continuing to flow and held together by some unseen force.

  It reached 100 feet in the air, then stopped rising. Silence reigned the riverbank, a stark juxtaposition from minutes before. Rachel’s lieutenants watched from her ship; none understood. Rachel had told them nothing of this, nothing at all of what to expect when they arrived.

  Seconds passed, but they didn’t stretch as far as a minute.

  A bright, gray light lit inside the river, the same egg shape that had lowered Veritros into it. The light grew brighter and brighter, until people could hardly stand to look at it.

  They did, though.

  They all kept staring.

  And then …

  The river exploded.

  Boiling water flew through the air, raining down on all beneath. It hit friend and foe without prejudice. The silence evaporated, and screams filled the shoreline. The water was flung so far and wide, almost no one escaped its scalding brutality. Those right next to the riverbed bore the worst of it, their skin nearly set aflame by the scorching temperature. Thousands and thousands of people fell to the ground immediately, rolling on dirt and concrete, hoping for anything that might stop the pain consuming their flesh.

  Only death came to help, as their throats swelled from the boiling water they swallowed, suffocating them.

  Those further out would have angry, red scars searing their bodies for the rest of their lives. Most tried to run, but they couldn’t outpace the pouring hell coming down on them. Entire faces were turned to red patches of blistered skin.

  The ship Rachel flew in—the one still holding her lieutenants—was blasted by the water, windows breaking and metal bending. It fell to the ground even as those inside burned.

  The sun sat high in the sky, hours having passed since the war commenced. The dead were innumerable, and those not dead writhed in pain next to their fallen comrades. No one looked up into the sky, or they would have seen the sun shining through the mist, looking absolutely beautiful before the rays hit the bloody mess below.

  No one looked up, and even if they had, they would have seen nothing else.

  No Veritros.

  No Unformed.

  Only the sun shining as it had for billions of days previous.

  Rachel Veritros was gone, and the war over. The world lay in ruins, much of it in actual ashes. Those still living now lived in great, great pain. Every single speck of ash, and every cry of pain, it all
stemmed from her and her all consuming quest.

  The world would go on to write many, many things about her. She—nearly as much as the Unformed itself—would turn into a monster, something to fear forever. Her, and anyone like her who might come again.

  No one looked up, and even if they had, they wouldn’t have seen anything; thus, the world thought Rachel Veritros dead. It would take nearly a thousand years for anyone to recognize that error.

  Fifteen

  A week and a half prior, the world thought its problems were over. Sure, there would be the harsh duty of cleaning up, fixing what could be repaired, destroying what couldn’t, healing the wounded, mourning the dead. War breeds disaster and whenever it finishes, there is much to put together again; but there is also a sense of hope—of genuine happiness—that the hardest parts of life are in the past, and things will improve.

  A week and a half later, the sun rose on the One Path Ministry, and almost no one knew what was to come that day. Certainly the vast majority of the world didn’t. Those still alive were thankful and doing their best to help rebuild. There was some worry amongst the Ministers, that class of people more elite than any other to ever live. They were concerned with the High Priest and his insane goals, somewhat frightened that he may cause more death by provoking a woman who didn’t understand her powers.

  They were worried, but even with all of their knowledge, they didn’t understand anything about what was to happen.

  No voice whispered to them saying, It’s not over. Maybe it never will be, but this is not the end.

  They, like everyone else, were trying to do the best they could, given the world they lived in.

  Yet, as the sun rose, the world entered a new era, though it had no idea such a thing was occurring.

  Massive ships were flying to the One Path Ministry, an ambitious Priest at their head.

  The One Path itself had positioned sleek bombers around the High Priest’s fortress, waiting for the ambitious Priest to arrive.