Xen'tarza: Book Two of the Twelve Dimensions

by Paul Centeno

  In the meantime, Dojin launched another missile at the heisters’ vessel. The android pilot performed a last-second maneuver and avoided the missile, which found its way to a star-scraper hotel room where a hevala prostitute was having sex with a tyiri. Eyebrows furrowed, Dojin kept chasing them and ported a plasma gatling gun, opening fire.

  “I’m sick of this,” the sca’vezi hissed. “Let’s waste him!”

  As soon as the vessel’s sunroof opened, the ghensoth and sca’vezi emerged and countered with their own plasma beams. Dojin veered left to right, firing back. He eventually disrupted their ship’s mana shield, at which point the mechanized pilot changed course and made its way up to the firmament.

  When the sca’vezi ducked to reload, the tyiri took his place and shot rays at the renegade who kept gaining on them. Dojin’s force field malfunctioned, his environmental suit denting due to beams hitting him. Needing to reload his weapon with a new cartridge, the tyiri stepped inside the vehicle. As soon as the sca’vezi poked his head out to attack, he received a salvo of Dojin’s beams, forcing him to withdraw.

  The ghensoth roared, retreating into the back seat. By now, the ship exited Tyuchstelia’s orbit. Not a moment later, its cosmodrive started. Dojin cursed under his breath and launched a magnetic tracking bullet on the aft. As suspected, the renegade witnessed the interstellar vessel enter dimensional space and vanish from his sight. He came to a complete stop, gazing at the sealing chasm with madness in his eyes.

  “Where are those fuckers escaping to?”

  Vokken appeared on his KLD’s screen. “Thanks to your tech bullet, I’ll know soon enough. Standby for pickup.”

  “Take your sweet time…”

  Marauder accelerated from a nearby moon, approaching the renegade. Vokken opened the cargo bay as Dojin ditched the hovercraft and got aboard using his jetpack. Once the hatch sealed, Vokken activated the Marauder’s arcane engine and zoomed out of Tyuchstelia’s star system. Dojin returned to the bridge, sitting on the captain’s chair.

  “Any idea why we’re flying like a bunch of sappy tourists?”

  “I’m attempting to pinpoint their destination while simultaneously letting them think they escaped. In actuality, their guard will be down. Only then should you initiate a surprise attack against them.”

  “Not bad, cyberdouche. In that case, slow speed ahead.”

  VI

  Ambuscade

  The surviving heisters exited dimensional space, entering the atmosphere of Vun’Adith. It was a water world, similar to Creaden. The only difference between the planets was the weather. A multitude of regions throughout the ocean beneath them revealed surges of cyclonic tsunamis that rose as high as the clouds.

  “Looks like we’re safe from that vigilante,” the tyiri said.

  The sca’vezi couldn’t help but gaze skyward. “How in all the wretched dimensions did he find us?”

  “I’m not sure,” the tyiri said. “Perhaps he’s been tracing us for a long time.”

  “Inconceivable,” the ghensoth said gruffly. “We strike like ghosts. I must assume he has some kind of AI or oracle as an ally.”

  Cursing loudly, the sca’vezi punched and kicked the shuttle.

  “Oracles usually serve the military and AIs are nearly impossible to control,” the tyiri said, shaking his head. “Not even we have an artificial intelligence...just this mindless droid.”

  “Regardless,” the ghensoth began, “he wasted our brethren. From this point on, we don’t initiate another heist until we find that scum.”

  Not a moment too soon, the intercom filled their ears with loud static.

  “Your wish is my command, asshole,” Dojin said via the intercom.

  The android flew past a cyclone as it responded, “Code R-54T6B-2. Communications have been hacked.”

  “No shit,” the ghensoth said, clawing the android in half. Picking up its body, he tossed it out of the shuttle. “I will fly and handle our spacecraft’s weapons. You two get above and finish that parasite off.”

  Complying, the duo went up a ladder and rose from the sunroof. As the heisters aimed skyward, they witnessed Dojin burst out of a cyclonic tsunami like a demigod. An expression of lunacy was carved on the renegade’s face as he fired dual pistols at them. Their force fields held up, allowing them to return fire.

  Using his jetpack, Dojin landed smoothly atop the ship as it flew amid monstrous waves that reformed into hurricane-like whirlpools. Before his own barrier malfunctioned, he shot the heisters’ guns in order to disable them. They attempted to tackle Dojin and throw him overboard, but he dodged them and counterattacked.

  Each punch and kick the renegade managed to land knocked them back. He headbutted the sca’vezi, sending him off the shuttle and into a cloud-rising whirlpool that ripped his body apart. Witnessing his demise, the ghensoth roared. He set the ship to autopilot and climbed up, joining the fight.

  “Believe me,” Dojin began, snapping the tyiri’s neck, “I know how it feels to lose your team. Fortunately, your ugly ass will be joining them soon enough.”

  Again, the ghensoth bellowed at the top of his lungs. Dojin ported his plasma scattergun, unloading its energy cartridge at him. The last heister’s shield disrupted as he charged toward Dojin, at which point he performed a roll. His shell of a back protected him from the remaining rounds. Reaching the renegade, he clawed the gun to pieces.

  Just as Dojin reached for his enflamed machete, the ghensoth bashed him to the ground. Pouncing on top of the renegade, he clobbered him until the EX-600 was damaged beyond repair. Clutching the demented-looking helmet that competed with his, he tore it off—only to see a scrawny, bloodied humyn.

  “You? You! I will kill you!”

  “Fuck you,” Dojin retorted, unsheathing a hidden blade from his belt and slitting the ghensoth’s throat.

  The heister choked and lost his grip on Dojin who swung his machete to finish the job. Yet the ghensoth grabbed his arm and twisted it, disarming him. Although blood was pouring down from his cleanly slit throat, he stood up and lifted Dojin off his feet. For the first time, the renegade appeared surprised.

  “Aren’t you glad I have more than one esophagus?” he said, cackling. Approaching the tip of the craft, the heister added, “I can crush your jaw—your entire face—in an instant. Instead, you’ll drown and be forgotten like your pitiful squad.”

  Without wasting any more time, he slammed the renegade against the hull of his ship multiple times and then tossed him into the raging water. Bruised and broken-boned, Dojin plunged into the ocean. Long-held tears escaped his eyes as he began to drown. He imagined himself with Zadoya. In fact, he could see her perfectly within his mind. Green hair. Scarred. Halved mask. Ayzentium arm. It didn’t matter how she looked. He smiled, his love for the former lieutenant preserved regardless of what had happened to her.

  His vision weakened, blurrier by the second. Zoya…wait for me…I am coming. A bright light embraced him, that much he could make out. The waves grew wild. Shrapnel propelled past him, a few pieces piercing his legs and arms. Body parts joined him—including the ghensoth’s head.

  A beam of light dove into the ocean. Dojin thought an angel would have to be stark-raving mad to help him. Engulfed in a radiant sphere that turned out to be a gravitational stasis, Dojin felt himself rise high above the enraged waters. Despite being surrounded by cyclonic tsunamis, he ascended without harm toward Marauder whose cargo bay unsealed.

  “Behold!” the AI announced on his kinetic link device. “I am your emperor. I am your lord and savior. I am your god!”

  “No,” the renegade managed to utter. “You are my bitch.”

  Inner Growth

  Birthhood is a sacred nativity. All beings are birthed by mere thought. And you, like each and every other sacred child of mine, exist with purpose. Unravel your mystery and weave your own destiny. Listen not to what the stars might demand. Listen not to what a scriber has deemed fate. Instead, I, your Creator, declare you shall become
a master of your choosing. Creation is my own design, yet there is still infinite creativity left for my children. Do not hide what you are capable of becoming. Embrace your innate source of existence. No matter the species, no matter the planet, no matter the moon, no matter the galaxy, no matter the dimension—the multiverse bows before you. Seize control of your existence. Reveal your inner artist, my child, and create a masterpiece. For your life and what you do with it is my gift unto you.

  Arcane Proverbs 57:89

  Chapter Five

  Secrets of the Past

  I

  Unforeseen Bond

  Myris returned to the humyn capital world, bringing Xeza with her. Thrilled about the once-in-a-lifetime festival known as Star’s Eve, she made her way south of Iyonji Palace in the central continent of Xu’jato. There, she joined the staff and saw numerous people with extravagant makeup on their arms and faces, dressed in circus-like attire. Most of them were decorating the field with exotic flowers and plants.

  “So cool,” she muttered to her tiny companion, observing a giant wheel ride suspended in the air with radiant spokes.

  The oracle accelerated to get on an attendance line. After being assigned a tent, she made her way past the vestibule. Entering the verdant park, she saw other rides such as a rollercoaster whose tracks reached the firmament, an enclosed circuit for hovering bumper cars, a battleship consisting of virtual reality space combat, and a haunted mansion.

  A warm feeling ignited within her. She couldn’t help but smile at the attractions. Star’s Eve was a beloved holiday to her because it entailed a festival within an amusement park, which were two of her favorite pastimes. Fun activities aside, the holiday was sacred to her since it was tied to divination; Star’s Eve began when the first oracle of Pravura had predicted the birth of a protostar after a sun died. Since then, it had always symbolized the rebirth of stars.

  Passing the rides, she reached a section of the park filled with pavilions. The largest one had a multitude of arcade games for children and teenagers. Xeza noticed the kids and produced a soft urp while Myris looked around. Spotting her smaller-than-expected tent, she pouted at the disappointing size and hovered toward it.

  “Dang it.”

  Determined to make the most of it, Myris went inside and ported all of her divination decor: dark yet vibrant drapes, soothing incense, books concerning the arcane, sparkling crystals suspended a few feet above her festooned table, and a beaded curtain decorating the entryway of her tent.

  Just an hour before the event, she finished setting everything up. Attired in a purple robe, she lifted herself from the hovering wheelchair and switched to a normal seat. The oracle smiled at the sìsô, petting it. She then fixed her eyes on the entrance, anxiously waiting for guests to enter her tent.

  After several minutes, a romantic couple spread the doorway beads apart and entered the aromatic tent. Myris beamed, welcoming them. They smiled back, observing the ancient trinkets and mystical doodads inside the tent. While the young man appeared to lose interest quickly, his lover approached the oracle.

  “I noticed your sign outside,” she said. “Is it true? You give readings and can foretell our future as far as ten cycles?”

  “Yup. But nothing’s guaranteed. And if I sense something bad, I have the right to keep it to myself.”

  “Oh...”

  “It’s for your own protection.”

  The young man chortled, glancing at her wheelchair. “Our protection? You’re a disabled teen and we need to be protected? Come on, Le’sashee. She’s obviously a fake. It’s not worth the reons.”

  Although the woman seemed to pity Myris, she left with her lover. Eyes downcast, the oracle fell into a dreary mood. This event was supposed to be a tranquil getaway vacation from her chaotic voyages aboard the Marauder. Yet, with each passing moment, she missed her comrades. She pondered, Are they truly my comrades? Or do they pity me too?

  Before she could drift into a deeper melancholy state, her tent’s doorway beads spread apart again. A hooded figure peered inside and entered the tent. Myris flinched, startled to see someone else come so soon. Xeza repeatedly urped with excitement. The person attired in a robe ignored them both, examining the numerous decorations, trinkets, and books. Eventually, the visitor grabbed a compendium regarding divination.

  “Can I help you?”

  Gazing up, the stranger’s red eyes fixated on the oracle. “I must admit,” she began, taking off her shawl while preventing her wings from expanding so as not to damage anything in the tent, “I’m rather fond of your people.”

  The oracle gawked at her, stunned. “Eladoris? What are you doing here?”

  “Mere curiosity. Humyns amuse me. They embrace magic. Even the dark arts are honored and respected here. For that, this species deserves to set their eyes upon me. My former king and his people shun every aspect of the arcane. Never will I return to those wretched traitors.”

  “The jorga?”

  Primeval tome in hand, she gave a subtle nod. “Tell me...what is this festivity you’re so adamant about being a part of?”

  “Star’s Eve. It’s a celebration of life.”

  The necromancer snorted.

  “I heard that,” the oracle said sharply. “You’re not undead anymore, missy. If anything, with that awesome body of yours, you’ve been reborn. Coming here is the perfect opportunity for you to rediscover what it means to be alive.”

  “This body is nothing more than a temporary vessel. Whether or not this body carries life, I am the embodiment of death incarnate. I have conquered it. Corpses rise in my name. Ghouls and fiends alike do battle upon my command. Accursed spirits defend my soul. Soon, even demons from another dimension shall obey me.”

  “Uh huh, serious talk mode. Necromancy and demonology are two completely different spectrums. But who am I to pontificate? Only you know your own boundaries.”

  “Apparently you know yours too or I’d have already turned you into a mindless ghoul.”

  Myris couldn’t help but laugh. “Hogwash! Total poppycock! Well, I’m just gonna blame that on you spending way too much time with that pompous AI. Now why don’t you take a chill pill, stand back, and witness the Magical Wonders of Myris Sye Eianvok.”

  II

  Dubious Negotiations

  Equipped with spacesuits, Shirakaya, Yarasuro, and Xorvaj descended a metal platform on the side of an asteroid that was none other than Qyon’tog. Due to lack of gravity, the trio made their way down at a slow pace. Reaching the fourth level below, they entered a tunnel teeming with glossy gems embedded along serrated walls. The artificially lit passage led them to a fork containing other paths.

  “I take it we’re ignoring the mining facility?” Yarasuro asked.

  “That’s the idea,” the ghensoth said.

  Xorvaj approached a pathway on the left with a digital sign above an arched entryway that read: Fajh’raka Market. Walking on, they found themselves proceeding along a winding trail with numerous holes revealing the outer void. While the trio advanced, a faction of ghensoths galloped past them. The thunderous galumph of their quadrupedal thumps shook the passage. Shirakaya glanced at them, startled.

  “Friends of yours?”

  The ghensoth scowled. “Don’t mock me, freelancer. Those are worthless scavengers. They have lost their way.”

  “And you haven’t?” Yarasuro said.

  “Not yet. I can still feel the unbreakable metals of Zieksar. Even after all these decades, I smell my fallen world’s polluted quashia and taste its diluted jamna. No matter where I roam, whether fighting for you or another, I am Urvantak.”

  “That is good to hear,” the mutant knight said. “Never lose your way.”

  Exiting the tunnel, they found themselves on the asteroid’s surface. Descending another platform leading to a region blanketed with craters, the trio approached a bazaar. Stalls filled with black-market weapons, armor, and other miscellaneous technology flooded the market district. Shirakaya gazed upon dozens o
f vendors and hundreds of potential buyers, beginning to feel disheartened.

  “So this is the true face of Qyon’tog,” she said with a sigh, taking in the scene. “Scumbag haven, huh?”

  “And yet you’re here,” Xorvaj retorted.

  “Please mind your words.”

  The freelancer chuckled. “It’s okay, Yaro. He’s got a point.”

  “Well,” the ghensoth began, “the amulet isn’t going to sell itself. Shall we get down to business?”

  “Lead the way,” Shirakaya said.

  Xorvaj guided them through a crowd of traders. While they jostled past them, Shirakaya spotted a few items for sale that piqued her interest. She focused in particular on upgrades for starships such as black hole modules, over-clocked engines, cannons fused with magic, and miscellaneous units that could potentially strengthen force fields or prolong fuel.

  Despite how tempting it was for Shirakaya to purchase as many upgrades as possible for her battleship, she thought about the cost of Myris’ potential surgery and controlled herself. She shook her head, continuing to follow the ghensoth. A few kilometers ahead, she spotted an eight-wheel tank whose paint job consisted of black with charcoal rims.

  “Wait,” she said to her comrades. Approaching the vehicle, Shirakaya touched it with a look of awe. “How much?”

  “Ninety-five thousand reons,” the sca’vezi trader said.

  “That’s absurd,” she glowered. “It doesn’t even have a cosmodrive. I’ll pay thirty thousand for it.”

  Revealing a deranged scowl, the sca’vezi peered at her. “Specifications make ninety-five thousand. Force field, yelium-4 thrusters, eight-wheel drive, tetrigonium hull resistant to severe temperatures, gamma cannon, thermal-ray turrets, and ZiFi troposphere radar. It is solid tank. No less than ninety!”